#light reflecting off water is just like...okay. light is there and we have nothing to do with it. water likewise. but in this one moment

[coquelicoq]

my two favorite subjects for a painting:

light reflecting off water

a woman sleeping soooo comfy cozy in bed

[sailorrhansol]

ok ok requesting a treat for all of us, honestly

sleep demon seungcheol. extra sprinkling of nasty if possible. i want you to out-zaddy you know who.

>:) ok smooch smooch have fun!!!! I LOVE HALIWEEEEEN

❀ Pairing: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

❀ Summary: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help. 

❀ Word Count: 6,239

❀ Genre: Supernatural

❀ Type: Smut, PWP

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and reccouring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

❀ A/N: Hi Jolene Wolene Folene - thank you for requesting this thing that we totally didn’t talk about before I started Haliween and definitely maybe sort of giving me the outlet to write this weird little liminal space demon that I love doing so dearly. Pls enjoy spooky ooky kooky Cheol and his weird little obsession with reader :) 

❀ A/N 2: This fic is a part of my Haliween writing event that I’m hosting September - October. 

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

-

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

-

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

-

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

-

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

-

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

-

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

-

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

-

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

-

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

-

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

-

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

-

TAG LIST

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cherrylovescheol

@cookiearmy @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst

@thepoopdokyeomtouched @avochele @eoieopda @onlywon4u

@hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy

[chocosvt]

HER | part four.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here we goo. part four :o i can't believe it's already the fourth part!! i guess the last chapter ended on somewhat of a cliffhanger so may this quench your curiosity! but, beyond that...

this part has a punch of its own... dotdotdot...

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

Wonwoo was lucky to discover an empty, spare guest bedroom down an off-shooting hallway for you two to refuge in while the volcano settled upstairs. Furthermore, he was grateful that you had relaxed enough to be released from his straightjacket arms, and even more grateful the room was quiet. The confrontation had shot his nerves. His hands were still trembling. As you took a seat on the bed, Wonwoo moved toward the window and stared into his darkly silhouetted reflection, taking paced breaths until everything stopped pressing down on him. He’d already had his fair share of stalling fights between Vernon and other drunks at the downtown bars.

He had never anticipated stopping you from a fight. 

“Fuck, I feel like absolute shit…” you groaned, and when Wonwoo turned around, he saw you crunched up, fingers digging at your hair while you sat at the very edge of the primly dressed bed.

“Should I get you anything?” He asked in a soft voice, coming over to crouch down in front of you. “Do you want some water?”

You wouldn’t look at him, instead staring into your knees that were bent and flush against your chest. For a moment, there was nothing said, until you sniffed that very distinctive sniffle of someone who’d just snorted a line. Rubbing at your nose, you nodded.

“Please?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be right back, okay?”

Wonwoo didn’t know where to get water, though he did remember the bottle dropped at the bottom of the staircase. He practically ran to grab it. Coming back into the spare room, Wonwoo clicked the door shut as quietly as possible and joined you at the bed.

“Here,” he offered, uncapping it for you.

You sipped from it eagerly, gulp after gulp, then wiping off your lips when it became too cumbersome to swallow.

He took the bottle back, capping it again and throwing it somewhere random on the bed. Wonwoo could see with concern that you weren’t entirely there—jaded, from the drinking and smoking and intaking a dangerous substance you probably shouldn’t have. Your face appeared so hazy, disconnected, as though you were staring off into a warm light buried in the distance that only presented itself to you.

“That was a lot, wasn’t it?” Wonwoo sighed into the dark room, rolling up his sleeves, unsure of what he should do or even say.

You sniffled again, and shook your head. “I feel sick.”

“I know, I’m sorry... what do you want to do?”

Breathing out heavily at the small amount of labour it required to look backward at the bed, you nodded. “I want to lie down.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo said, feeling relieved, “that’s a good idea.”

You smiled at him, though it was misted over and a bit loopy. 

He watched you lean down, fiddling with the tiny buckle belonging to the right heel strapped over your foot. Afraid you might hit the floor like a flour sac if you stayed hunched over for too long, he instantly squatted down to help you, gently nudging your hand away.

“I’ll take them off for you,” Wonwoo reassured, loosening the buckle enough to slide the expensive, black heel from your foot, doing so with the utmost delicacy, akin to sorting fine china.

Just before he removed the other heel, Wonwoo caught you staring down at him with a particular admiration behind those glassed eyes that made his entire chest become swollen. He tried to ignore the feeling, no matter how elated it made him on the inside.

“Thank you.”

“Uh, no problem,” Wonwoo answered, standing up and gesturing to the bed, “do you think you’ll take a nap?”

“… I don’t know.”

“That’s okay… should I get Princess to come stay with you? Or, I can always get Mingyu, too. Whatever you think is best.”

You were still looking back at the guest bed, unresponsive, and Wonwoo had wondered if you even heard him speak. The moonlight that cascaded in from the windows patched an intricate shadow overtop the quilt, and you started spreading your hand across it, as though you could pick up the silhouette and move it.

And then you glanced at Wonwoo again, smiled slightly. “Would you lay down with me… if I asked you?”

He immediately cleared his throat, “uh, lay down with you?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, “I need your company. Please?”

He clenched his fist tight, an index nail carving along the cuticle of his scarred thumb. Logically, Wonwoo should leave—he should march back upstairs and go search for Mingyu or Princess to help nurse you through your brain fog. Realistically, however, Wonwoo wasn't going to do any such thing. Realistically, Wonwoo was very high, and very delirious, and completely at your beckon.

Kicking off his sneakers, Wonwoo crawled onto the guest bed alongside you. He breathed out a sigh of comfort as his back was perfectly cushioned by the supple pillows organized against the headboard. If he thought about it for too long—relaxing on a stranger’s bed in a stranger’s home at two or three in morning beside a girl who’d just snorted coke upstairs in the attic and nearly leapt on her friend in a fight—his head would start to ache. So, Wonwoo didn’t think about it. He let everything happen as it naturally desired to.

You tucked yourself close against Wonwoo, closer than what was appropriate for two people who were presumably friends, stretching your leg across his waist and latching it over his hip, an arm around his wide chest, your head settled cozily underneath his chin.

He couldn't care less about the morality.

Especially when he wriggled his arm beneath you, his knuckles coming to stroke up and down your bare, soft back, feeling along the subtle groove of your spine with every lulling, especially tender caress. Truly, Wonwoo didn’t know why he cared so remarkably little about how wrong it was to touch you and hold you. Maybe it was your shallow and warm breathing that kept tickling his neck, or the weight of your leg against his pelvis—you as a whole seemed to smudge his rationality—his own personal drug.

“Can you please tell me a story?”

“Hm?” Wonwoo murmured, stilling his fingertips at the top of your shoulder blade. “Tell you a story? Why’s that?”

“Because, my head hurts. And I want a distraction.” You then poked your face up from his neck, staring at Wonwoo through the clouds in your eyes, sounding sleepy enough to lose consciousness. “And I love the sound of your voice, and how it makes me feel.”

He proceeded to rub something off your chin with a few brushes from his thumb, and nodded, tucking your head back down.

“Okay… let me think for a second...”

“Wait—” you suddenly mumbled, awkwardly reaching behind you for his hand rested against your shoulders, “—I liked when you were going up and down. It felt good. Please, can you do some more?”

“Yeah, sorry. I just stopped to think,” Wonwoo hummed with an amused smile, continuing to stroke his knuckles and hearing the heavy sigh you breathed aloud.  

He thought a few moments longer for a story that he could tell you; something interesting, but not too detailed.

“I’ve got one.”

He made a rumbling noise in his throat to clear it, staring off at the dresser mirror opposite to the bed, where Wonwoo could just decipher that vague, silvery thread outlining your entangled bodies.

“When I was around eleven, twelve years old, my family used to go to this waterpark every summer, like an hour car ride from our house. My brother and I made up this game. We called it lifeguard, or, like, swimming attendant. Basically, you play dead in the water, and whoever’s the attendant has to save you. Anyway, it was a pretty stupid fucking game to play at a water park as you can imagine. But when we got there, the lifeguard wasn’t in his chair. So, like, my brother, trying to be cool or funny, thought it would be a good idea to sit in the chair himself. I had to pretend to drown.

The problem with that, though—the actual life guard was coming back. He sees me pretending to drown, thinks I’m actually drowning—I don’t know, I guess I was selling it super well—and he dives right into the water, pulls me out and everything, lies me across the cement all surgical like. I’m so fucking embarrassed, my brother’s ran off somewhere—I just go along with it while everyone’s watching, knowing damn fucking well I’m a sham. My mom’s panicking. She didn't realize it was part of some idiotic game we made up. I hated my brother for a week straight. I’ve refused to swim ever since.”

There was a chuckle against his neck, and Wonwoo felt your body vibrate with a soft fit of laughter. He hadn’t recalled that story in years, though it dusted off the latent anger toward his older brother that he had never quit holding. Nonetheless, it was still rewarding to tell you. That water park was once his most cherished place to visit, admittedly during a much different period in his life, when the only thing he worried over was whether or not they’d have his favourite ice cream flavour or if he might miss that gigantic bucket full of freezing water that dropped every half-hour.

“I’m sorry that happened…” you mumbled against his neck, your breath akin to a sweeping feather, “but it’s a bit funny.”

“No, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, grazing his hand low to the base of your back, “I can laugh at it now... even if I’m still mad.”

“Can I ask you something, please?”

“Sure.”

“I just want to know… when did you move here? Did you come here for university? Or, was it before that? And, like��� did your family come with you? Did you move alone? I’m just curious…”

“So, I spent two years at a university in Korea, for something different than what I’m doing now. It was accounting stuff—”

“Oh, more boring.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo laughed, reaching his hand underneath the warm plump of your thigh to adjust it more comfortably against his hip, “I actually agree with you. It was boring, and I was… to put it lightly, miserable. Very, very miserable. So, I dropped it, had a really long and excruciating conversation with my brother about the whole thing—what I wanted to do, where I wanted to go. I have an uncle that lives out here. Not close to our school. He’s hours away. But I figured, I’m old enough. I need, just—I need a fucking change. I’ll move out, stay with him, find my footing. And, uh, I ended up here.”

You smiled against his skin, lips practically pressed at his neck, and then you exhaled, pulling a shiver along the length of his spine.

“Hm… I’m glad you made that choice.”

Wonwoo’s fingers fleshed deeper against the underside of your thigh as he sighed into the still bedroom air, thinking back to the pressure, the bickering between himself and his parents, the desire to at last pull the pin and take a risk, even if said risk was going to crash and humiliatingly burn at his feet. In a way, it had. But with you, his reward was building back up again. It wasn’t all fruitless.

“Me too.”

"Thanks for sharing that with me,” you murmured, snuggling impossibly closer into his body and breathing him in like the sweet, baked scent of pastries fresh from a hot oven, or the airy honeysuckle outside on a summer’s day. “I like knowing about you.”

For once, Wonwoo wasn’t scared that you knew.

Maybe he should be scared. He wasn’t being cautious enough, instead pouring more soul into his heart than his logic. But then—why did it feel so good in that moment? Something he was terrified of had flipped on its head and turned into a real, tangible happiness. He continued to lay with you in the silence. The ceiling was full of shadows that he studied to keep himself awake while his thumb rubbed easy circles into your thigh. Your body was giving him heat.

If no one ever opened that door, Wonwoo wouldn’t complain.

He could lay there until the earth caved in.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

“I want to try getting up now.”

Rubbing the heel of his palm against his eye, he massaged away the desire for sleep that had finally managed to catch up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay—” he began slowly pushing himself upward, helping you in the process with an arm at your waist, “—I’ll grab your shoes.”

“Thank you.”

Nonetheless, he knew you couldn’t stay cocooned against him forever, even if he wanted it more than his next breath. It felt awfully vapid to lose your warmth. The air around him was so much colder, like an icy metal. Wonwoo had nearly stumbled over his sneakers as he searched around the end of the bed, prompting him to squat down and shove his shoes back on. Next, he collected your lacquered, expensive high heels, which had practically blended into the darkness if not for the moonlight raining through the windows.

You were sat at the edge of the blankets, waiting for him.

“How do you feel? Better?” Wonwoo asked while crouching at your knees and fishing up the right heel first.

“My head still hurts a little. But I think I’ll be fine,” you admitted, allowing Wonwoo to softly touch at the back of your ankle as he helped guide your foot through the black loop. “It’s like—I can feel it a lot more now. I’m getting that weird, dreamy sensation, right before it really hits. And my mouth is kinda dry.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, now helping to fasten on the other heel, “I’m sure there’s more water upstairs. Is that too tight?”

You wriggled your toes and rolled your foot.

“No, it’s perfect. Thank you so much.”

“Should we try standing?”

Wonwoo straightened back up, reaching out his hand for you to grab. Carefully, you intertwined your fingers with his, and then he accepted some of your weight as he gave you a supportive tug. At first, you wobbled, but Wonwoo was right there to steady you.

You complained about the dizziness, but after a few more steps it had gotten better, and Wonwoo let go of your hand.

“Oh—uh,” he gently grasped your elbow, “before you leave—”

Lifting up your arms, you watched rather cluelessly while Wonwoo pinched at the fabric of the very short, white skirt and tugged it further down your thighs, covering the sensitive areas where it had ridden up when you were stretched out against him. A hand latched into his shoulder for balance, and you sighed out gratefully.

“Fuck, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Please don’t tell me if you saw my underwear.”

He laughed, “I won’t.”

A manicured finger scratched your cheek.

“… They’re pink… with hearts.”

Wonwoo stayed quiet, but then he couldn’t fight his smile.

“… I know. Cute.”

You seemed flustered at the offhanded comment, which came as a surprise to Wonwoo, because he truthfully didn’t believe much—if anything at all—could fluster you. The phone in his back pocket buzzed with a text message and Wonwoo assumed it was Vernon asking him about where he’d gone. It was best to go back up to attic and reunite with your friends rather than dwell in the guest bedroom for an eternity. Though, Wonwoo didn’t want to leave at all.

“Uh, Wonwoo? Can you please wait one second?”

As you two paused at the door, his hand fell off the knob.

“Everything okay?”

Uncharacteristically, you fumbled with your fingers, tugging at the joints like they were disconnectable. He tilted his head at you, curious, and when your eyes locked with his he bit back a dumb facial expression at how wide your pupils had dilated, like an ocean abyss.

“Um, so, that girl Seokmin was talking about earlier? Sarah Gomez?” Sarah? He knew you meant Sierra, though he didn’t bother correcting the mistake. “I chatted to Vernon about it. He said she likes you and was flirting and... well, like, I-I have no issue if you… if you like her and want to do something, and—” you took in a really big, long breath that felt like a reach for self-comfort, “—just, if you two want to start hanging out, if you can still make time for our writing.”

Wonwoo stared at you for a second, blinking vacantly.

“… Oh, you think—no, Her. It’s not anything. It’s nothing."

“Nothing?”

“Yeah, nothing. I promise.”

And it was exactly that. Wonwoo would never—could never feel anything even half as strong as the yearning he felt for you. It was something unmeasurable, something bigger than the universe, and yet, it fit into the core of his own chest like a dense and heated star compacting in on itself. Despite being so numbed by heartbreak, and years of a growing apathy, and all that disappointment he harboured toward himself, Wonwoo had sensed each and every time you thawed him out. You—a light, and yet a cold, awakening breeze.

The girl he was in love with.

Stupidly and utterly in love with.

Your shoulders began to sink as you relaxed at his remark.

Wonwoo shook his head. “She’s nice. But I’ve talked to her once, and that was tonight, for like, two minutes at most.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry. I just—I didn’t want you to think that I hated it, or that I was going to jump her ‘cause of what happened upstairs… I don’t want to talk about what happened upstairs, actually, but that’s not what—anyway. Sorry. And, uh, thank you… for being there for me. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”

“No, no. Nothing is ruined,” Wonwoo reassured you, picking up your hand and giving it a squeeze. “I’m having fun. It’s all a lot but… I’m enjoying it. I’m always going to be here for you, alright?”

You smiled at him. It was oddly shy, but Wonwoo loved it.

“So, if you want to head back up, I’ll join you soon enough," he said. "I’m gonna attempt to find a washroom in this place.”

“There’s one by the staircase. Clara and Bells used it.”

He kissed his teeth as you giggled at him.

“… Oh. Right.”

After you disappeared back upstairs to the attic, Wonwoo locked himself in the washroom for a moment of quiet. He checked his phone, realizing the time—3am—in addition to the horribly spelt text messages from Vernon, saying that Mingyu had taken Bells on a walk outside to calm her down. He sighed, signing off on the texts with a thumbs up. The night was only getting louder. Wonwoo didn’t know how much longer he could survive or who he would even call upon to get a ride home. Everyone was plastered or buzzed.

He had no desire to sleep here overnight, though if push came to shove, Seungcheol would likely have guest bedrooms to spare.

Turning on the sink faucet, Wonwoo set his glasses aside and cupped a handful of cold water against his face. It was a shock at first, yet it felt so refreshing, and Wonwoo couldn’t help but splash some more water until he felt the drops begin uncomfortably running down to his elbows and nudged the tap back off. Once patting dry his cheeks and forehead with a towel folded through a rung secured into the wall, Wonwoo proceeded to sit down on the tiled floor.

Readjusting the glasses back to his face, he stared across the dimly lit room at the half-opened shower curtain and its patterned seashells. For a second, he didn’t move at all. But then Wonwoo was getting up, walking over to the curtain and yanking it fully open. He returned to his initial position, sitting against the wall, and started counting all the different seashells. They weren’t organized in rows like the yellow rubber ducks from his aunt’s shower curtain back in Changwon—they were miscellaneously placed, spotted more than organized, and Wonwoo counted all the shells at least three times.

“Thirty-two,” he whispered to himself.

Deep within his pocket, Wonwoo’s phone buzzed again.

[ Vernon | 3:09 am ]: h ey glasses where tf are yoi?

He decided to text his friend back, though he knew Vernon was most likely off his face and wouldn’t notice for another hour.

[ Wonwoo | 3:09 am ]: Washroom. Be up in a few.

To his surprise, Vernon’s little typing bubble immediately appeared. Wonwoo developed a sick, squirmy feeling in his stomach for some reason, only to watch the bubble abruptly disappear and not return. God—he hoped the boy hadn’t fucking fallen out the window or slipped off the billiard table in his inebriation.

Setting his phone down on the tiles beside him, Wonwoo raked his fingers through his hair and sighed aloud again. He didn’t care much about messing up the very particular way he’d brushed and swooped it. Instead, Wonwoo thought about you.

He was just with you, and yet he missed you.

Unsure of when the feeling had ever started, Wonwoo began to recognize the ache for you  some time ago—and like a little kitchen light in a prairie house that never burnt out, seen across meadows and rivers, even through the darkest nights—Wonwoo had felt the ache ever since. He thought it would die away quietly. It hadn’t. It wouldn’t. He thought that love would never again step foot inside the house that was his heart. But it had. And it was the little light.

His phone vibrated.

Wonwoo glanced down at the illuminated screen, skimming over the jumbled, misspelt words to Vernon’s text with little regard, thinking nothing of it other than how sky high his friend was.

Another text. He scooped the phone up, grumbling to himself.

[ Vernon | 3:12 am ]: yo I dont mean t be weird buthahha I’m not gbnna lie u shud come upsrairds of u wanna see it

[ Vernon | 3:13 am ]: acyaully don’t lol

Wonwoo had not a fucking clue what Vernon was rambling about and was half-considering it to be all hallucinations. Maybe another fight had broken out. Maybe you were dancing on the table and had kicked over someone’s drink. There was a small cherry pit of curiosity in his stomach, though Wonwoo wasn’t ready to get up. He sat on the washroom floor for another ten minutes or so, deciding that he would go back upstairs, pitch his goodbyes, and book an Uber.

It had been fun, tiring, enlightening even.

But Wonwoo had no energy left to give.

After playing with his hair in the mirror and smoothing out the pieces he’d disheveled, Wonwoo at last pulled open the door and emerged back into the warm corridor, the music still soaring underneath his feet. He began making his way upstairs and back to the attic space. There were at least ten new people to fill the smoky room, none of whom Wonwoo recognized, though he assumed most were Seungcheol or Mingyu’s friends. Vernon was seated on the couch, his arm sunk around a girl’s shoulders—the girl that had almost bumped into him when leaving the kitchen hours ago.

Someone had cranked the music loud enough to rumble the speakers sitting on the desk. Wonwoo could hardly decipher a single word that came from Vernon’s mouth, forcing him to lean further down as he grasped onto his friend’s hand and announced his leave.

“Awe, you’re headin’ out?!” Vernon shouted into his ear.

“Have to,” Wonwoo replied, “my brain’s gonna pop.”

Vernon slapped his shoulder. "All good—hey, thanks for even comin’ along, y’know? Stay safe. Text me when you get home.”

“Yeah, will do. Uh, you seen Princess or Seungcheol?” He asked by Vernon’s head. “I’d be nice to see them before I leave.”

“No fuckin’ clue where they went, to be honest!” Vernon answered, leaning back with a shrug. “Oh! Fuck!” He’d suddenly latched onto Wonwoo’s arm. “Dude, you missed it. But if you’re lookin’ for Her—no luck. She’s uh, a little busy right now.”

“Hm?” Wonwoo mumbled. “I can’t fucking hear.”

Vernon proceeded to jerk his friend closer, breath fanning hot against Wonwoo’s ear. He turned frozen solid as he intently listened.

“Her—she came back upstairs, high as a fuckin’ kite. Mingyu came back up right after. I don’t know what happened, but, like, within a few minutes, they were on each other, man. I got scared—thought they were gonna start fuckin’ on the table. But, nah, Mingyu took her to the bedroom down the hall. We all scurried down and listened for a sec. Holy shit—she had to be gettin’ pounded—like, must’ve been face down ass up, fuckin’, gettin’ her guts rearranged or some shit. They were both so out of their minds. It was insane, y’know. You’re not gonna see her for a good while.” Vernon then sat back with a hopeless, husky laugh. “Mine as well shoot her a fuckin’ text and hope she can still read when Gyu’s done with her!”

For a second, Wonwoo didn’t believe him. Not at all. He thought it was a joke—staring at his friend, waiting for his face to break like sundried clay, not caring whatsoever that the girl tucked against his side was clearly annoyed at their conversation and waiting for Wonwoo to leave. It was all a stupid joke and Wonwoo wanted to hear Vernon say it. And then, he would punch him for it.

“Funny,” he chuckled.

But Vernon merely shrugged, folding an ankle over his knee. “Hey, Glasses. Dunno what to tell ‘ya! S’all true. I saw it. So Did Seungcheol n’ Princess. Go down there! Listen for yourself!”

Wonwoo shook his head, beginning to laugh. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Jeez! I’m just tellin’ you the truth!”

“And you expect me to believe that?” Wonwoo shouted overtop the bass, smiling, even though he was feeling more and more enraged under the surface. “You’re high as a kite, too, yeah?”

“I saw it, man!”

“Yeah. Actually—go fuck yourself. Night.”

Vernon stretched out a hand, attempting to catch Wonwoo by the elbow as he brushed past him, yelling something that was drowned to the humid, loud atmosphere. Wonwoo still believed it was a joke—a very awful, incredibly distasteful joke that he would probably ignore Vernon over for at least a few days. Wonwoo knew he wasn’t your boyfriend. He knew you most likely didn’t reciprocate the all the same feelings with as much passion as him. But you wouldn’t do that. You wouldn’t discard him after he’d been so vulnerable.

He came to the corridor and gazed along the hallway.

Go down there. Listen for yourself.

Vernon’s words wriggled in a bold font to the forefront of his mind, even when he wanted to squeeze them out. But Wonwoo was exhausted, and now highly annoyed, and he knew the last thing he should do is excavate a truth that would be better off buried.

The thing was—Wonwoo had to know.

It was excruciating to not know.

And so, he walked up to each door, lightly attempting the handle or pressing his ear to the wood. He found nothing, and the relief that opened up and flowed throughout his body was equivalent to the freshest breath of air. Wonwoo was about to text Vernon that his stupid stunt had failed when he heard it—that suspicious, croaked sound which prompted his fingers to stop dead in their typing tracks.

He stared into the door, focusing hard.

No, it was the music. It had been playing all night, anyway.

But then there was a thump. Once, twice, three times.

Wonwoo shoved his ear back against the crack in the threshold, one hand coming to rest ever so softly on the brass handle.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Muting even his breath in case it interfered with or somehow warped the noise, he listened longer, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Fuck! Mingyu!”

There was ice in his veins. All the blood froze so quickly. It was cold enough to turn his skin to frost but Wonwoo kept listening.

“If I fuck you any harder, I’ll break this fuckin’ bed, sweetheart. Is that what you want, huh? Tell me, baby. Are you that much of a slut for me? Hm? Are you that much of a whiny slut?”

“Y-Yes, Gyu! M’n-nothing—ff-fuck—!”

“Answer me or I’ll stop!”

“No—nonono—m’such a slut for you! Such a whiny l-little... Fuck! Mmm—c-can’t take it, Gyu! S’too much!”

“Move your fuckin’ hand! Take it, just like you asked for. If you’re gonna act like such a slut then fuckin’ take what I give you!”

Wonwoo couldn’t bear to hear a second longer. He knew it was your voice, your skin, your breath, your pleasure. It was entirely you at the rigid and exploitative hands of Mingyu. And Wonwoo felt sick. Something acidic surged up his throat in a stinging burn. With a hand latched over his mouth, Wonwoo raced toward the washroom, immediately locking himself inside before collapsing at the toilet and upheaving all the contents in his stomach. The nausea had never hit him so quickly before. His insides filled with even more dread.

But he wasn’t actually sick.

It was merely the horrible, haunting anxiety that came with opening up—its effects reaping toxically into his flesh because it had all been thrown back in his face like a sloppy high school lunch tray. It was hearing the girl he positively loved moan and writhe and beg for another man who didn’t care for her interests or thoughts or soul.

He’d cut himself open for you, but it didn’t seem to be enough.

—JUNE 16TH.

By the time Wonwoo woke up, it was five in the evening. His face was practically plastered—no, moulded, into the pillow—with a dried trace of drool streaked down his cheek. Wonwoo had never drooled before. The groan he released upon rolling from his stomach to his back was groggy and brittle, with his hand slapping cluelessly against the bedside table until he managed to grab hold of his black-framed glasses. He slid them on, and then wiggled further up the bed.

Before his irritable hunger, or the twisting of his full bladder, or the headache pulsing behind temples, Wonwoo felt a very gorged wound scissored into his heart. It was stinging raw, like sea salt from the ocean touching at an unbeknownst cut hidden somewhere sensitive on the body. Except, Wonwoo knew exactly where the cut was and how deep it ran and how much he was struggling to even breathe. He stumbled into the washroom, switched on the faucet, but Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to stare into the mirror.

Instead, he crouched down to his haunches, hands shakily gripping at the edges of the stone-cold porcelain for stability while the water gushed above him. With his eyes pinched shut, Wonwoo focused hard on every breath he took, so hard that white smudges began blossoming against the pitch blackness of his eyelids. His mouth suddenly jutted open, and he inhaled the biggest breath he could manage, but it cracked somewhere in the middle and Wonwoo knew he was going to start sobbing.

Unable to hold the sink any longer, Wonwoo let go of its sharp edges and curled up tight on the floor, the tears sprouting unbridled and glossing to stain over the rouge of his cheeks. In his mind, it was the most pitiful sight. He thought he would have learned his lesson the first time about opening up and trusting another, yet, somehow, he was back in the same fucking place. He thought he was being cautious. Not cautious enough. He thought he was taking his time. Not enough time. Wonwoo never judged anything right.

—JUNE 17TH.

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: hey glasses

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: haven’t heard from u since Friday

[ Vernon | 8:08 am ]: pls tell me u made it home alright

…

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:30 am ]: Hey Wonwoo! It’s Seungcheol (got ur number from Seokmin btw)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:31 am ]: Really nice to meet you and glad you could make it out! Ur a super cool dude. Idk if you like pickup basketball but I always play on weekends at the uni B gym. If you ever want to come down or wtv let me know!

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 11:35 am ]: Princess says ur awesome

…

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Hey Won

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: Make it home alright?

[ Seokmin | 12:57 pm ]: It was nice to see you!!

—JUNE 18TH.

[ Vernon | 10:01 am ]: Seokmin and I r going mini-putting at that glow in the dark place I got fired from lol u in or nah?

[ Vernon | 10:25 am ]: helloooooooo? u there beautiful?

…

[ Vernon | 3:45 pm ]: glasses are you fucking alive dude?

[ Seokmin | 3:50 pm ]: Everything okay? Did u get sick?

—JUNE 19TH.

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: okay haha it’s not funny anymore

[ Vernon | 7:13 am ]: wonwoo I swear if you don’t fucking text me back in the next 12 hours I’m breaking ur door down cuz wtf man im fuckin pissing my pants over here

…

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: hey!!

[ Her | 9:00 am ]: I hope you made it home okay :) sorry I didn’t text you.  I’ve been sick as a dog omg but I feel better today

[ Her | 9:02 am ]: I’m so glad u came even if it was a little tense or overwhelming at times lol. I loved seeing u there. don’t quite rmbr everything that happened but I’m sure it was fun

[ Her | 9:03 am ]: miss you a lot alrd

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: we still good to work on the book tmo?

Since he slept well into the afternoon, Wonwoo didn’t notice any of the morning texts until much later, when he finally sat down at the dining table to slowly nibble a piece of strawberry jam toast. It wasn’t that he was ignoring Vernon or Seokmin’s texts, more so the fact he had been trying to stay off his phone altogether. It was just too much and he couldn’t afford to worry about anyone else but himself, though, he supposed it might be time to answer poor Vernon.

Wonwoo had disregarded your texts—didn’t glance at them for longer than a millisecond or absorb one written word. At the moment, he didn’t know where he stood with you. Saturday had been brutal, Sunday was stupendously worse, on Monday he’d called in sick because the thought of stepping one foot outside his apartment made him ghostly ill, and Tuesday, today, he was quite mopey, lethargic, and hardly contained enough energy to even feed himself.

But he still took another bite from his toast.

It was better than completely and utterly rotting.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Sorry.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: Wasn’t feeling the greatest.

[ Wonwoo | 1:42 pm ]: I promise I’m alive.

He set the phone down beside his plate, continuing to tear at small sections  of the toast to make it easier to eat. Wonwoo didn’t bother replying to anyone else. If they were truly that concerned as to why he hadn’t answered—which he knew they weren’t—then Vernon could disseminate whatever information he pleased.

Poking his glasses up with a pinky finger, Wonwoo saw his phone screen illuminate with a text from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: jesus christ wonwoo

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: don’t scare me like that I legit thought something happened to u

[ Vernon | 1:44 pm ]: man check ur fucking texts lol

Wonwoo pushed the dish aside and picked up his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: My bad.

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm ]: it’s ok

[ Vernon | 1:45 pm]: soz u got sick

[ Vernon | 1:46 pm ]: u feel any better?

No—Wonwoo had almost audibly laughed. He felt pulverised, like a piece of trembling jelly hardly able to walk. If he was lucky, he might be able to keep the toast down without his grief getting in the way and tormenting the nutrients back out of him. But it wasn’t like his friend could do anything about it or make his nightmares end.

[ Wonwoo | 1:47 pm ]: Yeah, I’m okay now.

You were right—Wonwoo really was a liar.

[ Vernon | 1:47 pm ]: good!

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: yeah got pretty sick myself tbh

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: next day was ass

[ Vernon | 1:48 pm ]: well uh if theres anything u need lemme kno im gonna b out today I could prob stop by whenever

After thumbing up the message, Wonwoo grabbed his plate, walked over to the sink, and tossed it in, hearing it crash into the stainless-steel emptiness. He didn’t know what else he would do today. Probably nothing at all except lay in his bed and sleep.

[ Her | 7:00 pm ]: hey pls check ur messages <3

…

[ Her | 8:09 pm ]: hey can u fucking check ur msgs

…

[ Her | 10:15 pm ]: wonwoo this is embarrassing for me PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHECK UR MESSAGES!!

Hearing his phone ding for the third time that night, Wonwoo at last rolled over to drag the device aglow from the bedside table. As he lazily fixed the glasses over his face to squint across the fine print, his stomach dropped faster than the incline on a roller coaster. You were getting blatantly impatient with his lack of response.

The thing was, he always answered you. Even if he was in the middle of working, or blazed from his head to his toes, or half-asleep and hardly conscious—Wonwoo would always make time to text you back because there was nothing more important in his life.

It wasn’t that he was void of all desire to talk to you—it was that his body physically couldn’t allow it. His fingers suddenly felt so stiff, like they were wooden, and his mind flashed blank with not a single word to spare. He was still devastated with you, and that was putting it fucking mildly. Breathing out all the conjured despair and pain through his nose, Wonwoo left the phone on his nightstand, rolling back over to his side in another attempt to sleep.

—JUNE 20TH.

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: wonwoo why aren’t you answering me?

[ Her | 8:02 am ]: I was going to get rly mad at u and send a long nagging text or a voicemail but I feel like somethings wrong

[ Her | 8:10 am ]: we’re supposed to write today :(

[ Her | 8:35 am ]: I’m starting to get worried ugh

—JUNE 21ST.

[ Her | 11:20 am ]: wonwoo can you please send me something so I know you’re okay? even just a thumbs up?

[ Her | 11:25 am ]: please

—JUNE 23RD.

[ Her | 9:30 pm ]: okay it’s basically been a week since the party and idk what to do. I’m so fucking pissed off at you bc why can’t you just answer me? Ik I’m not blocked which leads me to think you’re not pissed at me? otherwise u would block me

[ Her | 9:31 pm ]: you’re reading my texts ik u are

[ Her | 9:34 pm ]: just why are you doing this I don’t understand I feel like crying bc I don’t know what I did or why you’re ignoring me?? if I did something can you please tell me I just hate this fucking guessing game and I hate you for putting me thru it

[ Her | 9:35 pm ]: fuck you honestly

[ Her | 10:36 pm ]: but I still miss you so much

[ New voice mail from Her | 10:58 pm ]

—JUNE 26TH.

Wonwoo felt the phone continuously buzz in his pocket for the third time that afternoon—he was getting another call while at the pharmacy and at that point even his boss was beginning to take note. He hardly ever worked morning to afternoon shifts, but another staff member was sick and so Wonwoo was unfortunately hailed upon to take their place, though, he had realized it might be a good idea for him to experience the fresh, softer air against his face, which chiefly prompted him to accept. Even if he had thrown up his breakfast in the washroom just before his shift started, at least he’d tried to eat something—thawed out blueberry waffles with butter were still too much for his stomach. He should probably stick to toast.

As he stood behind the counter, marking down another bundle of vitamin bottles and their expiry dates from the clipboard, his boss was handing out prescriptions. Wonwoo was in the midst of a long, impossible-to-hide yawn when his phone started vibrating again, that stupid Sencha ringtone practically grating his ears.

“Wonwoo,” his boss said, “I think you better answer that.”

“No, it’s nothing. I’ll shut my phone off.”

Her reading glasses were poised at the tip of her nose as she typed some information into the computer, each click from the chunky keyboard notably slower than the last.

“Well,” she huffed, clearing her throat, “whoever it is, that was their fourth time calling you… I do believe that warrants some attention. Now, if you’re sure it’s nothing at all, then I’d rather you keep that phone in your locker, alright?”

He paused, staring down at the clipboard in his hands.

“… Can I take just five minutes?”

Glancing over the shoulder of her pristine white lab coat, his boss nodded, and Wonwoo left the clipboard sitting alongside the vitamin bottles. He slipped into the employee break room and out the heavy backdoor, stepping behind the building for the utmost privacy.

Wriggling out the phone from his pants pocket, Wonwoo stared at the four separate notifications, all spread out within the past hour. Vernon had been attempting to reach Wonwoo for whatever reason, though he didn’t know what could possibly be so goddamn pressing that a text message wouldn’t suffice. He didn’t want to find out, either. But Wonwoo had already excused himself, and he didn’t want to waste the precious five minutes he’d been anointed.

He dialed his friend back. The call was picked up instantly.

“Vernon, what the f—”

“Glasses! It’s about fuckin’ time you answered your stupid phone! Where the hell are you, anyway? Mars?!” His voice boomed through the staticky line like a boxer’s jab and Wonwoo immediately moved the device from his ear, taking a second to orient himself.

“I’m at work, dumbass. Use your fucking head.”

“Work?! Oh, give me a break. Work! That’s your excuse?!”

Letting his temple prop against the uncomfortable brick wall, Wonwoo rubbed at his nose, his eyes squeezing out the sunlight.

“Just tell me why you’re blowing up my phone…”

“How about ‘cause I almost got mugged! That’s why!”

“Wha—mugged? Vernon, what? By who?”

“Your girlfriend, that’s fuckin’ who!”

Wonwoo pushed off the wall using his shoulder, taking a few steps across the cigarette butt-littered walkway. He absolutely hated it beyond comprehension whenever Vernon referred to you as his girlfriend—even more so now—though he was plagued by the thickest confusion and he needed Vernon to calm down in order to explain everything succinctly.

Taking a thorough breath, he stopped pacing.

“Okay, chill out, for just a second. And then talk to me. Because I don’t have a clue what you’re yelling about. I told my boss I’d be five minutes and I’m wasting out the clock.”

“Fuck—okay. So, I was gettin’ gas, alright? Mindin’ my own business when I see Her come outside the store. I thought, oh, hey, I know we’re probably not on the greatest terms yet but I’ll say hi.” He heard the boy cut himself off, and then laugh a bit, as though he were still reeling from the incident. “Dude, the second she sees me, I think I’m gonna die. She practically corners me at my Camry, like, askin’ me all this stuff: what happened to Wonwoo? Where’s Wonwoo? Do you know what’s goin’ on? Why isn’t he talkin’ to me?”

At that point, Wonwoo had squatted down in the middle of the walkway, rubbing a hand dreadfully against his cheek. He didn’t have a cigarette on him, but if he did, he’d be smoking it down to the pathetic nub. Vernon coughed and then started up his story again.

“I try to tell the chick—hey, I’ve got no fuckin’ clue! He told me he wasn’t feelin’ well, we haven’t spoken much—like, fuck if I know all the details to your goddamn life! She doesn’t believe I’m givin’ the full truth. I tell her again: look, he’s real private, he doesn’t talk about much. If he is goin’ through somethin’, just give him space and time—blah, blah. She tells me I’m a bad friend! Like—what the fuck, first of all! A bad friend?! She’s—okay, anyway—"

Wonwoo began to pull at some green sprigs of grass pushing up from between cracks in the cement, just to give his nervous, trembly fingers something to do. His heartbeat was climbing higher in his throat.

“She thinks you hate her, o-or I don’t know what she fuckin’ thinks, actually. What I do know is that she hates me ten times more than she did before, n’ that you need to get off your fuckin’ ass and talk to her! Do y’know scary it is to have Her yellin’ at you?! I thought she was gonna light my hair on fire with the gas pump or some shit! Fuck. My heart’s like, still racin’. And not to terrify you but she might stop by your place later today—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he interrupted Vernon while shooting back to his feet, beginning to anxiously pace all over again, “you think she’ll stop by my apartment? No, that can’t—” Wonwoo stumbled on a rock, then reared his foot to punt it hard across the cement, “I-I don’t want to talk to her. I fucking can’t. It’s too much.”

“I don’t know what to do about that…” Vernon sighed, followed by the distinctive spark of a lighter crackling in the background. “Didn’t even know you were ignorin’ her… what happened, anyway? I mean, this shit seems real serious.”

The silence was so thinned but still unbearably long, and as Wonwoo listened to his friend ignite a blunt in order to mellow out, he felt that unmistakable pain twist at the pliable centre of his chest, like he was being carved into with a whittling tool.

Put simply, Wonwoo wasn’t ready to see you, let alone have a civil conversation that could be separate from his bitter, hurt emotion. There was too much he needed to decide alone, and as the hot, stinging summer air around him became concerningly harder to breathe, Wonwoo had no other choice but to hang up on his friend and burst back into the employee washroom. Eventually, his boss had stopped by to knock on the door, to which Wonwoo answered with the most reluctant, pained, hoarse voice he could muster.

“S-Sorry—be out soon…”

“… I’ll give you a few more minutes,” she answered after a momentary pause, most likely realizing something was very wrong.

 But he couldn’t hide it any better than that.

Wonwoo stepped inside the pottery shop, the bells overhead tinkling, and the attention of his landlord now piqued as she glanced up from the earth-coloured vase being washed by her paintbrush.

“Back from work?” She asked.

“Yeah…” he sighed, making his way toward the staircase, already reaching for the handrail, “can hardly stand. I’m exhausted.”

Sweeping some dried pieces of clay off her messy, weathered apron, she lent Wonwoo a sympathetic smile. “Well, rest up.”

He nodded at her.

Coming up to his apartment, Wonwoo was inexplicably relieved he hadn’t run into you at any point. He clicked his lock shut with another sigh, a more distant one that arose from somewhere so dusty and cold inside his chest. Maybe Vernon was right, Wonwoo thought while kicking off his shoes. Maybe it would be best to get such an excruciating, uncomfortable conversation out of the way rather than ruminate over how awful it was bound to be.

He scrubbed his hands clean at the sink, then trudged into his bedroom to change from his pharmacy appropriate clothes.

But as he came to sit at the edge of his bed, thinking back to that night—all the touches and tender glances and how foolishly he presumed it would be okay to open those clandestine, personal pages he always struggled to share—Wonwoo knew it was still too premature. If he were to speak with you now, nothing productive or relatively good would come from it. He leaned forward into his hands and raked them distraughtly through his hair, tugging against the black fronds until he worried about legitimately pulling them out.

You were obviously concerned and worried—he knew that, and part of him ached because it was due to his own ignorance.

It just couldn’t happen yet.

Wonwoo was mad at you. He felt betrayed, disrespected, used. There was sadness, heavier than his body weight. So much emotion was blistering and alive inside of him with nowhere to go.

Collapsing backward, arms tossed beside his head, Wonwoo closed his eyes and hoped he might fall asleep deep enough in order to never wake up. That way, he would never have to face reality—he would never have to stand in front of you and cough up some half-baked explanation that only served to protect himself.

Through the haze and mist of his bizarre dreams that whipped by akin to reels from old age movies, Wonwoo saw someone he didn’t think would ever reappear in his subconscious again—Jeanie.

He had no idea where he was, or what those disembodied figures were that shifted in the blurred distance. She was the only detail he could pinpoint. Wonwoo walked toward her, pushing through something invisible but notably thick, like molasses. He tried inconceivably hard to absorb the intricacies of her face, but when he stared for too long, her features would start moving, almost melting off her as though she was a wax figure in a sweltering auditorium.

Yet, he could hear something.

There were voices becoming louder in his ears, and the more intently he listened for them, the clearer Jeanie’s face became.

The girl’s hair was chin length, dark. Dark like timbre. Or very fine-grated flint. It looked soft to one’s touch, if, in fact, one could possibly touch her without her shattering. I remember thinking that. The girl will shatter if I bump her, even if it’s an accidental thing—a gentle scraping sort of contact that wouldn’t even disrupt a feather.

I remember her eyes, too. My brother owned a box of marbles when he was twelve years old. When I looked into the girl’s eyes, it was like I was eight again, staring over the discarded sewing tin that held my brother’s smooth, large, galactic marbles he told me to never play with. I hated him for it. I think a part of me still does. But I don’t feel that resentment when I look into her eyes. Rather I feel the mystery and curiosity I believed was permanently erased alongside my youth.

Then there were her lips, which were small but plump. They seemed almost stained. I thought an artist took a stroke of watery, blood red paint to her mouth. It’s even hard to hear her when she speaks. I have to lean in so closely that my chest shrinks in on itself with coyness. I love it too much but I can’t let the beautiful, quiet girl know.

Wonwoo knew every word—he could recite them endlessly, without a sweat or a hiccup. It was his own writing after all, from the book he’d attempted to write for her during their relationship. Finally, he could see Jeanie standing in front of him, at the edge of clarity. Close enough to embrace and kiss and beg so pathetically for forgiveness.

But Wonwoo was never given the chance.

The voices scattered in a mere instant, whisking away into the baby blue nothingness that engulfed him like a handful of sand grains on a windy beach. Instead, he heard knocking. It rattled his brain.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

The atmosphere started to crumble. He was caught in that peculiar stretch of being half-asleep and half-awake, when it’s impossible to decipher reality from the reverie that doesn’t quite want to let go just yet. Everything shuddered and swayed like a house on stilts.

“Wonwoo! Open the fucking door! For fuck’s sake!”

And then, he was shooting up in bed, fast enough to prompt the dizziness that whorled the entire room into a confusing mélange of shapes and evening clementine colours. His heart was barraging against his chest, and Wonwoo had to settle a hand overtop the pulse to confirm with himself that the organ was still inside his body. As he wiped off the sweat that glistened by his temples, trying to mentally grasp the fading fragments from his dream, Wonwoo heard the knocking sound again. Louder. As though his door would cave in.

He knew it was you. You weren’t going to leave, either, not unless someone had to drag you out the building by the ankles, or until you spoke to Wonwoo about his impromptu ghosting.

The thing was, Wonwoo was fucking pissed.

He was pissed that such a bittersweet dream had been ripped away from him like everything else in his life—most often love and trust—and he was pissed that he never got any closure.

Wonwoo was just boiling over, tired of everything.

Knockknockknock!

Stumbling into the living room, Wonwoo approached the door that was currently receiving the abuse of a lifetime. His hand grazed the knob, though it was nothing akin to the first time he’d let you inside his apartment, so nervous, flustered, doubting himself. When he opened the door, Wonwoo opened it with an unwavering abruptness that presented you at the threshold, your closed fist left still in the air like you were a marionette frozen by your orchestrator.

With your mouth agape and soundless, Wonwoo wondered if you would even speak. The shock was slowly spreading throughout your face, adorned as usual with that picture perfect makeup.

But he’d assumed too quickly.

“Jesus fucking Christ! So, you are alive!”

He stepped aside while you stormed into the apartment, and then he let the door swing shut, capturing the two of you in privacy.

You spun around to glare Wonwoo down.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?! Did you forget how to read?! Write?! Answer your fucking phone?! I mean, would it kill you, Wonwoo, to text me back? Even just one word? Or, is that too fucking difficult?! It’s not like I’m asking for a goddamn scripture!”

Since March, Wonwoo had known you. It was nearly July.

Never had he seen you like this before. Sure, there were times you had gotten angry and that short fuse inside would burst. It was always jarring, but you tended to regain composure within the next minute or so, shaking off the confining chrysalis of your rage.

This didn’t seem so easy to shake off.

You were furious. Wonwoo watched you begin to pace the living room, your hands gesturing about wildly. There was practically a radiation that glowed from around you, red like singed charcoals.

“I can’t believe the rollercoaster you have put me through this past week, you asshole! I mean, seriously! I've never been this baffled! At first, I just assumed you were sick! Because—who wasn’t sick after that night? But we had to write the next day, and you always get back to me, so when you didn’t, my stomach started twisting up! I thought, something has to be wrong—Wonwoo doesn’t do this! He never stands me up! But I didn’t want to pry, because you fucking hate when I pry, so I left it alone! I left it and then I still get nothing!”

A Rubik’s cube was sitting on the coffee table. For some reason, you snatched it up and started jamming at the panels while continuing to pace the living room. Your hands were fizzling firecrackers, surging with ample energy, needing a task to direct all that accumulated anger so the fingers wouldn’t fly off your joints.

“But I see Vernon getting gas! And, wow, everything is just so peachy for him! Life is so sweet and sugary for the local drug dealer who just milked hundreds of dollars out of some stupid rich kids and their latent drug addictions! And you know what I had to do? I had to back him up like a feral fucking cat just to wrangle some information about you! Because I thought maybe you were dead, or kidnapped, or you just suddenly hate me! I looked like such a psychopath!” 

You slammed the unsolved Rubik’s cube back onto the coffee table hard enough to dislodge a few pieces. They spotted his carpet like blood spatters. A tattered, deep breath was sucked up your nose.

“So, here I fucking am, screaming my head off because I am so pissed at you, Wonwoo! I want an answer even if it kills me!”

The air was dead silent, and Wonwoo wanted to let the room breathe for just a minute at most. Every single word you had spewed was compressed into the spaces of his apartment and if he didn’t give the atmosphere enough time to settle then his walls would undoubtedly burst. You refused to stare anywhere else but him. There was so much need and pain and agony behind those glassy eyes.

Wonwoo glanced down at his socked feet, swallowed hard, and then back at you. He had to speak. Nothing else would suffice.

“… Honestly… there’s no answer I can give you that won’t hurt, or make you any less upset… I don’t want to drag this out, either.” A subtle breath entered his mouth. “Her, we shouldn’t do this anymore—the book. I don’t want to help. You can finish it yourself.”

It was sharp, so meticulously sharp—a clean, smooth cut.

Though he was calm water on the outside, he felt a trembling behind his ribs. His heart was groveling with him to not be so cruel.

You laughed, titled your head. “What?”

“I can’t continue to help you write.”

Again, the room was silent.

“… You… you’re… you what?”

Something wasn’t connecting inside your brain. For some reason, you could not comprehend what Wonwoo was insisting. His patience was translucent and the longer he stood across from you in the living room, thinking about his interrupted dream and the vulnerability you stepped all over and the time he wasted—he could only get angrier. His fingernail scraped over his thumb like a tooth.

You wiped something off your face and started to laugh again.

“God—okay. There’s—I’m sorry but there’s absolutely no way you just said that to me… I come here, sick to my fucking stomach, worried about you. Yes, I’m mad but—I-I still care. And you—you’re going to—fuck.” A hand then clasped over your mouth as you pointed your gaze to the shag carpet, and for a moment, Wonwoo couldn’t decide if you were masking a laugh or a sob. “You’re going to tell me that we should just… stop, in your words. Or, you’ll stop, and I can keep trudging on. Am I hearing that right? Is that what you said?”

Wonwoo nodded.

He hadn’t realized it, but he’d just detonated a bomb.

At first, there was not a single crease or wrinkle that ruptured your disturbingly placid face. But, surely enough, he was beginning to observe the slow, inevitable fracturing that started with a twitch in your upper lip, and then a wicked furrow pulling down your brow, and that irritable blinking of your eyes as though someone had just blown a cloud of dust into them. Wonwoo knew it was coming.

“Fuck you.”

It was so spiteful, almost demonic.

“You should go,” Wonwoo said, sighing.

Instead, your head rung back and forth.

“No, actually—” you stepped toward him, fingers pinching at the thick, almost palpable air while your eyes fumed with every malevolent thought that burned inside you, “—fuck you, Wonwoo.”

He stared back at you, somehow unfaltering.

“Listen, if you don’t—”

“If I don’t what?!” You screamed, your palms slamming against his chest and prompting him to stumble backward. “If I don’t leave, then fucking what?!” Even though it was just you shouting, it sounded like there were hundreds of anguished women behind each word.

Wonwoo felt the pin drop into his gut.

“Y’know what I think, Wonwoo?! I think this is just like that time at SRX, when you told me the same fucking thing! You just picked up all your shit and left! No explanation, no prelude, no nothing! Is that what gets you off? Huh? Treating everyone like they’re pieces of scrap metal with no fucking emotion?! You can just do whatever you want! Doesn’t matter! Who gives a fuck about whose feelings I’m totally disregarding, whose time I’m wasting. I’m Wonwoo! I get to pull the plug on everybody because who cares!”

Your voice had employed a fake, mocking tone.

And while Wonwoo knew the better choice was to maintain his quiet, mature composure, it was much easier to disregard the guise altogether—chuck it straight out the window like a browned banana peel because as much as he’d like to believe he was refined, evolved, and in control, Wonwoo hadn’t ever been anything of the sort.

He shook his head at you.

“I disregard people’s feelings? People’s time? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“That is such bullshit.”

“Oh, come the fuck on, Wonwoo! Don’t be so damn deluded!”

“Do you even hear yourself? A single word that you’re fucking saying? I disregard people’s feelings? Well, what about you, then? You—and, sorry if this puts a nick in the perfect, angelic image you have of yourself—but you just use people. And I don’t want to be used anymore. There’s my fucking answer that you want so badly.”

You gagged at him, slack-mouthed down to the floor.

“I use people? Wonwoo, are you fucking insane?!”

“No more than you.”

“How?! Tell me how I’ve used you!”

He laughed at the demand, rubbing a hand across his scalp. “Oh, come on—don’t make me spell it out for you, Her.”

“No, please do! Please spell out in that scholar-kissed, prestigious vocabulary of yours how I’ve used you!”

Wonwoo paced over to the fireplace mantel, this light-headed, tingly sensation beginning to merge with his blood and flow to every crack and crevice of his body. He couldn’t believe this was happening, but now that you two were shredding into each other, Wonwoo saw no point in sugar coating a damn thing. If you wanted the truth, then he would give you exactly that—it mattered no less to him.

“The book. How is that not obvious? I mean, for the last few months, that’s all I’ve done. Is help you. You didn’t even care about who I was before. You just wanted someone who could make your life easier and bend to all your whims at the drop of a hat. I’m the one who has to put up with your obsessions and gripes and your crazy fucking mood swings—I mean, do you even know how draining that shit is? You don’t, because you care about you. You care about writing this masterpiece for Mingyu—who, I should mention—doesn’t give a fuck about you. But you know that, right? You’re a smart girl, aren’t you?

You know it when he treats you like a dumb object, belittles you in front of your friends, puts down and shows no support in your interests—like, really, Her? That’s who you’re in love with? That’s the man you want to spend the rest of your life with? Or do you just like him for his status? Is it because he pays for your coke and your clothes and your entire fucking life? And what about Seokmin? Your little puppy dog. Always so eager to do whatever you ask of him. He just does all the shit that’s not worth your breath. So, instead of wasting your time, you waste his instead.

Bells and Clara? Why the fuck do you even keep them around? You treat them like they're insufferable. But you know they make you look better—so much smarter, more organized, goal-driven—they’re just the two annoying drunk girls that tag along because as much as you despise them you just can’t deny how good they make you look. But that’s what you do! You use everyone around you and no one ever says a fucking thing because you’re such a tyrant!”

Wonwoo was fully cognizant of how sadistic it all was—that’s what he intended. If every word was not going to lacerate or bite or sink so painfully deep into your tissue that it felt like a bony dagger, then there was no point in saying anything at all. You were across from him, vibrating like an excited atom, your fists clenched while every possible hue of rage spilt down the length of your hollow face.

Simple enough—you’d asked him to spell it out, and that’s what he’d done. If could make it any clearer, he would. You then gulped, and there sounded a quiver to your voice that Wonwoo had never heard before. He stood tensely, awaiting your response.

“H-Hm, so… that’s what you think of me?” The end of your question sharply pitched off. “That’s your conclusion?”

“It is,” Wonwoo answered, pressing up his glasses.

Rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you nodded, meanwhile you stared down at your hands which began to slowly unfurl. Wonwoo realized that your fingers were trembling like dry, autumn leaves in a soaring wind. He’d never seen that before, ever.

“So, actually, what I think—” you coughed, placing an elbow overtop your mouth to catch the spit, “—I think that…”

For a moment, Wonwoo thought it was over. Your voice was so quiet, hushed, with hardly an ounce of tenacity or grit. But he should have known better than to suspect you of being so spineless.

“What I think, Wonwoo, is that you love to write, and read, because the only person you can communicate with is yourself. You… you are so emotionally stunted that it should be fucking studied. That was the most I’ve ever heard you speak, and you used all of it to basically call me fake, manipulative, and shallow.”

“Because you asked.”

“God. You are so empty, Wonwoo. You’re just a shell. You would rather exist inside your literary delusions than reality because there is nothing for you here. No real relationships, no real aspirations, nothing. And you know why that happened? You can’t fucking talk about anything. Instead, you just hold it all inside—you hold it and hold it until it starts seeping out and poisoning everyone around you. It’s your own fucking fault, Wonwoo. You're gonna drive everyone away. And then have the audacity to somehow point the finger, like they’re the one with the fucking problem. But it’s you.”  

He could almost hear the clatter of the metal against the hardwood as you dragged out the metaphorical dagger. There was even a physical pain throbbing at his lower back, though, Wonwoo quickly began to accept the pain was aflame everywhere on his body.

Your lips were pressed together in a strict, firm line. If you opted to speak just one word more, then maybe the dam would break, and his apartment would transform into a sodden, soaked mess.

He watched your head begin to shake, and then you were swallowing down a gigantic, stinging lump. Of course, even at your most barren, emotionally exhausted self, you would get the last word.

“So you can go fuck yourself.”

And Wonwoo was willing to let you have it.

He closed his door at the sound of your wrenched sob in the corridor. There wasn’t much else for him to do other than click the lock shut, pick up the broken pieces from his Rubik’s cube, and walk back into his bedroom. Wonwoo whipped the curtains shut, crawled underneath the cold, thin covers that he stretched over his head.

In the isolating darkness, he slept.

Alone again.

—JULY 21ST.

It was some time in the evening.

A soft, nearly unsettling quietness engulfed the train station.

There was nothing even relatively stimulating that Wonwoo could do apart from aimless surfing through his phone, sparing the occasional glance toward the directory desk with its few uniformed clerks. A navy-blue suitcase was at his side, stuffed full of folded clothes and charging cables. As organized earlier in the year, Wonwoo had spent the week at his uncle’s house—even his older brother managed to stop by for a few days to celebrate Wonwoo’s birthday.

For the most part, Wonwoo enjoyed his time there. The house was more like a cottage, situated on a fresh, small lake shaded over by the summer canopies of sycamore and evergreen trees. While he didn’t dabble in any swimming, Wonwoo had liked stretching out on the webbed hammock down by the firepit, rocking himself back and forth using a long leg that he kept strewn over the edge.

He missed that peaceful feeling engendered by the lakeside wind and the rustling leaves—how rejuvenating it all was to escape the monotonous hell that was his life back in the grey, stiff city.

Wonwoo clicked on his phone to check the time.

5:50 pm.

He would need to board his train soon.

Unfortunately, whether he liked it or not, Wonwoo had to go back and he had to pick up where he’d so painfully left off. No more pieces of refrigerated chocolate cake straight from the box or sitting outside on the maplewood patio to jingle a fake mouse at the paws of his uncle’s cat. No more packed joints beside the ebbing shoreline at midnight, or waking up to the most ethereal, golden light warming through the curtains as though the skies were made with honey.

Wonwoo sighed, plugging in the earbuds left dangling at his shirt collar. He scrolled through his music looking for a song to play.

Above all, it had nearly been a month since he last spoke to you.

Spoke wasn’t even the right word. That day, Wonwoo had set out to ruin you, because he could not bring himself to steep in all that misery and vitriol alone, bearing its weight like he was made from pressurized diamond when in truth—he was flaky and feeble.

The weeks that passed afterword were all blurred together. He talked to no one. Seldom saw anybody. Wonwoo had hardly existed.

A voicemail was still sitting in his inbox. You had sent it to him during a late night in June after the crazed party at Seungcheol’s family mansion, though Wonwoo never bothered listening to it because it was one of his biggest weaknesses—your voice—the most beautiful sound in the world as you had once phrased to him back at the café Wonwoo used to frequent. Then, he’d laughed it off, believing you were beyond full of yourself. Gradually, however, it became truth.

To hear you talk was to feel so in love that it physically ached.

“Train to Lees Station will be arriving within the next five minutes. Please make your way to platform C for boarding.”

The announcement finished with a ding.

Wonwoo got to his feet and grabbed the suitcase handle, beginning to pull it behind him while following the small, silent crowd toward the elevator. It was finally time to go home. Although home didn't seem like much to him anymore, if not just an aimless place in a bleak city that had lost all its warmth.

10:48 pm.

Wonwoo couldn’t sleep, or even take a nap.

When he would rest his head against the window, his eyes could only stay shut for no longer than a measly, frustrating minute. He’d completely exhausted his playlists. By midnight, the train would stop at his station, anyway. There was nothing left for him to listen to… except that voicemail. It was an awful fucking idea, but Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake the temptation since it first crept into his memory all those hours ago.

Wonwoo didn’t want to think about you—not until he’d stepped off that goddamn train and had fully left all remnants of his short summer vacation behind. When he was back amongst the ignorant city people, and those towering glass infrastructures, and the constant honking, beeping, and roaring of motorized vehicles, would he even probe the thought. But—then again—so much time had passed. So much time to regret, anguish, and loathe his actions.

“… So, um—I-I just want to say first and foremost how much you suck for doing this to me, actually. You… god—fuck, if I have to blow my nose one more time… you suck, Wonwoo! You just—you fucking suck so much! You and your stupid privacy! I-I’m not trying to invade your life o-or get—or pry into something I shouldn’t be—I just want an answer, I want clarity, I want you to—I want—I need you to be a fucking person and just talk to me so I don’t hate myself! Because right now I feel like this is all my fucking fault!

… And it sucks because I don’t even know who I can talk to about this. I want to talk to you. But I can’t a-and… oh my god… we were supposed to write a couple days ago. At the park. I knew you weren’t going to show up but I went there anyway. I tried so hard to put down a sentence. But I hated all of it. I looked back at everything I’d written so far and I wanted to erase every single fucking word and blame you for it… f-fuck… I’m running out of stupid fucking tissues… oh… where’s the extra box?... I’m such a wreck.

… And, um, oh my gosh. Yesterday, at the mall, I went shopping, and I saw this really cute shirt. It was so pretty. Um… dammit! Sorry, I just hit my elbow… that hurt, Jesus Christ… uh—right, so, I saw this shirt and it was so cute with little buttons on it. It was white and blue. A little bit of frills. I know you don’t like frills but I promise it was just the right amount. A-And I have the perfect skirt to go with it. So, um, I put it on, and it fit really nice. I took a picture in the fitting room and I wanted to send it to you but you’re not talking to me right now. But, uh, I did buy it.

I was wearing it today. But then, like, the worst th-thing ever happened… um, it ripped. I ripped it. I don’t even know how, I was just going through my closet and it caught on a broken hanger or something and then all I heard was a b-big rip… it’s totally ruined now. I don’t know but I burst into tears. I was crying so hard and you were the first person I wanted to call but you’re not talking to me, a-and—fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying anymore… I just—I’m mad at you, I’m so fucking mad but I still care and—please, I miss you. I really, really miss you, Wonwoo. It hurts inside.

I’m sorry this is so long… I think m’gonna stop talking because my sinuses are closing up and my throat is burning. Um, I’ll go n-now. Just—fuck you. Please text me or call be back. Please.”

The message blipped off.

For a moment, he was frozen solid, staring back at his reflection through the dark window at his shoulder. I’m so fucking mad but I still care. Then, in an instant, Wonwoo had wished he never listened to the voicemail. He tore out his earbuds and bundled them up, shoving them into his pocket alongside his phone.

He was on the precipice of a horrifying change, but he didn’t know exactly what—just that he was looking at something so smooth and grey and warmed up from the blistered sun.

He was looking at the rock.

—JULY 22ND.

By the time Wonwoo had returned to his apartment last night, he was dead tired—a zombie, practically—scuffing his feet against the wooden flooring with his suitcase rolling behind. Face-planting upon the bed that hadn’t felt the dip from his body weight in a week, he thought he would rest his drooping eyes and give himself a moment to settle. Except it wasn’t just a moment, it was hours and hours of sleep that felt like a single second. When he woke up, his arm was completely numbed from being tucked under his cheek.

It had actually scared him. Wonwoo immediately shot up, staring down at the lifeless limb which he couldn’t move an inch.

“Fuck…” he mumbled to himself hoarsely, squinting against the sunlight which blinded the bedroom. “How long was I out…”

Digging the latter hand into his pants pocket, he let the blood slowly tingle back into his other arm while checking the time on his phone. However, the device was dead. For all he knew, it was the year three-thousand and there would be flying cars and Blade Runner infomercials gleaming in the city smog. Once he was able to move his arm, Wonwoo slid off the bed and laid down his suitcase, beginning to zip open the compartment.

His charger was packed perfectly on top.

Letting his phone recharge on the bedside table, he returned to unpacking. His laptop, toothbrush, books, socks, pairs of underwear and oversized shirts—he stored everything back in its appropriate place, tossing the occasional article into his laundry hamper, until the suitcase was nearly emptied. The only item which remained inside was a small plastic bottle, translucent orange, baring a white prescription label with a few pills remaining side.

His venlafaxine.

Wonwoo had started taking the medication again, roughly a week after his fight with you. Upon completely losing his ability to sleep or eat or survive an entire day without crippling in on himself like the world was a sinkhole waiting for him to slip, Wonwoo came to the realization that—what the fuck—he didn’t have to plainly suffer, and that all the time he spent ignoring the drug because he couldn’t even value his life enough to swallow one tiny pill was a useless, cruel disregard for the body that tried so fucking hard to protect him.

Even when it didn’t feel like it.

By the time Wonwoo ate breakfast—a simple piece of toast with peanut butter—his phone was halfway charged.

1:01 pm.

He’d slept for thirteen hours straight.

“Get over it, Wonwoo. Don’t overreact... c’mon, c’mon, don’t give me that sad little face… it was funny!”

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“No.”

“Bohyuk! Stop!”

“Stop what?!”

“You’re poking me! Bastard…”

“Oh, you just said a curse word. Mom is gonna be so mad. Kids your age aren’t supposed to start swearing yet.”

“Tell her. I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“Well, what if she takes away your books? I bet you’ll get upset then, won’t you? Or those weird little playing cards you have. What if she’s so mad, she burns them! You’ll cry yourself to sleep like a little baby.”

“I said stop touching me!”

“Or what? What? Nothing to say?”

“No.”

“Figures.”

“… I told you I want to be alone.”

“I know you do. And I let you sit here sulking. But now I’m just trying to get you to talk instead of mope. When you’re in a bad mood, it puts mom in a bad mood, and then I have to suffer with both of you being all brooding and cranky. Talking is an important skill, you know? Especially when you’re all pissed off. ”

“Mom is always cranky.”

“And you double it.”

“Shut up.”

“I really don’t understand why I’m the piece of shit, here. We always play Lifeguard at the water park. Now you want to throw a tantrum because, what? It was funny!”

“You left me there, Bohyuk! Alone!”

“Okay, so what? Did you die, Wonwoo? Did you get banned from the park? Did you ruin your entire life?”

“No…”

“Exactly. It was uncomfortable, and you didn’t like the situation. I get that. But you put yourself in that position, alright? Stupid shit always happens when we play that game. You know the consequences. We’ve been over this before. Remember when you threw that life preserver on my head and almost gave me a concussion? I was pissed at you. But you’re a kid, and you weren’t really thinking, and I should’ve known. That’s why I didn’t curse you out. Let’s say we both learned a lesson from this and call it a day, huh? C'mon, the bucket is filling up. Let's catch it before we leave.”

—JULY 28th.

Wonwoo was sitting in a wicker-back chair downstairs in the pottery shop, his laptop placed on the corner of a table that had been covered with a white, plasticky sheet. The white was hardly visible through all the smears and stains attributed to month-old dried paint and clay. His landlord had asked him if he would oblige to waiting for the mugs her last class had just sculpted to finish drying in the kiln while she ran to the bank. An egg timer was placed on the desk in her office, and Wonwoo could hear it ticking away in the background.

The door to the shop had been propped open using a mandala decorated rock, and while Wonwoo browsed along an online book on his laptop, he partly listened to the miscellaneous bits and pieces of conversation pushed indoors by the midday summer wind.

Initially, he’d dreaded coming back to the city after the week-long repose at his uncle’s, but in truth, Wonwoo was adjusting better than anticipated. Maybe because he was attempting to look after himself more than usual—he was actually taking his medication and he’d weened himself from frequent, almost daily smoking to once every few days, though Wonwoo did realize his bud was getting low and the only person he knew to inquire for more was Vernon. He hadn’t seen his friend in person since the party, and their texting had admittedly dwindled ever since Wonwoo fought with you.

That was just over a month ago now.

Wonwoo had gone an entire month without texting you, talking to you, seeing you. He was doing better, feeling lighter.

But there remained one core part of him that was still very incomplete and damaged. Suddenly, Wonwoo was shivering in his seat. The warm sun was brightening up the shop and reflecting its light off the stained glass windchimes dangling from the ceiling, though he chose to blame the chill on the breeze trickling indoors.  

Deep down, however, Wonwoo knew he’d done something wrong. So, very, very wrong. He’d hurt you like a bullet through bone.

“Okay, this is it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Wonwoo glanced up from his laptop, where he’d been staring into the screen with a glazed over and distant expression. Instead, he saw a young woman, about his age, walk into the pottery shop hand-in-hand with a little girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t recognize the woman’s features—chin length, wavy hair, coarse and russet brown, tanned skin and a face polka dotted with freckles. Piece by piece, the memory rebuilt itself in his mind and he felt somewhat stupid.

“Oh—jeez, Wonwoo! What the heck—you’re like, the last person I would expect to run into here. Wow, it’s been a while!”

“Uh, yeah. Since the party, I guess.”

Sierra, the girl who’d fashioned together his drink.

“Yeah. That feels like forever ago... what’re you doing here?”

He pushed down on the laptop lid and sat up straighter in the wicker chair, accidentally looking into the eyes of the girl who was shyly clinging to Sierra’s side. She immediately glanced elsewhere.

“I live here, actually.”

“Oh! That’s cool,” Sierra smiled. “Your family owns it, or?”

“No. The lady who runs the pottery shop also has ownership of the units upstairs. She rents them out. I live up there.” He pointed his finger toward the ceiling as to emphasis his point.

“Okay, okay, that make a lot more sense. Still really cool.”

“What’re you doing here?” He asked, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh—yeah. So, this is my younger sister, Cora,” Sierra explained, grabbing onto the petite girl’s shoulder. “She was supposed to have her first class today, but she was feeling, um—well, you know how kids are. She’s just a bit shy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, of course not,” Wonwoo concurred, noting the resemblance between the two. “I was deathly shy when I was little.”

“Right? We were just gonna stop by to meet to the teacher ahead of her next class. I thought it might make everything easier.”

Wonwoo frowned. “She left, actually.”

“Shoot, really?”

“Yeah, said she had to run to the bank. I’m sitting down here because I’m waiting for the pottery to finish drying in the kiln. I would give you an ETA, but I have no idea when she’s coming back.”

Glancing down at her sister, Sierra ruffled the girl’s hair.

“That sucks, huh?”

But she said nothing, just clung tightly to the back of Sierra’s yellow shirt, deciding to nod her head in response. Sierra shrugged.

“Is she usually here around this time?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo confirmed, “you could try again tomorrow.”

“Okay, wicked. I would wait but I’ve got a list of errands for today and I’m not even halfway through. And I’m sure Cora wouldn’t want to sit around, anyway. We just got a pool put in at the house.”

“Sounds fun.”

“Do you swim?”

“No, not at all. The most I do is dip my feet in.”

“Aw, boo,” she said with dismay, shoulders sagging. “Well, it was nice running into you, Wonwoo. And—um, it might not be your thing, but I work at the Honeymoon almost every night—like, six to midnight. So, if you’re ever in Centertown, you should stop by.”

“Oh, good to know.”

“M’kay, later!”

Wonwoo waved. “Bye, guys.”

Once they left the pottery shop, Wonwoo set his elbows onto the plastic-sheeted table and leaned into his cold hands, sighing heavily as the egg timer continued ticking. Sierra was polite. She seemed warm like the sunshine and beautifully sincere. Wonwoo could read from her tender brown eyes that she desired more out of him—a friendship, a relationship, maybe something blissful, blurred, and in between. Though, it was nothing Wonwoo could give her.

He thought about the comment she made in regards to their pool—if he ever swam. Wonwoo didn’t swim, not since that horrible incident of Lifeguard all those years ago, back at the waterpark he used to attend alongside his older brother. Still, it got him thinking.

Reverting to his desktop, he looked for a folder.

writing.footage

It contained all the video clips he’d taken of you with the camcorder throughout your writing journey. He had every single one, from the grassy running ring at the high school to the footage he’d taken of the evening sky the day you two visited the beach.

His mouse hovered over a clip.

Fuck—he really shouldn’t do that. Every moment would sting like a red hot, peeling sunburn. The mouse moved away from the video clip and Wonwoo sat back in his chair, rubbing a hand against his face at the near torment. But… it had been so long. He missed you.

“Whatever…” he sighed to himself, clicking the video.

It took a moment to start up.

“Okay! So, this is Mooney’s Bay. It encompasses chapter three, and—Wonwoo, you have to film my intro! Why are you filming the sand?”

“Sorry, the lighting’s not good.”

“Oh.”

“Stand this way.”

“Those people will get in the shot.”

“Who cares? They’re far away.”

“I’ll stand in front of them… okay, are you zoomed in?”

“You told me not to zoom in.”

“No, I didn’t!”

“Remember when I zoomed in and you said I shouldn’t do that because it doesn’t capture the scenery properly?”

“Well, I said that because you were zooming in on me when you were supposed to be getting the ambiance shots! That’s why I said don’t zoom in. You can zoom in for the intro. Is the light better?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Does my hair look good? Actually, do you think it’s too windy? I’m worried about it being too windy, and then I can’t hear my introduction. I have to be able to hear my introduction. I’m really nervous. Wait—let me take off my flip flops. There’s so much sand in them and I hate it. Okay. Am I covering the people?”

“Yes.”

“Should I start now?”

“Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, this is Mooney’s Bay, and… and… wait—oh no! I forget my lines. What was I supposed to say, again?”

“I’m not sure, it’s your script. Something about chapter three.”

“Oh, I remember now! Okay, again from the top. Cut this out!”

He remembered that warm day as clear as the bay’s shiny water—specifically, the plethora of takes he had to film because you kept fudging up the script typed out on your phone. Wonwoo surfed through the rest of the clips pertaining to the beach, smiling to himself whenever you would fumble the words for the umpteenth time and groan in sheer frustration. Eventually, the backdrop turned from blue skies to an evening sunset. You two had spent hours there, and the filming had ended with tangy lemonade and watermelon.

He moved to a different assortment of clips.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, introduce the flavour. Like show and tell.”

“Oh, like a vlog?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. This is my flavour: it’s strawberry cheesecake. The red bits are the strawberries and those chunks are the cheesecake. I picked it because this is the flavour I got when I went on my first date with Mingyu. I love strawberries the most. Cheesecake is my favourite cake. Um… I don’t really know what else to say…”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Oh—from The Big Chill!”

“What would you rate it?”

“Like, seven out of ten.”

“Not perfect even though it’s your favourite things?”

“Well—because the ice cream is too hard. I like soft ice cream. If I waited like, ten minutes, then ate some, it would be higher.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“Okay! You’re not supposed to be inserting your personal comments! You’re just supposed to say prompts and stuff. Don’t make me revoke your camera privileges.”

“You know anybody else with my camera operating skills?”

“Seokmin.”

“He couldn’t film his way out of a paper bag.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t already said.”

The abrupt end to the video made Wonwoo sink down in his chair with a dumb, wide smile. You did in fact, wait the entire ten minutes for your ice cream to significantly melt in the cup, then forcing Wonwoo to watch with unfiltered judgement as you stirred it up like a smoothie. You said it helped with your sensitive teeth.

He could understand that.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to watch much more, he chose one final clip to open—the most recent one he’d taken. It was from the day you raced home in the rain after exploring the nature museum, right before Princess had swung by to pick you up. He had been fooling around with the camcorder while you two sat on the couch.

“… Um, so… do you care if I keep this shirt? It’s a good bedtime shirt, and I don’t really have any. I mean, only if you say it’s okay.”

“Uh, sure. I hardly wear it anymore, to be honest.”

“Oh. What’s it from?”

“A math competition thing. If you straighten that part out… that’s Euler’s number… this other one is your classic integral.”

“Hm, yeah. That’s such a great conversation starter. Have you guys ever heard about the integral symbol? Such a classic!”

“You jest but it got me quite a bit of recognition.”

“Like you want recognition.”

“Yeah, that’s why I stopped wearing it.”

“Ah, okay.  So if I wear it out, will I get random geeks coming up to me on the street asking about it?”

“Probably.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll keep it.”

“You want that, huh?”

“Yes, so when they come up to me, I can say I have a really smart, talented, loser friend who owns it. So I can brag about you.”

“That’s… nice, I suppose. Can you drop the loser part?”

“No. It’s to keep you humble.”

“Seriously? Life has already humbled me enough, I think.”

The clip ended, and Wonwoo was staring back at himself in the screen’s black reflection. He could recall that oddly hollow feeling which situated uncomfortably large in the pit of his stomach when he realized how much he missed you.

But how could he not yearn for you? When you were so captivating, and infinitely brilliant, and stubbornly hard-headed in a tantalizing way that made him feel completely alive and invigorated.

I fucked up—it was all he could think as he pushed his laptop away and buried his head into his arms—I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up and I pushed away the most amazing girl I’ve ever known.

Suddenly, the small egg timer that had been sitting on the landlord’s desk a room away erupted. It started rattling and clanging and while Wonwoo should have shot up from his seat to turn it off and check the sculpted mugs cooking in the kiln, he stayed in his seat.

He felt glued to it.

All he could think about was how badly he needed to talk to you, hear your voice, see your face, smell your scent. Maybe he didn’t deserve it—Wonwoo knew he didn’t—but he loved you too much.

He couldn’t let you fade into a deep, dark memory.

—JULY 30th.

Wonwoo hadn’t been to his favourite café on Sunnyside Avenue for almost two months. He was therefore quite surprised at their new interior upon giving into a last-minute whim—visiting for a quick coffee. They had finally swapped their metal chairs for more cushiony seats, and the circle tabletops for square, wooden ones. The style of chalk writing on the overhead menu boards had changed, too.

He didn’t even recognize the baristas.

Usually, Wonwoo only stopped at the café to work on his writing and indulge in a raspberry lemon scone that was supposed to be a treat for having been productive, though he always ate it before a single word would ever grace the paper. Since he began helping you with your book back in March, he frequented the café less and less. It brought a smile to his face, recalling the incident of you slapping your hand against the window and jarring him half to death.

He used to be so afraid of you. Never would he imagine the comfort you’d end up bestowing him—and the fact he’d lose it all.

“I can help whoever’s next!”

Turning his attention from the corner where his old table used to sit—now occupied by two girls sharing a latte and giggling as they perused their phones—Wonwoo approached the barista he failed to recognize, waiting to take his order. Realizing he’d lost his metaphorical loyalty badge and that he could no longer just coolly toss out, ‘the usual’, Wonwoo had to remember what it was he even liked.

“Just an iced coffee,” he said, “and, uh… do you still have those scones with the raspberry and lemon filling?”

As the barista pressed something into the tablet screen, he shook his head. “Unfortunately they’re not made here anymore.”

“Oh, damn.”

“We do have a new strawberry scone, though, for summer. It’s got a confectionary sugar drizzle. It’s pretty popular.”

“Uh, don’t worry about it, I’ll just take the coffee.”

“No problem, man. Total is three ninety-nine.”

“Card, thanks.”

It might have been stupid, but Wonwoo couldn’t think about strawberries without thinking of you, because you always smelled like a sweet, ripe, and vibrantly red strawberry—it was the scent of your skin, which he so pathetically missed feeling warm and velvet against his. He bet one-hundred percent you would have ordered that scone.

After tapping his phone against the card reader, Wonwoo stepped aside and waited for his coffee. It was a Sunday. He had work tomorrow. There wasn’t much happening in his life.

“Iced coffee, right here.”

The barista slid the cardboard cup across the counter. Wonwoo grabbed it with a polite thank you, and then settled an inspecting glance around the café for a place to sit. He shouldn’t have come in the afternoon—it was always their busiest hours apart from early morning—and it seemed the redesign had promptly boosted their relevance, because Wonwoo couldn’t remember a time when the tables had ever been so filled. He stepped further into the seating area, though, someone familiar had just caught his eye.

Princess.

She was sat at a table close to some beautifully potted ferns and palm leaves, typing on a laptop while a plate with a half-finished sandwich and a plastic cup of matcha remained by her elbow. At the exact moment that Wonwoo saw her, Princess had also looked up, and as though by magic, their gazes caught without hesitation.

At first, Wonwoo panicked. The breath dropped out of his chest and he pondered waving to her, turning tail, and fleeing. There was not a single doubt in his mind that she was aware of the fight between you and him—she was your best friend—and Wonwoo knew from the manner in which her lips apprehensively curled into a numb smile that Princess already knew everything. Still, she waved at him.

Wonwoo gulped, waving back.

Maybe it was an indescribably stupid decision, but Wonwoo opted to swallow the fear and dread and anxiety in his throat. If she didn’t want him to sit with her, then he trusted that Princess would make such a boundary extremely clear—but Wonwoo had to try. He had to make some sort of initiative, some form of amends, and above all, he wanted to know about you, even if the answer hurt terribly.

“Uh, hey… how are you?”

Princess’ tattooed hands stilled on the keyboard. She flitted her round, deep brown eyes up at him, and he felt frustrated that he could extract little to nothing from their depths. Again, she smiled.

“I’m alright. Just working on some forms for work.”

Wonwoo nodded. “Do you, uh… do you care if I sit?”

She didn’t speak, but continued to stare at him with a lip worried between her teeth, and it was then Wonwoo could realize the conflict swimming through her gaze. The panic started to build again, and the regret surged into his stomach like a tsunami.

“Really, I don’t mean to make things awkward,” Wonwoo was urged to clarify, the cold cup feeling increasingly slippery in his clammy hand, “I can go. I don’t want to cause any problems."

“No, no—” Princess shook her head, meanwhile her tone remained strained and uncertain, “—it’s okay. Uh, yeah. Sure. Take a seat. I mean, it’s plenty full in here. I’m not that busy.”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“Yeah, I’m sure. You can sit, Wonwoo.”

He exhaled softly, proceeding to pull out the chair. It felt quite nice sitting against a cushion rather than the hard metal he remembered.

Princess reached for her matcha, placing the straw between her lips and taking a long, heavy sip as though to prepare herself for the awkward nature of their incoming conversation. Wonwoo did the same. He didn’t even know where to start. Was it better to burn off his nerves through small talk or jump straight into the heat?

She moved the long braids off her shoulder, heaved in a breath.

“Well, let’s just get the bulk of this talk out of the way. I know what happened. I know you’re not friends with Her anymore. I know the way it ended was super ugly. I know that she spent, like, three days at my apartment, miserable, in tears over you, Wonwoo. So, I do feel a certain way toward you. I hope you can understand that.” She closed the lid of her laptop and sighed. “But, we’re adults. And I guess I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious about… some things.”

“No, I—I get that.”

Already, he wanted to throw up. Despite all his repressing, he could still hear that choked, vulnerable, completely broken sob you croaked out the day you left his apartment—how mercilessly it had haunted him for the entire week—made him believe he was a monster, a masochist, the lowest form of human being. Wonwoo felt there was no excusing it. He would always hate himself for it.

“What are you curious about?” Wonwoo asked quietly.

Princess glanced down for a second, staring at the smooth, black surface of her laptop. She then clicked her nails together.

“I-I just… how could it… how could it go so wrong?” The girl wondered aloud, leaning back into her chair, seeming despaired at the aftermath. “From the second I saw her get defensive of you at Spring Street, I knew how much she cared. I knew that you meant something to her and for whatever reason, she wasn’t going to let anyone screw it up. And she became so much lighter. Everything wasn’t an attack. Everything she did wasn’t so agonizing anymore.”

Wonwoo’s knee wouldn’t stop bouncing underneath the table, the nervous energy accumulating rather than draining away. He wished he had the perfect answer, but he couldn’t yet find one.

Her head tilted, shoulders shrugging. “I don’t know… I thought you could be so good for Her. She doesn’t have anyone in her life that’s like you. But—I mean—fuck, we’re here, now, aren’t we?”

“Mmhm,” Wonwoo mumbled, staring straight into the girl’s shiny, unwavering eyes that held so much sentiments of angst and betrayal, like she herself was carrying your rage. “Princess… I… I want, so fucking bad, to give you a good answer for why everything blew up. I do. But—just—every time I try to look inward, every time I try to understand it at its core, I feel like it’s all shrouded. I know I fucked up. I know it. She made—makes—me happy, too. But I’m not there yet.”

“You’re not where?” She asked, pressing forward. “At a place where you can understand what you did? Why you did it?”

Fiddling with his cup atop its cork coaster, Wonwoo nodded.

He then chewed into his bottom lip, feeling the skin break.

“Can I ask… what did you think of me? When she told you what happened? If you have to be brutally uncouth, I don’t care.”

Princess abruptly laughed at the request, head tumbling forward into her gold-ringed hands. He wasn’t sure if she would oblige, as the laugh sounded nervous yet tinged with disbelief, which led Wonwoo to believe she had thought some very unpleasant things.

“Um… let’s see...” she chuckled hesitantly, smoothing antsy hands along her dark skin, “I was definitely gagged, let’s start there.”

He furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just—I didn’t believe that you would be capable of being such a fucking asshole. I mean—” she collapsed back into the chair, throwing up her arms, “—can you blame me? You’re quiet, well-mannered, intelligent. Everyone loved you at the party. I think the fact you could turn around and be so… s-so cruel, so hostile, like you were—I don’t know—trying to gut her, just seemed impossible. But Her doesn’t lie. She has no reason to make it up. I wasn’t able to think much at all because I went comfort mode. I just wanted to focus on getting her mind off you.”

“And… afterward?”

“Well, I wanted to destroy you, obviously.”

“… Fair.”

“So, can I ask you something?”

Instantly, his stomach dropped to his feet, and Wonwoo was certain his face had paled like a washed-out t-shirt. Princess’ gaze settled upon him with intense focus. Wonwoo scratched at his thumb.

“Okay.”

“… Do you love her?”

He didn’t answer. Even if he wanted to, the words erased from his mind in a mere snap of one’s fingers. Instead, Wonwoo stared at the girl while she politely waited for a sign, knowing his very loud, lacking response was an answer enough in itself if his eyes weren’t already panicked and practically writing the narrative for him. To admit his true heart to another person was the most horrifying predicament Wonwoo could articulate. He was far from capable.

Princess raised her brow. “I’ll take that as a—”

“You can’t tell Her. Please, please, please, whatever you do, whatever you think of me—just, please don’t tell Her,” Wonwoo blurted, the perspiration drenching the palms that sunk into his knees. “I-I don’t know what I’ll do if she finds out. Really, I—”

“Wonwoo.” Princess reached under the table, and he felt her cool, soft hand settle overtop his. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, okay? Just breathe. You look like you’re going to have—"

“Don’t say it,” he exhaled shakily, “I-I know…”

He proceeded to close his eyes, draw in a long, deep, thorough breath, while his knee continued jittering and his chest felt so tight and twisted with fear. He closed his eyes and recalled the washroom belonging to his aunt’s house in rural Changwon, with the bright blue shower curtain and its pattern of yellow rubber ducks. 

Wonwoo counted all the rubber ducks on that childhood curtain, the number having been scorched into his mind like a scar, until he felt the world fall back into tune. The steadiness of Princess’ hand over top his was a gentle reminder that he was indeed alive and not a puddle of mistakes melted to the café floor. Pushing up the glasses that had slipped down his nose, he reopened his eyes to see the girl’s the sympathetic, earnest face. Wonwoo cleared his throat.

“Um, yeah—I’m okay… just—uh, th-thank you.”

She pulled her hand away, smiling, “no problem.”

The two proceeded to sit in silence as Wonwoo further collected his bearings. He glanced around the café, recognizing no one else amongst the crowd, and spotting more and more modifications that had appeared since his last visit—the light fixtures overhead were different, the decorative wall art had been replaced, and the baristas were all wearing hats with a new, improved logo. So much had developed in his absence. So much had to change.

He looked at his iced coffee, which he took a sip from, and realized that he didn’t prefer the taste quite like he used to.

Wonwoo sighed, pushing the drink away from him.

“Princess?”

“Yeah?”

“I know I don’t deserve this. I know that me even asking this might seem so unprecedentedly stupid. Her probably doesn’t want you talking to me, which I get, and I know you feel conflicted about me being here… but… fuck… Princess, I have to know something about Her. Anything. I don’t care if it’s the smallest, most insignificant detail you could think of. Just one thing… that’s all.”

The delivery was undoubtedly begging, perhaps pathetic, but he could not find it within himself to care. He missed you too fucking much, to the point it was becoming insufferable, unliveable.

Folding one leg over the other, Princess leaned back and grabbed onto her matcha, spinning it slightly. She was no longer meeting his eyeline, and that drowned his hopes in a watery grave.

He settled his elbows onto the table, his finger gripping at the air with every pleading word that he could somehow conjure.

“I know you don’t want to; I-I know it. I know she fucking hates me, detests me, wishes we never met. But this is the most regretful I’ve ever been, a-about anything in my life. And—I know that I’m pushing you—I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry—if I can just know one thing, I’ll leave you alone. I-I mean, is she… did she get a new shirt, after that one ripped, on the hanger? Does she still go to the SSA meetings? Or—I don’t fucking know—is she writing? Is she doing something new? Have you seen her smile at all? Or heard her laugh? Genuinely laugh. The one where she can’t even breathe and she grips onto you and buries her head into your neck? Is she still just as quippy? Constantly rambling over herself? I miss that so much… I miss all of it… everything about her… there’s nothing I don’t miss.”

Princess was biting her lip, refusing to say a word.

Wonwoo hadn’t intended to barrage her. Nonetheless, he couldn’t leave the café without wholeheartedly trying.

“Fuck…” he exhaled, placing his forehead against the black wood of the table, breathing back the bitterness, the frustration, the tears. Princess was a boulder, it seemed. He’d lost, picking his head back up after a moment of composure, and pushed out his chair.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her gaze heavy with sadness.

He nodded. “I just—I… yeah.”

“Okay… later.”

“Bye, Princess,” he answered, his throat irritably tight.

“… Well—o-okay, actually…”

As her voice picked up amongst the cluttering dishes and drawls of conversation, Wonwoo turned around to see the girl’s remorseful expression and the hands shoved tightly under her arms. Princess paused, staring at the coffee mug he’d abandoned at the table.

“… She needs you.”

Wonwoo stiffened, then nearly scoffed in disagreement.

“She hates me. What do you mean?”

But Princess shook her head, making a twisting motion at her lips like she was fastening the lock to a chest. It was her one thing.

And Wonwoo had no idea what to make of it.

It had been far too long since Wonwoo last texted, spoke to, or saw Vernon. When he left for an entire week to stay at his uncle’s cottage in the midst of July,  he hadn’t even shot the boy a message that he was leaving. As cold or uncompassionate as it may have sounded, Wonwoo never really considered Vernon to be that important or necessary to his life until he sat back and thought about their relationship: a studious loner with an unperturbed drug dealer who somehow formed a bond that hadn’t predictably eroded.

Sure, it helped that Vernon became his plug and there was technically a reason for their symbiosis, but what Wonwoo hadn’t taken note of was their closeness over the months.

Perhaps it was guilt, or the sting of losing you and having experienced Princess treat him like an ugly secret, or the simplistic, innate need for human contact, that Wonwoo finally decided to reach out and invite the boy over for a smoke. Vernon agreed, though it wasn’t until the near cusp of midnight that he stopped by. Together they sat on the complex rooftop, two perfectly packed blunts between them, lit by their sparking lighters. The conversation drifted from topic to topic like a passive leaf being tugged through a breeze.

Wonwoo was able to realize how desperately he needed a moment like that—no guards, no anxiety, no hyper-analyzing every little goddamn comment or action—just friendship.

And Vernon made it easy.

“Not to mention the fact that Seokmin—he fuckin’ sucks at mini-puttin’ by the way. Jesus Christ, man. There was a twelve-year-old girl a hole behind us who was makin’ shots like Tiger Woods, and then here we are, waitin’ for Seokmin to make a shot that is damn near impossible to—like, okay—tell me why he’s got one leg on the fuckin’ rock and the other stretched halfway across the laneway like he's droppin’ into the splits? Why does it need t’be that hard!”

Shaking his head, Wonwoo half-laughed, half-coughed into his elbow, the smoke instantly rushing back out his mouth.

“Holy fuck. I wish I’d seen that in person.”

“No,” Vernon deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves, “you don’t. At that point, just pick up the ball and move it into the hole, man. That twelve-year-old’s got places to be and we’re over here climbin’ on rocks and crawlin’ under bridges like it’s a fuckin’ jungle gym.”

“I’m surprised they even let you in.”

“Oh—me too,” he chuckled. “Fuck someone once in the storage closet at glow-in-the-dark mini-put and suddenly you’re ‘a detriment to the company.’ Like, get the fuck outta my face.”

“You live, you learn.”

“Well, she’s still there. Somehow.”

“Ruby?”

“Yeah—just sold her like two-hundred bucks of ecstasy.”

Wonwoo threw his head back and cackled.

“You still talk to her?!”

“No, no—Ruby’s chill! Always came to work stoned half the time, though. Dude, no. It was the other girl that fuckin’ ratted on us.”

“Damn… so, is Ruby the one?” Wonwoo teased.

As Vernon removed the joint from his lips, a swift trail of smoke ejected into the nighttime air. He huffed in disagreement.

“Nah. She’s a good friend you can screw on the low. Know you guys won’t catch feelings. Makes it easy. That’s what I’m about.”

“Yeah. Simple enough.”

Scraping his thumb against the rough spark wheel of his favourite Bic, Wonwoo lit the small, dancing flame, bringing it close to his blunt and crisping the paper more heavily. He proceeded to draw in a long, smooth breath. The atmosphere was almost silent if not for the distant murmur of midnight traffic. Wonwoo watched the abundant smoke as it slowly streamed out his nose. It eventually dissipated against the blackness, existing just long enough for Wonwoo to appreciate that weightless sensation it gave him.

Vernon swept a hand through his hair, smiled at Wonwoo.

“Okay, so, feel free to tell me to fuck off—” the boy began with notable caution, taking a quick hit before removing the blunt from his lips “—but, uh, what exactly… did happen… between you and Her?”

For a moment, the vigilantly placed question hovered in the cool summer air as Wonwoo breathed out another cloud. However, he didn’t let the smoke disappear on its own, rather he blew into it harshly and forced the flurry to melt. One way or another, he knew this topic would surface. And Vernon was right—he completely had the right to tell his friend to fuck off—because no matter how much time had passed since, Wonwoo still felt the wound with all the freshness and intensity of that night. He remained stiff, thinking.

Sensing the reluctancy, Vernon abandoned his request.

“Y’know, it doesn’t matter. We’re havin’ fun, anyway.”

Wonwoo was going to agree—yeah, let’s skip it—but at the last second, he burned the reliable safety of his choice. The thing was, he hadn’t really discussed the fight with anybody. Sitting down and talking to Princess didn’t bestow the alleviation or closure that Wonwoo thought it would, especially considering her loyalty to you and the fact she hadn’t desired that conversation more than she desired a hole in the head. He was able to relieve some tension upon visiting his uncle’s, but, ultimately, Wonwoo was doing the exact thing you had accused him of—letting things sit and fester.

Shutting everyone out.

Poisoning himself, and those around him.

After tugging at the edge of his thick beanie, Wonwoo rubbed a knuckle against his forehead and decided to bite the bullet.

“Uh, no—all good. You’re curious, I get it.”

Vernon’s eyes widened underneath the moonlight and the warm, glowing radiance that crept over the building precipice. He nearly choked on the smoke.

“Wait—dude. Really?”

“Yeah.” Wonwoo angled his face toward him, nodding.

“Okay, uh… wow. Wasn’t expectin’ to get this far.”

“Need a moment to catch your breath, yeah?”

“Psh—shut the fuck up, Glasses… actually—no, yeah. Let me take a hit first. I feel like this is gonna be a deep-dish pizza, y’know?”

“Somewhat, I suppose,” Wonwoo agreed.

He copied his friend, crisping the blunt one last time before pressing his lips around the paper and drawing in a big breath.

Right before the prickling could desiccate his throat, Wonwoo exhaled everything into the abrupt breeze—not just the smoke, but his fears, his worries—whatever might stunt or thwart him from understanding that it wasn’t so terrifying to be candour.

Vernon shook out his shoulders.

“Okay, player. You’ve got my attention.”

Wonwoo swallowed.

How the fuck does one go about saying this?

“So, uh…”

Where does he even start?

“I guess the important part is…”

What’s going to happen if he chokes on all his words?

“Okay, so, we basically… um…”

Wonwoo, you have spent practically your entire life writing and crafting sentences and the most adolescent, tormented prose imaginable—how is it that you cannot configure one thought?

“I’m… I’m kind of in love with her.”

He thought about glancing at Vernon to gauge his reaction, especially when his friend didn’t offer one word in response, not even a pointed hmph, or a sniffle, or something satirical to suggest that all his teasing had some actual truth and substance.

But Wonwoo didn’t look.

Vernon was giving him the floor to keep going.

“And… that night, at the party, we had this really sincere moment… I mean, maybe it wasn’t that sincere—she’d just done a line of coke and had been sipping alcohol and smoking all night. But that’s how it felt when it was happening. After the bullshit with Bells, I took her to a spare bedroom to calm down. She asked me to lay with her.”

Wonwoo paused to collect his breathing. Even just the memory of your body pressed against his was enough to rake up those buried emotions from his insides like old, autumn leaves. The memories of your heat, and the giggling into his neck, and the way your fingers would occasionally trace shapes on his chest as you listened to him talk—nothing had ever felt so cosmically right.

“Um… yeah. I don’t know why I agreed. I didn’t care about if it was wrong or right. If Mingyu came barging in, or someone else, or—fuck, if the goddamn roof caved in—I didn’t care. I just wanted to be with her so fucking bad. We didn’t kiss or anything. We just laid there together, like, intertwined, you know? I told her some stuff. We were just talking… I think, in my mind, I just wanted to have this moment where I was something to her, more than a friend. And I just—I put this stupid fucking notion in my head that it was true.”

Eyes squeezed shut, blunt poised between his fingers, Wonwoo rode the high of another hit, ignoring the deep, sensitive pain cutting his bone marrow. He kept excavating despite the hurt.

“But—I-I mean, a girl like that?” He laughed, head bending down between his propped knees. “A girl like that, you know? She is so—sh-she’s—I shouldn’t want her at all. I should want nothing to do with her. But—I don’t know—she has drive, and things she’s passionate about, and she can be so unrelenting and fucking bossy, but then so soft, and calm, and I just get drawn into her like a moth to a flame. I think everything’s okay, you know? I don’t get that… that dread—that feeling like I’m constantly failing, and useless, and like everything is out to get me.”

Wonwoo hadn’t glanced at Vernon once. He didn’t want to.

That way, it felt like he was alone, talking to himself, maybe talking to the moon. It erased the veil of pressure and eased his typically constrained, rigid muscles. Feeling his glasses begin to slip, Wonwoo lifted his head, pushing the circled frames back up his nose.

“I don’t know why it’s like that. I don’t know why it’s her, specifically. Sometimes I wish it wasn’t. She has Mingyu to love. And it just—it fucking frustrates me so much—" Wonwoo breathed out the irritation, licking his lips, “—because we’re having this sweet moment, and it’s so perfect, and right. But then all of a sudden, he’s just—he—she's letting him fuck her. Like that moment we had was nothing, like I didn’t just be the most open I’ve ever been with her. And—I know, I know—she’s high as fuck and not thinking straight. So, what do I chalk us up to, then? A bad trip? A blur in time? A moment you live once and then just forget? What the fuck do I make of that?”

Something crackled inside him, akin to match being lit, palpable enough that it motivated the boy to his feet because this cramped, knees-to-chest position wouldn’t suffice in channeling the energy he felt. Wonwoo moved the blunt to his lips, attempting to speak while it hung at the corner of his mouth, though he only left it there for a few seconds in his urgence for another hit. He started pacing.

“That was such a dogshit moment, you know? Going down there, wanting it to be a lie, almost believing it, but then—I hear it. I-I hear the way she’s getting fucked and I hear her moans and her whimpers and I hear the way he’s using her.” Wonwoo kicked a stone off the edge of the building, one hand shoved into his sweats pocket while the other fed him a brief inhalation from the blunt. “I’ve never felt that before. Awful. Like, indescribable devastation. I ran to the washroom to throw up because my body just couldn’t handle it. It felt like such a kick in the fucking teeth. And I was mad at her—like, fuck you for throwing back all that trust into my face, you know?”

He shook his head, then balancing at the rim of the complex like a fall from that height wouldn’t leave him broken.

“I was so fucking pissed at her…” Wonwoo muttered, staring down at the shadowed streets, “every time I thought about it, I just felt sick… but, obviously, we have to hash it out. That’s why she jumped you, or whatever—I wasn’t texting her back because I knew nothing good would come from it. Like I said, though… she’s unrelenting. Shows up at my door, banging on it like there’s a murderer outside. I was in a terrible headspace. I… I kind of…”

The words jammed on his tongue.

Wonwoo had to walk away from the ledge as a foggy sensation muddled his senses. Hands, beginning to tremble, pulled in torment down the back of his black beanie, the blunt caught between his fingers as he remembered the inexcusable maliciousness to his ranting. It echoed through his head like a gong.

He squatted down, rubbing at his wrinkled, aching brow.

“I… I basically—j-just—I tore her to fucking shreds.”

There was so much emotion clogging his throat. Every word was a struggle to enunciate, and each one burned and stung more tangibly than the last, as though he’d swallowed knives.

“It didn’t even feel good, you know? It wasn’t cathartic, or victorious. I felt like… do I even deserve anything? She went into the hall and… that sob. Oh my god… bawling her eyes out because of my stupidity. Because of my inability to be a fucking person as she mentioned.”

Wonwoo stared at the grit covering the roof.

He reached out his hand, letting the small bits of rubble stick to his fingertips, thinking, about everything, how he destroyed it. You were just a panicked river, trying to heal and soothe, but the message was lost under the current. Wonwoo had been a scalding fire, one that charred everything the instant it touched his vengeful heat.

There were only ashes. He didn’t know how to rebuild a relationship from something so fragile and ruined at his beckon.

The frustration was boiling in Wonwoo’s gut. All his shortcomings, the ignorance to the flaws he buried, how he treated you—it was all bubbling together like some sort of poisonous, infectious brew and if he didn’t somehow release pressure then he would crack like ceramics. Wonwoo maneuvered the thick blunt from his fingers into his palm where he crushed it, hard.

“Uh, Wonwoo? It’s… it’s okay, man. You—”

“Fuck!”

The tattered piece of crisped tobacco paper and grinded weed flew into the air, the breeze pulling the remnants somewhere unimportant. Vernon immediately smothered his words. He could only stare, frozen, as Wonwoo tore off his glasses, rubbing a sweater sleeve against the beginning pricks of tears that bulbed up from his eyes. He sucked in a long, shuddering, ragged breath.

“I fucking hate this, Vernon. I-I’m everything she said I was. I do it to myself. I always do it to myself. I want to change so badly but it never feels like it’s happening fast enough, a-an-and—and—and—”

“Glasses, relax, okay?”

Vernon was on his feet in an instant, quickly brushing his hands off against the fabric of his jeans, the blunt now tucked behind his ear. Wonwoo continued rubbing into his eyes. His friend’s face appearing before him was nothing but watery smudging, almost like a ruined oil painting. Wonwoo hiccupped.

“No—Vernon—y-you don’t understand, you—I-I fucked up, alright? I fucked up so bad! I—” he could hardly breathe, his glasses dropped somewhere on the roof, “—I just wrecked everything and—”

“Wonwoo! Jeon Wonwoo!” Vernon gripped his shoulders and shook them sternly. “Shut up! You’re takin’ all the fuckin’ air!”

The abruptness snapped a wire in Wonwoo’s brain. It was so unexpected that he almost wasn’t sure if it happened. However, his torrent of seemingly endless anxious thought began to falter, with a very slow but gradual concentration toward the softness rosying his friend’s blurred face. Vernon rubbed against Wonwoo’s trembling arm, and with a gentle tug, urged him to sit down.

“C’mon, get on your ass… there ‘ya go. Awesome. Now… where’s your—oh, shit—they’re right here. Lucky you, huh?”

Vernon crouched down in front of him.

As Wonwoo busied himself with carving those scratches against his thumb, Vernon extended a hand to his friend’s cheek.

“Let me rid get of these tears… so you… can actually… see…”

With a grunt, Vernon fell back onto his butt.

“Let’s put these on, yeah? Are you okay with that?”

Vernon seemed to accept the quietness as him not quite being ready, and so the boy settled for resting a tattooed hand on Wonwoo’s knee, familiarizing him with a grounding touch. In due time, Wonwoo was relaxed enough to properly swallow.

Vernon smiled at him.

“So, does Glasses need his glasses now?”

Wonwoo sniffled, imitating a rumbling sound to clear his brittle throat, meanwhile there was a breeze ghosting along his exposed nape. It was just as comforting as Vernon’s touch.

“Y-Yes… thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I’m just glad they didn’t get crushed.”

When his friend’s calm face clarified in the silver moonlight, with his unjudgmental eyes, and his compassionate smile, Wonwoo began to realize that… perhaps, being trusting and vulnerable and honest was not the worst thing in the world. There was merit and relief. There was a friend waiting on the other side with an open hand.

“Vernon… I, um… I’m—”

“Listen, Glasses. If you’re gonna apologize to me, then shove it right back up your ass. Seriously. There’s no need.”

“Well, I mean…” Wonwoo wiped his runny nose, “I kind of unloaded on you, and, I didn’t intend for that. I really didn’t.”

“I asked you a loaded question in the first place, didn’t I? I ordered a deep-dish pizza and that’s what I fuckin’ got.”

“Well… I-I… I’m glad you can look at it that way.”

“God, Wonwoo. You’re actin’ like this was a total blindside. I know you, y’know? Maybe not to a tee, but I know you.” Vernon kept his hand against Wonwoo’s knee, dusting some grit from it. “And I know you’re gonna feel regretful about all this, but you shouldn’t, alright? ‘Cause, look—you did somethin’ that most people—they go their entire lives without doin’. You dug deep and acknowledged your flaws. And not just the pansy shit, like—oh, I’m bad at time management, I forget to put the dishes away, I don’t fill up the ice cube tray, I never reply to texts—I mean the real stuff.

The really dark, uncomfortable stuff that we know is there but it’s so much easier to ignore. The stuff that gets in the way of our happiness, or success, or connections—bein’ the sin-sincerest versions of ourselves—it’s so much easier to pack all that bad stuff down. It’s there but at least it’s not out here. But then, like, maybe one day it is out here. And it’s hurtin’ everything around you. And some people will still let it slide because there’s always somethin’ else to blame. What is that bullshit—acceptance is always the hardest part? I don’t fuckin’ know. Anyway, you should give yourself some credit, Glasses. Seriously. I’m proud.”

“Proud?” Wonwoo chuckled weakly, returning the warmth of his friend’s honeyed eyes. “That's such a mom thing to say.”

Vernon’s hand shifted to whacking Wonwoo’s arm. “Don't get smart.”

“No, uh—I’m joking. Thank you, Vernon… really.”

“Hey, I know I’m your drug dealer, but I consider us friends, y’know? And not every friend’s gotta be your support beam. But I think you’re someone worth supportin’… hey—that sounded pretty smart and eloquent, right? I’m basically you, now.”

Wonwoo smiled. “You're missing the glasses.”

“I’ll just take yours,” Vernon chided, giving his friend’s chest a light push, “what’re you gonna do, anyway? Four-eyes.”

“I think if you wore these for more than five minutes… you’d get a migraine,” Wonwoo supposed, watching Vernon nod his head.

“Damn. You’re probably right. Not worth it.”

“Mmhm…”

“… But, um… y’know what I do think is worth it?”

Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

Vernon paused, as though to contemplate his response, but when the words left his mouth, there was pure firmness behind them.

“Man, you need to talk to Her.”

Pressing his lips together, Wonwoo stared off into the corner.

Vernon nudged his arm, attempting to engage him.

“I’m serious! You know she’s perfect for you, right? A bossy girl who’s about her shit but can soften up for you is exactly what you need. Girls like that—they care so fuckin’ much, y’know? And she’s majorly into you. I saw how she hugged you at the party. How she got all smiley and sweet. I mean, she was gonna punch Bells in the fuckin’ face to stop her from makin’ a move on you. She’s got a man, I know. And I’m not sayin’ be a fuckin’ homewrecker. But, like, I don’t know… Mingyu’s all image and no substance. A fuckin’ airhead.”

Wonwoo massaged along his forehead, chuckling.

“I thought you liked him.”

“Yeah, well, I liked him a lot more when he was handin’ me two-hundred ‘a Seungcheol’s bands. I know he just invited me to that party ‘cause I can get him n’ his rich friends high. I’m not stupid. Keep your enemies close, and your friends—wait, fuck—keep your—”

“Friends close and enemies closer?”

Vernon grinned, wide and gummy. “Bingo.”

“Good advice.”

“You’re insane if you don’t do it.”

“If I don’t talk to Her?”

“Yes! Don’t let her go! Are you crazy, Glasses?!”

“What am I supposed to say? I-I was such a cunt.”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man—offer to lick hers. Bet she’ll forgive you right there on the spot. Damn. That’s how I’d do it.”

“No, you wouldn’t. Idiot.”

“Eh, whatever. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

Wonwoo exhaled a large, solacing breath, glancing toward the moonlight that beautifully shimmered down in its pearlescent webs, bathing the rooftop akin to the blue mirages at the nature museum.

Vernon was right.

He couldn’t let this be the end of your story.

—END OF PART FOUR.

[dearsnow]

WE’RE BORN AT NIGHT

- in which you hold johnny cade like water, or, christ, you hold him like a knife (you’re worried that your touch brings up unpleasant memories for your boyfriend, but he feels differently. johnny cade x gn!reader, angst -> fluff but still bittersweet bc there’s nothing you can really do but hold him, yes this is based off of who we are by hozier because i am a heathen for the irish man).

word count: 1,022

a/n - my first johnny piece and the first piece that i’ve done in actual months 🥹 this is likely not my comeback though and i’m sorry for that 😭 i will always write and i will probably post most of it, but life has been rocky for me lately and my available free time reflects that. in any case, i hope you enjoy my short return (there will inevitably be more as i work things out), and plsss talk to me about the outsiders and literally anything else because i will most definitely love to hear it.

It’s not often that Johnny Cade comes knocking at your door, despite the fact that he’s been your boyfriend for three months now. He never wants to put you out, he says, but when he shows up with a black eye and hand-shaped bruises on his arm, you usher him inside as quickly as you can.

“What happened?” You murmur, eyes scanning over his injuries.

“Just my old man again.” He hesitates. There’s a sharp edge to his words, like they cut his mouth just to say. “Look, I shouldn’t have come.”

You cut him off, tone brimming with concern. If he doesn’t feel safe with you, with staying at your house when his is dangerous, then you need to try harder to keep his quiet heart intact. “You can always come.”

“I know. I mean, the gang’s all out at a party ‘n I guess I just didn’t know where else to go.” He shifts his stance uncomfortably as you hand him two bags of frozen vegetables. “As much as you say you want me here, I know there are some places where I ain’t welcome.”

You would kill his parents if you could. Fuck, you would send them straight to Hell without a second thought. Anyone that truly knew what was going on in that house would. All you can do, though, is take care of him as well as you’re able to.

“I promise, you’re welcome. More than anyone or anything else. I need you here, when things are rough and when they aren’t. Tell me you’ll come when you can.” You speak.

He looks so beautiful in this light, despite everything. You love him so badly that your heart aches from just the movements of his sad brown eyes. “I will.”

“Good.” You smooth down the collar of his jacket, making careful, delicate movements. You fear that if you go a hair too close, he will shatter like the glass bottles thrown at him. “Let’s go to my room, okay? My parents won’t be home until later. We can get you some rest.”

There’s a small part of Johnny that detests himself for holding you back. You could be doing greater things than pressing a wet rag to his forehead, and yet, you stay. You always stay. No matter how horrible the situation, you stay with a pinky linked around his and a warmth so hopeful he thinks he might implode every time he feels it.

You pull your thick blankets over him, uncaring of his grease and the slightly grungy clothes rubbing against your bedsheets. If he needs you, and god, does he look it, you will always be there.

You’re facing him in bed, hands outstretched to card through his hair, but they don’t make contact. His eyes are lightly closed. You wish you could just touch him, hold his hands between your fingers and warm your feet against his calves. There’s some sort of unbreakable barrier between you when you feel that your every movement could send him spiraling into memories of an unkind fist. And yet, an unconscious twitch sends your leg just a centimeter forward to touch his. If you think real, real hard about it, you might have felt him jolt.

“I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable, Johnny.” You whisper, shifting your legs so they’re no longer against him. “I’m real sorry. I know sometimes you don’t like that kind of stuff.”

“No.” He starts, opening his eyes. The rasp in his voice makes your heart sting like a bee’s last breath. “I like it, I mean, I think I do.” His gaze turns towards yours again, brimming with a kind of beautiful emotion, and his fingers move towards your sleeve. “It kinda… it tells me a bit that fingers ain’t always gonna ball up in fists and a palm against my cheek don’t have to hurt.” He breathes. You stare at him. He likes it? Lord, he likes it, and you like it, and you will die if you cannot swathe your entire body around him like you’re trying to keep him together. “‘S like you hold me like water, or, I dunno, a knife. Real gentle and secure n’ such.”

You travel the distance between you, tenderly wrapping your arms around his midsection. He pulls you closer, and suddenly, you feel complete.

If he was being honest, Johnny thinks you saved him. His whole life, he chased and chased the peace that evaded him every second of every day. Like a dog, kicked and dark-eyed, he put his nose to the ground and simply smelled the greater things on the horizon. They were out of reach to him, the silence just barely kissing the tip of his head before dancing so far away he couldn’t reach it if he sprinted. But you, God, you gave him everything he could ever want.

When merciful you came waltzing into his life, he thought nothing could ever be quite so horrible again. You have a forgiving hand and a quiet smile, laced with words that tickle his cheeks rather than grinding him into the earth. When he can reach out to you, gripping your warm arm like a lifeline, everything makes sense. He wouldn’t give that up for the world. He drinks in the affection you give him like sand in a bone-dry desert, and the thought that you could ever be worried about how much you love sets his heart ablaze.

“I’m glad.” You whisper. He can feel your breath against his shirt, and it makes him shiver in a pleasant way. “I love you.“

His breath hitches, heart picking up its pace, as he gently buries his warming face into the top of your head. “I love you too. And… and if you’re here, I want to be here forever.”

He squeezes you just a little bit, just enough to let you know that he never wants to let you go.

“Then I’m never leaving.” You smile. He smiles back, and for the first time that night, he thinks that he might be able to do more than just survive.

[yourgentlegirlfriend]

PLEASE can you imagine Leon having a younger girlfriend (like 24ish) who can sleep everywhere. Imagine him coming home and freaking out because he can’t find her while she is literally sleeping in the bathtub.

HELP OKAY WAIT

gender neutral reader x older grumpy leon

no smut just somewhat domestic Leon

older leon has a stay at home artistic partner it’s canon it is.

I LOVE DOMESTIC LEONNNNN

Everytime he comes home you’re by the door. Waiting for him with that wide smile on your pretty face. It always calms him even after the most stressful day in the office. The sound of the door unlocking echos the apartment and when he swings open the door it’s pitch black almost, the hallway dimly lit by a burnt out candle that is going to die out in minutes. Leon’s eyebrows raise in confusion as he turns his body looking to see if maybe you fell asleep in the living room.

He even peaks into your office, his hand reaching for the light switch just to see it extremely messy, paint all over the paper bags on the ground and your canvas still drying. The sounds of his steps echoed through the hallway as he stepped on the hardwood floor before he pushed open the bedroom door, expecting you to either be awake reading a book or asleep on your shared bed. To his surprise the bed is perfectly made, the pillows still intact. He reached for his phone in his back pocket, scrolling for your contact then pressing the phone to his ear. His whole body turns as he hears the noise of your ringer going off in the bathroom, his eyes glancing over to see the bathroom door shut but the light on.

His hand pulls down at the door knob, opening it slowly in case you were changing or something, his eyes looking in the mirror hoping to see your reflection but- nothing. He swung open the door in a now panicked state because he couldn’t find you anywhere at all but his eyes look down, a loud sigh leaving his lips as you lay in a tub of dying bubbles and cold water

“What?”

He mumbled rubbing his temple before he leaned down, forcing you to wrap your arms around his neck as he scooped your legs up, groaning as he lifted you into his arms. And of course it didn’t phase you, your head leaning back, mouth wide open.

“To old for this..”

He grumbles moodily as he walks towards the bed, sitting you up, your hands reaching for your eyes as you rub them.

“Le?”

You mumble the nickname he loves so much as he nods his head, walking back to you with some underwear and one of shirts.

“Hey sleepy head, arms up.”

You yawn, confused as you put your arms up, Leon tugging his shirt onto you. You looked so cute, half asleep looking around all lost.

“Cmon’ stand up for me.”

Leon speaks as he helps you stand, lifting your legs one by one before tugging the underwear up your legs.

“Shit.. so sorry baby, was gonna make you dinner after my bath..”

You frown up at him, eyes hazy. Leon shakes his head as he allows you to sit back down. His lips press against the top of your head as he pulls back the comforter, watching you crawl into the bed. He steps out of his shoes, still in his work clothes but he doesn’t care. He crawls into the bed lying next to you, nuzzling his face in your hair, smiling at the slight wetness of it.

“Make me breakfast when we wake up to make it up to me.”

[justastraymoa]

Unwilling Alpha

Chapter 12

Warnings ⚠️ swears, abo dynamics, mentions of slave trade, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, fear, manipulation.

Nothing within reflects anyone or anything irl. Pics off pinterest.

~

■□■□■□■□■□■□

I couldn’t have been out longer than a few seconds because none of the Omegas were in the room, and the crash surely alerted them. The broken pieces of my fan poked into my back and sides but didn’t break skin. I was lucky. I’ll probably have some impressive bruises on my upper back and already have a decent goose egg on the back of my head, but no serious injuries. No bleeding or broken bones.

The Omegas never came to investigate. The crash must not have been loud enough to cause alarm. That’s good. They didn’t need to worry. And I am fine, just clumsy.

Better yet, the new markings for the curtain rod are even. Almost done hanging the curtains. Then I’ll clean up my broken fan and take a break before trying to find nice enough clothes to pack for the tour. And, before the headache I could feel forming gets too bad.

With a groan, I got back to work, flipping the chair around so I wouldn’t fall over the back again before climbing back on it. I’m not as confident as I was before. My legs were shaking slightly, and I had no confidence.

Still, once the curtains were up, I stood back to admire them proudly. They were simple, off-white, black out curtain with tassels along the bottom. And the curtain rod was straight. I did that. All me. I rock.

I made quick work of my poor broken fan before heading to the living room. I lay on the couch, putting my head on Bins warm lap. He was now typing away on his phone but paused to let me get comfortable.

“You all done with your room? Curtains up?” He asked quietly.

I hummed. “Yeah, they are up. Room is all done. Finally.”

“You okay?”

My head had gotten steadily more painful as I finished my room. “Got a headache is all.”

Bin hummed in sympathy and felt my forehead for fever.

“Get some rest, we can’t have you sick for tour.” Chan ordered from his spot nearby.

“Gee. Thanks for the sympathy.” I deadpanned rolling my eyes.

“He means well.” Bin assured.

I just closed my eyes to rest and hope my headache faded. The warmth of Bins lap and what was radiating off him was soothing. His scent calmed my mind and body of tension. There was a slight gust of air as Bin took a blanket off the back of the couch and covered me with it. The soft blanket made goosebumps rise on my skin, where it touched.

It wasn’t long before I was in that pleasant zone between awake and asleep, headache too bad to fall asleep. The sounds of life around me blended into the back of my mind. The steady thrumming of the bump on the back of my head like the ticking of a clock; annoying and consistent. Never faltering, never lessening. Just there, attempting to chop away at my calm.

Sometime later, I was roused slightly when Felix wedged himself between myself and the back of the couch. Nuzzling his face between my shoulder blades and flinging a leg over mine. I hummed and reached back to find his hand, pulling it over me to tuck it under my chin, our fingers tangled together.

“Feeling any better?” He asked, deep voice vibrating into my spine pleasantly.

“No.” I mumbled. If anything, the pounding has gotten worse. Now syncing with flashes of light behind my closed eyes.

My hair was gently smoothed back, and I opened my eyes. “Have you drunk water today?” Lee Know asked softly worry plain on his features.

“Yeah, I drank water. I hit my head earlier, though.”

“You did. Where?” Lee Knows gently long fingers probed my scalp until they found the bump, making me flinch and hiss in pain. “Sorry. Did you take medicine?”

“I was hoping it would go away on its own.”

“It’s a nasty bump. Do you need a doctor?” He really started fretting. “How’s your memory? Who’s the best K-pop group?”

“TXT” I answered immediately.

“She’s delusional. Get the car we need a hospital.” I.N declared. I snorted.

Catching Lee Knows fretting fingers I kissed them with a small smile. “I’m fine, kitty, the headache will fade.”

“At least take some medicine to help. No need to suffer for no reason.” He suggested.

“I brought some. Here, Lovie.” Chan said, passing two pills and a glass of water over. I propped myself up slightly to take the meds. Anything to stop the thumping.

As soon as I settled back down, Felix pulled me close and kissed my shoulder, humming.

“Let us know if you need anything. Or if your head gets worse.” Lee Know tucked the blanket more firmly around me. “We are all here for you.”

They were right about the medicine. It wasn’t long before they started to kick in. Head still hurting, but not nearly as much as before. It lessened enough that I was able to really doze off.

When I woke up, I still had a sizable bump and bruise, but my headache and the pounding were blissfully gone.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.” Chan greeted me when I sat up and yawned. Felix was no longer on the couch, and neither was Bin. I had been using Chan’s thigh to sleep on instead. How I didn’t wake up during any of that moving, I'll never know. The boys must have been very gentle and careful.

“So…we were talking while you slept.” Chan began again. His tone of voice was regretful, and it set me on edge. I was expecting bad news.

“What did I do? I’m sorry, I’m still learning.” I thought back. Was it one of my posts? I tried to be careful, but maybe I dropped the ball. I fucked up. It was only a matter of time. Or maybe it was STAY. Maybe they decided to have me take a more traditional Alpha role like STAY wanted. Keep me hidden and working at home. Oh. Oh god, I was about to lose all freedoms! They had all the power to force me to do whatever they wanted. I wouldn’t have a choice.

Sensing my rising anxiety, Han crawled into my lap and hid his face in my neck. “You’re scaring her.” He complained. I rubbed his back and tried to rein in my anxiety, shoving it away so I didn’t further upset my Omegas. Han, being so tiny right now, made me all melty.

“Its us that fucked up. We really let you down.” Chan clarified.

Confusion replaced my anxiety, making me feel a little off from the sudden emotional changes. Annoyance mixed in my chest. “How so?” They hadn’t done anything I could think of. The opposite, actually. They spent their downtime helping me with my room yesterday. It was me who was letting them down. I was struggling with this new life as idol adjacent, and it was bound to be affecting them, too. They constantly had to pick up the slack when I messed up.

“When did you hit your head?” He asked instead.

“When I hung my curtains.”

Chan sighed as did several others who were watching and listening. I.N even seemed to flinch slightly. “Y/n, you hung your curtains by yourself! You were supposed to wait for one of us to help!” Seungmin chastised.

I gestured wildly with one arm, still holding Han with the other. “You were busy enjoying your day off! I managed just fine on my own!”

“You fell!”

“I got a couple of bumps and bruises.”

“Luckily! What if you had gotten seriously hurt?”

“I didn’t!” We were shouting at each other now – my annoyance turning quickly to anger and defensiveness. My emotions felt like they were being overclocked.

Chans calm voice cut in through, making both Seungmin and I pause. “You didn’t even tell us you were hurt. We didn’t know until much later.”

“Hitting your head is dangerous. And if you had a concussion, we wouldn’t have known to help.” Hyun added.

I deflated. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to bother you on your day off. You have been working so hard! And I haven’t been helping at all.”

Chan reached over and ran his fingers through my hair before cupping my head gently. “We fucked up by brushing you aside when you asked for help. We have upended your life and dragged you along with us every day. And you are always helping us. Making sure we eat and have water. Soothing our Omega needs by reinforcing contact or praising us. We should have been there for you. But you shouldn’t have been so reckless either.”

“You do plenty for me. Always fixing my mistakes. I don’t feel neglected at all, I promise. But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I fell. I’m not used to being so cared for.” I explained truthfully. I felt horrible for worrying them so much. Yet another way I messed up.

Even with that settled, the Omegas all fussed over me the rest of the day. Lee Know kept bringing me food and drinks. Hyunjin doodled on my nails, fingers, and toes. Felix and Hannie both stuck to me like Velcro. Making sure I wasn’t cold. Wasn’t hot. Was comfortable enough. Bin kept showing me funny memes, eyes sparkling any time I laughed. Seungmin insisted I pick something to watch. Chan spent 45 minutes gently brushing my hair, careful of my bruises. I.N brought me my FoxI.Ny stuffie and kept randomly making excuses to touch me. Overall, I felt papered and loved.

My Omegas way of apologizing was much like everything else they did. They showed it through their actions as well as words. And they put everything into it.

This also served to remind me that while I was learning how to be their Alpha and be idol adjacent, they were learning how to be my Omegas. We were learning together. To do that properly, we needed to communicate – verbally or non-verbally.

“I still need help packing for the tour.” I said later in the afternoon.

“I’ve seen your wardrobe, and I have some bad news.” Hyun grimaced.

I gaped, offended. The little ball of annoyance and anger started irritating my chest immediately. “I have plenty of nice clothes, thank you very much!” I shoved at him, trying not to let my anger grow.

Hyune laughed. “Half your shirts are Stray Kids. Actually – your Stray Kids stuff was all packed away separately now that I think about it.” His brown scrunched as he thought about the carefully packed boxes full of Stray Kids merchandise.

The merchandise he promised not to tease me about anymore. Yet here he was. “I have plenty of other groups too. The Rose, Enhypen, TXT. I have other interests besides Stray Kids.” For some reason, I wanted this information to hurt him, the anger getting into my bloodstream and making me mean.

“You really know how to inflict pain! You are Engene, MOA, Black Rose, and STAY! Cheater!”

I rolled my eyes, annoyed by his joking manner, and shrugged, unable to deny it. “Sorry not sorry.”

“Anyways, your other clothes are too casual.” Hyune was still insistent on my clothes not being good enough.

“You mean they aren’t name brand – high end enough.” My biggest name brand item was a Victoria Secret bra and panty set that I am pretty sure Hyune didn’t know existed. The fact that I couldn’t wear my casual comfy clothes purely because they didn’t have luxury tags made me clench my fists. It was so stupid. I shouldn’t have to buy all new clothes just to satisfy some strange notion that you weren’t good enough unless you had luxury brand clothing!

“I didn’t say that!”

“You didn’t have to, Hyun! I can read between the lines!”

Hyun flung his hands out in frustration. “I was trying to be nice about it!” I vaguely realized we were steadily getting louder. My battle to not let my irrational anger get the best of me forgotten.

“I’m not like that, Hwang! I don’t wear high-end!”

“You don’t have a choice!” He burst.

The room became silent. That was it wasn’t it? I was fighting to keep being me. To stay who I was before bonding, but I couldn’t. I knew that. I always knew that I had to lose who I was. Let go of the girl hiding who she was. Who was comfortable and secure. That’s part of what I gave up – what I sacrificed – when I came back. I sacrificed me. All things that made me me. I don’t know why this kept shocking me. I kept denying it for some reason.

Suddenly, my throat tightened, and my eyes prickled. The anger strangled me. I stood abruptly and left the room, pulling away from the hands that tried to stop me and ignoring the calls of my name.

Slamming my bathroom door, I locked it and proceeded to play music as loud as I could. My sacrifices and losses kept hitting me. It’s like I was refusing to accept it. Like – no, not like. I believed I could retain my sense of self. Or at least part of it.

As I stood in the middle of my newly decorated bathroom, the burning rage boiled over inside me. I could hear a knock on the door, even over my music. Spinning, hot tears pouring down my cheeks, I hit the door. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” I screamed. Still filled with such rage and pain, I turned again, knocking everything off my counter with another scream.

I was sobbing now. Angry – enraged for my loss of self. Terrified by not knowing who I will be forced to become. Angry at myself for convincing myself over and over that I was okay. That everything was okay.

I knew now. Anger cleared my mind. I knew what this was. Why I was feeling so unstable. Why my emotions flip so quickly. I was in mourning. Going through the stages of grief for my old self. The life and person I was who was now slowly being erased – or not so slowly in some cases.

Before I could do anything else to trash the room or hurt myself like I really wanted to, arms locked around mine, keeping me from moving. I fought and thrashed against them. “Let me go! Let go!” I yelled between sobs, but the arms held firm, dragging me to the floor.

Chan shushed me gently. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’m here, y/n.” he held even as I slapped and hit him.

Running out of steam, I slumped in his arms and just sobbed as he pulled me to his chest.

He sat there with me on the floor as I cried. Sobbed for my loss. He held me close and comforted me as I got it all out. All the anger and pain I hid away. All the fear I denied.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I’m so sorry.” He whispered, choked up on his own emotions. Voice cracking. “I should have never let JYP go to your house. We should have left you alone.” He rocked me as my sobs quieted and turned to hiccups. As the tears dried and left stains on my cheeks

Knees entered my vision as Hyun kneeled in front of me, warm damp cloth in hand and tears of his own on his lashes. I kept still as he gently cleaned my face.

“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.” He breathed, voice thick.

Still raw with emotion and drained, I didn’t have any interest in soothing Hyuns guilt at the moment. “Let me go, Chan. I need my phone.” I sounded as empty as I felt.

Someone had turned off the music I had been playing earlier, leaving the room filled with only the breaths and sniffles of my Omegas. They were all in the room, instincts telling them to comfort me, but unable to hide their own emotions. Felix, Han, and I.N crying along with Hyun, Chan, and I.

Chan didn’t let me go, but my phone was handed to me by Seungmin. I immediately pulled up my message chain with J, knowing the entire room was reading over my shoulder.

His reply pulled a soft smile from me.

“We can help you find clothes.” Chan said nuzzling my shoulder.

“I know, but its best if I do it this way for now. While I learn who I am now.”

“You do not need to change.”

“Yes, I do. To survive, I need to adapt.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled. Shouldn’t have pushed. You are so good at all this. I forget you’re new. I forget how hard it is for you.” Hyunjin gripped my hand. “You make it look so easy.”

“I convinced myself it was easy.”

Seungmin busied himself by cleaning up the mess I made with my temper tantrum. He spent extra time making sure everything was set up just right and facing front. Fiddling and moving bottles and jars that were already perfectly placed.

I sighed and squeezed Hyuns hand in mind. “I am okay now. I’m sorry for my outburst. I’m not sure where that came from.”

“Don’t apologize. It's us who did this to you.” Chan argued. “You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.

Turning back, I shook my head and kissed his jawline. “No, I chose to be here. And I don’t regret coming back. It was only a moment of weakness. I promise.” I assured them. And I wasn’t lying. Even though I was losing me, I had hope I would become someone better. And I gained 8 amazing Omegas who were going to take me to see the world. To experience things I never would have dreamed of before. I just had to mourn my old life and allow myself to move on.

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A/N: Not gunna lie it kinda hate this chapter. I feel like the breakdown y/n had was out of nowhere. There was not enough build-up, and I don't like the way the breakdown actually turned out in the end. Sorry 😞 I let everyone, including myself, down on this one. I will do better on future chapters, I promise!

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Unwilling Alpha Taglist: @xxeiraxx @hanniemylovelyquokka @breadedloafs @songleepark @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @hyunjinhoexxx @kayleefriedchicken @vietjeb @hityoulikebahng @juju-227592 @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @royal-shinigami @bangchansfavoritenoona @straykidslvr @bookswillfindyouaway @h0rnyp0t @Svmmerstime @jennibahng @kpopandmusicpassion @jasmin-loves-k-pop @cookey-lock @possum-playground @demigoddreamon-blog @rei-reia @dreamerwasfound @jasmin-loves-k-pop @ms-flowergirl @princess-sunshyn @technicallyimportantsweets @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @bluesoobinnie

General Taglist @stellasays45

[sourrpatched]

38. Long Chat (wrdc 1.7k)

You put the pot in your hand down recognizing the man in front of you. “Oh my god what are you doing here?” You said sharply. “I thought you went out with the rest of them.”

“No, I stayed behind to clear some thoughts.” He said with his arms still up as a shield protecting himself. “You put the pot down right?”

“Yeah you’re safe.”

He let out a breath he was holding putting his arms down. There was an awkward silence as you both stood looking at one another. You had planned on holding off talking as much as you could but it seems like the world had other plans for you.

“I’m sorry for bothering you, i’ll just head back to my room so I don’t get in your way anymore.” Jaemin said with a forced smile. He turned away but before he could get away you spoke.

“Wait.” He stopped in his tracks. “Can we talk?”

The best part of summer in jeju island was that once the sun went down so did the temperature. Hot afternoons became bearable, and the atmosphere was warm in a way where people would spend the whole night out partying. You’d had enough of that since two nights ago, so here sat you and Jaemin on some beach chairs beside the pool at the beach house with left over beers from the fridge on a table.

It was quiet as you both sat admiring the light reflecting from the water in the pool. You could tell Jaemin felt uneasy, he had opened his own can of beer about five minutes ago and still hadn’t taken a sip. You felt guilty even though you were the one who had pulled him for a chat in the first place.

You took in a breath before ripping off the bandaid, figuratively of course. “Jaem, I’m sorry.” He looked at you puzzled but before he could speak you continued. “I was kind of avoiding you and I realize that it wasn’t fair to do but I really just needed a moment to get my head together.”

He gave you a genuine nod. “You don’t have to explain yourself, i’m sorry for expecting anything to happen between us.” He could hardly look you in the eye.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just really sorry. I like you a lot but I should know better than to pressure you into anything more than just being friends.” He stared down at the ground and though the lighting was limited, you swear you could see his eyes begin to water.

“Jaem–“

“I understand you not wanting to talk anymore. Don’t worry, when we get back i’ll put in my two weeks notice and I’ll get out of your hair.” His voice came out broken and he still refused to meet your gaze. He slowly began to sit up from his seat.

“Jaemin wait.” You pulled his arm keeping him from walking away. He turned to face you though he looked everywhere else but at you. You could tell there were tears welling up. “What’s this really about?”

He only shook his head taking a deep breath. “I’m really sorry.” You grabbed onto his face pulling his attention from the ground to yourself. “Hey, it’s okay please just tell me what happened.”

“Woah, what a fucking bitch.” You sat down, feet in the pool while Jaemin sat next to you.

He let out a dry laugh. “She wasn’t wrong.”

You felt a surge of anger, how dare she ever make this man feel anything other than happy. “Jaemin, she was very wrong.” He looked at you then.

“Ever since i’ve met you, you’ve been nothing but helpful. Every movie we’ve watched together, every volleyball game we played, even walks on the beach you’ve been the best company I could ask for.” You could see the smallest doubt in his face so you continued.

“Jaemin, do you know why I’ve been avoiding you? It had nothing to do with you, it was because I needed a moment where I could reflect on the new feelings i’ve had ever since i’ve met you.” He looked confused. “I had to talk to Jaehyun because even though I once loved him I needed closure so that I could move on and pursue the feelings i’ve had for you for a while now.”

You felt your face get warm at your blatant confession. “Me and Jaehyun would never be able to work ever again. When he left me to pursue his career one part of me felt like I hated him for leaving me and the other part only felt guilty that I wanted him to choose me over his career.”

“That’s not your fault. You loved him. It’s no wonder you wanted him to stay with you.” He gave you a sympathetic look.

“Yeah and I can say the same for you. It’s not your fault that I was avoiding you. I realize I was only pushing you away because I was scared to lose you the way I lost Jaehyun only it mattered more because the way I feel about you hasn’t ever been the way I felt for him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you, Na Jaemin, are enough to me. You’re more than enough for me. I didn’t notice it before because it was so different but I like you. My heart beats every time you’re around, I look for you the moment you’re not by my side, and I even find myself jealous when you’re laughing with Hyuck instead of me.”

He lets out a laugh, “Hyuck?”

“Don’t even ever mention that to him.” You covered your face, full of embarrassment. His hand reached out to yours this time uncovering your face.

“Hey, look at me.”

You opened one eye at a time, still too shy to meet his eyes. He smiled at you this time very genuine. It only made your face hotter and this time you couldn’t blame it on the alcohol.

“I like you Y/N. Ever since the first time we met I couldn’t help but feel like I was drawn to you. I wasn’t even jealous of you and Jaehyun,” He paused for a moment, “Okay, well I was a bit when I found out he wrote a whole song for you but that’s it.”

You let out a chuckle. “I heard it. Very nice song but I don’t think that’s enough to rekindle anything. I don’t think I could feel anything for anyone but you.”

He blushed at your words. “Dammit I was supposed to be the romantic one.”

“Right, please continue.”

“The point is, I was scared that you didn’t feel the same. I’m always scared that i’ll do something that’ll change how people feel towards me but I think i’m willing to take that risk if it means I can be with you in the moment.”

“All i’m hearing is you’re so down bad for me.” You say teasingly.

“I’m glad you’re finally catching on.”

You can’t help but really take in the moment. Here you are right on the edge of a pool, the moon shining down on the two of you. A part of you is really happy that the world had you face him earlier than you planned, who knows how that talk would’ve played out before.

You can feel his gaze on you and it only makes you giddy. There’s no use holding back anything anymore so you move closer to Jaemin. “The moon is beautiful tonight isn’t it?”

“If the moon in question is you, then it’s always been.” You’re unsure when the gap became smaller between the two of you but here you are looking him in the eyes. Jaemin quickly glances at your lips and you smile knowing exactly what’s next.

“You gonna keep staring or actually do something?” Within a second he clears the space between the two of you catching your lips on his. You can feel the softness of his mouth as he kisses you so gently and intimately.

You pull back looking him in the eye still feeling the lingering effect of his lips. He looks lost in your gaze. Liking his lips while smiling to himself. His smile is quickly replaced with shock the second you playfully push him into the pool. You jump in afterwards poking your head out of the water only to find him smiling at you.

“What was that for?”

“I’m sorry I had a burst of cuteness aggression and pushed you too hard.” You say laughing. He joins you in your laughter pulling you closer to him in the pool.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“I’m also lucky to have you. We’re dating now by the way.” You say straight forward.

“Of course, but just so you know there’s no getting rid of me.”

“Hmm there’s not even a thirty day return policy?” You tap your finger on your chin playfully.

“Nope,” He says popping the p, “All sales final.” He pulls you in for another kiss. You can’t help but smile into it, this time he’s much more desperate with the way he kisses you. As if he’d been wanting you his entire life.

You feel his tongue tease your lip asking for permission to deepen it. He’s kissing you so much more passionately than before, you feel like you’re drowning in him which is ironic considering you were both standing in a pool at the moment.

Right when you feel like you have no more room to breathe he pulls away. You let out a small whine at the loss, cringing at the way he was able to pull that noise out of you.

“I think they’re back already.”

“What?” You’re lost in thought before realizing he meant the rest of your friends made it back to the beach house.

Ugh so much for alone time.

“We should get out and shower, don’t wanna get sick from being in the pool this late at night.”

You groan at the thought of leaving him. “I’m not ready to let you go.”

He lets out a small chuckle. “It’ll only be for a moment, unless you’re looking to shower together?” He raises his eyebrows at you.

You roll your eyes shoving him away. “You freaking perv.”

“Hey you suggested it.”

“Ugh well you’re my boyfriend so I guess i’m stuck with this now anyway.”

He giggles softly, “Boyfriend yeah? Could you say it again?”

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A/N ➼ late chapter but i hope u guys enjoy it! btw i’m debating on if i’ll be participating in some fun october posts but we will see 🤔

taglist: @yyangj3lly @junviadinho @pnkified @mystverse @daegalfangirl @girlz4jaem @222brainrot @multifandomania @hamjwis @nanaxwi @haechansbbg @lampcults @urlocalbeaner5 @onlyhyunjin @neoskzluvr @pastelzindecana @nctrawberries @tommina @sunghoonsgfreal @rakshithanotrao @chaerinmin @injunnie-lemon @neocults26 @busy-daydreaming02 @nosungluv @alethea-moon @candied-czennie @iamsimplyasimp @channnaa @hyuck-me @clean-soap @nessaassen02 @lionzyon @neozon3nha @stqrgr7 @scarredrose25 @polarisjisung @l4narecl1pse @minniesbae

[pumpkinbxtch]

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

— I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

[rylem33]

Going Red

I hope you enjoy this new story.

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Soraya twirled the small capsule between her fingers, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her blonde hair hung loosely around her face, just like it always had. She sighed, her eyes tracing over her familiar features—soft, pretty, but nothing special. She had looked the same for years, stuck in a version of herself she wasn’t sure she liked anymore. The same clothes, the same hairstyle, the same routine.

She glanced at her phone lying on the dresser. Jessica was out again, probably with friends, living her life, while Soraya sat at home, scrolling through social media, watching others live the life she wished she had. Parties, dates, adventures—everything Soraya avoided, whether by choice or because it seemed easier to stay on the sidelines.

She rubbed her thumb over the capsule in her hand, staring at it with a mix of hope and doubt. The idea of red hair had always intrigued her. It was bold, daring, everything she wasn’t. But every time she thought about going to a salon, she chickened out. The idea of sitting in a chair, letting someone else change her appearance—actually change something—felt too big, too scary.

Then she had seen the Instagram post: “Transform in an instant! One pill for the perfect look—no salon needed!” The influencers made it look easy, flaunting their bright, colorful hair like it was just another filter. A quick fix. Something she could do in the privacy of her own room, without having to explain it to anyone. Without anyone watching her.

Taking a deep breath, she popped the pill into her mouth, washing it down with water. What’s the worst that could happen? she thought, trying to reassure herself. It’s just hair.

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Hours later, Soraya sat at her vanity.  Truthfully, she’s spent a lot of the last few hours just staring and waiting. This time though, she noticed something in the mirror. The blonde strands at her roots had shifted into a soft copper tone. Her heart skipped a beat. It was actually happening.

The red hue was subtle at first, but it deepened as she watched, flowing through her hair like it was always meant to be there. She ran her fingers through the strands, smiling as the color took hold—a gorgeous blend of auburn and copper, shimmering in the light. It was exactly what she wanted.

Just then, her bedroom door opened, and Jessica, her roommate, walked in, phone in hand. “Hey, I was thinking we could—” She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening as they locked onto Soraya’s hair. “Holy shit, when did you dye your hair?”

Soraya grinned, tossing her red locks over her shoulder. “I didn’t go to the salon. I took a pill.”

“A pill?” Jessica raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Like, one of those Instagram things? Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I know. It sounds crazy, but look!” Soraya turned her head slightly, letting the light catch the fiery strands. “It worked. I love it!”

Jessica stepped closer, eyes narrowing as she examined the color. “Okay, I’ll admit, it does look amazing. But… are you sure it’s safe?”

“Come on, Jess. It’s just hair. What’s the worst that could happen?” Soraya said with a laugh, brushing off Jessica’s concern. She felt lighter already—more confident. The red suited her, brought out a side of her she had been eager to embrace.

Jessica nodded slowly. “Well, it does look good. Just… let me know if your head starts glowing or something.”

Soraya chuckled, waving her off. “Relax. I’m fine. It’s just the hair.”

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A couple of hours later, Soraya found herself pacing her room, her thoughts lingering on her earlier conversation with Jessica. As she passed by the mirror, she caught another glimpse of herself—this time, something felt off. She stared at her reflection more closely.

Her hair was still the perfect shade of red, but… something about her body looked different. She frowned, adjusting her shirt. It clung to her frame a little more snugly than usual, especially around her waist and chest.

She shook it off, attributing it to the confidence boost from the hair color. I’m imagining things. It’s just the hair.

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Later that evening, Jessica returned to their apartment, swinging the door open and casually tossing her bag onto the couch. As she walked toward Soraya’s room, she called out, “So, how’s life as a redhead?”

Jessica paused at the doorway when her eyes landed on Soraya. She was no longer lounging in her usual casual clothes. Instead, she was standing in front of her mirror, wearing a tight, strappy black outfit that clung to every curve of her now-altered body. Her chest was fuller, her waist cinched, and her hips flared in a way that was impossible to ignore. Soraya looked… stunning.

Jessica blinked, trying to process the sight in front of her. “Holy shit… that’s… different.” She struggled to find the right words.

Soraya ran her hands down her body, feeling the fabric hug her new curves. A part of her reveled in how good she looked, but another part—the real her—felt uneasy, like she wasn’t entirely herself. “Yeah… I know,” she said quietly.

Jessica stepped into the room, eyeing Soraya closely. “You’ve… changed a lot. It’s not just your hair, Soraya. Look at you. That pill didn’t just give you red hair, it’s…” Her voice trailed off, unsure how to continue without offending her.

“I know,” Soraya admitted, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She could see the changes—how her breasts were larger, her waist slimmer, her entire body more voluptuous. Her lips were fuller, her skin practically glowing. It wasn’t subtle anymore. “I just… I can’t stop it. It’s happening whether I like it or not.”

Jessica’s eyes widened, her concern deepening. “Have you checked online? Do you know what this thing is actually doing to you?”

Soraya’s temper flared, the intensity of her emotions hitting her like a wave. She turned sharply, her voice dripping with irritation. “I don’t need you to lecture me, Jess. I can handle this.” Her words were harsher than she intended, and a flicker of regret crossed her face. But the anger wouldn’t subside.

Jessica held her hands up defensively. “I’m not lecturing you! I’m just… I’m worried about you, okay?”

“I said I can handle it,” Soraya snapped, her eyes narrowing. She could feel her heartbeat quicken, the heat rising in her chest, the familiar wave of anger bubbling up again. Why am I so angry? she thought. 

Soraya quickly fled the room before things got worse.

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Soraya found herself pacing the room, her emotions raw but slowly cooling. She had stripped out of her tight outfit, now standing in just lingerie examining her new body.

I barely recognize myself, she thought, feeling a strange mix of awe and discomfort.

A soft knock on the door broke her thoughts, and Jessica stepped into the room cautiously. Soraya turned, meeting her gaze.

“Hey… you okay?” Jessica asked, her voice soft, hesitant. She approached Soraya carefully, as if she were still unsure what kind of mood her friend would be in.

Soraya nodded, her breathing steadying. “I’m… better. I’m sorry about earlier,” she said quietly. She ran a hand through her red hair, feeling the silky strands slip through her fingers. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Jess.”

Jessica moved closer, her eyes scanning Soraya’s body, but her gaze lingered on her face, searching for some sign of the friend she knew. “I’m worried about you.”

Soraya shook her head, stepping closer to Jessica. “I can feel it… it’s like I’m different on the inside too.” Her voice was softer now, vulnerable.  As she gazed at Jessica, something shifted in her chest—something unfamiliar but undeniable.

Jessica placed a comforting hand on Soraya’s arm, her touch warm and steady. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. I’m here for you,” she promised.

But the warmth from Jessica’s hand sparked something deeper in Soraya. Her breath hitched, and her eyes locked with Jessica’s. This time, it wasn’t anger that bubbled up—it was something far more primal. Desire.

“You’re my friend, right Jess…” Soraya’s voice dropped, husky with something new. “Is that all you want to be?” She could feel the shift in her body, the pull toward Jessica, and it was intoxicating. Her pulse quickened, her thoughts muddled by the heat coursing through her.

Jessica blinked, startled by the sudden change in Soraya’s tone. “What? Soraya, I—”

Before Jessica could finish, Soraya moved even closer, her lips curling into a teasing smirk. She brushed her fingers down Jessica’s arm, the touch lingering, electric. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me sometimes?” she whispered, her voice dripping with seduction. “The way you hover… like you’re waiting for something.”

Jessica’s eyes widened, her breath quickening, but she didn’t pull away. “Soraya, I—this isn’t…” She stammered, clearly thrown off by the shift in Soraya’s energy, but unable to deny the spark between them.

Soraya’s hand moved to Jessica’s cheek, her thumb brushing softly against her skin. “Maybe you’re more than just a friend,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her lips inches away from Jessica’s. 

Jessica hesitated, her eyes flicking down to Soraya’s lips before meeting her gaze again. “Soraya… I don’t think this is—”

But before Jessica could finish, Soraya’s lips were on hers—soft, hungry, full of the heat that had been building inside her. It wasn’t a slow kiss; it was fast, desperate.

Jessica gasped against her lips, her body stiffening for a moment before she melted into the kiss, her hands gripping Soraya’s waist. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soraya lay back on the bed, her red hair spilling around her shoulders.  Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, she smiled—a genuine smile.

Jessica stood by the door, watching Soraya carefully, unsure of what to say. Last night had been… intense. They’d crossed a line, and it had been good. Really good. But Jessica wasn’t sure where they stood now. They had always been friends, and as far as she knew, Soraya had never shown interest in women before.

At least, not until now.

“Come here,” Soraya said, her voice softer now, with an edge of playfulness. She patted the bed beside her, her eyes meeting Jessica’s. “You don’t have to be scared,” Soraya said, her voice teasing.

Jessica let out a nervous laugh, looking at Soraya with a mix of amusement and curiosity. “Is that so?”

Soraya smiled, leaning in closer. “Oh yeah. You’ll see.” She didn’t wait this time. She kissed Jessica, but it wasn’t frantic or wild. It was slow, confident. Jessica kissed her back, her hands coming up to touch Soraya’s face, pulling her in closer.  Her body pressed against Jessica’s, warm and soft.

When they pulled apart, Soraya stayed close, her forehead resting against Jessica’s. Soraya whispered, her lips curving into a small smile, “I guess redheads have more fun.”

Jessica laughed, her hands still resting on Soraya’s waist. “I think you might be right,” she said, shaking her head with a grin.

[rikisniffles]

chapter sixteen [西村力] my first love was a boy ✧ NISHIMURA RIKI (NI-KI) X M!READER

SYNOPSIS — l/n y/n is a member of boynextdoor under hybe/koz. being an idol has always been y/n's dream, and ever since it became true he has been more than happy. despite being an idol, he doesn't know many other idols outside his group. when he runs into his seniors, a seemingly never-ending spiral of embarrassing moments occurs.

disclaimer !! : every idol in my stories is a character and does not always reflect the actual person (i do my best but for entertainment purposes, it may be off)

— fic masterlist / info

chapter sixteen - certified hater

warning: suggestive jokes , written part (889 words) , kys jokes

You reach forward, attempting to stretch out by grabbing your toes while sitting on the floor. The practice room floor was hard, bouncy, but uncomfortable.

Jaehyun watches himself in the mirror, making faces to himself. Riwoo watches himself but repeats a dance instead, practicing to make it perfect. Taesan taps away on his phone while pacing, and Leehan sits on the floor a foot away from you, looking up at Jaehyun and Riwoo.

Woonhak opts to sit next to you on the floor. He whines and complains about how his back ached. Your own thoughts are too loud to comprehend his words.

"Y/n?" Woonhak suddenly pushes your shoulder with his palm, "Were you even listening...?" He pouts.

"Uh..." You blink, turning to him, "Yeah."

"Okay, then what did I say?" He crosses his arms.

You freeze, unable to conjure up anything. Before you can open your mouth, Woonhak groans.

"You've been distracted since yesterday," He points out, "What are you thinking about?"

"You're nosey." You sigh, leaning back to lay on the ground. Woonhak laughs.

"So what? What if I was just worried about you? Hm?"

"Since when are you worried about anyone?"

Woonhak pushes your knees, "I'm for real."

You close your eyes, the lights on the ceiling straining your eyeballs. You could tell Woonhak of your troubles, but it wouldn't matter. You didn't want to waste the time explaining how you felt. It wouldn't do any good. You might even get embarrassed.

You left Enhypen's dorm early this morning, being violently woken up by Jay and a pillow. Ni-ki had been rushed out so fast that you barely got to talk to him. You couldn't remember if he had said anything to you besides 'Let yourself out!' while he was fixing his hair as he exited.

For a moment you were alone in Ni-ki's room. It felt wrong like you weren't supposed to be there. You got up quickly after they left, cleaned up your food from last night, and left the dorm immediately.

You wanted to text him. You wanted to talk to him, be near him. You were both busy. It was normal for you guys to go days without talking, but ever since last night, you have felt more clingy than ever. You wanted nothing more than to be in his arms again. You got a taste of something great and then it was ripped from you too fast.

"Y/n! Woonhak!" Jaehyun calls out, smiling while looking at you two from the mirror. "Can you two grab water?" He asks sweetly.

Woonhak groans again, "Why do we have to do it?"

"Because you're the maknaes!" He teases with a giggle.

Despite Woonhak's complaining, he gets up along with you and you make your way to the hallway. Usually, there were a couple of vending machines in the hallway. You look out for the one you always go to.

"You go get them, I gotta use the bathroom." Woonhak suddenly announces, patting your shoulder while running in the opposite direction. Your face contorts as you fight the urge to yell at him.

As you continue down the hallway, you listen to each practice room as other groups blasted their music. It leaks through the walls, but not enough where you could make out anything important. You see the vending machine come into view.

Before you can reach your destination, a door to the practice room swings open before you. Laughter erupts from a small grouping of men as they exit.

You bow with respect. Jungwon, Heeseung, and Ni-ki emerge from the door. They bow back, except Ni-ki, who suddenly hides his face with his hood up and pretends he hasn't seen you yet.

"Sorry, I didn't greet you this morning!" Jungwon apologizes with an overly polite smile, "We had a meeting." He explains.

"Oh no, I- It's all good." Your voice shakes with anxiety. Talking to your seniors always makes you more nervous than it should. Jungwon wasn't even that much older than you, his status as 'leader' was more intimidating than his age.

"Ni-ki fell asleep in the meeting because of you." Heeseung teases. Ni-ki lifts his head to push his hyung quite forcefully, prompting a shove back from Heeseung. "Watch it or I'm sending that picture to the group chat." He threatens.

"You got a picture?" You freeze, your face turning red. Jungwon giggles at this, turning in the other direction to be polite. But you could still tell he was laughing at you.

"Yeah, You wanna see it?" Heeseung smiles, pulling out his phone from his pocket.

"No, No," Ni-ki lunges forward, "Delete that shit right now." He wraps his hand around Heeseung's phone as the two wrestle for the device.

Jungwon can't contain his laughter now, bent forward as the non-stop laughing begins to make his stomach hurt. This in turn makes you laugh.

Ni-ki pauses to look at you. Heeseung takes this moment to snatch his device back and push the younger off of him. Ni-ki listens to your laugh as it dies down.

You smile at him, and he smiles back with shaky lips before looking away. "Can we just go?" He asks.

"Bye Ni-ki." You wave, causing him to pause.

"B- Bye Y/n."

Heeseung and Jungwon laugh at his expense.

previous | next | home

— koki's note ★ ; hey guys! still uploading kinda inconsistently, i've been going through a lot... hope u enjoy!

[221beloved]

Time Capsule

(Link to ao3)

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Sherlock turned his head to look at John, walking next to him. "I said that!"

John laughed at Sherlock's confused expression.

"Yes you did. And you deeply confused me, back then. You wanted to tell me something, didn't you?"

"Well, subconsciously, at best..." Sherlock mumbled.

John smiled, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

"I meant it, though."

Sherlock harrumphed, but squeezed back. They were walking along the bank of the Thames, hand in hand. It was dark already, and the golden light of the street lamps was illuminating the bare parts of the river bed and creating reflections on the water.

"Not bad," Sherlock admitted, looking over the water himself. Then he stopped and nudged John's shoulder.

"What's that? Do you see that? There's something. On the shore. Reflecting the light of the lamps."

John squinted  his eyes, but all he could make out was said reflection.

"It's near to the stairs, let's have a look!" Sherlock was off before he could answer, pulling John with him on his hand.

John only smiled and followed him. That was what happened when Sherlock didn't get a case for too long. He had to examine the banks of the river for blinking things. Not that John had something to say against that. He followed Sherlock down the stairs and along the shore, until Sherlock let go of his hand to crouch down. When he came back up again, he was holding a small metal tube, turning it over and over in his hands.

"What's that?" he asked eventually, holding it out to John.

John examined it from all sides as well, until he found a small engraving.

January 2004

He frowned, but then his expression lightened up.

"It's a time capsule!"

Sherlock gave him a look.

"A what?"

"A time capsule! It's, well it's hard to explain. It's like a small safe. You put memories in it, pictures of an important event, a birth or marriage. You close it and place it somewhere safe, so it can exist over generations. I think usually they put papers and that stuff in there and place them on steeples or next to foundation stones. To throw it away like a message in a bottle is new to me, too."

"They put papers in it...?"

Sherlock looked at him disbelieving.

"Well, yes. Everything important about our current time, politics, society, what's happening in the world, it's all written down there. So when these capsules are found and opened, much later, they can see how it was. Today. In their past."

"That's, an absolutely stupid concept. So they rely on the fact that papers gain everything you have to know about the past? It's mostly nonsense what they print there, nothing of the important stuff! Besides, everything is digitalised these days."

John shrugged. "Well, might suffice for a general picture."

Sherlock harrumphed, then took the capsule back from John's hands. He shook it lightly.

"What's in there?" he asked.

John could only shrug again.

"I don't know, you tell me. You're the detective."

"Well, there are pictures inside, obviously. And just... one, probably two solid things. But what are the pictures about? You said something about a birth or a wedding?"

"At least that's the usual stuff for the private use... Or memories of a loved one?"

Sherlock's eyes all but gleamed.

"Can we open it?"

John shook his head.

"We don't know how it got here. Well, okay, they probably threw it in the Thames or in god knows what other waters, but they did it in, what was it, 2004? It's fairly recent, and they obviously didn't want to keep it in their home. I don't think they wanted it to be opened. At least not in our century. Besides, we have nothing to open it anyway. I think these things are not meant to be opened and closed on a regular basis."

Sherlock scowled at him.

"They can't possibly think this capsule will be floating around until the next century. Fairly optimistic at best. Stupid. And why would they throw it into the river if they didn't want it to be opened?"

"I don't know, Sherlock. And we never will, because we are throwing it back in the water."

The look Sherlock gave him was almost disappointed.

"Are we?"

"Yes we are. Come on."

---

When the capsule was back to floating in the Thames, Sherlock and John climbed the stairs to continue their walk back home.

Sherlock took John's hand in his, intertwined their fingers.

"You..." he began hesitantly.

"You wouldn't want one of those, would you? Those time capsules?"

John laughed. "No, not really. I have to say, it is appealing, somehow, putting some of your happiest memories in there and sending it lut in the world for what eternity there is. Or to make it a family heirloom for generations on end. But I do agree with you that it's fairly ridiculous."

He paused. "Do you want one?"

"God no," Sherlock hurried to assure. "I was just worried you'd want one."

John shook his head.

"No. I don't think we need that. We have everything we need, don't we?"

He squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"And we have friends to witness our happiness, to be happy with us, and we have pictures on our walls to remember the best moments.”

"Romantic..." Sherlock muttered, but he stepped even closer to John, effectively pressing their sides together.

--

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[misshoneyimhome]

DAD WILLY okay I love the vids where babies are like shook when their dads shave off their beards so what about post season Will shaves his beard for the summer break and it’s the first time your lil nugget has seen him without one and he cries because like who tf is this strange man where is my dad…and Willy is so upset that your baby is scared of him but you’re cracking up because you love his beard too and go “he’s just as upset as I usually am when you shave” 🤣😉

Alright, so, I didn't really intend to post this today, but I just couldn't resist 🙈 I loved the idea for this scenario so so much, and I just had to create something out of it - even if it's a bit brief 😉

So, let's imagine it's set a few years earlier than this, with baby Eliot just over a year old during the off-season 🤗

[What can I say, I just love Willy with a good beard 🙈]

Dad!Willy x reader

Word count: 1.5K

・✶ ｡ﾟ

"He’s just as upset as I usually am when you shave"

"Hmm…" William mumbled to himself, running his hand over his beard while looking at his reflection in the mirror.

"Don't you dare," your voice came from behind him as you stood in the bathroom doorway, catching his attention.

"What do you mean?" your boyfriend chuckled lightly, as he contemplated what to do with his facial hair.

"Oh, you know exactly what I mean, babe... you know I don't like it when you shave it all off, which I know is what you're thinking of doing right now," you said firmly, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as you glanced at him, noticing the shaver on the counter.

"Well, it's my beard... I can do what I want with it," he countered with a mischievous grin, knowing he had some say in the matter. After all, it was his face and his choice. But you couldn't resist reminding him how much you preferred him with the beard, or at least some stubble.

"I know, Willy... it's just..." you said, offering a light smile. "You're just really hot with a beard – it gives you a rugged and manly look," you flirted your best.

"You mean I look like a tramp... or a monkey," he joked playfully, playing with the shaver.

"Well, maybe a little, but you're my monkey," you said with a sweet smile, walking towards him and wrapping your arms around his bare torso, resting your head on his shoulder after giving him a soft kiss.

"But babe, it's just too hot in the summer... And I prefer the clean look, you know," he explained with a gentle smile.

"I know, I know... just, please consider letting it grow back before the season starts," you pleaded, giving your best puppy-dog eyes.

"We'll see," he merely replied with a light chuckle. "But I am shaving my chest."

"Why though?" you asked.

"Because it's better for when I'm tanning," William chuckled.

"But I love your chest hair!" you whined playfully, adding a hint of mischief to your tone. "If I can't have your beard giving me love burns between my thighs, at least let me have something to grab onto on your chest," you winked teasingly, subtly hinting at potential sexual activities.

Causing William to burst into laughter, as he found your complaints about him shaving both his beard and chest every summer incredibly sweet and endearing. But nothing seemed to change his mind. Well, perhaps you had one little trick up your sleeve.

As he took hold of the shaver, you gazed intently at him through the mirror.

"Alright, but I'm warning you, if you keep shaving it off all summer, I won't shave my fanny for you…" you teased, testing the waters knowing how much he preferred your down stairs area to be neat and clean.

"You wouldn't!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, I would!"

"No, you wouldn't, babe," William chuckled. "We both know you won't be able to let it grow without getting irritated... especially not during summer when you'll be wearing a bikini."

And you knew he was right.

But before you could counter with a witty remark, cries suddenly emerged from the kitchen.

"You win this round, Nylander," you chuckled lightly, before heading back to the kitchen to comfort your little son, who seemed to indicate that you'd spent too much time chatting with Dad in the bathroom.

"Shh, mummy's here, love," you reassured Eliot, lifting him out of the high chair and holding him close until his crying softened.

And while comforting your child, you suddenly heard the familiar buzzing noise of a shaver coming from the bathroom.

"Oh fuck," you softly murmured to yourself in disappointment.

Truth be told, it's not that you didn't like William without a beard. You always found your boyfriend incredibly attractive to say the least, but you just had a preference for him with facial hair. And not the delicate little moustache he occasionally attempted to sport. It just made him look like a young teen who couldn’t grow a proper beard, or a creep. No, you adored the thick stubble that adorned his masculine jawline and trailed down his neck.

Well, at least when he kept it well-groomed.

William had a habit of neglecting to style his beard during the season, letting it grow a bit longer than usual. And then eventually, he'd grow tired and irritated with it, deciding to trim it. But just a bit.

You always felt that William looked more rugged with a beard. Given his particular fondness for fashion, jewellery, and his lack of prowess in handy crafts, he wasn't always the epitome of traditional masculinity. However, seeing him with some facial hair just added a touch of toughness that you appreciated. Especially given that you knew he had a rougher side, both on and off the ice.

In a way, you saw it as a primal biological attraction – a preference for a masculine male, someone robust for breeding, to ensure the growth of a strong child.

And truth be told, he had played his part in that aspect: giving you Eliot, your first son. Who at just one year old, he bore a striking resemblance to his father. His big blue eyes and bright blonde hair had been copied and pasted directly from William. And if that wasn’t enough, he was a solid and hungry child, much like his dad.

As you held the toddler close, finally managing to soothe his cries of feeling momentarily neglected – again, a perfect mimic of William, you handed him a pacifier, gently set him down, and guided him towards the play area scattered with his toys.

And for nearly ten minutes, you engaged in playtime with your son. However, the abrupt halt of the buzzing noise signalled the deed was done. You almost dreaded how your man would look upon his return from the bathroom.

And as he emerged in the doorway, you had to stifle a chuckle. The tough and strong hockey player had transformed into someone who could easily pass as a college frat boy. And it didn't exactly please you.

Yet, as he approached you and Eliot, wanting to join in the playtime, squatting and settling down with his little family, you accepted the outcome as it was. However, Eliot did not.

The young boy took one look at his father, then suddenly burst into tears as if something had deeply upset him.

"What the-?" William was genuine bewildered by his son's unexpected cries.

And you couldn't help but burst into laughter, watching Eliot’s reaction to the sight of his own dad.

"He's crying... why is he crying, babe? What did I do?" William sounded almost panicked as he attempted to reach for his son. However, Eliot instead tried his best to crawl away from the unfamiliar sight and reached out for you to pick him up and hold him close.

"Shh... it's okay, baby," you tried to comfort your son. "It's just daddy," you reassured him in a calm voice, though laughter was bubbling up inside you.

Eliot's wide, terrified eyes remained fixed on William, while seeking solace in your motherly embrace to stop crying. But every time William attempted to approach and touch him, Eliot turned away, crying even louder despite the pacifier in his mouth.

And you just couldn't contain yourself any longer.

"Shit, what's happening?" William asked, utterly confused.

"He's just as upset as I usually am when you shave," you chuckled deeply, still holding and comforting your son in your arms.

"He's seriously crying because I shaved?" your boyfriend asked, throwing his arms up in defeat as his son gradually calmed down and settled his breaths in his tiny lungs.

"Seems like it, Willy," you grinned. "Apparently, he doesn't quite recognise you," you added with a soft smile, feeling rather pleased that your son seemed to strongly agree with your opinion about William's facial hair.

"I shaved last summer too," he tried to justify.

"True, but then he was just a newborn, love," you smiled again. "He's only seen you with a beard for the past six or seven months as his little brain has developed more."

And this time, William had to concede defeat.

Eliot had made the verdict, and it seemed the beard had to make a comeback.

"Hmm... I guess I'll have to let it grow back then," William chuckled lightly, releasing a deep sigh.

"Yeah, I really think you have to," you replied with a content smirk, already looking forward to when the scruff would once again adorn his handsome face.

Luckily for you, your monkey of a boyfriend had a good dose of testosterone, resulting in rather fast hair growth. So, during your holiday in Sweden with the Nylander family, Eliot could once again recognise his father.

That was until you told the rather amusing story to William's brother and sisters, who then convinced him to shave again, just to witness Eliot's reaction. And as predicted, it led to another bout of tears from your little boy, this time expressing very clear disapproval of his father's altered appearance.

Amidst the laughter, both you and Camilla realised it wasn't fair to Eliot. He was genuinely distressed, unable to recognise his own father - only a strange-looking man attempting to interact with him.

So, you persuaded William to let his beard grow once more and resist any temptation from Alex or Sandy to shave it off again.

However, there was one concession: he insisted on shaving his chest hair. That was non-negotiable.

[ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes]

She Kept Him Human

pairing: kaz brekker x fem!reader

genre: fluff

el's thoughts: requested by @jahayla-parker .. ahhhh 30ish mins and 700 words, not bad haha hopefully this got me out of my writers block and hopefully this is somewhat alright... given the fact that my brain is half dead right now and it's not edited- like at all :)

Kaz tore his eyes away from the papers sprawled across his desk when he heard the heavy wooden door creak open. Familiarity settled in his chest as Y/N padded across the floor grabbing his blanket off his bed and curled into the window seat next to his desk. His eyes scanned over her figure taking in her appearance. Her hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions most likely from her tossing and turning. Her slightly red eyes and dark circles. She wrapped the blanket around herself tightly, bringing her knees up to her chest as she rested her head against the cold window. He watched the lights from the building reflect in her eyes as she scanned the city as if looking for a distraction.

No words were exchanged between the two as a comfortable silence settled around the pair. This wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and at this point, Kaz looked forward to the nights she made her way to his room. The reasons for her coming up always varied between being bored, not being able to fall asleep, or having nightmares. He was always able to tell given her mood and appearance. Tonight was nightmares. He knew eventually they would talk about it but he waited till she was ready. Till the vacant look faded from her eyes and she felt present again. 

He finished signing a few papers and placed them aside, trying to draw his attention away from the girl beside him. Finally, a sigh slipped past her lips as she turned to face him, “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for nothing.” He watched her lips curl into a small, tired smile. “You know it’s not nothing to me.” He tilted his head to the side in a slight nod before he stood and moved to his washroom. 

Y/N watched him slide his gloves off and run the tap water over his hands before splashing his face. He was quick to dry off and make his way back to his chair, leaving his gloves on his sink. His eyes met hers with patient expectation and that was her sign he was ready to listen. 

“I miss them so much.” She spoke with her voice muffled behind her knees as she rested her face against her blanket-clad legs. He didn’t ask who she was talking about since most of her nightmares were the same thing. The death of her parents.

“I don’t know why I can’t get the images out of my mind…” She sighed, “Okay well it’s not a completely unreasonable thing, but it’s driving me mad, Kaz.” She looked at him, her eyes started to tear up, “I could’ve-”

“Don’t.” He cut her off before she could go down the familiar spiral. “We’ve been down that road and we both know it leads nowhere. Don’t start yourself on that. You couldn’t have done anything, Y/N.”

She inhaled sharply and blinked rapidly. To anyone else, his words would’ve come across harsh and insensitive, but to Y/N they were comforting and a reminder that she wasn’t alone. He knew her just as she knew him. He would be there for her in her weakest moments just as she was there for him. It was a mutual thing that had grown on them over time, it was them. 

“I know, I know.” Her voice sounded heavy but Kaz could tell she was composed, letting go of those memories. Her mind wasn’t haunted anymore and was ready to fall back into a peaceful sleep. Silence filled the room once more as a yawn slipped through Y/N’s lips. “Can I…?” She pointed to his bed and he only nodded before turning back to his desk. She was quick to walk to his bed and curl up under the blanket, burying her nose into his pillow while inhaling deeply. A feeling of warmth spread through his chest as he watched her actions discreetly. Knowing the fact that she found comfort in him, he managed to convince himself that he might not be the monster he thought he was. At least not completely. Not with her around. She kept him human, and he was silently grateful.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter Six: Prophetic Girl

The Pariahs That Saved The World

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: canon-events (demobats), some fluffy bits in this one, vecna's curse, not proof-read

[A/N: Oh my goodness, the procrastinator has returned- Whew, thank you all for your patience! I finally found some time to finish the next chapter; I really didn't want to rush anything so just know this one was created with every ounce of love <3)

Prophetic Girl

You don’t know why you dived into the water with the others.

You weren’t a particularly strong swimmer, nor did you have a heroic nature urging you to help save a friend.

The look Robin gave you as her best friend was dragged under the water was probably the culprit, ripping open your heart with her absolute terror.

That was the scariest part of it all. The emotional discipline you had forced upon yourself over the past year could be shattered in seconds from just one look, reigniting a feeling you thought was lost forever. And god dammit, you would do anything to make sure that feeling never got away from you again.

“Steve!” Robin screams as you pull yourself out of the gate, wiping the water from your face.

The Upside Down. It wasn’t like you expected it to be. You know they had described it as a reflection of Hawkins, a darker universe than the one you resided in, yet part of you always assumed there’d be something strangely beautiful about this place. But you were here now, rushing to the others to help them fight off the local bats, looking around with nothing but disgust on your face.

Perhaps you couldn’t find the beauty in everything after all.

You barely reached the others before Eddie was shouting behind you. Duck? In the last second, you mange to crouch to the ground and avoid something with claws flying over your head, screeching into the dark sky. You blink. Was that a…

“Bats!” Eddie exasperates, grabbing an oar from the ground and charging full speed at the one swinging back for a second time.

It was a chaotic blur of stress and adrenaline, somehow batting away small razor sharp teeth and wrestling against their surprisingly slimy bodies. You had managed to pull one from Nancy’s back and drive your boot down on its head before Robin pulled you away from an attack, Eddie’s oar quick to slam it to the ground.

Steve was bitten pretty badly, the first thing you observed as he spat out the head of a bat, panting. You thought Eddie was about to explode from excitement, looking at you with wide eyes and suppressing a smile. How he managed to find joy even in hell, you would never know.

“You okay?” Robin’s hand shook as she places both hands on her best friend’s shoulders, worried eyes searching his. He lets out a breathy laugh and nods, her body practically depleting in relief.

“You’re sure?” Nancy prompts, and he examines himself closer, still nodding. “Took about a pound of flesh but, uh, other than that… never better.”

You let out a sigh and wipe your brow, watching as Robin crouches beside you to shine a light on a bat corpse.

“Uh, do you guys think these bats have, like, rabies?” Robin questions, looking up at you with a frown.

“What?” Steve gapes, and you suck in your lips.

“It’s just that rabies are, like, my number one greatest fear.” She explains, standing back up, “And I think we should get you to a doctor really soon because once symptoms set in, it’s too late. You’re already dead.”

Both Steve and Nancy look at her in exasperation, their features clearly telling that they didn’t appreciate Robin’s spiralling input. You start to smirk.

“Or you’ll become a vampire.” You offer with a grin and he mockingly nods his head.

“We need to get you patched up.” Nancy states, looking dishevelled from the fight, looking around, “Maybe we can-”

The trail of thoughts were lost as you all watch another group of bats fly down to where the gate rested, tearing at it. You squint your eyes, focusing. What were they doing?

“Uh, guys?” Eddie interrupts, and you turn to see him staring at the sky, your eyes widening. “I think we need to get out of here.”

“Nah, there’s not that many, we can take ‘em.” Steve breathes out, wincing when you lightly tap him. But it draws everyone else’s focus up to the sight that had you and Eddie stood in fear.

As your eyes fixate on the litter of shapes between the warm clashes of red and blue, you quickly start to nod, grabbing Eddie by the shirt and pulling him into a run as you all silently agree to a fast escape.

“The trees!” You yell, pointing to your left and you all head for the treeline, ducking for cover just as the bats attempt to swoop down, blocked by the thick expanse of wood.

You all manage to huddle under the flipped version of Skull Rock, panting as the bats fly past with no prey in their sight.

“That… was more cardio than I paid for.” Robin gasps and you collapse against a rock, catching your breath.

Nancy was quick to start patching Steve up despite his polite objections. You even raised an impressed eyebrow when she rips off the hem of her shirt to substitute bandages with fabric, sharing a look of awe with Eddie.

Out the corner of your eye, you see Robin trying to calm Steve down in a way that would have you smiling. But Steve didn’t look to be in the smiling nature.

Calmly, you place a hand on her shoulder and gently guide her away, the girl giving you a smile.

Instead of berating her best friend with a million facts and questions that would probably stress him out, she took a seat on the ground opposite you, her smile noticeably less bright when Eddie plops directly beside you, groaning.

“So… anyone got a blunt?”

“Jesus Christ.” You groan with a smirk, eyeing him with amusement. “You seriously think now is a good time to be getting high?”

“I personally think this is the best time to get high.” He says with confidence, stretching out his legs.

“You’re an idiot.” You say, adoration in your voice that made Robin’s skin crawl.

“Ouch.” He mockingly holds his hand to his heart, “I wasn’t treated this way when you needed a smoke after you rear-ended Mrs Click’s car-”

“Shut up!” You hiss with laughter, gently shoving him away from you and he chuckles, shoving back.

As she watched the two of you tease one another with an ease that made her queasy, Robin’s brows furrowed. You were both much closer than she had hoped for.

“Why did you guys break up?”

The quiet laughter broke into silence, inquisitive eyes suddenly set on hers. She feels her ears burn, quickly swooping her hair forward to conceal them.

“Thank you for asking.” Eddie claps his hands like it was an interview and you roll your eyes, immediately easing the tension. “Well, you see, we were like, what? 15? 15. It was cute, very short, and we realised we were better friends. Right?”

“That’s about it.” You shrug, smiling. Your eyes land on hers with a lightness to them that made her heart swoon.

“So why did you even get together in the first place?” She frowns, face dropping when his eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, god, that sounded meaner than it did in my head.”

“We hadn’t really tried the friend part yet.” You chuckle, and Eddie hums.

“Too blinded by our mutual hatred for King Steve and his merry band of idiots.”

“So you could say Steve brought us closer together.” You quip and Robin suppresses a laugh.

“One of you say my name?” Steve suddenly asks and you all fall into laughter, ignoring the boy’s curious frown.

After a while, Eddie shakes his head and jumps up to stalk over to a fallen tree trunk, inspecting it.

“He’s pretty cool.” Robin sighs, watching him step up onto the wood and survey the land like an explorer.

“Yeah.” You look over your shoulder with a smile, something like sadness flickering across your face for just a fleeting moment. If Robin didn’t find herself completely captivated with every movement you made, she would have missed it completely. Was it… regret? Did you regret the break up? Did you want him back-

“So, uh…” Eddie’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts as you all turn to where he stood at the tip of the tree trunk. “This place is like Hawkins, but with monsters and nasty shit?”

“Pretty much.” Nancy responds, grunting a little as she attempts to shift some of Steve’s weight onto her. “Wait, watch out for the vines. It’s all a hive mind.”

“It’s all a what?”

“All the creepy crawlies around here, dude. They’re like, one or something.” Steve tries to explain, wincing as he brushes his hand over the bandages.

“I repeat, it’s all a what?” Eddie frowns and you stand up, grimacing.

“Uh, step on a vine, you step on literally everything else at the same time and then, well, evil wizard comes to snap our bones.” You shrug, his mouth parted in shock as he nods slowly in recognition.

“Shit.” He simply says, starting his descent.

“But everything from our world is still here, right? Except people, obviously?” Robin appears beside you, her arm brushing against yours.

“As far as I understand it, yeah.” Nancy nods and you can practically hear the cogs turning in Robin’s mind, humming with excitement.

“So, theoretically, we could go to the police station and steal guns and grenades and whatever we need to blow up those bat things that are guarding the gate.” She suggests and you vigorously nod along to her idea, loving where her mind was at.

“I highly doubt the Hawkins PD has grenades, Robin. But guns, yeah, sure.” Steve rolls his eyes and you hum.

“I don’t know, I definitely think Hopper would stash grenades somewhere.” You say and Nancy tilts her head in acknowledgement, silently agreeing.

“Well, we don’t have to go all the way downtown for guns.” Nancy says and you raise your eyebrow. “I have guns. In my bedroom.”

“You,” Eddie jumps down with surprise, brows furrowed. “Nancy Wheeler, have guns, plural, in your bedroom?”

“Full of surprises, isn’t she?” Robin grins.

Eddie doesn’t look convinced.

“Be a sceptic, but I watched her shoot at a demogorgon that was emerging from the ceiling.” You snort, crossing your arms. “And I gotta tell ya, Nancy owning guns is the least surprising thing in that sentence.”

“A Russian Makarov and a revolver.” Nancy confirms.

“Yeah, you almost shot me with that one.” Steve comments, getting closer.

Nancy starts to smile, turning her head to him. “You almost deserved it.”

They share a look and you twist your face. “Gag me with a spoon.”

“I got it.” Eddie says, slipping off his denim vest and launching it at Steve, the boy barely catching it before it hit his face. “For your modesty, dude.”

You almost laughed at his face until the ground violently shook beneath you, throwing you off balance and sending you crashing into Robin. She tried her best to catch you, but she was already falling to the ground, your body laying on top of her and you both squeezed your eyes shut until the earthquake stopped.

“What… the hell… was that?” You pant, turning your head to see Robin’s wide eyes staring back at you. For a second, you couldn’t peel your eyes away, closer than you ever would have imagined.

The moment was short-lived, a chorus of snarls and screeches echoing through the woods like an omen.

“Yeah, so guns seem like a pretty good idea to me.” Eddie gasps.

“Yeah me too.”

“Me three.”

You and Robin both reply as you peel away from eachother, avoiding eye contact like neither of you had any kind of self-restraint.

It was impossible not to notice a particular pair of eyes on you as your own stayed glued to the ground, unfamiliar with the Upside Down and its tricks. For anyone to be watched would be somewhat discomforting, but not in this particular instance. Because, for as long as you can remember now, anytime she’s looked away, your eyes have been returning the favour.

“Did you wanna say something?”

You finally break the silent streak occurring between you and Robin, her sheepish smile brightening her face once she realises she’s been caught.

“I, uh…” She fumbles around for an excuse, letting out a low whistle. “Was just making sure you’re okay. That’s all. Nothing weird.”

“Why do you keep asking me that?” You laugh, catching her eyes and she almost melts. “Do I not look okay?”

“You look amazing.” Robin shakes her head, blinking when she realises what she just said. “Uh, I didn’t mean that. Not that you don’t look amazing, you do, even after all of that. Not in a weird- what I meant to say was I don’t think you aren’t okay, I was just…”

She lets out a groan and you laugh again.

“I’ve just dragged you into this and I can’t help thinking it will be my fault if you aren’t okay.”

“Robin.” You carefully step over a vine, clearing your throat. “Before you showed up at my door, I was already deciding that I was going to help.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You bite your lip, shrugging. “The, uh, the first time Nancy asked me to help, I wasn’t thinking straight. I just wasn’t in the mood to try and save a town that I hated. It was… complicated.”

“What changed your mind?”

“My gran.” You smile, albeit sadly. “I suddenly realised that I’ve lost too many people here. Even if… even if I don’t belong here, the people living in this town don’t deserve to die. I can’t just leave when people I care about are in danger.”

“So my whole speech was just for nothing?”

“Not for nothing.” You shake your head, suddenly sending her a smirk. “It was very entertaining.”

“Shut up.” Robin giggles, nudging your arm playfully.

As she does, her joy momentarily distracts her from her own very important mission: do not trip.

It almost cost her, glancing down at the last second to come to a screeching halt, the toes of her boots a fraction away from brushing the side of a vine. Her sudden stop itself threw her off balance, and she felt herself falling back.

Until your hands reached out and caught hers, pulling her closer to you before she fell victim to gravity completely.

“Thanks.” She says breathlessly, and you can only nod, looking down to where your fingers interlocked hers.

Clearing your throat, you take your hands back and offer a smile, ignoring the sickly sweet feeling of your heartbeat drumming a little faster than it had been before your hands found someone’s to hold.

“Gotta be careful.” You whisper, returning your eyes to the path and moving towards Nancy’s silhouette up ahead. Robin stood there for a moment longer, biting her lip.

She was just torturing herself now. Either she said something, prayed for some kind of miracle, or she moved on. There was no point living in this romance limbo when there were more important things to worry about.

Her feet were tired by the time you reach the Wheeler house, shifting in her shoes as Steve takes the flashlight from her and clicks it on, the door creaking beneath his push.

The interior reflected its exterior, dark and covered head to toe with vines that made her grimace at the sight.

“Might be time to get a maid, Wheeler.” Robin jokes, almost jumping when she hears you shut the door.

“Sorry.” You mouth, walking into the space. “Wow. Love the décor.”

“Come on,” Nancy tilts her head to the staircase, “I don’t want to stay here longer than we have to.”

She starts bounding up the steps, and Robin gives you a shrug before she and Eddie start to follow up, your own footsteps behind Steve’s. Except, for some reason, he stops.

“Hello?” You crane your neck around to where he’s shining the flashlight at nothing. “Earth to Steve?”

“Shhh.” He whispers, holding a finger to his lips. You frown. “I hear something.”

“Oh god.” Your shoulders slump. “You’re not hallucinating, are you? Because I can’t be the one to tell Robin the rabies got you.”

“Just… shut up.” He says, slipping past you and moving to the corner. “It’s him.”

Any sarcastic quips you had rattling around your brain were pushed away, fear flooding your body. “Vecna?”

“What? No, no.” He shakes his head, holding his finger in the air. “Henderson.”

“Hend-” You stop, tilting your head. “You can hear Dustin?”

“Just…” He sighs and waltz over to you, placing a hand on your back and moving you to where he was previously stood.

“Oh, hey, Y/n, come over here.” You mumble as you shrug his hand off of you. “What am I-”

“Just listen.” He says and you sigh, shutting your mouth and entertaining the idea.

For a moment, nothing.

And then the voice whispers around you, muffled, and most definitely Dustin’s.

“Holy shit.” You breathe out and Steve nods furiously. “Holy shit.”

“Dustin!” He starts to shout and you join him, the both of you shouting around the space. “Dustin!”

Once they hear your yelling, the other three are running down the stairs, Robin’s heart beating fast, assuming that the minute she left you had been attacked and there would be no way to-

“What the…” Eddie mutters and she widens her eyes in disbelief.

“Dustin! Hello?!”

The two of you are yelling at the walls and ceilings, making her blink.

“Maybe he really does have rabies.” She comments and Eddie frowns.

“Is it contagious?” He asks and she tilts her head, still fixated on the shouting frenzy.

“Only if he bit her.”

“Hello?” Dustin?!”

“Guys, what are you doing?” Nancy interrupts your next cry for the young boy and you turn to them, breathing heavy.

“We heard Dustin.” You breathlessly explain and Steve nods behind you, still shouting.

“He's here. Henderson. That little shit, he's here. He's like... He's in the walls or something. Just listen.” Steve grins at them before walking away, continuing his call. “Dustin!”

“Uh…” You stare as he spins around in a circle. “He might look crazy, but I promise he’s right. Listen.”

You watch the realisation fall over their faces, making you smile.

They fan out, calling out his name and following in Steve’s lead, trying to communicate with the boy on the other side.

As you go to join them, you catch something out of the corner of your eye, reflecting on the glass of the window. You can still hear Dustin’s voice droning in and out, like a radio that hadn’t been sent to the right frequency. But it didn’t sound the same as before. Something was different.

Your refection was blurry, making you squint. Goosebumps started to trail across your skin, making you shiver. It wasn’t your reflection.

Robin was the only to see how you blinked into a state of paralysis, immediately calling out for help as she rushes over to you.

It seemed like Vecna had something else to say.

Chapter Seven: We Are The Pariahs

taglist: @kryztalglear . @learninglinesintherainn . @officerrrfriendly . @a-simpfortessa-lesbriean . @spacedoutdaydreamer . @endurexxsurvive . @em16cor . @gray-cheese . @chaosofmanyfandoms . @kitdjarin1 . @some-day--some-how . @cultish-corner . @marirxse .

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Rotten (S.R.)

Summary: Reader struggles to feel at home in their body following a trauma.

A/N: This was written for everyone who needs a friend on those difficult nights. I hope this fic feels like I’m holding your hand. This is also yet another entry for my CM Comfort Challenge. Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader Category: Angst/Comfort Content Warning: 🚨Mental illness, PTSD, implied trauma (undefined), feelings of self-hatred, lack of self worth, unintentional self-harm (scratches), crying, implied suicidal ideation🚨 Please take care and remember you deserve to be happy, healthy, and safe. Fanfic is not worth sacrificing your mental well-being. Word Count: 2.6k

MASTERLIST

⚠️ PLEASE REFER TO CONTENT WARNINGS ABOVE ⚠️

Spencer had been worried about me lately. He didn’t say it, but I could feel it when he looked at me. Swimming between the hazel bursts of his irises was a reflection of my own shame.

Spencer had been worried about me lately. I had not been anything at all. The apathy was the worst part — the ever-consuming nothingness, the cosmic black hole pulling my soul from my flesh until there is nothing left.

Spencer had been worried about me lately.

I guess he’d been right to be.

The water beating against my skin felt far from cleansing. If anything, it just drew more attention to the terror crawling under my skin. Wrinkled fingertips felt like nothing, and they offered no assurance that this body belonged to me.

The pounding water also did nothing to mask the loud sobbing. My chest heaved, breathing in more water than air, and I thought how fitting it was for the way I felt inside.

I sought out sensation; I just needed to feel. It wasn’t my fault that softness felt foreign. There was nothing but sharp, nothing but cutting. I dug my nails into the flesh of my thigh and frantically looked for my soul beneath the skin. I searched endlessly to find the thing that so many had seen as worth taking.

That was how he found me.

Spencer pulled back the shower curtain  and bathed my huddled, naked figure in the low light of the bathroom. I hadn’t heard him over the voice in my head telling me that if I just kept going, I might finally cleanse myself of the filth baked into my being. I would rid myself of the rotting smell and sensation that twisted my gut.

He must have heard me, though. He must have been listening.

I hadn’t even looked up before he dove forward into the fray. Near boiling water hit his back, but you wouldn’t have been able to tell that he’d felt it at all in his frenzy.

He grabbed my arms as softly as he could while still forcing my hands to lift. I fought back half-heartedly. My swipes turned to weak pushes until half my body went limp.

“Hey, hey! Hey, it’s okay!”

His tone betrayed his words. The trembling timbre matched my oxygen starved muscles more than any reassurance about the situation. I glanced up, but my eyes jumped away just as quickly. My heart couldn’t handle the pain that I saw. That same feeling crawling beneath now burning skin.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he repeated, more convincingly now. “Let’s turn this water off so we can talk, okay?”

I nodded, but I didn’t move.

He did, yet I could still feel the pressure of his hands around my wrists. Even that contact, done purely out of love, felt like a taking. Perhaps that’s why I raised my hands in surrender.

The sharp squeaking of the faucet broke me from my shameful stupor.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m—“ I started, but he was quick to correct me.

“Shhh, shhhh, it’s okay. It’s okay, you’re not in trouble. I’m not mad. You don’t have to apologize.”

Even that felt so terrifying. I had been waiting years for the other shoe to drop, for the green grass on the other side to wilt and burn, for everything I’d built up to come crumbling back down. I had been carrying the weight for so long that being crushed felt so inevitable.

Spencer raised his palm to my cheek with no violence. I flinched all the same.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he whispered.“Why are you in here?”

“I’m sorry I woke you up. I didn’t meant to, I didn’t want…”

I looked up only to realize that I hadn’t answered the question.

I couldn’t answer the question. I didn’t know the answer.

So, like I’d always done, I begged, “I’m sorry.”

Almost immediately, he answered, “It’s okay. I’m happy to be here.”

“No, you’re not,” I wailed. I tried to turn his words into a lie; I twisted them into the same knots as my stomach but in the end, all I felt was guilt for trying to turn him into something like me.

I choked on the tears and mucus that seemed to be pouring down my throat. The heavy sound was a reminder of how sick this body felt.

Spencer didn’t even flinch as he daintily caught my tears with his thumb. No matter how violently my body moved, his tenderness remained.

“Nothing makes me happier than knowing you don’t have to be alone.”

He’d said it so quietly I almost wondered if he’d meant for me to hear it. Even curiouser was his silence that followed. But the world was still not quiet, even when the sobbing turned to sniffles. Spencer’s slow breathing and the rhythmic, saturnine sound of water droplets dripping from the shower head taught me how to breathe again. The steamy air brought stinging lungs with it, but only enough to remind me that I was still alive.

It had never been like Spencer to wait for me to ask for help. So, I couldn’t be surprised when he saw my shivering figure and reached for a towel before I’d moved at all. And despite the fact he was also dripping, he made sure to dry me off first. He wrapped me with fluffy softness and sighed with relief when he finally got my body to cease its trembling.

He pulled me closer, holding me tightly against his chest and letting his quickened heartbeat speak for him for a moment.

“There, isn’t that better?” he asked as it returned to its normal pace.

I didn’t know how to answer, so at first, I didn’t. But eventually, when I couldn’t help but agree, I nodded against his chest.

That temporary calmness, that eye of the storm, was short lived. Because I knew the question was coming — I knew he had to ask, and this time, I couldn’t lie to him.

I knew the answer. I just knew he wouldn’t like it.

Yet, I didn’t stop him before he asked, “Can you tell me why you’re hurting yourself?”

“I just…” I tried. I failed.

“I just want…” I tried again.

That time, when my lip started trembling and my breathing got heavier, Spencer knew that I was on the brink of a break.

“What?” he begged, and I gave into the demand.

“I want them to see it,” I seethed. “I want everyone to see what I’m feeling so maybe they’ll stop pretending that nothing happened.”

Each word got harder, rougher as it clawed its way through my throat the same way I’d shredded the skin of my thigh. I withheld the burning desire to continue to eviscerate the untouched skin and let my hatred come out through the bitter words.

“Because it did happen. It happened and it’s fucking eating me alive and everyone gets to pretend like I’m fine! But I’m not fine. I can’t even—“

I choked. My body had run out of air, but I kept going between the gasps. I got louder and angrier like it would make clearer the meaning behind the words.

“I can’t even hurt myself because it doesn’t feel like this body belongs to me, Spencer! How fucking stupid is that?”

I am so scared.

“It’s not stupid,” Spencer corrected as soon as he felt he was allowed to, “You’re not stupid.”

But I couldn’t stop myself long enough to listen. I just kept going, kept trying to find a way to explain what monstrous hands were still wrapped around my heart like suffocating, thorned vines.

“It makes me feel sick and alien and like, like maybe I’m playing God by having the audacity to survive,” I said quickly so that I could stop myself. I’d tricked myself into saying what I knew he’d never wanted to hear.

“It makes me feel like maybe I should have just died by now. Maybe I should’ve just died the first time.”

Spencer’s body tensed like the words had wounded him. He clutched me tightly, too tightly for his own comfort. His breath was shaky and uneven, but he tried to stay in control. He tried not to lose himself to the pain of his own thoughts on his lover’s tongue.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he said. He couldn’t say anything else.

In that unfortunate silence, the devils in my mind continued to roam free and take claim to each labored breath. 

“I’m broken, Spencer,” I sobbed anew.  “There’s nothing left of me and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

I knew it couldn’t be easy for him. I knew that more often than not, he felt the same way I had. Part of what brought us together was precisely this mutual understanding of what it meant to be broken.

Spencer had just gotten a head start to coming to terms with it.

“Can you please look at me?” he whispered. It was framed as a question but sounded like a beg.

He wouldn’t make me if I didn’t want to. I wanted to, though. I craved the comfort I knew only he could provide after having been forged by the fire himself. I wanted him to magically make me better somehow.

But when I peeked up at him, I was reminded that this path would never be as easy as I’d wanted it to be. It would be suffering at every step.

I just wish my suffering hadn’t hurt him, too.

“Look at me,” he repeated, clearly seeing how badly I’d wanted to divert my attention. “You’re hurt. I’m not going to take that away from you. I’m not.”

Then, with his hands gently cradling my shoulders, Spencer trembled with the force of his words. He turned me to face him so there would be no doubt and no ability to question his conclusions.

“But, sweetheart, you’re not broken,” he cried. The words uttered through force and his tears welling with words he wanted to say but couldn’t. “Y-You’re not dirty, you’re not unlovable, or doomed to suffer, or better off dead, or whatever other bullshit they convinced you to believe.”

Spencer saw the way my nails dug into my palms. He took my hand into his and squeezed it just enough to let me know to let go. He made space for himself between my fingers and filled it immediately.

“Believe me when I say that when I look at you… I don’t see any part of them.”

With my free hand, I frantically wiped tears from my face. I pulled at the skin harder than I had to. Spencer didn’t stop me, then. He just kept going, kept torturing me with all the kindness I’d never felt before.

All the while, I’d tried to convince myself that there wasn’t another hit coming. His sugary, smitten words wouldn’t be followed by bitterness. Spencer wouldn’t resent me for this anywhere near the way I would.

Spencer noticed me slipping away and stubbornly pulled me back. With one hand firmly in mine, he used the other to hold my face steady as it sniffled. He looked at me like what he had to say was the most urgent confession in the universe.

“I love you, and they don’t get to decide how I see you. They don’t get to have that power over me,” he seethed, “I refuse.”

His anger was wielded so differently than theirs. I didn’t want to be afraid of him when his rage was so clearly aimed elsewhere, but I couldn’t help myself. No matter how little he saw them, I would still feel them. I feared I would never rid myself of that wretched feeling.

“I can still feel it,” I tried to explain while looking down at the raw skin on my thighs, “I don’t know how to let it go.”

I’d so desperately wanted him to have the answer, but when he did speak after a moment of silence, the advice that followed seemed so irrelevant.

“Come on. Let’s get you some comfortable clothes and we’re going to put something on these scratches,” he said with a smile.

I stared blankly, struggling to consider how I was meant to care about the next steps when I’d been convinced they wouldn’t come. I stood there, wrapped in a towel and my lover’s arms while I tried to find a future worth living.

“Does that sound okay?” he asked.

I realized that a future was a little too intimidating to be found in the middle of the night with nothing to wield but a towel. I decided that, for now, the baby steps to the bed would be enough.

Spencer’s eyes watered when I nodded. His smile stretched in a baffling way, like I’d given him the great gift by barely moving my head.

By accepting his kindness, I had given Spencer a purpose to make his next move; for him to guide me gently and asking for my permission in excess. With each nod, I found his worry begin to drift away. I thought that I would feel it seeping into my skin as he rubbed a cold cream against open wounds, but I didn’t.

All I felt was the comfort of warm hands working roughened skin. I felt the way he trembled when he moved me like I had been the most fragile thing on this earth.

Spencer held me, softly, without any intention of hurting. He looked at me much the same. There was something in his eyes, something palpable that reached into my chest and loosened the vines without fear of how they would cut him.

“I love taking care of you,” he said when I’d stared a few seconds too long.

I was immediately overcome with guilt. He waved it away immediately .

“You shouldn’t have to do that,” I’d said.

“I don’t have to,” he clarified, “I want to.”

“Why?”

The question hung in the air while Spencer examined the scars on my body. He looked me up and down, always lingering on the areas I hated the most. Not because they were worth less, but because he’d wanted to love them more.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, a solemn smile appeared on his face. He looked back up at me, with a shyness that I hadn’t anticipated.

“Because you deserve it,” he said.

“Spencer—“ I tried to correct him, but his expression became even more stubbornly soft.

“You don’t have to believe me. Just let me try,” he whispered, “Please. Just let me try.”

In that moment, I realized that there was something worthwhile about sticking around. There was something in his eyes from which I could derive some meaning, however fleeting and however temporary. For a brief moment, the future seemed slightly more attainable.

Although the journey would not be easy, and there would be many more nights spent with clichés and band-aids, I was willing to make the first step to finding the future I’d forgotten.

“Okay,” I said.

I had wanted Spencer to tell me how to let it go. In his curious way, he gave me the answer.

Just a little bit of hope. That was the answer.

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[the-final-sif]

c!Dream is off on a mission, to a location he does not know, for a purpose he does not know, but it’s probably not dangerous, and he also brought snacks so it should work out in the end. Honestly, given his poor map reading skills, the lack of direction isn’t that different from normal.

When Dream started his mission to… somewhere, he hadn’t been expecting it to feel so different.

Unlike his usual adventures, full of sidetracks and distractions, he found his feet pulled forward. His body almost moved as if it had a mind of his own as something called for him. Faintly but desperately. Like a ghost screaming and clawing at his skin, but only coming across as a gust of wind.

He couldn’t say how long he walked for. Time faded away, the light stopped mattering, the sights and sounds blended together until-

Until he reached it.

The entrance to a cave, made of rock he’d never seen before. It was perfectly smooth, like river rocks, but it shimmered like crystals. Every time he looked, it was a different color. Refracting and reflecting light until you lost yourself looking at it.

It was huge. It was narrow. It was more than big enough to fit him. It felt like it might consume him.

The call was coming from the cave, but equally just looking at the cave felt like he was doing something wrong. Like he wasn’t really supposed to be here, even though he’d been called.

Taking a deep breath, Dream strode forward. Holding his head high and hoping his mask would keep him safe, like XD had promised it would.

Inside the cave, there was no air. Inside the cave, Dream didn’t need to breathe. He forgot how to.

The only thing he could remember was how to put one foot in front of the other.

There was no sound, not even his own footsteps. There was no light. He could see just fine. He could not understand what he was seeing.

Whatever was under his feet was no longer rock. Maybe it never had been. He still didn’t know what color it was.

Deeper and deeper into the cave he went, nothing changing but the feeling in his chest of something approaching. Something watching him. Something was waiting for him. He didn’t know if he wanted it to find him.

Dream was pretty sure he didn’t have a choice.

Finally, he stopped. Unable to walk any further. He was here.

In front of him was…

Well it looked like a pond. But it wasn’t full of water.

It was full of void, deadly still and frozen.

Without thinking, he knelt at its shore.

The room felt stagnant, empty, neglected.

And then..

He felt- not one but two somethings join him in the room. No- they had been there the entire time.

Is this it? The one we’ve been waiting for.

Yes. It feels strange, but it is the one.

It does not feel like the ones that came before. Something’s different.

It is meant to be this way. It is the one. It is meant to be different. It would not survive if it were the same.

This one has survived. It has come to us at last. We’ve been waiting a very long time for it.

I told you it would come, eventually.

I know. The waiting was still long. But it has come. It is here now. It’s time to begin again.

It can hear us. Let’s not make it wait. It has not yet won. It has so much to do.

I know. I wish it were easier. It has already come so far.

It has come far, and we will watch where it goes. We cannot make it easier, but we will be there to witness its story unfold.

“Um, my name is Dream.”

Dream wasn’t quite how he managed to speak, but he did. He could feel- surprise? shock? delight? Silence from the voices reverberating through his skull. Only for a moment though.

Our apologies, little Dream. You’ve come very far. You have much farther to go.

“I know. XD told me. He said this was the first step. Can I ask a question?”

You seem to be able to. Although our answers may not satisfy you. We must speak carefully. We are not here to shape you.

Never. We are here to watch, we are here to witness. So that you know the universe is with you.

“Okay, well, I know I was supposed to come here. I assume there’s something I’m supposed to do, like a task or something? But uh, before that, you guys seem to know a lot. Like about everything.”

We are everything. Everything you see, everything you feel, everything reaching out and holding you close.

We have been here a very long time. We will be here for a very long tmie, here to witness you, little Dream.

“Okay, well if you know a lot about everything, do you have any ideas about what I could get XD for Christmas? I really wanted to try to get him something, but he seems to be able to conjure anything. There has to be something that he wants though! Any ideas?”

There was a long pause, Dream almost thought the voices were gone, and then he felt something like laughter, like a breeze ruffling his hair, like a baby bird’s first awkward attempt at flight. Not cruel, soft, but chaotic.

We could-

Shush, Dream can still hear us. Speak with care.

I know. But he has asked. Can we not share this much?

XD would love any gift you brought him, he loves you. He can create any material, but only you give him something that communicates your love.

If he’d been able to, Dream would’ve rolled his eyes.

“I know, but I want it to actually be special. There has to be something that I could get that he can’t get on his own. I know it must exist!”

The voices paused again, only for a moment this time.

There is something you could get him, little Dream. But it is a very difficult task. It is very dangerous.

He is still small. The challenge is great.

That is not our choice to make.

“Wait, what is it? I can handle it! XD has been training me for years! Also I'm not that small! I'm a whole foot taller than Sapnap!”

If we tell him, we have made his choice.

What about a story then?

We could try a story. They are safer. Not entirely safe, nothing can be entirely safe. But safer.

Yes, let’s try.

The story starts with a boy. Young, small, but very brave. He was made of love, of new ideas. Dangerous new ideas.

The boy set out on a quest, dreams had haunted him at night, driving him forward until he found a dying world.

The world was dying because it was being poisoned by a monster. A great beast that had lost itself, that was in pain, that had already told its story but hadn’t yet been freed. It wasn’t allowed to wake up, to start a new dream.

The boy was very small, but very brave. Full of love for the world. Made of that love. He couldn’t stand to see the world hurt. So he set out to free the monster.

He used a weapon made of teeth, found deep in a strange place outside of the universe most people know. Given to him when he started his quest. Teeth and bone from the emptiness that stretches from one universe to the next. The maw of the nothing that binds everything. The only thing that could wake up the monster.

It was a long and hard fight. The monster was hurt, it was lashing out, it was too lost to understand that the boy was doing what it needed. But the boy managed to strike a final blow, sunk the teeth of the nothing in between everything into the monster and set it free. So it’s dream could start anew.

This was not the boy’s final quest, it was his first. It changed him. He was still made of love, but a new kind of love. Changed, as all things are by their experiences. He was something new.

The boy completed his quests, and each changed him more. At the end, he came out victorious, a brave monsterslayer. Feared and revered for his skill. He had everything he could ever want.

Almost.

Almost, you see, he was full of love, surrounded by others, but he felt alone. Nobody else could slay a monster like he had. His accomplishment isolated him. He wanted very badly to find someone else that could slay monsters like him. That could do what he could do. Someone else who was full of love and dangerous new ideas.

The universe felt sad for him, but it could not take his sadness. It could only witness the boy in his loneliness.

“What was his name?” Dream asked, trying to puzzle out the story he was being told. He thought he might understand, but he wanted to be sure.

You would need to ask him.

It is not our place to name others. Only to know their name. Only to witness them.

“Did the boy find someone else? Someone else who could slay monsters?”

That is your choice, little Dream. The story isn’t over yet.

We are almost out of time.

“Will I meet you again?”

We are the universe, and you are part of it. You will never be apart from us.

We might speak again, one day. But for now, it’s time for you to return to your story.

Wake up, little Dream.