#like i see it every day in my family... work... people i know it and it literally makes my stomach turn
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I actually campaign for the NDP. Like, I knock on doors and talk to people about the election, the local candidate, the world. You know, stuff. I've been doing this for around 35 yrs (I started young and I'm old). My riding is traditionally NDP with the occasional red Liberal.
Let me tell you what I've seen in the last few elections.
Increasingly, working class people are turning to the Conservative Party. They aren't served by the current economic realities of Canada and they're looking for a party that will deliver them without actually making life too much different. See, they hate being screwed over themselves but they don't have any class loyalty and they're not really into changing the world. They just want a bigger piece of the pie. Social progress scares them and they like a party that confirms that they are right in what they believe about trans folk and indigenous people. They don't trust women and they don't trust people of colour. They don't know about Gaza and, this may be hard to accept, they don't care. Someone has been whispering in their ear about Trudeau. Online, I presume; where the stupid lie to each other, to keep each other perpetually angry.
Now, I don't support Trudeau/Liberals, so I can totally talk about that they've done wrong (don't even get me started on electoral reform) but I can't talk to these people because they live in a different reality from me. Their arguments usually go something like: Trudeau is a crook because of masks, vaccines, and the carbon tax. I mean, sure, he's a slimy trust fund baby but none of those things were criminal, actually. You can disagree with policy decisions but the vitriol is way out of proportion
Jagmeet Singh and the NDP have no chance with most of them because (1) he has brown skin and wears a turban (although they rarely say that part out loud, sometimes they do) and (2) he has supported the Liberal gov't in their minority. When you point out the progressive changes under the minority gov't prompted by the NDP, they don't care. I've talked to seniors who benefit from Pharmacare and young families that benefit from the national childcare program and they don't care.
Mostly, it's the men who don't care. And, like what just happened in the US, the white men are going to vote Conservative.
I don't know if ABC is the way to go. I'll vote NDP because they do have a good chance of winning here. But if I lived in a riding where they had no chance, I might plug my nose and vote Liberal to make sure the Cons have one fewer MP in Parliament. I'm just glad I don't have to make that choice.
Then, I'd spend the next 4 yrs developing the NDP in my riding, talking to people about what matters to them and how to achieve it, and calling my Liberal MP every time I feel like it to tell them what I think. I'd write letters to the editor and attend municipal townhalls to discuss local issues. I'd canvass door to door between elections to talk to people about legislative changes, etc. I'd join groups that interest me and make connections there too. When the next election comes around, I'd canvass for the candidate that I believed in.
Democracy doesn't happen on voting day alone. The rich know this and that's why they're paying bots to whisper in the ears of gullible, angry people.
I hate the idea of voting for the liberals strategically instead of the ndp but I am actually terrified of what would happen if pp won next year
~~~~
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⋆˙⟡♡₊˚⊹.Lunch Rush.⊹˚₊♡⟡˙⋆
[CEO!Husband!Yunho x BlackFem!Exec!Reader]
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. Where you and Yunho wanted to start trying for a baby, and with a long lunch break in your schedules, you decide to pay him a visit to try your hand at conception.
content: car sex, semi-public sex, thigh riding, cloth-ripping, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl pls), cowgirl, doggy, full fledged backshots, like 2 creampies?
word count: 3.4k
a/n: This fic cost me 5 FUCKING DOLLARS TO MAKE?!?!?! I had to pay to use a fake text generator, so if any of you have a site or app that I can make fake text messages FOR FREE then PLEASE let me know😭. This was self indulgent but I wanna dedicate this fic to all my fellow Hotteoks🫶🏾 And the bitches that fantasize about getting nutted in and getting it poppin’ in the back of the parking lot (in theory of course)! WwaBRiM (if you can’t tell from the fact the reader is rocking soft locs😛)
‧₊˚✩. ˚. ♡ ☁︎
To this day…you and Yunho’s BIGGEST regret in your relationship…is and ALWAYS WILL BE….agreeing to go to the christening of your friends’ 6-month old baby boy.
Everything was beautiful. The ceremony, the cathedral, the way the baby nestled into Yunho’s arms so naturally, and reached out to play with your bangles with such curiosity and wonder. It altered both of your brain chemistries, and you weren’t sure if it was for the better or not.
Your friends didn’t help either, saying things like “Parenthood would look so good on you two!” and “I can’t wait for your baby shower invitations.”.
How could they…….
After you pushed your meetings back to later in the week. After Yunho gave his team a free day when they could’ve been in the office perfecting the play-through on his new game before its release. Two very busy people with very busy work schedules, and you carved out time to come support your friends and their son, and they pay you back with…….
BABY FEVER?!?!
You and Yunho planned your futures out to a T. Go to university, get your respective degrees, join a company that you interned with, work your way up, become the boss, get married, honeymoon in The Maldives and spend your paid vacation days in The Swiss Alps.
Starting a family was definitely in there somewhere, but everything fell in line so well that it got lost. You’re at the top of your games…Yunho, figuratively and literally, with his gaming company being the best in the country and all…and you became the creative director for a top cosmetic brand. It really was all good. But it was lacking. And you both felt it. Ever since that christening.
You felt it every time one of your work partners went on maternity and paternity leave. Every time there were children in the offices on ‘Bring Your Kids to Work Day’. Every time Yunho saw posts or videos of kids around the world dressing up as characters he helped create. Every time your homegirls would send you milestones of their babies taking their first walk, or biting into a lemon for the first time. You two worked hard and accomplished everything you wanted to, everything except starting a family. It resonated for days after that christening.
For Weeks.
Months, even.
The energy around the house shifted. Yunho would steal glances at you as you did the simplest of routines, imagining your belly being round as you sip your favorite tea in the kitchen, waddling from room to room barefoot and pregnant. And you’d watch attentively as he’d play his video games, envisioning a child full of joy as he teaches them how to defeat their first villain. After a while it got to a point where neither of you would hide it. It became all too real, too wanted. And why not? What was stopping you two?
Everything was green lit once you and Yunho put it into the atmosphere and finally discussed it. You both were just about ready to start baby proofing the house and nothing even happened yet, becoming more proactive than you already were. Tracking apps were monitored, routines were tweaked, and everything seemed to be doable…but your work schedules…your jobs were the biggest obstacle. Just when could you slip away for a bit to see each other? When would be the right time to make a ba-
“Hey, I’m picking up my kid so we can go to lunch. I’ll be back in 2 hours!”
Your Editor in Chief pops their head in your office briefly before heading down the hall to the elevator, snapping you out of your rambling thoughts.
…………..Lunch Break.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
You reverse your sedan into the space next to him before hoping out and swishing towards the driver’s door, knocking softy. Your ears perk up at the sound of r&b playing and a silent laugh escapes you. The dark windows of the door lower, revealing Yunho in the driver’s seat, fully reclined with the top buttons of his shirt undone and the silver crucifix you adorned him with for your anniversary gleaming.
“For a second I thought you were backing out on me.” He smiles at you, his voice deeper than usual, evidence of a brief stolen nap. “Traffic was hell, I would’ve been here in half the time otherwise.” The door unlocks and you climb in, grazing over Yunho’s body as he adjusts the driver’s seat sitting up slightly, he grabs ahold of you to help you straddle him and closes the door back behind you. And like clockwork, you lean in, beginning your onslaught of abuse on his lips.
Snaking your hands into Yunho’s hair, he moans, deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing ever so eloquently with yours. “I missed you.” He says breathlessly between kisses, “You saw me this morning before I left boo!” You tease him, fixing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose that slid down in the midst of your passion, “That’s too long.” He pokes his lips out, and you console him with light pecks to ease his playful angst. “You’re so needy, you know that right?” “And you love me for it.”
Yunho starts to undo his shirt more, a sinister smile on the corner of his lips as he looks you over. “Come here,” You lean into him, your hand placed against his bare chest, the rock on your wedding band a flashy contrast to his skin. “Lift up for me baby.” You lift off of Yunho for a second as he helps you readjust yourself, now straddling one of his thighs. The pinstriped black skirt you wore for work today riding up your thighs. You let out a huff, immediately feeling the pressure of Yunho’s toned thigh on your bundle of nerves. Your black tights and panties not serving as any sort of buffer to the sensations. Your pussy lips spread apart feeling the course texture of his slacks. You let out a staggering sigh, reality finally setting in what you were about to do. “That’s right, you’re gonna ride me and come all over my thigh, and thennn~” Yunho begins to rock your hips back and forth on his thigh. You lurch forward, your right hand immediately planting on the interior wall of the Rover, “Damn, feels good right?” “Yeah, yes it does. Fuck.”
You place your other hand on his shoulder, stealing support as you rock onto him quicker, a few front strands of your freshly done soft locs coming undone from the high pony you put them in this morning, to his delight. Yunho enjoyed the sight of you working yourself on him, he loved how neat you looked before you climbed in the suv with him, and is obsessed with the thought of how disheveled and fucked out you’re gonna look when he’s done and you climb back out. Fuck, it’s all he’s thought about since you mentioned it in the texts. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on you, to touch you, to feel you, to fuck you, to ruin you, to caress you, to make love to you, to put a baby in you……finally.
You watch Yunho as he closes his eyes, deep in thought, mindlessly guiding your hips against him, as if he’s immediately feeling all of the pleasure that you are in that moment. You begin to rock against him quicker, an impending climax moments away. Yunho opens his eyes, watching you as your moans get louder, less polite, more shameless. You lean your head forward trying to compose yourself as much as you possibly can in this situation, and he smiles at the sight. “I’m close………..fuck, I’m close.” Your hand now caresses his face as you lean your head on his shoulder, hunching him like a bitch in heat. “You’re close?” “Yeahhhh~” “Fuck, you’re gonna come all over my thigh like that?” “Yeah!” “Yeahhh, just like that?” “Yes! Yes! Just like that!” Yunho bounces his leg softly as you continue to rake against it, riding out your high as a warm dampness spreads on his designer slacks. He moans at the feeling, damn near coming untouched just from witnessing your pleaser unfold before him.
You steady your panting for air. Embarrassed, you pat at the wet spot you left on your husband, “I did not expect that I-“ “I did, you’re ovulating.” Yunho caresses your cheeks fully heated with shame, and kisses you, laughing into the kiss. “I don’t think you understand how hot that was, don’t apologize my love.” He gestures to the passenger seat, helping you off of him and guiding you there to sit tight and catch yourself for a second. He then leans the drivers seat back fully again, stepping over it to sit in the spacious middle seat. He unbuttons his shirt the rest of the way before removing his glasses, tossing them somewhere far in the back seats. He holds one of his hands out to you, patting his thigh sharply with his other, ordering your immediate presence.
You crawl over the front armrest and take Yunho’s hand as he helps you towards him. You start to kneel down in front of him and he stops you, “Nooo no, no, none of that today.” “But I really want to.” “I knowww, and you do it so well, but we’re kind of on a fixed schedule.” Yunho gestures behind you to the time on the soft glowing screen on the dashboard. You sigh in agreement, “I wanted to get you ready too.” “Oh babe,” He begins to undue his belt buckle and pants, his fully hard cock slapping against his lower abdomen as he slides his pants down lower freeing him. “Does it look like I need to get ready?” Your mouth waters, his cock glistening as precum trails down the tip, and you moan at the sight. “Oh my God.” He laughs at your eager demeanor, “Come here baby,” he pats his thighs again signaling you to straddle him once more, your legs on either side of him cushioned by the materials used to adorn the luxury car seats.
Yunho hikes your skirt up higher, sliding his hands underneath to trail down your sheer-tights-clad inner thighs and up to your panties. Your breaths were short, shallow, hesitant. You closed your eyes as Yunho felt you up, getting you worked up again in the process, unbeknownst to himself, or was this all part of his plan? “These weren’t too pricey, right?” He pinches at your tights, “No they weren’t, why?”
****rrrr-rrrrrr-rrrrrrriiiiippp!****
You gasp as you feel the force from Yunho ripping your tights right down the middle, smacking his shoulder. “They weren’t pricey but they were my favorite!” “Shhh, I’ll buy you 10 more.” You lean your head on his shoulder, pouting…until you feel his slender hands move your panties to the side. Your breath begins to get shallow again, feeling his warm tip slide up and down your wet folds. You moan involuntarily, “Awww, come on baby I haven’t even put it in yet.” “I knowww, I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.” “I do,” You feel him slowly push into you, leaning your head back as you cry out. “This cunt was just waaaiting to get fucked, because today is a little different than the other days,” He picks up his pace, fucking up into you steady but firm, “Today your pussy is a little bit more needy for me,” the recoil of your ass sending vibrations through your lower body as Yunho’s movements are relentless. “Today you’re gonna let me get you pregnant.”
And there it was. Your brain immediately shuts off. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, and so hard-” “Unnnnhhhhhooohhhh my Godddddd!” “Yeahhhhh, yeah let me hear you baby,” You grip the disheveled collar of Yunho’s shirt, completely at his mercy, taking what he gives you. “I’m gonna cum all in this pretty fucking cunt and get you pregnant, I’m gonna make you a Mommy.” “Yunho Please! Pleaseee~” “Please what my love?” Yunho lifts your chin up to meet his gaze, your dark brown eyes staring several miles into his own, communicating beyond a frequency that sound couldn’t even capture in that moment, and he understood every bit of it…but figured it would be fulfilling just to hear it fall from your lips, “Pleaseeee? What.” “Please make me a Mommy~” In seconds, he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he drills into you. “Ahhhhhh!!!!” The sound of your screams, bounce off the interior of the car, and you pray that the seats absorb it all.
“Yesss, yes! Let me hear you Mama. Fuckkkk let me hear you!” “Fuckkkk!” “Uh huhhh~ Fuck! You sound so good taking my dick like this! Ughhhh~” You both were a mess, fully enraptured in pleasure and no longer prisoners to time. You place your forehead against Yunho’s now eye to eye as he continues to lean into you with force, your breathing syncing with his, both chasing your highs. “You’re gonna cum, aren’t you.” He asks you with dark eyes, almost as if it wasn’t a request. Suddenly you’re whimpering against his lips, “Yeah you are gonna cum, you’re close, so close for me.” “I’m-“ “I’m gonna-“ He mocks, imitating your whines, “You’re gonna what, cream around me and take this cum like a good little wife?” All you could do was gasp at his sharp remarks, “You’re gonna cum for me like a good little wife? Hm?” “Yeah!” “Yeah? You’re gonna take my fucking cum like a good fucking wife?” “Yes! Yes! Ye- Yes! Yes! Yes!” You gush around him, repeating your words like a mantra against his ear. He returns the favor, “Good Girl” replaying in his surprisingly vulgar vocabulary as he finishes inside of you. You collapse against him for some time. Aligning your heaving chest with his as you both come down. Clammy from the altercation. You swivel around some assuming it may help with the progress, and he moans a little.
“What are you doing?” Yunho laughs at you endearingly, watching you be an unintentional menace. “I don’t know I just thought it might do something.” You giggle some, lifting off of his softening length with your combined messes drooling out of you and down your inner thighs. Yunho takes it all in, shaking his head in amazement at the fucked out state of you. Just as he imagined it, better than he imagined, even. Staring him down, you study his body language, how he looks subtly exhausted but not TOO drained. Almost as if on a bodily timer, your temperature starts to rise again, “You’re plotting.” you narrow your eyes at him. Sucking in a sharp breath between teeth, Yunho helps you up, only to place you over the front armrest.
You squirm as your stomach and breasts make contact with the cold leather. “See I KNEW you were plotting!” “Oh hush, don’t act like you’re not excited.” Yunho makes light work of your tights, pulling off and discarding what was left of it, and sliding your panties off of one of your legs in order to spread them further apart. Your breathing catches at the gust of air that hits your pussy. Yunho’s cock inches away as he works his hand over it. He reaches his hand around holding it out to your mouth, “Spit.”, and you oblige him. He continues to work himself hard again, one hand bunching your business skirt up your waist, exposing your bare ass. His hand slides down to caress it, before landing a harsh smack, resorting back to soothing over the stinging spot. All marks undetectable on your brown skin, he lands a few more smacks on both cheeks, knowing he’ll be safe. You jolt and whine at the barrage of sharp pain and he leans down to pepper the side of your face in kisses, rubbing your attacked spots to soothe the pain.
“Don’t forget to breathe my love.” You didn’t realize you weren’t until he mentioned it, immediately offloading a heavy breath. Yunho clicks his tongue as he braces one hand on your shoulder to hold you in place, fiddling with the bunched up hem of your skirt. Your body stiffens as you feel him use his fingers to collect your cum and push it back into your pussy. You shudder in pleasure, still recovering from your last high, not too far from another if touched too much. You feel him shift behind you again as his cock teases its way past your entrance one more time. “Mmm, You wore this skirt on purpose Mama?” He glides into you with ease, bottoming out effortlessly, and you sink into the armrest, your moan resembling that of a pornstar’s. “You knew you were gonna see me to get this pretty pussy filled, Hmm?” Yunho immediately picks up the pace, keeping his hand firm on your shoulder, guiding you back onto him. “Ooooohhhhh~” “Yeahhhh? You wore this skirt because you knew you were gonna get knocked up with my babies? Huh?” Yunho’s words started to slur as they turned into shameless moans, “Yeahhh~ keep moaning for me, it’s just us here, keep going, I wanna hear youuu~” even he started sounding pornstar-like, it was music to your already ringing ears.
He began to pound into you with fervor, your tits now hanging over the armrest, bouncing violently as you grip the seating of the driver’s and passengers seat to avoid going headfirst into the dashboard. “Oh fuckkkk I’m gonna cum again, shit- shit- shittttt~” Yunho plants a foot on the flooring of the suv to steady himself as he leans flush against your back, engulfing you. “Yes, yes, yessss~ come inside of me pleaseeee~” Your final plea sends him over the edge, ultimately setting off a chain reaction that makes you cum around him all over again.
You shudder with each thrust as he slows his pace gradually before coming to a complete stop, staying in the same position as he bear hugs you from behind over the dashboard. You laugh to yourselves as you match your breathing once more, an exercise you both had been doing since the start of everything. Thank God workers at Yunho’s job actually took advantage of leaving the facility for lunch, or else your windows definitely would’ve been knocked on. Sure, the 5% tint helps, but you’re sure the car rocking would’ve given enough away.
Yunho peels himself off of you and helps you up, sitting you down next to him in the middle seats. You lay your head on his shoulders, the both of you visibly fucked out, his shirt open and hanging off of one shoulder with a button or two missing, crucifix chain crooked yet still sitting proudly on his chest, even after such a sinful act, your soft locs fully down, and splayed along and running down the side of Yunho’s torso, your skirt and his pants still undone, your blouse surprisingly still somewhat presentable. You both sit in solitude and enjoyment of each other for a little while. Yunho looks down at you lovingly, watching as you pull your phone out to do something. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing?” “Letting the Editor in Chief know that I’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day? Noo, I couldn’t possibly…” “Oh well that’s a shame…” You look at your husband, waiting, “Because I told the team to take the rest of the day off.” THAT’S why the deck looked so lifeless. “I can’t believe you set me up!” He peppers your face in kisses one last time.
“Alright, let’s get out of here, we defiantly need to change. We’re celebrating tonight.” “Tonight? Forrrrr?” “For theeee…..you know…..” Yunho gestures towards himself then your stomach, and you grin knowingly. “The lunch rush?” “Exactlyyy, the lunch rush.” He says before pulling you in for one last kiss. Yunho helps fix up your appearance before assisting you out of the Range Rover and back into your car. Kissing you for the last time yet again. “I’ll be right behind you.” He starts back to his vehicle, looking over to you, “Oh, feel free to put me in your schedule whenever you have an hour or two for lunch. Just to make sure it takes.” Yunho winks at you, getting back in the car as you both leave work for the day.
‧₊˚✩. ˚. ♡ ☁︎ If you liked what you read, please let me know, it gives me hope. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated ‧₊˚✩. ˚. ♡ ☁︎
#ateez fic#my writing#ateez fanfic#kpop smut#kpop scenarios#kpop x reader#ateez x black!reader#ateez smut#ateez x reader#ateez imagines#yunho x black!reader#yunho x black reader#yunho x reader#ateez#yunho smut#yunho fluff#kpop fanfiction#kpop x black!reader#kpop x black reader#ateez x black reader#ateez yunho#ateez scenarios#jeong yunho smut#hongjoong smut#seonghwa smut#yeosang smut#choi san smut#mingi smut#wooyoung smut#jongho smut
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you are so close to gaslighting yourself into thinking that maybe, just maybe you have already told hoshina's mom in the past what your favorite tea is.
the problem with that thought is today was the first time you met the mother of your boyfriend.
you denied it in your head - for all you know, perhaps mrs. hoshina is just really a good at guessing. that, or you are going batshit crazy.
because at that very day, people you have met for the first time - people who may be friends with hoshina soshiro but are practically strangers to you - seem to be aware of small details about you.
captain ashiro complimented you on your blue dress after shaking your hands, saying it's obvious why it is your favorite color, emphasizing how it brings out the intensity of your eyes. even okonogi, who you know works directly with the third division's vice-captain, had a specific joyful aura on her friendly face as she offered to hang out with you in the future, mentioning how she is a fan of true crime documentaries too and suggesting in the same breath that you should try the pudding sold in the headquarter's cafeteria.
you could have let all of that go if only you did not blush like a teenager after hoshina's own older brother called you by your childhood nickname during family dinner.
"i'm sorry." hoshina's hand found yours, his thumb drawing patterns on your wrist. he knows you'd been on edge since morning, and although this is entirely your idea - meeting his friends and his family in one day - he wouldn't blame you if you're overwhelmed.
"they did their research on me or something," you tried to laugh the nerves away. it didn't work.
"ah." hoshina suddenly looked guity. " that. well -" he stopped for a moment, gathering his wits, choosing the right words to say. "i mean, it makes sense that everyone who actually knows me would know about you, really."
you wanted to joke as a response; you wanted to say that he's talkative and tends to yap for hours about stuff he loves so yes, people around him would naturally know things about you. but then you caught yourself because this is yet another confirmation of what hoshina soshiro had been telling you for months now - that you are someone he loves.
you did not know being known could feel this sweet.
"huh. do you reckon i can extort them for information about you next time?" this time it was your turn to grab hoshina's hand, and with your forefinger, you traced three little words on the warm skin of his palm.
[author's note: hello guys, i know i haven't been posting a lot anymore, but i am thankful to everyone who still remembers this blog - yes i can read your asks, yes i see that you've tagged me in a fic, yes i checked my notifications in this blog every now and then. it might take me long to respond most of the time so apologies in advance but please know that i appreciate all interactions from everyone.
also i dont need to remind you but i don't tolerate copy-pasting or reposting any of my works anywhere. i read a lot from here too, and other writers can attest to this as well - we know if a line or a paragraph from any of our works is copied and/or reworded. ]
#this was cooking in my head for a while#and i was like#well this sounds cute#hoshina soshiro#soshiro hoshina#hoshina soshiro x reader#soshiro hoshina x reader#hoshina x reader#kaiju no. 8#kn8 x reader#hoshina soshiro fic#hoshina#vice captain hoshina
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because even then, i knew — l.sm { 1 }
genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au
cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, oral (f recieving) protected sex, mentions of cheating, angst
wc: 21k
tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}
navigation: {one} {two}
note: this story is my absolute baby. i stared writing it one day with no plot in mind, and ended up with 45k. it's supposed to feel like a kdrama as you read it (and i mean this in every sense of the word—you will see), so please listen to the tracklist as you scroll. the songs are carefully timed in order to play as you read certain parts, but if you're not sure you're listening to the right song, part two will tell you where you should be and you will resync.
please love this story, it was written with an unbelievable amount of care, detail, and intention.
audio message from: seokmin <3
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58
“Hey. I know we haven’t talked in a while but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”
≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱
Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies, and even then, it’s barely done right. There is no such thing as happy endings, because that’s not how things are in the real world.
Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who helps old people cross the street during rush hour, or helps kids pluck their balloons out of trees so they won’t cry. He actually does like long walks on the beach, as a matter of fact, and he happens to be a casual enjoyer of rom-coms, something his other male friends would rather die than admit to.
Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic, but that rug was pulled out from under him on a few too many occasions, and while he’s still a positive, amicable guy, he had learned that sometimes, things were too good to be true.
For example: when he was 7, he fell in love.
His 20 year old babysitter, who his parents had hired to watch over him on evenings while they were at work, was absolutely perfect—he knew from the moment he met her, she would be the girl he’d marry.
She was Korean, and a freshman in college with a major in business management. Every week, she would walk hand-in-hand with him to the corner store to buy him sausage sticks and sticky tteokbokki at the food cart with the money she could spare from her part time job as a tutor, since his parents would only leave money for emergencies. In return for her generosity, he’d sit still and play while she finished her homework, and occasionally, Seokmin would even pick flowers from his mom’s garden for her. This earned him a few scoldings, but that didn’t matter to him, because she was, and would always be worth it.
Until one day, where he had promised to behave while she finished a practice test. Poor, unsuspecting, seven-almost-eight-year-old Seokmin with his cheeks stuffed full of sausage and rice cake, overheard her calling another boy (albeit a boy her age who could actually reciprocate her affection) a sweet name over the phone. He dropped everything and stomped over to her, bursting into tears and rambling on about how she broke his heart. She was fired the very same evening as a consequence of his tantrum.
When he was 14, he fell in love again. And this time, it had to be love… right?
A family of foreigners had moved in across the street, and their daughter, who was the same age as him this time around, would come over to study with him after school and on the weekends. She’d teach him English, and he’d teach her Korean. She was his first kiss and his first girlfriend—they lasted a reputable two months—until they moved back overseas. Apparently, her parents had only moved there for the summer as part of a work-related trip, and when they said goodbye and promised to write, little Grace revealed she didn’t want a committed, long-distance relationship at the ripe age of fourteen.
In retrospect… maybe she was right, but Seokmin would never forget the way his heart shattered.
The only real, long-term girlfriend he’s had was a little over two years ago. They dated for over a year, she met his parents and he met her’s, the two of them even exchanged promise rings. At the time, he would gush to his friends about how he’d never met anyone as funny and brilliant as her, and how lucky he feels to have done so.
Then, the week before his birthday, Seokmin found out she had been sleeping with her best friend for months.
Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again.
So why, he thinks to himself, why can’t he stop looking at you?
He noticed you for the first time last week after his car had been totaled during an impromptu road trip the day prior. Soonyoung, one of his best friends, had gotten on the subway while drinking and somehow ended up eight stops away from his apartment at an ungodly hour in his wasted state. Seokmin was the only one that answered the phone. He picked him up, but on the way back, Soonyoung tried to crawl out the window of the passenger seat and Seokmin, whilst trying to pull him back inside, had crashed into a tree.
The car was old, and he was saving up for a new one anyway. That, and the insurance gave him some chump change for the wreckage, which was more than he’d thought he’d get, so it wasn’t too bad. The biggest inconvenience he faced now was getting to and from work.
Every night, after his shift at the flower shop, Seokmin would take the bus transit home. The first night, he only saw you in passing, because he practically had to run after the bus to catch it after arriving late to the stop. He took the first seat he could find, panting and exhausted after his long shift and the blip of a marathon he just ran, and sunk down into it.
Since he had never needed to take the bus until now, he spent some time glancing out the window and studying the route, discovering the stop near his apartment was the very last one, arriving at nearly 10:00 P.M. Yours was the second to last one, only a few blocks over. That evening, he only barely caught a glimpse of the side of your face as you climbed off, crossing the street and strolling out of sight with way too many things clutched within your jacketed arms.
The following night, he made it to the bus on time, thankfully, and spotted you sitting near the back, though that didn’t mean much to him yet. He took his same seat near the front, despite the many empty spots throughout the vehicle. And just like before, at the second to last stop, you walked down the middle aisle to exit.
This time, while wrestling your books, laptop case, walkman, and coat, your headset wire had snagged on the seat in front of him. He watched as you turned around and detangled it hurriedly, your gaze barely flickering up to meet his curious one for a split second. You flashed him a ghost of a smile and then, you were gone again.
Seokmin found himself looking forward to seeing you every single night from then on.
He decided to start sitting in the back of the bus too, blaming his avid interest in you purely on the distorted conclusion that it made no sense to sit in the front! He was always the last one aboard, and the back had so many more seats for him to get comfortable.
That’s what he convinced himself of, at least for the first few days. He tried sitting in a couple different spots, though he wouldn’t dare sit too close to you—he’s not that bold. He did, however, decide after his trial and error period that his favorite seat was the far left one on the last row. Your seat was forever unchanging, on the second to last row and all the way to the right.
This way, he could watch over your shoulder as you typed away on your computer. You seemed to be writing something personal, because night after night, you’d create paragraph after paragraph, working tirelessly to craft whatever it was that you were working on so extensively. He figured it couldn’t be just any assignment or work-related exposition. This meant something to you, and that only spiked his curiosity more. The only pause in your routine of clicking away at keys was skipping a song or two on your walkman or glancing out the window for inspiration.
He’s never sat close enough to actually read the words on your screen, but then again, that might be overstepping a bit. The urge does frequently bug him, though, especially when he notices how immersed you become the moment you lift the screen of your laptop and open your document. Every night, he watches you do the same thing, and every night, he fights the urge to strain his neck and catch a glimpse of a single word on your screen.
He contains himself, though, on the principle that eavesdropping is wrong, and he intends to never do you wrong.
On the sixth night he spends in his new seat, he notices about twenty minutes in when your fingers stop clicking away. At first, he considers the possibility that you may be thinking or planning your next sentence. But, as the bus nears your stop, you don’t move to start picking up your things. It immediately alerts him, and he sits up straighter as he realizes, you’ve fallen asleep.
He’s never given something so simple so much thought in such a short time. He can feel the bus slowing down, and he can hear the brakes screeching and wheezing. Would he feel worse for disturbing your rest and making an inevitably awkward first impression, or letting you continue to sleep and possibly (definitely) miss your stop?
Certainly the latter.
Without a second thought, Seokmin hurriedly slides out of his aisle and climbs down the two steps of the back row to reach you at your seat, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and giving it a light shake. You don’t budge, even when he calls out to you.
“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?”
As the bus comes to a full stop and the engine’s roar becomes suppressed, he can hear the music playing through the headset that sits still over your ears. With a grimace, he softly slips them off, and the action is enough to stir you awake. You blink in confusion as you adjust to the brightness of the lights inside the bus, and your eyes land on his widened ones.
“Sorry for waking you, but,” he gestures outside, “this is your stop.”
You look around to confirm, and upon seeing the familiar intersection and corner store, you realize what he’s saying is true.
A few things go through your head: First of all, the stranger in front of you has the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Secondly, his nose is absolutely huge, and for some reason, he knows your stop, which makes you wonder where else he’s capable of poking it. So naturally, you ignore the sweet charm behind his eyes and shrug off his arm, grabbing your things quickly and booking it for the door that the bus driver has to reopen when he sees you approaching.
You climb off and consider taking a different route, but if he knows your stop, he likely knows which way you walk every single night. You curse at yourself for even falling asleep in the first place, then drag your feet along towards your apartment after accommodating your headphones back over your ears, your walkman clutched in hand, its music swirling in your ears once more.
Because of this, you miss the way Seokmin shouts after you for leaving your phone behind, and the way the bus driver then shouts at him for holding him up.
“I’ve got a wife to get home to, kid. Get back on the bus or I’m leaving you here.”
He looks between the device in his hand, you, and back at the burly bus driver who raises a threatening brow his way.
In defeat, he gets back on board and walks down until he’s reached his seat, but not before stopping at yours, or rather stumbling there with how aggressively the driver steps on the gas and sends him flying. He does a quick once over your seat to make sure you haven’t left or dropped anything else, but your phone is the only thing you forgot in your rush.
The drive to his street is rather short, and when he does some calculations on the maps app, he discovers it’s at most a half-hour walk from his place to yours. That revelation makes him regretful, because as he dismounts the bus, crosses the street, and climbs the flight of stairs to his apartment, he realizes he could’ve run after you and given you your phone and just walked home after. It would’ve allowed him to explain that he’s not a creep, and that he only knows your stop because you’re the only other person on the bus at that hour.
He thinks about his encounter with you the whole way to his apartment, and even at home while he takes his shower and brushes his teeth. And still, when he plugs your dead phone in, so that he can give it to you fully charged the next day. As it comes to life, half a dozen messages come in with a series of ‘dings’ from a contact you have saved as just a heart. He can’t read what the messages say because of the privacy settings you have in place, so he just silences it as more messages come in. He would have tried to let them know your phone isn’t with you, but the person with the heart alias never tries to call, and so there’s nothing Seokmin can do about it but hope tomorrow comes quickly.
That thought brings him back to you, and as he lies down, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’s mulling over the way you shrugged him off. It’s only the long day at work, where he spent eight hours on his feet watering ficuses and making arrangements with daisies and lilies, that manages to silence his brain and lull his eyelids to a close so he can get some rest.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
His shift at the floral shop had gone by painfully slow today. The hours that usually pass relatively quickly with the friendly faces of Korean grandmas that stop by after going to the market, have dragged on for an eternity.
He reminds himself that he’s going to see you tonight and that thought gets him through the day. He’ll at last be able to redeem himself of the interaction that’s been haunting him for the last twelve hours. He even dreamt about you, specifically about the conversation going a completely different way than it did.
“Sorry for waking you, but this is your stop.”
“Oh, my god,” you said. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize I drifted off.”
“No worries,” Seokmin would flash you a smile and help you with your things, since he had noticed your tendency to travel with more than you could carry. “Here.”
“Thanks again, uh…”
“Seokmin.”
“Seokmin,” you’d repeat, and even in his dream, he had reeled over the way his name rolled off your tongue.
In an extra effort to mend things over with you, Seokmin dips into his weekly paycheck at the end of his shift to buy you a tote bag from the shop. That way, you’d have a place to pack your laptop when you weren’t typing up stories, and your coat that you insisted on draping over your arm? It could go in there, too!
Why you chose to listen to music on a walkman in today’s modern age, he has no idea—but now you’d have a place to store it so you won’t leave it behind like you had your phone.
The tote bag he picks out for you is the nicest, most sizable one in stock. It’s the first time he’s bought anything from the floral shop, so the measly ten percent employee discount he got was rather underwhelming. Still, it would be worth it. He’d hand you your phone, explain himself to clear up the previous night's confusion, and offer you the tote bag as a gift.
When he climbs on the bus later that evening, you’re sitting in the same spot as always, except this time, you’re expecting him. Your eyes flash up at him then fall back to your laptop. Subsequently, you slump further down in your seat, and Seokmin quickly realizes you’re trying to avoid him.
Now—he had talked himself through the plan of approaching you all day, it’s all he thought about during the less busy hours of his shift to pass the time. He had walked through the process once, twice, and then again in hopes of nailing down every detail, but he didn’t once account for your very obvious disinterest.
It offsets his mood entirely, which was confident and sociable just moments ago, and he trails down the aisle, past your seat, and to his own instead with discouragement.
The moment he sits, it’s as if someone winded up his leg: it starts restlessly bouncing, and his mind mirrors the action, his inner monologue providing no relief for his grief.
If he was any other rational person, he would’ve taken your coldness with a grain of salt; he’d hand you your phone, say “you left this.” and go on about his day—no, his life, as if this moment, as if meeting you, was nothing more than an insignificant scene in the story of his life. He wouldn’t spend every hour overthinking your first impression of him, or feeling disappointed that it wasn’t what he wanted it to be. And he certainly wouldn’t be here, talking himself up to the task of walking over to you once more.
Even his own forgiving conscience is embarrassed when he readies himself to stand, chanting “Ok. 3…2…” and then sits back down in defeat.
This goes on for the better part of an hour, until Seokmin remembers you’d be getting off soon. This realization materializes as the last person besides the two of you gets off, and the familiar buildings that are just a few blocks away from your stop come into view. At the same time, a new string of messages come in from the same individual who was writing to you last night, and Seokmin decides it’s about time that he returns your phone to you—for real this time.
With a nod to himself, he pushes off the chair with his legs and forces them to move him over to you, where he stands for a few seconds, waiting for you to notice him. In one hand, he’s holding out your phone, and under his other arm is the folded tote bag he’s planning to give you. He can’t get his tongue to comply, making his feet work was hard enough, so hovers over you a little longer until you practically feel his eyes on you and look up.
“Hi–”
You slide your headphones off one ear, and he clears his throat.
“Hi.” He repeats, “My name is Seokmin. I’m the guy who woke you up last night.”
“I know.” You cast your eyes down to your phone and he leans it closer to you.
“You left your phone here.”
Your lips purse contemplatively as you take it, mumbling out a quick “thanks,” and unlocking it to inspect your pile of notifications. Seokmin only clears his throat again.
“I also wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as a weirdo, It’s just–”
You seem to lose focus of what he’s saying as you read through the messages on your phone, a deep frown molding over your features. The fact that you’re not listening at all trips him up, especially when he’s trying so hard to recite the mental script he prepared for this very moment.
“Uh, I just… The only reason I know your stop is because it’s only you and me on the bus this late. So, you know–”
As he points this out, you perk your head up and look around, as if to check for yourself that this is, in fact, true. It doesn’t ease your apprehension about him, but his kind eyes look so desperate in their plea for your understanding that, for a fleeting instant, you manage to hone in on his explanation and dismiss your suspicions about his nosy tendencies.
“Naturally, I just noticed, and I didn’t want you to miss your stop.”
When you nod once and say “ok,” he almost wishes you hadn’t said anything at all. That’s it? That’s all you have to say to ease his discomfort?
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he didn’t almost forget, he just wanted to sound nonchalant, “I got you this since you’re always–”
“Well, Seokmin…” It’s even better than in his dream, hearing you say his name, “You should know better than me by now that,” you point outside and the bus reaches a halt, “this is my stop.”
Hurry up, Seokmin. “I got you this bag for your things.”
You take it from his outstretched hands with the smallest mutter of gratitude, but don’t bother to inspect it or put it to use. You simply pile it atop of your laptop and coat with pursed lips, not sparing it a second glance. He’s almost confused about why you’re still staring him down expectantly after that, until it becomes clear to him that he’s blocking the aisle and in turn, your exit.
Somewhat awkwardly, Seokmin moves aside, and you waste no time in passing right by him and heading for the door with all your trinkets stacked up in your arms.
Dejection is an appropriate word to describe how Seokmin feels right about now. So is frustration.
Even after you leave, cross in front of the bus, and make your way home, Seokmin stands in the same spot, dumbfounded. He stays like this for a few seconds, even when the bus moves and messes with his balance. It’s not until his annoyance really settles in, nestling in his bones and making his face glow red, that he manages to stomp back over to his spot and plop down.
You are easily the most irritating person he has ever met; ill-mannered, ungrateful, rude, and downright selfish. Seokmin stopped going to therapy months after he recovered from his ex, but he finds himself regressing in the ‘self-recognition’ area at this moment. Although he can consciously acknowledge that his anger stems from your interaction not going as he wanted it to, he still decides to dump the blame on you and call you all these names in his head. Why he so desperately wants to be liked by you, he doesn’t know. Why he’s irrationally spiraling in the absence of your approval, he also doesn’t know.
What he does know is that the next twenty-four hours are going to be just as bad as the last, and he’s going to be kicking himself until he sees you again and gives you a piece of his mind.
Tonight, he rolls around in bed longer than usual, until the clock strikes two and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.
The next day, when Seokmin boards the bus, you’re nowhere to be seen. You’re not at your seat, nor anywhere else for that matter, which he decides is for the best, because he’s able to swallow down his explosive complaints for another day instead of possibly causing a scene on the bus.
Ha! You’re lucky you didn’t get on tonight, he thinks, I'll spare you from my lecture for another evening.
Except the following night, you aren’t there either.
As it turns out, you aren’t on the bus for the next six days straight.
And instead of recovering from his emotions like a normal person, Seokmin is only spurred on, tormented and pursued by his thoughts of you. They've shifted, because now he can only help but wonder what you’re up to. He’s back to square one, wondering if he weirded you out so much that you resorted to finding another means of transportation with the sole intention of avoiding him.
Then, he reproaches himself, his rationale telling him that surely, there must be another reason for your absence—one that isn’t at all related to him. He ponders this as he piles a few stems of lilies and eucalyptus on one another, wrapping them and tying them closed.
“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”
He turns quickly to face Ms. Boo, the owner of the flower shop and the grandmother of his best friend. On more than a few occasions, she had acted as a grandmother to him, too—bringing him lunches and pestering him about eating enough, or nagging him for not dressing properly in cold weather.
“Nothing!”
“Look what you’re doing to my flowers.” She narrows her eyes, extending a wrinkled finger out in his direction.
Seokmin glances down to find that his knuckles have gone white against the stem of the baby’s breath he's been unconsciously shaking like a rattle. The delicate white flowers have been pulverized, reduced to white fuzz on the arrangement he was attempting to make and the surrounding surface of the work station.
“Ah, shi-“ She gives him a glare, “Sorry.” He quickly rephrases, “I’ll clean this up.”
As Ms. Boo straightens out some gardenias in a vase, she asks him again, “What’s wrong?”
He takes a deep breath, reaching for the dustpan under the counter. “It’s just… Someone I met on the bus.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Very.” He nods, then sighs. “I just wish the conversation we had went differently, that’s all.”
“Well,” She seems to be mustering up her years of wisdom, eyebrows raising as she fixes her apron, “You’re a handsome boy, Seokmin-ah. And you’ve got good sense. God knows you’ve got more than Seungkwan,” she grumbles the last part, and it makes Seokmin’s lips curl up a bit. “Your car isn’t fixed yet, right?”
He shakes his head, “No.”
“So, then get back on the bus tonight and talk to her.” She insists with the assurance only an 85 year old grandmother could have.
“I would, but…”
“And stop moping. You’re making the flowers sad. They feel these kinds of things.” She nods, feeling the petal of the lily between her fingertips. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, “Finish this arrangement and get back to work.”
He finishes brushing the white fuzz of the carnation into the dustpan and discarding it before tackling the bouquet he was previously working on with a tad more care. He finishes after deciding the pale flowers need a touch of color, so he adds a few pink roses and places it in a bucket near the front window of the store on display.
He takes a moment to glance outside at the busy street, watching the people that pass by. Couples stroll hand in hand, and more often than not, the girls will stop their partner to point out the flowers. This was a common occurrence, and if Seokmin was lucky, the displays would draw in a few more customers than usual.
Not today, though. As he does a once over every arrangement he’s chosen to display on the window, he realizes they all lack something besides effort. He can’t put his finger on exactly what they’re missing, but Ms. Boo was right— the plants do feel emotions—and these weren’t particularly joyous creations.
As he sprays the leaves with a little mist bottle he carries around in his apron, he watches through the window each person that passes by in an effort to pass the time. It isn’t like there’s much to do during the less busy hours, and there’s only so many arrangements he can make when they’re all coming out dull and lifeless to match his gloom.
So, Seokmin opts for people watching, until a specific individual catches him by surprise.
At first, he thinks he’s seeing things.
Not only have you stopped outside the shop to gaze and gawk at the flowers while wearing a soft, admiring look, but soon enough, the bell above the door has chimed, meaning you’ve actually come inside.
He would greet you, as he’s supposed to do when a customer enters the shop, but he… can’t—at least not from where he is now, ducking behind the sales counter.
Before you could have spotted him, his fight or flight reflexes, or in this case just flight, had kicked in. He could’ve easily ran behind the curtain to the room where some of the flowers are stored, but then he would’ve ran into Ms. Boo, who would have questioned his reasons for leaving the counter unattended.
Then, he realizes that Seungkwan wouldn’t be coming in until later, and their other part-timer Eunchae didn’t work today because she had an exam at school.
The service bell at the counter rings once and he grimaces, full of hopeful thinking that you’d just go away if no one appeared. Instead you ring it again, and he ducks lower, until some shuffling behind him and the voice of his best friend’s grandmother gives him away.
“Seokmin-ah, there’s someone at the counter!”
There’s a pause, and though he can’t see how your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar name, he knows he’s absolutely busted because even if you didn’t correlate that ‘Seokmin’ was also the same guy who woke you up on the bus, he’d be forced to show himself before long. Ms. Boo continues to ramble, much to his dismay.
“Are you still sulking over the pretty girl from the bus?” Yeah, that’ll do it. “Ah, Seokmin-ah… I don’t pay you to sulk.”
At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm.
He has no way of knowing that as he’s willing and pleading with the ground to swallow him whole and spare him from the incoming embarrassment, Ms. Boo’s comment had brought a little smile to your face. You’re peering around the shop for him when you see someone start to peek out from the other side of the counter.
First, his fingers. They land on the marble surface, and less than a second later, his dark mop of hair follows, appearing past the slope. Then, his kind eyes, big nose, and his teeth, clenched together tightly in reluctance as he takes in your amused gaze.
You cross your arms over your chest and Seokmin scoffs, shooting up suddenly.
“This is unbelievable!” His laugh is loud and theatrical, though a touch ironic, given the whole ‘hiding-from-you-behind-the-counter’ situation just seconds prior. He doesn’t let his obvious preposterousness stop his rampage, though. In very Seokmin fashion, he commits to the bit, puffing up his chest a little. “You call me a stalker and now you go and stalk me to my place of employment!”
“I never called you a stalker.” You say simply, and his face falters only slightly. “Nor did I stalk you.” Seokmin rolls his eyes as you continue. “Also, who even says ‘place of employment?’”
As if straight out of a bad middle school play, which Seokmin had plenty of practice at back in his day, he regains his confidence at his turn to speak his line, scoffing again at your nonchalant attitude. Why were you so unbothered about the way you treated him? He ignores your question, and readies his next comeback.
“Yeah? Well, then how did you know where I work, huh?”
When you wordlessly turn to show off the tote bag slung over your shoulder, a few things occur.
The color of Seokmin’s cheeks become very red, very fast. His ears quickly glow a similar shade to match. He completely deflates—letting up on his accusations and dropping the theatrics. There’s a reason he’s a florist and not an actor.
Then, he realizes what you’re showing off—the tote bag! You’re wearing the bag he got you! You’re actually using it! He can see the wire of your headset poking out of the top, and the square mold of your laptop filling the material!
At the same time, however, his eyes land on the only design or pattern it has. Sewn in black, the bag boldly displays the name of Ms. Boo’s flower shop. At this, Seokmin smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.
“I figured I’d find you here.” You mumble, taking a look around, “it’s a pretty place.”
“Yeah.” He nods, but he’s still eyeing you suspiciously, waiting for you to announce the reason for your visit.
“I came to…” your fingers reach over the counter to brush off the fuzz of the baby’s breath that remained on his dark green apron, and Seokmin tucks his chin to his chest, exposing all of his chins as his eyes shift between your hand and eyes that are both set on his torso.
”There.” You sigh, “I came to apologize. I was going through a… Well, anyway, I wasn’t exactly nice to you, so…”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Seokmin grumbles.
“Sorry. And thank you.”
“For?”
You swing the bag around again, “It came in handy.”
”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.”
“Seokmin-ah… There’s someone at the—Oh, hello.” Shuffling over with a wad of eucalyptuses in her arms, Ms. Boo smiles warmly at you, as she does with all customers who stop by the shop.
”Ms. Boo, this is…“
”Y/N.”
“Y/N.” Both of them echo your name, though Seokmin does it under his breath, in a quiet affirmation to himself. He decides instantly that it’s perfect, and that it suits you perfectly. He doesn’t intend for it to be a Tony and Maria situation, but the way it sounds, rolling off his tongue, is seamless and simply, right.
”It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Boo adds.
“Likewise. Excuse me, I wanted to know if I borrow Seokmin real quick? I owe him a coffee.”
Seokmin hisses apprehensively, reinstating his act momentarily as he begins rolling up his sleeve to search for the time on his watch. “Yeah, well, my break isn’t for another—“
”Take him, please. But only give him back when he’s in a better mood.” She gives him a light-hearted glare as she scurries away, calling out, “every plant he’s walked past today has wilted.”
“I plan to do just that. Thank you.”
He makes it look like he’s in some kind of distress when he unties his apron and lifts the neckloop over her head, but really, he can’t wait to cut work for a coffee with you. There’s a little cafe nearby, and he’s almost sure that’s where you’ll be taking him. He also can’t wait to recommend his favorite drink to you, though part of him worries you might not enjoy it and consequently bruise his ego a little—given the fading but still ever-present grudge he’s holding against you.
Seokmin can’t help but prolong the act of clocking out: changing shoes, grabbing his wallet and phone from his cubby, folding his apron (instead of hanging it up in whatever state it’s in, as he usually does), while you shift your weight between your heels and gawk at him in wait. He does all this in an effort to extend the minutes he has with you. His break is fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes can’t go by if the clock technically hasn't started counting.
You stand by patiently, following him around with your eyes as he tidies up a single flower out of place or wipes his hands down on a rag. When he’s finally ready, and can’t be bothered to pretend that lacing his sneakers actually takes longer than two minutes, he joins you on the other side of the counter and follows you to the door.
Feeling a little nervous, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just go our separate ways.”
“I do. This way, I can properly convey my apology and gratitude. You know: two birds, one stone.”
“Those are two separate things… It’s only right that you would owe me two coffees then.” The way he grumbles under his breath unveils some of his bitterness, though you can tell by the half-hearted side-eye he gives you as he fights back a grin, that he’s really only messing with you.
So you laugh, and Seokmin feels his heart do a somersault in his chest. With a shake of your head, you turn to him, defeated. “Alright. You can get a coffee and a muffin.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see your smile again, he brings his hand up to rub his chin, “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t really like muffins.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to stop by tomorrow, too.”
At this, Seokmin smiles from ear to ear, tilting his head away towards the street so that you don’t catch the way he lights up at the prospect of possibly seeing you again.
As the two of you cross the street, you notice a bus stop a little up the way, nodding towards it so he can look. “Is that where you catch the bus?” He nods. “Funny, my stop is only two blocks down the street we came from.”
Seokmin reaches for the door of the cafe, holding it open for you to walk through. To his delight, you seem to be fascinated by the space—meaning it’s likely you haven’t been here before. He watches as you study the rustic lights on the ceiling, the shiny wooden tables, and the botany at the window.
“These look like the ones from your shop.”
“That’s because they are.” He stands beside you. “The owner of the cafe loves the classics. So do I. So, in exchange for a floral arrangement or two, he lets me borrow a book.” He watches your gaze leave him to face the singular bookshelf he had gestured to, a tall collection of literary classics neatly sorted by author. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as you take it in, mouth agape as you slowly step toward the shelves.
Not yet grasping the extent of your fascination, and with the line to order clearing out, Seokmin remembers he’s on a schedule. “Do you wanna order?”
“I…” You shake your head, fingertips ghosting over the spine of the books without grazing them, because you know better than to touch an antique collection. It doesn’t stop you from admiring them, mumbling out a response to the boy next to you without giving it much thought. “I usually get… You know what, just order whatever for me.”
You dig for your wallet in the tote bag, handing your card to him without tearing your eyes away from the sight before you. Seokmin only laughs and takes it without the slightest intention to use it. He orders you the drink he thinks you might like the best, as someone with a taste for the traditional things--like classic literature and walkmans--and orders himself a more sugary poison to nurture his sweet tooth.
When he pays, he doesn’t use your card, but he wraps the receipt around it anyway so you won’t holster any suspicion that he did exactly what he did. He only checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still distracted, and you are, ogling the books as if you had never seen anything as marvelous as the contents of this bookshelf before.
He feels something fluttering in his chest, and he knows very well what caused it, but he pays it no mind—opting instead for leaning into the cashier who he’s frequently talked to during his coffee breaks with his caffeine crazy friend, Boo Seungkwan.
“Hey, Josh. Do you know if Mr. Kim is in today?” Kim Jongdae, the owner of the cafe, had a soft spot for the flower shop boys ever since they helped make him a beautiful bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Then, for their anniversary and every celebration thereafter.
Joshua shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he starts on the drinks. “He’s out for the day. It’s the little one’s birthday.”
“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”
“I mean… You know you can just grab any off the shelf.” He mumbles, hissing as he nearly burns his finger with the steaming espresso maker, “Which one do you want?”
“Whichever one she does.” He turns to you,“That’s why I wanted to ask. It’s not for me, but for her.”
“Ah.” Joshua looks between the two of you, without missing the gentle smile on Seokmin’s face as he watches you. He only manages to look away when the older boy at the counter sets both drinks down and clears his throat. “Here.”
“Right.”
“And about that book,” he gestures to you, “I’ll ask Mr. Kim when I see him tomorrow.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With both drinks and your card wrapped in his receipt all clutched in his hands, he makes his way over to you quietly, as if any abruptness would disturb your studying of each and every title. But you hear him coming—that, or you smell the fresh coffee nearing you—so you spin around on your heels quickly, whisper-shouting as if he wasn’t right beside you now.
“This is incredible. I’m usually at the library until I get on the bus but–thank you,” You take the drink and instantly bring it to your lips for a sip, “Even the library doesn’t have this good of a–ah, hot!”
“Be careful!” Seokmin fights the urge to beckon his hand closer to you, but his shoulders still jolt up in concern that you may have burned yourself.
“–good of a collection–wow, this is really good.” Your shift in focus makes him hold back a snort.
“You like it?”
“Yes, thank you. Should we sit?” He follows you to a table by the window, where the two of you can glance out at the bustling street as you chat.
“Ms. Boo is nice.” You comment, as you notice one of the displays from the shop sitting at the sill.
“She is. She nags, but it’s only because she cares. I wouldn’t change anything about her.”
You wear a warm smile on your lips as you take another sip, savoring the rich taste of your coffee. “I really like my drink. What did you get for yourself?”
Seokmin’s fingers move lazily to push the cup towards you. “Do you wanna try it?”
You hesitate, your gaze flicking between his inviting smile and the drink. After a moment’s pause, you reach for one of the wrapped paper straws sitting near the sugar and salt. You peel it open, pop it into the cup, and take a sip. You seem to like it at first, but then, the overwhelming sweetness hits, a syrupy storm that floods your taste buds, and you immediately regret your decision.
Your face scrunches up in disbelief as you try not to choke on the sugary onslaught, your throat resisting the thick sweetness. “Oh god,” you gasp, your eyes wide.
Seokmin’s laughter bubbles up effortlessly, and he rolls his eyes, clearly entertained by your reaction. You slide the drink back across the table to him, still reeling from the shock of it. “That’s—how can you even drink that?” you manage between soft chuckles.
“Really? It’s not that bad,” he says with a teasing grin, unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly struggling. “I’d say your drink needs an acquired taste.”
“Mine? I’m drinking coffee.” You set your cup down, now fully convinced that whatever he’s drinking is a bizarre concoction. “I don’t know what you’re drinking.”
Seokmin shrugs, his grin only widening. “Agree to disagree.” His cheeks aching from the persistent smile that seems to be permanently affixed to his face now.
You laugh in disbelief before taking a few large gulps of your own coffee, feeling its familiar warmth wash over you and effectively wiping away the remnants of Seokmin’s sugary disaster from your palate.
“So,” you begin, eyes narrowing slightly as you shift your focus to him, “how long have you been working there?”
“For a year now.” He leans back slightly in his chair, clearly more relaxed than before.
“Do you like it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.
He pauses, as if considering his words carefully before answering. “It’s… I mean, yes.”
You raise an eyebrow, “I spotted some hesitation there.”
He sighs, a quiet exhale of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like I wanna be there forever.” His tone shifts, like he’s trying to brush off the weight of the subject, but it lingers.
Glancing down at your cup, you swirl it around absentmindedly to cool the contents. You try to lighten the mood, teasing him, “Not taking over Ms. Boo’s position in the future?”
Seokmin smiles, clearly amused by the suggestion. “I’ll leave that to her grandson. He works there, too.” He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture, but there's a quiet finality in his words.
Feeling the need to dig a little deeper, you sit up straight, eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, so what is it that you wanna do?”
Seokmin’s smile falters just a fraction, and for a brief moment, the easy-going confidence he always wears slips. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his cup, and he looks off into the distance, his expression turning distant. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his tone dropping low.
You pause, sensing something behind the simplicity of his words, but you don’t press further. “It isn’t nothing.” You shake your head, “It’s what you wanna do with your life. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
After a brief pause that consists of looking between your eyes and playing with the syllables stuck thickly in his mouth, Seokmin mumbles a single word. “Music.”
“Music?” You echo him, then stay silent so he can elaborate. You can tell he feels some degree of discouragement, obvious in the way his shoulders slump down. His hands start fidgeting and he looks out the window again as he seems to recall some memory.
“But it’s nothing serious right now. I mess around with my guitar and write stuff every once in a while, but… I haven’t really played since—“
“I would love to hear,” you cut him off, leaning forward, “If you ever feel like showing someone, I would love to listen to you play.”
There’s a sudden bitterness in his throat (that definitely isn’t his coffee) as he recalls a slightly stirring memory. It’s not as distant as he would like it to be, despite his attempt to store it in the ‘do-not-open’ file of his mind, but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and agreeing to your offer with some apprehension, because truthfully, you had no part in carving that scar.
Simply put: you were not her.
“I haven’t played in a while,” he rephrases, “but when I pick it up again, you’ll be the first person I show.”
It doesn’t take long before you start telling him about your studies, now that you had succeeded in interrogating him with a few of your burning questions, and it becomes apparent to Seokmin very quickly how easy conversation flows with you. Each word you utter is warm, welcoming, almost familiar, as if he had known you for longer than he did–and he suddenly feels very guilty for having misjudged you.
It’s not like you know of the way he bad-mouthed you in his sensitive mind, so there really is no need to compensate for it. Even then, he feels he owes you something—like he should make it up to you for thinking such things about a person of your nature.
He learns that you’re a student who’s majoring in English literature, with the aspiration to be a writer. The two of you agreed that he’d show you his music, and you’d show him what you’re working on—the last of which delighted him, seeing as he’d spent weeks trying to guess what your fingers typed away on your computer each night on the bus. You hate sugary drinks, that much you made clear, and you had a strong distaste for the smell of holiday candles.
Every word you’d spill left him on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to go back to work, he’d have sat with you for the whole afternoon listening to you talk.
But instead, you join him on his walk back to the flower shop, unknowingly having fulfilled your promise to bring him back in a better mood.
“Ms. Boo?”
“Seokmin-ah? You’re back right on time. There’s a customer who needs a graduation arrangement for their son.” Seokmin can tell she’s in the backroom, wrestling the hose to fill the watering can from the strain in her voice.
“I’ll get my apron on!” He calls, then spins around to face you, “Thank you for today. I liked my coffee, even if you didn’t think it was great.”
“Good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow? Won’t I catch you on the bus tonight?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he hopes you didn’t catch the disappointment behind them.
“Tonight’s the last night of my study group, and those usually run late.” So that’s why you hadn’t been taking the bus lately, “So, tomorrow it is. Unless you don’t want that second coffee…”
“I do.” He insists, and your lips curl up as you reach for the doorknob.
“Alright, then.”
The instant the door shuts behind you, he starts counting down the hours until he can see you again.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
Seokmin’s shift could not have gone any slower. Unlike any day before, the hours could not seem to pass, despite how badly he willed them to. Aside from Seungkwan’s occasional side-eyed-glares and complaints of his uncharacteristically fast work pace today, Seokmin has managed to complete his tasks for the day and more: he prepared two graduation orders placed last minute and a walk-in customer who was uncertain of what ‘I’m sorry’ bouquet to get his girlfriend, all while trying to appease potential buyers who entered the shop, drawn in by the six new bouquet’s he’d made this very same morning and displayed at the window.
All that, and it’s only fifteen past eleven in the morning.
“What has you in such a rush? I’m like four orders behind you. Usually, it’s the other way around.” The last part is but a grumble under his breath.
Unable to explain, because he isn’t exactly sure of the answer either, Seokmin brushes Seungkwan's suspicious raised brow off and mentions something that would pique his interest instead, in hopes of changing the topic.
“You know Soonyoung said Chan blew him off for a date? They were supposed to go out drinking and then—”
“And then Minji called him and he bailed, I know. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“And then—”
“Slow down!” Seungkwan all but yanks the scissors from his best friend’s hands, which is, needless to say, not the safest thing to do, and puts them at his own station. “You’ve been hogging them for the last hour.” he hisses, “If my grandma comes in and sees that I’m this far behind, she’ll make me skip my break.”
“I just need time to pass by quickly. I figure if I keep myself busy, it just might.”
“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.”
“Actually, it does. Idiot.” He sneers back, and Seungkwan could not look more offended if he tried—eyes wide, lips puckered to shape a word he doesn’t quite get to say. He swings back his arm, but before Seokmin could get smacked by the handful of tulips in his grip, Ms. Boo comes bustling through, humming a mindless tune as she clutches a pen and a few envelopes in her arms.
“Boys, I've got your pay for this week and the next. I have an appointment with Dr. Hong next Friday, so I won’t be here. I expect you’ll take care of the shop while I’m—these arrangements are lovely. Who made them?”
The boys look between each other, and Seokmin huffs out before answering. “We both did, Ms. Boo.”
“Good work. Lovely…” She starts mumbling to herself again as she shifts her attention from the flowers at the windowsill to the bills in her hands, counting them and separating them into two even piles.
At Seokmin’s reply (call it an unspoken truce), Seungkwan visibly relaxes, releasing the flowers before he could ruin them and scurrying over to his grandma. “Have you been taking your medicine? You know he’ll scold you otherwise.”
“I’m too old to be scolded,” She replies stubbornly, and their conversation fades momentarily as the door chimes again.
“Welcome to Botanical–oh.” Seokmin’s scripted introduction is cut short as he notices that it’s you who has entered the shop, wearing a small smile.
“Hi.” You greet him, “and hello, Ms. Boo.”
“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Hey,” Seokmin’s wide smile, which nourished the moment he laid eyes on you, suddenly falters as he realizes the time. “Shit, are you here for-”
“Language.”
“Sorry,” he bows his head apologetically at Ms. Boo, then grabs your arm to drag you a little further from the pair, “I can’t take my break right now.” He tells you, regretfully. Your smile falls a little.
“Really? I was looking forward to our coffee time. Plus, I desperately need some caffeine. I’ve been reading this boring manuscript since seven.” You scowl, gesturing to the stack of papers overflowing from your bag.
That pout, the one on your lips: it needs to be fixed as soon as possible. Seokmin holds a single finger up as he scours his brain for a plan, “Wait here a second. Let me see what I can do.” With that, he turns around and speedwalks over to Seungkwan, who hands him his half of the money.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” Seokmin takes the bills, not quite meeting Seungkwan’s eyes as he pockets them. “Hey, listen…” His voice drops, just low enough that it almost feels like a secret. “I need to take my break now.”
Seungkwan blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What?!”
“Shh!” Seokmin urges, his face a mix of impatience and pleading. He tugs at his sleeve, leaning closer so only Seungkwan can hear. “Please.”
“No way,” Seungkwan protests, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “I take the morning breaks, you take the afternoon. That’s how this works.”
Seokmin’s expression hardens just a fraction, the edge of desperation creeping in as he stands a little taller. “Seungkwan, I’m begging you to switch with me just this once.”
Seungkwan stares at him, weighing his options. His arms remain crossed, a stubborn defiance settling into his posture. “No way.”
With no other option, Seokmin huffs and crosses his arms firmly over his chest.
“Fine,” Seokmin finally says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll just go tell your grandma how many customers I’ve helped today and that all the displays were my doing and—”
“Okay, okay!” Seungkwan interrupts, throwing his hands up in surrender. “God, dude, you really suck. Don’t make this a habit, yeah?”
Spoiler alert: he would.
Seokmin’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you!” he exclaims, not even giving Seungkwan a chance to protest before his apron is untied with a swift yank. It’s tossed into Seungkwan’s arms, and Seokmin is already dashing toward the back, his shoes clacking against the floor with each hurried step.
He doesn't wait for the usual stream of complaints to catch up to him, knowing full well that they’re coming. Quickly, Seokmin kicks off his non-slip shoes in one fluid motion, leaving them in a pile as he slides into his own sneakers.
Less than a minute later, he joins you by the door.
“Coffee time?” His tone is playful, and you mirror it as you nod once.
“Coffee time.”
The cafe has a few students scattered around with their laptops when you enter. There’s also a few others, people who Seokmin knows work in the stores and buildings nearby. They stop by occasionally for their lunch and coffee breaks, but even then, the cafe is emptier than it is most days at this time. Mr. Kim is alongside Joshua, tending to something on the register, when the two of you approach them.
“Morning,”
“Good morning, Seokmin.” Kim Jongdae offers the boy a warm smile.
There’s a bit of small talk exchanged between them—Mr. Kim asks about Ms. Boo and Seungkwan, Seokmin asks about his son’s birthday—until Seokmin goes to introduce you, but turns around to find you near the bookshelf once more. This seems to remind Mr. Kim of something he discussed earlier with Joshua.
“My answer is yes, by the way.” He starts, “Joshua asked me this morning. He said you, or rather, she wanted to borrow a book. Go ahead. It’s the least I can do to repay you boys for the hard work you do to make this place look nice.” Mr. Kim gives him a firm nod, patting Joshua on the back after briefly explaining a new menu item on the screen. He walks off, and Seokmin calls out to him.
“Thank you, really!” He turns to Joshua, “and thank you, too. I’ll get the same two drinks as yesterday. ”
“You got it.”
He pays quickly and turns around, pausing for a few moments to admire you before taking two long strides over. When he’s beside you, he lowers his head so it’s by your shoulder and speaks quietly, so as to not disturb you. “Which one piques your interest?”
“Which ones,” you correct, marveling up at him before looking back to the shelves. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t know which one to grab first if I could.” Your index finger comes up after a pause, “Maybe this one.”
“Go on, then.”
“I wish.” you sigh, and he can no longer withhold his smile.
“I’m serious. Grab it. I asked the owner for permission.”
Your head cranes slowly over to him, eyes so wide he swears he could have seen his reflection in them.
“Are you serious?” Your voice is soft, unsure, surprised, grateful. You’re almost not sure whether to believe him or not, but when his gentle brown eyes look between you and the book, and he gives you a little encouraging nudge on your shoulder as a go ahead, you finally move to reach out slowly and pick it off of the shelf, cradling it in your hands as if it was a precious thing.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” His voice is calm but sincere, and there’s a small, almost thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. The shelf you’d been looking at earlier, once so absorbing, now feels distant as your attention shifts entirely to him.
You blink, unsure how to respond, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself lost for words. “Gosh, I-I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He mutters with a crooked smile.
“Thank you.” You repeat the words, quieter this time.
“Anytime.” He shrugs. For a moment, the two of you are caught in a quiet, comfortable pause.
It’s only Joshua calling Seokmin’s name from across the room that snaps the two of you back to reality. You blink and suddenly remember—you’re the one who owes him a coffee, not the other way around.
“Wait, you ordered already?”
“I kinda had to.” Seokmin shrugs sheepishly, his eyes flicking over to the counter before returning to you. “Honestly, I’m more scared of going over my break time while Seungkwan is there than when it’s just Ms. Boo.”
“That’s your friend, right? Seungkwan?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.
“Yep,” Seokmin replies. “The one with the dyed blonde hair who always looks like he’s about to complain about something.”
“That’s Ms. Boo’s grandson, then.” You piece it together with a grin, and Seokmin hands you your drink. You take it but find your thoughts drifting again.
“What’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, noticing your distracted gaze.
“I still owe you,” you admit softly, looking down at the drink in your hands. “For the bag and the book.”
Seokmin bumps your shoulder lightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to keep stopping by.”
“I guess I will,”
To his delight, the rest of Seokmin’s shift was effortless and quick. There was the occasional bickering with Seungkwan, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind it as much today. Because, waiting for him at the bus stop when he arrived later that very same evening, was you, eager to tell him all about the book you had started reading.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
Seokmin had never been a fan of routines. His personality was spontaneous, and so the things he did on a day-to-day basis were too. Up until now, the only constants in his life were the flower shop and his friends, who provided their own random spontaneity in the form of unpredictable weekend plans or an ever-changing work environment that depended solely on which side of the bed Seungkwan woke up on that morning.
Seokmin gets bored easily, an issue he resolves with movie marathons or long walks or hangouts—just about anything will suffice, if it means his mind is occupied and distracted the majority of the time.
Lately, though, a new element has been introduced to his daily life. A routine.
A routine where, during every shift, you stop by after your time studying at the library and pick him up for ‘coffee time’ during his breaks (much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, coffee time was usually during the first half of the day). Then, you’d stay at the coffee shop reading the book—because despite Seokmin insisting that it was okay for you to take home, you’d always refuse—until his shift was over. He’d find you at the bus stop, waiting for him, and the two of you would chatter on until you were dropped off at your stop.
In a way, he had become dependent on this routine—something he thought could never happen. It was admittedly his favorite part of the day, catching up with you, hearing what you had to say or what thoughts you had cultured after your time reading the book. And when you finished that one a few weeks in, he made sure to take some new potted plants and flowers over to Mr. Kim in exchange for another.
And for some time, that’s the way things were. He had contemplated asking to do something with you outside of the usual bus or coffee shop pattern, but everytime he intended to ask, he’d cower and procrastinate. Next time, he’d tell himself.
Early on a Sunday morning, Seungkwan came into the shop rambling about how his Grandma was at his older sister’s house and wouldn’t be coming by. It’s not like the two of them couldn’t handle the shop alone—they had done it countless times before—but her presence was primarily longed for when it came to getting the two of them back on track. Especially on Sundays, where the task at hand was to clean, fertilize, and redecorate wilted displays. For obvious reasons, this was something neither of them enjoyed doing.
At the moment, it’s just him in the store. Seungkwan was taking his morning break that he insisted was non-negotiable today and Seokmin only agreed so easily because Sundays are the only days he doesn’t see you.
The doorbell jingles softly as you step into the flower shop, and Seokmin glances up from behind the counter looking for a customer or Seungkwan, his hands momentarily pausing in their careful arrangement of flowers. A surprised look crosses his face as you poke your head in.
“Hey,” he says, his voice lifting with a bit of surprise, but the smile that quickly forms softens his expression. “I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”
“Actually, I only came by to see Ms. Boo,” you tease, and Seokmin hisses through his teeth.
“I regret to inform you, she’s not in today.”
You grin, stepping further into the shop, the familiar floral scent filling the air around you. “I’m kidding. I was nearby and I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”
“It’s not usually this quiet around here,” he says, his hands brushing against the flowers almost absently as he talks. “It’s kind of nice when it’s just me, but I guess I don’t mind the company.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s easy to see right through him when he’s so clearly beaming that you're here.
Your presence, standing so casually by the counter, feels like something he didn’t know he was waiting for. He’s used to the steady hum of the shop, the quiet buzz of the day, the mildly irritating sounds of Seungkwan, but with you here... it’s different. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but there’s a feeling in his chest that settles somewhere between contentment and something else he’s been trying to ignore for a while now.
Before he can dwell too much on it, the door jingles again, and Seungkwan strides in, looking as effortless as ever. His eyes dart between you and Seokmin, already catching the shift in the air.
“Why, hello,” Seungkwan says, grinning widely as he crosses the shop and leans against the counter. “I was wondering when we’d be properly introduced.”
“You must be Seungkwan,” you say, arching an eyebrow at Seokmin, who rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.
“And you must be Y/N. It seems like I took my break right on time.” Seungkwan continues, throwing an exaggerated glance at Seokmin. “He can’t shut up about you.”
Seokmin groans as he shifts uncomfortably behind the counter. “Seungkwan, please. You don’t have to make it sound so weird.”
You smile at the light teasing, the way Seungkwan’s attention naturally shifts to Seokmin with that familiar comfort only best friends seem to have. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a while. Seokmin, though, is less than amused by Seungkwan. His cheeks glow pink as he glares.
“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.
“Alright, Seungkwan,” Seokmin says with a sigh.
“Okay, I’m off to the back to unload fertilizer.” He announces and you give him a polite wave as he turns to you, “It was nice to meet you.”
As Seungkwan heads out the back door, Seokmin lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. The shop feels quieter, now that it's just you and him. It’s strange, but Seokmin finds himself oddly aware of the space between you two.
He glances over at you again, trying not to seem too obvious, but there’s something about the way you’re standing there—easy, comfortable, but somehow still pulling at him in a way he can’t ignore. His fingers hesitate over the vase in front of him, caught in the motion of arranging flowers but not quite focused on the task.
“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I guess you get to work in peace for now, huh?”
“Yeah, it seems that way.” Seokmin huffs. He takes a step toward you, to reach for something behind you. His hand brushes over a batch of roses, then pausing as if he’s suddenly unsure of the next move, painfully aware of how close he’s gotten. He clears his throat, the casual tone of his voice not quite matching the thoughts swirling in his mind. “So, um... you like flowers?”
You tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “Is that a serious question?”
“I-” Seokmin laughs softly, his fingers running over the petals of the flowers before grabbing them and attempting to focus on his station.
You lean a little closer, your voice light but playful. “Well, I like you, don’t I?” The way you say those words with a teasing tone makes Seokmin nearly choke, “So I kind of have to like flowers. Otherwise, how am I meant to hang around you?” You gesture at the shop.
Seokmin’s breath catches, and for a moment, he feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.
"I didn’t expect to find you working today. I didn’t even know the shop opened on Sundays," you say casually, glancing up at him. “I’m sure the flowers appreciate the extra attention.”
"I’m pretty good with the flowers, but I think they’d appreciate the company more if you came by more often."
You arch an eyebrow, “Oh? You think they’d enjoy my company more than yours?”
“I know Seungkwan would.” You laugh at this, and Seokmin revels in the sound, joining you.
After a pause, he shifts his attention back to the flowers, showing you the final product. “What do you think?”
“They’re pretty.”
“I think so, too.” He decides, not necessarily talking about the flowers, “Even though I was a little distracted.”
"Distractions can be good, though,"
"Well, you’re a pretty good distraction," he tries for the words to sound casual, but his tone betrays him. He also said it much quicker than he intended to, and he’s grateful for the chance to turn around while grabbing another pot because it offers him a means to hide his reddening cheeks.
You let the words hang in the air for a beat longer than usual, enjoying the teasing, the way it feels easy between you two. "Good to know," you reply, smirking.
Before Seokmin can respond, the door swings open and Seungkwan walks in again, wiping his hands on his apron and immediately launching into his usual dramatic self.
"I swear, I’ll never get used to that fertilizer smell," he complains, tossing his apron on a hook. He looks over at you and Seokmin, "Glad to know you two haven’t burned the place down."
You grin, "Not yet, but we’re working on it."
Seungkwan scoffs half-heartedly, glancing between you. "Nice to see him finally making some friends outside of the plants."
As Seungkwan heads toward the back, he gives you both a knowing look. “Don’t let him get too distracted, alright?” he calls over his shoulder with a grin.
“I’ll try my best.” You give Seokmin a wink and he shakes his head, showing you an idea for another potential bouquet.
The last hour passes seamlessly fast, now that you’re here. Before Seokmin knows it, you, him, and Seungkwan are locking up the store and parting ways from the blonde as the two of you walk side by side to the bus stop.
As he sits beside you on the bus later that night, looking over your shoulder at your collection of tapes for your walkman, he wrestles with the invitation that sits in the forefront of his mind. Spending time with you at the shop was great, but it somehow still feels like it follows your usual pattern. That, and Seungkwan’s presence, albeit lively and entertaining, keeps him from being able to spend as much time as he’d like with you—without the time constriction of a fifteen minute break or a forty minute bus ride. But like always, he decides to ask a different question in place of the one he really wants to.
“How come you use a walkman? I always meant to ask you.”
“I like the way the music sounds on it. I don’t know. It was my dad’s.” You smile warmly, “He used to let me borrow it when I was younger and I just kind of… inherited it.”
“It’s cool. Makes you look all mysterious. Like you’re from a different time.”
“You think?” He nods fervently, but your shoulders still sink in doubt as you fumble with the multicolored tapes. “Everything sounds nicer on it. When you listen to music on it, it’s like a mini time-machine. Or, it might just be me, I don’t know.”
“I’m sure it’s not just you. Here, let me try. Pick one for me.”
The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a second as you ponder which song to play. Delicately, your fingers brush over each tape, hovering in thought like they had with the books on Mr. Kim’s shelf, until you finally land on one.
“It’s my favorite.” You tell him shyly, “I think you’ll like it.”
Carefully, you pull the cassette out of its case and click it into the audio player with a low snap. Seokmin watches as your hands slip the headset off from around your neck, watching as you shift in your seat and place them gently over his head. He tries not to think about how close your face is to his but… how can he not? You’ve leaned in to ensure that both spongy cushions are perfectly sat over his ears, and now you’re only a few inches away—close enough that he can catch the faint scent of your shampoo. It lingers, soft and floral, wrapping around him like the embrace of something he hadn’t realized he’d miss until you finally sat back, asking “ready?”
You press down on the play button and look up at him, eyes full of expectation.
There’s that familiar, comforting crackle of the cassette winding into motion, a sound that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s in an old-timey dream. And then, the music starts: your song—your favorite song—something you had chosen specifically for him to hear. Every note feels warm, intimate, melodic. For some reason, it temporarily diminishes his burning curiosity about you, but not because he finds himself any less intrigued, but because it finally feels like he’s taken a real peek inside your mind.
As someone who loves music, Seokmin is a firm believer that a person’s favorite song says a lot about them. The more it plays, the more he realizes that this song, in every sense of the word, is an extension of you.
As the melody flows, you watch him, eyes studying his reaction with that same teasing smile. You lean closer again, and he subconsciously holds his breath as you whisper, “Do you hear it?” He nods.
There’s a warmth in it, a rawness that makes it feel like more than just music. This was something deeply yours, a piece of your world that you were letting him in on, if only for a few minutes.
He listens with his eyes closed, letting himself drift along the rhythm, feeling the weight of each tone and key change and lyric the artist sings, full of intention. When he finally opens his eyes, he finds you still looking at him with a kind of question in your gaze, a quiet hope. The song fades out, but Seokmin keeps the headphones on for a second longer, letting the last notes dissolve into silence. He looks up again, meeting your gaze.
For a moment, he’s not sure what to say. Anything he could say feels too small, too plain for what he wants you to understand. So he starts with the only words that come out easily, his voice low and sincere. “I… I think I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “And this song… it feels like you.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask, though there’s a softness in your tone, like you’re hoping he’ll really answer.
He glances down at the walkman, watching your thumb tracing along the edge as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… this song is so warm. It’s like the way you laugh, the way you make everything feel a little bit lighter.” He feels his cheeks warm but keeps going, his words coming out before he can second-guess them. “It’s like a piece of you, and I can feel it, even with my eyes closed.”
You go still, your expression shifting, the playful smile that played on your lips softening into something more serious. Neither of you say anything for a moment.
The bus begins to slow, and you both glance out the window, realizing this is your stop. You reach up, fingers brushing his ear as you gently pull the headphones from him, careful not to disturb the sense of closeness still hanging in the air. You slide the walkman back into your bag, a little slower than necessary, as if that might make the night last, if just for a few seconds longer.
“This is me,” you say softly, feeling the finality in the words as the bus comes to a gentle stop and the doors sigh open. You start to stand but pause, glancing down at him one last time. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say, something more than just “goodbye.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hopeful.
He nods, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah,” he says, gentle but certain. “Tomorrow.” You’re about to turn around when he adds, “but not here. I want to go somewhere else with you. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He finds his breath catching again, “The flower shop closes early on the weekends. I was thinking... Maybe we could go to the beach?”
With a grin playing on your lips, you nod, “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Giving him one last glance, you turn and step off the bus, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger behind as you walk down the street. As the bus pulls away, you catch his face framed in the window, waving until you’re out of sight. And though the music has stopped, the tune of this moment plays on, promising something to carry with you both until tomorrow.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
The sky stretches out in a hazy blue as Seokmin walks toward the beach, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against its side as he looks around, hoping to spot you before you see him.
He barely slept the night before, having spent the better part of the morning hours contemplating and talking to himself with his guitar on his lap. It hadn’t been touched in nearly a year and a half, so he had to spend some time wiping it down, re-tuning it, and even fixing a string that had managed to come loose in the process.
He said he’d play for you, but then again, he hadn’t played for someone in a while and naturally, that made him extremely nervous, though that feeling didn’t even fully capture what he felt when he remembered he’d be playing for you. What would you think? Did you actually mean it when you said you wanted to hear him play? Or was that some automated response to boost his spirits? Would you even remember? It was weeks ago, on the first day at the coffee shop. Needless to say, he mulled over it endlessly.
Seokmin sighs, trying to calm himself down. By now, he had to slip off his shoes that were sinking in the cool sand, so he chooses to focus on the sensation of it against his skin instead of overthinking any longer.
He finally spots you standing by the water, arms wrapped around yourself as a light breeze blows through your hair. When you turn and see him, your face brightens, and that smile of yours—bright and open—fills him with warmth instantly. “Is that—” you begin, your eyes widening as you notice the guitar.
“Thought it was time,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite his heart thundering as he sets the guitar down and dusts off a spot in the sand beside you. You sit next to him eagerly, your excitement spilling out in the way you lean closer, eyes sweeping between him and the guitar case, as if you’re finally being let in on a long-held secret. And, in a way, you are.
He stretches his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand. He watches you rummage through the tote bag beside you, and a curious smile tugs at his lips.
“You came prepared,” he chuckles, watching as you pull out a couple of neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of fruit.
“Of course I did,” you say with a smile, offering him a sandwich and holding out the fruit container. “I figured we’d get hungry eventually.” You shrug, glancing out toward the waves. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to have a little picnic.”
Seokmin accepts the sandwich with a grin, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He’s pleasantly surprised by the fresh crunch of lettuce and the perfect balance of flavors. “Did you make these?” he asks between bites, raising an eyebrow.
You nod, a bit of pride flashing in your eyes. “I did. You think I’d risk buying store-bought for a beach day?”
“Touché,” he laughs, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit container you’ve placed between you. “Honestly, this is already ten times better than what I packed.” He gestures vaguely to a plastic bottle and an uninspired granola bar that now seem almost laughable compared to your carefully prepared spread.
The sun has settled lower in the sky, casting the beach in a soft, golden haze. Seokmin leans back, resting his hands behind him as he glances over at you, a lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The two of you have polished off the sandwiches, and now the empty wrappers lie folded beside the fruit container. He pops one last grape into his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness as he watches you tuck the food away with a little, satisfied sigh.
“So, did I earn any points for bringing the snacks?” you tease, dusting a few crumbs from your hands before looking over at him expectantly.
Seokmin laughs, squinting a little in the sunlight as he tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I’ll give you extra points for the sandwiches. But for the fruit,” he says, grabbing a couple of the last grapes with a mischievous smile, “I think you’ll need to try a little harder.”
“Oh, please,” you scoff, leaning back beside him. “You’re just mad you didn’t think to bring anything.”
“Maybe,” he admits, laughing as he looks out at the waves. “But next time, I’ll bring something better.”
“Alright, big shot,” you say with a smirk, crossing your arms. “What’s on the menu then? A charcuterie board?”
“Definitely,” he says, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe even some tiny, fancy desserts, the ones that look way too pretty to eat.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone.” You raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air just long enough that Seokmin can’t miss the playful edge in your tone. Not like he could have missed it anyway, with the way he hangs on your every word.
He laughs again, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just saying I know how to put together a memorable picnic,” he says, attempting a casual shrug. “But, you know, only if you’re there to witness it.”
You grin, unable to help the smile that breaks through at his subtle, almost shy attempt at flirting. “I’d hate to miss such an extravagant spread,” you reply, matching his casual tone with your own. “Guess you’ll have to invite me.”
Seokmin pretends to think it over, tapping his chin. “Hmm, alright, you’re in. But no backing out,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m holding you to this.”
There’s an ease between you, a lightness in the conversation that feels effortless, and for a while, the two of you just sit there, chatting about nothing and everything. He asks you about your favorite places to visit and listens as you share stories about the other hobbies you have. In return, you ask how he met Seungkwan, and he tells you about him and Soonyoung, recounting each memory he has made with them with an enthusiasm that makes you feel like you were right there with him.
Then, as the conversation dips, he glances down at the guitar case beside him. He reaches for it almost absentmindedly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the case, but there’s a faint look of hesitation in his eyes that you don’t miss.
“You don’t have to, even if you brought it all the way out here. It’s up to you.”
Seokmin lets out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he glances away. He’s more grateful for your patience than you could ever know.
“Yeah… I haven’t really played in a while,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s been over two years, actually. I brought it… Well, because I think it’s about time I get back into the habit.” He trails off, watching the waves again, his mind flickering to a different time, a different place, one he’s not sure he’s ready to revisit.
There’s a quiet understanding in your eyes as you nod. You don’t press him, don’t ask for more details. Instead, you just let the silence stretch out between you, the sound of the ocean filling the space where words might have gone. It’s almost as if you’re giving him permission to take his time, to decide for himself if this is something he wants to do.
After a moment, he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “I used to play a lot, actually,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… haven’t felt like it in a while.”
The air feels thick with unspoken things, but Seokmin pushes past it, fingers brushing the guitar case almost impulsively. The weight of the past lingers for a second, but with a quick glance at you, he lets go of the hesitation clinging to him. This is different, he reminds himself. This isn’t for anyone else, no memories he needs to cling to. Just the open beach, the sun dipping low, and you, waiting beside him with a patient, easy smile.
He pulls the guitar from its case, its weight grounding him, though it feels different today than it had last night. It’s less scary, now that he’s with you.
He glances over at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, your eyes wide, leaning just close enough for him to catch the faint, floral hint of you drifting in the salt-laced air.
Seokmin strums the first couple of notes, letting the music rise and blend with the gentle crash of the waves. His fingers move on instinct, but his mind is all on you, capturing every little reaction—the way your eyes soften, the way your shoulders relax, reassuring him that his music is something you’ve been waiting to hear. He’s suddenly very relieved.
“I wrote this a few years back. It’s… Well, yeah. I think the lyrics speak for themselves.”
It takes a few seconds and one or two badly played chords for him to regain a little bit of the confidence he had lost some time ago. But his fingers find their place quickly enough, and he parts his lips to sing.
As Seokmin's voice fills the space between you, soft and hesitant at first, he notices the subtle shift in your expression. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise as if you hadn’t really expected him to sing so well. There’s a moment of stillness, only filled with his voice, warm and unpolished, floating in the air.
Your gaze flickers to and from him, watching the way his lips move to form each syllable, and then back to the water, where the waves blur in a streak of light. You can’t help but notice the way his face softens when he sings, his features loosening as he melts into the words.
You look back at him, your lips parting in surprise. There’s a shy kind of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, like you're unsure if it’s okay to smile just yet, but the quiet joy you feel is evident in the warmth that floods your chest. You tilt your head slightly, caught between admiration and a soft, disbelieving smile.
I should’ve told you I’m in love with you
Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now
The longer you listen, the more the words he’s written seem bound to him, something like an itch he couldn’t reach. You find your lips curving upward again, but there’s a sad sentiment behind your smile this time, eyes full with a kind of quiet affection. Something tugs at your heart just then, causing your brows to furrow slightly. Maybe it’s from the lyrics he wrote, or maybe it’s the simple, unguarded way he sings, you’re not entirely sure.
When he looks up, your gaze meets his, soft and steady. You don’t speak when he finishes. Instead, you reach over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers as light as the spring breeze.
“Thank you,” you whisper, and in that moment, Seokmin realizes he doesn’t need to say anything at all.
You sit back, letting the sound of the water fill the space between you, the silence stretching just long enough for Seokmin to look out at the horizon, his fingers still idly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His expression has changed slightly, distant, like he's somewhere else for a moment, lost in thought.
You turn toward him, studying his profile. “Why don’t you play anymore?” you ask softly, not wanting to break the calm vulnerability of the moment, but still unable to ignore the quiet curiosity rising inside you. “I mean, you’re really good. Why keep it to yourself?”
He freezes for a second, his mindless strumming halting abruptly. He exhales, the sound almost like a sigh.
“I used to,” he begins to explain. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Back when I had someone to play for. It didn’t work out.” He swallows thickly. “She… She had been hooking up with her best friend practically since we got together.”
You wait, letting him speak, but his lips press together for a moment, unsure if he should say more. His gaze turns toward the ocean, but there’s a shift in his eyes, which are normally so kind and full of spirit—something like a hard edge, as if a memory he had thought of has sharpened into something more painful. “I played for her all the time.”
You can’t hide the surprise that flashes in your eyes, and Seokmin glances at you. He doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for it.
“I stopped playing after that,” he continues, “It just... didn’t feel the same anymore. It was something I gave to someone who didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs, as if the words are too heavy for him to carry all at once.
You can feel the hurt in the air, hanging around him like a shadow. You want to reach out, but you don’t know how to offer comfort without crossing a line, so you just sit still beside him, close enough that he can feel your presence but far enough to give him space.
And at the time, you didn’t know it, but for him, it was enough.
After a long pause, you finally say, “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s a lot.”
He nods, and the tightness in his jaw softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “But... maybe it’s okay.” Seokmin’s eyes flicker to you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Today felt right, you know. Playing for someone who’s actually listening.”
And in the quiet that follows, he feels something shift between you, the weight of unspoken things starting to lift.
“Seokmin,” you say, your voice gentle, as if careful not to disrupt the quiet peace he’s settled into. He can tell you’re about to say something, maybe offer some comforting words about his story, but he’s already lost in thought.
It hits him, then, so suddenly it almost makes him laugh at himself. The way the late afternoon light catches in your hair, the soft curve of your smile, the way you’re watching him with that steady, thoughtful gaze. It’s all so striking that it feels like something he’s never noticed before, and yet it feels so familiar at the same time.
He decides then, that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.
Suddenly convinced you might be able to read his mind, he clears his throat, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck as he looks back down at the guitar, trying to hide the smile that’s fighting its way to his face. He wants to say it—wants to tell you that you look beautiful, that sitting here with you feels like some kind of dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. But the words don’t come out; they sit, caught in his throat, trapped by the sudden nervousness that’s settled over him.
Instead, he finds himself brushing a hand over the guitar strings again, as if that small action might keep him grounded. “Thanks… for listening,” he manages, hoping it’ll distract from the fact that he can feel his cheeks warming.
You smile, nodding gently, still looking at him in that quiet, understanding way, and it only makes him want to blurt it out more. But for now, he lets the moment stretch, watching as you lean back in the sand, your gaze shifting back to the waves. The sun is sinking lower, and everything is bathed in that soft, warm light that makes the world feel as if it’s been suspended in time. And Seokmin realizes, right then and there, that this is one of those good memories he’ll hold on to; one he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
It starts with a simple conversation over coffee, the two of you tucked into a cozy corner booth at the cafe, each with a steaming cup in hand as usual. It has become the norm, seeing you like this, nearly every morning and evening. Seokmin stirs a bit more sugar into his drink despite the crazed look you give him, then glances up at you with a warm, toothy smile as you tell him about your latest read. He leans in, listening intently, nodding as if every word you say is the most fascinating thing he’s heard all week.
When you pause, taking a sip of your drink, he takes a chance to jump in, “You know, I’ve been meaning to go to the art museum downtown. It’s supposed to have this new exhibit.” He hesitates, looking down at his cup for a moment, then back at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. “If… you’d want to check it out with me?”
You perk up at the suggestion, grinning. “I’d love that! Museums are kind of my weakness.”
Relieved, he chuckles, “Then we’re in good company,” he says, the words coming out a little softer than he intends. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his heart beats a little faster as you chuckle.
“Alright, Mr. Museum,” you say, teasing. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Great,” he replies, glancing out the window at the overcast sky. “How about today, then?”
With a nod, you grab your things, sliding out of the booth as Seokmin hurriedly follows, waving goodbye to Joshua. As you both step out onto the sidewalk, he can’t help the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. The two of you stroll side by side down the bustling street, exchanging small talk and the occasional smile, his heart lifting with every step closer to the city.
The walk to the museum is a mixture of laughter, subtle glances, and playful nudges that neither of you can seem to resist. The air is crisp, a light breeze tugging at your sleeves as the two of you meander down the busy street, dodging the occasional cyclist or dog walker. Every few steps, one of you makes a half-serious comment—maybe about the art you’re about to see, maybe about the bizarre mannequin display in a shop window you pass—and it doesn’t take long before both of you dissolve into laughter, your steps momentarily slowed as you lean into each other, trying to catch your breath.
Seokmin, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finds himself glancing your way more often than he’d like to admit, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear or lift your face to the sky for a second, enjoying the clouds. He doesn’t know why he feels like a kid right now, heart skipping with each shared smile and laugh, but he can’t seem to shake it. The closeness of walking side by side with you makes him almost giddy.
At one point, you nudge him with your elbow, a light-hearted challenge in your eyes as you try to keep a straight face. “So,” you say, feigning seriousness, “ready to become cultured?”
He rolls his eyes, laughing as he nudges you right back. “Please.”
Seokmin steps into the museum lobby with you by his side, wandering across the high ceilings and polished floors. There’s almost a sacred quietness to the place, the kind that makes every sound seem amplified, even the shuffle of your footsteps.
You hand him a ticket that you get from the booth, brushing his hand lightly, and he tries to hide his smile, hoping you don’t notice the faint flush that blooms in his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous; he always is around you, but he never knows why. Somehow today, he’s more nervous than other days. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s just you—standing there beside him, glancing around with the same sort of wide-eyed curiosity that makes him want to see everything through your eyes.
The two of you wander through the galleries, pausing in front of each painting and sculpture, taking your time. Every so often, you glance at him to see his reaction to something particularly strange or fascinating, and catch him already looking back, smiling at your expressions just as much as he is admiring the art.
“Do you think they meant to paint it like this?” you ask, leaning closer to a particularly loud modern piece that’s all bright, chaotic lines. Your voice is soft, as though you’re afraid of disturbing the tranquility.
Seokmin leans closer, squinting as if trying to unravel some secret meaning, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at. “Maybe they were just… feeling inspired,” he replies, lips quirking with a grin he can’t suppress.
“Or maybe they dropped their paintbrush,” you add, matching his grin.
The sound of your laughter echoes slightly in the otherwise silent gallery, and for a moment, he’s aware of how close you’re standing. The space feels smaller, and though there are other visitors around, it feels for a moment like the museum is yours alone. You move on to the next painting, your eyes bright with curiosity, and he follows, longing to shorten the distance once more.
He notices a stray piece of hair that’s slipped from behind your ear, and without thinking, he lifts a hand to tuck it back. But at the last second, he hesitates, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder as he pulls his hand back, a shy red spreading over his complexion. You don’t seem to notice, lost in thought as you step closer to the next painting, tilting your head to take it all in.
At one point, you point out a painting of a starry sky, something dreamlike. “Imagine being under a sky like that,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your gaze soft and wondrous as you look at the canvas.
More and more often throughout the visit to the museum, Seokmin finds himself staring at you instead of the exhibits. On this specific one, he can’t seem to look away from your face, your expression so captivated, as if you’re somewhere far away.
“Maybe one day we can find a place like that,” he says softly, almost not meaning to say it aloud. When you turn to look at him, a bit surprised, he clears his throat, pretending to be suddenly very interested in reading the placard beside the artwork.
Seokmin finds himself feeling almost weightless, caught up in the dizzying whirlwind of his own thoughts for a minute. There’s something about you—something he can’t quite put a name to—that makes him feel like he’s constantly walking on a tightrope, and with each step, he’s leaning a little further in, a step closer to letting go of the balance he’s tried for so long to keep.
You whisper an eager “come on,” and grab his sleeve to drag him further into the maze of galleries.
As you wander into a room filled with ancient statues, he catches you examining one with a particularly serious expression. “Thinking of getting one of these for your place?” he teases.
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Only if you help me carry it,” you reply, and he finds himself grinning again.
Soon, you reach a new room, filled with work from the Renaissance, each painting rich with detail and vibrant colors that have held their vibrancy for centuries. You lean in slightly, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, and Seokmin watches you, his gaze drifting from the artwork to the fascinated look in your eyes—possibly for the hundredth time today.
“I feel like I’m supposed to be having some deep, life-changing revelation right now,” he whispers by your ear, half-joking.
“Who says art has to be that serious? Sometimes, it’s just… pretty.”
You’re just pretty.
As you move through the quiet museum halls together, Seokmin catches himself watching you again, realizing just how pretty you look in the warm glow of the exhibit lights. It’s not the first time he's felt this way; he remembers the flutter in his chest when you’d gone to the beach, and the way his thoughts had lingered a little too long on the curve of your smile. He watches as you lean a bit closer to a painting, eyes narrowing in focus, oblivious to his gaze. There’s a calmness to you here, the way you examine each piece as if it holds a secret, and he finds himself drawn to the little things: the way your fingers rest on your chin in thought, the faint lift of your brows when something catches your eye, and the gentle concentration in your expression.
He watches you for longer this time, taking advantage of the fact that you’ve busied yourself reading a plaque, and noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before right now: today, your smiles linger a little longer, your laughter rings out just a bit brighter, and he finds himself captivated by these subtleties, like he's uncovering new pieces of you with each glance. When you look at him, eyes crinkling in a way he hadn’t dared imagine was just for him, his heart stirs, and he can’t shake the thought: Have you always been this lovely, or am I just starting to see it now?
His mind drifts, painting scenes of possibilities—fleeting, half-formed images of laughter, of late nights talking, of small moments shared just between the two of you. Each image feels almost real, so vivid he can practically reach out and touch it.
There’s a spark in his chest, a sensation that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of him wants to pull back, to reel himself in, a quiet warning in the back of his mind whispering not to get carried away like he had before. But he can’t help it; there’s something magnetic about this, about you, something that pulls him closer despite himself.
He steals another glance at you, his heart racing as he does. You’re just looking at the art around you, as though this is any other day, but for him, it feels monumental. His thoughts get lost again, imagining what it might be like to hold your hand right now, to simply be beside you without any of this hesitation.
And then, you look at him and laugh, catching him staring, and his ears go red, a little embarrassed but somehow happy to be caught.
By the time you reach the last hall of artwork, the sun has started to set outside, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Seokmin watches as the light catches in your eyes, making them shine in a way that leaves him a little breathless. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you look around.
As you both step outside into the cool evening air, he catches your eye, intentionally this time, his smile small but genuine. “Thanks for coming here with me,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.
“Anytime,” you reply, and the word feels like a promise.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
The night starts with laughter and neon lights as Seokmin leads you through the bustling street to the karaoke room, his two friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, trailing just behind and rambling on about something indiscernible. The place is lively, bursting with music from rooms down the hall, each one echoing snippets of songs and off-key shouts.
Seokmin can’t help but beam when he sees how easily you fall into conversation with his friends, joining in their jokes and even taking a dig at Seungkwan when he hypes himself up as the “true vocal talent” of the group. Having heard Seokmin sing just a few weeks back, you couldn’t help but feel defensive on his behalf.
Once everyone’s settled, drinks start flowing freely. The first few songs are cautious, each of you easing into the familiar, buzzing rhythm of karaoke night. But as the night goes on, any sense of shyness melts away in the glow of pulsing lights and laughter.
Seokmin watches with undeniable fondness as you and Seungkwan bicker over song selections, and he tries not to grin too widely when he catches you belting out the lyrics with Soonyoung during a duet.
At some point, he notices how naturally you fit with his friends—the way you make Seungkwan laugh with a remark about his questionable song choices, or how you nod along enthusiastically as Soonyoung gives a dramatic toast, proclaiming you as “one of them now.” For Seokmin, it’s everything he hadn’t realized he wanted: his closest friends getting along with you.
As the night hums along, Seokmin picks up the microphone, sending you a lopsided, slightly tipsy smile that makes your heart flutter before selecting a song. His choice surprises you—it’s one of those classic ballads that’s probably too high for anyone but the original singer to sing. The melody starts slow, and his voice flows soft and easy, but with a control that reminds you just how talented he really is. You practically feel your admiration soar, and as you watch him, his hazy, glossed over eyes settle on you.
Every so often, he adds a bit of exaggerated flair, trying to coax a laugh out of you, playfully stretching out the notes or adding dramatic hand gestures to match the lyrics. It’s impossible not to smile, and you feel yourself relax as his antics draw you in. The song suddenly feels a little less serious, a little more fun, as he throws in a wink here, a knowing grin there.
As he finishes, you clap, unable to hide your smile. "You know," you say, a little breathless, "it’s honestly unfair that you’re this good."
He laughs, cheeks pink from both the praise and the drinks. “What can I say? Talent just comes naturally,” he jokes, a little bolder, that playful gleam returning to his eyes. Then he looks at you, his expression softening. “How about we do one together?”
“Oh no,” you protest with a laugh, shaking your head, “I can’t follow that.”
“Come on,” he coaxes, handing you a microphone and grabbing you by your hand to pull you to your feet, “I’ll sing the verses, you can handle the chorus. It'll be easy.”
With a mix of reluctance and excitement, both of which mix together with the alcohol in your system, you take the mic, scrolling through songs until you settle on something you both know—The music starts, and the two of you exchange a grin before starting.
At first, you both sing a little awkwardly, tipsy laughter interrupting every other line as you stumble over the lyrics and try not to trip over each other’s parts. But as the song goes on, you find a rhythm, and every so often, Seokmin leans into the mic to harmonize with you, his voice blending with yours. By the end, you’re both laughing, the microphones forgotten as you clutch your sides and stumble around, out of breath and giddy.
Seokmin looks at you, eyes bright, face flushed, smile so wide that you could count his teeth if you wanted to. He reaches out, touching your hand ever so lightly, his fingers warm and steady. “You did amazing,” he says, voice soft, his smile a little shy despite everything.
“Likewise,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s more than just the drinks. And as you both sit there, you realize that there’s other people in the room.
Before you even have time to catch your breath, Soonyoung jumps up, grabbing the microphone. “Move over!” he declares with a grin, completely ignoring the indignant look Seungkwan shoots at him as he stands up to join him. “It’s duet time for real now.”
Seungkwan, rolling his eyes, snatches the other mic and leans in with a smirk. “Prepare yourselves. You two are about to be outshined.” He cues up a song with exaggerated flair, and the upbeat tune starts, loud and impossible to take seriously as they start belting the opening lines completely off-time.
“They’re usually better than this,” Seokmin tells you, “especially Seungkwan. I think it’s the alcohol.”
You laugh as you watch the pair start to coordinate with each other, finally managing to sing to the beat of the song.
“It’s good!” You argue, “Are you all just super talented?”
Seungkwan’s voice suddenly cuts through, loudly. “Hey! I can’t hear myself over you two!” He shoots you both a look, his mock glare breaking into a grin as Soonyoung pulls him back to belt out the chorus.
Seokmin shakes his head, laughing as he leans in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I warned you about them, didn’t I?” he says, his voice soft, he’s close enough that you feel his breath beside you, gaze lingering as he speaks. He’s a little past the point of tipsy, cheeks and nose slightly flushed, but somehow the hazy glow of the karaoke lights makes him look even softer, easier to smile at.
You giggle, feeling a little light-headed yourself, but whether it’s from the drinks or the warmth radiating between the two of you, you’re not entirely sure. Your eyes subconsciously bat at him as they trace his features, tugging at his heartstrings as Soonyoung and Seungkwan sing with wild abandon in the background.
Seokmin’s arm rests casually on the back of the booth behind you. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning just a bit closer, “I’m glad you’re here.”
The words are simple, but somehow they send a warmth spreading through you, making the whole room seem to slow down. “Me too,” you say, a little shy but meeting his gaze, feeling that same unspoken something settle around you.
Then, somewhere between another toast and Soonyoung’s next drink, things start to get a little fuzzy for him. Soonyoung has, predictably, taken things a bit too far, eyes glazed as he sways to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics that don’t match the song on screen. Seungkwan sighs knowingly, standing and giving Seokmin a helpless shrug. “I’m taking him home before he tries to start chugging Soju.” He nods at you, adding with a smirk, “Good luck with this one.” And then, with a wave, they’re gone, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room, half-empty drinks scattered on the table.
Alone with you now, Seokmin’s pulse races, the soft glow of tipsiness making him feel both bold and nervous. The room feels quieter, somehow more intimate, with just the two of you here. He reaches for the remote, scrolling through song choices, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the way you’re leaning back on the couch, your gaze drifting over to him with a glint he can’t quite decipher.
“Do you want to pick the last one?” he asks, his voice a little more shy than he intended.
You smile, shrugging casually, but he doesn’t miss the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Only if you promise not to laugh if I butcher it.”
He grins, feeling his own face warm. “I make no promises,” he teases. But there’s something in his gaze—a hint of anticipation that he can’t quite hide, even if he tries.
As you start singing, he watches, captivated by the way you let loose, tipsy confidence making you bolder. The words are a little off-key, your voice rising and falling with the tempo, but to him, it’s perfect. When you’re finished, he can’t help but clap, cheering as if he’s at a concert.
“You sounded amazing,” he says, his voice softer than the playful bravado he’d intended. He feels a little too exposed under your gaze, a little too aware of just how close you’re sitting.
“Thank you, thank you,” you reply with an exaggerated bow, but your eyes linger on his a little longer than they should, and the tension between you feels thick, heavy with possibility.
He clears his throat, laughing nervously. “You’re going to put me out of a job with that voice.” But his words sound almost sincere.
There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet beat where neither of you says anything, just looking at each other, the warmth of the drinks and the moment settling over both of you. You move a little closer, your knee brushing against his, and Seokmin swears he feels his heart stutter.
“Seokmin,” you say, voice barely a whisper, eyes bright with that boldness that only alcohol can provide.
“Yeah?” His voice comes out breathier than he intended, and he has to resist the urge to reach for your hand.
You smile, almost shyly, but there’s a warmth in your gaze that reassures him. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had… a really great time.”
“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. His hand, almost on instinct, drifts a little closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles.
As you step out of the karaoke bar, the cool night air feels refreshing, and Seokmin falls into an easy rhythm beside you. The streets are quiet, the lights soft and glowing, casting a warm hue on everything around you. He insists on walking you home, and you can see a bit of that familiar determination in his expression—a mix of sweetness and subtle nerves, the kind that makes him even harder not to smile at.
The two of you talk softly as you walk, laughter spilling into the night as you recount moments from earlier, but the conversation drifts into a quiet calm. Seokmin feels a little tipsy, though he knows it’s not solely the drinks making him feel this way. It’s the warmth in your laugh, the way your gaze lights up when you look at him. Everything feels a little brighter, softer, like the world’s colors are blurring into a hazy glow.
Eventually, you pause, looking over at the buildings below the hill you’ve climbed, and above them, the faint sparkle of stars cutting through the city’s glow. Seokmin stops beside you, following your gaze, but when he looks back down, it’s not the skyline he’s mesmerized by. It’s you, standing there with that quiet, contemplative look in your eyes.
At that moment, he’s overwhelmed. Something about this night, this moment, feels like a dream—one he’s afraid might slip away if he blinks too long. He wants to say something, to tell you how lovely you look standing there, bathed in city lights. He can feel his heart pounding. He’s been trying to find the right words for some time now, something that could capture the feeling building up in his chest when he’s with you. He’s not sure if it’s the night, the laughter still echoing in his mind, or just the way you’re looking up at the sky. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he takes a breath and speaks, his voice just a little unsteady. “You know… you look beautiful right now.”
It’s the first time he’s said something so openly to you, and he can feel his cheeks heat up the second the words are out. You turn to him, a bit taken aback, your eyes wide with surprise before a smile slowly spreads across your face, soft and a little shy.
The moment stretches between you, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with laughter or play it off. He’s content just looking at you, watching that glow in your eyes as his words settle in.
A soft laugh escapes you, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him. “I was going to say the same about you.”
He can’t help but laugh, his own nervousness melting away a little. You both stand there, caught in the gentle pull between you, feeling a little bolder, a little lighter.
When you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and this time he doesn’t pull away, letting his fingers linger close enough that if you reached out, they’d intertwine. It’s a simple gesture, but it says everything he’s been holding back, and as you walk together through the quiet streets, he knows something has shifted.
The stone path thuds beneath your footsteps, clumsy and unsteady as you both navigate the uneven terrain, sharing quiet laughter over your shared lack of coordination. Seokmin, glancing down, suddenly stops.
"Look!" he says, his finger pointing at a small penny on the ground, glinting faintly in the light. “What’s this doing all the way out here? Take it. For good luck.”
You shake your head, amused, and explain, “It’s only good luck if it’s face up when you find it.”
“Ah.” Seokmin considers this, then immediately drops into a crouch, carefully flipping the coin over so Lincoln’s head is proudly facing the sky. He straightens up with a grin as if he’s just accomplished something important.
“What’d you do that for?” you ask, your tone laced with affection.
“Now someone else can have good luck,” he replies.
You feel something warm tug at you in response, watching him as he stands there, content with his small gesture of kindness. Suddenly, you see very clearly the kind of person Lee Seokmin is. It’s so like him—turning even the smallest, most mundane thing into something significant. As he begins walking ahead, you linger just a moment, looking back at the coin on the ground, then up at him.
You don’t move to follow him. Seokmin halts, slightly startled, his gaze questioning as he glances at you. But before he can ask why, you step closer, closing the space between you. You’re both quiet, caught in a bubble of giddy anticipation, his eyes searching yours, wide with surprise. And then, without a word, you reach up, resting a hand lightly on his chest, and lean in.
The moment your lips meet his, it’s like everything else falls away, replaced by a feeling that’s as soft as it is electric. He lets out a small, breathless laugh amidst his shock, hands stuck to his sides as your mouth presses to his.
When you pull back, you find him grinning, a little dazed, his eyes bright with surprise. Then he closes the space again, meeting your lips in another kiss, quick but more eager, like he’s savoring the feeling.
And then another. His hand drifts to your waist, drawing you in just a little closer each time your lips meet, each kiss growing a little bolder, a little sweeter, until the space between you disappears entirely. By the fourth kiss, his fingers have settled at the small of your back, warm and sure, and this time he lingers, letting the kiss deepen. It’s slow, unhurried, something unknown flooding through him as he feels your hand slide up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you so you can taste his mouth with ease.
You both feel a little unsteady, leaning into each other for balance, your hands anchoring each other as the world spins quietly around you. His heart races, thrumming against yours, and there’s a shy smile on his face when he finally pulls away, keeping his forehead close to yours, his eyes searching yours, dazed and happy and overcome with affection.
“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice a little unsteady but full of quiet excitement.
“I wasn’t planning it,” you admit, your cheeks flushed, but you don’t pull away, savoring the closeness.
For a moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, breaths mingling in the cool night air, as if tethered to each other by an invisible string. Then, without thinking, you lean back in, your lips finding his once more. This time, there's no hesitation, no pause, just a shared need to be close—as close as possible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in with a touch that’s both careful and desperate, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.
He lets out a quiet laugh against your lips, a sound that’s soft and breathless. It makes you laugh too, and you pull back for a moment, catching your breath, only to find his lips chasing after yours again. There’s something almost frantic in the way you keep returning to each other, like you’re both overwhelmed by the discovery of this closeness, unable to let it end just yet.
His hand moves gently to the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he’s holding onto you.
His voice is barely a whisper, warm and a little breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His words, shy and sincere, only pull you closer. Hand in hand, you start walking, the quiet night around you filled only by the soft sounds of your steps. He keeps his grip loose, fingers intertwined with yours, thumb brushing along the side of your hand as if he can’t bear to let go ever again. You walk in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches, both of you stealing glances, unable to stop smiling.
Every so often, he pauses, as if some thread is tugging him back to you. He leans in to press a brief kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw, reeling over the way your eyes flutter closed from the feeling, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. You laugh against his mouth, feeling both light-headed and grounded in a way that’s wholly new and otherworldly. He pulls back with a grin, his eyes crinkling, looking both bashful and thrilled, like he can’t believe this is real. You’re unreal, you have to be. A fabrication of his imagination, so delicate, so perfect, so you.
As you continue walking, his arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet contentment that settles over you feels as natural as breathing. When he stumbles slightly, you catch him, and he grins sheepishly, pulling you close again in a half-hug that turns into yet another kiss.
“I might never get home at this point,” You say breathlessly.
“Would that be so bad?” Each word is mumbled into your mouth as his fingers weave into your hair, holding the back of your neck and letting his tongue shyly lick your bottom lip.
The hum that you let out, either as a response to his rhetorical question or his tongue now moving against yours, makes his head spin. Your nails, raking down his chest over the material of his shirt, your hips pressing to his—it’s all too much and at the same time, not enough.
The closer you get to your doorstep, the slower your steps become, as if prolonging the walk will somehow stretch this night just a little further. Every so often, Seokmin pulls you close, and you laugh as he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, each one deeper and more unhurried than the last.
Neither of you speak, as if words would break the fragile spell cast over the night. Instead, you stand there, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft, dizzying kisses that grow lazier, more lingering.
There’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft, and he murmurs, “I should probably let you go.” But even as he says it, his hand remains on your cheek as if he’s not quite ready to leave.
“Probably,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his, but neither of you moves. It takes a moment, maybe two, before he reluctantly lets out a quiet laugh and pulls away, his hand slipping from your cheek to squeeze your hand, holding onto you just a moment longer. He gives you one last look, filled with a warmth and tenderness that leaves you breathless.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asks softly, already a few steps down the hall, as though he’s hoping for just one more promise to look forward to.
“Soon,” you reply, smiling as he finally lets go of your hand and steps back, his gaze lingering on you as he walks away. You watch him go, the warmth of his kisses still lingering, the last few moments of the night settling over you as you turn to head inside, feeling light, tipsy, and wonderfully, utterly alive.
[click here to continue]
#seokmin x reader#lee seokmin x reader#dokyeom x reader#dk x reader#seokmin imagines#dokyeom imagines#dk imagines#seokmin fluff#dokyeom fluff#dk fluff#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt fluff#seventeen fluff#seventeen#svt#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#svt reactions#svt scenarios#svt imagines#dk#svt dk#seventeen dk#dokyeom#lee seokmin#svt dokyeom
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I'm still processing the end of Love in the Big City the series, but I wanted to jot down a few details and unfinished thoughts that are sticking with me after episodes 7 and 8 [series-only thoughts].
Putting together the timeline made me realize how many important moments in Yeong's life share or are near to the same anniversary; We know he contracts HIV in February (2014), and that Gyu-Ho leaves in February (2022), and that Yeong quits his job in February (2023).
In ep5, we see Yeong's phone where he has three missed calls from Gyu-Ho, and we can see that he's saved Gyu-Ho's name as Q~❤ [hearto], and that probably contributed to why he had hope that the mysterious Q was Gyu-Ho.
We see Yeong finish the soy sauce, and he said it was expired back when they were living together, so that means it's another year out of date. There's something in this metaphor about hanging on past when things are good and finally being able to let go.
When Gyu-Ho first looks at the elephants in the cheap Bangkok motel they were a pair on that nightstand, and he only took one of them.
The metaphor of the ceiling fan hanging over them like a threat the one time they have sex without a condom, how the trust that the fan will not fall feels similar to the trust that the PrEP pills will do their job. Thinking about the way Yeong says Kylie is his and how he wants to be sure she'll remain only his.
And how that ceiling fan ties connects with Habibi and his photos of ceiling fans, how the ceiling is the last thing he saw before he went blind for two weeks and so he takes photos of them in every hotel, how he uses it as his profile picture on hookup apps, how he is hiding from his family and the life he doesn't want by spending time with people on the verge of breaking, but holding on.
The way Gyu-Ho haunts the narrative in episodes 7 and 8 the way Kylie haunted the narrative in 5 and 6.
The perspective we got on the scenes from Yeong and Gyu-Ho's trip to Bangkok in 7&8 contrasted with the version we got in 5&6 was so well done; both versions fit together really well but cannot be fully reconciled because our memories are never perfect, and a person is not a character in a novel.
I also found myself pondering how they shot the scenes that reprise across Parts; did they have both directors on site for these moments and shoot them in the same day? The technical aspect of these is so interesting to me because of the different directors and how different these shots looked (not just in the nuances of how they were acted, but how they were coloured, framed, everything).
There's something in my head about how writing was what drove a wedge between them when they were together, what Yeong tried to use to keep them together forever on the lantern (and instead what tore up the lantern), and what he used to remember Gyu-Ho when they were apart.
Something also about how Eun Su was so much better off not being married, I was so relieved when we found out the wedding had been called off, and how the pressure to hide how he was feeling about what was happening in his life was what made him feel closer to Yeong.
I was just so relieved when the T-aras fell through that door after Yeong tried celebrating quitting his job by himself and instead fell into a depression for six days. I have had friends do a similar wellness check for me and I will never forget how loved it made me feel when I thought I was unlovable. I'm just so glad Yeong had the T-aras in his life; and their presence in this section was complicated but deeply moving. I'm still working through everything I think about how they functioned in the series, but I am so, so grateful for them, and to this series as a whole.
I absolutely loved it.
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I am mohammed ayyad of Gazans, living in very difficult conditions because of the war that the Gaza Strip is under. Since the outbreak of the war on the seventh of October we have been evacuating .
Then the journey of suffering and separation began,because my children were separated and evacuated from our home without covering or clothes., From here they became infected with diseases, and what increased our fatigue was the constant upbringing due to the different areas in which we were displaced, as we were displaced 9 times, and this was very expensive, the last of which was the 9th of this August from Hamad Town. In addition to that, we have lived in the summer season in a tent that did not exceed three meters, closed with nylon, so it is like an agricultural greenhouse atmosphere. It is very hot. All in all, we live difficult days that no human beings can afford
We have no work because of the war, and we do not have any kind of money and this is accompanied by a crazy and horrible rise in prices.
Although water is not suitable for drinking, this is the cause of many diseases
The last suffering is that we are out of Hamad without taking our purposes or our tents and now we are searching the earth in the roads and our children and our elderly parents are suffering..So we use direct donation including what they can or share links fully so people can know our tragedy and pain. Remember a small contribution can make a difference in the lives of many children who are dealing with their health condition all. Leave their details and make them happy with your generous contribution.
For those who see this please, visit their blog and reblog their blog’s posts so they get more attention and if you have the money to spare please donate.
Also I apologize, but I do not have the ability to donate to you. Trust me if I had the ability I would but I don't and I can't. I have no bank account or credit card to transfer money to and no job to gain any money. Every time I ask my parents to help they shut me down so this is the only way to help you. Please forgive me.
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as the saying goes: with every high, comes a low
kenan yıldız x reader
A/N: writing this brought back both good memories and ptsd from the euros 🥲🥲 based on this request, thank you for requesting 🤍🤍 also this is so sappyyy, guess who’s in her feels? 😛
W/C: 1.090
ninety minutes of straight-up torture.
a small fifteen-minute break to calm your pounding heart down, before it starts heavily thumping against your rib cage again.
you wouldn’t be surprised if you dropped onto the floor due to the amount of times your heart rate had skyrocketed.
anxiety and anticipation.
the only words that could describe your mental state in the moment.
losing a match was painful, but even more painful after turkey had been doing so well in the tournament.
as the partner of a football player, you carried your own sadness, and your boyfriend’s sadness.
you bite your lip when the referee ends the match. enough to draw a small amount of blood. the metallic taste fills your mouth, and makes you feel even more horrible.
the chants of the turkey supporters had been non-stop since the start of the game. at first full of joy, then encouragement, then slowly trailing off to tears and disappointment.
even so, everyone had an incredible sense of pride in their hearts for their country. no matter the loss.
when you're given the go-ahead, all family members and friends of the turkey players make their way out of their seats.
you hurry as you go down, your heart aching as you imagine all of the disappointment and anger brewing in your lover’s heart.
when you finally reach him, kenan immediately pulls you into a private room. without a word, his arms wrap around your back, and he buries his handsome face in the crook of your neck.
feeling his breath hit your skin, you sigh shakily. not caring about his sweaty hair and body, you reach up to run your hand down his back.
"are you okay?"
of course, he wasn't, but you could barely register how fast the team had lost control of the match. let alone form a coherent, comforting thought.
you rake your unoccupied hand through his hair, your heart beating in your ears as you try to find the words to comfort your boyfriend.
though, his lack of response told you enough.
after a long stretch of silence, you start spilling your thoughts. licking your dry lips before speaking.
"I'm so fucking proud of you, kenan.."
the words leave your mouth with deep emotion. followed by a tremble of your lip as you try to keep your tears at bay.
"whatever people say, whatever anyone says doesn't matter. you worked so fucking hard, you put your entire soul and body into it. that's what matters. you tried, and I know you did your best.."
you pause as a shaky sigh leaves kenan's mouth. his athletic body pressing into yours, the smell of sweat, notes of his musky cologne, and your perfume creating a familiar atmosphere.
your heart breaks when you hear a small sniffle. your eyes closing as you hold back your own tears.
"you can cry. it's okay, cry it out. I know it hurts, baby.." you whisper, finally feeling hot tears hit your own cheeks, as his transfer down your neck.
"I worked so hard. so many nights and days- and this is the performance I put on when my team, and my entire country is leaning on me!.."
"shh, don't blame yourself, honey. I know it will sound cliché, but you did your absolute best. you can’t do more than your best, baby..”
you pause to pat his back, tears messing up your makeup, and making your nose run.
"it was going so well, you guys created so many chances. it was just an unlucky second half.."
"to have something in the palm of my hand, and then to just lose it within twenty minutes- hurts so fucking bad.." his shoulders shake with the painful sobs. the emotion expressed by your boyfriend causing a soft whimper to leave your own mouth.
"never ever think that the entire thing was on you. It was destined to be like this. as humans, we will learn and grow, even if we don’t see immediate results.."
kenan moves his head to look at you, your heart practically cracking at the sadness on his face.
the hopeless look in his beautiful brown eyes, the irritation of his soft skin- and the fastened pace of his pulse.
"why are you crying?" he asks, and you can swear he starts crying harder after seeing the tears on your face.
"because, you're hurting. don't ever want you to feel bad or upset.." your voice cracks, and you tighten your grip on the fabric of his training jacket.
"fuck. don't you ever cry over me, baby.." kenan rasps, cupping your cheek with his roughened palm. both your eyes visibly red and irritated from the salty tears.
"how can I not?" you question, before pulling his head into your neck again. cradling the back of his head, as you hug each other as tightly as humanly possible.
"i love you so much. your joy is mine. so how can your hurt not be mine?" you ask, raking your fingers through his hair.
"i love you too. so bad it kills me to see you cry over me.." he chokes out, his fingers curling around your body, holding you incredibly close against his warm skin.
you hold each other for a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room being the cold air conditioning, and the sound of your combined sobs.
you can hear kenan take a deep, stuttering breath, before he speaks.
"we’re such crybabies.."
his voice is raw, but thick with fondness and warmth..
your lover always knew how to lighten up the mood, while others could never do so in similar situations.
you chuckle a little through tears, pulling back to look at him. you raise your hand to wipe the tears on kenan's cheeks, his bloodshot eyes on yours.
pushing back his hair, you expose his forehead, wiping away the rest of the moisture with your sleeve.
"your eyes are all red.." you comment, knowing you probably looked the exact same.
"what do you need when we get back to the hotel? a bath? a cuddle? good food?" you inquire, wanting to provide him the best comfort you could offer.
you watch him take a breath before he speaks, and he whips out a tissue from his pocket, before dabbing at the tears on your face.
he was so gentle and thoughtful, like always.
"I just need you. I just need my sweet baby next to me, and everything will be alright.."
#kenan yildiz x reader#kenan yildiz imagines#kenan yildiz#kenan yıldız#Kenan#juventus#juve#football blurb#footballer x reader#football imagines#football fanfic#football imagine#football#euros 2024#turkiye nt
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gotta say that i disagree that nobody fights for buck. in s5 taylor said it best: buck's life is full of meaningful relationships, actually. every person of the firefam would fight for and support buck. he is and will never be alone again in his life, especially during the hard times (which they reiterated in 8x05). meanwhile, we see thus being contrasted with tommy not having any kind if support system like that. the same seemed to be the case for taylor. i know people want tommy to fight for this, and i agree that i definitely need him to check his trauma and fears to work this out with buck. but buck is the main character that has had seasons of alleged development. he died and came back, got clarity, was supposed to finally feel good in his own skin, worked out his childhood trauma with his parents in therapy, formed a support system, now discovered he is bisexual and felt free with it. and now tommy is the only one who should grovel? i get the idea but. evan buckley is the character we have seen grow and learn. i want him to put in the work as well. look at how he fought for his job when he thought he would lose it forever. THAT is what i need from him rn. if he is just giving this up with a shrug, then i don't want bucktommy in canon. we have seen tommy taking care of buck and supporting him in all his shenanigans. i need to see that buck is absolutely serious about this and ready to fight for it. if he doesn't, he still hasn't found his true love or still doesn't know what he wants in life. i am bored by this. we have been here multiple times already. do something else with evan buckley finally or just allow him to be a bachelor forever.
okay yes buck has meaningful platonic and familial relationships.
no romantic partner has fought for him. abby ghosted him because of her own issues even though she's a fucking grown ass woman, ali got a reality check and broke up with him when he was in recovery after nearly dying, which okay, fair enough. and while i believe taylor did nothing wrong in reporting the jonah story, the narrative wants us to think she prioritised her work, and she did betray buck's trust which, again, buck wanted to protect his firehouse (which is his family) so he wasn't being objective. reporters exposing scandals within govt orgs that are supposed to protect the public is not a bad thing, actually. the only time he's broken up with someone first is natalia and we were told it's because she was obsessed with his died-and-came-back experience.
and listen. i love tommy more than anything. but buck is still the main character. we're going to see buck going through the breakup, not tommy. we're not going to get much about tommy's past. we're not going to get any scenes with tommy and another character if buck isn't also there. you remember karen going to chimney and them day drinking together because they thought hen was being unfaithful (again)? i wish we could see tommy and chimney talking about their buckleys. but the way the show got rid of all minor characters and consistently treats LIs as nothing more than LIs... i'm not hopeful. we'll get one scene with tommy's Explanation and i'm not even hopeful it's gonna be well written (but i'm sure lou will be serving. god. they wrote such a shitty break up scene and he fucking ATE.)
yeah, buck fucked up by jumping the gun and asking tommy to move in with him when he couldn't even say the i love you, and i hope this will be addressed in future eps. but tommy immediately ended the relationship because he Knows Better and left buck heartbroken. this is what happened on the show. the average viewer isn't doing ten layers of analysis to understand tommy's perspective, nor should they have to. i love the metas, i'm digging into tommy's headspace in my next fix it fic, but this is still the dumb weewoo show.
i don't think tommy needs to grovel, i don't think he's the Bad Guy in this story, i have a lot of empathy for tommy and so does the GA! they're not mad at tommy, they want him back! they want bucktommy back! and i want them both to fight for each other, to apologise and admit to their fuck ups and admit how much they care about each other and that they want to be each other's forever love! i want them to say i love you!
but buck is still the protagonist in this story and i don't want to see him running back to someone who broke up with him in such a way that had him asking "wait, did you just break up with me?" because again, this is what happened on our screens. i want tommy making the first move, opening the door for reconciliation, showing that he knows he made a mistake out of fear from his past trauma, for buck to then know he is wanted, that tommy came back for him, and then put in the effort to fight for them.
hope this makes sense. and as always, for people reading this - this is not the space for you to bash on buck's previous LIs, please take it elsewhere.
#asks#Anonymous#bucktommy#as someone who's been in buck's shoes#you don't know how meaningful it is when someone comes back for you#its only happened once in my life and even though we ended up falling out again i will always remember her as the one friend who came back#yeah yeah i'm too attached to buck because we are the same person. leave me alone lmao
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wait, that elias?
#huge shoutout to @sepezzz elias design this is very much inspired by it. go look at it#im so serious if i never draw another person manspreading in a fucking office chair it’ll be TOO SOON#anyways.#the juxtaposition truly is crazy hahaaha right people change in the weirdest of ways#i like thinking about how they both present themselves. elias understands he works at Important Academic Research Facility so he still#sooort of tries to look somewhat official. but well he also gets away with what he can#he has that vibe of Yeah i work here and im kind of important but i’m chill. i know how to chill#meanwhile that other freak is just like i am going to make this body look presentable or so help me god.#he’s the Head of the Institute he can no longer have whimsy okay. and listen it’s not because i think jonah is that boring and would#dislike piercings and funny socks or whatever. i think he’d like those. but see he needs to make this believable that elias truly has#changed okay. and also like i said he is the Head of the Institute he needs to look Super Normal And Unremarkable#anyways i think it’s funny how elias’ whole thing is that he tries to distance himself from his family image and tries really hard to Not#end up like a rich asshole. and then. well.#(looks around) So i think about this man a normal amount.#i could write like 20 thinkpieces on both of them but instead they’re gonna make me do college essays about like language and shit.#myart#the magnus archives#tma#elias bouchard#oh my god it is actually un fucking believable how much i think about him every day#if this becomes a daily elias blog yall will just have to deal
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hi!! i know u talk a lot about aromanticism a lot on here, but i don’t think i’ve ever seen u talk about aromantic anthy. would u mind discussing/elaborating on it or linking to a post where u do because i’m very curious!!
i got a similar ask half a year ago or something ridiculous like that on my main blog, but i’d like to really do justice to my url right now and explain it in more concrete terms.
i will say, it’s important to bear in mind that this reading of anthy’s character is very much informed by my own experiences, and a lot of those experiences are ones im not keen to talk in depth about. but you know. let’s make some nebulous gestures towards ideas of being traumatised, being autistic, struggling to meaningfully connect with others and honestly not really wanting to do such because of how they treat you.
like ive previously said, an aromantic perspective on the world would, i think, really benefit anthy. when youve lived your whole life experiencing violence at the hands of these patriarchal structures, of which romance is absolutely one, it’s kinda like. damn. im uncomfortable buying into those ideas.
anthy also has this lovely line in ep 19 where she says to utena ‘romance either happens or it doesn’t’ and it’s just sooooooo. so very interesting to me, actually, that anthy would say something so black and white about ‘romance’, a topic that anthy knows better than a lot of rgu characters is hopelessly confused and arbitrary and often enabling violence. and utena (fellow aromantic gaybo) says 'yeah, i know, but...'. these simplifications, these elisions. what is and isn't articulated. but what? maybe things are much more complicated than we'd like to think.
anyway enough of that tangent. one thing i as a trans and aromantic person always return to when discussing trans and aromantic readings of characters/texts more broadly is that there's no singular piece of evidence that can really cement these readings as Undeniable. it's like. okay. there's a critique of romance as a patriarchal structure in revolutionary girl utena. there's an ambiguity about anthy's feelings towards characters like utena, where there is clearly a queer connection but it takes shape in unconventional and complex ways. me, i'm aromantic, i see all of these pieces and i go oh well that's because she's an aromantic lesbian. you know, there's plenty of little moments i can evidence but those moments can be used to argue for an alloromantic lesbian anthy too. romance is a very arbitrary thing and i think everyone should take their own approach to it unapologetically. of course, mine is that it's hellish and i want nothing to do with it, but im just one guy. and im okay with that. i feel strongly about this reading and it is personal, and id be dishonest to say otherwise, but i do also find that it's well-evidenced in the text. as one of my lecturers once said, don't worry about authorial intent, it isn't real <3
#and authorial intent is NOT real i really cant emphasise that one enough#like it's fun to engage with the stuff a writer/director/whoever thinks about their art#and it can be very useful#but it's not definitive. that's not the last word on the topic#like did be papas consciously write any rgu character as aromantic? idk probably not#but i find such powerful aromantic narratives and themes coming through in this show#in how it chooses to examine relationships and power dynamics and the pervasive nature of romance as a concept#how it is so easily unequal how it is DESIGNED to be unequal how it offers chivalry and safety to mitigate harm#which it directly enables. makes easier#and that doesnt mean that aromanticism is the only solution bc you know. some ppl do feel romantic attraction#but it's like ok let's rethink 'romance'. let's combat amatonormativity let's challenge the relationship hierarchy that privileges#families and romantic partners in such a dangerous dangerous way#and i see all of that in this show and it resonates so deeply with my experiences many of which pertain to aromanticism#and you know. this show made me accept that im aromantic. so i think that speaks to how strongly these themes come through#but i digress. i find it hard to talk about this stuff bc its deeply personal and quite arbitrary#and also every time i do someone sends me anon hate about how i hate gay people. which is so cool btw please keep doing that#i didnt realise that loving being gay and loving gay people and loving when gay people love each other made me homophobic /s#just to clarify for the second time that is all sarcasm im gay and aromantic and i dont have time for arophobia here#anywayyyyy#im aware of all the asks ppl have sent me. im working on it i prommy <3#dais.txt#dais talks aspec
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just officially sent in my resignation for my fucking childhood dream workplace
#my boss always talks about her 'guilt complex' lmao. as soon as i have another job and dont need to worry about burning bridges#im sending this bitch a letter detailing exactly why she deserves to feel guilty for the rest of her fucking life#i hope she lies awake at night picturing my face. fully intend on letting her know how close i came to killing myself.#fully intend on intentionally continuously saying its bc SHE MADE ME anxious and SHE MADE ME depressed#since she doesnt believe she can make me anxious#i hope she has to attend therapy. i want to make her feel as guilty as she made me feel like fucking shit#fully just wish nothing but the worst for her for the rest of her lonely miserable life. i hope she realizes soon that everyone hates her#truly one of the people she considers to be a close family member also works in our department and hates her!#talks all the time about how awful she is and how horribly she treats all of us#i hope she feels that hatred every day of her fucking life and i hope she never sees true happiness as a result#until the day that my memories of my childhood refuge from abuse are no longer tainted by HER abuse‚ i pray she never knows peace
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The older I get, the more I see constant unhealthy social dynamics/connections between people and it just makes me feel so ill and not wanting to connect with others- just cause they're not aware at all of what they're doing and they're gonna hurt me through their own unresolved life patterns and pain
#like i see it every day in my family... work... people i know it and it literally makes my stomach turn#i am too aware and sensitive cause i know this shit is hurting me cause many have placed their issues/pain on me and have been evil to me#like i gotta move away and cut so much off and just be alone + never make friends again for a long time#cause by the age of 25 i will be content with everyone who is in my life and i don't want anymore people in#ive fucking had enough#like i know that i must set up boundaries/try to separate and not take it personally but it deeply upsets#upsets me#i dread being around everyone irl the older i get#and i keep getting reminded of painful things like everything is coming back to me + hitting me harder
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i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!
#i know i'm being dramatic and privileged etc etc right now but i hate living like this#i probably had covid in the beginning of august and since then my heart and lungs have just been fucked#so now i'm probably looking at at least 2 years of long covid and maybe permanent neurological damage#could i be lucky and get better in few more months? maybe. do i believe that will happen? no. optimistically maybe next summer id be better#my symptoms are not that bad considering what i know other people have suffered but at the same time that makes it feel not real#otherwise i'm pretty much fine except i feel like fainting alot after standing up or excerting myself and anything beyond walking#spikes my hr to 160 and right now even laying down my hr is around 80. this comes with the associated shortness of breath etc#what fucks me up about this is that my normal hr is low with my rhr being under 50bpm and i'm physically active#so basically i've went from regular running and half marathons being no issue to not being able to jog 1km at the slowest pace possible#without spiking my hr to zone 4#so now with the recovery time of this being however long if properly ever i'll have to basically start all over again with everything#i biked to the grocery store yesterday and that took me out for the rest of the day because my heart rate just didn't go down afterwards#outwards i look fine and i wouldn't be as affected if sports and moving wasn't a part of my life and relationships but it is#i've read studies about recovery times and a lot of them don't feel applicable because the test groups are either very different from me#based on the baseline health info such as activity levels or they're elite atheletes which i am not#some have given me hope that keeping my hr under like 130 by doing activities like walking until maybe someday things get better works#but who knows and even if it does this will be yet another thing that takes the littlest bits of muscle tissue i have on me away once again#because besides deconditioning muscle loss is yet another symptom. so i will be even weaker than i am right now#i don't know how much of what i'm experiencing in terms of mental effects is from anxiety over my physical health and how much is brainfog#but we'll see i'll just have to start walking a lot every day and keep up with simple and slow strenght training so i'll want to die less#i don't think my family will ever properly understand because almost all of them are athletes and the one who isn't never does any excercis#so either i just look like i'm weak but i was always weak so it's not a big deal or my experience isn't really that important#this is so so so pathetic both my reaction and the issue but it's difficult to not feel this way especially with the uncertainty#shit talking
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Ray's After Ending is so funny because for a good chunk of it, most of the RFA members are knocked out by V's sleeping gas (Saeran is immune, Saeyoung isn't present bc he was kidnapped by his agency under his father's orders and MC wakes up in like an hour) but the game has a call feature where you can call the characters and it would be a waste if you couldn't use it bc the characters were unavailable so instead they have other people pick up the call (Jumin's driver picks up Jumin's phone, Jumin's father picks up Zen's phone, Yoosung's friends and mom pick up Yoosung's phone and Jaehee's coworkers pick up Jaehee's phone) and we do get to learn about the characters from outsider's point of view but it's so funny to me that these people are visiting their loved ones and suddenly the phone rings and they decide to just. answer it. and start talking to this stranger they've never met
#prince's talk tag#maybe its not actually weird people just pick up their loved one's phone call for them but i personally wouldn't#i cant stop thinking about how its Jumin's father that uses Zen's phone like Chief Han what were you doing in Zen's room??#i know they needed to assign somw character to Zen and he's not on speaking terms with his family#but I would of thought Chief Han would go to Jumin and the driver could go to Zen#does this mean something? am i thinking too hard about this?#also rip yoosung his friends and mom lowkey kinda dragging him in their call with you#and with the friends since one of them is a girl one of the options is like 'A girl?!?! are you dating??' and shes like 'no lolol'#'he's nice but i dont see him like that'#the main thing that made me make this post was thinking about Yoosung's mom saying how Jumin calls her sometimes and sends her holiday gift#like!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! idk man that just plays on a loop in my head#i know thats like a very professional thing to do. Jumin was raised to please people in a business capacity#and the he cares about the RFA so yea it makes sense. im sure he has gifts sent out to companies his works with#and I'm sure if the other members had a good relationship with their parents hed do the same with them#but in the RFA Yoosung and I guess V are the only ones with parents they talk to#idk if he sends a gift to V's father tho bc we never talk to him#but man. while i know hed do it with the other members if he could just the fact he does it with Yoosung is sweet#and it makes the part in Seven's route where he calls Yoosung's mom about her son's dilemma make sense to me bc they do talk once in a whil#so its not too out of the blue when he does it i guess#but man can we talk about how awesome Jaehee is? bc her coworker that picks up her phone spends every call gushing about her#like we knew she's great at her job but man hearing her coworker talk about her fills me with such love and admiration#and she's apparently really loved by the other assistants too like they all gush about her#jaehee is the best character in the game im not joking around#they wanna get close to her but bc she's their boss it's hard T_T#and the one that picks up the phone wishes Jaehee knows she was the one that stood with her overnight when she wakes#Yuni (the assistant you're talking to) says she would of quit the job had it not been for her#LIKE!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA!!!!#it was a nice way to use the call feature during the first two days of the characters not being awake to answer#and even though this is supposed to be the last thing you play before completing the whole game#you still learn something new about the characters you've known since day 1
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why the fuck do i miss pigeons
#don't ask me i am going thru it today#ebhehbbehbhebhabh#i miss pigeons dude#oooh the poor little domesticed cuties#kate rambles from here#this is a small detail of the feeling i am feeling#like post leaving nyc is wrecking havoc on my psyche#i don't want to be in the fucking great plains#a few irls don't understand my want for city life- and i didn't know it was this bad until staying there for 4 days-#but my mom's whole family is from the city- i just feel so at home there- and everything i've inherited that way is in my blood#and i just wanna bawl my eyes out#i have been quite a bit but like ik i have a goal now- to move into the city- i've always had that goal to at least move to the city near m#but like nyc was like being somewhere i felt i wanted- it's not that i'm looking to make it big- i miss the noise the water and pigeons#around here you'll hear the occasional car go by- and crickets- i miss the city lights- i keep crying about it for so many reasons but#i just don't know how to actually express it?#because it's such an odd feeling for me to feel? because if yknow me well- i love being at home- i hate sleeping somewhere else-#taking a trip down south this last christmas- i couldn't stand the quiet- it's quieter the more south you go and i can't do this#i've always wanted to leave my small town but ?? like actually being somewhere that has felt home has been unattainable bc every#where in oh hasn't been home... and for once i felt like i could do this- and having to return here- just made me break down and cry#maybe it's the person i live with- that makes me wish to leave- but that's not the full truth- idk maybe a good nap will help#kate rambles#i have a life goal now but i wish i could do it now- i hope sooner rather than later i'll at least live in the city#i've been happily living but now i have a direction i wish to run towards- and i'm gonna chase after it#sure i miss seeing tbz i loved seeing them- but it's not even post concert depression- if that makes sense?#which it doesn't make sense- because for mx it was only pcd- but for nyc it's missing the city... and it feels awful#pls ignore this i just needed to be frustrated somewhere#ig knowing what i'm missing- i can finally work on filling that spot huh? i guess that's what i'll be doing#(also vv small point but the fact that one of the people i live with- refuses to ever visit nyc again- is so comforting to me)#pls don't send me an ask about this i just needed to ramble and i haven't caught up on my daily journal yet to do so- so this is here
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I need life to slow the fuck down bc my skin is starting to hurt real bad from all this picking :/
#marquilla#i need a healthy coping mechanism but nothing hits like self destruction dgdgdghddg#my brain is hard wired from genetics to pick at my skin and hair on both sides 😭 i was doomed from the start#i do try to not do it btw im not like oh well guess theres no options! like no i know but i need a foolproof one#or for life to fucking chill#every four years i become an over plucked chicken for 10 months and think ab pulling my head hair out bc yall are driving me up the wall#i got into a fight in 2016 ab the election and i nearly started punching... like i had to hit the bed instead bc im like god i cant hurt#them but GOD DO I FEEL THE NEED TO TO GET YOU TO GET IT#i think i like plucked DEEP that day just taking my anger and frustration out bc good lord#like how can you be like hmm well im gonna vote for this guy bc fuck poor people. i work retail and so i see people abusing ebt a lot#therefore it makes me mad and i wanna stop it.#like you only notice the 'fraud' and misuse/bad choices people make bc thats negative in your mind so#your brain holds onto it. youre not noticing the poor people who are just minding their business using ebt and feeding their family#ive gotten through to them at least a little ab how fraud is less than 1% and that the fraud is usually selling stamps for cash for diapers#and shit and that it's people sharing cards bc they need to pool their funds to feed their families#that the people you see stealing or buying expensive ass meats on ebt are not the majority and if they wanna waste their limited funds each#month like that then thats a them problem. mind your business.#anyway im fucking like deteriorating sggdgdggd
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