#liming repeating himself so clearly

[jaehwany]

Have you had a boyfriend before? Never. You? No. What do you think having a boyfriend is like? Like this, perhaps.

[annislittleshopofhorrors]

I’m not going to lie…

I was pleasantly surprised by how obvious they made it last night that they pay attention to the fandom chatter (or criticism) 😂.

1) arriving in the same car and letting people see them come out from the same side! Remember ghosted? And I guess Berlin but I didn’t bother to go looking for that arrival footage. The weird going around the side instead of just opening the door to the crowd…they fixed that last night!

2) matching outfits. Finally not one dressing in lime green and dark brown and the other wearing bright red, looking like they didn’t bother to check what the other was wearing. However, she’s shy but wore a dress that was showing 3x too much sideboob to a family movie? 🤔

3) holding hands and smiling this time for 5 seconds. Good improvement on the last 6 times where it was dead pan face while running through a park.

Now other areas that still need improvement….I mean, not going to give them more ideas.

But I do have to say, I’m continuously disappointed she keeps letting down the shy, private, and hates attention narrative. What kind of shy person who wants everyone to forget her keeps showing up to world premieres with chaperones wearing an outfit fit for 2016 era clubbing? In 50 degree weather ? Also…the clearly repeated outfit choices…

The fact that even I recognized the shoes and bag that she’s reused like three or four times this year alone for these events is both sad but also funny. Your BFF claims to be a fashionista himself and often gives the impression he loves judging on others. Yet he’s friends with you who continues to make fashion faux pas after fashion faux pas?? Either he’s setting you up to embarrass yourself or he’s just given up.

You will never be invited to the met gala. What happened to that next miumiu It girl????

It's still funny whenever they try to get rid of plot holes, they create new ones. 😂 But yeah, they took notes.

Oh and what about her bestie? She has so many brand deals. Couldn't she borrow anything from her. (Not the yellow dress again) Not even a nice purse?

[fandomwritingbit]

You like him.

Henry Emily x (f)reader (employee)

Synop: You start to develop a crush on your overly nice and professional boss and can't tell if he feels the same way. So you have to ask.

Warnings: bad language, inappropriate relationship (boss/employee) William being a twat, Henry being lovely. Reader is outspoken and sarky.

A/n: I had/still have no idea where this is going, it's just a little thought I had, that I think I'm keep going with. Hope it's okay.

William wouldn’t be surprised by this. William wouldn’t be thanking god for sending you his way, he’d be thanking himself. William is entitled to this kind of thing after all, but Henry just isn’t.

He can’t seem to understand why you’d ever want him. He’s twice your age, he’s quiet and boring and you’re so not. You’re funny, probably one of the funniest people he’s ever met, always cracking jokes and sliding snide comments about customers his way, somehow able to switch between the bubbly customer service personality and your real sarcastic self, faster than the snap of fingers.

A small smile is alway on his face when you’re around. Making him grin to himself as he listens to you repeating an order back to yourself at the kiosk, “Three pepsi max, one normal pepsi. A fucking jug of mineral water. Two peroni, one with lime because they have no taste. Cordial: one blackcurrant, one orange… God,  want me to wax your car for you too? Help you file tax returns? Knobheads.” He chuckles, immediately losing count of the cash he was sorting as soon as you started talking. 

You smirk at him, that cheeky, utterly charming smirk that saved just for colleagues. “Sorry. They just couldn’t wait for me to get my notepad, nah they needed drinks right fucking now.” You punctuate your swearing by hitting the tab button on the till, the drawer opening with a loud clunk.

“Well it's been nearly 10 seconds since they sat down. You should know better.” He replies equally as sarcastically, his heavy brow raising and moving his glasses slightly. He was never the type to make fun of customers, especially while on the floor, but he can’t help but joke along with you, it’s just irresistible. 

“Yeah, we should have remembered their order from last time and all. Very unprofessional.” You continue, now moving to grab a handful of menus for a table that was coming in through the door, your face set straight until they walk towards you and suddenly you’re wearing a bright service smile. “Hey there. Have we got a reservation today?” 

~

You’re chatty with all your coworkers, trying to make the shifts somewhat fun just so they go that bit quicker, but you save a little extra camaraderie for your boss, Mr Emily. You can’t help it. His quiet and sensible personality just makes you want to make him laugh, humanise him a bit. At first he was so professional that he’d flush at your comments, thinking you were being serious but it soon became a wink-wink nudge-nudge situation. It amuses you how hard he has to try to be pissy, he’s just too nice. Kind and calm always, very much unlike his co-owner.

Yeah… you like him.   

Well, fancy him more like. And you’re not ashamed or embarrassed by it, he’s a handsome man, but you worry that you’ll never really have a shot, because it’s inappropriate afterall. At least the joking and flirting is fun. 

~

The two owners of the diner walk towards the back together, well, as close together as possible what with William’s stride that always seems to leave Henry a step and a half behind. He was so used to having a conversation with William’s shoulder that it didn’t really bother him anymore. 

“It was a great night last night.” The man in the lead says, an avaricious grin on his face. Great doesn’t cover the absolute beauty of the accounts that he’d been going over all morning. 

“Home or work?” Henry asks, completely lost to what William was even talking about. 

He glances back, clearly amused, “Never home, Henry.” He’s only half joking, William is the only person who could put someone off a married family life, likening it to jail, which out of the two of them Will certainly knew more about. 

“My mistake.” He shakes his head, knowing that his disapproval just tickled William more. “What, we did well then, last night?” He asks, continuing to push for context. 

William stops walking right before the door to the staff rest area, forcing Henry to halt too whilst the  other brings his head down to get closer to his eye-line. “Well doesn’t touch the sweet bit of turnover we did, had me hard as a rock doing the books earlier.” He snickers, god, annoying Henry just never gets old to him. 

Henry winces, he’d forgotten how gross William could be when he was in a good mood. He settles on just dryly saying “Nice.” not wanting to give his partner the reaction he was hoping for. 

Still sniggering, William pushes the door open and holds it behind him for Henry. You’re in the staff area, standing in front of your locker as you quickly change your shirt, the toilet was occupied and you’re already late, so exhibitionism it had to be. The shirt is halfway over your head when the door opens, you glance at who's coming in but don’t react, just continuing the action you’re in the middle of. 

“Speaking of.” William grins, nudging Henry in an immature way to really hammer that inappropriate comment home. Inappropriate should be his middle name because as he walks past to head towards his office, he wolf-whistles at you, the crisp sound making you turn. You just laugh, you’ve been here long enough now to know your bosses well and you know that he’s just kidding around. Well, mostly. 

“I’ll be a second.” Henry says to William as he goes to enter his office and he waves him off in response. 

He gives you some space, turning away until he can no longer hear the sound of fabric rustling, confirming to him that you’ve finished getting changed. 

You’re smiling the whole time you finish the action, it’s sweet of him to look away. “You alright?” You ask your boss, brushing down your trousers , now fully ready to slay some service. 

He smiles back at you a little shy, mentally reprimanding himself for the heat on his face at seeing you changing. It’s nothing, other people do it, but other people turn around… he’s glad you didn’t but the flush to his cheeks makes him feel like a silly little kid. “Yeah, not too bad. You?” 

“Keeping on, you know.” You reply, “You want to talk to me?” You then ask, a tone to your voice that mockingly says ‘what have I done, now?’. 

He grins, “I uh just wanted to say that if you ever need to change - and the bathroom is busy - you can use my office. Provided I’m not in there, of course!” You giggle, you can’t help it, that fact that he’s this flustered is as amusing as it is nice. 

God, sometimes he hates himself. “I just wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. You know-” He claws back his nerves, nodding towards William’s now closed office door. 

You understand what he’s getting at, “Oh. Your man doesn’t make me uncomfortable. If anything it’s a bit of a boost for me before I get on the floor.” You’re joking, he knows you are, but it still gives him a pang of jealousy, as much as he decides to suppress it. “But that’s really nice of you to offer, I appreciate it.” 

“It’s alright. Feel free to.”

You’re not sure why, but the impulse to try something flickers in your mind. To try your luck, see how he would react to you being more forward. You assume he knows that you like him, but maybe he doubts it, so why not be a little more obvious. “It does pose the question…” He looks at you, the look on your face is a little bit sly, your eyes narrowed in observation. “What if I came in to change and you were in your office?” 

The question hangs in the air for a few moments before awkwardness obligates him to respond, he chuckles, again finding his face hot. “Well, uh. That would be up to you.” The second he says that he panics, you’re evidently amused but that doesn’t prevent the instant embarrassment. “- That sounded creepy. I didn’t mean it like that-”

You giggle, leaning a little closer to him, “It’s alright, I was leading you there. Don’t worry.” Your eyes soften then and realisation almost makes him flinch, you’re flirting, like really flirting, with him. 

“But you wouldn’t mind?” You ask coyly, still grinning for all of england. 

His expression is a little uncertain and he clears his throat, resisting the urge to pluck at his watch. “No- no, not at all.” 

“Good to know.” 

~

The surprise at that is still evident on his face when he finally gets around to going to William to see if these books are really so good they're arousing.

And to be frank they were, there was a huge spike in intake, even for a Saturday night and the tips were so good Henry wishes he was in so he could be included in the tip pool.

"We must have been fully booked, this is great." There's a hint of disbelief as he reads the individual tabs, it's a cheap restaurant, their demographic is families, but these tabs are closer to a proper establishment.

"Pretty much. A lot of walk-ins too." There's a smugness to William's delivery, like he was the main reason for such a good turnover. "Wasn't just that though."

"Oh?" Henry's brows are raised, unsure where this is going.

"Yeah, foxy lass out there worked some magic. I caught her briefing the others on upselling." Henry locks eyes with Will and can't contain the smile that takes over his face. "That one deserves a promotion."

"Yeah, absolutely. Head server, maybe even supervisor." This was unexpected, he knew you were competent but this says more than that, he's proud of you.

"I told her I'd give her my share of tips, you know, a little reward." He's laughing as he speaks, "And she goes," William put his hands on his hips in some kind of mimicry of your attitude, it's ridiculous enough that Henry is laughing before he even knows the joke. "There's no such thing as free money, what are you trying to pay for?" 

He can picture you saying that, your eyes glinting with mischief, grinning at your own comment. It's that suggestive sarcasm you've mastered perfectly, different to the plain suggestive you were just minutes ago. Though both manage to leave him speechless.

Henry listens half-minded as William prattles on, gloating about something or other, he’s too wrapped up in thought to care really. He’ll have to do something nice for you, as a reward for rallying the troops. But it’s likely more for himself than you, and that doesn’t pass him by.

[delivish]

Romacin' the Band snippet.

Butters lowered his hand and tucked it almost guiltily behind his back, glancing first left and then right down the hall. He had knocked as gently as he could, but the sound of it seemed as loud as a gunshot in the quiet—amplified, perhaps, by his guilty conscience. Butters took a breath, waited, and—

Nothing. 

No voices, no rustling around, not even the distinctive, squeaky sound of someone climbing out of their cheap dorm room bed. Butters shuffled his feet, his heart hammering out a nervous rhythm in his chest. This had all seemed like a big deal when he’d been lying in bed, sleepless and alone, but now…well. 

Now, he just felt stupid. 

Stan’s feelings weren’t his responsibility, no matter how badly he felt, so why had he taken it upon himself to apologize for a kiss he hadn’t even initiated? He wasn’t even supposed to be here, for goodness’ sake. Breaking the rules, no matter how trivial, had always made him extremely nervous—ironic, considering how much time he’d spent pretending to be a supervillain as a kid. Professor Chaos had been cool, even if it was only in his own head: confident, brilliant, charismatic; the sort of guy who knew what he wanted, went after it without apologizing, and would give anyone heck for daring to cross him.

Everything Leopold Stotch could never hope to be.

Butters sighed. He didn’t even have to be a licensed therapist to connect the psychological dots there. Maybe that’s why Kenny had told him to leave it alone. He’d always had a bad habit of putting other people’s needs and feelings before his own. Kenny was constantly reprimanding him for this. It was one of the very few reasons Kenny ever yelled at him.

Butters turned away, shaking his head, determined to take his keister back to bed and forget all about this—and that's when Stan finally decided to come to the door, almost as if he’d been waiting for the exact moment when it would be the most embarrassing. The sound of it slowly opening behind him made Butters freeze in his tracks. 

“...Butters?” 

Crap. 

Butters winced, the tops of his shoulders hiking up to the tips of his ears, suddenly filled with an irrational level of panic—as if he’d been caught right in the middle of something truly heinous instead of something only kind of loser-y and sad. He really did have the world’s worst luck. Butters whirled, hastening to explain himself—

“Oh, g-gee, Stan, I—” 

—then paused, blinking, his words losing themselves somewhere along the highway from his brain to his mouth like a car smashing through a guardrail to plummet into a rocky ditch.

The absolute worst luck. 

Stan stood in his doorway, wearing a pair of lime-green boxer briefs decorated with a repeating pattern of puppies and kitties and nothing else. The briefs hugged Stan’s hips and thighs and did very little to obscure the shape of his bulge, which filled out the front of his underwear in a way that looked hefty. 

Butters’ palms began to sweat. His eyes dragged almost magnetically across Stan’s chest, from the strong, broad lines of his pecs down to his softly rounded belly and back up again, drawn by the way Stan was leaning against the doorframe to visually trace one clearly defined bicep. Stan had a build that looked warm. A body that was solid, and there, that had never once tried to take up less space, strong and stout; Butters could tell at a glance that Stan had once worked out religiously and had probably once been in much better shape, with sculpted abdominals instead of the tummy he now had. Stan was softer now. It suited him. Stan had gotten his nipples pierced at some point, and holy hamburgers, that was knowledge Butters both hadn’t needed and really, really appreciated. Butters could feel his face heating up. 

“Butters,” Stan slowly began, “what…um. What are you doing here?”

[be-netz]

a quick recap of the previous episode opens up this week’s show, reminding the audience of the twenty-odd idol hopefuls who have joined this year’s competition. it’s certainly a colorful bunch this time around with a few familiar faces peppered in among the crowd; do better plays in the background as the screen focuses on STEVEN and the winners of last season, now coaches for the new contestants, before bursting into the title screen and logo.

the scene shifts abruptly to the three judges, ceos YOON JIHUN and SEO RAN of studio delta and sr media respectively and YUNA, the face of lime entertainment. the trio sit at a shared table draped in a thick black cloth, elevated just slightly to give them a good view of a stage specially set up for this week’s evaluation, decorated in purple, teal, and pink like the show’s logo.

“who are you most looking forward to seeing?” yuna asks her fellow evaluators, hands clasped as she leans forward to glance over at both ran and jihun. 

“personally, i can’t wait to see more of HANGYEOL,” ran admits. a short clip of the contestant’s audition from last week and his subsequent first-place rank at the end of the episode plays across the screen. “he’s a talented young man and i have a feeling he’ll do well with this challenge.”

“actually, i think i’m looking forward to STEVEN,” jihun considers his words for a moment before continuing, “he’s already familiar with this type of mission, even though it’s a different song and dance from last year. i’m hopeful that he’ll show us a new side of himself this season.”

“since i asked, i should answer as well,” yuna smiles, “while i agree with both of you, i’m personally looking forward to seeing AHYOUNG’s performance. she has a strong personality and a lot of energy, so it’ll be interesting to see how that fits into the group.”

it’s no wonder that the judges are looking forward to the top three from last episode. they chatter for a few moments more before the talented emcee RHEE JIAN takes her position in center stage, ready to announce the first contestant.

ASAKURA TOUMA is the first contestant up, taking the stage shortly after a brief introduction from jian. the camera focuses in on his silhouette, silent except for the exaggerated sound of his breathing, as he waits for the music to start. just as it looks like the performance is about to begin, the scene abruptly changes to the very same contestant in the practice rooms provided for the NEXT GEN participants.

it seems that touma is quite the practice-bug, staying late hours in the practice rooms with KAITO and separately with HYUNKI, and stretching with JIHYUN. “i understand that i was doing more than i can chew, back then.” touma’s voice plays across a scene of him helping jihyun lean further into his stretch. “i’d like to think that i was able to balance things a bit more clean this time, focus on what i can do first.”

the scene fades back to the judges, their sharp eyes digging into the contestant even as the song has yet to start. “this will be… interesting,” jihun remarks. the two women remain quiet.

do better starts playing and the very first performance begins. touma is clearly enjoying the stage and while he starts strong with the rapping and his dancing isn’t bad, it’s singing where his performance begins to fall apart. the edit seems to highlight this, featuring every shaky note or slightly missed beat and making the boy’s performance out to be much worse than it may have been without the repeated cuts, replays of imperfect moments, or quick zooms into the slightest shake or wobble. 

even touma admits that he struggled; “it’s different from training,” he tells the camera, the scene suddenly cutting to the young man seated in a simple room. “i had to keep in mind the pitch and everything. i had to keep it stable while dancing too, somehow it’s easier with rapping.”

the performance comes to a close with an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air as the judges seem to collect their thoughts.

“i suppose i’ll start,” ran picks up her microphone and begins to address the contestant directly. “touma, i can tell that you took our advice to heart from last episode. we appreciate a trainee who’s coachable and applies feedback to their efforts, however…”

while ran seems at a loss for words, perhaps looking for a softer way to say what’s on her mind, jihun has no such delicacy. he takes over immediately: “just because we thought you were doing too much last time doesn’t mean you should have neglected your vocal training now.” he sighs, perhaps regretting that they were not more clear with their expectations, or that the contestants understood the assignment so poorly. 

“it’s a good thing that you can rap and dance,” yuna takes a more balanced approach to her critique, the carrot and stick method in a sense. “but for your sake, you should focus on learning to sing better. no matter how good of a dancer or rapper you are, the public will always perceive you as untalented if you can’t sing.” she speaks from a place of experience, her advice genuine.

there’s one last scene of touma in the interview room. “i’m happy i did it. i’m confident that i did my best, and i’m sure all my hard work will shine through somehow.” his optimism despite the rough critique is admirable. perhaps he’ll become a contestant to watch closely as the competition goes on.

“ah, well,” jihun sighs, “hopefully the next will be better.”

perhaps disappointed that the first performance was not a show-stopper, the judges moods brighten anyway as jian announces that CHOI HANGYEOL will be the next contestant on stage.

“mr. first-place,” yuna smiles warmly as the young man takes his place on stage. he bows politely and greets each of the judges.

“i’m sorry,” hangyeol announces, “i’m a little starstruck at the moment. thank you for this opportunity, and for your kind words of support from before. i’ll do my best to make sure you won’t regret them.”

“he speaks well,” jihun remarks, low enough that the contestant on stage can’t hear her just yet.

“he was working with my NAYOUNG this week,” ran informs the other judges, the scene shifting for a moment to show hangyeol and the trainee-coach in a practice room.

“how does it feel to have them say they want to sign you on day one? i'm pretty sure they didn't say that about anyone last season," nayoung asks her question of her student for the day, her competitive spirit obviously not at all dampened since her last appearance on television. 

humble as always, hangyeol’s response is as perfect as if written in a storybook: “it’s an honor, but one that i still feel like i need to earn.”

the scene shifts again, this time to just backstage as the young man stretches in preparation for his performance for the judges. a paper armband displaying his number one position wraps snugly around his upper arm, lest anyone forgets who wears the crown this week. suddenly, his arm flops down. “tsk…it’s heavy isn’t it? nobody tells you that part.” his tone is light, as if joking, but the viewer can read into the meaning behind it. first place is a heavy burden for a contestant to bear. will he live up to last week’s performance that earned him the title?

hangyeol once again seems to be a professional on stage. his mistakes are overlooked by the camera and the editors, zooming into his flawless expressions and sharp-yet-fluid movements which suit the heavy beat of the song well. it’s like it’s his personal music show… the captions praise him, the cuts suddenly looking very reminiscent of an idol performance as it cuts between different angles of the same performance. he’s stable, if a bit imperfect, but it’s clear that the powers that be behind the scenes are much more forgiving of their first number-one than they had been of the previous contestant.

all three judges clap their approval in a tiny applause as hangyeol finishes his performance.

“i’ll be honest,” jihun doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t look displeased either, “i didn’t expect you to be able to sing. you were surprisingly stable for someone who hasn’t done this before… have you?” he suddenly questions; it’s not out of the question that there may be small idols that disbanded or retired without the general public’s notice. 

“there were mistakes, but you never let them slow you down,” yuna nods her appreciation of the performance. “that’s hard to do, even for seasoned performers. it’s easy to get caught up on a mistake and make more because of it. your resilience makes you a stronger performer.”

“if i had one bit of advice to give, it would be to practice your enunciation more,” ran suggests, not unkindly. “your details with dancing are top notch, so i’d love to see the same attention given to your voice, whether you decide to pursue rapping or singing going forward.”

“good job, hangyeol,” yuna congratulates him, smiling warmly.

“if i can get yoon jihun himself to smile, i’ll consider it an accomplishment,” hangyeol’s voice is heard momentarily as he leaves the stage. for a moment, it seems as if his mission has failed. but after he’s gone, the tiniest upward curve is revealed on jihun’s lips.

“this is the part where i have to give you some not-so-good news,” jian announces to the judges, who frown as they listen to the emcee. “HAN YURA and MOON SOOYOUNG have both withdrawn from the competition for personal reasons. we wish the both of them the best of luck in their future endeavors and hope to see them on stage again soon.”

while the expressions of the judges don’t brighten they do give the two withdrawn contestants a round of applause to send them off of the show.

“with that, we’ll move on to our next contestant,” jian announces, “please welcome HAN JUEUN to the stage!”

the young woman walks out with a confidence rather uncommon among the contestants, which the judges pick up on immediately.

“she hardly looks nervous at all,” ran remarks.

“she doesn’t look nervous at all,” jihun corrects his fellow judge as all three stare down at the girl on stage.

“i’m pretty confident,” jueun herself confirms her aptitude for the stage, smiling at the cameras as she sits in the interview room. “with how hard i’ve been working, i don’t think i’m going to slip tremendously with this next ranking, at least.”

and she has been working hard; the scene cuts to the practice rooms, a montage of her sessions with various fellow contestants displayed. in each clip, she’s seen practicing a different skill, seeking advice from more experienced participants, and even giving advice of her own.

the scene settles on a moment shared between jueun and JIAYI, the two women talking together during a short break. “this whole thing is being televised,” jiayi reminds the other, followed by a confession, “i'm worried about that too, but i try to ignore all the cameras.”

“they’re kind of hard to ignore though, aren’t they? i mean, they are literally everywhere,” jueun laughs, perhaps betraying the slightest sense of nervousness with the sound. “but i’m trying my best as well.”

back to the present, to the woman standing confidently before the judges, and the music begins playing yet again. 

jihun notices something, though.

“she’s staring at me a lot, isn’t she?” he remarks. the women to his left and right have to stifle their laughter.

the performance wraps up and yuna is the first to speak this time. “you’re comfortable on stage, aren’t you? your expressions are good, and you didn’t look even a little bit nervous. do you have any acting experience?” she questions appreciatively, curious more than anything.

“like yuna said, it’s clear that you have experience on stage. i just can’t help but wonder why you seemed to only perform for ceo yoon?” ran’s tone is light enough, though her words more biting than typical of the soft spoken ceo. perhaps this is a sensitive spot for her. “yuna and i are also here, and also judges. picking one place to look is good for ballerinas who need to keep their balance while spinning, but performing to one person alone in the audience can make the rest feel a bit uncomfortable.”

“it’s clear that you practiced hard and put a lot of effort into this performance,” jihun shuffles the papers in front of him as he speaks. “your expressions are good and make for an engaging performance, but your skills could use a little more work. keep practicing, you’re doing well.” small words are a large compliment from the pickiest judge.

jueun is seen in the interview room one last time as her portion comes to an end. “i would love to see how much i grow skill-wise. i came onto this show like a blank canvas, and it’d be nice to see how colorful i become at the end!”

“HAN YUWOL,” jihun realizes who the next contestant is, echoing jian as she announces the next name. “he’s one of the odd ones, isn’t he?”

“this should be interesting,” ran agrees, though she appears to be more looking forward to this than jihun is.

the scene cuts abruptly to yuwol in the practice room, coach SEOJUN talking him through his session and addressing the contestant’s weaknesses as he approaches this challenge.

“i’ve never actually done any dancing before, much less performing dance,” yuwol admits. no dancing at all? certainly he has a daunting task ahead of him.

“i can help with that,” seojun assures his student, “i’ll do my best to having you knowing the whole routine in no time.”

the scene changes in such a way that it’s hard to notice that it’s a different time, a different person in yuwol’s company. it’s AHYOUNG now, abruptly pausing the music during their dance practice session. “enough!” ahyoung shouts, seemingly frustrated with the lack of progress either from herself or her companion. “i’m putting a random song on and dancing to that,” she proclaims. the camera focuses on yuwol’s face, taking in his reaction. 

“like we’re supposed to… freestyle it?” yuwol asks, as if it’s an entirely foreign concept to him. and, based on his discussion with seojun, maybe it really is.

how is he going to pull himself together for the judges? the captions drag out the tension, setting the contestant up for a disappointing performance if some miracle isn’t pulled off. the scene shows a few more seconds of awkward, stiff dance movements before fading to black. yuwol reappears on stage in front of the judges not a moment later. the young man takes a deep breath– is he also afraid of the results of his practice?

the poor thing. the cameras pan to the judges’ pained expressions as yuwol opens with an awkward rap, only made better by how the dance is somehow even worse. if ran and yuna try to mask their expressions, or at least soften them slightly, jihun does nothing of the sort. he frowns openly, disappointed with the performance before them.

an uncomfortable silence hangs in the air as the music concludes, the judges seemingly at a loss for words for a moment.

“yuwol,” jihun finally breaks the silence, “i think you know what we’re going to say. that just… wasn’t good. we thought you were a good singer in your audition, but we didn’t see any of that talent tonight. frankly, you have a lot of work to put in if you’re going to make it in this competition.”

“learning to dance is hard,” yuna tries to smooth over the harsh words of her fellow judge, giving the poor young man the benefit of the doubt. “it’s not something that can be done in a few days. i think you did your best to learn as much as you can in a short time. i can congratulate you on that.” somehow, even as she tries to find something nice to say, it falls flat.

“there’s nowhere to go but up from here, yuwol,” ran smiles, the kindest of the three despite the pity in her eyes.

the interview room makes another appearance, yuwol now seated in the center of it. “i looked… rather stiff, i’d be the first to admit that,” he confesses to the camera, “i’m new to all this, though that’s not an excuse… of course, it’s far from a perfect performance… there’s a lot to learn from it.”

“next,” jian’s lovely, smiling face takes over the screen after a brief pause in the wake of yuwol’s poor performance, “we’d like to welcome HWANG JINGREN to the stage!”

there’s not much preamble to jingren’s entrance to the stage. there’s only a short clip of him in the practice room, chatting with JAEYOUNG. “i don’t know if i’m any good. especially, considering how i ranked near the bottom,” jingren confesses, “i don’t have the natural beat at all.”

“everyone loves an underdog story,” jaeyoung offers encouragingly, “someone rising from the very bottom to the top. you have a whole arc ahead of you.”

will jingren rise or fall? 

as the music starts and the young contestant begins his solo performance, smiles are seen across the judges’ faces. the audio finally kicks in so the audience can hear what the judges do; a surprisingly stable voice, despite shakiness during the rap and imperfections in his dancing abilities. it’s not a winning performance, but it’s solid.

the judges applaud him regardless when he’s finished.

“to be honest, i wasn’t sure how this would go,” jihun confesses. “i was ready for another trainwreck on stage. you pleasantly surprised us, thank you for that. it wasn’t a perfect performance, but we can see your improvement already.”

“like jihun said, it wasn’t perfect. but we don’t expect perfection at this point. you’re all looking to become trainees, not to debut tomorrow. so i wouldn’t worry too much about being the best right now and just focus on continuing to improve your skills. you’re doing well, jingren,” yuna smiles through her feedback, encouraging the young hopeful before her.

ran is the last judge to speak, a little slow as she tries to find something to say that hasn’t already been shared by her peers. “it might be nice to see you enjoy the stage a little more,” she comments, “you looked a bit scared up there. i know this is all new and nerve-wracking but i’d love to see what you’re capable of if you can become a little more comfortable.”

“thank you, jingren,” jian congratulates the man on his performance as he’s ushered off the stage. “next, we’re excited to welcome HWANG YEJUN!”

“i like the way you dance,” it’s actually INHO’s voice that’s heard, the scene cutting to a practice room where the two young men rehearse together. yejun, the one on the receiving end of the compliment, looks flabbergasted more than anything. 

“thank you,” he sputters out.

the editors do him small favors to be a little more interesting, peppering the scene with rosy pink hearts and painting a picture of a practice room crush, at least on one another’s skills if not literally in a romantic sense. clips of yejun in practice, both in the main group classes, alone, and with inho and other contestants play in a short montage. and then, a clip of his singing voice, without dancing. he has skill, to be sure. will he be able to show it to the judges?

the camera catches his deep breath, the tremble of his hands as he stands before the judges.

“are you nervous, yejun?” ran smiles into her microphone. “it’s alright, we just want to see what you’ve learned.”

kind words can only do so much for the poor man’s nerves. but like it or not, the music begins regardless.

his nerves don’t completely disappear even as his performance starts, a shake in his voice and a wobble in his step even as he does his best to project confidence during his song and dance. that voice that was heard in the practice rooms lacks some of its power now, yejun’s energy split between singing and dancing. had inho been right to compliment the other contestant? yejun’s not terrible, but he may be his own worst enemy.

at least he hits the final note and pose, ending the song on a high.

the judges applaud for a moment before yuna is the first to pick up her microphone. “yejun, do you have stage fright?” she asks suddenly, “we could all tell you lacked confidence in this performance. you shouldn’t, you sing well and your dancing isn’t bad either. but when you make yourself seem so small, how are we supposed to react?”

“my trainees like you,” jihun adds. 

his commentary is interrupted by a clip of RENYI and DOHYUN discussing the contestants they’re supposed to be coaching. the camera shows yejun’s profile photo in renyi’s hand. “i think he’d be really good at a company that encourages his creativity, and we already know we get along well with him,” the trainee reveals the friendship he’s already fostered with yejun, though it’s yet to be caught on camera.

“i agree,” is all that’s heard from dohyun, though the cut is awkward as if he had more to say.

the scene returns to jihun, who has more to say: “but i don’t see why just yet. keep practicing and show us a better version of yourself next time. whatever it is your friends see in you, i’d like to see that too.”

“you’re here because we saw star potential in your audition, yejun,” ran cleans up the conversation kindly, unwilling to beat down a nervous contestant more than he’s already been beaten by himself. “i hope you’re able to show us that side again.”

yejun bows, utters his thanks, and leaves the stage. a gloomy atmosphere seems to hang in the air.

“well then,” jihun claps his hands together and leans back in his seat. “what do we have next?”

ITO SEIRA is the next contestant to showcase her skills, but before showing her on stage the screen cuts to the girl working in the practice room with HYUNKI. and then the screen splits to show her with JAEYOUNG. it splits again, now in quarters, to reveal her practice sessions with JIAYI and EUNWOL, and then into eight pieces with TOUMA, INHO, JIHYUN, and YUWOL, with the coaches CHAERIN, NAYOUNG, and SEOJUN, with JUEUN, STEVEN, and JORDAN.

the audio is filled with each time seira introduced herself to her fellow contestants, the voices multiplying clip over clip until it’s a whole chorus of introductions.

is there anyone who seira isn’t friends with? the captions suddenly question. it’s clear that the girl is quite the social butterfly, already befriending most of the contestants and half of the judges in the first week of practice alone.

“almost everyone was willing to help me,” seira appears in the interview room in the next shot, telling her story with a fond smile. “i was so surprised, nobody turned me away when i asked for help… we’re all in this together, we help each other. i don’t think there’s a single person i’m thankful for, i’m thankful for everyone, i hope people keep being willing to help, after all, this is a competition”.

and then, finally, seira appears on stage. the camera captures her bright personality, making it easy for the viewer to understand just how she was able to befriend the majority of the competition so quickly. “hello i am ito seira, my korean name is sunah, i am twenty-one years old, i’m thankful you’re willing to watch my performance, i hope you enjoy it!” the girl introduces herself, seemingly without so much as stopping for a breath.

“she must be a rapper,” the cameras catch jihun making the remark quietly to his fellow judges, who smile and suppress their giggles at the man’s rare attempt at humor.

the music plays again and very little is shown of seira’s performance, perhaps neither so good nor so bad that the editors felt the need to draw any special attention to any point of it. they are sure to capture the ending though, zooming in on the woman’s face as if an ending fairy in a music show. the camera catches the way she breathes heavily, despite trying to hide it.

“you’re a hard worker, aren’t you, seira?” yuna is the first to address the girl on stage, a fond smile on her lips. “we have staff report to us on your activities throughout practice as well watching your final performances, to see if you’ll be a good fit in any of our companies. i have to commend you for your collaborative efforts, even on a solo evaluation like this. it’s easy to get caught up in the competition but it seems that you have a knack for bringing people together.”

“you have some skill,” the ever-unimpressed jihun rubs his chin as he considers seira’s performance, seemingly undecided about his feelings on the matter. “you’re not perfect, obviously. you’re not debuting tomorrow. but there’s promise. and, as yuna so aptly put it, you have other talents that are just as important to have in an idol group. i think we’ll have to watch you more closely.”

“i heard you had a fall in practice, are you alright?” ran is the first to show concern for the contestant.

the scene suddenly cuts back to the practice room and seira’s practice session with JAEYOUNG. as they begin the dance, the girl somehow loses her balance and ends up flat on her back in the middle of practice.

silence fills the room for a moment, uncomfortable as if about to welcome in bad news to the wannabes working so hard.

jaeyoung breaks that heavy quiet; he laughs aloud. “how did you get on the floor like that?”

it turns out seira isn’t hurt, she’s smiling in return. “who knows? maybe i was adding breakdance into the dance.”

the screen returns to the evaluation stage and ran smiling warmly at the young woman before her. “i’m glad to hear you’re alright. please be careful when you practice, we’d hate to have to send you home due to any injuries. i’m excited to see what you’ll be able to show us next time.”

with those kind words, seira is dismissed from the stage.

"it wasn't exactly pleasant to see my name so close to the bottom," the scene fades into the next contestant, JANG HYUNKI, sitting in the interview room. clips from the previous episode play, the judges’ harsh words echoing over a clip of hyunki sitting quietly, as if haunting him like menacing ghosts. “it did make me want to work ten times harder to show everyone here and at home that i'm much more than what i showed in the audition."

will hyunki be able to show a better side of himself this time?

the scene cuts to the practice room, of hyunki and JUEUN standing in front of the mirror. "look,” jueun instructs him, “everybody knows you're a skilled dancer, but you've got to convince people that you're really feeling the music, and that involves using your face!"

hyunki, responding to her advice, straightens his posture and adjusts his face. “believable?” he asks.

“it looks like a customer service smile, if you know what i mean. your eyes are pretty much empty." jueun is honest with him, even if it’s not the results he probably wants to hear. 

as the pair continues to rehearse, hyunki’s voice is heard over the scene: "i worked exceptionally hard, and felt more confident this time around. i had the critiques to work off of and those all gave me a good starting point."

the scene changes again, this time to just backstage. SARANG is seeing the contestant off, playfully slapping his backside as hyunki steps up to take his turn on stage. "go kill it! one slip up isn't gonna kill you. you're gonna dominate this whole thing!" the trainee assures his student.

"all the coaches were super helpful," hyunki is shown in the interview room once more before his performance begins. "if i had to pick one, sarang's advice was probably most helpful for me this time around."

clips of sarang’s time on last season flash across the screen in a quick montage. if anyone could teach hyunki to be more expressive on stage, it would be mr. charisma sarang himself.

the camera pauses on hyunki as he stands on stage, building tension in the silence as he waits for the music to start. when do better finally starts playing, the young man begins moving, rapping, singing. it’s immediately clear that he took the criticism to heart; this performance blows his audition away entirely.

the song comes to a close and the young man bows, awaiting the judges’ response. all three are smiling, a much better sign than the last time they evaluated this contestant.

“well, hyunki, i feel like we owe you an apology,” ran begins, her smile wider than all the rest. “what you were able to accomplish in such a short time is a testament to your skill. we recognized your good foundation, but your ability to apply critique is unmatched so far. you worked closely with sarang? that was a good choice. he won last season for his charisma and stage presence, which was exactly what you lacked in your audition. excellent job.”

“i never regret my words,” jihun leans back in his seat, showing he’s impressed in his subtle mannerisms. “but you did make me eat them this time. you overdanced a little to the point your vocals suffered, but i can’t say you weren’t engaging to watch this time. good job.” rare praise from the strictest judge.

yuna pauses, smiling at hyunki before she speaks. “well done,” she congratulates him. “the audition was a bad time to have an off-day. i’m so glad to see we were right to bring you on the show, and that one off-day is not indicative of your abilities. i’m excited to see if you can continue to improve at this rate throughout the show.”

“great job, hyunki,” ran praises the young man again as jian gestures him off stage.

“he really did a one-eighty,” jihun murmurs aloud.

“did he actually impress you?” ran teases.

jihun shrugs. “maybe. maybe not.”

“i feel for whoever has to follow up that performance,” yuna remarks.

the lucky contestant is KIM ARA. a short clip of the girl stretching with KAITO in the practice rooms floods the screen. “next time, i’m going to bring my foam roller here too,” she announces, seemingly dissatisfied with the quality of her stretch without it. still, she bends in half easily, still having the breath and strength to chat with the other contestant even as she stretches. it’s clear that she’s flexible and a skilled dancer.

“i won’t be defeated by my placing,” ara tells the cameras in the interview room, suddenly reminding her that she’s fourteenth, rather low in the ranks. “but i will use it as fuel to further my ambition. there is room for me to improve and hopefully rise up.”

the girl is seen climbing up the stairs to the stage next, ready to show the judges what she’s prepared. 

the music starts and her flexibility in the practice room pays off as she reaches out to each movement in its fullest completion, never skimping or leaving a step incomplete even if the choreography is easy.

“i really did try my best to give a balanced performance and work on my singing,” ara’s voice is heard over the music just before the singing portion starts. and in the next moment, it’s her singing voice that’s heard through the speakers, surprisingly stable despite the dancing. her performance passes by quickly, the camera continuing to highlight the best parts of her dance ability, until the final pose is struck and she’s being greeted by the judges.

“ara, you did well,” yuna praises her immediately. “i wasn’t sure if you were going to sing well or not, but you even did well with rapping. i don’t think any of us expected that from you, so i want to congratulate you if you learned that well in such a short time or apologize if we overlooked your skill during your audition.”

“i do wish we saw a little more of your personality come through,” ran adds to yuna’s thoughts, “but honestly, it’s such a minor critique in the grand scheme of things. this was a solo performance but it felt like you were holding back a bit. it’s alright to be a little greedy in this stage. this is a competition, after all.”

jihun is quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. finally, he picks up his microphone. “i don’t think i have anything more to add,” he admits. ���ran and yuna have more or less said it all. you’re very talented and we’d like to see what you’re able to do with this talent going forward. thank you.”

“we’re excited to welcome the next contestant to the stage, MOON JORDAN,” jian announces as the camera shows a brief clip of the contestant climbing up to the stage to take his position in the center. 

the scene cuts to jordan in the practice rooms, rehearsing choreography that’s distinctly unfamiliar. what is he doing? the captions question as the young man runs through movements that the other contestants certainly had not been doing. was he given a different assignment than the rest?

“i attempt to turn things into my own to make it fun and enjoyable for those watching me,” jordan tells the camera in the interview room, a sort of confidence in his demeanor even as he’s sitting there. some might find it attractive; others might find it cocky.

back to the present—or at least back to the stage and the performance in front of the judges. jordan’s performance begins the same as every other contestant, dancing, rapping and singing do better in front of the three people who will decide his fate in this competition. but, as he nears the end, something is different. it appears that jordan has added his own dance break, something that no one else has dared to do before. it’s a risky move; just how will the judges respond?

silence falls on the room as the performance comes to a close. the cameras pan across the judges who scribble notes down on the papers in front of them before they give their verdict to the young man before them.

it’s yuna who speaks up first.

“moon jordan,” she reads his full name off the paper in front of her. “do you have a problem with following directions?”

a hush falls over the room again. yuna has been kind, if a bit strict with the other contestants so far. her voice nearly shakes, as if she’s holding in her anger for the sake of all the people watching her through the camera right now. a veteran idol knows how to take care of her image, after all.

“this was a test of your performance skills so we could better evaluate your strengths and weaknesses. this was not a test of your creativity or an invitation to modify the song given to you. this song may not have been performed by anyone else before this group of contestants, but that doesn’t give you the right to change it on a whim.” she sighs, trying to relieve some tension. “you know you’re all expected to perform this together on mcountdown later this week, right? how do you expect to do that when you’re incapable of following simple directions?”

even ran looks rather displeased, though she lets yuna do the bulk of the scolding. this was a mission right up lime entertainment’s alley anyway.

“you should keep in mind that we’re looking to sign trainees from this competition,” ran’s words are phrased more as suggestions for improvement than yuna’s had been. “your performance skills are important of course, but we’ll also be teaching you to improve your natural talents throughout this competition and if you’re signed to one of our companies. your intangible skills are just as important to us. that includes things like teamwork and listening skills and your ability to take critique and direction.”

jihun, the scariest of the judges, is the last to speak. he’s silent for a moment, scowling at the young man in front of them. “i can’t say anything,” he finally raises his microphone to his lips. “you did not complete the mission assigned to you, you just made up your own. i can’t critique a performance that doesn’t even remotely fit the rubric that was given to you.”

perhaps the lack of comment is the greatest insult of all.

jordan is dismissed from the stage. the scene changes to a staff member approaching the contestant backstage, pulling him aside from the other contestants as they deliver a message from the judges.

“i’m sorry, but it’s been decided that you will not be performing with the rest of the next gen contestants on mcountdown this week. the judges’ decision is final on this.”

a camera hangs onto jordan’s face for a moment longer, displaying his reaction for the world to see.

a moment later the scene shifts to PARK AHYOUNG backstage, chatting with various contestants as she awaits her turn. a staff member taps her on the shoulder and lets her know that it’s her turn on stage. jian’s voice can be heard announcing the girl to the stage, but just after the camera watches ahyoung hurry off to her position it shifts to her in the interview room, speaking her mind.

"i guess i've never really danced before outside of like, the club,” the young woman shares, her words met with an uncomfortable silence after she speaks them. “i'm a great dancer in the club, don't get me wrong, but it's not really the same thing.”

the scene cuts to her practice session with YUWOL, the same that had been shown earlier in the episode. now, however, the camera focuses on ahyoung’s dance moves as the pair shake off their nerves with random dancing. how did you learn these moves…? the captions question, though no outright accusations are made.

finally, the camera cuts to ahyoung on stage before the judges. as the music begins, so does her performance, and the judges’ sharp eyes watch her every movement, their ears listening to every word, as they assess her performance.

she starts strong, as many of the contestants do, but as do better goes on, she seems to be losing steam. her voice becomes more strained and breathless, her dance lacks some of the energy it had in the beginning. the camera flashes to jihun for a moment, his stern glance as ahyoung’s heavy breathing is exaggerated on the audio.

as the song wraps up, the judges scribble down some final notes on the papers in front of them.

it’s jihun to speak first this time. “i think we may have rated you too highly based on your audition,” he admits a mistake, though only to point out the failures of the contestant in front of him. “let’s just say what you and i both already know; you lack endurance. if you smoke, quit now. work on cardio at the gym. you won’t survive this competition with your current condition. i’m saying this for your health.” he seems to attempt to extend some kindness, even if it’s still tough love.

“i’m more concerned with your work ethic, to be honest,” yuna frowns at the wannabe before her. “plenty of your competitors came in with little experience in dancing. they’ve improved their endurance a lot in the short time they’ve been with us. i think you’re taking practice too lightly. do you want to be here? or would you rather be at the club?” yuna becomes vaguely accusatory, perhaps a bit sensitive as an idol herself who has heard all of these criticisms before. maybe it’s better for ahyoung to hear them now from someone who genuinely wants to see her improvement instead of blasted a thousand times at her online by anonymous netizens who have nothing better to do but complain.

“you’re a naturally gifted performer,” ran starts with compliments, perhaps trying to soften the blow of her fellow judges before her. “you definitely shine and capture attention easily on stage. but that’s not enough past this point. please continue to improve your skills, you’re here because we saw your potential and we want to see how great you can become. thank you, ahyoung.”

the contestant is dismissed from the stage.

"i'm not gonna pretend i'm an expert, but i had fun.” ahyoung tells the camera in the interview room. it almost seems like she didn’t take the judges’ criticism to heart at all…

“up next, we’ll be watching the performance of RYEO JIHYUN!” as jian announces the next contestant up to the stage, the camera cuts to jihyun climbing the steps and waving to the judges with a smile, a confidence in his movements even as he approaches what’s likely the most nerve-wracking part of this competition so far.

“why are you even here?" the scene cuts suddenly, TOUMA and jihyun in a practice room stretching together as they prepare to run through the dance again. the camera seems particularly interested in touma’s question, however. it seems a bit inflammatory, bordering on accusatory. is this a rivalry budding already? touma sighs. "is this a side gig to you? are you here to feel something again?" neither is a very charitable interpretation of jihyun’s participation in the show.

“can you guess which is right then?” jihyun retorts, seemingly not giving an answer to the other contestant. at least he can handle himself well without starting a true altercation, verbal or otherwise.

“there was some fear and guilt that was lingering at the back of my head.” the scene cuts to jihyun in the interview room quickly. is touma bullying other contestants? the accusation is never verbalized or written anywhere on screen, but the viewer may start to get a sense of the story that’s being told here.

regardless of backstage practice drama, jihyun takes the stage anyway. his performance begins and jihyun seems to capture the spirit of the song well; tough, fighting for glory and recognition, and unafraid of anyone in the room, yet still having fun with every step. maybe his supposed spat with touma had helped him find his attitude for the performance. he’s captivating on stage regardless, almost sensual in the way he moves.

but the illusion of the competitor is shattered at the very end when jihyun sends a heart to the camera instead of maintaining the same persona he had for the entire duration of do better.

a laugh bubbles up from the judges without their permission, both jihun and ran having to cover their mouths to try to stifle the giggles. yuna just smiles, though it’s obvious she’s also amused.

“what happened at the end?” jihun questions immediately, too amused to think about anything else. “you spent the last three minutes convincing us that you were really here to ‘do better’ than all the rest of the contestants… and then ending with aegyo?” it appears that jihyun has not yet earned his way out of the ‘strange crowd’ among the contestants. “i’ll be honest with you, it ruined the performance. it doesn’t matter how well you sang and danced, all i’ll remember is feeling like you played a joke on us at the end. staying strong and following the mood for the entire song can make a performance. in this case, it broke.”

“aside from the heart,” yuna picks up her microphone next, “your rap skills are… well, they’re lacking. while not every idol needs to be an all-rounder, it is important to have some foundations in all skills. if you debut as a soloist, it allows you to release a more diverse portfolio of music. in a group, it allows you to fill in for a member if a situation should occur that demands it. you may not enjoy it, but i still recommend developing your basics better in the future.”

ran smiles warmly at the contestant before speaking. “first, i’d like to apologize for laughing. that was unprofessional of us, but you did take us by surprise. i didn’t think i could still be surprised like that,” she admits. “you’re already showing signs of improvement, but i think we would have liked to see a bit more from you this week. i don’t think we saw anything surprising, like your skills didn’t improve so much from the last time we saw your perform that there’s much to talk about. please continue to practice and improve. you’re here because we want to see everything that you���re capable of.”

“thank you, jihyun,” jian announces his departure from the stage.

“it was something relatively new to me,” jihyun admits to the interview camera, “i think i did quite well for my first time, and i’m satisfied with it. but of course, i’m not stopping at just being satisfied. i’m going to be even better the next time and come back with an improved version of myself.”

the camera flashes to touma’s face for a moment once more, gauging his reaction to his supposed rival’s critique and response.

“RYU INHO?” the scene cuts to the next contestant quickly, CHAERIN calling out a contestant’s name from a clipboard in front of her as she meets some of the participants she’s in charge of. "is this your first time singing and dancing at the same time?"

"ya, noona, so formal," inho starts joking with her immediately, obviously comfortable with the coach far more quickly than his fellow participants had been. is his familiarity disrespect to the young woman in charge of helping him grow?

he does admit it, though: "i'm not much of a dancer at all, let alone singing and dancing at the same time."

cutting to the interview room, inho addresses the camera. "i wasn't expecting such a high ranking," he admits, but then after a short cut to remind the viewer of inho’s fourth-place ranking, he issues a promising statement: "i plan on continuing to do what got me there in the first place. that is giving everything i do my absolute best effort, and then some. alongside ensuring i use my resources, such as the coaches.”

oh, so is the young man trying to schmooze with the coaches? the editing certainly seems to imply such.

chaerin, seemingly only slightly ruffled by his overfamiliar greeting, clears her throat and looks down at her clipboard again. "have you memorized the choreography, at least?" she steps toward inho, not backing down in the slightest, her brow knit together in concern. chaerin, at least, is all business.

the scene cuts to a different time and place, now with inho and SEOJUN. again, inho greets the coach with unprecedented familiarity: "didn't expect to see you here. how have you been? it's been a while."

seojun makes no attempt to hide the friendly relationship he apparently has with inho. "didn't expect to see you here either," he responds amicably, “i've been good. busy since i've been training a lot. glad i get to see you again."

the scene cuts abruptly again to seojun in the interview room this time. “would it be biased if i mentioned inho?” he asks.

yes, it most certainly would be.

at least the cameras don’t do anything further to damage inho’s reputation on the show, cutting away again to the young man taking the stage in front of the judges. his smile is confident, cocky, as if already in character for the performance he’s about to give.

the music starts; inho dances, raps, and sings. there’s moments when the camera catches that confident smirk fading from his face, unable to remember to hold it throughout the performance. it catches the moments where he pauses and catches his breath; while it’s in the choreography, the heaviness of his breathing almost becomes distracting. his voice stays stable for the most part, and the raps are decent from a contestant who doesn’t have a ton of experience in this area.

inho is gasping for breath as he holds the final pose. the judges furiously scribble notes down in front of them, capturing their last thoughts for when they have to rank all of the contestants later.

“inho, i think you also need to work on your cardio,” yuna half-teases the contestant with a smile on her lips. “i was disappointed in your performance not because of your skills, but because i felt that your breathing distracted me from your abilities. ‘ah, if only he had the strength…’ that sort of feeling.”

“you sing well and your rap and dance wasn’t bad,” ran compliments the contestant, “especially for your first time attempting these things. but you’ll have to work harder to maintain your position in this competition. there are so many talented participants this season… it’s not enough to only be a good singer anymore. i hope you can improve quickly.”

jihun is the last to leave his remarks: “taking advantage of the resources offered to you is good. however, i’d be more careful to watch your image,” he advises on the content the coaches have seen of the practice sessions rather than the performance in front of him, which the other judges had already covered well. “please be sure to mind your manners with our trainee coaches. even if you’re friends outside of work, it’s important to give them the proper respect in our buildings and in front of your fellow contestants. they’re trying to help all of you improve, so they need to be taken seriously.”

“otherwise, your performance was mediocre. i expected better.” jihun shrugs.

inho is dismissed from the stage just after, the cameras following him to capture the initial reaction on his face to the judges’ critiques.

“RYU SIWOO is next,” ran reads from a cue card in front of her. “wasn’t he the one with all of the luxury brand clothes?”

the camera cuts to siwoo in the practice room, somehow still wearing luxury clothing items as the camera identifies the sweat-soaked t-shirt he’s wearing as ralph lauren. 

a disembodied staff member’s voice is heard behind the camera in the interview room, the cut trained on siwoo and his reactions as they ask the question: “you were introduced as someone who comes from money and luxury brands. how do you feel about that?”

siwoo pauses uncomfortably, seemingly put on the spot. “i’m…thankful for the interest,” he words his response carefully, “i’m really interested in fashion and i like to dress up a little. so i guess they aren’t completely wrong.”

he seems to address the camera a little more directly in his next statement: “i’m a lot more than just that though. i hope it shines through on the show.”

and just what does he show? the scene cuts to he and NAYOUNG in a practice room, the trainee coach trying to help him learn do better and perfect his performance.

“fix your posture,” nayoung barks orders like a drill sergeant. “stand up straight and keep your head straight as you sing. it'll support your diaphragm and make this easier." she seemingly has an endless tirade of critique for his performance. the editors animate a hammer dropping on siwoo’s head. this is almost as tough as the military… the captions read.

but nayoung wouldn’t say such things unless the critique was warranted. the next several seconds play several of siwoo’s failures and shortcomings and nayoung’s quick corrections, her words as sharp as a whip as they lash out at every little mistake that her student makes. is siwoo really more than the money and luxury he comes from? at least he seems to take the critique well.

the scene cuts to the stage, siwoo already introduced by jian and ready to begin his performance. while he may seem a bit nervous in the beginning, he’s smiling by the end. there’s mistakes in his performance and he’s breathing heavily like many of the previous contestants; maybe nayoung wasn’t harsh enough on him.

“siwoo, do you think you can get by on looks alone?” jihun rips into the contestant early, not pausing for more than a moment before tearing into his performance. “i heard that you worked closely with the coaches, but i doubt that any of them would have let you come on stage with a performance like this. please take advice from the song next time; do better.”

“ah,” ran seems a bit taken aback by jihun’s harsh words. he’s not incorrect though. “this is still a bit unfamiliar, isn’t it?” she tries to sympathize, “you don’t look like you’re enjoying being on stage. when you smile, it looks like it’s just something you think should be done rather than something you’re actually feeling. even if you don’t like the song, you should be trying to make your audience fall in love with it. convince us that it’s the best thing ever, even if you secretly don’t agree. it’ll make you a better performer.”

yuna frowns into her microphone. “this choreography was rather simple, but you still struggled to execute it. i understand we’re trying to move quickly through this competition, but please do not neglect your basics. strong fundamentals will help you move farther down this competition than quickly learning one dance and forgetting about it immediately afterwards. this goes for your singing too.”

just as it seems that the judges are about to dismiss siwoo, jihun suddenly adds one more complaint: “also, what’s wrong with the name NEXT GEN?” he accuses the contestant.

the scene changes, giving context to jihun’s words, as it brings up a practice room with JAEYOUNG. “i was just thinking about the name next gen,” siwoo complains, “an idol survival show called next gen. who comes up with these names?”

the cameras cut back to siwoo before the judges, jihun’s arms folded crossly in front of his chest. “i thought we made it clear that we’re looking for the talent to lead the next generation of kpop. you might want to decide if you really want to be a part of that.” there’s a subtle threat to jihun’s words; disrespect the judges and face the consequences.

siwoo is finally allowed to exit the stage.

the scene cuts to the next contestant and, coincidentally, the very same as the young man siwoo had been complaining about the name of the show to: SONG JAEYOUNG. jaeyoung starts in the interview room, a disembodied voice questioning him from behind the camera. “you didn’t seem very happy with your current placement,” a soft feminine voice remarks.

“yeah, i’m not,” jaeyoung scoffs, “but that’s not surprising, is it? it’s not a very good ranking, all things considered.”

a quick reminder that jaeyoung placed sixteenth out of twenty-one total contestants last week plays across the screen.

“what did you find challenging during training?” the same voice asks him.

jaeyoung’s answer is unhelpful. “a bunch of things,” is all he says.

to try to shed some light on his practice experience, the camera cuts to jaeyoung and JUEUN practicing together. during a quiet moment, jueun strikes up conversation.

“i heard you’re good at spinning things,” jueun asks, “can you spin this?” she hands him a water bottle.

“i swear, people will only remember me for that now,” jaeyoung appears in the interview room once again, clearly annoyed with the question his fellow contestant had asked him.

"it's funny that that's what's making rounds and not the performance itself,” he responds just as wryly in person as well, though he ultimately takes the bottle to demonstrate his unique ability. “jueun. this is for you…” he somehow still sounds sarcastic.

and, frankly, the cameras focus more on jueun’s reaction than they do on jaeyoung.

little else is shown of his practice sessions before jian is announcing jaeyoung’s name on stage, inviting the competitor to begin his performance for the judges. his introduction is short, though maybe that’s for the best considering how hostile all of his moments in the interview room have been thus so far. instead, he wastes no time showing his performance.

jaeyoung is a little different from the other contestants. while there’s others also proficient in rap, he spits the words out with a particular kind of venom. the words seem like a challenge, like an attack on anyone who dares to critique him.

the performance is cut midway to the interview room again. “do you think you did better with this performance?” the same disembodied voice asks.

“i put my all into it, that’s what i can say,” jaeyoung responds, “i danced, i sang, i rapped. it’s not easy, anyone here can tell you. but i wanted to make sure people hear; that i’m not just yelling.”

it cuts back to his performance, where it does very much seem like he’s yelling as he sings and dances, his perceived anger boiling over in the face of the judges. jaeyoung bows at the end of his performance, punctuating it with a polite gesture at least.

“you certainly have spirit,” ran decides to speak first, cutting off jihun who was reaching for his microphone first. “and passion is so necessary in this industry, it’s good to see. i do think your performance was a little… intense for this song. we want you to do better like the song says, but it shouldn’t sound like you’re declaring war either. if you could work on your balance in your performance the same way you’re able to balance things on your fingers to spin them, you’ll be able to really shine in front of us.” ran, as always, advises kindly.

jihun is never nearly as kind. he’s ready to jump in and say his piece before yuna can also stop him. “you need an attitude check,” he condemns the contestant in front of the panel immediately. “you’re not the best contestant here. you’re just not. so instead of complaining about your rank, do something about it. being angry at us and our staff will not change your performance. if anything, it’ll make your life harder here. i’ll tell you the same thing i tell dissatisfied trainees: you can get with the program or get out.”

an uncomfortable pause falls over the room as yuna attempts to pick up her microphone and say her own advice and critique. that is, assuming jaeyoung and his supposed hot temper will still listen to anything after being scolded by jihun.

“one of the most important traits a trainee can have is their ability to accept critique,” yuna tries to explain. “it feels like you lack that ability right now. until you’re able to hear us with an open mind, there’s nothing we can do to help you improve.” she keeps her feedback short, turning her mic off and placing it on the desk in front of her as soon as she’s done.

jaeyoung marches off stage as soon as he’s dismissed. the judges don’t look worried about whether they’ve offended him or not, though the atmosphere still seems tense even in his wake.

“i don’t know about you, but i could use a break,” ran suggests to her fellow judges.

jihun shakes his head. “we’re almost done here. let’s just hope our next performer is a breath of fresh air.”

they watch as jian introduces SONG JIAYI and welcomes the young lady to the stage. jiayi smiles brightly to the judges as she takes her spot on stage. but the performances never start so quickly. instead, the viewer is taken back to jiayi’s time in the practice room, working with JINGREN. the pair are talking in a different language, mandarin based on the chinese flags that suddenly appear on screen around them. are they keeping secrets? are they gossipping about their fellow contestants?

after a few comments back and forth, the broadcast finally replays them with subtitles in korean.

“you seem to be a natural at catching on to the choreography compared to me,” jingren compliments the woman.

“i’ve always been a dancer,” jiayi explains with a rather vain flip of her hair. “i’m confident i’d do it perfectly.”

the cameras show jiayi in the interview room, now speaking korean with the staff asking questions from behind the cameras. “i have to rank myself number one until proven otherwise,” she tells the staff confidently. 

she seems to have a bit of an ego… the captions spare no moment to criticize the woman’s confidence. however, it’s only empty boasting if she’s unable to back it up with her actual abilities. the scene shifts back to the stage in front of the judges and jiayi’s confident smile. "i practiced long and hard to show the judges something i'm proud of.” her voice echoes over the image of her meeting the judges’ eyes.

the music begins and it’s clear immediately that jiayi’s confidence in her dancing is not completely unfounded. she’s sharp, precise, and fluid when the movements call for it. where it begins to lack refinement is in her voice. yuna had called her voice weak in the previous episode, and it seems that that critique comes back to haunt jiayi even now.

at least her breath control is decent. by the time she’s wrapping up the song, she’s not half as gassed as some of the previous contestants had been.

the cameras cut to the judges, who don’t look nearly as frustrated or upset as they had been when giving feedback to the previous contestant. jihun may not be smiling and ran may smile even when she’s upset, but the smile on yuna’s lips tells the viewers all they need to know about the atmosphere at the judges’ table.

“jiayi, you’re right to be confident in your dancing,” yuna begins, addressing the girl rather frankly. “you clearly have a strong foundation there and there’s not much for me to say. but your voice is still lacking. work closely with your vocal instructor for the next challenge. just like your body, your voice is a muscle that needs to be trained and exercised. since you haven’t done that much before, it’s not going to develop overnight. but keep working at it diligently to improve.”

“just because you’re a good dancer doesn’t mean you’ll make a good trainee or idol,” jihun gives his critique much more harshly, as per usual. “do you want to be a backup dancer or an idol? listen to yuna and follow her advice, or else your future will be at the back of the stage supporting the main show.”

“be nice,” ran chides jihun gently, seeming to think he crossed a line with his latest criticism. “jiayi, you’re a beautiful girl and an excellent dancer. as yuna and jihun have said, that’s only half of what you need to be an idol. the good news is that there’s still time to work on the other half. we enjoyed your performance and i can’t wait to see you continue to grow.”

ran leads all three judges in a round of applause as they release the girl from the stage.

“up next we’d like to welcome back a familiar face,” jian announces from her spot in the center of the stage. “back again to chase down his dreams of being an idol, please welcome STEVEN PARK!”

a shaky smile from the young man floods the screen before fading away to a short recap from last season’s appearances. steven had been a little… unrefined at that point, to put it lightly. he joked around in practice, he never took anything too seriously. ultimately, it had been his downfall and the reason he was removed from the show before the finale. and despite the humiliation, the harsh words from the judges, and not even making it to the end let alone earning a chance at a contract, he’s back. not only is he back, but he took third place in the last episode. has steven park turned over a new leaf after all?

“i kinda missed the grind,” steven’s voice is heard as clips of him practicing with the new group of contestants flicker across the screen.

a voice is heard from behind the camera as steven sits in the interview room. “compared to last season, do you think you’ve improved enough?”

“i’d like to say that i have,” steven smiles.

the scene cuts to the judges briefly as they wait for the young man’s performance. they had already mentioned looking forward to him once; will he surprise them? or will it be the same old steven park who they had to eliminate last year?

“ah, finally,” yuna smiles as she watches steven take the stage. “he looks a bit nervous… good.” one might think that she wants to terrify the young wannabes if they didn’t know better.

“be on your best behavior in front of the cameras,” another flashback to the practice rooms shows steven with JUEUN, the latter receiving advice from the more experienced contestant on this show. he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “i’m not sure how great of tips i can give you… i didn’t last a long time here.”

steven’s performance finally is set to begin. the camera focuses in on him, capturing the slightest twitches in his expression that betray his anxiety. he’s taking this more seriously than he had last season, that’s immediately apparent. the music starts, and steven begins.

“he dances well,” ran murmurs to her fellow judges midway through the performance, the cameras suddenly picking up on her instead of focused on steven. “but he’s not making eye contact with any of us, is he?”

the other two judges shake their heads to confirm ran’s assumption.

steven is a talented dancer, that’s for certain. he controls his movements well, leaving himself with enough energy to breathe (and therefore sing and rap). “i think i could have probably worked a little more on the vocals,” his voice is heard over the dimmed sounds of his do better performance for a moment, before the original audio turns up again and the shakes and instability in steven’s voice can be heard more clearly by the audience now that they’ve been pointed out. he succeeds in finishing  the performance though, and the judges remain quiet as they wait to dole out judgement.

“steven,” jihun begins, the slightest smile tugging at his lips, “are you afraid of us?”

a chorus of giggles goes up from the judges. of course steven is nervous around them, who wouldn’t be? perhaps steven doubly so after his previous experiences. 

“you should know that we’re only hard on your when we think you’re not living up to your abilities or when you need a little tough love to reach your potential. there’s nothing for us to scold you about right now.” the man smiles a little more openly, suddenly softened in front of this contestant. “in fact, you did really well. it would have been nice if your voice had improved more since last season, but we can work with that.”

“congratulations on getting a compliment out of jihun!” ran exclaims, acknowledging that this is a major accomplishment for the man on stage. “those were probably the best words we could have told you, weren’t they? it’s true, we can tell already that you’ve matured a lot since we last saw you. however… i wish you weren’t so afraid of us.”

a short clip replays of every time steven had looked toward the judges but never quite at them, always above, below, or to the side of where they were actually sitting. the avoidance seems painfully obvious in the compilation.

“remember that until we invite others to sit in, we are your audience. you’re performing for us, so you should try to connect with us or… at least have the confidence to look at us. you’re a good performers when you’re focused, steven. i’d like to see you shine.” ran smiles warmly, hoping her advice is taken to heart.

yuna is the third and final judge to speak. “as a final word of advice, i’d try to keep in mind that you are the single most experienced contestant on this season. the others may start looking to you for leadership and guidance. try not to shy away from this opportunity; you’ll have more chances to shine by helping the people around you grow quickly as well. and it’s good to see you again, steven,” yuna smiles herself. 

it seems the judges have laid aside their past perceptions of steven and are looking forward to what he can show on this season. the three whisper and nod approvingly among themselves as they prepare for the next contestant. 

“up next is YAMAMOTO KAITO,” jian announces, but rather than show the contestant on stage the scene shifts instead to kaito in the interview room.

"what was the greatest challenge during this mission?" a voice from behind the camera asks him.

"i think that the greatest challenge was probably pushing myself too hard,” it may sound like a humble brag from kaito, but clips of him practicing until the wee hours in the morning, only to return nearly at the crack of dawn the next day fade into the screen, still overlaid with his own voice. he’s seen at different times with TOUMA, INHO, and ARA. “i tend to overwork myself when it comes to various things, in this case practicing and not being completely satisfied with my personal results."

the scene is overtaken by a particular practice session with TOUMA. it’s late, based on the quick cut to the clock on the wall, but things seem to running well as the two young men run through their rehearsal of do better again. it all comes to a halt as kaito makes a mistake, cutting himself off with a loud groan and kicking the air in frustration. “seriously!” he shouts out his frustration before turning to touma apologetically. “one more time…. just…. one more…”

kaito’s exhaustion is clear. from the way his shirt is soaked with his own sweat to the dark circles under his eyes, it’s hard to miss. touma picks up on it too, if the short temper tantrum hadn’t been enough to signal something was wrong. 

“this is a pretty good place to stop, i think,” touma suggests, laying a hand on kaito’s shoulder gently, “you did a lot already, you can pick it back up another day?”

“touma actually I've known for a while now.” the scene cuts back to kaito’s interview. “he's one that really helped when i was pushing myself too hard, again, and helped me realize that i needed a break before i ended up probably passing out, or worse." 

back in the practice room, kaito has to acknowledge touma’s suggestion. “maybe you’re right…” he admits.

“you’re already doing great. you’re getting fluid!” touma encourages his friend. “take a deep breath.” 

you’re already doing great, kaito! even the captions cheer him on with soft sound effects, trying to ease the young man’s pressure on himself.

“i just feel like i could be better. you know?” kaito confesses aloud and surely the other contestants can relate. so many of them must feel the pressure as the competition is kicking off with such a difficult challenge, and the looming threat of a live performance.

"i'm actually really confident,” kaito tells the camera once more, “with the amount of practice that [i] put in i'd like to say that i did the very best that i could.”

the scene cuts to kaito standing on stage before the judges. the camera catches his deep breath, perhaps the only thing betraying his nerves, as he waits for the music to start. and kaito’s practice does pay off; he dances well, though his singing and rapping struggles some with the sheer amount of effort he puts into his movements. he’s breathing heavily by the end of the performance, not unexpectedly, and the judges give him a short round of applause as he’s finally able to relax and prepare himself for their feedback.

“you’re really fun to watch perform, kaito,” ran begins with a smile. “you look like you’re genuinely enjoying every minute on stage and that’s always a pleasure for the audience to watch you do what you love. i do think your singing needs some attention. we can tell you worked hard, but i’d like to see you improve further moving forward.”

“we heard that you’re quite the practice bug,” yuna takes over next, “and it’s great to hear that you’re taking this competition seriously. it’s what we want to see from our contestants. but we don’t want to see you get hurt. things will only get more challenging from this point onward so please be sure to keep yourself healthy even as you’re rehearsing. we would hate for you to have to exit the show early due to injury or illness.” the judges seem genuinely concerned for the participants’ health.

jihun is the final judge to speak, his words never overly kind or as soft as those that came before him. “ran saying you need to work on your singing was an understatement,” he’s as harsh as always. “even rappers need to be able to understand how to carry a tune. while the future will allow you to play to your strengths more, please do not disregard practicing your vocal fundamentals. they’ll only help you as a rapper as well.”

“great job, kaito,” ran congratulates him once more before he’s dismissed from the stage. “i like him,” she tells her fellow judges once he’s out of sight. yuna smiles her approval, though jihun only frowns.

“our final contestant performing today is YOON EUNWOL,” jian announces from the stage, drawing the judges’ attention back to the next contestant up.

the scene shifts to a practice room, eunwol sitting by himself as other contestants practice nearby. is he hurt? he seems to be fine, physically. but a rather forlorn expression on his face seems to betray that there’s more going on in his head that meets the eye. 

“my greatest challenge?” eunwol is seen in the interview room. “working with others, acquaintances and strangers. well not strangers, fellow contestants, challengers. i’m not sure what we are called.”

is it awkwardness that keeps him from interacting with others? thankfully, there’s a social butterfly ready to help everyone out at next gen. SEIRA approaches eunwol with a smile. “wanna go over the moves with me? i keep forgetting them,” she offers.

"are you sure you want my help? i didn't place high and blanked," eunwol’s self-deprecation doesn’t cease even in the face of next gen’s friendliest participant. “i am currently debating with myself about walking out that door. i don't belong here." 

the editors leave an awkward pause between eunwol’s confession, before seira has a chance to respond. she’s determined not to be rejected, though. “last year’s season, the person who originally placed last made it all the way to the final,” she smiles warmly again, “who says you don’t belong here? do you know how many people auditioned for the show, and only twenty-one made it, you passed the auditions, you deserve to be here”.

it seems to convince eunwol enough and the two begin to work together, seira helping him to feel more comfortable in this competition through being the one to ask him for help.

eunwol survives, despite the hardships, and finds himself standing in front of the judges for his performance. the three wait patiently for the music to begin again; they may very well be sick of hearing do better after about twenty times today.

the music begins, and it’s clear very quickly that eunwol has taken a different approach than many of the others. a cut back to the interview room, and the young man explains himself: “well i’m not sure if it will work, but i did try and be cute,” he tells the cameras. the scene cuts back to his performance and the movements he modified to fit his vibe better. the performance plays in its entirety uninterrupted, not once betraying the judges’ reactions to the rather bold choice until it comes to a close, eunwol smiling brightly as he holds the final pose.

a pause takes over the room as the judges frown into their notes.

“eunwol, what about do better made you think that it was a cute song?” jihun wastes no time with his criticism. “this is a solo performance, but keep in mind that you’ll be performing this with a group very soon. we’re here to evaluate your performance skills but you covered them up with your cutesy act, so i’m forced to believe that you’re actually quite lacking. is that the message you meant to send us?”

jihun doesn’t stop laying into the contestant with his harsh words. “if you don’t want to be here, you’re welcome to leave. there’s thousands of children and young adults around the world who want to be exactly in the spot you’re in right now. if you’re not grateful for this opportunity, you may as well do them a favor and drop out now.”

quiet uneasiness lingers in the few seconds after jihun finishes his tirade. it’s ran who’s bold enough to break the silence. “eunwol, even if you don’t trust yourself, you need to trust us as professionals who have been discovering and refining talent for years now. if we didn’t want to see more from you, you would not be here right now. i hope to see better effort from you in the next challenge, but i do hope to see you still with us for that.”

yuna sighs, the tension in the room still hanging vaguely in the air around them. she’s not so much of a fan of when jihun gets heated. “you’ll need to re-learn do better to do it properly for the mcountdown performance with the other contestants. in a team, you can’t just do your own thing. that’s going to be more important going forward, so please try to make an effort to be more of a team player. working with others is how you’ll succeed.”

eunwol all but sprints off the stage as soon as he’s dismissed. he’s looking a bit green, so the judges make no further comment.

with all performances complete, it’s time to gather the contestants to the stage as one big group. jian smiles at them as they take their places, the judges’ deliberation finishing up in the background behind them.

“contestants, you’ve been re-ranked based on your performances today. we’ll be revealing your positions from last place to first.”

one by one, the numbers are revealed. it shouldn’t be a surprise that moon jordan takes last place, his punishment for going rogue still weighing heavily on his shoulders. things start to get exciting with the top five, however. stevie, hangyeol, hyunki, and ara all have a shot at being the centers of their respective genders.

“in fifth place is… one of the girls,” jian announces. “so we’ll know who our female center is once this rank is announced. who do you think it will be?” she asks a few of the contestants, most declining to give an answer. jueun and ara’s faces are watched closely by the cameras.

“our fifth place contestant for episode two is… han jueun,” jian finally announces. the participants congratulate ara and applaud jueun, now that the battle has been decided. stevie, hangyeol, and hyunki are all still in the running.

it’s revealed, however, that stevie took fourth place for this particular episode. it’s still a great rank, but it brings hyunki and hangyeol, rivals set up by the judges since the first episode, into the final competition.

“in third place…” jian draws out the tension, the camera zooming in on each potential center’s face as they try to guess whose name will be on her lips in mere seconds. “please congratulate… choi hangyeol!” the top three ranks are revealed at once, hangyeol in third, just below ara, and hyunki taking first place for episode two. “congratulations hyunki, ara, you’ll be our male and female center for your performance of do better on mcountdown next week. everyone, please give yourselves a round of applause!”

a roar from the contestants goes up, though some may be lamenting their ranks.

“i have good news for all of you; there will be no eliminations this episode. however, next episode they will begin. those of you in lower ranks should do everything you can to rise quickly. those in higher ranks, don’t get too comfortable! you’ve seen how high hyunki jumped up, the same thing could happen in the wrong direction to any of you,” she warns the idol wannabes carefully, hoping they know how serious the next challenge will be.

“your next mission is the PERFORMANCE EVALUATION,” she announces. “this will be a head-to-head teamwork mission lead by our trainee coaches,” the camera pans to SARANG, RENYI, SEOJUN, NAYOUNG, DOHYUN, and CHAERIN briefly. “each of our trainees will be overseeing their own team. coaches, your responsibility is to be a guide and resource for your team, but not a leader. the contestants are being challenged to come up with their own unique performance of a senior’s song from each company.”

“this is your chance to show your creativity and how you can transform an existing song to be your own,” jian instructs the contestants. “but here’s the twist: two teams will have the same song. you’ll be battling head to head for who was able to create the better performance. the winning team will be entirely safe from eliminations. the losing team… not so much.” a hush falls over the crowd as the stakes are finally revealed.

“take a look at your team assignments,” she gestures up at the massive screen, which already shows six teams, their assigned coaches, and what song they’re tasked with making their own. “we can’t wait to see what you’ll show us next week.”

do better plays one more time as the title card takes over the screen, episode two finally complete.

[milo-my-beloved]

meet-cute

@bookishbunnies asked for a fic about the night Wylan and Jesper met in the show canon, so here you go!!

Summary:

meet-cute noun (in a film or television programme) an amusing or charming first encounter between two characters that leads to the development of a romantic relationship between them.

One meet-cute isn't enough for Jesper and Wylan. Here's the story of their first two.

Read under the cut // Read on AO3.

The first time Wylan lays eyes on Jesper is at the tannery.

Wylan thinks he's hallucinating. The bosses don't waste their profit by providing masks or goggles for their staff, so his eyes are blurry from stirring the bubbling vat of chemicals in front of him. This tall, grinning Zemeni man belongs in his dreams, not his workplace. But when he blinks away his tears, the man is still there, one hand tucked into the pocket of his lime plaid waistcoat, and the other perched on the pearl handle of a revolver on the hip of his yellow trousers.

His second thought, after pinching himself to check this is real, is that his father has sent another man to kill him. In broad daylight.

Instead of threatening his life, the man says, "Hear you know your way around a chemistry set."

"What?" Wylan expected him to shoot him, not ask him about his marketable skills. "I... yes. A bit."

"Just a bit?"

"I have a background," he hedges.

"Then come to this address when you get off work tonight." He holds out a folded piece of paper, a lazy smile on his face. Wylan takes it, his hands shaking as he looks down at the carefully arranged cursive and then back up at the stranger. "We have a job for you. A real job."

Wylan glances down at the tangle of letters. "I — I don't know where this is."

The man sighs. "You're not from here, are you?" Wylan shakes his head. "Fine. I'll come fetch you, because clearly I don't have anything to do with my time but squire new lilies around town. Wylan, right?"

He nods.

"Wylan what?"

"Wylan... Hendriks."

"You know much about demo, Wylan Hendriks?"

Sometimes, he swears the Barrel has its own language. "Demo?"

The man's grin widens. "The boom, the bang, the flint and the fuss," he says, gesturing wildly.

Wylan doesn't point out that such a vague explanation is entirely unhelpful, because this conversation feels important, somehow. "Sure."

"We'll see. Be out front at six bells. And no guns unless you want trouble."

"Of course not." Is it the chemicals or the insanity of the situation making him light-headed?

"Kaz has got to be out of his mind," the man mutters, before sauntering away, leaving Wylan alone with his chemicals and a head full of questions.

*****

Just past six bells, Wylan meets Kaz Brekker and Inej Ghafa for the first time. Desperate for enough cash to stay in the terrible boarding rooms he found on his first night in the Barrel, he agrees to make a handful of phosphorus bombs.

It should be a simple transaction: explosives, in exchange for enough kruge to see him through the next two weeks and a promise not to involve him in any more schemes. Like most things in Wylan's life, though, it complicates itself.

"I'm starving," declares Jesper once the meeting is over. They're standing outside the Slat and are definitely in the way of the Dregs coming and going, but neither of them are keen to leave. "You should come with me to get dinner."

Wylan's brain stops working. "What?"

Jesper rolls his eyes. He seems to do that a lot around Wylan. "I'm starving," he repeats, "and you must be hungry after working all day, so the solution to both of these problems would be..."

"Dinner," he finishes, slightly dazed.

"Exactly."

He has to crane his neck slightly to look up at Jesper. The light from the doorway illuminates one side of his face in a magical glow that has Wylan's fingertips itching for a paintbrush. But although Jesper may not have been sent to kill him, he's still dangerous. The Barrel is where the criminals and conmen come out to play, and Wylan isn't stupid enough to believe a man as handsome as Jesper Fahey is actually interested in him.

"It's quite late," he says.

"Past your bedtime?" He scoffs. "There's a place down the road that stays open all night. They serve the most delicious poffertjes, with the right amount of butter instead of the piddly amount the street vendors give you."

Wylan's stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but with the money Kaz is offering him to do this job...

"Let's go get dinner," he agrees.

After all, they're work colleagues now. They may as well be on friendly terms.

Jesper leads him to a cafe a few streets away with flower boxes in the windows. It's quiet this late at night, with only a handful of customers scattered around the tables and one waitress flitting between them. They seat themselves across from each other in one of the booths that line the left wall, and the waitress hands them each a menu and tells them she'll be back in a minute.

"Ooh, they have syrup now," says Jesper as he scans the menu.

On the few occasions Wylan's father was forced to bring him to dinner, he always ordered for him to avoid any potential embarrassment. Although it was condescending and his disappointment was palpable, he was always secretly relieved. Now, he's on his own, and he has to protect his own shame.

"What are you thinking of getting?" Jesper asks.

He shrugs. "What do you recommend?"

The waitress returns. The bags under her eyes are as black as ink; she must not be used to the night shift. Wylan can sympathise with her on that. "What can I get for you?"

"I'll have the poffertjes with apple syrup and a whiskey, please," Jesper says, shooting her a charming smile. It sparks jealousy in Wylan, even though Jesper isn't his to claim, and has talked to him as if he's a nuisance all night.

"I'll have the same," Wylan adds hurriedly. "And a tea, if that's alright."

She nods, scribbling down their order on her notepad. "Lovely. It'll be ready in a few minutes."

Once they're alone, Jesper turns his gaze onto Wylan. His focus tends to wander, to have all his attention focused on him makes him want to squirm in his seat. It takes all his restraint to sit still.

"So, tell me about yourself, Wylan Hendriks."

"What do you want to know?" Hopefully the questions are innocent enough for him to skirt around the truth without lying.

"I don't know. What's your favourite colour?"

He considers the question for a moment. It really depends on the day; as an artist, he knows how they all compliment each other, and are all beautiful in different circumstances. "Yellow," he answers, and then blushes furiously when he realises he picked the colour Jesper is wearing.

"Aw, that's such a happy colour. You really aren't from the Barrel, are you?"

Wylan shrugs. "What was I supposed to say? Blood red?"

"Mine's blue," Jesper says. "Brings out my eyes."

The waitress delivers their drinks and hurries off to one of the other tables.

"What do you like, then? What are you interested in?"

He feels a little like he's being interrogated, but that question is much easier to answer. "Music. Numbers. Equations. They're not like words. They... they don't get mixed up." He picks up the teapot and pours himself a cup, not daring to meet Jesper's eyes.

"If only you could talk to girls in equations," Jesper snorts.

There's a long silence, and then, eyes trained on his cup, Wylan says, "Just girls?"

Jesper's grin stretches so far it could split his face in half. "No. Not just girls."

Wylan ducks his head. His face feels like it's on fire. Luckily, the waitress saves him from further embarrassment by placing two identical plates on the table and promptly disappearing again.

Suddenly, he can't remember the last time he ate. He's had the little fried balls of batter before, of course — poffertjes are a Kerch staple — but never with syrup and neatly sliced chunks of apple before. Jesper was right, too; they pancake balls are slathered in a generous amount of butter, and they've sprinkled cinnamon on the top for good measure.

"Oh, wow," Wylan breathes, and his stomach growls as he carefully impales on on his fork and brings it to his watering mouth.

"I know, right? They look almost as fantastic as me." Jesper winks, and then adds, "And they taste just as good, too."

Wylan chokes. He has to thump his chest a few times to dislodge the unchewed lump of apple stuck in his throat, while Jesper laughs at his reaction.

They spend the rest of the dinner like that, every sentence bordering on flirting. Wylan busies himself with eating his heavenly food, and Jesper takes great pleasure in making him blush.

Once they're finished and the waitress returns with their bill, Jesper slaps down enough kruge to cover both their meals. "This one's on me," he insists with another wink, and Wylan feels the last of his resolve crumble into ash.

"Let me walk you home," Jesper offers as they leave the cafe.

He doesn't need to see how strapped Wylan really is. "You paid for dinner. I should be walking you home."

Jesper playfully waggles his eyebrows and grabs his hand. "In that case, escort me back to bed, sunshine."

He can't hide his grin at the nickname. They walk hand in hand for a while, Jesper swinging their arms back and forth as he explains all the best and worst places to eat in Ketterdam.

"And that's why you should never, ever eat at Sten's Stockpot," he finishes.

Wylan laughs. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, look!" Most of the street vendors have packed up their stalls by now, but there's one still standing on the corner with a basket of stroopwafels held close to his chest.

"I haven't had a stroopwafel in years," Jesper says.

He tugs them over to the vendor and reluctantly releases Jesper's hand so he can pull the kruge Kaz gave him out of his pocket. "How much for two?"

"Can't you read the sign?" The vendor complains. "One for one kruge, six for five."

"Must have missed it," Wylan says, forcing as much nonchalance into his tone as he can manage. He hands over five kruge and the man wraps up six stroopwafels in a brown paper bag. As they stroll away, Wylan takes one out and passes it to Jesper before biting into one of his own.

Jesper lets out a shameless moan. "Saints, they're still warm."

"Just as good as you remember?" Wylan asks.

"Gooey and delicious... and even better, because I had a cute boy buy me them."

He smiles. For the first time since he stepped foot in the Barrel, Wylan thinks he might actually be happy.

They walk the last two streets to the Slat in comfortable quiet as they eat. Every few bites, Jesper either lets out an inappropriate comment or noise, apparently unable to bear the silence for more than a minute at a time, and Wylan giggles at his jokes like a child.

When they reach the wonky building for the second time that evening, it's even louder than before. There's a mismatched group of men outside the front, clapping each other on the back and drinking out of hip flasks, so Jesper guides Wylan into the empty alleyway that runs parallel to the Slat.

Wylan's heart strikes against his ribs, creating an electrifying percussive rhythm. If Jesper had led him into a dark alley this morning, he would be terrified for a different reason, but looking up at him now, all he feels is excitement.

Jesper leans closer, their bodies inches away from each other. Wylan's back presses against the brick wall. All he can see are Jesper's plump lips, so close he can feel his breath on his cheek.

"Is this alright?" Jesper whispers.

Wylan answers the question by surging forwards to kiss him. It's an explosion; a bomb detonating in his heart. Jesper wastes no time in kissing him back, cupping his cheek with one hand and leaning the other against the wall so they both remain upright.

They break away after a few seconds to breathe, and the world narrows down to the two of them. Jesper's grinning like a fool, and Wylan's cheeks ache from matching his giddy ecstasy. He knows, in that moment, that he's wrecked. No man will ever invite fireworks into his heart quite like the sharpshooter in front of him.

"I think," Jesper says, panting for breath, "that we should take this inside."

Wylan has never agreed to anything faster in his life.

*****

Wylan's deal with Kaz was supposed to be a one time thing, but he was an idiot to ever believe that. His job at the tannery doesn't pay a living wage for apprentices like him, and busking with his flute in the evenings only brings in enough kruge to keep a (rather leaky) roof over his head. He's surprised he even lasted a month.

Kaz asked him when he last ate, and all he could think of was the poffertjes he'd shared with Jesper. He'd eaten since then, of course, but the loaves of stale bread and pickled herring aren't worthy of remembering.

More phosphorous bombs, and a package large enough to blow up a building. He didn't dare ask what he's planning to use it for.

At least he has a free place to sleep while he's on a job for Kaz. The workshop bed isn't as comfortable as his old one was, but it's akin to sleeping on a cloud compared to the stained, paper-thin mattress of the rooms he's been staying in. Besides, he finds the background noise of fizzing and bubbling relaxing.

Kaz left with the explosives an hour ago, so he's moved onto the phosphorous bombs. If the Darkling is sensitive to light, he change the equation to make them more powerful, just to be certain he isn't—

"Hello? Anyone here?"

Wylan glances up to find a man he thought he'd never see again standing on the stairs of his workshop.

"Oh. Hi." His fingers fumble and he nearly drops the vial of chemicals he's holding. "I—I wasn't expecting you." If he had been, he would have worn a jumper that isn't singed.

"And you are?" Jesper asks, drawing out the last syllable.

"We've..." No. It's probably best if he doesn't remember. "Uh, Wylan."

"No, I mean why did Kaz have us meet here?"

He places the vial down on the table, trying not to acknowledge his disappointment. Maybe Jesper truly doesn't remember, or maybe he's pretending to avoid any awkwardness. Either way, he won't be the one to bring up their dinner. "I guess, um, I'm your demolitions man."

"You?" Jesper raises an eyebrow, staring at Wylan incredulously. "You've got all your fingers."

"Well, maybe I'm careful."

Jesper leans closer, speaking slowly as though he thinks Wylan is an idiot. It's the same tone his father used to use with him, and he hates it. "Careful is something you learn from losing your fingers."

The door clangs and Kaz strides down the stairs, his expression even more terrifying than earlier.

"So, this novice is telling me that he's our new demo man. Raske is better. Or even Pim!"

Kaz glares at him, clearly not in the mood. "And yet Wylan is the one I hired."

"Shouldn't you be graduating university and, I don't know, starting a desk job?"

That has never been a possibility for Wylan. But, just as he opens his mouth to refute Jesper's condescension, the door opens again and Inej and another woman join them.

"You're here," Kaz says. Wylan recognises the look on his face; it's the same way he felt in that alleyway with Jesper, when the whole world narrows down to one person.

"With our new Heartrender," she says, and then they're launching into the plan and he doesn't have time to mourn his not-quite relationship.

*****

Pairing Wylan with Jesper is a choice born of practicality, but he can't help but suspect Kaz knows more than he's letting on. He tries to focus on the task at hand, his eyes flicking between Pekka's driver and their horses.

Jesper sticks his head through the gap, intent on distracting him.

Wylan goes on the offensive. "A rat-catcher carriage?" he says slowly, dragging out each word. "I thought you said you got this from a friend?"

"Friend-ish," Jesper corrects. "She did manage to remove the rats, so there's that." He pauses, and Wylan can feel his breath on his neck. "How do you know Kaz?"

So much for trying to steer the conversation away from this."I can't honestly say that I know Kaz. He asked me to make a few phosphorus bombs for him. I didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Because Wylan didn't want to become a criminal. Because he wanted to use his skills for good, not to wage war on the leader of the Second Army or the king of the Barrel. Because he didn't want to draw any attention to himself.

"Because I knew he'd use them for something like this," he says instead. It's still true.

That being said... "Did it work?" he asks, glancing back at Jesper. The only thing worse than a reluctant demolitions man is a reluctant demolitions man whose bombs don't work.

"Oh, it worked." He sounds genuinely impressed. "Not many people can go up against General Kirigan and live to tell about it. Where'd he find you?"

Wylan refrains from rolling his eyes. "I was apprenticing at the tannery, so I guess he knew that I was good with chemicals."

Jesper frowns. "Tannery? That sounds familiar... have we met before?"

This time, he does roll his eyes. Before he can jog Jesper's memory, they land on two officers dressed in a purple uniform. "Stadwatch," he warns. Jesper ducks inside the carriage and Wylan waits until the two men are out of sight before telling him the coast is clear.

Jesper pokes his head back through the hatch, grinning, and Wylan sighs. What is he doing here? Why is he allowing Jesper to forget him?

"Thank you," Jesper says, a little quieter than before.

He takes a deep breath. "I know that you're not thrilled about being paired with me, but you should know that... you can trust me."

"To be clear, I trust you 'cause Kaz trusts you."

He tries not to take that as rejection. "And you trust Kaz?"

"Listen," Jesper says, sounding mildly offended. "I'm not about to dissect my long-standing working relationship with Kaz Brekker with a total stranger."

Wylan turns a full 180 degrees to check whether he's serious. Ghezen, he really doesn't remember, does he? He can count the number of people who have seen him naked on one hand, but Jesper can't even recognise a man he had a dinner date with.

"Eyes on Pekka's driver," Jesper says.

He turns back to the street, the realisation stinging more than it should. They were never destined to be more than a one-night stand and he's a fool for thinking otherwise. It's a good thing he left before Jesper woke up.

Pekka's driver takes a sharp left turn and Wylan forces himself to focus on the task at hand rather than his depressing love life. "He's rounding the corner."

"Follow him."

They turn onto the same street, but Pekka's driver is gone. Wylan tugs on the horses' reigns, bringing them to an abrupt stop.

"He's... he's gone." It's as if the carriage disappeared into the mist. He looks back at Jesper, searching his face for answers and trying not to panic. "He's gone."

"This isn't right," Jesper says, as if that isn't obvious.

Then, the shooting starts.

*****

Before Wylan moved to the Barrel, he never had to pay much attention to keeping himself alive. Beyond meeting his basic needs, the biggest threat he faced was choking or tripping down the stairs.

That has changed drastically over the past few weeks.

Pekka's driver led them straight into a trap, which means the others are in as much danger as they are. But even though he's terrified and could be only a few seconds away from a gruesome death, all he can think of is the way Jesper is lying on top of him.

Once again, his brain feels like it's on fire. Chemical reactions pop and fizz at the close contact and he can't tell whether his heart is pounding from terror or attraction.

Jesper looks down at him, their noses brushing against each other, and for the first time he really sees Wylan. "Wait, we have met before, haven't we?"

"Yes, but—" He's interrupted by another spay of bullets which has him clamping his eyes shut and leaning closer to Jesper.

"You brought me stroopwafels!" Jesper says, grinning the same way he did the night they met.

Wylan stares at him, wondering whether one or both of them have lost their minds. "You remember that now?"

And then Jesper is saving him, and he falls all over again.

*****

By the time they near Black Veil, some of the adrenaline is wearing off.

"You left those stroopwafels behind," Jesper says, as if it's much more important than them both nearly dying.

"I know," Wylan says. Leaving early is a coward's choice, but picturing the smile on Jesper's face when he saw he left him breakfast eased his pain slightly. "You would enjoy them more than me."

Jesper smirks. "You're adorable, you know that?"

Wylan blushes. "I might need you to tell me again."

Maybe their relationship isn't doomed after all.

[collecting-stories]

Ice Pack - Steve Harrington

Request: Heyo can you write a Steve Harrington x female reader. So y/n has a headache and she can barely take her head of the pillow because it hurts so much. (I have a massive headache and I can barely move, also sorry for spelling mistakes). Thank you 💜💙

A/N: Coincidentally, I have a headache while I’m writing this. 

Stranger Things Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The bedroom was so dark that you couldn’t have seen your hand in front of your face. Added to that, you were currently burrowed under a thick comforter, two fans and the AC going, you had effectively plunged your room into a cave like atmosphere...as if you’d brought the upside down into your little suburban bedroom.  

It wasn’t the typical look for your bedroom but you couldn’t fathom doing more than adjusting the pillow under your head, the dull ache that you’d gone to sleep with had somehow morphed itself into something worse, a thudding in the front of your brain, right behind your eyes, that was destroying your ability to be a normal functioning human. You weren’t even sure what time it was anymore; you been laying in the dark for what felt like hours but could’ve honestly been minutes. The only time you’d been disturbed was when your mom came in to wake you up for school before realizing that the possibility of you going to school was slim to none.  

You would’ve kept sleeping, or trying to, if it wasn’t for someone (Steve Harrington, curse his perfect hair and pretty face) barging into your room. The door clanged against the wall, echoing in your head and you groaned, rolling away from the door. “Steve...what the hell!”

“What, did somebody die...what’s with the set up in here Beetlejuice.” He grimaced, flicking on the bedroom lights and illuminating the space.  

“For the love of God, turn the light off.” You moaned, “please.”

“It’s practically dinner time!” Steve’s voice felt louder than usual though you were sure he was only talking at a normal volume. The lights were burning behind your eyes and you imagined your brain on fire in that moment. You just wanted to turn everything back off again.  

“Steve,” you braved rolling over, tucking the blanket down beneath your chin in hopes that Steve might notice the bags under your eyes and your hair all messed up on the pillow, “please, turn the lights off...I don’t feel good.”

He had stopped talking, stopped moving, taking in your state of being before he backed himself up to the door and closed it. He flicked the light off again, sending the room plummeting back into darkness, “Are you okay?” He asked, only once he’d fixed the problem.  

“Obviously not.” You managed to sass, pulling the covers back over your head as your room was returned to it’s darken state.  

“Is there anything I can do?” Steve’s ability to go from annoying to sweet in under a minute was always a little too quick for your liking. How were you supposed to stay mad at that?

You mulled the thought over in your mind, trying to decide what might possibly bring some relief to your pounding head. Finally you nodded, “will you get me a popsicle, an ice-pack, and more water?” Your arm flailed off the bed for a moment before you found the handle of your water bottle on the floor, lifting it out to Steve.  

“Ice-pop, ice-pack, water,” he repeated, grabbing the bottle from you, “that all?”

You hummed, “it’s too early for me to take more ibuprofen.”

“Back in a flash.” Steve left the room and you cursed under your breath as you lifted the blanket back over your head to block out the blinding light from the hallway. He had left the bedroom door wide open, letting the lights and noise from the other parts of the small house pour into your space, invading the cave that you’d built to contain your headache.  

It was only when the dull hum of the TV from the living room died down suddenly that you chanced opening your eyes and moving the blanket once more. In the dark you could make out the silhouette of Steve, returned like he said he would, with all three items in hand. He placed the water bottle on the floor before covering your forehead and your eyes with the icepack, something he’d watched you do countless times when you had a migraine.  

“What flavor did you get?” You asked as you heard the rustling of plastic being pulled off the popsicle.  

“Lime,” he pressed the end of the bar to your mouth and you opened, gripping the ice-y snack in your teeth so that he could let go of it. Once he had you found the wooden stick, pulling it back out of your mouth.  

“My mom bought a whole arsenal of them this morning when I told her I didn’t feel good. She bought ginger-ale and saltines too, just to be safe.”

“The medicine’s not working?” Steve asked, taking a seat on your bed. He was unfazed by the ridiculous look you knew you were sporting right then, if he could even see it clearly.

“Hopefully the second dose will do the trick.” You replied, the cold from the ice-pack already starting to numb the feeling behind your eyes. “I’ll be pretty comatose for a while though...not exactly the most exciting company.”

“Oh that’s fine, I promised your mom I’d be right back out...she’s watching General Hospital and I think it’s supposed to be the conclusion of the shooting arch...I wanna see who the killer is.” He replied, leaning over to kiss the part of your nose that wasn’t covered by the ice-pack.  

“I can’t believe you guys are gonna watch that without me!” You moaned.  

We’ll record it, promise.” Just as he said it your mom called from the other room that the commercial break was over and the episode was starting, “Coming!” He called back, kissing you quickly before standing up, “I’ll check on you at the commerical.”

“Unbelievable!” You shouted after him.  

[trentaafcsblog]

Midnight Memories

Mason Mount

This isn’t like him at all. Trapped in a crowd of drunk and disorderly people who are staggering around to the beat of the music, sloshing their drinks all over one another when the pink and purple strobe lights descend upon their bodies and start flashing in a series of random patterns, enhancing their alcohol-induced illusions and perceptions of the world as they flail their limbs around and claim they’re flying or walking on clouds - a stage that Mason isn’t willing to reach tonight, or any night, for that matter. 

A sea of girls in overly tight dresses and heels that barely support them crowding around him and slurring things in his ear. Running their fingers up his bare arms and begging for another drink as he awkwardly shakes his head and tries to break away from them, only for another person to grip onto him from the other side and smear their cheap sticky lipgloss all over his neck in an attempt to add ‘I kissed a footballer’ to their CV. “Just kiss meee” they whine, pouting in his face and trying to pull him closer before giving up and making a move on the next available man, one who’s willing to explore their mouths and buy them endless rounds of multicoloured shots for the rest of the night without gently shoving them away or not-so-subtly avoiding their alcohol-coated lips.

This isn’t your type of place either, although you’re five cocktails deep into the stack of pornstars that your friends insisted on ordering. A stain down the front of your white bodycon dress thanks to an escapee half a passion fruit that decided to leave your triangular glass in order to explore the vomit-tainted floor. Your lips all patchy now that your lipgloss has migrated to decorate the rim of your empty glasses with sparkly nude smudges, although you’re slightly relieved because it means that your hair won’t get coated in it anymore, and it minimises the evidence if you end up kissing someone too, not that you came here to do that, or risk putting yourself in the same category as the girls that are now trying to climb into the VIP section with a bunch of semi-famous people, all because they want a drunk kissing video to plaster across their social media, hoping that it takes them to the front of the papers in the morning for being such-and-such’s ‘mystery girl’.

You’re looking up at the VIP area cordoned off by security guards in black puffer jackets and walkie talkies in their hands, feeling an overwhelming sense of empathy for all of the people that have to tolerate that kind of behaviour. Your eyes start scanning across the section of the club that is far too expensive for just a few hours’ stay, wondering if you can recognise any famous faces, but it’s just the ‘I lasted one day in the Villa and still managed to secure a Pretty Little Thing brand deal’ Love Islanders and the friend of the friend of the friend of a semi-professional footballer that made one twelve minute appearance for Arsenal back in 2010 and thinks he’s God’s gift. All of them either eating each other’s faces or taking boomerangs of them cheers-ing their margaritas before having to retake the same video five times because they’ve lost several lime slices in the process and it’s ruining the aesthetic. Your focus sharpening on someone with their back to you and at least ten girls around them, taking it in turns to have a drunken selfie or begging him to buy them a bottle of champagne with one of those fancy sparkler things on the top that gets brought out by women wearing elaborate carnival-inspired feather headbands and very revealing dresses. And you can’t help but feel sorry for him because you can tell just from the back of his head that he’s incredibly uncomfortable, even more so when he gets offered a blowjob from a girl who’s now threatening to get her boobs out in exchange for a whole bottle of Don Julio, in a bucket of ice, just how she likes it.

He’s turning around to face the rest of the club just as you go to look away at the menu that’s being wafted under your nose by one of your friends, and you can’t help but do a double take at his familiarity. Squinting your eyes so that you can get a better look at his features. ‘Nice drink’ you think when your eyes catch the glass of Diet Coke in his hand, quite obviously not accompanied by a swig of vodka going by his incredibly tense frame and stiff dance moves. Well, it’s not really dancing, it’s more of a ‘I’ll just copy what my friends are doing so I don’t look awkward’ move, aka a two-step shuffle from one side to the other. You can’t help but giggle as you watch him from across the room, your friends completely giving up on trying to entice you with a selection of expensive cocktails as they leave you to stare at some random man on the other side of the club, their need for a second stack of bright coloured drinks clearly overriding the want to look out for their friend.

You’re watching him for a bit longer. Becoming completely fixated on this familiar stranger who you can’t help but sit and giggle at. Part of you wanting to cringe with him at how hellish this night has become, but at the same time, it’s kind of funny watching someone who should be so used to having a large following blush and laugh awkwardly if anyone happens to recognise him. Okay, maybe it’s slightly uncomfortable to sit and watch a swarm of girls attack him with their overdrawn lips whilst he does everything in his will to not shove them into next week, especially when his friends start laughing and taking little videos of the awkward encounters, clearly ready to embarrass him at a later date. But regardless, it’s nice to know that fame hasn’t gone completely to his head, unlike an ex-reality TV star who’s screaming ‘do you know who I am?’ at one of the bouncers who won’t let her hang out with her ‘friends’ in the VIP section.

But you’re quickly forced out of your trance when you feel somebody shoving something into your hand. Looking down at your palm and clocking the ten pound note before your eyes are lifting to the hand that it’s been given from. “Go and get us those cocktails” your friend slurs before slumping back in her seat and falling to one side slightly, her pink lipstick slathered all over her chin from where she’d tried to apply it without a mirror when a man wearing an extremely tight fitting top happened to settle down in the booth next to you, obviously hoping that he’d look her way. “Hurry up, I’m thirstyyy” your other friend whines, making you sigh and mutter something under your breath in reference to them being lazy and ruining your evening, as you slide out of the row of pink arched seats and stand up. Having to grip onto the back of the chairs when your legs go all warm and fuzzy from the one too many cocktails you’d already consumed, pulling your dress down to a more appropriate length before heading off in the direction of the bar. Trying to catch a glimpse of Mason as you swerve in and out of the sea of dancing bodies, but you just end up feeling as though you’re going to fall to the floor when the strobe lights start spinning on the ceiling before dispersing their blue and green beams around the room at the most ridiculous speed. Everybody around you swaying from side to side and elbowing you in the ribs as you try your best to dodge them, kicking yourself for wearing the most stupid pair of heels as your toes crush into each other more and more with each step, cursing when you skid in a puddle of what looks like - or at least you hope is - vodka, and you have to grab onto a stranger’s arm to steady yourself, much to their dismay until they catch a glimpse of your apologetic face and suddenly want to make out with you.

You’re breathing a sigh of relief when you finally make it to the bar, setting your bag down on the counter and ordering what you think your friends want, although you probably should have double-checked with them first considering you were too busy having a nosy at someone across the club to pay any sort of interest to their alcohol preferences. “What?” you’re shouting at the barman when he tells you the total of the drinks, hoping that you’ve misheard him but ten pounds clearly isn’t going to cover the cost of sixteen cosmopolitans with added shots of vodka. Panicking when he repeats the price and turns his back to get started on making them, your hands now frantically searching your bag in the hope that you manage to find the extra money before he starts yelling at you for ordering things without being able to pay. “Fuck” you’re hissing as you turn the contents of your bag out onto the countertop, checking the inside of your phone case and a pressed powder incase they happen to house the remaining money. Your heartbeat pounding louder in your ears the closer it gets to having to admit that you’ve actually only got a quarter of what you need. 

“I’ll get it” someone’s saying, clearly sensing the tension between you and the barman as you shrug your shoulders in response to him sticking his hand out for the money. “I’m not a charity” you snap back, your slightly tipsy state giving you a rush of confidence as you continue to search your bag in the hope that the money has magically appeared just so that you can laugh it off and shut everyone up. “I know, but it’s on me” they’re saying again, leaning forward and tapping their card on the machine before you can even consider fighting back a second time. “Thank-” you’re starting before realising who it is that’s just saved you from an incredibly awkward situation. Surely not. Surely Mason Mount hasn’t just bought you, of all people, a load of cocktails for your mates.

“It’s okay” he laughs nervously, making your heart melt because clearly he’s just as awkward around you as he is everybody else in this club. “Prices have gone up, haven’t they?” he smiles as he takes a step closer to you, propping himself up on the countertop with his elbows before asking the barman for a lemonade, with ice, just so it isn’t too fizzy. “Yeah, I don’t normally come out so I underestimated it a bit” you laugh shyly before looking off in the other direction, simultaneously cursing and thanking your friends for leading you to believe that you could get sixteen cocktails for a tenner, because without their stupidity, you wouldn’t be talking to the boy that you’ve been watching all night. “Prefer to stay at home then?” he asks as you turn back and nod your head. “Me too” he’s saying, “I’m normally in bed by now” he giggles as his gaze rises to the clock above the bar, the time reading 00.04am. The slight dark glow under his eyes letting you know that he’s normally tucked up by 9pm in his pyjamas. “What are you doing here then?” you ask. Stupid question really. He’s here for the same reason that you, and probably half of the people here, are - he’s been dragged along and forced to pretend that he’s a right party animal whilst he sips his non-alcoholic drinks and fights off every woman in sight. “My mates made me tag along, I’m kind of glad they did now though” he’s telling you, the second part of his sentence almost becoming inaudible as his voice quietens just as the volume of the music rises with the chorus of ‘My Yé Is Different’, ironic since you’ve just spotted the twenty grand watch decorating his wrist whilst you’re stood there in a passion fruit stained dress. But you’re still managing to hear it, and you can’t work out whether that’s in reference to you, or the fact that he’s been able to drink fizzy drinks when he’d normally only have water. Except you’re not stupid. 

“Bet you say that to everyone” you tease, gaining his attention again as he laughs nervously and shakes his head. “Only the special ones” he replies, which is true, but now you can’t help but wonder if his drinks have been accompanied by a few shots of something or another because those words and the sincerity of his tone aren’t a reflection of the awkward man you spotted ten minutes ago, let alone the fact that he clearly considers you to be one of these ‘special ones.’ “Yeah, yeah” you’re saying back, flicking your hair over your shoulder before taking a sip of one of the cocktails that are sat before you, still waiting to be taken back to your friends. “Got quite a few drinks for somebody that doesn’t go out much, no wonder you needed me to pay” he winks as you roll your eyes and blush at the thought of somebody having to give you a helping hand with the price. “This is my last one, I’m off in a minute cose I can’t keep up with everyone else” you’re shouting over the music, watching him throw his head back and laugh because he thought he was the only one in that position. “I’ll join you” he’s replying, thanking the barman for his drink before taking a sip through the straw. “Not the sort of thing you say to a girl after only knowing her two minutes, Mason” you’re teasing, studying his face as his eyes blow wide slightly and he shakes his head, quickly swallowing his lemonade before stuttering on his words. Unsure whether he’s panicking about you jokingly misinterpreting his comment, or if he’s uncomfortable over the fact that yet another girl knows his name, but either way, he’s laughing awkwardly when you tell him that you’re only messing. 

“I wouldn’t mind though” you say smugly, causing another nervous giggle to escape his lips. Your alcohol-induced confidence only adding to the butterflies that are already batting their wings against his rib cage, something about your slight feistiness and sarcastic sense of humour attracting him to you, even more so when he takes in how beautiful you still look despite being on the verge of your alcohol limit.

“Where are you going afterwards?” he’s asking once the lights have swivelled around in the opposite direction and the blush on his cheeks isn’t so evident. “I’ll just go to the chippy down the road and then get a taxi home” you’re telling him, looking down into the fluorescent pink concoction in your glass and feeling your stomach churn at how rough it’s going to make you feel in the morning. “Mind if I join you?” he’s asking as you look across at him in disbelief, watching as he downs the last few sips of his drink and stands the glass back on the countertop. Is this a dream or something? “Sorry, that was a bit forward...again” he panics, feeling a surge of anxiety run through his body incase he’s greeted with newspaper headlines in the morning about him unintentionally trying to latch onto girls that aren’t interested in him, even if half of the club know his name. 

“No, it’s fine, of course you can” you laugh, your cocktail glass almost slipping out of your grip thanks to the layer of sweat that is now developing across your palm. “I’ll just take these over to the girls and then I’ll be ready” you smile, looping the strap of your bag over your shoulder and grabbing as many glasses as you can, which really isn’t a wise move since you’ve partially lost all sense of coordination thanks to Mason’s ability to wipe any drop of confidence out of your body and replace it with nervous butterflies. 

“I’m off” you’re announcing once you’ve made your third trip back to the booth your friends are sitting in, their drunken reactions to your words making you giggle as you reach over them to grab your jacket. “Where are you goinggg?” one of them whines, gripping onto your leg and pouting before another one is drawn to the verge of tears at your confession. “I’m just tired” you nod, blowing them all a kiss and ensuring that they text you when you’re home as you turn around and head off towards the exit, not wanting to keep Mase waiting any longer. Praying that he’s stood just around the corner outside as he’d promised as you stagger across the dance floor and dodge a sea of flailing limbs and slurred shouts of ‘can I get your number?’. A sigh of relief forcing itself out of your nostrils when the ‘exit’ sign hanging above one of the fire doors becomes within touching distance and the bouncer in charge anticipates your departure, pushing down the grey bar across the middle of the door and letting it swing open, enabling you to step out into the night.

“There you are” you smile as you approach the back of his figure, his head kept down and a cap adding a nice accessory to his outfit, although it’s definitely worn as some form of disguise. “Hi” he’s smiling nervously when he realises that it’s you, a swarm of butterflies invading his tummy again when you link your arm through his and gently rest your head on the top of his shoulder - a move that you’re aware might push you into the same category as the other girls that have been after him all night, but your crippled feet and wobbly legs are grateful for the extra stability, even if your motivation to make that move takes you both by surprise. 

“Let me get this” you’re saying once you’ve made your way into the kebab shop, your arm dropping away from his as you gesture towards the table up against the front window. “You sure?” he’s asking, dipping his hand into his back pocket ready to pull his wallet out just incase, but you’re nodding and confirming that you’re more than capable of paying four-pound-fifty for a kebab and a couple of drinks - just as well really after the events earlier this evening. Giving him a small smile as he turns and heads off towards the table in the corner, his celebrity instincts kicking when he takes the seat right in front of the glass, conveniently covered by a sticker of the menu, and some extra protection offered from the back of his body. 

You’re setting the gold foam kebab box down on your table for two, along with two plastic forks, a bottle of water and a Fruit Shoot because you noticed him eyeing them up in the fridge when you came in. And it turned out to be one of the hardest decisions of your life trying to work out what flavour he wanted. Maybe it was the alcohol that was messing with your brain, making you think that he was more of an citrus guy than a berry one. Or maybe it was the fact that you were buying a child’s drink for a fully grown adult, a famous one too, who probably hasn’t had one for ten years, which only added to the pressure. Or maybe it was because you liked him and you didn’t want to ruin your chances by getting him the wrong flavour. But after flicking your gaze between the stack of bright coloured bottles and his body cowering away in the corner, you settled for the blackcurrant one, just because he looks like the type of person to play it safe - well, he is the type of person to play it safe, going by his Diet Coke and lemonade choices tonight. 

“This for me?” he’s asking as he picks the purple bottle up, smiling when you nod to confirm his answer. “How did you know this was my favourite flavour?” he’s questioning, a smug look appearing on your face as you shrug your shoulders and reply with ‘only the ‘special ones’ know that kind of information’. A giggle escaping his mouth at your words before he’s pulling the plastic lid off the drink and taking a sip, humming at the familiarity despite not having one since his seventh birthday party. “Still as good as they used to be” he’s saying, something about the additional happiness that’s now surging through his body after a drop of blackcurrant juice making your tummy fill with butterflies because he really is just the cutest, biggest child.

You’re both sitting in a comfortable silence as you pick at your shared kebab, trying to eat from separate ends so that you don’t cross any boundaries or run the risk trying to stab your forks into the same piece of chicken. But the fuzzy filter that the alcohol has brought to your eyes and the slight delay that it’s caused between your thoughts and your actions means that you find yourself diving into the last piece of pitta bread just at the same time that Mason does. And from his side it’s a poor judgement call. The sugar from his Fruit Shoot clearly giving him an extra boost of energy and causing his arm to extend outwards towards the polystyrene box, clouding his mum’s reminder that ‘you need be a gentleman and let girls eat whatever’s left, even if you want it’. And truth be told, he doesn’t really want it, which is why the pang of anxiety as soon as his plastic fork clashes with yours is stronger than ever. His cheeks turning a violent shade of crimson as he quickly pulls his fork back, leaving just four little holes from where the prongs had been as you panic and do the same.

“Sorry, no you have it” he says quietly, nudging the box towards you in the hope that you get the hint. “No, you eat it” you smile, pushing it back towards him. The two of you just repeating the same movement as the box moves two centimetres one way, and then two centimetres back the other. “Mason, just eat it!” you whine as he sits opposite you and shakes his head. “I said you could have it” he smiles nervously, subtly wiping the sweat off his palms and onto the material of his jeans when he realises that you’re staring straight into his eyes. “Why are you getting all nervous for? Just eat ittt” you groan, a giggle escaping his lips because there’s no way you’re backing down on this one. “Fine” he huffs, stabbing his fork back into the little holes that it made earlier before slowly moving it towards his mouth. Your eyebrows raising more and more as you watch it edge closer to his lips. And then he’s doing the unthinkable and quickly changing the direction of his fork so that it starts heading towards your mouth instead. Involuntarily parting your lips whilst you wait for what’s just happened to register, and the next thing you know, you’re swallowing the piece of pitta bread. 

“What a fuss about nothing” he hums as you roll your eyes at him. “You’re quite romantic, aren’t you?” you tease as his eyebrows furrow in the middle, waiting for you to clarify your comment. “Is that all of the alcohol that’s made you so desperate to share the last piece of food with me?” you question, another layer of blush painting itself across the tops of his cheeks. “Oh, sorry, you didn’t have anything to drink, did you? Lightweight” you smirk, making him roll his eyes this time. “I’m just being a gent, plus you’ve been drinking so you need something to sober you up, maybe it’ll stop you being so rude next time I offer to buy you a drink” he says smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in the chair. A wave of composure washing over him now that he’s left you slightly speechless and he’s matched your sense of humour. “Next time? You’ll be lucky” you sass as he scoffs at you. “You’re the one that needs to buy me a drink to apologise for snapping at me, so there will be a next time to call it quits, thank you” he smiles, his sudden burst of confidence talking to you allowing his real personality to shine through, and you can’t help but start to get lost in it. “Was I really that rude?” you ask, secretly dying as you think back to your ‘I’m not a charity’ comment at the bar. “No, I’m just messing” he laughs, eliciting the same response from you as you erase that memory out of your brain. “You’re just confident, I like it” he’s saying, the last part of his comment getting lost when a group of people come staggering through the door, drowning out his words for the second time tonight, but you’re ninety-nine percent certain you managed to catch it. And now you’re the nervous one.

You’re quickly moving the conversation on to something else when you feel your chest starting to heat up with anxious prickles. Mason going all funny inside because it’s clear that he has the same effect on you as you do him, but he’s trying to push that to the back of his mind as he listens to you rambling on about your favourite breed of dogs, and how you had a fish finger sandwich for tea before you came out tonight, and how you actually know quite a lot about football but you’re reluctant to bring it up because you don’t want to embarrass him, although your drunken state causes you to let a few football facts slip out, all of them relating to Mase but you’re too caught up in your fuzzy alcoholic state to even recognise. But he does, obviously. Finding it sweet how you know exactly how many appearances he’s made for Chelsea, and what minute he came on in his debut against Manchester United, and what colour boots he wore against last season’s match against Newcastle. Just sitting back and letting you talk in between the occasional swig of water, hardly being able to get a word in edgeways because the alcohol is well and truly running through your veins now, making you come out with all kinds of mismatched comments and slurs. But he doesn’t mind, which takes him by surprise a bit, especially as he’s secretly scared of drunk people and he can count the amount of times he’s felt a bit tipsy on one hand, but there’s something different about you. Maybe it’s your sense of humour and how you’ve got him in stitches, or how your drunken state leads you to be more concerned about the welfare of a stray cat outside than it does anything else on the planet, or maybe it’s how deep beneath that strong outer shell you’re protecting yourself with that he knows you’ve got a heart of gold, an inside of ‘pure mush’ as his mum would say. 

“What time is it?” you slur after knocking back your last swig of water. “Nearly one o’clock” Mason’s replying, glancing at his overly-expensive watch as you sit there and wonder how he actually knows what hour of the day it is when all of the numbers have been replaced by diamonds. “Better head off” you mumble, staring blankly into the empty kebab box and trying to process what move you need to make next in order to get yourself back home in one piece. “I’ll order you a cab if you want, or I’ll walk you back, I don’t know how far away you live” he’s saying, forcing you out of your trace as you look up at his tired, bloodshot eyes. Knowing full well that as soon as you’re gone he’ll be running home to bed with a glass of water to tone down the bubbles in his tummy from his fizzy drinks, paranoid incase they give him a fizzy version of a hangover. “I live about half an hour away and I can tell you’re ready for bed so I’ll go with the cab” you smile, making him giggle nervously at the fact that his tiredness has been uncovered, although it’s not difficult to pick up on the fact that the only other time he stays up this late is on New Years Eve, and even then he normally sets an alarm for 11.57pm so that he can wake up from his nap in time.

You’re letting him help you put all of your belongings back into your handbag after you insisted on showing him your favourite lipgloss midway through your earlier conversation. Linking your arm through his and stepping out into the coldness of the night, a breeze nipping across your legs and causing you to let out a little squeal as you start pulling your dress down to try and hide your goosebumps. “Here” Mason’s saying, taking his jacket off and draping it over your shoulders. “Mase” you’re replying. Mase - he likes that, and he likes how naturally it’s left your mouth too. Trying to give it back to him but he’s adamant that you keep it. “Gives me another reason to see you in order to get it back” he winks, making you roll your eyes as you stand snuggled into his side on the edge of the pavement. 

“Did you want my number?” he’s asking, already taking his phone out of his pocket and holding it out in your direction before you even have chance to respond. “You’ve not really given me an option have you?” you laugh, making him giggle as he shuffles awkwardly from side to side, waiting for your digits to appear on the screen. “Only because I need to give your jacket back, there’s no other reason for this” you tell him, smiling as he nods his head but you both know that’s a little white lie. “There you go” you’re saying, passing his phone back to him as his eyes study the new contact in his hand. A new number written beneath Y/N. 

‘Shit’ he’s thinking. He didn’t even ask for your name before this. Awkward. 

“Pretty name” he smiles, trying to play it off cool, but you’re not drunk enough to not notice his mistake. “So pretty that you didn’t even know that’s what I was called until now” you reply, making him giggle and let out an awkward ‘oops’. “I’ll let you off this once” you’re saying as you look up at him stood beneath the lamppost that’s towering above the two of you. A golden glow adding a filter to his face and making him look even more gorgeous than he did when he was sipping his lemonade in the club and shoving lettuce and chicken into his mouth. And you’re desperate to just kiss him, especially since he’s got a bit of dried Fruit Shoot in the corner of his mouth and you know his lips will taste all sweet like they do in the movies. But considering he’s only just learnt your name you don’t think it’s the right time, and there’s also a bunch of Tottenham fans making their way up the street, not wanting to have to make him endure any teasing, especially when he’s already stayed up late in a part of town he wouldn’t usually be seen dead in to spend time with you. 

“Thanks for tonight” you whisper as you briefly rest your head on his shoulder, pulling it away when the taxi he’s ordered for you appears at the side of the curb. “My pleasure, thank you” he’s saying back, removing his protective hand from the small of your back and stepping forward to open the back door of the car for you. “Told you that you were a gent” you tease as he mumbles ‘shut up’ and pretends to shove you into the back seat with a giggle. “See you soon for that jacket, yeah?” he winks as you reply with ‘yeah yeah, whatever’, making him let out a little chuckle as he closes the door on you. Giving you an awkward little wave as you head off down the street, standing and waiting for your car to turn the corner before heading home himself. Leaving just a message of ‘thank you again, can’t wait to get my jacket back cose it’s freezing without it ;) x’ that’s just appeared on your screen connecting the two of you. And even if you have been slightly tipsy tonight and now can’t remember half of the things you spoke about, there genuinely doesn’t seem like a better person to sit in a kebab shop with in the early hours of the morning after stumbling across him by pure chance a club that neither of you particularly wanted to spend the night at. Thanking your lucky stars for allowing your paths to cross because you already know this is the start of something special. Very special.

[ohtobeleah]

Okay but I wanna know what happened at the pub. for In Production

In Production Series

The Interview Series

Summary: The events of the dinner and drinks with Sebastian at the pub. Prequel to hand to hand.

Dinner and one beer, one fucking beer! That’s what you’d agreed to. Sebastian however, he had other plans. Dinner was ordinary—you’d had your fair share of amazing pub schnitzels. Tonight’s order was anything but spectacular, the company however? Was perfect.

“My prized possession?” Sebastian repeated back to you over the music, you nodded with a mouthful of food. “What’s my prized possession? god you’re so weird.” Sebastian chuckled. Rubbing his chin as he thought for a moment. “A candle stick holder, an old casting director gave it to me way back when, said it belonged to James Dean.”

“You’re prized possession is a fucking candle stick holder and you have the nerve to call me weird?” You smirked, taking a sip of the beer Sebastian had brought you. Dinks on him, dinner on you. Fair considering you originally had planned on paying for everything—it was your idea anyway.

“It’s belonged to James Dean!?” Sebastian defended his answer, his candle stick holder. You threw your head back as a loud laughter escaped your chest.

“You have absolutely no fucking way of proving that candle stick holder belonged to James Dean.” It was the casualness of the conversations you’d find yourself having with Sebastian that made you smile, that made you less nervous about working with him, a seasoned pro. A professional, something you were very clearly—not. Sebastian huffed. Cutting into his next piece of schnitzel, bringing the backside of his fork to his mouth.

“What about you? What’s yours?” Sebastian snarked cheekily. “What’s yours prized possession—“

“My coffee machine, that things worth more than my apartment, worth every penny though, nothing but liquid gold every morning.” It was easy conversation, the laughter came easy with Sebastian. Hours passed as food was finished and one beer turned to two, three to five. Before shots were being ordered and arms were been hooked around each other. Downing the burning clear liquor as you squinted, chasing with lime.

“I said one drink!” You hissed, head in the towel bowl in the bathroom of the pub. Knees grazing against cold tiles. Sebastian held your hair. Laughing along as you laughed at yourself between coughs and splatters of vomit. “This is fucking insanity!”

“Just get it out Y/l/n—“ Sebastians hand was on your back, rubbing gentle circles as you threw the content of your stomach up. Almost instantly feeling better as you wiped your mouth with a few squares of toilet paper. Leaning back against the wall, Sebastian pressed up beside you, arm against yours. “You wanna go home or?”

“Are you insane? I’m good.” You let your head rest on Sebastians shoulder, both sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall. “I always rally, Let’s get another round, I saw the pool table was free.” Sebastian couldn’t believe your persistence, his head was spinning the moment he allowed himself to relax against the wall.

“This the probably the most derelict thing I’ve ever done.” Sebastian chuckled as he felt your head get a little heavier on his shoulder.

“You’ve never had a nap on the floor of a pub bathroom before?” Sebastian shook his head in disbelief, he hadn’t. “God you haven’t lived, I once fell asleep on the toilet for half an hour before my best friend came and got me, that was at this fancy dress party her work was hosting, free champagne.” Sebastian decided in that moment he could listen to you talk all day, he’d never get tired of your voice. The way he wished it would infiltrate his dreams. “God she’d be screaming if she could see me right now.”

“Why’s that?” Sebastian asked, his arm pulling you closer into his side when he felt you shiver. Looking around he couldn’t believe where he was, this was by far the most random places he’d sat to have a chat. The floor of a pub fucking stall. He wasn’t sure if he was in the women’s or the men’s, he didn’t care, as long as he was with you.

“Because I’m free.” It was a simple three word answer that held the weight of the world. “For Five years I let Tom rule my life, I haven’t had this much fun in years, sure—I’m broke, live pay-check to pay-check, but I’m living life, hell, what a fucking story this will be!”

“Sitting in a dirt filled disgusting bathroom drunk off your ass?”

“With Sebastian Stan of all people, do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” You sat up laughing, head spinning. “You got me drunk, you’re here in the disgusting bathroom too, you’re no better then me.” You chuckled. Slurring your words just slightly.

“I got myself drunk too., don’t make me sound like I’m taking advantage—I can’t even see you properly” Sebastian added, his eyes dipping to your lips before quickly coming back to your eyes, you did the same. “Don’t forget that, you aren’t the only one who’s fighting the urge to pass out, I for one just don’t want my head in some random toilet.”

“Rather your own huh?” You asked, knowing it would probably be the final destination of the night, your head in your own toilet bowl.

“Oh yeah.” Sebastian pressed his lips together with a sure nod. “Much cleaner then this dump.” Silence fell over the pair of you as you sat together. Both buzzing, alcohol pumping through your veins. “You sure you don’t wanna go home?” You just stared at Sebastian for a moment, mesmerising his face, his smile. You shook your head.

“Nights only young, c’mon—let’s get fucked up.” You stumbled to your feet with a chuckle, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. Sebastian followed, fumbling to his feet, unlocking to bathroom door before running his hand through his hair. “Let’s go!”

“Shots on me Y/l/n—let’s see what you got.”

You had absolutely nothing. You were wasted before Sebastian could even think of asking the bartender for a jug of water, with a half finished gin and tonic in your hand you slouched over the pool table. Face pressing against the greenery. Sebastian wrapped his arm around you, steadily walking and supporting you towards the front door, a taxi already waiting. Someone must have called. Sebastian leaned in towards to open window as you mumbled something.

“You Patrick?” The taxi driver asked. Sebastian smiled in response.

“I’ll be whoever I gotta be to get you to drive us to Parks and Fairfield?” The taxi drive shrugged, gesturing for Sebastian to hop in. He dragged your almost dead weight self in along the backseat. Your head in his lap as he struggled to focus on anything outside the window.

“I’m so totally gonna fall in love with you.” You mumbled against the warmth of Sebastians jeans. His hand absence playing with your hair. His eyebrow raised in response, had he heard you right?

“What was that?” He chuckled, laughing to himself as you mumbled incoherently.

“Nothing nothing—shit, I’m gonna, hey! you wanna watch that movie when we get back to my place?”

“What movie are we talking about?” Sebastian couldn’t control his soft laughter, his cheeks hurt from his smile. Looking down in his lap where your head was resting gently. Cheek squished against his high.

“The one where he’s all like, ‘It’s sheriff Bodecker son!’ Sebastian wanted to stay in this moment forever no matter how much his own head hurt or how much the movement of the taxi he sat in the back of was making his stomach churn. “That’s you isn’t it? You say that?”

“I do, I do—“

“You’ve say a lot of things” you mumbled, eyes closed as your gave into the feeling of Sebastians fingertips dancing against your scalp. Sending shivers through your body as you sighed.

“What’s some other things I’ve said that come to mind?” Sebastian asked, he just wanted an excuse to hear you talk gibberish to him. Keep you away long enough to make sure you got home safe. You sat up slowly with a groan, eyes meeting Sebastians sleepily as you leaned in, he didn’t stop you. How could he? His hand found your cheek drunkenly as the pad of this thumb gently caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Your breath hot on his. The smell of alcohol lingering just as much is his did.

“You know what the issue with the w-world is?” Everyone wants a ma-magical solution to their problems and everyone refuses to-to believe in magic.” Sebastian didn’t know if he leaned into you or if you fell into him, but your lips were in his before he could begin to put the pieces of the puzzle together. His eyes closed as he brought you closer though, moaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss, caught up in the drunk taste as his tongue danced with your greedily, needy.

It was when the Taxi came to a haunt when Sebastian was pulling away, his eyes wide as his wiped his mouth, catching his breath, lips red, eyes full of something between lust and longing—your head coming to rest in his shoulder.

“Shit��I’m sorry Y/n I—“ but Sebastians apologies fell on deaf ears. You were gone. Passed out. A world away in your dreams. “Fuck.” To say it was a mission to get you out of the taxi and up over his shoulder was an understatement—but Sebastian managed. Taking the elevator from the lobby of your apartment complex and one flight of stairs before he took a left down the hall to where your apartment was. Fishing for your key awkwardly. 

“She keeps a spare key on-top on the doorframe son.” Sebastian nodded softly as he reached up for your spare key, unlocking your apartment door. Gesturing to the old lady who seemed to know everything. “Don’t you try anything with her young man, I’ve got ears like a hawk.”

Sebastian didn’t dare, simply fetching a glass of water and two Advil to put on your beside table. You were fucking gone. Making sure you were in fact breathing before he himself stumbled out of your apartment.

Tags:

@iamtheonewhocares

[raeynbowboi]

Why I Believe Angel and Husker Will (or Should) Be Endgame

As a shipper and a writer, I pride myself on finding the meat in shipping material, and despite how little official content for it is available, Hazbin Hotel’s juiciest pairing (by my observation, and not counting Charlie x Vaggie cuz that’s already canon) is Huskerdust or Angelhusk, the main mlm pairing in Hazbin Hotel between Angel Dust and Husker. While I’m a big fan of any mlm pairing no matter how small the serving size, this one is an absolute feast, and I want to explain why I think that is, because Angel flirts with multiple men in the first episode, namely Sir Pentious, Alastor, and Husker. So he just comes across as a relentless flirt, but I believe his destiny truly lies with the grumpy sourpuss bartender.

Given what we’ve learned about Angel Dust from the Addict music video and the prequel comic, it’s becoming clear that Angel doesn’t exactly love his situation. He pretends it’s fun and glamourous for his image, but it’s all an act. In the very last pannel for the comic, we can even see a box of dildos in his room with the words “for fun” crossed out, and the box being relabled as “work stuff”. I believe that Angel’s arc and character growth will be strengthened by having a love interest who cares about Angel as something beyond a sex object. Travis and Valentino clearly only see Angel as a piece of meat. Even Tom Trench one of the... less horrible denizens of Hell we’ve met, only recognizes Angel as a porn star, implying that he too only values Angel for his body. The creators have even verified that Angel will have a love interest in the series. So, that’s the easy part. Angel’s very clearly a gay man, and him having a love interest will help put the romance back in relationships with men for Angel. No surprises there. So why will/should it be Husker who fulfills that role as Angel’s redeeming lover?

In the simplest terms, it’s because their needs fit together perfectly. Angel needs someone to care about him romantically that also values his emotions, mind, and autonomy instead of just his body. Husk has likewise pretty much spelled out the flaw he needs to fix. He lost the ability to love years ago. Whether he just shuts out his emotions, someone broke his heart and now he’s jaded and bitter, or he freezes out his feelings so he won’t get hurt again, Husk has rejected love and his feelings. Learning to love and open up to Angel helps Husk to overcome those toxic coping mechanisms. Especially because his other vices such as drinking, are an extension of his core issue. His hang-ups with love. He drinks to forget and suppress. Overcoming his issues with his emotions will help Husk free himself of other sins in the process. Now the important issue though, does Husker even like boys? Yes, he does. Husker was confirmed by members of the crew to be pansexual, so he is capable of finding Angel attractive. Also, on a related note, Alastor is both Asexual and Aromantic, so he’s very unlikely to give Angel the core thing he needs, the tender appreciation of his romantic partner. That’s not to say Asexuals and Aromantics can’t date, it’s just less probable. And all the other males are either villains, or objectify Angel already. Which kind of leaves Husker as the best candidate for Angel’s love interest, at least currently. In fairness we know very little about Baxter, but that’s the thing. Without knowing anything about him, we can’t really weigh him against the other options.

Character design is very important, as it can provide visual cues about a character. Looking at these two, they share a lot of similarities. Starting from the top, while not visible here, there is a heart-shaped spot on the back of Angel’s head, and this heart appears as well on Husker’s forehead, palms, and wings. More importantly, I may be wrong, but I believe the only characters with hearts in their design are all connected to Angel. Only Travis and Val share this heart motif, two men Angel has had sex with, though in Valentino’s case, it's not always willingly. They share their wearing of a bow tie, but to be fair, Charlie wears one too, as does Sir Pentious, so it’s a weak connection. Color theory also matters. Firstly, they are Yin and Yang. Angel is mostly white with a few dark accents, while Husker is mostly dark gray/black with white accents. Angel’s left eye, bow tie, and shorts/skirt are also the same color (or pretty close) as Husker’s darker fur patches on his forearsms, ankles, ear tips, and whiskers. The stripes on Angel’s top also repeat in Husker’s ears. Finally, while not repeating on Angel’s design, Husker’s fur on his ankles resembles spats, a fashion trend from the early 1900s. Although this trend was pretty dead in widespread use by the 1940s, it remained popular with gangsters and mafia, so much so that it’s almost a streotype of mafia. Angel’s family was an Italian crime family involved with mafia dealings. So while it makes little sense for a man who died in the 1970s to be wearing spats, it connects him to Angel’s ballpark of time as well as drawing connections to Angel’s past and his family.

Hazbin Hotel has Instagram accounts for the characters, and using Husker (bar_cat75) Angel Dust (angie_fluffy_bootz) and Niffty (babyfeathrdustr), we can put together further developments in their relationship off-screen. Starting with one of Husker’s posts, we see Angel leaning on the bar offering him a ticket to his “peep show”. The next post shows Husker still at the bar, but now there’s drool on the counter, and we can see the back of one of Angel’s legs and the red smoke from the Addict video trailing behind him with the line “Fuck, I passed out. Did I miss something?” Next, there’s a post from Niffty of Angel leaning on the railing smoking as he does in the post-credits sequence of the Addict video. Granted, I can’t tell how much of Addict is prequel and how much is happening in real time following the pilot, but we know at least the ending is canonically after the pilot episode. Seems like Angel wanted Husker there (we don’t know if he offered tickets to anyone else) and he seems bummed that he didn’t go, with a later message from Husker (that I can only seem to find in Tumblr posts) with Husker realizing that he missed Angel’s show and feels bad about it. As “owing” Angel a favor for missing his show, Angel leaves his beloved pet pig Fat Nuggets in Husker’s care, who proceeds to eat all of Husker’s limes and cherries. Now it is very important to point out that Fat Nuggets seems to fill the dual role of “purse dog” and emotional support animal for Angel, so leaving him in Husker’s care shows a lot of trust because this animal means a LOT to him. There’s also apparently rumors that Alastor keeps trying to eat Fat Nuggets which... I haven’t found a credible source for. But if Angel is worried about Fat Nuggets’ safety, him trusting Husker to protect his pig only further demonstrates his trust in the grumpy old booze cat. Upset about all the fruit Fat Nuggets ate (because it’s not easy to get in Hell) Husker wants Angel to pay to replace what the pig ate, but Angel argues that because Husker owed him a favor it’s not his responsibility. Angel says he’ll pay him if Husker agrees to come to his next show, and they compromise to get milkshakes instead. The creators said Husker was a Tsundere, and it shows. Someone called their outing a date, and Husker was QUICK to shout that it wasn’t a date, just settling up on a favor. This almost plays out like an episode 2, turning the Addict Video into the jumping off point for a second story in the hotel. I don’t know how many full narratives will come out of the Instagram accounts like this, but it’s really cool how they’re approaching this almost like a multi-media story, and I’m curious to see if this will continue when the show starts airing on television. One last thing of note is that in Angel’s latest post, there’s pictures of Fat Nuggets, Cherri Bomb, and Husker on his bedroom wall, much to Husker’s annoyance. In all of these Instagram posts, Angel seems to now be training ALL of his attention on flirting with Husk, to the point that unless another character sweeps Angel off his feet or causes Angel to start flirting with them instead of Husker, I think this pairing is sailing quickly and unopposed toward the canon zone.

I hope I’ve provided sufficient proof to back up my wild accusations, but I sincerely believe all of the building blocks have already been assembled to create a compelling romance between these characters. The flaws they need to overcome interlock with each other perfectly, their designs draw connections between them, and their Instagram accounts weave together a narrative for a soft Episode 1.5. I believe all of this together points that these two are meant to become a romantic couple, and if they aren’t, then maybe the showrunners should consider it.

[wordoflyss]

We Belong

Chapter 2: Dungeons & Dragons

Rating: M No warnings apply Eddie Munson x Henderson!OC

Eddie circled back around the table as he watched the group catch itself from whatever the fuck it was that had just happened. Dustin was still repeating Who are you to Danielle’s back, who was ignoring him in favor of asking Jeff and Cal for their names. Good question, Dustin.

Admittedly, he’d never paid her much attention, and it’d been a year since he’d last seen her, but Eddie was pretty sure if he’d crossed her on the street yesterday, he wouldn’t have recognized her. Her hair was bottle-blonde now, only the roots the dark blonde he remembered, and instead of hitting her shoulders, now down to her back. Pretty, at least he’d remembered that right. She dressed more out there, too, which was, again, only something he recognized because he remembered never noticing any of her clothes before. She’d blended right in with the crowd. Nothing special, kind of boring. Now she wore ripped jeans and a bright, lime green, ribbed shirt that clung much tighter than anything he would definitely remember. Not that he could see much of it as she was wearing a pretty loose black cardigan on top of it, cinched with a belt at her waist, but the color alone was definitely a hell of a lot more daring than anything he’d have ever associated with her. He remembered her as pretty beige. The look she’d given him when she’d entered the room had been familiar, though. Caution, the expectation to get annoyed, maybe a little nerves— but then again, he knew what people said about him and Hellfire, and from her perspective, she was just walking into uncharted territory, so he’d been willing— hoping, if he was honest— to not take that one personally. When he’d asked her her class and level he could immediately see her get a little defensive, but there was also defiance, and after she’d hit him with her character bio, definitely a hell of a lot of smugness. She’d probably expected a grilling. Don’t give her a hard time, okay? Yeah, she’d definitely been expecting him to give her shit, and he couldn’t even blame her— he could be a real asshole if he wanted to. How was she supposed to know he didn’t want to?

He had made up his mind beforehand to be on his mostly best behavior to get them back on neutral ground so they could play in peace. But when she’d finished her little monologue, he didn’t even need to pretend. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but he felt that as soon as he’d smiled at her, her palpable tension had melted away. At least she seemed way more comfortable as she now threw her bag on a chair and started pulling out a dice bag and a notebook. Some hidden gold threads in her sweater caught in the light as she moved. Then she suddenly looked up to meet his eyes, catching him full on staring at her. She seemed more amused about it then surprised, but didn’t comment on it, instead just lifting a sheet of paper towards him.

“Uh, do you wanna take a look at my character sheet beforehand?” Eddie nodded, wriggling his fingers dramatically with a grin to mask the feint embarrassment at being caught. Then again, under these circumstances, he figured he was allowed to stare a little. He was still trying to figure out what he’d gotten himself into here.

She handed him the sheet and immediately turned back to Mike, asking him where she could sit. While the others got their things ready, Eddie leaned on the table with one hand as he studied the paper. It was fresh, that much was clear, and not one of the pre-printed ones. Instead, it was very clearly hand-written, with little flourishes drawn here and there. He skimmed over the sheer amount of info, equally relieved and totally confused as her notes proved what she’d said earlier: The magic items, the story-tied, enchanted gauntlets, the brief notes on backstory and even note of sentimental items that she- and that was truly a rare sight- had even accounted for in her carry capacity. This character had seen some life that could only be achieved through hours of playtime. Shockingly, she was actually good on her word. The stat block was balanced, but not optimized, leaning more towards defense than offense, which was good, since she was the second paladin in the party. Mike already rushed in plenty, and from what Eddie could see, she’d balance that out well. That’d make his life a lot easier. From what the sheet told him, she wasn’t a min-maxer, but rather roleplay oriented, since she’d dumped some stats into charisma instead of maxing out strength. That might be a minor problem, depending on how vocally she was going to play, since his table usually didn’t go heavy into roleplay, but really, out of everything he expected, this was still a jackpot. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and handed the sheet back. “Solid stats,” he said with a smile, that she miraculously returned. “Anything you want me to take out?” That question alone proved her mettle and value as a player. This wasn’t gonna be a disaster. Eddie grinned. “Nah, I can handle it.” That made her raise an eyebrow, but he could see she was trying not to grin. “If you say so…”

With a laugh and an immense sense of relief, Eddie took a deep breath to ground himself. Then he jumped backwards up on his throne, settling there in a crouch. “Alright, settle down children! Settle down…. Let’s get started, shall we?” “He’s not only missing his left arm…,” Eddie said and rose from his throne, the tension palpably rising around the table along with him. Dani heard Mike suck in a gasp next to her and Dustin’s chair scrape across the floor as he was slowly rising, muttering No No No under his breath. Eddie drew the moment out a second longer, before he snapped his arm back and wrapped it around his head like a contortionist, covering his eye as he yelled: “…but his left eye!” The table erupted in shouts and protests as Eddie laughed and yelled into the fray: “VECNA LIVES !” Mike was shaking her and Dani had to keep from laughing as she saw the desperation across her fellow players faces, as if they hadn’t seen this coming from a mile away. Dustin was standing now, shouting obscenities across the table, making Eddie grin even wider. Obviously pleased with himself he sank back down onto his throne, leaning back and enjoying the chaos over maniacally steepled fingers. His antics were so over the top she should find them silly. She couldn’t deny he was excellent at this, and really, who would’ve thought? From the minute he started his game he was so intensely present, honing in on the players, weaving scenes and embodying villains, antagonizing them one minute, then slipping out of the role to guide them as Game Master again. She was still on the fence about him as a person, but she was reasonable enough to admit that he was fucking amazing at this. If she was honest, there hadn’t been a dull moment, not even during a seemingly endless round of combat during a road encounter that was — she heavily assumed— only there to knock them down a couple hp and spellslots to make the last fight a bit more challenging. “Are you trying to kill us?!” Mike was shouting next to her, still somehow clutching her arm. The guys were still yelling, frantically shouting plans at each other, disagreeing whether they should fight or run. She could see Eddie trying to calm them down to resume the game once, then twice, but they were too busy throwing insults his way to care. Dani took pity on him, not wanting him to lose the momentum she’d seen him work so hard for by having to put his foot down. As a player, she had a much easier way to reign all the chaos in. She stood and slammed her hands on the table in a loud bang, making them all stop and turn to her. Taking a page from Eddie’s book of dramatics and refusing to be embarrassed, she furrowed her brow and looked at them each before finally settling on Dustin. Dani could be dramatic too, but Dustin took the cake, and she knew he would bite. This was their big night. No way in hell they were going to run. “He’s here. If we don’t fight, we die anyways. I say: We die with honor, and we take him down with us!” For a second, they all were silently staring at her, almost long enough for her to actually get embarrassed, when Dustin finally pulled his weight and jumped from his chair. “To the death!” “To the death!”, they echoed immediately, smacking each other on the shoulders to hype themselves up. Dani couldn’t help but look over, to gauge Eddie’s reaction. He was watching her with the strangest look on his face, before he broke out into the same smile again, giving her a small, slow nod of appreciation. Since he didn’t make her roll for charisma, she assumed he realized her intention behind it, and she gave him the slightest nod back. “Tactical break!”, Dustin yelled and pointed at Eddie, who bowed in compliance and lowered two of three fingers. “Three minutes, mighty heroes. Only one left.” God, he was ridiculous— but she also couldn’t deny he made it work. “Huddle!” Dustin turned his back to the table, waving them all over to him.

Eddie watched Dani juggle three different character sheets that she’d snatched from Dustin, Cal and Mike. Her brow was furrowed as she frantically looked across the battlefield. Behind her, Dustin and Gareth and Jeff were yelling at each other. They’d been fighting for over an hour, Jeff and Gareth were already down, and if Eddie’s estimates were correct, only Dustin and Mike had more than fifteen hit points left, which was mainly due to Dani very deliberately playing favorites with her healing spells and tanking. He wasn’t set on killing them, despite what Mike was still repeatedly accusing him of— he’d never liked forcing the story, but if the dice and their decisions lead to a party kill, Eddie was prepared to go there. And from the looks of it, they were heading that way, fast. They were on their last tactical break of the session, and they’d done a decent amount of damage, but Vecna still had some tricks up his sleeve. They could still win, if the dice were on their side, but they’d have to be insanely lucky to pull it off. He wasn’t going to pull punches— he wanted them to earn this victory. “He can’t have more than fifteen hit points left! Don’t be pussies!” They were trying to whisper, but Eddie could still hear Dustin clearly. “Pussies? Really?” Gareth hissed, “Cause we’re not delusional?” They continued bickering, and Eddie realized they’d just get stuck in their argument, wasting their last time out. Of course they could do what they wanted, but Eddie didn’t want them to run. This was the grand finale— this ought to end in death. Theirs, or Vecna’s. Running wasn’t an option. And because he knew Dustin wouldn’t back down, the best way to stop them from running, was to tell them running was the only option. “Hey!”, he yelled to get their attention, and when they turned, he leaned forward, face serious: “ If I may interject, gentlemen… Lady Dawnguard. Whilst I respect the passion, you’d be wise to take Gareth the Great’s concern to heart.” He wriggled his fingers conspiratorially and smiled at Dustin. “There is no shame in running. Don’t try to be heroes. Not today, ‘kay?” The look on Dustin’s face almost made him laugh out loud, but he kept it to a smug grin. The little shithead raised his finger and said: “ Once sec,” before turning back to the team. Dani said something to him and nodded, before pointing at her sheet. That caused a little discussion, until he heard Mike say: “It’s your call,” to Dustin. Dustin looked at his sister, and she nodded again. “I’ve got this.” A moment of silence, and then Dustin turned around, giving Eddie his best fight stance and shouting: “Let’s kill that son of a bitch!”

 Twenty minutes later Cal was on the ground, but stabilized, and Mike and Dani badly wounded. Mike made his turn and killed the last cultist, trying to get closer, but not able to get into range, not able to do much else. Eddie was studying the board, mapping out potential moves. Dustin was the only one left with any offensive capabilities besides just hitting him. The only other threat was Dani, who would be able to cross into melee range. If she hit and did max damage, it’d be over. She was a direct threat, and he considered killing her first, but the chances off success were slim. Dustin had higher chances of dealing a killing blow with a spell. If he killed Dustin first and moved away, chances were a lot higher he’d survive another round to mop up the last two. “Your turn,” he told Dani. She was studying the board, nodding absentmindedly. “What are you waiting for? Go kill him!” Gareth yelled, but Mike shook his head. “Don’t do it, you’ve rolled like shit the whole time!” “Gee, thanks for pointing it out. Wouldn’t have noticed,” she said and rolled her eyes. Then she looked at Dustin, contemplating, and they stared at each other for a moment. “How far away am I from Dustin?” “Uh- about 75 feet,” Eddie said. Dani nodded slowly. “I’m wanna get within 60 feet of him.” Dustin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait what- that wasn’t the plan!” “Change of plans,” she shrugged, then gave Eddie a nod of confirmation. “Before I go, I use my fifth level on my bonus action to heal myself.” “That wasn’t the plan!” “Shut up Dustin.”

Now Eddie’s eyebrows were up as well, because the move was so out of the blue, he’d never have expected it. “Sure. Go ahead and roll.” Dani was already rolling as he spoke, counting numbers. She looked to Mike with a smug smile.

“Hey, 14 points, that’s not so bad!” Mike’s whole face scrunched up. “For a fifth level spell? That sucks ass!” “Eh, I can work with that,” she shrugged, then pointed to the map. “I’ll head over here.” “If you leave, he’ll get an attack of opportunity,” Eddie pointed it out, but Dani didn’t seem bothered. “Bring it.” Eddie took the dice and rolled. Unlike her, he’d been rolling well, and took her down 7 more points. She didn’t seem to mind. Eddie wondered what she was up to. “Alright. For my action, I ready my last third level spellslot. That’s my turn.” Eddie watched her a moment, but her poker face seemed to be a lot better within the game than outside of it. “Alright… that means it is Vecna’s turn.” He heard gulps, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Jeff cross himself. Eddie stood, slowly dragging the figurine across the board. “He’s floating closer, right on your heels… As you feel the shiver of his undead presence drawing near, your life starts flashing before your eyes, Brianna….But you aren’t the one he wants right now. Vecna raises his clawed hand, dark energy erupts from his finger and arches for Galad. I need you to make a dexterity saving throw, Dustin.” “As soon as I see him reach for him, I release the spell I held and cast Warding Bond through my gauntlets,” Dani interjected, and Eddie stopped as he suddenly realized what she was doing. He’d read of the item on her sheet but totally forgotten about it, and now it came back to bite him in the ass cause she just pulled his plan right out from under him. “What’s that do?” Mike asked. “Damage he takes carries over to me instead. If it goes over my hp, he takes whatever is left.” That’s why she’d healed herself up. Dustin started to object but Dani ignored him and looked at Eddie expectantly. Even though this afternoon had made him realise that he knew next to nothing about her, and the things he thought he knew were clearly wrong, he understood perfectly what she wanted from him in that moment. Eddie cleared his throat, turned his face serious and wrapped himself in his Dungeon Master persona. “Too late, my friend. The spell is cast, the choice is made. Roll to see if you can halve the damage.” It was clear Dustin still wanted to argue, but when Eddie raised his eyebrows at him, he groaned and rubbed his face. “This is bullshit! You roll,” he pointed at Danielle,” if this kills you I don’t wanna be responsible.” “As Mike so helpfully pointed out, I’ve been rolling like shit the whole time. If I roll I’m a lot more likely to die.” “No, that means it’s statistically more likely you’ll succeed this time,” Dustin said, in that annoying know-it-all voice of his. Dani scoffed. “Yeah I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works.” Dustin opened his mouth again and she raised her hands to stop him. “Alright, god, I’ll do it.” She held her hand out and Mike dropped the D20 on her open palm. “Well,” she said, and looked in the round,” Gentlemen, it’s been an honor fighting with you.” She shook three times and released the die. It hopped over the table, once, twice, then wobbled one last time and stopped. 2. The guys erupted in groans, Dustin jumped from his seat again, but Eddie was watching Dani. She stared at the number for a second, before smiling the tiniest bit to herself. Then she looked up and met his eyes steadily and nodded. Eddie gave her the slightest bow and picked up his dice to roll damage. “You take… 41 points of damage.” Dani nodded, stood, and knocked over her mini. “That kills me instantly. 4 points carry over.” Eddie nodded and hesitated only for a moment before he announced: “As the dark magic rips through your chest and steals your last breath, you feel the light fading a last time. Brianna Dawnguard, Paladin Lathrandir, has lost in her last stand against the darkness. But her death may not yet be in vain, as she died giving her comrades the chance for the final blow…” “That’s bullshit!” Dustin yelled again. Dani looked at Dustin, clearly exasperated. “What are you waiting for? Make it count!” They stared at each other in the stubborn way only siblings could, before Dustin threw up his hands. “I cast Shatter at his ugly head at 4th level.” And because Dani had taken his attack of opportunity, he couldn’t counterspell it with a reaction. There was nothing he could do. This was it. Eddie nodded. “Roll to hit.” Dustin reached for the D20, the others all standing now, tension so thick in the room you could cut it with a knife.

Time seemed to slow down as it rolled across the table, all of the last year of work culminating in this moment. It spun and stuttered, and then came to a sudden stop. 20. Cheers erupted across the table, all of them reaching for Dustin, trying to shake or hit him in triumph. Eddie jumped up, clasping his hands in mock surprise as he gave them their win.

[strxnged]

impossible.

characters┊asahi azumane, lev haiba.

synopsis ┊ chance brings you into the life of an upcoming designer. your best friend doesn't seem to like the idea of you chasing him, but to you, this guy is irresistible. maybe it's destiny after all — but you should be careful how you play with destiny.

word count┊12.3k.

warnings/content┊strong doses of both angst and fluff. body insecurity, broken friendships, fake dating, online toxicity. minor swearing (?). timeskip spoilers (?). possible ooc writing.

reader┊gender neutral pronouns, model. wears a dress, wears a suit later on.

note┊i hope you all love my excessive need for easter eggs, including a referenced ship, a cameoed character, and a strong allusion to spot on (an older asahi fic). also, an excessive need to tie loose ends that nobody is paying attention to (...). one more thing: thank you so much for 1k followers!! you guys da bomb!! ☽

Modeling was no longer as exciting as it had been, you thought to yourself, pulling your arms through the sleeves. As you lowered the hole for the neck over your head, you sighed and surveyed your reflection. The designer sure seemed to have an idea what he was doing; he clearly was ambitious with its shape but overall it had a pleasing appearance. It was lime green with dark aqua tones, slightly tighter around your middle and modest at the neck. Its waist hung at the same place as the rest, but a seam ran around it allowing the skirt to billow out slightly in gathered portions. You were never a fan of wearing dresses, since they never seemed to be tight in the right spots. They might look nice, but walking around in them with your thighs always seeming to rub together and the wrong sections of skin visible at your neckline was less than your favourite. Not that your preferences mattered; you were a model because you’d been blessed with a body that was ‘in style’ right now and you’d been told several times before not to allow your good luck to go to waste.

The green seemed to compliment your skin tone fairly well, bringing out some of the colour in your eyes and cheeks, but the shape was strange, reaching just above your shins with thick hems. It was only as you turned back to make sure you didn’t miss anything that you saw the wide deep turquoise ribbon. You tied it around your waist, and suddenly it looked right. Very right. It made you look just that much more skinny. You knew not to chase the appearance of being skinny, but it was second nature for you to suck in a little when you could. It wasn’t just you, lots of models of any gender — even those that claimed to be confident and comfortable with their body shape — did the same.

You peeked out of the changing area, seeing one model in a night-indigo shirt posing with her hands on her waist while the designer himself took notes from a few feet away, approaching once to measure the sleeves and pin something about the shoulders. Elsewhere, the other model was standing with a blue-lavender button up shirt, leisurely scrolling through his phone.

“Ah, Y/N, you’re ready,” the designer said.

His voice should not have caught you off guard. In fact, his appearance should not be doing to you what it was. You were around plenty of handsome people every day in the modeling industry, and a measly early-twenties designer with a barely kept goatee and hair in a manbun and soft, angular brown eyes was subpar in comparison to those. Or — this was what you told yourself as he reminded you his name and asked you how the green dress felt.

You cleared your throat and asked him to repeat his name — yes, you’d missed it, being distracted, and you were absolutely not asking so that you could hear him talk again. He spoke calmly. You’d only been in the same room as him for a few minutes, but you could tell that he was the kind of gentle and apologetic person that could not hurt a fly.

“Asahi Azumane,” he told you. “But please, call me Asahi. Does it fit okay? You make it look better than I expected it could, but I’m sure the hem at the end of the skirt is bothering you.”

“It’s fine.” You watched, taking a deep breath as he leaned close to you to adjust the belt. It was your job to give more feedback than that — but you found that your mind was blank.

“It’s not meant to be tied so tight,” he said. “It’s meant to be comfortable, like — a summer dress on a windy day, you know? For a hike or something. Nothing too extreme, of course. Is that better?”

You looked in the mirror, seeing the way the tightness had changed its shape — not in a bad way at all. Not only were you no longer suffocating, but you found that it did appear to be loose and comfortable visually as well. It didn’t entirely extenuate the hourglass figure for you as it had before, but you found that it highlighted your curves cleanly, especially your back. And, well, his description of the dress’s purpose seemed to fit well colour-wise and in the loose shape.

“If it’s for a hike as you said,” you advised Asahi, “then it should be shorter, don’t you think? Walking in dresses is quite uncomfortable and the length does not help that matter. Not that you would know that, of course. You’ve never worn a dress before.”

“What gives you that impression?” he replied, nodding at your earlier comment and scrawling it down. He looked up into your eyes for a second. “I found it fairly comfortable, actually. But then, you’re right, for walking it was a different sensation entirely.”

You’d been in the presence of many fashion designers over the last five years, each of which had had a large vocabulary and even larger pride. It was unlikely to meet a male that would have actually taken the time to wear something not publicly accepted — and even less likely, even if he was one of the adventurous types, for him to speak of it as if talking of the weather or a fond memory. It would have made more sense for him to talk about it like it was a big deal, make a production of it.

“That’s good, thanks,” he was saying. “Could you raise your arms for a moment please?”

You did as instructed. He measured your side from your armpit to your waist, and nodded. “Wonderful. Your body is beautifully shaped. I never knew this dress could look this lovely. Thank you for coming. You can tell the others we’re done; be careful, there are pins along the bottom of yours, although I’m sure you’re aware.”

So that had been Asahi Azumane. He didn’t seem half as intimidating as your junior model, Lev, had warned you. He seemed almost too nice and modest for the job. Where was his ego, huh? All he seemed to have done was inflate yours.

After changing back, you texted your agent and explained how it went. He’d wondered aloud to you before you three went about Asahi’s strange request — three models, but no specifications beyond that. You’d meant to ask Asahi earlier about it — only you’d been… distracted.

As you made your way out, you brought it up to him. He was folding the light blue shirt, and you tried to ignore his careful hands. “My agent wants to know why your request was so strange.” You cringed. It sounded rude. But it was too late now.

“Strange? What was strange about it?”

“You didn’t specify which models from our company you wanted, or even any measurements. Why not?”

“For fun,” he replied.

You stared at him.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, running his hand over his head in a way that was unfairly attractive. You should not be attracted to him right now. Why were you so aware of your face heating up at the sight of his arm? It’s not like you’d never seen a man’s arm before. You’d seen much more than a man’s arm before. “I’m working for a sort of — client, I guess, who wants me to experiment as much as possible. I’ve actually made very few dresses before, so it was pure chance that I ended up with you. The dress was what I had for your measurements. But I suppose I’ll be finishing it now that I can make the final touches thanks to you.”

He made it sound as if all you’d done hadn’t just been to stand in a dress while he did all the math and made the clothing himself. And he was paying you.

“Oh, I see.” You tried your best to focus on keeping your eyes on him instead of feasting on his appearance, but your peripheral was working double time. “I was wondering why you didn’t just ask for one model for an hour to do all the outfits, but I guess your goal was to try out as many sizes as possible?”

“Yes, exactly. But next time, I will be doing that — the one model thing. I haven’t decided on a size yet, and I’ve only just started on the sketches. By the way, Y/N, um, I really appreciate how efficient the three of you were.”

“Do you value your time a lot?”

“I’d say so.”

He was attractive, and he didn’t like wasting time? “In that case, I don’t want to keep you any longer. Good luck with the rest of your project and with your ‘client’.”

“Yes, thank you again. And — Y/N…” He paused, frowning.

“Hm? What’s up, Asahi?”

He opened his mouth, studying you. “Are you in town two weeks from now?”

‘In town’? It’s not like you traveled much. Why was he asking whether you were in town? What kind of question was this? What was going on?

“I mean — sorry, that wasn’t phrased right. I meant to ask whether you were scheduled up. Because I like working with you. Oh, that must also sound wrong. Sorry, don’t feel obligated—”

“I think I’ll be able to cancel anything if you need me.” You were bold. Your eagerness to work more with him surprised even you.

He thanked you, a smile on his lips. Cruel that he had such a nice smile.

—

Two weeks passed and your agent had received no message from him. You were sure of this, since you’d asked him many times to keep you updated and to check just in case. You half-wished that you’d just asked for Asahi’s number — but models didn’t just ask for designer’s numbers. As far as you knew. Although, at this point, you were willing to be the first if it meant being around someone like him again.

It was so frustrating that what should have been a momentary attraction became a full-fledged crush on someone you didn’t know whether you’d see again. And someone you didn’t know. You had barely exchanged one conversation with him.

But you wanted to talk more. You wanted to be around him. He was so — different. It felt corny — but when, a week later than expected, he did call your agent and ask if you were still interested in helping him out, you knew that there wasn’t any point in resisting the fact that he just appealed to you.

You learned a lot about him that day. He had done as he’d said he would; all the outfits were vastly different each, ranging from suits to robes to casualwear to even a ball gown. He told you that your body type was so good for each, and that he was glad that although several of his pieces had faults, you didn’t complain. But you had no reason to complain. You pointed out how it fit in different places overall, but his pure talent and passion for making clothes was enough to shut you up so that you simply watched him work.

The most nerve wracking part was when he paused to measure you or slip pins into the fabric or adjust the way it fit. He seemed to be very careful not to touch you if it wasn’t necessary, which was of course only expected of a designer, but you wouldn’t mind if he accidentally did brush his fingers against your side or back more. He seemed to be much more nervous than you’d originally thought. This was not an issue. It made you smile internally at the way he rubbed the back of his head while he thought, or the way you could see a slight flush on his cheeks if he was adjusting your sleeves or shoulders. He was so gentle, it felt like you were being groomed to go on a set, not being fit as if you were an especially compliant mannequin.

By the last outfit, with a wintery shirt you were certain must have taken him days to make, you finally asked him about where he’d come from. He smiled and told you about how he’d always been interested in it but it was only after a recent trip around the world that he really realized the potential in the fashion industry.

“But what’s your goal?” you asked him. “What do you want to get out of this? What effect on the fashion or modeling industry do you want to have?”

He paused mid-pinning of a sleeve. “I don’t know whether I really want to have an impact on the industry as a whole. I don’t think I can.”

You blinked. “You? You could do so much, Asahi. You’re different from all the designers I’ve met before, and that’s a lot. You could change so much. So many things need your touch.”

He smiled, not meeting your eyes. “I appreciate that, I really do. I just think that although it’s nice to think about, I don’t think many would be so happy about my style as you and a select few others are.”

“You mean they’re not ready for you.”

He chuckled. “I just mean that it’s … probably a waste of time to think I can make a big difference. I’m happy staying in the corner of it, being someone that a few people remember, making a few clothing items I enjoy.”

It felt like such a shame. Because he was so important; you were sure of this, despite having known him for a short time. Why didn’t he realize his own potential? “Are you really happy with this?”

Asahi met your eyes, choosing not to answer your question directly. “Are you happy with this, Y/N? Are you really happy with your looks being your resume? Isn’t it exhausting?”

You licked your lips, thinking it over. He made a fair point. You were used to being told that you were putting your looks to good use — or the opposite. It was never sympathy. It was always approval or disapproval. And, yes. It did get exhausting.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” you said. “But, Asahi, you do make it less exhausting. You have a way of making it feel like a pleasure rather than a job. You’re very professional, but you aren’t nasty for no reason. You’d be surprised how many people lack this. You’re just — you’re very humble, Asahi. Although I’m realizing now that maybe you’re just unaware of your own incredible ability.”

“In much the same way,” he told you, “I think you’re unaware of your beautiful appearance. I haven’t even seen you modeling for real. But you act so surprised when I compliment you. Which I don’t just do, you know. I’m not very good at complimenting people. Please, let me know if I make you uncomfortable, I—”

“You don’t. And it just feels genuine, you know? It doesn’t sound like a ploy to get me to keep working at one place or another, or to get me to do my job better. I like it. I like you.”

Oh, why’d that have to come out like that? But, well, there was no point in hiding the fact that you were just being honest.

Asahi stood in front of you, dropping your sleeve so that he could look you in the eye. “I wanted to ask, um… are you interested in modeling these for my client? I did make them for your size, and since you make them look better than they look on mannequins, maybe you could — but only if you want to, please don’t feel pressured to—”

“I’d love to.” And for the first time in your life for a modeling job, you meant it.

—

The Haiba siblings were two of the prettiest — and stupidest — people you’d ever met.

“You’re modeling for Azumane again?” Lev asked you. “Of all people, why him? He doesn’t pay as well as our company does. He’s young, too, right? Bet you have a crush on him or something, Cinderella.”

“Shut up, Lev.” You kicked his leg, ruffling his hair. “Don’t act like you didn’t follow that girl from Italy around for a month, pretending you were over Yaku.”

“I am over Yaku. I’ve moved on.”

“Oh yeah? To whom?”

“This is about you, not me, Y/N.”

“You’ve moved onto me?”

Lev’s face turned a shade of pink, likely out of frustration with you. “I will literally fry your elbow crack and make bread out of the juices.”

“Lev!” you snorted.

He was like a little brother to you — someone you could tease without feeling guilty and receive it back without guilt on his end. You couldn’t ask for a better friend. Unfortunately, being friends with Lev meant that you knew Alisa Haiba, who, along with being the sweetest person you’d ever met, was also the most beautiful. And she made you feel very bad about yourself appearance-wise, which was nobody’s fault but your own for still comparing your body to others. The two of you looked very different and you knew you had your own charms, but — there was still something she had that you couldn’t help but envy.

However, similar to Lev, she was a bit of a dork upstairs. After getting to know her, you became more grateful for her sake that she had an agent. She was capable — to a degree — but there were times where you wondered if she was really just a pretty face with air behind it.

Today, she asked you something that had you questioning your own sanity, however.

“If Asahi asks you to start modeling full time for him, would you say yes? Is that much different than Lev and the Italian girl?”

You paused to reflect on how she knew you would say yes. Darn Alisa and her romantic assumptions. “I wouldn’t,” you lied. “This is a much better job. Like Lev said, it pays better.”

“But for love?”

“That’s insane. I don’t love Asahi. I barely know him. I’ve only spent a few hours with him.”

“That’s all it takes…” she sighed, looking across the set at the director.

Airheaded, romantic assumptions. That’s all it was. Besides, Asahi would never ask you to be his full time model and help him design. You were useless in design. Well — you were useless helping him with design because you would be far too distracted to offer any actual advice. You shouldn’t waste your time daydreaming of this idea of spending every working day with Asahi, letting him and his gentle hands be near you, his calm voice talking about something he was passionate about, his brown eyes, his smile—

It was undoubtedly a crush. You hadn’t felt this way since Kuroo Tetsuro in high school some ten years ago.

But as ridiculous as you’d thought the idea was, it wasn’t as unlikely as you’d thought.

The small show seemed to hold a lot more pressure than you’d expected. You went back to help Asahi a few more times with more of the outfits, to work out final errors. Some of them he had to drop, which seemed to be hard for him to do and hard for you to watch since you both knew how much time and thought he’d put into each of them. But by the end of the week, they were all ready, and you were excited and very nervous to present them to his client.

The client, Asahi’d told you, was a picky designer and company owner that had seen one of his designs in an ‘upcoming fashion’ magazine. If you hadn’t heard it from him yourself, you mightn’t have believed that such a thing still happened — you always heard from your workplace people complaining that they still had to even bother doing photoshoots for magazines since the audience was decreasing every day. He’d managed to A, get his work into a fashion magazine, and B, have someone with a lot of authority see it and be impressed enough to get in contact with him and challenge him in order to test his skills?

Asahi Azumane really was something else.

Minus a slight panicky moment beforehand that the two of you both experienced, sharing looks of despair in both your eyes. You were already in the first outfit, and something’d gone wrong that he’d fixed at the last minute. He’d told you to think of the scariest moment in your life to distract yourself so that this didn’t seem so bad, but you were having trouble focusing on anything at all because he’d placed a hand on your shoulder and his hand was on your shoulder and it was very nice to have his hand on your shoulder. You both knew how important this was. For him, to possibly be picked up. And for you, to have Asahi want to keep you around.

Asahi and the client sat in a small dance studio at the back, facing the doors. Asahi’d picked the venue, saying it would save the most money. You asked him why he shouldn’t try to impress the client with a nicer place, and he said that anything would be better than his office and besides, the point was for the client to see his work and if it wasn’t good then the location didn’t matter anyways. You walked across the smooth wooden floor a few feet in front of their table in the first outfit, taking note of the mirrors all around you. It always helped you to be able to see yourself — you’d mentioned this to Asahi before. Had he thought of you while finding the small venue? No, but he just wanted you to do your best to heighten his chances, of course. You could feel your heart speeding despite this being something you were very practiced at, but after a look of gratitude in your direction from Asahi after a muttered comment from the client, you knew that no matter what happened, you just had to do your job and hope for the best.

By the end, you were quite tired, and as you stepped back into the room from the other door, Asahi waved you over. The client was still writing, like an adjudicator in a talent show. You sat in the chair next to Asahi, and noticed his wide eyes as he stared at the table. You hesitated, and then gently put one hand over his, nodding encouragingly. He returned a nervous smile and took a deep breath.

The client cleared his throat, and you quickly let go.

“Well, Asahi and Y/N. The two of you make a very good pair.”

The two of you blinked at him. “We make a—?” Asahi started, frowning.

“I would like to see more of your work, Asahi, with this model. You’ve created a range of beautiful clothing and having Y/N here is bringing it to life, and must have done the same for you as you worked on it.”

“But Y/N isn't my full time employee, they're from a different company altogether,” Asahi told the client, glancing at you.

“Then the decision doesn’t lie with either of us,” he replied.

Their eyes were on you.

“Are you interested in this opportunity?” the designer asked you, running his hand through his hair again. Ah, the move you couldn’t resist. Did he have any idea what it did to you? “I get it if you’re not, you have a good job at—”

“I’ll do it,” you interrupted him. “If you want me.”

“Of course I do. I — I agree, actually, that you make it come alive for me. I want you, if you’re willing..”

You pursed your lips, trying not to think too hard about how it felt to have Asahi Azumane say ‘I want you.’ “There’s nothing I’d rather do.”

—

Two years, six hundred shirts, fourteen shawls, eleven dresses, twenty-four increasing paychecks, one rejected confession from Lev Haiba, and hundreds of held-back feelings later, Asahi had gotten approved for the creation of his own brand, Gloriya. He told you it had been a team effort of the two of you and everyone else behind him, but you reminded him that his name was on everything for a reason.

Asahi had made modeling enjoyable. He’d given you something to look forward to every day. He made you learn how to love your body the way it was, and he’d unconsciously taught you about humility and non-destructive passion. He made you feel confident, let you know that you did a good job at what you enjoyed. What started as a crush developed fully into what you knew could be nothing but l0ve, and yet you felt like you were in a bad situation. He was your boss, essentially. He told you you were partners, but you were sure he just said that because he didn’t like attention. Understandable. That was why you were the model, after all.

There would be a launch party for the brand. It was being put on by the company, not him, of course. But he wanted to design something for you to show off at the event; it seemed like the only way he could get himself to look forward to it. Three week notice — it would be enough time, easily. He worked very fast. But you also learned that Asahi liked to make use of all hours of the day, including three AM. You wouldn’t have figured this out had you not texted him at that time on a whim to ask if he was awake.

That was actually a special night, more than you wanted to allow yourself to admit. He was the same as ever at the young hours, smooth hair loosely tied back, top buttons of his shirt unfairly unbuttoned. A look in his eye — you couldn’t tell whether it was inspiration or exhaustion when you stepped through his loft’s front door. Living near him meant more frequent visits, so the fabric and design plans sprawled across his sitting room did not catch you off guard. You felt more at home here than you did in your cold, empty apartment.

The two of you wordlessly headed to his balcony, and he sent you a half-smile as he leaned his elbows on the railing. The view of the lit up city was beautiful, of course, but when your eyes wandered into his, you preferred his beauty to anything else the world could offer.

“I was thinking,” you began, and then trailed off. How dare he be so attractive in moonlight? His eyes glittered a little with the dim light from inside. It was chilly, and you wished you’d remembered to wear a sweater like he had.

“Thinking, hm? I have to say, it sounds like a fairly vague reason to visit me at three in the morning.”

You laughed quietly, turning back to the view. “No, I… I was thinking about how… you remember that day we first met two or three years ago? And how you said it was completely due to chance?”

He hummed in acknowledgement. “I remember.”

“I guess there are a lot of things that happen by chance,” you said, “but it’s still incredible how that one moment led me here. Remember that green dress? I don’t know why, but I was thinking about it, and how green dresses in the Victorian era were literally poisonous because of the dye having … have you heard of that?”

“Didn’t it have arsenic in it or something?”

You smiled to yourself. The fact that he had heard of this — “Yeah, and I was just thinking… What if you did that, but with some hypnotic substance? To make me want to work with you or something.”

“I didn’t do anything like that.”

“I know,” you said and punched his shoulder, laughing. “Don’t react like that, it sounds more suspicious than it has to.”

He smiled. “It’s an interesting coincidence, though, isn’t it?”

“Mhm.”

He took a deep breath, tilting his head up to look into the dark, hazy sky. His side profile was nothing short of gorgeous. You’d seen it hundreds of times, but it was as true as ever, especially with the faint light highlighting the shape of his nose and lips. When he spoke, he raised his eyebrows, and his voice was soft and relaxed. “Are you happy, Y/N?”

You paused. Were you happy?

There were a lot of things you regretted. The poor handling of your Lev’s confession to you, causing you to lose two of your best friends. Going down a career path that only began to make you happy six years in, after five years of pain. Your inability to be honest with Asahi about your feelings towards him, despite assurance from several businesspeople of the company that if the two of you got into a relationship it would do a lot for marketing and add to the brand’s image, a unique opportunity in the professional world.

Despite all this, the question had been whether you were happy. There were a lot of things you weren’t sure about, but there was one that you were. Being with Asahi Azumane made you feel comfortable and very, very happy.

“Yes,” you replied. “At this moment, I couldn’t ask for more.”

The second part had been a lie. You could and would ask for more in only a few minutes. However, at this moment you were content. Seeing and being with the handsome and humble designer made you sure that at least at this moment, you were exactly where you were meant to be.

You shivered, and as if responding to an instant impulse, Asahi took his sweater off and hung it over your shoulders. It was cruel, the way his hand lingered on your back for a fraction of a second — as if he wanted to leave it there, but was too shy. And you wanted him to leave it there, but you were also too shy.

The sweater was warm. Asahi had been dangerous the way he had looked taking it off and more dangerous the way he looked in just an evening shirt with the top two buttons loose. He looked the sort of way you couldn't allow yourself to stare at because you didn't know what your imagination would do.

You suggested that you go inside so that he didn’t get cold, but he of course waved it off, prompting you to have to walk straight inside so that he'd follow.

You liked the smell of his apartment, and although being in the night was stimulating, it was more comforting to be in here where it was warm. He took the opportunity to ask you whether you wanted tea — as if it wasn't 3:30am.

“Asahi,” you said a few minutes later. “You want your brand to do well and all that, right?”

“Yeah?”

“How far are you willing to go so that it does?”

He paused. “As far as it's genuine.”

This should not have taken you off guard the way it had; you knew Asahi, you knew how pure even his business intentions were. But it made you less sure about your idea. “I was just going to suggest,” you said, sipping tea. You took the time to swallow before you continued. “What if the two of us became a couple like we were advised to?”

Asahi froze and raised an eyebrow. “You think that would help?”

You cleared your throat. This would obviously take some convincing. “You've mentioned before that you want the brand to be about bringing people together. People already know we've been partners for years, and people have begun to speculate whether we're in a relationship. And, you know, I don't think it would be pointless to at least make use of the concept, without of course involving emotions in it because that would be messy.”

“Oh, I see. So, you want to ‘fake date’, is that what it is?”

“No pressure to accept the idea. I'm sorry, it must sound crazy. I care about your brand, and I know how much you have invested in it. I'm willing to do anything you need to help it succeed, you know that.”

“I don't want to take advantage of you in any way,” he said, sounding sure.

“Remember, it was my idea,” you replied, even more adamantly.

He sighed, looking down at his tea. “I’m not sure about this. You’re right, it would probably help the image, but I’m worried about gossip. I’ve got a suspicious face.”

“A suspicious face? What on earth do you mean?”

He pressed his lips together. “Well, in high school there were a lot of rumours spread about me. I didn’t look like a student, y’know? I, even then, had the facial hair, the man bun, and I wasn’t exactly a small kid.”

“Nothing wrong with any of that. I’m sure you were just as handsome.”

He stared at you with a small smile. “Okay, let me see if Suga has any pictures I can show you.”

‘Suga’ was one of Asahi’s friends from high school. You’d met him before a few times. He was an unassuming elementary school teacher with feathery light hair and soft eyes similar to Asahi’s, but sharper. He had a way of talking that made you feel comfortable and understood, and had a frequently resurfacing smile. He had also flirted with you the first time you’d met, but had stopped by the second time.

“You love him, don’t you?” he asked you within the first moment the two of you had been left alone that day.

You gazed at Suga, unable to answer.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“What secret?” you said, feigning laughter. “I don’t have any secrets. You’re reading too far into it. He and I are partners, and that’s it.”

“Sure you have a secret. Only for him. It’s evident for everyone else, but poor Asahi’ll probably never think of it. Remember, you have to tell him yourself.”

“I have no intention of telling him anything.”

“You say that now. But what are you going to do in a few years, when you’re still hopelessly in love with him and he has no clue and every day gets harder to keep it in, but now you feel like you’ll ruin everything by speaking up? What about then? Won’t you wish you hadn’t wasted so much time? Asahi’s not very open about his emotions, but it’s not unlikely that he loves you too. It wouldn’t hurt to try. He’ll blame himself no matter what, but he’ll never hold a grudge against you.”

How incredibly ironic that you were thinking about that now, a few years later, while suggesting a way that the two of you could be publicly close. Was it really because you wanted what was best for his brand, or was it because you wanted an excuse to be near him?

“Here’s me in high school,” Asahi said with a chuckle, showing you a picture on his phone. He looked so young — obviously he would, but it still made you hide a smile by pursing your lips at his larger eyes and nervous expression.

“You’re so cute,” you giggled. “Same hair and everything.”

“It was a bit shorter,” he informed you as if it was a vital distinction, taking back his phone.

“Why don’t you ever have your hair down?”

He shrugged. “Guess it gets in the way.”

You set down your mug. It was almost four in the morning, you told yourself as an excuse, walking behind him and gently taking out his hair. You ran your hands through it, making a comment about how smooth it was. It reached a little further than his shoulders, and it was clean and untangled. He turned his head to look at you and you froze up, because with his hair down, his face was framed incredibly well, and he had the appearance of nothing less than an angel. You withdrew the hand you’d accidentally left resting on his shoulder.

“So that’s why,” you muttered.

“I know, it must look strange after being used to seeing me with it up.”

“No, Asahi, seriously, why aren’t you a model? I’m surprised you haven’t been street cast.”

“You know better than anyone that modeling isn’t just about looks.”

“That’s true. But it’s easy to pick up on the rest.” You didn’t exactly know what you were trying to convince him of. You were finally starting to feel dozy — and it was coming fast. You put your chin in your hands, trying not to fall asleep on his table.

“I’m doing everything I enjoy right now.”

“Right now right now?”

“Mhm, yeah.”

You hummed and your eyes fell shut, but you continued to talk as if you weren’t drifting off at that moment. “So, are we gonna do the thing?”

“You mean—”

“Yeah. Might as well give it a try, right?”

“We can decide later and make it public at the launch party.”

You sighed, your mind blurring. “Yeah.”

“You should go home, Y/N. You look tired.”

“Can I sleep here?”

He hesitated. “No, you shouldn’t. Here, I’ll walk you back.”

Maybe it’d been the warmth from the tea, or the fact that it was four in the morning, or just the fact that being in Asahi’s place with him calmed you down better than anything, but you were nearly out of it by the time he half-walked, half-carried you back to your apartment. You were too tired to worry about whether you were coming across as too touchy. In fact, you had one arm slung behind around his waist and a head resting on his shoulder as you walked towards your room.

You wouldn’t remember most of this. Or — well, you’d try not to. Because you didn’t want to live with the embarrassment and fear in the knowledge of your behaviour when the two of you were just partners and nothing more.

Surely everything would be easier if you publicly became a couple. Then, you’d have an excuse, but you wouldn’t have to involve feelings into it. It would be simple.

The event was large, sparkly, fancy — the kind of thing that you were accustomed to but would never feel at home in. It all felt very starched, and everyone wore practically the same outfits so there was rarely anything fashionably stimulating for you to focus on. Half the people at these kinds of company parties would wear the exact same thing at each one, and the others would spend their hard-earned money on outfits that differentiated only slightly in length or shade. And the decorations — nothing like the photoshoots you preferred. Perhaps a few candles and a red carpet, but as a whole it was very dull and overly formal for a hundred people who worked in an office who needed a day off.

In other words, it really wasn’t your style.

But the suit that Asahi had made was something else entirely. It was a tuxedo, similar to the design of many of the basic ones in the party, but with an intricate embroidery on the left pocket over your heart, and a deliciously long tail and sleeves that put you right into a Jane Austen novel. It still felt modern, of course, but — as you told him as you tried it on a few days before — it was “clean, humble, and warm. Like you.”

During the event, much of which you had to spend with stiff gratitude for congratulations through a camera smile, you tried not to think of the subtle occurrences beforehand you’d had with Asahi. It’d been nothing more than pausing while he straightened your bowtie, a shared look of anticipation and dread and something else, something that you could not name but you knew it was in both of your eyes at that moment.

And then the two of you decided that it would be now or never; reporters would be here to spread and market the brand, and they’d see this and incorporate it into their stories. It would set the brand apart, marking unity and teamwork and professionalism. It wouldn’t be difficult for you to act like you were in a relationship with him because you were attracted enough to him that nothing would feel too far for you, probably.

You hadn’t known what you were getting yourself into, evidently.

You told Asahi to wait twenty seconds and think about this. It was a technique you sometimes used before shoots to calm yourself down so that you could force a smile. You told him to look you right in the eyes for twenty seconds, and count in his head as you did the same. About ten seconds in, his trademark blush had surfaced, but by the end you were both feeling a little calmer.

Asahi was fine in meetings, by now, but in a hall filled with people in fancy clothes, standing in front of a microphone, he wasn’t doing as well. You could see his hands shaking, and you had an up-close view of his quietly frantic eyes as he struggled to recall his speech — which was now filled with repeated words and unfortunate pauses. At one point, he took your hand, and it seemed to calm him down a bit, which you tried not to read too far into because you guessed it was partly for your ‘relationship’ ploy.

“Again, thank you all for your hard work and encouragement in the development of Gloriya, for helping us get on our feet. I started out on my own, but after the joining of Y/N, and soon getting hired at this company, I realized my dreams had potential to become reality. And I could not have gotten here without Y/N and their constant support. They’ve always gone above and beyond, and… I’m…” He trailed off, looking you in the eyes. Here it came. “... I’m so happy to be able to call them my… significant other.”

Faint chatter spread throughout the crowd, and he put an arm around your shoulders. You had been expecting yourself to be able to handle this. But it felt too real. You stared at him, trying to wear a natural expression. It was fine. It was fake.

Why did it have to be fake?

What difference would it make if it wasn’t fake? Because no matter what, your emotions would be involved, you realized.

Of course, you were thinking of all this one second too late. It was public now. You wished for the opposite. You didn’t know how you were going to keep up, you thought, holding a smile towards the audience.

It was cruel how calm he looked, even though you knew he was nervous about being in front of such a crowd. It wasn’t fair that he wasn’t having an unexpected emotional crisis like you were.

How dare he be everything you wanted?

—

You slept poorly; maybe a few too many unsatisfactory drinks, not enough interaction with Asahi after his speech. The two of you never got a chance to talk during or afterwards, so you’d call him this morning. You’d thought the night before had been “eventful”, but when you woke up to several messages from different coworkers asking whether you were okay, you realized that maybe your own emotions were not the only thing at risk.

Headlines were not “Gloriya Reflects Its Motto; Founder’s Relationship With Partner: the Scoop” or “Launch Of New Clothing Brand Has Both Customers and Investors Eager” or anything of the like. Instead—

“Asahi Azumane, Founder of Gloriya, is Suspected of Forcing Y/N, His Partner, Into a Relationship for Marketing Purposes” “Asahi and Y/N’s Relationship Not As Innocent As It Appears” “Visible Fear on Y/N’s Face: Why Investors Are Pulling From Gloriya” etc.

Oh, this was not good.

This was very bad.

You called Asahi — with no answer. Was he okay? What was going on?

How could this have happened? “Visible Fear” on your face? You hadn’t — you hadn’t looked that way, had you? You opened the article to see a photo of the two of you.

Your expression, eyebrows gathered — eyes fixed widely on Asahi whose arm was around your waist, mouth clearly in a fake smile — was very misleading. And you knew this was your fault.

You called Asahi again, leaving a message. “Hey, Asahi. I saw what happened. It’s completely because of my idea, I’ll take the blame and do everything I can to fix this. I’m coming over right now. See you.”

You hoped he wasn’t too mad at you. You didn’t have time for that right now. If he was upset with you, you’d have to deal with it after you fixed this. You cared about Gloriya as much as he did and you cared about all the time he’d spent working on it. You were not about to let your emotions and poor advice ruin it all for him.

You spent the walk to his loft reading more articles; indifferent ones and questioning ones and ones that took things way too far. Every word of them put you a little more on edge. By the time you reached him, you were absolutely livid, and when he opened his door, you, steam pouring from your ears and mouth in a line as straight as a board, with cold fire and focused indignance in your eyes, you declared with what had meant to sound firm but was clearly more unsettled, “You did nothing wrong.”

Asahi looked at you with a tired expression.

“Hey, did you sleep?” you asked.

He inhaled, continuing to study you with his soft — and sad — brown eyes. He said nothing.

“How many investors pulled?” you asked, stepping inside and taking out your clipboard. You hadn't been hired initially to be his assistant, but it slowly became something you naturally took on for him.

He sighed, following you. “Enough that we'll lose them all soon. There's no way we'll have buyers now.”

“Don't give up. We can figure this out. It'll be alright.”

A pause. “What can we do, Y/N? This is my fault. I made a bad decision.”

“It's not because of your decision. It's due to my actions and—” You cut yourself off from saying ‘feelings,’ not wanting to involve that in anything from now on. Why couldn't you just move on? You should have accepted Lev, just to get your mind off of Asahi. “Listen, Asahi. I have an idea, but it might be really bad. And it might ruin things for you more.”

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“Yeah, I think it’s worth a try if I can do it right.”

“Everything I’ve done so far has been futile. I trust you, Y/N, but it’s not your fault if it doesn’t work after all this. I’ve… already been working on my backup plan.”

“Your backup plan?”

“Working in retail.”

“No. No. You can’t work in retail, Asahi. You’ve come too far. Okay, it looks like I have no choice.”

“What’s your idea?”

You glanced at him, and then shook your head. “I can’t do it here. You’ll find out later, hopefully.” Boy, this was going to put you in a hard position. You were already picturing the press’s reaction — and his. You began to walk toward his door, but he put his hand on your shoulder before you could step out.

“Are you sure about whatever it is that you’re doing? It won’t put you at risk, will it?”

“Nope, not at all,” you replied, and left.

—

You’d been debating how honest it needed to be, wondering how much information to share, whether to keep it brief or not. It would be a delicate matter, and your feelings were already involved more than they should be. At this point, would it be wiser to keep it artificial, or go genuine?

You thought about Gloriya’s memo. ‘Authentic clothes, authentic living.’ The idea behind the brand was to create clothes that were comfortable for wearing, pleasant for appearance, and healthy for the earth. Asahi was big on not leaving a footprint bigger than necessary. He didn’t seem big on being remembered at all, leaving evidence of his existence. He seemed so careful about who he talked to. He was obviously nervous about first impressions, and —

You couldn’t just fake it. It would be harmful to him as well. Asahi was sensitive, though he didn’t talk about it. He valued you and your opinion, and it wasn’t fair lying to him no matter what the lie was about. He knew you were a bad liar. And the media, well, they’d probably form a theory about it, though they didn’t know you as well as he did.

So you picked up your phone and made a post more real than anything you’d said for years. Realer than your alleged ‘love’ for modeling. Realer than the way you’d rejected Lev Haiba. Realer than the clothes you and Asahi had been making.

“This post is not something I have been forced into. I am sharing this upon my own free will, because I don’t want this brand to get lost in gossip when Gloriya is all about authenticity.

“Asahi Azumane is not taking advantage of me in order to gain popularity for the brand. I’m the one who asked him to date me a few weeks ago because of my feelings for him; it was selfish of me, because I didn’t think about how it might be perceived. But I am wholeheartedly in love with him. I always have been. He’s a thoughtful, caring, humble man. One that I hardly feel like I deserve. But I am so grateful for the opportunity to call him mine.

“That picture of my expression that’s circulating has nothing to do with our relationship status, although it did have to do with what he was talking about. He mentioned ‘significant other,’ which was an unprecedented teaser for a part of the brand we haven’t revealed yet. It’s still in development, so I thought it was too early to talk about. Maybe he didn’t mean to reference it, but it caught me off guard. That’s all it was, a slight mix-up in the moment.

“I promise I’m okay. Thank you for worrying, but the internet seems to feed off of misinterpretations. He and I are very happy together right now, and we had decided beforehand to reveal our relationship at the event because it was the most convenient. I hope you can learn to trust Asahi again, as I have done without regrets for years.”

After a quick read-over, you took a deep breath and pressed the post button. Your hands were shaking, and you set your phone down and clenched and unclenched your fists.

Well, if this didn’t work, then you might also have to work in retail.

You took another deep breath, blankly looking at your feed. You would have to wait, of course, to see the results of your redemption attempt; your profile had a fairly high following, since you were a model and your professional involvement with Asahi had been known for a while now. It would only take a few minutes for your notifications to be flooded — and a few hours for things to (hopefully) turn around.

Something in the feed caught your eye. You picked up your phone, trying to understand why Lev’s face was in a video under a post about yours and Asahi’s relationship. “Y/N’s Ex Shares the Truth,” it read.

You tapped on the video, tuning into the horror that was Lev’s voice. “I’m really worried about Y/N,” he was saying. “I’ve always cared a lot for them, you know, and seeing them slowly grow unhappy as he came into their life was hard. I’d always thought the two of us were always meant to be, so when they left me to chase him, I knew it was bad news. There’s no doubt that he’s using money to string them along. It’s so sad—”

You shut off your phone, your jaw clenched. Oh, no, he didn’t.

This was worse than his horribly entitled way of ending your friendship. Lev Haiba was making things up — for what? Money? Pity? Was he trying to show you he’d been right all along? He didn’t know a word of the truth but here he had ten minutes of pure nonsense, posted for all to see, about you.

You had thought you could have forgiven and forgotten. Or at least moved on. That had been what you were trying to do. But now, it was hardly an option, and before you knew it, your shoes were on and you were storming down the street. You knew exactly where he lived, and it was a forty minute walk from here; or a half-hour run, one that you easily spent thinking about exactly what you’d say to Lev. The sky was grey. It looked like it might rain, but the streets were dry and gloomy, unwilling to give you the spur of energy you craved.

He opened the door to you with a blank face. “Why are you here? Is everything okay?”

You gave him a false smile. “Hm, Lev. Think about it for a sec. Why could I possibly want to see you?”

“Are you here to apologize?” His green eyes settled coldly on yours.

“HA!” you guffawed, shoving your phone in his face. “Me? How about you tell me instead why it says you’re my ex in front of millions of people?”

He took your phone from you, squinting at it. “Ex-friend.”

“Nobody’s going to think that’s what it means.”

“Well?” he was raising his voice, eyebrows gathered in frustration. “I don’t have control over it. They prompted me to say most of what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N, I’m just doing everything in my power to look out for you, and—”

“To look out for me?”

“And it’s not like I had many other options! You don’t answer my calls, and—”

“You don’t call me.”

“I have called you.”

“Yeah, what, twice? When you were drunk? Of course I’m not gonna keep answering them if all you’re doing is—”

“You never gave me a chance, Y/N! I—”

“You haven’t changed. You’re just as obsessive as you were a year ago.”

“And you? You’re the same. I was just reading that post about that designer, it’s pure b—”

“I didn’t lie once, like you did.”

“I lied about nothing.”

“You don’t know the full story. I love him. I—” You went quiet, not having intended to say that.

“You love the idea of him. And you deserve someone who will love you back wholeheartedly. Stop chasing him, Y/N. No matter how he feels for you, he’ll never give you enough. I’ve always been here for you. I’ve always told you that he’d just take advantage of everything you were willing to give. Here he is, t—”

“You don’t get to say that.”

“Your post is just revealing how confused you are. I care about you, Y/N. You look so sad, you know. Remember how happy we used to be? You teasing me all the time, I was sure that you were flirting. It should have been us, Y/N.” He trailed off,

Your mouth fell open, a sinking feeling in your chest. So this was what Lev had become. After years together, being best friends and trusting him and feeling comfortable, but now he was so desperate to pull you back into your own life that he was more desperate than you.

“I’m not sad, Lev. I’m tired. I spent all morning trying to fix the problem that you contributed to.”

Your phone began to vibrate in Lev’s hand, and he looked at it. This would have been a perfect opportunity for him to make one final cutting comment, because the designer in question was calling. But instead, Lev took a deep breath and wordlessly handed you your phone. He didn’t look away from you as you answered it.

“Asahi?”

“Hey, where are you?” his voice said.

You blinked at Lev, who was pursing his lips. “I’m…”

“I came to your apartment but you didn’t come to the door. Is everything okay? I read your post, and a lot of other people did too, because—”

“Please don’t worry about anything in the post. I did what I had to do.”

A pause. “Right. Of course.”

“Are people responding well? I haven’t had a chance to look, because somebody was holding onto my phone for five minutes.” You glared at the light-haired menace. He seemed to now appear less angry and more guilty, but he didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, Y/N. I’ve already received two calls of direct apologies to me. I don’t know what this is going to look like after it all unravels, but I have to say, you made a very good call. Thank you.”

“Of course. We’re partners, Asahi.”

“I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. I don’t know how you managed to come up with that post so fast, though.”

You considered this. It had only taken you about two minutes. “It wasn’t all lies. Except for the last part, obviously. We’ll have to work on the supposed ‘Significant Other’ thing. But with your skills, we can do anything.”

“And with your help.”

“Of course.” You smiled widely; Lev was watching you curiously.

“Can we meet? That idea actually sparked something for me, unless you already had something in mind.”

“No problem. I’ll be at your place in a bit. I am slightly stranded, but it should be under an hour.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“I can walk, don’t worry.”

“Okay. Get here safely.”

“Don’t worry. See you.”

After you hung up, Lev crossed his arms and gazed at you. “You two…”

“I don’t want to hear any more of your opinions, Lev. I’m done here—”

“No, no, I was going to say— you two work really well together.”

This caught you off guard and you hesitated, tilting your head at him. “I thought you said that he was taking advantage of me and that he’d never give as much as I would.”

Lev ran a hand through his hair, focusing on the wall behind you. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need a ride?”

“I just declined one from Asahi. What makes you think I would accept you?”

“I wanted to talk to you more. And it’s raining, you can’t walk in this.”

You glanced out the window in another room, noticing the raindrops on the glass and the action outside. Now it would rain, of course. You looked back at Lev.

He was just as much Lev as he ever was.

He’d made so many mistakes. He’d hurt you in so many ways. But he was still Lev, your Lev. Your best friend. You’d missed him more than you’d ever admit, and to see him with a genuinely apologetic expression and nerves once again was tugging at your memories.

“Okay,” you said. “Fine.”

By the time the two of you were in his car, it was absolutely pouring. He had the windshield wipers on full blast, and was squinting to see. His car was the same as it had ever been; you tried to block the flood of memories, but it was in vain. The two of you blasting music with the bass pumped. Him driving you home after shoots that ran late. Sitting in the backseat with Alisa and teasing him about this and that. Alisa. You were barely keeping in touch with her. You wondered whether she’d ever made a move on your old director — well, she’d probably found someone else to fawn over if she hadn’t. You missed her too. You missed the Haiba siblings.

“You need glasses,” you pointed out to him.

“Yeah,” he responded awkwardly. “I accidentally left them at my girlfriend’s this morning.”

“Your girlfriend? So you did move on from me.”

“I never said I hadn’t. In fact, my feelings for you started to fade as soon as you were gone.”

“What about the drunken phone calls?”

Lev made a turn, his fingers gliding on the steering wheel. “Habit. Sentimentality. Probably my feelings of missing you blew up into something they weren't.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It doesn’t make it okay, though,” he said firmly. “I shouldn’t have behaved that way toward you.”

You studied his side profile. “Why the sudden change in attitude?”

“The last thing I want is to be on bad terms with you,” he said.

“Is that why you were yelling at me earlier and—”

“No. I just said anything that came to mind.”

“You do that a lot,” you said.

“Well? So do you,” he said.

“That is true,” you admitted, sighing. Lev glanced at you, and you could tell within a moment that he had a lot he wanted to say.

“I’m happy for you two,” he finally declared. “You do make a good couple. I’m not jealous, I have no reason to be. I’m happy with my own life, and I shouldn’t be telling you how to lead your own. So, I’m sorry. I honestly just wanted to help you see what your situation was, but I didn’t see it myself.”

You’d been resentful towards Lev for so long that you’d never even considered that he’d apologize to you. You had so much power now. You could hurt him so badly, give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d been the reason for so many of your emotional problems, the reason you could never be honest with Asahi. All this time, you’d unconsciously believed him, even though he knew nothing, even though he had no right to tell you who you could or couldn’t love.

He was continuing now, not leaving you time to respond. Maybe he didn’t think you were going to accept his apology anyways. “You deserve the whole world, Y/N. I’ve always thought that. You are so loveable, competent, strong, and brave. The places you came from to get where you are, I— I hope you realize how incredible you are. How lucky I was to be your friend. I’m sorry I went and screwed it all up.” His voice broke and he pursed his lips.

The rain was falling hard, and Lev was going slowly because he could barely see ahead of him. Or maybe because he didn’t want this time with you to end again.

You sniffed. You weren’t going to cry. It was probably from running in the chilly weather. Definitely. “I forgive you for everything. And I’m sorry for being… impossible.”

“I can’t forgive you for being impossible,” he said. “You will always be impossible.”

You smiled. “That I will.” Your eyes drifted out the window. “By the way, he and I were never…” You cleared your throat. “We’re not dating.”

“You aren’t?”

“Never were. It was a ploy for Gloriya’s image.”

“Wait, but are you okay—”

“Yes. It was my idea.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“So it’s my responsibility to clean this mess up. But Asahi is blaming himself, just as Suga warned me he might.”

“Suga? Wait, you mean Sugawara Koushi?”

You paused. “Suga-what? I don’t think so? I never learned his full name.”Your eyes landed on a familiar building, looking glum in the thundering rain. “This is far enough.”

Lev pulled to the side of the road, studying you with his green eyes. His eyes had always been so friendly. You loved his eyes. You’d missed them. “Is it?” he asked vaguely.

You could feel the weight of the question.

But you had somewhere to be — someone to be with.

“Thanks for the ride.”

You opened the door, and the precipitation’s force caught you off guard as you stumbled towards the covered area outside the doors. You looked back, and though you couldn’t see well enough into his car, you could tell he was hesitating. But within a few seconds, you watched him drive off.

Oh well. Maybe he’d call you again. Sober, this time. And you could work through things. And you could be friends again, no more stupid feelings between you this time. Not letting his — or your — lack of self control destruct your entire relationship. Maybe things would go back to normal. You wondered what Lev’s girlfriend was like. You hoped with all your heart that he was really over you and happy with her. You knew that Lev didn’t get over people easily, after things with Yaku Morisuke had ended for him when he was younger. But you wanted to hope that things could be different, no matter how desperate of a dream that was.

You thought about the video of him you’d seen, the one that’d prompted you to run all the way to him to tell him off. Well, it could have been worse. But you were willing to run any distance to defend Asahi Azumane.

You started to run again, this time up the stairs to his loft. You could have taken the elevator, but you had more than enough adrenaline once again to run up eleven floors. Something in your chest was nearly bursting at the idea of seeing Asahi again, but you had no idea where it was coming from. Maybe it was rooted from the soreness growing in your side as you approached the fourth floor.

That was a lie; you were fairly sure but unwilling to admit to yourself that the source of your current anticipation was that post you’d made, that honesty you’d finally allowed yourself like a self-care routine you desperately needed. You half-expected your skin to be clearer than ever tomorrow morning. It hardly mattered how Asahi took it. You wanted to be open about it. Waiting all this time had hurt you more than you’d realized, and now — and now it felt as if the floodgates are open.

“I am so grateful for the opportunity to call him mine,” you’d said.

And — Lev had called you lovable. He’d told you that nothing he’d said was because he actually believed you and Asahi were impossible.

The only thing he’d called impossible was you.

Your foot landed on the final step to the eleventh floor, and you wrenched open the exit to the stairs. It was ironic to you how, as a model, it was your job to stand still or walk elegantly but your favourite way to release energy was to run. It rarely made for such a stylish appearance as the well-practiced strut, save the frankly becoming, wild look it gave to your eyes.

You were nothing like Asahi and you were nothing like a model should be. You were impulsive, vain, sometimes unintelligent, and deeply emotional. You’d come from many challenges, and you hated your job half the time. Except for when you were in the room with Asahi.

You knocked on his door. You had a key — somewhere — but knew it would be faster if he opened it.

When he opened it to you, you didn’t know what to say. It seemed that thinking about the gentle, thoughtful designer was much different than being before him. It was … much better.

“Hey! Are you okay? Did you really walk all the way here?”

You tried to tell him that Lev gave you a ride, but you found that you couldn’t. Instead, you continue to try to catch your breath, chest heaving, and grinned at him.

He didn’t say anything either, studying you with his signature calmness. It had always been easy to fluster him — and although it wasn’t always so visible, there was always a flush in his nose and at the tip of his ears. He was probably panicking because you were staring at him, as if you didn’t frequently stare at him. You were definitely panicking because you were staring at him. But you frequently stared at him, because you just couldn’t get over how much you loved his stupid face.

“About the post,” you said. “I meant it when I said I wasn’t making things up. I love you, y’know.”

The blush spread a little to his cheeks. “Yeah, I love you too, Y/N.”

You blinked.

“Um, so about your idea,” he said, turning and walking to his table the two of you often sat at to exchange ideas. You followed him, feeling somewhat confused. “‘Significant other.’ I love that name, and I know you came up with it accidentally, but… what about twinning but contrasting designs? I was thinking, if we—”

Had he not heard you? Or — maybe you just hadn’t said it hard enough.

“No, Asahi. I mean I love you. I love you. I am wholeheartedly in love with you.”

There was no going back now.

It felt like your life was flashing before your eyes as he turned back to you. If he was about to reject you — where would you go? Lev? You loved Lev, you were willing to admit that. But as a friend. Would he be there for you after everything? The two of you had just made up, or so it seemed. No matter what, you knew that this was going to hurt. This was going to break you. This was your moment, the one you’d put off for too long. If Asahi rejected you now—

“I — I don’t understand,” he said.

Your body flashed in hot and cold and you knew exactly what Lev must have felt like that day two years ago. How you pitied him, now.

You tore your eyes away from his and you ran again, this final time to the one place that never ceased to comfort you. Which was, unfortunately, not far. You pushed open his balcony door and stepped into the still pouring rain, letting it wash away the tears that had escaped. You shouldn’t cry. You’d placed too many expectations on him.

You placed both hands on the railing, smiling ironically at the view. The balcony made you think about the way he’d looked at you a few weeks ago. Cruel. You blinked — raindrops? — out of your eyes, taking a deep breath.

You squeezed your eyes shut, beginning to count. In twenty seconds, you’d go back inside and apologize for the mess you’d made. You’d turn it all around. You wouldn’t do what Lev did. You didn’t blame him for not feeling the same. You were partners — nothing less, nothing more. The public image said nothing about both of your inward feelings.

Thirteen. Twelve.

Eleven.

The opening and closing of a door. “Y/N.”

You didn’t turn. Your time wasn’t up yet. You didn’t have to apologize yet.

“I love you. I’m sorry, you caught me off guard. I love you more than anything. Please, look at me, Y/N.”

You turned to him. You knew your face wasn’t a lovely sight.

One.

“I’m sorry for forcing my feelings on you. I’m sorry for never telling you. I’m sorry for making a big d—”

I love you. He’d said—

You stepped towards him. Rain was splashing off of him, and you reached up and lightly cupped his cheek. He smiled at you.

“May I?” you asked, hoping he could understand what you meant.

He responded by placing his hands on your hips. His cruel hands. They’d been on your hips so many times, but never—

Never like this.

And he’d never kissed you, and definitely never like this.

Shyly. Hesitantly. But sweetly and with trust. There was no rush.

And right here, you were comfortable. Despite the rain running down the side of your face, despite your eyes still stinging a bit with tears, despite more adrenaline running through you than you had ever experienced before, despite being this new. It was perfect, safe, and wonderful. One of his hands gently held your face in place, and he only stopped kissing you when he began to smile again. You felt giddy, and you clung onto him and ended up hugging him to keep your balance.

It continued to rain.

“I love you wholeheartedly,” he told you.

“I love you.”

You could feel one of his hands lace fingers with yours, and he pulled away to look you in the eye, not letting go. “It’s cold. I’ll make tea.”

Your mouth twitched and you nodded. “So, tell me about your idea,” you prompted, following him inside.

“It’s no certainty that we’ll ever get to work on it.”

He was always such a pessimist. It made you want to punch him. And kiss him again. You weren’t too sure about the reasoning for the second part. “You’ve come from the ground up before. And this time you have me. You haven’t lost anything that really matters, no matter what happens from here.”

“You’re right,” he acceded.

“I always am.”

“I guess this means we don’t have to fake our relationship anymore?” he stated, although it was clearly an indirect question.

“Nope. Not that I was really faking much from the start. You know how bad of a liar I am.”

“Hardly. You had me ensnared.”

“When?”

He paused, the kettle beginning to whistle. “Always.”

notes (cont'd)┊thank you for being one of the 3 people who will probably ever actually read this. you are now one of my three favourite people :))) no but seriously, this fic was so much fun to write and i am absolutely whipped for both these men so it was hard to write a reader who had nothing but platonic feelings for lev. both these men fine as heck.

— also... don't be surprised if this is my last haikyuu fic. and also, do not be surprised if i continue to write hq for months. i really haven't decided, even now. but the time will come (the walrus said).

— again, thank you for reading. you are absolutely incredible. reblogs are greatly appreciated 'cause duuuude i devoted a lot of time to this 😋 ☽

[fruitcoops]

If the requests are still open, I watched the try guys trying sexy alcohol video recently (The Try Guys Sexy Alcohol Taste Test is the name of the video) and I was laughing the whole time. I was thinking it would be really fun to have the team do it for a social media video if you wanted to write it! :)

I absolutely love the Try Guys and I’ve been watching their videos for years--thank you so much for suggesting this! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove and the link to the original video is here

TW for alcohol and lots of sexual references

“I’m so fucking excited for this video,” Finn said, drumming his hands on the table.

Remus gave him a disbelieving look. “You have the lowest alcohol tolerance on the entire team, Harzy. I’d be shocked if you were still awake by the end of this.”

“We’ll find out soon enough!” Marlene announced offscreen. “Do the intro and then we’ll get started.”

“Welcome back to Lion Pride, folks! I’m Finn O’Hara—”

“—and I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Dude, you said I could do the intro.”

“I can’t even say my own name?”

“Boys,” Marlene warned.

Finn cleared his throat and turned back to the camera with a bright smile. “Today we’re tasting sexy alcohol, even though I have no idea what that means!”

The video cut to a different table and James waved to the camera. “Hey, everyone! I’m James Potter, and I’m here today with our wonderful captain Sirius Black to taste test sexy alcohol!”

“What qualifies alcohol as sexy?” Sirius asked. “Is it supposed to turn you on, or something?”

“The names are sexy,” Marlene clarified. “Ready for the first one?”

A title card appeared with Drink 1: Sex on the Beach written in cursive letters.

“Sex on the beach!” Remus and Finn chorused, clinking their glasses together and taking a sip. Remus made a face, while Finn looked thoughtful as he smacked his lips.

“Why is it so sour?” Remus coughed, setting the drink down.

“You’re not a fan of sex on the beach?” Finn teased. “This is always the classy lady drink in movies. It’s not bad, actually.”

James’ face scrunched up as he drank and Sirius went through a whole range of emotions, then tried it again. “It’s not better the second time,” he said. “Just…weird.”

“Much like actual sex on the beach, it’s flat out uncomfortable.” James slid the glass out of reach.

“You’ve had sex on a beach?”

“Haven’t you?”

“No, sand gets everywhere even when I don’t strip down.”

“Ha! Loser.” The video transitioned right as Sirius reached over to smack the back of his head.

Drink 2: Buttery Nipple

“A fucking what?” Remus laughed, leaning toward the camera crew. Marlene repeated the name and he nodded slowly. “Okay, that’s what I thought you said.”

Finn sniffed the shot. “Is that butterscotch?”

“It is,” Marlene said.

“Rad. On three. One, two, three!”

They knocked their shots back at the same time and Remus raised his eyebrows as he swallowed. “That’s really not that bad. Best nipple I’ve ever tasted.”

“Very sweet, I like it,” Finn agreed around his grin.

A smile twitched at the corners of Remus’ mouth. “You like the buttery nipple?”

“I do like the buttery nipple,” Finn snorted, sending them both into peals of laughter.

James stared down at his shot glass, then turned to Sirius and opened his mouth; Sirius reached over and covered it with his palm. “Don’t say it.”

“But it really looks like—”

“I know.” Sirius bit his lip, sighed, and downed the shot. “Y’know, that’s actually pretty good.”

James rolled the empty glass between his fingers. “That would give me a wicked headache in the morning.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.”

Drink 3: Suck, Bang, Blow

There was a brief pause as Remus and Finn shared a look. “I think that’s the wrong order,” Finn said after a moment.

Remus nodded. “Bang is generally last on the list if you’re doing it right.”

“It also implies that you’re not sucking on the last part, which is just bad blowjob etiquette.”

“Bottoms up.” Remus tapped the rim of their glasses together and took a sip—almost immediately, he spat it back out. “What in the unholy fuck is that?”

“My whole face is itching,” Finn coughed. “Holy shit, there’s so many different types of alcohol in there that is just tastes like straight-up sugar. I would order this at a bar if I was horny and sad and didn’t care who I went home with.”

“Yeah, this is what you get if you want something that’ll fuck you up.” Remus paused for a second, then covered his mouth with his hand. “You know who would drink this?”

“Who?”

“People who live in Florida.”

Finn’s whole face lit up and he dug around in his back pocket, dialing a quick number on his phone before putting it on speaker; it rang twice before connecting. “ ‘Sup, Finner Finner Chicken Dinner?”

Remus’ jaw dropped and Finn rested his forehead on the table. “Thanks for that,” he sighed. “We’re filming a video for Lion Pride right now.”

“Oh, sick!” the voice on the other end said. “Hey Lions!”

“Hi, Alex!” Marlene called.

“I just have a quick question,” Finn continued. “Have you ever heard of a drink called Suck, Bang, Blow?”

“Hell yeah, they’re super popular down here.”

“Called it!” Remus grinned and high-fived Finn. “Thanks, Hazard.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because if anyone is going to have shitty alcohol, it’s you and your bouncy ice.”

“Hey—”

Finn ended the call and put his phone away once again with a gleeful smile. “He’s never going to hear the end of that.”

Drink 4: Amber Moon

“That’s a lot of whiskey,” James said as a crewman handed them their drinks; Sirius whistled lowly and held it up to the light.

“Why are there red flakes in it?”

“Tabasco sauce,” Marlene said off screen.

James nudged Sirius with his elbow. “I bet I can drink this is ten seconds.”

“Do it in five or you’re a coward.”

“You’re on.” He cleared his throat, then tipped the glass back.

“One, two, three, four, five, six!” Sirius pumped his fists in the air with a whoop.

“You counted too fast!” James protested, giving the camera crew a desperate look. “Marley, he counted way too fast!”

“Looks like…” There was a brief moment of silence. “Five point three four seconds, Pots.”

“Fuck,” he muttered, setting the glass down. “It tasted horrible, by the way.”

The video cut to Remus and Finn, who were eyeing the drink suspiciously. “I’ll bite,” Remus said. “What’s the sexy name for a hot sauce and whiskey monstrosity?”

“Amber Moon.”

“That would be my stripper name,” the two said in unison, then turned to each other with identical gasps.

Drink 5: Blowjob Shot

Sirius looked deeply uncomfortable as he set the shot glass on his lap. “Don’t make this weird.”

“What? The part where I’m putting my face in your lap?” James asked with false innocence as a smile spread over his face.

“Merde,” Sirius muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just get it over with.”

“That’s a rude thing to say to someone who’s about to give you a blowjob.”

“You’re not giving me a blowjob.”

James raised his eyebrows and Sirius rolled his eyes, kicking him lightly. “Alright, alright. Do you want to go first?”

Sirius leaned forward, paused halfway down, then cursed under his breath and took the shot glass between his lips, knocking it back in a quick motion. James opened his mouth and the first bit of a fake moan slipped through before Sirius tackled him to the ground.

The video cut for a moment—when it returned, they were sitting in their chairs once again, and James looked incredibly smug as he rested his elbows on his thighs. “Ready, hot stuff?”

“You’re the worst person to have as a best friend.”

James didn’t hesitate before wrapping his mouth around the rim of the glass, then made a noise of panic when it didn’t go down his throat right away. His eyes went wide and he cupped his hand under his face, slapping Sirius’ knee with the other.

“Are you okay?” Sirius laughed. “Just—just knock it back, buddy, you can do it.”

James made a muffled sound and the camera crew started snickering off screen as the whipped cream smudged over his nose.

“His eyes are watering,” Sirius cackled. “Oh, this is karma in action. Is it too much? Spitters are quitters, Pots, you can—"

James glared at him, then choked slightly and spat the shot glass and all its contents onto Sirius’ chest. Dead silence fell over the studio, broken only by the steady drip of the liqueur on the paper below their table.

“Does anyone have a napkin?” Sirius asked after a moment, shaking his hands out.

“I am…so sorry,” James said as he wiped his lower lip.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know! It was doomed from the outset, I guess.” He wrinkled his nose. “I can feel it in my sinuses.”

Remus and Finn both downed their shots easily; neither struggled for more than half a second. They were both a little flushed from the alcohol and Finn hiccupped as they turned back to the camera.

“How did you do that so well?” Marlene asked, clearly amused.

“Frat,” Finn said at the same time Remus shrugged and said, “college.”

“Pots spat his all over Sirius.”

“It’s because he’s straight.” Finn hiccupped again and Remus burst out laughing.

Drink 6: Body Shot

“Who are we doing this off of?” James asked. All four men sat at the same table; Sirius had removed his flannel and James’ cheeks were pink from five—well, four and a half—drinks.

“Guess who, bitches!” Kasey grinned as he walked out from behind the backdrop, clad only in his Lions sweatpants. James, Finn, and Remus cheered while Sirius put his head in his hands. “Shit, Cap, you’re doing wonders for my self-esteem.”

“Is this a power imbalance?”

“I’m older than you, now move your elbows so I can lay down.”

The folding table creaked as Kasey laid on his back and all five of them froze for a second until Marlene emerged with salt, lime slices, and a bottle of clear alcohol under her arm. “Do you know how this works?”

Four nods answered her and she carefully poured the tequila into Kasey’s bellybutton—he jolted at the cold and some of it spilled down his sides. “Aw, man, now my pants are damp.”

“Where—” Remus cut himself off with a laugh as he took the salt. “Where do you want us to salt you, Bliz?”

“Wherever your heart desires.” They passed the container down the line, each sprinkling a pinch somewhere on Kasey’s bare chest. “Ready?”

Finn wrinkled his nose as he licked the salt, sipped some tequila, and quickly put the lime wedge in his mouth with a distressed sound. Remus was next, and he barely skimmed his mouth over Kasey’s belly button before shoving the lime between his teeth; James missed his mark completely because Kasey was still laughing, and Sirius got some of it up his nose on accident.

“You guys suck at this,” Kasey managed as he sat up, brushing the leftover salt off his front. “Jesus Christ, have any of you been to a party in your lives?”

All four exploded into indignant protesting and the video transitioned to a final slide. “Thanks for joking us today, Lions!” Marlene said in a voiceover. “Make sure to like and subscribe for more content.”

[absoloutenonsense]

sunday snippet

Thank you for tagging me throughout the week @crinkle-eyed-boo @disgruntledkittenface @wabadabadaba and @allwaswell16 ! I took a small break from tumblr to focus on writing, and I’ll probably do a little bit more of that this week too. This is from my Au Pair AU, where I’m writing more about the kids than I ever intended to, but it’s been fun. A lot of different emotions, too, but mostly fun, especially getting to write slightly nonsensical scenes like this one:

When the song changes, Louis has all of the ingredients to make parfaits, and little glass dishes set out in front of himself, Victoria, and Laney, plus a plastic one for Amelia, who has a tendency to drop things on the floor and cannot be trusted to answer honestly when asked if she promises not to throw something. 

To the tune of lime in the coconut, as he’s putting a dollop of yoghurt in his own bowl, Louis starts to sing, “You put the yoghurt in the little bowl and smooth it all around,” with his spoon, he spreads the yogurt at the bottom of the bowl to the beat, “you put the yoghurt in the little bowl and…?”

“Smooth it all around,” Laney finishes, doing the same thing with hers. 

Louis and Laney both sing as Victoria’s smile takes up her whole face and she does her turn, and then again for Amelia while she babbles along. She gets about half of it in the bowl, the other half on the high chair tray and a splash on the floor. 

“Now put the honey in the yogurt bowl, and mix it all up,” Louis sings, swaying his hips back and forth as he does just that. “Put the honey in the yoghurt bowl and…?”

“Mix it all up!” Laney sings. 

“Up!” Amelia says. 

“You  put the berries in the yoghurt bowl, and give each one a press.” Louis taps a berry lightly so it sticks in the yoghurt. “Put the berries in the yoghurt bowl and…?”

“Give each one a kiss!” Laney sings. 

Louis gasps, like he’s shocked. In French, he says, “Look at you, my little songwriter! I love it.” She beams at him, giggling. Switching back to English, he starts the verse again for Victoria to do hers. “You put the berries in the yoghurt bowl, and give each one a kiss, put the berries in the yoghurt bowl and…?”

“Give kiss!” Amelia shouts. 

Louis takes the opportunity to plant several kisses all over her face while she squeals in delight. 

As he goes back to his own bowl, picking up the next item, he winces playfully and says, “Bear with me on this one, my loves.” They giggle in anticipation. Speeding up for the offending words so they fit the tune, he sings, “Yooooouuuuu put the granola in the yoghurt bowl, in an even layer, yes!” Laney bursts out laughing, causing Louis to laugh through the repeated line, “Put the granola in the yoghurt bowl…?”

“And don’t make a mess!”

“Oh, that’s much better,” Louis says. “You put the granola in the yoghurt bowl, and don’t make a mess. Put the granola in the yogurt bowl--”

The door to the kitchen opens then, as Laney finishes off the lyric quite loudly, and Harry pops his head through the entranceway looking a little worse for wear. 

“Is breakfast always this festive?” Harry asks, clearly pushing a smile on his face as he comes through. He plants a kiss on top of Amelia’s head while she continues to babble-sing along to the tune on her own. Then he moves to put his hands on Victoria’s shoulders and kiss her head.

“Daddy, do you want a parfait? I can sing your parts!” Laney says.

Harry reaches her, doing the same gesture as he plants a kiss on the top of her head. “Not this morning, my darling, but thank you.”

“We don’t have to sing, if that’s what’s holding you back,” Louis says. 

Harry laughs as his hands land on his shoulders. Louis automatically relaxes into the touch before he recognizes that he shouldn’t and tenses up. Harry obviously feels it --or realizes, as well--  because he pulls back his hands quickly. 

“Uh,” Harry says. He moves like he’s going to cross his arms over his chest then stops and brings one up to scratch the back of his neck while he throws a thumb over his shoulder. “No, just a bit of a weak stomach this morning. Coffee should be good.”

Apologies if you’ve already posted a snippet today, but tagging you four back, plus @kingsofeverything  @lululawrence  @uhoh-but-yeah-alright  @greenfeelings @homosociallyyours if you have anything you’d like to share!

[fabricated-misslieness]

Can you do one with Hinata from Haikyuu? He sometimes comes in a whole mess and leave quite quickly once practice was over. One day, they follow him and catch him making out with his secret boyfriend.

Hinata Shōyō x male reader

Get you a man who’s willing to make out with you then let you go to your club practice and then make out with you again. Hell you doing during practice, my guy?

Anon #2 asked:

“If you’re request are open then can you do Jenna or Hinata w/ a tall secret bf and the team catches them sitting on their bf’s lap making out. Idk. I’m so sorry 😔”

Also, Anon #2, who’s Jenna?

Requested: Yes

Word Count: 580

Warnings: Making out, but that part isn't written much, so it isn’t exactly a lime.

(I swear to god I cannot find the sources of fan art for main characters)

“Goodmorning!”

Sometimes, Hinata would come into practice a mess.

His orange hair would be disheveled and all over the place, not like it wasn’t before, it was just messier now; the collar of his shirt would be pulled down slightly and sometimes even put on backwards.

It made the team wonder just what he was doing.

Maybe he was getting into fights, that would explain the bruises on his neck. But why were they only on his neck? And what about his shirt?

Maybe he tried to climb a tree and fell off or got his hair messed up from the branches. No, that didn’t explain either the bruises or the shirt…

There were so many possibilities, some more believable than the others, but none were a fact.

So they decided to follow them.

They assigned Kageyama to follow him before practice, since they were both first years and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi couldn't be bothered.

But Kageyama, like a true hypocrite boke, got distracted and lost sight of Hinata.

Well, that plan was done.

Now, they had to follow him after practice. That was harder since there were less people around, no crowd to blend in with.

Still, Hinata is one oblivious bit-- person.

As the orange… orange left the club room, he pretty much skipped like a child. He seemed eager and was even humming a happy tune, which wasn’t the toilet song.

The team sent out Nishinoya to follow closely behind while the rest of them finished changing.

A few minutes later, Noya came running back to the club room with a wide smile on his face. “Shōyō has a boyfriend! And they’re making out!” He shouted.

“What? No way!” Tanaka scrambled to put on the rest of his clothes quickly, no one wants a repeat of that one time a girl saw him in his undies.

The rest of the team sped up a little bit, while Tanaka rushed over to Noya, now fully dressed. They both left the club room once again.

When the team was done, they followed the rowdy boys’ tracks, and saw them peeking over a corner.

“There they are.” Noya whispered, putting a finger to his lips to tell them to shush dramatically.

The team peeked over the corner... somehow. There’s 13 of them, how does that work?

Over the corner they saw the couple making out.

Some of the team gasped, and Tsukki let out an “I knew it.” and he didn’t even try to hide his voice. He wasn’t even actually peeking, he was just standing there, creepily.

Hinata shrieked, nearly jumping off his boyfriend’s lap.

(y/n) started snickering, he was clearly amused and gave absolutely zero fucks about the current situation.

There were several things that went down after that.

Sugawara running off to Tsukishima to tell him that he blew their cover, Ennoshita scolding Hinata about PDA, while also being extremely red himself; Nishinoya and Tanaka bombarding the stranger with questions while Daichi scolded the both of them, but they didn’t listen; and the shy bumpkins blushing like all hell.

Before they could get to asking about (y/n), he was out. Daichi managed to distract Tanaka and Nishinoya enough for the stranger to slip away. By the time everybody realized, as they were done with their lectures, it was already too late.

“Hinata…” The team, most of them anyway, surrounded the orange like nosy teens looking for gossip.

“I can explain!”

Hinata was in big trouble. Gossip trouble.

[fairy-spring]

Take to the Skies - 7/?

~.*.~.*.~

I’m sorry this has taken so long to update. I’ve just moved in with my boyfriend, and I’m finally trying to dip my toe back into writing.

~.*.~.*.~

| 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 |

… She was staring again. The little girl with auburn hair and lime green eyes. Link was fairly sure he’d caught her staring quite a few times before. She was the daughter of the city’s top healer, from what he’d heard, which meant she’d pass through here every single day. Normally she’d be here with her father, or at least with a small group of friends. Why was she alone today, of all days?

“Oh, don’t pay her any mind,” Silas scoffed. “No need to be so embarrassed. She likes to watch everyone when they’re training.”

“Why’s that?” Orville questioned, his head tilted to one side. Silas merely rolled his eyes, as if the answer was the simplest thing in the world.

“Because,” he stressed, “we nobles always watch the page boys and the squires while they’re training!”  

Link squinted his eyes as he took in Silas’ words. He wasn’t blind to the goings-on around him, and neither was Orville. They perfectly understood that such things did happen. After all, random members of nobility poked their heads in to observe their shenanigans, well, every day. At least, that was how it felt.

“But why?” he repeated for his friend. “Why do they watch us all the time?”

“Because it’s entertaining to them.” Silas sighed as he shook his head. “Honestly, don’t you bumpkins understand anything?”

Link gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his wooden sword. The nerve of this kid! They were the exact same age, and here he was acting like he was so much mightier and holier than the both of them! Link was pretty sure pride was a sin; perhaps even the cardinal sin, if memory served him correctly. The blond smirked at the thought, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“Ya know, Si-”

“Hey, can I play too?”

A small dust cloud picked up behind the young lady as she bolted her way over to the trio of boys, catching Link completely off-guard. It was the same little girl who was watching them earlier; auburn hair, big green eyes... She was bouncing up and down on the balls of her little feet, and she hummed to herself as she held her balled-up little fists over either side of her head. Evidently, the girl’s excitement could barely be contained.  

“Huh?!” Orville exclaimed, obviously perplexed by the situation. “L-Little girl, you can’t-!”

“Why, young lady,” Silas interrupted, suddenly bent over in a courteous bow to the redhead. “I’m afraid this isn’t mere play, my dear. This is serious training for knights-to-be, such as myself.”

Link glared daggers at the raven-haired boy, and he scoffed as he crossed his arms. The nerve of this guy, pulling a complete one-eighty like that. He shared a glance with Orville, who could only roll his eyes as Silas continued attempting to sate the little girl’s curiosity and shoo her away. The more he talked, however, the more she pouted, her brow creased and her lips pressed in a firm line.

“But, but, but, but...” She slowly lowered her arms and placed her hands behind her, and she shifted her weight between her feet.

“Besides, don’t you have other young ladies you could play with instead?” Silas smiled warmly, a stark contrast to his usual smarmy smirk. “I’m sure they’re all dying to spend time with you, young lady.”

“They’re all in the chapel with Mother Aleesha,” she whined as she slumped over. “And I can’t go till later!”

“I’m very sorry to hear that... Well, you can always watch, but I’m afraid I can’t let such a fragile young lady get into harm’s way.” Upon saying this, he gestured to Link and Orville, and he let out a soft chuckle. “I fear what would happen if you were to roughhouse with blacksmiths’ sons.”

“Hey!”  

Link thrust his wooden sword towards Silas, in defiance of his backhanded niceties. Silas easily sidestepped the boy and tripped his right leg, sending him spiraling to the ground. With a sigh, the dark-haired boy addressed the little girl again, as if Link was a mere annoyance. Orville scrambled to help his friend off the ground, silently asking if he was alright. The blond could only nod in reply, wiping the dirt off his tunic as he glared once again at the little bastard before them.

“You see what I mean, lady Celine?” Silas shook his head again and reached out his hand for the girl to take. “These boys are so hotheaded, I fear what they’d do to someone so gentle!”

Celine didn’t grab for Silas’ hand, however. Instead, she was staring directly at Link. Almost reflexively, the boy turned his head away. She was about to say something too, huh? No doubt, she was going to scoff or snicker or say something in agreement with Silas, and he’d have to deal with ridicule not just from them, but from the entire circle of nobles in the fortress! The redhead stepped towards him and Orville, and he flinched at the thought of what she’d do.  

However, no ridicule came. No mockery or shame reached his ears. Instead, the girl eyed him sympathetically, and she asked, “Are you okay?”

Link’s eyes widened at her words. Though it was such a simple question, he never would have expected it to come out of a noble; especially after the way Silas had treated the both of them...

“I...” Suddenly, he was lost for words, and he could only bring himself to nod once again, pale blond hair bouncing as he did. Celine was beaming upon seeing his response, and she giggled as she grabbed his abandoned training sword and hopped next to Orville.  

“Then, will you guys play with me?”

Orville was just as baffled as Link, his mouth hung open for a solid couple seconds before he could speak.  

“W... Why are you asking us?” He motioned between himself and his friend, eyes squinted at the little redhead. Clearly, something was up with this girl. “I thought bumpkins were dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, you guys seem like fun!” Her lime-green eyes shined in the light as she beamed at the pair. With an impish giggle, she held the sword out to Link for him to take. “Come on, Forge, don’t you want to play?”

The blond raised his brow in questioning, and he hesitantly accepted the training sword.

“... Forge?”

“Yeah, Forge!” Another giggle from Celine. “You know, because you’re a blacksmith’s son!” She then pointed to Orville, taking the boy aback as he gawked in confusion. “And you’re Smithy!”

“S-Smithy?!”

Orville could barely voice his displeasure with the new nickname, as Celine merely snickered and snatched his own wooden sword from its sheath. The brunet hollered and gave chase to the little girl, fruitlessly swiping his hand out in a poor attempt to take it back. All the while, Celine was gazing intently at Link.

“Come on, Forge, pleeeeease?”  

“I told you, it isn’t play!” Silas suddenly butted in, stepping between her and Orville. He held out a hand to the girl, this time with the expectation for her to return the stolen glorified stick. “My lady, I can’t allow you to get hurt. Please, give it back.”

“Then, will you guys teach me?”

“Absolutely not,” the boy sighed in reply. “A young lady is fair and pure, just like the white goddess. She has no need to get her hands dirty.”

Link rolled his eyes once again. Was this the only reason Silas was so against this? This was for religious reasons?

“Ya know,” the blond started, “ladies around the ranches and the smiths outside the wall have to help their husbands, whether it’s by protecting cattle or firing the coals. Why can’t the lady learn swordplay?”

That alone was enough to get Silas fuming, and Link couldn’t help but smirk at the effect his words had. It looked like the poor noble boy was about ready to burst! It seemed that Celine’s presence was the only thing keeping him from blowing up on Link. Orville was baffled by Link’s remark, his mouth hung open and his hands held in front of him as if asking, “Why?!” The young lady, however, was grinning from ear to ear, clutching Orville’s sword tightly to her chest.

“So, you’ll teach me, Forge?!”

Link looked Silas dead in the eye as he answered Celine.  

“Sure, why not?”