#medium partner program

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Medium Now Supports 77 New Countries, Including India

How can this milestone enhance inclusivity and diversity on the platform, making it more vital and sustainable and benefiting writers and readers around the globe? As a dedicated writer, reader, editor, curator, content strategist, and multiple publication owners on Medium, I am delighted and thrilled to share some incredible news highlighting the platform’s commitment to inclusivity, diversity,…

[grouchydairy]

https://ramyeonjpg.medium.com/subscribe

[9moodofficial]

Make Money Online With This Platform (MPP Alternative)

Hi all, I would love to share the idea about how to make money through Medium without joining Medium Partner Program. Problem: When it comes to finding your first 100 followers, or more genuine article reads to your medium profile, you may ask each other to “follow for follow”, or “read for read”, etc., and some might do work for you or other members will ignore your post. Solution: What if you…

[transmonstera]

"[My top surgeon] fully removed all of the previous scars. There is simply no trace of them anymore. The second they were cut from my body they became nothing more than medical waste, same for my breast tissue and skin that was no longer wanted or needed."

i wrote a piece about my thoughts and feelings following top surgery <3 enjoy!

[zebulontheplanet]

One of the things I’m proud of as an intellectually disabled, learning disabled, medium support needs individual, is how well I’m doing in school after being homeschooled basically all my life and never doing well in school before. I’m only in my first semester, and I know it will get harder, however I’m doing really well in my school.

When I tell people that I’m in a school for the disabled, they automatically undermine it, and at first, I did too. I thought “they surely dub down the curriculum”. I was told on the first day that wasn’t the case. I was told on the first day that I picked THE hardest program within my school, and I picked a program that was indeed no different than if I went to a regular college. The main difference? It’s at a slightly slower pace. And it has more accommodations. Accommodations do not mean that things are easier. They simply allow others that struggle more to actually have a chance.

I’m doing well in my classes. I have mostly As and Bs. One C, but I’m working on it. I am currently, thriving. and I’m very proud of that.

That does not mean I’m not working hard. I’m working REALLY hard. I’m working probably harder than a lot of my peers. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not doing well. I study. All the time. It’s what I do. I don’t go to parties (not that there is any here anyways). I don’t go out. I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink. I don’t do any of that. Not that any of that doesn’t mean you’re a hard worker, because you can still absolutely do these things and thrive and succeed, but it does mean that I spend most of my time doing three things. Going to class, studying, and spending time with the one person I like here. My partner.

Not only am I thriving in some areas, I’m doing better than some of my peers in some areas. And yeah, I’m bragging. Because I deserve to brag. In my typing class/transcription class? I’m anywhere from one to two chapters ahead of all my peers. Yes, all. And I sorta joke that this is because I literally type to communicate.

During my student review, I was the shortest one. Why? Because my teacher and counselor simply said “yeah, keep doing what you’re doing” and sent me on my way. I don’t miss class. I don’t skip. I don’t do any of that. My peers? Whole different story.

I’m doing well, and it kinda makes me want to rub it in all the ableists faces that think that people like me can’t excel in college. It makes me want to rub it in everyone’s faces, cause hah. I actually can do well in school. Fuck you.

[gnawer-of-table-legs]

IF YOU LIVE IN THE US, PLEASE READ AND PREPARE

this is not meant to cause panic. Panic helps no one, and we WILL get through this. I’m not the best at giving advice and this post is a bit rushed. If you have any other ideas, please reblog with additions or suggestions for changes.

“Delete the terms sexual orientation, gender equality, awareness and sensitivity, diversity, equity, inclusion, abortion, reproductive health and reproductive rights out of every rule, regulation, contract, grant and piece of federal legislation that exists....”

This is an actual quote from Project 2025. It’s not TRUMP’s plan, but he has a very similar one (Agenda 47), and he definitely won’t stop the Republican Senate majority from carrying either of them out.

….So life sucks for Americans (and everyone honestly) rn but the fight is NOT over!! Stay vigilant, stay prepared.

Educate yourself on project 2025/agenda 47 to the fullest extent. If there’s something on that list that you NEED and will be banned, take care of it as soon as possible, if you can.

For example: Those behind Project 2025 want to get rid of no-fault divorce. That means that if someone wants to leave a marriage but their partner doesn’t agree, they’re essentially trapped. That’s dangerous! If you want to leave a marriage, do it NOW. If you’re in a bad relationship, do NOT marry, get out of there. Even if you’re in a good relationship: please, please, PLEASE keep in mind that you may not be able leave it if you get married.

Take advantage of existing programs while they still exist and are relatively accessible (healthcare, etc).

Do research on queer/disability/etc support groups and general life tips and share them around in case that information becomes unavailable in the future. In a similar vein, take note on whether having a diagnosed mental illness or disorder would be helpful or detrimental in the future (again, see the above quote).

Download and Save forms of media that you think you may no longer have access to (fanfic, etc). Since KOSA (or some similar internet censorship bill) may pass, take note of what mediums you can use to stay in contact with online friends and support systems. Some suggestions i've received:

Scratch (the coding website) <- may be affected by KOSA but parents are less likely to look twice at it. Again, may not not be affected by KOSA since they already have filters set in place (for swears/violent language, not for queer topics. that may change).

Google Docs/Photos/Chats. All you need is a google account

Apple Photos: you can make chats somehow

**************It goes without saying that you should always be safe online and limit the amount of personal information you share. Please be responsible. **************

Reblog, and add further ideas if you have them— we can and WILL get through this!

edit: maybe this seems a bit too urgent, sorry. Just. Keep an eye on legal proceedings and take advantage of what is currently available. I’m not saying that everything in project 2025 WILL happen, but the conservatives DO have control over the Senate. Please, please plan ahead

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/29/2024

new boot goofin. also a great book for the cowboyblogger crew and TWO cat photos

listening

afterimage by JUSTICE and Rimon was on a spotify autogenerated dance playlist and it is So soothing to my brain. sometimes described as heavy metal disco, it itches the same brain scratch as daft punk's interstella 5555. comforting and familiar road trip music where the road trips are in spaceships with a sort of clunky engine thrumming away in the background. you know that extremely early ass o clock in the morning road trip feel where it's very pale and a little misty out and you're only sort of awake? i feel like this is a very different kind of road trip music animal than than late-night road trip music. it's pulling you out the door. it's for beginnings, not for very tired almost-ends.

-

reading

thank you mackie. very reading heavy week. im tryign to redirect myself into library books instead of election doomscrolling and im trying to read more physical books bc i have a tremendous pile of shit i genuinely do want to read and almost none of it is on my phone. first we'll talk about Navigational Entanglements by Aliette de Bodard, from randomly perusing the library stacks. really really really fucking loved this one.

Award-winning author of The Red Scholar’s Wake Aliette de Bodard comes for your heart with a compelling tale of love, duty, and found-family in an exciting new space opera that brings xianxia-style martial arts to the stars. Jockeying navigator clans guide spaceships through the Hollows: an area of space populated by the mysterious but deadly creatures known as Tanglers. When a Tangler escapes the Hollows for the first time in living memory, each clan must send a representative to help capture it—but the mission may be doomed and the hearts of two clan juniors may be in danger too.

first off: this isn't fucking found family. this is a group of coworkers. tor dot com loves to slap found family on anything gay.

politics is about control and inter-group dynamic politics are also about control. and grappling for control in your life when you grow up in a Young Leadership program. i really liked this, one of the least annoying examples of someone getting overstimulated and needing to lie down in a dark quiet room and how hanging out with some people does not impair rest and hanging out with some people is extremely extremely draining. the love interest is what if lee van cleef was a young vietnamese woman in the far future who can navigate faster than light travel.

very snappy little 160-pg novella that does not overstay its welcome. packs a genuinely surprising amount of worldbuilding and character work into its pages: i have a lot of trouble with ensemble casts post-Covid and keeping everyone straight (especially in hard copy form where I can’t easily search a book) but everyone is a fully formed person here and i had no trouble keeping everyone straight in my head. i will be asking my siblings to acquire a physical copy for me for christmas. i love a fucked up political mystery with spacewalks and space monsters.

the lead, nhi, reminded me a lot of friends at the table's brnine, a self-sacrificing perfectionist fish. hope that's useful information to all three of you i have bullied into listening to fatt

The Shabti by Megaera C. Lorenz. this finally came off my holds, hat tip to i think someone else's tuesdaypost? cannot immediately locate it. holler if it was you.

Can you flimflam a ghost? It’s 1934. Former medium Dashiel Quicke travels the country debunking spiritualism and false mediums while struggling to stay ahead of his ex-business partner and lover who wants him back at any cost. During a demonstration at a college campus, Dashiel meets Hermann Goschalk, an Egyptologist who’s convinced that he has a genuine haunted artifact on his hands. Certain there is a rational explanation for whatever is going on with Hermann’s relics, Dashiel would rather skip town, but soon finds himself falling for Hermann. He agrees to take a look after all and learns that something is haunting Hermann’s office indeed. Faced with a real ghost Dashiel is terrified, but when the haunting takes a dangerous turn, he must use the tools of the shady trade he left behind to communicate with this otherworldly spirit before his past closes in.

this keeps getting reviewed as cozy horror, which i do not agree with bc i hate the term and believe it oxymoronic. it is a fairly straightforward romance with paranormal shit happening in the foreground. a period piece not particularly for the folx end of the fag/folx gay book spectrum-- they happen to be gay but there's a lot of other shit happening. not a spicy romance as the tiktok girlies say. it is a period book that sort of elides over the worst parts of the 30s? eg there is no on-page or overt racism or antisemitism that the characters have to Confront. one of the lead's neighbors is a black nurse trying to start a NAACP chapter, but she's so fully fleshed out and such an enjoyable character it doesn't feel like the book is looking for moral points from modern readers. i also liked the general slow-build of the book and their relationship — i have no complaints about the intensity or pace of their relationship.

the one ding i have is that it is perhaps a touch too enthusiastic about period slang. it's fine when the two leads are talking to each other, especially bc their word choice is a large way they show their personality, but when there are more than two people in a scene it can grate a little for me. i do think the dialogue is generally the strong suit here, and the author particularly excels at two-person back and forths, so it’s not a frequent complaint.

i liked the contrast of the scam medium with the academic egyptologist, since many egyptologists were also scams. the scenes with the spirit are genuinely eerie, which is a very good contrast with the fairly straightforward, often sparse narration.

grudging respect for keeping a joke simmering on the back burner for four hundred pages before deploying it. this was a well-paced read i have no major complaints about.

i have to spin this book around in my brain and get a physical copy and flip back and forth and lot and make notes to myself in a separate notebook before i talk about this one here i think. same brain itch as a canticle for leibowitz.

i also read a bunch of comics but this section is already long enough goodbye

-

watching

the first episode of the currently airing penguin tv show! at my bestie's house bc she has an hbo max subscription from something, unfortunately it is an emotionally fraught very tense show and we're kind of full up on those so i will have to finish this on my own. at no point did i say to myself "whoa that's colin farrell". both the prosthetic and accent work are off the charts.

i do Not like a piece of media about the mob. i will stomach it for batman. it's really wild how the accents they've chosen for gotham and her suburbs make me so so so weirdly homesick. one of the locations is an early McMansion and my bestie and i said almost simultaneously "are we in fucking Cherry Hill???" a jersey noveau riche town infested with notable McMansions.

i am constantly chasing the high of s1 black sails where everyone is frantically scheming and falling all over them fucking selves. this gets pretty close! it's big budget prestige tv with the storytelling chops to match so far. one of my favorite comic runs is The Long Halloween, partially about the fortunes of the Maroni and Falcone crime families of Gotham. this is loosely following that, but deviates enough to surprise me, which i enjoy. there have been enough faithful adaptations of that comic run imo.

optimistic about the rest of the season! i have such low expectations for batman media that it's refreshing to get like a genuinely good pilot episode out of the franchise.

-

playing

i have Got to find a new game to play that i already own. genshin is such a good podcast game but i need Something New. surely the 576047357649857689 games across five libraries will save me.

-

making

so many things happened this week. cat neuter and constipation episode. helped take apart and put back together a children's' room. lot of running around.

crunchy! i almost left these docs at goodwill bc i don't have a super high opinion of the company or the quality of the boots. i have heard my ENTIRE life about how long-lasting they are and how people have had the same boots for years but i completely shredded a pair during eight months in 2019. like the soles were worn almost completely smooth to the point they were a slipping hazard, half the eyelets were broken, and the leather was genuinely disintegrating. that was one of the busiest and most active periods of my life (classes at other campuses both semesters, a summer in new hampshire, the beginning of the makerspace) but i did expect them to hold up a little better or a little longer. they only got to experience about a month and a half of salt at the beginning and were regularly cleaned. yes i did buy them straight from the company.

anyway. these extremely ugly docs industrials had almost all their tread and magically fit me. like the rest of me, my feet are large and wide and difficult to fit. they are by Far the ugliest shoes i have ever owned. however. they will be the boots i will wear for when i need to be okay about potentially destroying my footwear.

hit em with some saddle soap and polished the toes, i seem to be flat out of leather conditioner so i was only able to hit the heels and one tongue. the laces are in the warsh.

they're real leather and were twelve dollars and miraculously fit me. you know that quote about americans being temporarily embarrassed millionaires? i still, in many ways, think of myself as a temporarily embarrassed abled person. i am slowly giving up on the idea of another remote job, bc they seem to all be fake, and going harder on city and county jobs. while i would rather wear my beloved CAT steel toes with the nice padded cuffs any day of the week, maybe these will be good for tromping around somewhere inspecting something. would Love a weights and measures inspection job if their office would return my polite messages.

also ruby goes home tonight! goodbye ruby!

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Onboarding New Writers Joining ILLUMINATION Publications Today: Episode #75

Welcome and a quick acknowledgment of your acceptance to ILLUMINATION Integrated Publications on Medium with helpful links to our resources New writer applications to Illumination are via our registration portal. Please review our quality checklists and the onboarding pack before submitting your stories to our publications. You are welcome to join the ILLUMINATION Community on Medium and…

[akitasimblr]

👑MARIA HARPER👑

HARPER LEGACY DIARIES | Heiress | Generation Eleven

full name: maria harper

nickname: honeybun (by alvin only)

life state: spellcaster | elder | married

parentage: marcello harper & lucia martinez

partners: alvin sherwood

offspring: ursula harper

aspiration: computer whiz | spellcraft & sorcery

main traits: recycle disciple | childish | music lover

born in: strangerville

lived in: strangerville | evergreen harbor | oasis springs | moonwood mill | glimmerbrook

career: tech guru career - esports gamer branch (pro gamer - level 8) | paranormal investigator (n/a)

degree: computer science (foxbury)

👑generation milestones illustrated👑

Complete Aspiration: Computer Whiz

Complete Aspiration Spellcraft & Sorcery

Complete Aspiration Big Happy Family

Max DJ Mixing

Max Medium

Max Programming

Max Robotics

Max Video Gaming

Satisfaction Reward Traits: Brave, Fertile, Paranormal Investigator

Collections: Decorative Eggs, Holiday Cracker Plushies, Magical Artifacts

World: Oasis Springs, Glimmerbrook

Extra task: Become a Paranormal Investigator in Glimmerbrook.

Optional: Learn all 24 spells and 16 alchemy potions.

EXPLORE MORE START READING THIS GENERATION

*passport template credits

[shiftertech]

"One day, we'll all dance in the link."

The silent hallways of a steadily transiting haul-ship, lit by dim red lights and clusters of stars outside its view ports, are disturbed with the muted footsteps of a pilot's off-duty sneakers. Her steps are light as she breaks the cyclical night curfew, keeping to the less frequented corridors. Most of the night-crew are just performing navigation, sensors and engineering tasks—a skeleton crew.

From her pocket, she fetches a small handheld device. Provided by a trusted mechanic, it's loaded with a simple program which spoofs a valid night-shift keycard, and then runs an exploit which should clear the auth logs on the access panel before it reports back to home. They said it was a simple hack all things considered, but that stuff was never her forte.

The door to the drop hanger was right ahead. As instructed, she held the device to the flat grey panel affixed to the wall, and to their word, it flashed a quick green and then a blue as the logs were wiped. The door opens with a hiss, and the pilot wastes no time crossing the threshold and striding towards her destination.

A bulky frame, with sleek lines and medium range armament, sits patiently in its transit harness just in front of her, nestled amongst other frames of similar design. Pock-marked burns from a long history of combat sorties remain visible as marks of experience. Emblazoned on the shoulder plating is an insignia featuring the head of an African wild dog from the old world, and the mech's name"Pictus" in bold lettering. She reaches out and trails her fingers down cold alloy skin, whispering gently.

"Hey lovely, I missed you."

Transit time doesn't permit much link time between pilots and their mechs, seen as wasteful up time for a mech confined in a tightly spaced drop harness for extended periods of time. The routine maintenance already makes sure that the mechs will be ready when it comes time for them to drop into hell. Perhaps it makes sense in a budgetary and combat readiness context on some detatched and dull report somewhere in the navy archive, but fuck if it doesn't leave a pilot yearning.

There's movement from behind Pictus, and panic briefly spikes within the pilot before giving way to recognition. A mechanic—her mechanic—glides towards her with a pretty smile dancing on their lips. Pretty enough for her to rush forward into their arms and steal it with a kiss. They hold eachother close, shadowed by Pictus; a mech which they mutually pilot, care for, and love. Pictus flickers her idle light nestled into the torso hatch, and the pair smiles, understanding intention in the gesture.

"Oh, she definitely missed you," the mechanic replies on the mech's behalf, motioning with their eyes to Pictus, "was being a real brat with fault codes earlier this cycle."

A light giggle gets muffled into the mechanics shoulder, the pilot swaying with her partner. It wasn't often they got to spend time either between pilot simulations & briefings, tight maintenance windows, and other operational busy work. Their relationship gets caught in the middle of it, and she'd be lying if she said it didn't cause hardships between them. All of that goes away with the way they drop a kiss into the short curls atop her head. Even when they eventually pull away from the embrace, she still feels like everything is just right. There's just one missing piece...

"Alright, I'm sure she can't stand waiting much longer with you here. Let's get you linked up before she decides to break loose from the harness! You know she hates being in standby for too long," they say amusedly, turning towards Pictus. Twisting and pulling hard on an embedded handle on the torso, they reveal the cockpit behind the heavy hatch. A well worn seat, system control panels, and a neural link harness sit dormant inside. The mechanic helps their pilot climb inside, the pilot sporting just a t-shirt and sweats as she sits down on the seat of their machine of war.

"Let's wake you up a little," the pilot says, eyeing the controls around her. She first confirms that ground power is connected and active, poking the rotary switch with a finger in affirmation and noting a green light. Then came the internal running lights, and bringing the pilot assist intelligence out of standby mode. Finally, a single switch remained: the toggle for the neural link. She patiently waits while her mechanic climbs in with her.

The mechanic straddles their pilot in her seat, while their calloused hands reach behind and above the seat, snatching the end of the link harness. They bring it to an embedded metal port in the back of her neck, caressing it sweetly with a hand, while they lean their forehead against hers. Their eyebrows furrow.

"If only I could join you both..."

And the pilot surges forward to kiss them, affirming and lovingly. She reaches a hand behind their neck as well, tracing a circle with her thumb, roughly the size of a neural interface port, over unmarred skin. The pilot whispers into their lips, spoken like a promise.

"One day, my love. We'll have you augmented too, and we'll dance in the link together with Pictus."

They open their eyes, seeing their pilot gazing deeply at them. They believe her. A smile tugs at the corners of their mouth and they remove the hand from her neck. With a notchy click, they firmly fit the harness cable into her nerual port. She briefly winces in discomfort, the feeling of metal bumping against metal within her never feels amazing, but it's followed by a satisfied smile as she knows the only thing left holding her back from Pictus is a single switch.

Her hand reaches over instinctually, but is stopped short when her mechanic grabs it. She looks at them, their soft gaze melting her heart then and there. They guide her hand over to the switch, her index finger just behind the small metal lever. With one final kiss of her mechanic lover, she flicks it, and the link opens like a flood gate.

lovelovelovelovelovelovelove

LoveLoveLoveLoveLoveLove

LOVELOVELOVELOVELOVE

Data flows, and the link echoes a feedback loop of feelings and emotions, as a machine of war welcomes her loved pilot home, and she feels just as strongly. It's an exclamation, a declaration, a bio-technical embrace, and it is everything.

The mechanic watches their pilot slump in her seat, a goofy smile growing by the moment as she runs abandon within the link. They curl up into her lap, resting as close as they possibly can to their two loves. They drift off and dream beautiful dreams of dancing in the link with all of them.

[nczaversnick]

Project Gemini: Worldbuilding

Let me just take a moment to shout out my amazing writing partner Rachelle for being so meticulously anal about some of this. I wouldn’t have this information if it weren’t for her googling shit at 3 am

You can follow her on instagram @panda.panduh

Setting

Setting: Cyberpunk adjacent. Definitely advance technology in a city

Country: Utristan

Capital city: Eltrax in Aurora District

Caspian’s home city: Dreake in Titania District

Currency:

Seols - fully digital currency only accessed through PINs and SERiALs

Utristan uses Seol currency (§XX UTS)

Because of the incredibly high inflation, 5.8k Seol (§5800 UTS) is worth 1 US dollars ($1 USD) during Caspian’s generation

Any living costs and salaries will be based off of Illinois and doubled–

Minimum hourly wage [legally allowed]: $24 USD

(Nursing assistant wage: $28 - $52 USD)

Monthly rent: $1138 USD

Monthly phone: $50 USD until $1200 USD [first gen phone]; $70 USD until $1600 USD [upgrade]

Clothing style:

The general public does not lean so hard into true cyberpunk fashion but you can see traces of it there.

Military and Medical uniforms are strictly regulated.

The [Rebel Group Name] have the closest to cyber punk style, having more liberties to express themselves as such

the cyberpunk aesthetic combines 40s film noir fashion, gothic styles of the 90s, military uniforms, and gear, and more experimental and futuristic cybernetic details. While the cyberpunk look might seem incredibly unique, its essence is composed of many incredibly varied sources.

Names:

Normals/Non-Deviants/etc: those who were born without elemental powers

Deviants: those who were born with elemental powers

The Zodiacs: those who were created within the Operation Crimson Army (OCA) program

Technology

PIN (Particle Infused Nanochip):

available as a unique combination of numbers and letters for non-electronic access. Infants are instantly chipped and tested for elemental identification

Who has them: Humans and Deviants

When is it introduced in the story: Book 1

Public knowledge about them: only about the functions, except GPS tracking and power suppression

Properties: a small, square device that has been surgically implanted within the dermis layer of the right or left wrist, depending on the dominant hand the user uses.

Its embedded, replicate copper oxide particles improve the skin's well-being and since it is not made of real metal, will not be likely to cause any allergic reactions. If it detects an abnormal amount of carbon dioxide (either due to intentionally cutting out the chip or CO2 poisoning), the chip will release a silent alarm that will alert the authorities.

Normal adult concentrations: 23 - 30 mmol/L

Atmospheric CO2: 21,050 mmol/L

Alert ranges: 35 - 21,050 mmol/L

Functions: access to all modes of transportation, monetary funds, and certain buildings, GPS tracking, power suppression [in later books]

SERiAL (Serial Etched Reference in Anterior Limbs):

Who has them: Civilian and military personnel Deviants, the Zodiacs

When is it introduced in the story: in the later books

Public knowledge about them: only about the properties, but not about the Zodiacs

Properties: a medium-sized tattoo etched into either the inner forearms or napes of necks.

The ink is made with a substance known as xylothane, a fire- and scratch-resistant ink that penetrates the dermis layer of skin.

Civilian and military personnel Deviants have the SERiAL printed on their inner forearms

All Zodiacs have the SERiAL and their zodiac symbol printed on the back of their necks

Functions: identification, access to criminal records

ROB (Radical Operational Bots): those who can afford small animatronic assistants have access to them.

Properties: most basic forms of androids and come as a 2x2-inch boxes

Function: entertainment, reminders of events, basic web search

Features: reforming personalities depending on who owns them, will perform basic commands, GPS tracking device

The [Rebel Group Name]: Quinn has officially renamed the ROB acronym to Radical Operational Buddies. These assistants have been torn apart and reconstructed without the GPS tracking device and made to look like animals, personalities reformed to match their owners’, will perform more advanced commands, and are personally customized to the needs of their owner

Adrian: dragon with a dog-like personality, programmed with PTSD and de-escalating training

Iris: bison with a stern and stable personality, creates blueprints and diagrams of buildings it's scanned and projects images

Aurelia: snake with a sneaky personality, often hides amongst the plants and dispenses water to help with watering

Athena: gecko with a sneaky personality, can blend into the background and often acts as a “fly on the wall” with advanced listening capabilities

Mason: rabbit with a grumpy, protective personality, has non-lethal lasers. Quinn put them there as a joke/convinced Iris to help him do that

Quinn: standard cube with a smiley face [if a cube could be high this cube is it], helps with programming

Caspian: small bird with a bubbly personality, able to record and playback music and recordings

Tablets (HSP Tab: Holographic Screen Projector): those who can afford tablets have access to them.

Depending on the region will depend on the type of tablet one might have. Can range from the most basic to the most advanced.

Basic form (HSP Tab BF1-4 and S): palm-sized, touch screen with a frame

Function: basic web search, call and text with 2-D images, fragile glass surface

Advanced form (HSP Tab AF5-9 and S): standard magazine-size, glass screen with a frame and holographic imaging

Function: advanced web search, call and text with 3-D imaging projection, indestructible glass surface

Monorails (MPA: Magnetically-Propelled Antiquitrain): hovers in the air by magnets. Lack of friction achieves fast speeds.

Publicly accessed and publicly owned by the government

Taxis (PEP: Particle-Effused Pulsecar): hovers in the air by the high magnetic field in the area. The effusion rate of the particles needs time to create a short burst of propelling, kinetic energy to move.

Publicly accessed and can be publicly or privately owned

Jets (SSCJ: Supersonic Stratospheric Concealment Jetstream)

Privately owned by the military

Deviants

Scientific background:

Humans have 4 bases for DNA: guanine, adenine, cytosine, and thymine. Deviants have 4 bases and 4 extra bases that determine their element: ignisine (fire), aquanine (water), terranine (earth), ventinine (wind). Certain combinations of the 8 bases will determine the Deviant’s elements:

Father/Mother

Aquanine: Water

Water/Water: Cyclone

Water/Earth: Plant

Water/Air: Weather

Water/Fire: [Invalid]

Terranine: Earth

Earth/Water: Crystal

Earth/Earth: Earthquake

Earth/Air [Invalid]

Earth/Fire: Metal

Ventinine: Air

Air/Water: Fog

Air/Earth [Invalid]

Air/Air: Aero-Telekineses

Air/Fire: Light

Ignisine: Fire

Fire/Water: [Invalid]

Fire/Earth: Lava

Fire/Air: Electrity

Fire/Fire: Inferno

Although opposing Deviants are able to mate like Humans, their offspring will only inherit and express one gene of either element from the mother or the father.

Rarely there will be offspring that express both genes from both parents due to mutation, but these often die in the early onset of pregnancy.

Those who survive express one element and have one “silent” element [meaning they will only be able to control one element] and are taken by the [Government Program] for further experiments.

Male babies will inherit their father’s genes, and female babies will inherit their mother’s.

Every baby that is born undergoes genetic testing to see which genes are expressed.

The Government

Utristan is held in a military state, with military members making up all branches of government and law enforcement. Those within the military are part of a group known as the Emissaries of Utristan.

Military consists of multiple other branches similar to: Army (combat), Air Force (air), Navy (water), Seals (secret ops) in early books

Military will crumble and become one giant branch: Army (everything) in later books

Army Ranks:

Class 1: lower-class military; doesn’t know aything about anything (grub work)

Private (Athena, Caspian and Aurelia)

Everyone who has ever graduated high school is a private since it’s a requirement to do at least 2 years of military service in Utristan

Corporeal (Iris)

Sergeant

Master Sergeant (Quinn)

Sergeant Major

Sergeant Major of the Army (steps up when General of the Army goes down)

Class 2: upper-class military; works closely with Zodiacs and OCA in general

Warrant Officer

Chief Warrant Officer

Lieutenant

Captain (Mason)

Major

Colonel (Adrian)

Major General

General (Lucia)

General of the Army

Operation Crimson Army (OCA)

Purpose: to weaponize the Deviants in order to have a one-up in any future wars

Deviants will develop normally and cannot be distinguished from Humans. Deviants that have been experimented on to have 2 or more expressed elements will develop more body mutations.

In the beginning, the OCA tried creating test tube babies that were genetically engineered to have 2 or more expressed elements, but since the DNA was not set like in older birthed babies, the DNA would often unravel and reject non-compatible bases.

Over time, those who survived having two expressed elements underwent “gene activation” in which 2 or more elements would be expressed, however, they would be more susceptible to developing physical mutation.

The ‘Zodiacs’

Physical mutations:

When genetically modified Deviants are created, depending on which elements are expressed, will undergo physical mutations such as:

glowing windpipes and coughing up cinders for fire elements

cold to the touch with skin feeling like cracking ice for water elements,

bones cracking and swiveling unnaturally with deformed skeletal structures and crystals growing in their pores for earth elements,

ghostly skin with shifting voices from whispering to booming roars for wind elements

Adrian is colder to the touch compared to other fire Deviants, which forces him to bundle up more than others. He would be extremely cold like other water Deviants, but since he hasn’t used his water powers as much, he’s not as affected. Because he’s used his fire powers so much in the past, his throat has started to become affected to where he prefers staying quiet and talks only when necessary.

The Zodiacs and their elements:

Capricorn:

Amped Electric

[Solider Group of 5+]

[Privates]

Aquarius:

Prophecy [Failed/Will Fail?]

[Colonel]

Pisces:

Poison

[Leader]

[Colonel]

Aries:

Amped Lava

[Small Group 2-3]

[Corporeals]

Taurus:

Stone Skin

[Soliders]

[Privates]

Gemini:

Adrian

[Leader]

[Colonel]

Cancer:

Telepathy

[Leader]

[Major]

Leo:

Amped up Inferno [Failed]

Virgo:

Invisibility

[Small Group]

[Corporeals]

Libra:

Speed

[Solider]

[Privates]

Scorpio:

Blood

[Leader]

[Colonel]

Sagittarius:

Oblivion [Failed]

The [Rebel Group Name]

Purpose: to gather the Deviants together to overthrow the government

Characters

🚧This section will eventually contain links to individual character posts🚧

Caspian Álvarez

Adrian Harlowe

Athena Álvarez

Aurelia Harlowe

Iris Dagon

Quinn Russo

Mason Hayes

Lucia Atore

Tags for Project Gemini in general; as usual, comment to be +/- from this list

@honeybewrites @the-letterbox-archives @the-golden-comet @the-ellia-west @yourpenpaldee

[noeldeyzel]

Noel Deyzel and His Rise on TikTok

Noel Deyzel and His Rise on TikTok

Introduction

Noel Deyzel has become a household name in the fitness community, thanks to his remarkable presence on TikTok. Known for his motivational content, fitness tips, and engaging personality, Noel has inspired millions worldwide. This article delves into his rise on TikTok, exploring how he leveraged the platform to become a fitness icon.

Early Life and Background

Noel Deyzel’s journey began long before he ever heard of TikTok. Born and raised in South Africa, Noel had a passion for sports and fitness from a young age. Initially pursuing a career in business, he soon realized his true calling lay in bodybuilding and fitness coaching. This transition marked the beginning of a new chapter in his life, one that would eventually lead him to TikTok fame.

Discovery of TikTok

In the early days of TikTok, Noel saw an opportunity to reach a broader audience. Unlike other social media platforms, TikTok’s algorithm favored short, engaging videos, making it the perfect medium for his fitness tips and motivational speeches. Noel started by observing popular trends and understanding what type of content resonated with users.

Content Strategy and Growth

Noel’s content is a mix of fitness advice, workout routines, motivational speeches, and personal anecdotes. By participating in trends and challenges, he kept his content relevant and engaging. Collaborations with other TikTok influencers also played a crucial role in his growth. His commitment to posting regularly and maintaining high-quality content helped him build a loyal following.

Engagement with Followers

One of Noel’s strengths is his genuine interaction with his followers. He responds to comments, engages in duets, and often addresses fan questions in his videos. This level of interaction has fostered a sense of community, making his followers feel valued and appreciated.

Viral Videos and Breakthrough Moments

Noel’s rise to fame includes several key viral moments. Videos where he shared his personal fitness journey, transformation stories, and motivational messages resonated deeply with viewers. These viral videos significantly boosted his follower count and solidified his position as a fitness influencer.

Fitness Tips and Inspirational Content

Noel’s approach to fitness content is practical and motivational. He offers actionable fitness tips, from workout routines to diet advice, ensuring his followers have the tools they need to succeed. Additionally, his inspirational content, which often includes personal stories of overcoming obstacles, helps motivate his audience to pursue their own fitness goals.

Personal Branding and Merchandise

As his popularity grew, Noel developed a strong personal brand. He launched fitness programs, branded merchandise, and even an app to help his followers stay on track with their fitness journeys. This diversification not only enhanced his brand but also provided additional revenue streams.

Challenges Faced and Overcome

Noel’s journey to TikTok fame wasn’t without challenges. Initially, he struggled with gaining traction and faced criticism from skeptics. However, his resilience and dedication helped him overcome these obstacles. He also had to balance his personal life with the demands of creating content, a challenge many influencers face.

Impact on the Fitness Community

Noel has had a significant impact on the fitness community. His no-nonsense advice and motivational content have inspired many to take up fitness seriously. He has also helped demystify bodybuilding, making it more accessible to a broader audience.

Collaborations and Partnerships

Collaborations with other TikTok influencers and brand partnerships have been pivotal in Noel’s journey. By partnering with like-minded creators, he expanded his reach and introduced his content to new audiences. Sponsorship deals with fitness brands have also helped him monetize his TikTok presence.

Transition to Other Platforms

Recognizing the importance of diversifying his online presence, Noel expanded to Instagram, YouTube, and other platforms. This move allowed him to reach different demographics and share more detailed content, such as long-form workout videos and vlogs.

Future Plans and Aspirations

Looking ahead, Noel has big plans. He aims to continue growing his brand, launching new fitness products, and expanding his reach globally. His vision includes not only inspiring people through social media but also creating tangible resources to help them achieve their fitness goals.

Conclusion

Noel Deyzel’s rise on TikTok is a testament to the power of authentic content and genuine engagement. His journey from a fitness enthusiast to a social media icon is inspiring, demonstrating that with dedication and a clear vision, anything is possible. As he continues to evolve, there’s no doubt that Noel will keep motivating and inspiring millions around the world.

FAQs

How did Noel Deyzel become famous on TikTok?

Noel became famous on TikTok by sharing engaging fitness tips, motivational content, and personal stories. His consistent posting and genuine interaction with followers helped him build a large and loyal audience.

What kind of content does Noel Deyzel create?

Noel creates a variety of content, including fitness advice, workout routines, motivational speeches, and personal anecdotes. He also participates in TikTok trends and challenges.

How does Noel Deyzel interact with his followers?

Noel interacts with his followers by responding to comments, engaging in duets, and addressing fan questions in his videos. This engagement has helped him build a supportive community.

What challenges has Noel Deyzel faced on his journey?

Noel has faced challenges such as gaining initial traction on TikTok, handling criticism, and balancing personal life with content creation demands. His resilience and dedication helped him overcome these obstacles.

What are Noel Deyzel’s future plans?

Noel plans to continue growing his brand, launching new fitness products, and expanding his global reach. He aims to inspire more people through social media and provide tangible resources for achieving fitness goals.

[nachocheezos21]

[THE DOCUMENT BELOW CONTAINS THE FOLLOWING:]

[Cannibalism], [Mentions of Death], [Minor Gore Mentions] // [IF THE AUTHOR HAD MISSED ANYTHING, PLEASE DO NOT HESITATE TO CONTACT FOR CORRECTION!]

[Z-257-2 — “Guilt-filled Appetite.”]

Description: Previously EXR-P #██████████, real name “Elizah H. Jekyll”, is a current and active member of the aforementioned ‘Yore Expendable’ team alongside others. She is ██ of age, standing 152cm (approximately 5 feet) with medium-length black hair and tan skin, with her most notable facial feature being her unnatural eyes; dark blue eyes surrounded by a neon yellow sclera — often switching depending on the subject’s emotional intensity. While it was easy for staff to recognise her from the rest of the team, many suspected (including Z-257-2 herself) that her unnatural eyes do not have any correlation from the regenerating properties of the team.

During the expedition observed by HQ, Z-257-2 is usually seen and/or heard by the site CCTV to lead the way for the rest of the team to follow. The only instances of Z-257-2 trailing behind are whenever the subject is in search of a hiding place or rummaging through for any files or data left by the staff. Similar to the rest of Z-257, Z-257-2 shares regenerative properties upon death by emitting yellow particles of light to scatter all over the corpse, clumping together to inhabit the heart (and missing limbs, if any). Despite this, the subject’s eyes are still not affected nor changed afterwards.

Prior to her arrest, Z-257-2 had previously worked as a junior researcher in the University of ██████████, Sweden, before being referred to the company by her late-father and one of Mr. Shade’s business partners, Dr. H████ Jekyll. By then, she was hired as one of Urbanshade’s junior researchers within the Botanical Division located in ████, ████████ and had worked for the company for about an approximate of 2 to 3 years — being later promoted as Assistant Senior Researcher.

In mid-2024 to early 2025, Z-257-2 was soon arrested for the murder of Junior Researcher, Dr. Verena Calyx, as the subject was found in her office with blood on the floor, surrounding the victim. The guards had also stated that the subject was also found kneeling next to the deceased victim’s body with chunks of flesh and blood on her hands and lips, signifying that the subject was in the middle of eating the victim due to guilt. A small trial was held and Z-257-2 was soon promptly jailed. It wasn’t until months later that the Hadal Blacksite had initiated lockdown due to the events caused by Z-13, resulting in the “Expendable” protocol taking place. The subject was then offered a second chance by retrieving Z-1, promising cash and a pardon on their criminal sentence, which was enough for her to sign up for the program.

Upon reaching the surface with Z-1 in the team’s possession, Urbanshade guards directly confiscated and detained the team of Z-257 before presenting the Crystal to Mr. Shade himself. But after recognising the members of the team from the numerous comments from one of the Headquarters’ Team Overseer, Mr. Shade had immediately requested for all members to be sent to a nearby Site for further testing.

[Notes from the author//artist]: OH MY GOD PRESSURE SONA REVEAL does it even count if it’s you LMAO. uh anyways YEAH !!! BRAINROT !!!!!! you guys would probably see me make more of these with some of my moots and pookies. if it’s not obvious, this is only an additional document detailing a member of z-257 >.:} – my end, at least (no i’m not actually jekyll irl i wish i was/j). also, the reason why this post and the previous were sent back to back for a day was bc this has been sitting on my drafts for so long LMAO i’ve been itching to post this but i wanted a proper introduction to our au/z-entity (in a sense, it is a z-entity; think of smth like the imaginary friend or the mindscape)

credits to @windthescorpionfanatic for the yore expendable concept once again – if they ever decide to share the file, i’ll be reblogging it for further context teehee

[goldfish-afterhours]

ROB THEM BLIND - WANTED POSTERS OF THE GUILI ASSEMBLY

— Home

Below is what is listed on wanted posters distributed around New Liyue for all known members of the Guili Assembly, in order of most to least wanted. 

The following information are all part of an open investigation, and as such may be subject to change

If you have any information regarding these individuals, please report to the Liyue Qixing for a monetary reward. If you see any of these individuals, DO NOT ENGAGE. CONTACT THE MILLELITH IMMEDIATELY. 

Morax

Wanted: Dead or Alive for robbery, criminal conspiracy 

Priority: Extremely high 

Adult Asian male in his mid to late 20s, around 6 feet tall and 160 pounds, dark brown hair. 

The mastermind behind the Guili Assembly. However, little is really known about him 

Frequently seen wearing a long white hooded coat with black sleeves that obscures his face.

Nothing is known about his real name, occupation, or past criminal record

During robbery, he can usually be seen standing near the front entrance, giving orders to the others and acting as a lookout 

Has not been spotted with a gun, but the Millelith still strongly advise against approaching him 

Tartaglia

Wanted: Dead for armed robbery, criminal conspiracy, aggravated assault, first-degree murder 

Priority: Extremely High 

Real name Ajax. Adult Russian male, 22 years old, 6 feet tall and 185 pounds, short ginger hair. Wears a red mask during robberies. 

The vanguard of the Guili Assembly. Usually one of the first ones to enter the bank at the beginning of the robbery. 

The most successful graduate of the former Childe Program run by the Millelith Brigade. Highly trained and proficient in all areas of martial arts, weaponry, and espionage. 

Extremely dangerous. Civilians are not to approach him under any circumstance.

Note to bounty hunters: It is highly advised to shoot on sight, as capturing him alive has been deemed impossible. 

Alatus 

Wanted: Dead or Alive for armed robbery, criminal conspiracy, aggravated assault, burglary, second-degree murder

Priority: High 

Asian male in his late teens or early 20s, around 5 feet 2 inches and 110 pounds, chin-length teal hair. Wears a deep-green nuo mask during robberies. Has a green tattoo of a bird on his right arm. 

Nothing is known about his real name or occupation.

Former burglar with partner Barbatos. Alatus was originally arrested for the second-degree murder of a man whose house he was robbing, however he escaped from custody before his trial and has been on the run ever since. Barbatos was not found at the scene and is still missing. 

Note to bounty hunters: Alatus is extremely nimble. It is advised to immobilize him first before capturing him. 

Arataki Itto

Wanted: Alive for armed robbery, criminal conspiracy, aggravated assault, vagrancy, theft 

Priority: High

Adult Japanese male, 24 years old, 6 feet 4 inches and 220 pounds, waist-length white hair, red eyes. Wears a red oni mask during robberies. 

Has been arrested in the past for minor crimes but was bailed out each time by his sister

Witnesses report he has a tendency to say his full name during robberies

Has robbed banks alone before joining the Guili Assembly 

Note to bounty hunters: When caught, please inquire about the Pokemon cards Arataki Itto stole, as they will be returned to the boy he stole them from 

Skirmisher

Wanted: Alive for armed robbery, criminal conspiracy, aggravated assault, theft 

Priority: Medium 

Asian male in his late teens or early 20s, around 5 feet 4 inches and 120 pounds, short indigo hair, blue eyes, handsome in appearance. Wears a red mushi no tareginu with a black cloth that obscures his face. 

His face has been caught on security cameras multiple times. He usually appears alone or with Fixer a few hours before the Guili Assembly robs the bank, so it is assumed he is a scout. 

There are multiple files of a boy wanted for theft and aggravated assault who matches his description. 

Fixer 

Wanted: Alive for armed robbery, criminal conspiracy, aggravated assault 

Priority: Medium 

Adult male of mixed-Asian descent in his early to mid 20s, around 6 feet tall and 160 pounds, blond hair tied in a ponytail. Wears a black metal mask with horns during robberies. 

Nothing is known about his real name, occupation, or past criminal record. 

Usually appears alone or with Skirmisher a few hours before the Guili Assembly robs the bank, so it is assumed he is a scout. He does not wear his usual black metal mask while scouting, but wears a regular black face mask instead. 

Nicknamed ‘Fixer’ by a security guard who witnessed him covering for his crewmates’ mistakes. 

According to a witness, he was very polite, using ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when asking him to get on the floor. 

[intoloopin-archive]

A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 1/2).

tw(s): panic attack. dubious consent (haruki is very weird and forward about initiating sex!). alcohol abuse & alcoholism. semi-smut? (there is making out). miscommunication (a warning because I personally think it's constant and frustrating). insinuation and direct discussions of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. internalized homophobia (in part one, a hint). If I missed anything, please tell me! starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. Their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, a lot of Beomseok). Delilah Franco. Oh Sunyoung. Choi Sangwon. Blonde Bob Piss Girl (a serious character).

timeline: quick flashback to 2018 | early to the end of mid 2022.

word count: 13,405 words. author's notes: welcome everyone to hanruki fuckery part 1 a.k.a the most frustrating and life draining four months in Hanjae's whole entire life a.k.a big sadness, the piece split into two. this one is over 23K long, and was originally intended to be read in one go but! It Got Too Big. The conclusion will be coming out later this week! prepare for a Haruki all in par with the one in the prologue, which falls in between this mess on the timeline. this is a work of a whole month, but it's also a work of two years: a whole central plot, planned and done. title's from this song! give it a listen once you get trought the bigger picture, maybe, for catharsis purposes. stay safe! remember you deserve to be safe, always!

November 12, 2018.

Hanjae had vowed not to cry anymore when he got this job – in the same vehement way he had promised at twelve that he would no longer make a sound if he wailed after school, face buried under piles and piles of unfinished homework, to medium success, just the right amount of it to call it success.

He could still tear up once in a while, if things got though, and that was it; a clause added after his first exhausting week as a trainee. The number escalated to once every two business days after he was shoved to debut on LOOPiN, out of all the upcoming boy groups there were.

There was a story taunting the New Wave Music corridors back then. Someone did something unspeakable to someone else, and it caused an expulsion, followed by the immediate need for a new rapper, a new dancer. And there was Hanjae; a BBC trainee for three months, far removed from the Boy Of The Week gossip, who couldn’t exactly sing but had great enunciation, and had been dancing before he was even walking…

He cried now, openly, defeated. It had been an awful day for LOOPiN 2on1.

Their short lived promotions had played out like a sunset: a big golden start – so much press, so much momentum, so many views on the ‘Baby Don’t Stop’ dance practice video, where he and Haruki were using plain shirts and even plainer jeans – quickly diluting into the darkest of times – the controversies, LOOPiN first ones, and exclusively about them.

A resurrected Facebook photo of Hanjae on his graduation with a bandage around his hand, matched with the lingering traces of his poorly removed tattoo there painted him as a school delinquent; Haruki’s drop out stories reintroduced him as the big drunken failure of KArts’s international program.

They were going to stop going to music shows, the company had decided that day, and Sangwon told them on the drive back that they had just done their last one. They had gone up on stage as a duo for the last last time.

With a strong sniff, Hanjae unburied his face from in between his knees and looked at his hand, at the faint shape of a badly drawn rose on his skin. His dad had been adamant about getting it out the moment he took a look at it, still involved in protective plastic. He used the little money off his college safe to arrange a laser session that Hanjae skipped. A year later, Hanjae managed to schedule another one with the partial sponsor of MBN, the company he was stuck on before BBC. He had to do it in a shady place, at a bigger cost: bad skin scarring.

His mom had been relieved to see it fade even more nonetheless, up until the black tattoo turned into something that almost looked like a peculiar and old scar, if you didn’t give it a second glance; and no one was ever giving Hanjae a second glance.

“Let that be a lesson,” she told him, nose turned up and away from him. “Don’t jump head on into things again, Lee Hanjae. That’s no way to live. Watch yourself, watch your company. You’re not a kid anymore. Do you have no goals? Do you want nothing for yourself? Are you that selfish? Can’t you think, for once, about something that isn’t–”

Haruki was the one who found him, sitting on the floor, small and tense against the laundry machine, waiting for everyone’s clothes to be cleaned – the member’s, Sangwon’s, the cleaning auntie's aprons she had forgotten on top of the dinner table last week. Cleaning was always his scapegoat way of attending to something, even if very small.

Maybe if the company decided to drop him, he thought, Hanjae could still be around as the dorm’s janitor.

“So you’re not from Seoul,” Haruki said, leaning against the door frame with an air of mischief around him, something light on his step despite it all.

It was a statement, not an ask, because he knew this. It was one of the few trivia points they had exchanged during pauses on music shows or water breaks in between choreography practice – ‘What’s your age? What’s your blood type? How many siblings? Oh, none? You’re so lucky, Hanjae, so lucky. All siblings are demons. You aren’t missing a thing.’

Hanjae didn’t even startle; Haruki often popped up at places like that, picking up conversations from days, weeks ago like they were merely put on pause.

Without uttering a word and barely looking up, he still nodded his head no.

Haruki nodded back, a pacifying smile showing up on his face, said, “Cool. Great. How about I show you a place?”

‘The place’, he informed Hanjae, was not all that nice, or clean, and he really shouldn’t wear nice shoes or nice clothes tonight, but at least it wasn’t far, at least they had permission.

“Who’s permission?” Hanjae asked, taking the pile of clothes to the dryer, smoothing wrinkles off them just for something to do.

Haruki waved manager Choi’s front keys in his hand, and Sangwon’s horrendous keychains clanked against each other: a green pine tree and a colorful ball. “The one that matters. What do you say, uh? You’re in? Can I count you in?”

He could count Hanjae in.

[...]

They stopped by a convenience store on the way, some couple of blocks down the dorm, and by then night had already conquered all of Seoul. Inside, the middle aged lady behind the counter rushed to give Haruki a hug, a paper bag and a discount.

“He’s a street cat I found,” she leaned in to explain when she caught Hanjae anxiously looking at him going straight to the back of the store, near the freezers, near the alcohol, with the ease of someone who could do so with his eyes shut. “He’s a good foreign friend.”

“I’m not!” Haruki shouted back, but he was grinning. “Are you not watching the news?”

The noona playfully rolled her eyes, joked back, “What news? You’re not on the news!”

She hushed Hanjae to go catch up with him with an enerved wave, told him to take a look around. “It’s on the house,” she winked. “You’re both so skinny, and you must be working hard, so just take something tasty and leave quickly.”

Trailing a couple feet behind Haruki on the aisle, Hanjae picked up a package of noodles and a modest four-set of Terra cans to accompany his endless Heineken bottles, light green on light green. While Hanjae bagged everything with caution, Haruki slipped a red won note on the balcony when the owner stopped paying attention to them, and off they went again.

Haruki made them walk ten more minutes to the left, and the left, the left again, coming to an abrupt stop in front of an abandoned lot, pure dirt and weeds, the sort that seemed to have turned into an open dump for the neighborhood. It looked no different or less disgusting than the million of others around less central Jungnang; it didn’t look like it could be a spot.

Yet Haruki kept braving straight through the grass without stopping, guiding Hanjae behind him to only step where he was stepping, to keep his eyes glued to the floor and watch out for broken glass. He settled when they were deep into the lot, mere feet away from a big hill. There was a clean view of an uneven street if you looked down, he said, filled with houses that were almost all pretty. Hanjae chose to just trust Haruki’s word on that; he couldn’t dare to come close enough to the drop to peek and see.

Haruki standed the bag of drinks for him to hold, and Hanjae had to do so with both hands. From a spot behind them, he pushed two retriable chairs out of a bulk set against a moldy tree, the metal in them corrupted by rust on the edges, and set them up, sat down, tapped at the other seat with his foot in invitation.

Hanjae took a long and anxious moment to comply. Under him, the chair dangled sideways even if he stayed very, very still.

With the convenience bag back in his domain, Haruki cracked three beers open, and handed Hanjae one, kept the other two: one in each hand, a Heineken and a Terra.

“Never had this one. I heard they’re the same thing,” he said, taking a sip from each and frowning, analyzing them. Hanjae stayed quiet.

He had only drank with his dad and uncles one time, at last year’s Chuseok, and hadn’t been much of a fan of anything. Still, he took a sip of beer.

Haruki at least had grace enough to let him swallow and contain a grimace before asking, with a strange edge to it, “So are you? A bully. A problem child. Part of a gang.”

“No,” Hanjae said, too quickly, too eager. He cleared his throat. “I’m really not, hyung, no.”

“How did it get there, then?” Haruki's look was razor sharp on Hanjae’s once tattooed hand, hard enough to make him freeze. “And why did you remove it? Just to be a trainee?”

Hanjae opened his mouth, but only to take a shaky breath in, swallow a bit more of bitter alcohol. In front of his fleeting eyes, Haruki eased just as quickly as he had hardened.

“Hanjae, we’re teammates now,” he told him. “I showed you my good spot. You can’t give me one word sentences anymore. You can’t lie.”

Hanjae considered this, and considered him from the corner of his eyes. Haruki was the LOOPiN member that Hanjae had come to know best, mostly because they didn’t have a choice, but still, he made an effort, he talked to him; he didn’t let Hanjae fall adrift. And he could have easily turned into an island: from the moment he had been transferred to New Wave, he had been an outsider, a last minute solution to a problem no one would explain to him – who left? Why? Was he worse than them? Was he better?

“You’re better,” Haruki had said, when Hanjae brought it up, late at night while they had dinner alone, in the practice room, sweating and panting – a week until their debut happened. He was the only one who had bothered to tell him so. He sounded like he meant it, too. Hanjae remembers catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his shoulder, hair bright brown and unfamiliar, thinking even for a fleeting moment: I’m doing enough.

It was fair for him to be the first to know – the first for Hanjae to disappoint.

“I got it removed before,” he heard himself say. It was a secret, so it came out like one: whispered, slow. “Before I wanted to train. I got it with friends– my dance crew friends. It was our logo, or at least, it was going to be, one day. But I… I did a bad thing, and it stopped making sense. It didn’t fit. I didn’t fit, so. It had to go.”

The vagueness did nothing but pique Haruki’s interest. He seated more properly, then less properly; ended up putting his feet on the seat of the chair, slouching with his head supported on his knee, the exact body language of, ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

“My friend– my best friend, from childhood, our team captain. He used to have a girlfriend. A girl from our class, a dancer too, someone he had been in love with forever. Later she became part of the group, and we got close, we turned into friends, and then not. Not quite that. They broke up and one hour later we got together, on the same day. We got caught. It was a mess. Everyone thought it was a shitty thing to do, that it was cheating, cheating on everyone. But I just wanted her to be my girlfriend, back then– Back then, I wanted a girlfriend more than I wanted anything...”

Hanjae felt it coming, again: the desire to recoil a bit more on himself in shame. How pathetic he had been, then; how miserable, how sad, how lonely.

He took a timid peek to the side, ready to see an irk of dismay on Haruki’s face, some justified disgust, and was surprised to not see any of that. Haruki had grown passionate and invested in the whole story, something new in his eyes, a third bottle halfway drained in his hand.

He moved his chin up, as if saying, ‘Go on’, but Hanjae couldn’t. He drained the rest of the beer.

Haruki clicked his tongue like that wouldn’t do. He shoved his chair a few inches closer so he could grab at Hanjae's arm and said, all at once, “We can not– Hanjae, look, listen, we can not be blamed for all the things, the crazy things we do when love…!” He didn't finish the sentence, just amended it into another one: “You were a teenager, you both were, and very, very brave. Very brave to tell her and date her and keep dating her even if. They were just– bad friends. Just bad friends.”

They weren’t bad friends, Hanjae knew; they weren’t the ones in the wrong. But it hurted to say it out loud, to admit what he knew was still true: how easily he burned bridges for attention, for affection, so he never did. He just knew – looked at his reflection on surfaces and knew.

He rolled and rolled the tap of the Terra until it fell off, into the can. “Did you really quit college, hyung?” Was what he asked the wind.

Haruki shifted on his seat; Hanjae could only tell because of the way it creaked. “More like college quit me,” he said, with a sad huff of air that might have been a laugh, and dropped Hanjae’s arm, drank from his bottle too.

Sadness fell over them like a veil from then on. The Terras ended and Haruki didn’t mind sharing all the other stuff he had, and the longer it went on the less shy Hanjae felt about asking. At some point Haruki said, “I guess we really fucked up, uh – with 2on1,” and Hanjae, whipping a foam mustache off his face, “Minwoo’s not talking to me,” and Haruki, almost falling over with laugher, “Oh, my, I bet not! Ha. I bet not…”, and turned reticent, fell quiet.

His eyes, Hanjae had noticed, kept darting to a spot ahead in between conversation, beyond the drop of the hill, dazed. He violently shook his head sideways everytime he caught himself drifting too far away, and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at it in a way that made Hanjae look at him in worry.

Haruki found it hilarious each time. “What is it,” he eventually said, slower than normal, harder to understand, “With you, your face?”

He got up from his chair, a sudden move that sent it falling to the floor, a loud squeak, and walked even closer.

In front of Hanjae, right in front of him, he leaned forward until he got both his hands on his face, and said, pushing the corners of his mouth up, “The mood is so– Bad! So bad! Smile! Big smile! C’mon, give me a big smile!”

There had been dirt on Haruki’s hand, and Hanjae could vaguely taste it, with how close to his lips he was pressing. He still wore his inner braces back then; he kept cutting his tongue on the same spot, never healing, never telling, and he could feel the inside of his cheeks pressing onto that sharp place, about to be pierced through.

For a moment, they stayed quiet, looking at each other head on. Hanjae was not smiling. His heart had picked up a quick pace inside his chest, was drumming – Haruki was so close, and he was so beautiful, a true magazine type beauty, all symmetry, and Hanjae knew this, but not with this much conviction, not with so much emotion.

“Ah, you know what? I like you. I decided. I do like you, now…” Haruki said, and then he grinned, bringing his face even nearer. He took a breath and Hanjae felt it on his own nose, and didn’t know what to do about it; his mind, for a moment, went static. “Nothing will happen to you, friend. I promise it. ‘Will not let it.”

Hanjae’s held breath was a painful thing to let out of his chest. “Was something– Was something going to…?”

Haruki huffed a laugh and gave his cheeks two playful taps, said, with a new found determination, “Handsome guy. Do not get sad. I will fix this for you,” and let Hanjae’s face go.

He straightened his back up and swayed slightly to the side, running a hand over his hair, fixing his bangs back into place. Haruki told him, “Late. No booze. Night over”, and extended that same hand for Hanjae to take – Hanjae who still felt like his face had gone numb, blood rushing to it.

He took the hand, and they made their way back to the dorm that way, hanging close; Like magnets, Hanjae remembers thinking, idly, and then not idly at all. Haruki’s hands were leaving behind a pressure everywhere they touched, a heat that Hanjae couldn’t shake off – he just couldn’t shake it off.

Later, when Hanjae layed in bed, sheet drawn over his entire body, he could still feel it. When he woke up the morning after, nauseated but still in the group, still safe, he could still feel it.

If he closes his eyes now, right now, he can still feel it – the sad sort of burn of a premonition misread.

January 13, 2022.

Los Angeles is sunny in a way Haegon would love to see and pretend to hate – a saddening thought Hanjae had since they landed, and that comes back to haunt him while he looks at the city passing by on the van’s window, sidewalks all golden.

Haegon’s not a loud person in his eyes, but his absence is a loud thing, pouring the life out of everyone, mostly because of the way it had been forced on them.

It had been a horrifying way to open the year: having to come forward right on the first day of 2022 to the press, headlining Haegon’s mugging and the accident, his follow up hiatus and excuse out of their ‘We Do’ promotions in the USA. And then there was having to deal with Haegon in private, angry and disappointed, not wanting to take his pain medicine, shoving his room’s door in everyone's faces, dismissing every checkup attempt with an annoyed, “It’s just a minor concussion, what the Hell! I’m not fucking dying! Get the fuck off me, I’m fine, get off, just fuck off already to the States without me! Go on! Just– just leave me already!”

They’re driving out of some media company studio around the center of Los Angeles, where they filmed two twenty minute videos in a roll, more embarrassing games than actual interviews, and Hanjae has already spent all of his ability to mend English words together.

It could have been more fun, one of their staff said, but they had to pass on the puppy interview format because of Taesong’s allergies, and Jiahang’s been dead set on pretending to be sad about it during the entire ride back to the hotel; crocodile tears and all.

Hanjae has to deal with him from the last seat on the far opposite side of the van, resting his fried blonde head against his shoulder, sighing loudly, because Dylan is also not here to amuse him – he took a bus home to Santa Monica and will stay home until they leave in two days time.

Hanjae doesn’t like provoking Taesong, doesn’t like to spoil Jiahang, but that means very little in the grand escape of the group, that goes about poking fun of Taeng like it’s a sport, that’s stuck in a position where they really can’t say no to J.J, who owns company shares; he shoots the meek figure of Taesong an apologetic look as Jiahang’s act carries on, trying to tell him: ‘I’m not a part of this, I just don’t know how to stop it.’

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t that far away, and it’s a quick torture – up until things takes a turn for the worse.

As they park and start to step out, Beomseok’s long arm blocks the door before he and Jiahang can put a single leg outside of the car.

“Stop,” he tells J.J, harsh enough to make Hanjae stumble a step back. Beomseok points a finger right at Jiahang’s face, and inch from touching his nose, says, “Stop being a fucking problem. Stop.”

It makes Jiahang livid, turns his ears bright red. He takes long stomps to the elevator, and Hanjae has to jog to keep up with him – Jiahang really has the longest legs Hanjae has ever seen on a person.

“He’s got such a stick up his ass!” He keeps on saying, barging into the room they’re both sharing with Dylan and Zhiming – angrily tossing his bag into his ‘cheap dollar store bed with the cheap dollar store sheets’ that made him go into a very similar rant last night. “He thinks he’s the only one who cares about Gon, the only one who can bother. He’s so wrong. I’m fucking worried too! I’m calling him too! I miss him! I’m more of a friend to him than that weirdo is. He’s so weird. He thinks he owns Haegon and everyone and everything, just because he’s older, just because he trained for like, one billion years! Like it’s my fault Starship thought he was too ugly to join NO.MERCY!”

“You were being annoying, Jiahang,” O.z deadpans from the corner he’s tucked in, without looking up from his manhwa.

Jiahang grunts louder. “Yeah, that was the point. Taesong knows I’m just joking around! Everyone knows!”

Zhiming lowers the comic from his face, flipping a page. His eyes have deep dark circles behind his thick glasses, marks that never go away. “Unnecessary.”

Jiahang rolls his eyes, putting his hair up on an ugly bun. He turns his back to Zhiming’s bed and mouths at Hanjae, mocking, ‘Unnecessary’.

Hanjae shrugs at him, and that annoys J.J too. He angrily puts on a movie on the tiny TV, gets a hold of his bed’s pillow and wraps himself around it, mumbling something under his breath still. The tags on the streaming app read comedy, musical. He chews on a poor nail while humming along the first song, and Hanjae tries to humor him with a tiny, “Is that Ariana Grande sunbaenim?”

It doesn’t work. Jiahang shoves his face into his pillow and says, miserable and muffled, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hang around with you, you’re so lame. I miss Dylan so much.”

“He invited you to go with him,” Hanjae says, helplessly. “You said you didn’t want to.”

“Of course I didn’t want to! I would have to sleep on the floor. In a bag, on the floor. And I don’t think his grandma would like me – I don’t think anyone in his family would like me,” he turns his face around, off the pillow. Hanjae can hear clearly when he says, “He needs time alone with them. For the anxieties.”

“The anxieties?” Hanjae asks him, very slowly.

Jiahang presses his mouth shut tight, straights himself up again. He undoes his ponytail, tosses his long, long hair from one side to the other, behind his ears.

He takes a quick look at Zhiming, and Hanjae does too, and they go by uncaught; O.z’s got his big headphones in now, eyes glued to his comic book.

Jiahang is still careful to whisper, “The rest of you don’t get what it's like, when you’re away from your home every day, when you know all the people you’re going to see aren’t all the ones you know – when you got family that’s like, old, and you know that time’s passing. You’re losing days with them. It gets scary, after a while. Dylan’s grandad will be 82 this year, hyung – that’s a terrifying number, that’s a maybe. That’s the anxiety. Mine, his– Zhiming’s, too. Foreign member anxiety.”

Hanjae nods, sharp. Jiahang makes a face at him, brighter – smiles, says like a tease, “Not Haruki’s, though. Haruki doesn’t miss Japan at all, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s not anxious about that.”

Hanjae blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it, blinks again. “I wasn’t going to ask–” 

“Sure thing. Suuuuure,” J.J says slyly, and goes back to watching TV, and Hanjae does too. Gulps, keeps looking at the movie, tries to pay attention.

Jiahang put on korean subtitles for him, yet he keeps talking – explaining everything. It’s a nice enough movie, he says. Good songs, nice enough movie.

They’re reaching the end of it, seeing every main character gather in a protest around town, when Haruki barges into their room.

“Are any of you not gonna rot inside this hotel?” He asks, loudly, quickly. “Is anyone going to do anything? Catch some sun?”

“Hanjae’s supposed to be going out,” Zhiming tells him. He’s also watching the movie now, has Jiahang by his side, explaining to him what he missed.

“Oh?” Haruki says, and looks around the room, eyes a little clouded, until they land on Hanjae. He smiles, and it stretches across his face quick and big, like he’s actually glad to see him, like the effect is instantaneous. Hanjae can’t for the life of him look at it head on. “Perfect. That’s just perfect, I’m going with you, Hanhan, just wait for me to get changed!”

“Okay,” Hanjae says, and hops off the bed too quickly, sits back down. “I– Waiting.”

Immediately after Haruki leaves Jiahang gives him a long look over Zhiming’s shoulder, and Hanjae pretends not to see it.

“You’re too easy,” he says, with a disapproving nod of his head, and Hanjae pretends he doesn’t hear it, pretends it doesn’t sting.

It’s humiliating, being reminded that people know – that they look at him and know, and he’s reminded of it constantly.

“Hanjae’s sad, sad bisexual awakening,” was how Jiahang put it, sing-a-song in the studio, while making this very single they’re promoting now. “Worse, worse than Minwoo’s– Is that a verse? Can we put that on a song, on the album?”

Minwoo said, for the two of them, “Fuck you.”

And there that one time, the one he remembers clearly, when Seo CEO said he wanted to sit down to watch them practicing ‘Love Me Right’ before the big release, and Taesong pushed Hanjae aside, told him, “Hanjae, you– if you need to check the choreo, please look at the instruction video. Don’t look at Haruki like that, there’s no need to look like you–”

There had to be a separation, he realized; he had to get it under control.

So Hanjae made friends with the people Haruki seemed to not stand, which sometimes meant everyone, but mostly meant J.J and Beomseok – two extremes of very opposite lines. He’s built a line of separation, wrapped himself up in Haruki repellent, and he tries to live by it.

It’s a frail line, a shitty line, and it comes crashing down all the time, with the little moments; single minutes where things feel kind between them, different. A bottle of water and a perfectly folded towel passed to him backstage, a group conversation where Haruki eventually says, like clockwork, “And you, Hanjae? What do you think?”; no one else says that. There’s this lingering nearness coming from him, like there's always something Haruki wants to say or do but can’t, something he wants to check.

It makes Hanjae wonder – makes him come back to that one friendly night, hang on to it. The way Haruki had been so near, his exact tone of voice when he said that he liked him, considered him a friend, thought he was handsome, was going to fix whatever was wrong.

[...]

“So what are we doing?” Haruki asks when they step onto the sidewalk.

“Just filming my Loop Log,” Hanjae responds. “Deadline’s tonight.”

“Shit, that,” Haruki groans, taking his cap off to push hair out of his eyes, putting it on again. “I forgot all about that. ‘Haven’t filmed mine either. ‘Think I lost my camera.”

“I can help you look,” Hanjae offers. “When we get home.”

“Well, thank you,” Haruki says, and steps closer, slides an arm over Hanjae’s shoulder, tells him, “For now, I guess we’ll just have to stick tight. LOOPiN 2on1, reunited in L.A…!”

At Hanjae’s timid request, Chihoon made him a list of what he should get to ‘live his best tourist life’, what the fans might want to see him try: pancakes, bacon and eggs, ice cream, anything in the menu that looks like it could have come off a cartoon, any ‘house specials’.

They go into the nearest place listed with the camera on hand, and have to explain with their Frankenstein English that they want to make a vlog, can they make a vlog? They can, a waiter says, but only in a specific area; they get taken there.

Hanjae orders the house special, and it's a crazy looking Banana Split. Haruki settles for waffles, and they decide to start filming when the food arrives.

Any chance of small talk between them goes fully stall when Hanjae asks, right at their waiter steps away, as the opening topic: “Have you talked to Haegon?”

Haruki’s dangling hand on the table stills. He smiles weird, notices it looks weird, drops it: “Ah, no. No…” and goes silent, makes Hanjae go silent too.

The food comes, they start filming. Hanjae’s meticulously trying to extract a tiny piece of strawberry from a block of ice cream, all while only looking through the camera’s lens, when Haruki’s phone jumps to life, ringing.

He takes it out of his pocket, places it screen flat on the table without looking at the receiver once, mutes it with one hand, adds a mountain of maple syrup to his food with the other.

“Not important,” Haruki reassures Hanjae when he catches him looking at the buzzing phone, an inch away from falling off the edge. He forks the food and stands his hand across the table, says, with his Idol voice, “Wanna try?”

It’s good sweet food, all of it. The camera goes back and forth between them, hand to hand. Haruki makes him pretend they’re shooting a commercial, at some point, makes him do a different pose with every bite, and Hanjae tries to not lose control of his face with all the wooing, all the praise.

It’s fanservice, and Haruki’s good at it. It makes for good content. Everything: good.

Outside, bill paid, they take shelter from the sun and check the recording; thirty raw minutes of footage.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says, looking up after skimming the video, solemn. Hanjae leans a bit forward, eyes a little wide.“The Log will turn out very boring if this is all we do.”

It is, indeed, not the best vlog Hanjae’s ever made. Not that he’s ever been any good at them, or at anything on the media side of the job outside of music covers or choreography making. He’s seen the views on his solo variety content, Sangwon walked him through them all last month, said: nothing special.

They barely talked in 30 minutes – Hanjae didn't initiate a single conversation with him.

Quickly, Haruki’s eyes narrow as he scans the area around them, and Hanjae tries to keep up. He looks for a long moment at the barracks of food, at a man selling balloons, and finally lands far ahead, on a group of kids running on the sand. The leading one trips on air and falls face first on the ground, immediately wails, and they let out matching startled, horrified laughs.

Haruki jogs until he’s in front of him, and turns to walk backwards, closer to where the sidewalk gives into the beach.

“You wanna do that?” He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Run around on the beach with me. Like we’re in a movie.”

Hanjae steps on a stone, lands his other feet on the ground wrong. “I– No.”

“No? Well, I’m doing it! It’s what the vlog’s missing! Trust me, if we do this, it’ll fix everything,” he says, and before Hanjae can even think of what to reply, turns around and starts running on the sand, straight ahead.

Haruki’s already bent over near the ocean when Hanjae catches up with him, folding his jeans until they stop at his knees, barefoot. He insists: “Let’s go, let’s do it, you’re already here, it’s going to be fun, the fans will like it, let’s do it, let’s do it!”

With a resigned sigh, Hanjae unties his sneakers.

Haruki approaches a family nearby and asks for a beach chair, gets a yes. They place the camera cautiously on it, set it with a big zoom ahead. Haruki leaves his phone there, too, with a careless toss, and Hanjae can hear it announcing another call as he steps away, trailing exactly behind him – footprint over footprint, back near the ocean and then on the ocean.

“I thought– Hyung, I thought we were going to just walk,” Hanjae says, stopping. The salt water is a chill foam around his foot.

“Yeah,” Haruki flashes him a smile over his shoulder. He’s about to be knees deep, is taking his Hawaiian shirt off, Hanjae realizes now, with a flush. “We’re walking. Into the water.”

Hanjae catches the shirt when he throws it over his shoulder, looks at it, up at him. He takes a step closer. “Manager Choi’s– Haruki, he’s going to complain!”

“Fuck him!” Haruki tells him with a laugh. He says, with meaning: “Fuck him, fuck New Wave, let them complain, I’m going for a dive and no one can stop me!”

And then he dives, swims, disappears under the water for a long moment. Hanjae stays planted where he is, at a loss of words. When Haruki reemerges, pushing a curtain off black hair off his eyes, and walks back splashing water at him. By the time they’re side by side again, it looks like Hanjae took a dive, too.

“Are you…” He starts to say, eyeing Haruki worryingly, but then the family from before calls back to them, says they’re leaving, they need the chair back, and Haruki claps him on the shoulder, smiles widely, races him to reach them.

“Look,” Haruki says when they’re checking the footage, back on the sidewalk, showing Hanjae a clip: the two of them, a little blurry, walking. “We even got your good smile.”

“My good smile?” Hanjae echoes.

“Not to imply you have a bad one, because you don’t have a bad one,” Haruki says, and bumps their shoulders together. He has just put his shirt back on, is wearing it unbuttoned. “You just have one that’s relaxed, easy. A rare one.”

“Hm,” Hanjae responds, looking away, rolling a rock under his feet.

The walk back to the hotel is calm, windy. The sky’s cotton candy pink and it all looks like a movie, Hanjae thinks. He looks down, and their hands are loose, hanging close, like it would be in a movie.

The end credits roll when they get in the hotel’s lobby, and find Sangwon there – just right there. He catches sight of them immediately, like an alert dog; a quick jump off his seat, a stall near.

He seems to consider them like an equation, frowning: he takes in their wet hair, the wet clothes, the leftover traces of sand, solves it, fumes.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, and he’s struggling to look at the two of them, to not just gawk at Haruki – to not bare his teeth to Haruki only. “Any idea, you two, of how irresponsible this whole stunt was? You’re out on a foreign land. You know no one – no one. When I– The company, if the company calls, you pick your phone. It’s how it works. Pick your phone, immediately.”

Hanjae checks his own phone, a quick glance: no calls.

“Choi-nim,” he says, not looking directly at him, because he lost the ability over the years. Sangwon’s gaze now makes him incredibly anxious. He takes the camera out of where its hanging around his neck, stands it. “I notified– On the calendar, I added– We were just filming–”

“No need to explain, Hanjae,” Haruki interrupts, and puts a hand on Hanjae’s shoulder, steps in front of him, puts himself between him and Sangwon. “Go up. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay. Hyung’s going to solve this with the manager.” He turns straight to Choi-nim and bows, so pristine, so polite: “I take full responsibility for today. It was all me. I’m really sorry if I caused you stress.”

Sangwon considers him for a long moment, taking in the bend of his elbows, like he’s trying to measure his sincerity – there’s almost none of it, Hanjae can tell. He sighs, and then he adjusts his shirt, picks at the cufflinks of his uniform, breaths – his nostrils taking over his entire face.

“You’re dismissed,” Sangwon tells Hanjae, icely, with a corner of the eye glance.

“Sir, I–”

“Dismissed.”

“Go on,” Haruki encourages him, giving Hanjae’s shoulder a firm tap. And then he runs a hand over Hanjae’s hair, messes it up until his wet bangs are glued to his forehead, which he’s never done before; not with him, not with anyone, as far as Hanjae’s aware.

Hesitantly, Hanjae steps away, goes to take the elevator. He keeps looking at them over his shoulder, watching them trail away with growing uneasiness. Haruki keeps looking back at him until he can’t: Sangwon gets the door of the hotel open, shoves him by the shoulder out.

Up in his hotel room, Hanjae showers for a long time. There’s sand on a spot on his elbow where Haruki gave him a tap, and it takes him a while to notice.

He comes off the shower and goes straight to laying down. Zhiming, who had been awake when he came in, is also in his bed now, fully still.

He turns over once, and then again, goes back on his side. “Zhiming hyung?” Hanjae whispers. “You’re awake?”

When Zhiming finally responds, it’s with a minimal grunt, a tiny quick of his socked foot. “What.”

“Do you,” Hanjae chews on the words, “Do you think I have a good smile?”

A pause, a loud sigh. “You’re an Idol. You should hope so.”

“Okay. Okay, so what about– What about me do you think, what looks bad?”

Slowly, very slowly, Zhiming raises his upper body on his elbows. His air is a mess, recently dyed from gray to black too quickly. Without his glasses, he’s forced to squint at Hanjae, even this close, with their beds separated by a very narrow space.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

Hanjae takes in a sharp breath, and nods – puts a hand over his eyes, nods again. Stupid, so stupid.

“Nothing,” He says. “Nothing, just– Forget it. I’m sorry, just– Sorry.”

Zhiming goes back to laying down with a loud ‘oof’. He says, a crude whisper, “Don’t go out alone with him if it’ll make you come back like that.”

And with that Hanjae decides he must sleep, immediately, and end this day already.

It was just a day, he tells himself, rubbing at the scarred spot on his hand; a flower in eternal bloom, once. Just one good day. Drop it, forget it, erase it.

February 15, 2022.

“C’mon, you guys, c’moooon! On a scale of one to ten–”

“Na Seungsoo,” Minwoo’s voice rings out like a warning; an elastic pulled far above its limit, about to snap back into place, hard. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“She’s right there,” Haegon adds, equally as ultraged. “Are you dumb? Do you want to die?”

“Light up, you two. We’re just talking hypotheticals. I’m not actually gonna fuck our mananger,” Seungsoo says, crossing his arms, raising his chin high – his posture the embodiment of a practical joke about to take action. “That would be desperate and unprofessional, and I am none of these things.”

“You’re extremely unprofessional,” Jiahang laughs at him, a little mean – all his laughs have something a little mean about them, Hanjae can’t help but notice, when Seungsoo’s involved. “And extremely desperate. You just fucked our sound assistant. We no longer have a sound assistant, because you fucked her.”

“So did Jimin!”

“A fluke,” Zhiming defends himself. “Not happening again.”

“It’s never a fluke with you, Seungsoo. You’re such a man whore. A man whore for staff. Even Sangwon could have pulled you when he was around if he had a pair of tits,” Haegon notes, and Seungsoo gasps, mutters, scandalized, ‘You bastard!’, raises a fist up as if he’s going to hit him, and everyone’s laughing. Hanjae contributes with a grimace. “You’re that gross, you’re really that disgusting, all it would take–”

Behind them, Dylan begins to violently choke on a bite out of his granola bar, hard enough for the whole photo studio to freeze.

Taesong stands up immediately to check on him, and so does Jungwha, their three day old manager, Choi Sangwon’s definitive substitute and the topic of Seungsoo’s most recent infatuation: she rushes forward to aid alongside an assistant, a cup of water materialized out of thin air on her hand, like a trained lifeguard.

It’s too early for any of them to get a good read on her, but Hanjae has working eyes, so he will admit Junghwa is good looking in a mature sort of way, a bit above the ‘K-Pop staff adequate’. She’s not far from Seungsoo’s type, given the fact that he pretty much doesn’t have one. Hanjae has seen him flirt with Seo CEO’s third ex-wife, the second ex-wife, all of Minwoo’s half sisters and, in a disastrous attempt, Dylan’s mom. ("She's just so young, Chihoon! I thought she was your cousin!"

"I don't have a single cousin and you know that! You went for my mom, you animal, the least you can do is own it!")

“Holy shit, Chihoon,” Seungsoo says, tapping him on the back with one hand, fanning him with the other. “You’re alright?”

“My bad– False alarm, guys, my bad–!”, Dylan mutters, still coughing, watery eyes quick in their attempt to scan the room for something, someone.

Hanjae follows their frantic trail until they land on the quiet figure of Haruki by the coffee machine, his back to them, shoulders rigid and on display – wearing the same suit outfit Hanjae has been put on, his in a shade more close to purple than blue.

It fits Haruki splendidly, as must things do.

“Alright, boys, hey, boys!” Jungwha calls out when Dylan’s lungs go back to normal, clapping her hands one loud time. “Break’s over! It’s the real deal, now! So let’s try to have a good day at work today! Fighting!”

They’re set to scatter in trios and duos, the old unit formations, except for Haegon, who’s still on hiatus, still has stitches all over the crown of his head. He only made it because Haruki insisted, and he’s always insisting, lately: “How can we do well without our cheerleader,” he told Haegon in the morning, “Our cute, adorable cheerleader, my very favorite little brother–!”

“Hi,” Hanjae mutters, tapping Haruki gently in the shoulder. Haruki jumps, catching his breath, and Hanjae drops his hand, shoves it behind his own back. “Ah, sorry, if I– I was just going to say we should–”

But Haruki is turning and splinting in front of him before all the words are out, growing out of earshot, out of hold, entering a hallway on the left.

Hanjae, embarrassed, follows.

They’re supposed to go to room 4, but Haruki walks right past it. Hanjae calls back to him from the door, says, “Hyung, that’s not the–”, and then his voice falters, dies out.

Haruki’s already quick pace has grown even quicker, and he’s now running towards the door at the end of the corridor, the one with a red sign written ‘TERRACE’ over it – really running, to the point his body almost slams against the metal when he stops. The door handle makes a loud noise as he tries to push it open, can’t make it, tries again, harder – manages to step out with a strong shove. Hanjae goes after him, frowning, worried.

Outside, the terrace is a gray space, almost the same tone as the sky – rain’s a strong promise on the horizon, a reasonable fear.

Haruki’s standing right at the center. He tries to take in a big and loud gulp of air, can’t, makes a choking sound, lets out a hiss. Hanjae can feel the acute panic coming off him like electricity, gluing itself to his very own skin. He reminds himself to breathe.

Haruki stands an arm out and that’s the distance between them, that’s the nearest he’ll let Hanjae get.

“What’s– What’s happening, what’s wrong, what–?”

“Just,” he’s trembling bad. “Leave, I need– Leave.”

“Now?” Hanjae asks, and he’s making himself bite down on the trail of: ‘But the shoot’, ‘But the gig’, ‘But the job’ so hard, he’s actually got his teeth sinking on his lip.

Haruki nods, sharp and final, and Hanjae feels himself nodding back, frenetic. “Okay, stay– stay here, okay, you’ll leave– we’re leaving, just stay here.”

Hanjae walks back into the building with his head very low, tries to not walk too quickly to bring attention to himself, feels like he’s falling; feels like the whole world is looking at him. He holds his breath while sneaking back into the room they’re using as a closet, picks his and Haruki’s things like a thief: pushing everything into their bags without folding, eyes anxiously looking behind his back, flinching at every outside noise coming through the door.

Haruki’s phone is the last thing he grabs. He only becomes aware of it because it starts ringing. He looks at the screen, a quick run of his eyes. The contact name reads: ‘Don’t Answer Don’t Answer Don’t Answer.’

On the roof, Haruki’s sitting on the floor, resting his forehead against the wall. The back half of an air conditioner hangs close to him, and the leftover water pools near his feet, turning the hem of his pants dark.

They put on the yellow raincoats, plastic hood all the way up, and make a clumsy escape out the studio; Hanjae babbles something at the receptionist about there being equipment in the van, and the woman gives them a distracted ‘go ahead’ nod, an empty courtesy smile.

They walk without a plan, enter on the first bus that stops close: Haruki on the lead, completely reticent, Hanjae only following. There’s still a trail of glitter going down his neck, shiny with sweat, red from stress, Hanjae notices when they sit down. He’s still crying, still whipping at his runny nose with the expensive fabric of his shirt.

Hanjae looks down at his own clothes, the suit vest with no shirt under, a design piece New Wave doesn’t own – he’s wearing eyeliner, a strong smokey eye. They look expensive, and to an outsider, probably peculiar, weird. They don’t even have masks on…

Maybe, Hanjae hopes, trying to hold on to any trail of optimism possible, they could pass as very dedicated cover dancers, maybe–

The sound of Hanjae’s phone ringing makes them both jump in their seats. Haruki comes out of his state of anxious inertia to put a hand on his knee, pressing on it to get his attention. He says, through his teeth, “Do not– Hanjae, do not.”

Hanjae lets the phone ring out. He looks at the receiver: Uhm Junghwa (Manager).

Haruki’s peeking at it too. “Off,” he says, and it’s off.

It’s raining when they step out of the bus. They get maybe five feet down the sidewalk when a phone rings again – this time, Haruki’s. He comes to a sudden halt, and Hanjae bumps into his back and gets a close view of how, in an act of blind rage, he throws it hard on the floor.

“Fuck!” Haruki says, and steps on it once, twice, cracks the screen then the whole device in half. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Hanjae looks at him, wide eyed, mouth hanging open, and watches him pace around, a tense moment, until he loses all steam, goes sit by the closest wall.

Haruki stays for a long time there, one hand gripping the fence, the other pressing over his face, being rained on. Cautiously, Hanjae slides his raincoat off, squats down, close to him, and stands it over both their heads. Rain drips directly into his shoulder, makes a cold path down his neck.

“I hope your–,” a hiccup, a sniff, a faint and unconvincing attempt from Haruki of laughing them both off, “your fantasy’s still– still up.”

“My…?”

“Can you not,” Haruki says, a hiss, “Not look.”

Hanjae complies, doesn’t look. Behind them, a car runs close to the sidewalk, splashes a wave of rainwater on their backs.

“Sasaeng?” Hanjae tries, “Is it a sasaeng, or…”

Haruki lets out a bitter snort. “Imja,” he says, and it makes more sense that he means ‘owner’ rather than ‘marriage partner’; Hanjae can’t hear anything else, can’t connect anything else to something he knows and decode it.

His throat has gone dry, sandy. He clears it, and still, his voice comes off clipped. “Your…? Ah. Ah, I didn’t know– Didn’t know you have someone you were–”

“You know him,” Haruki says. “For years. You– you’ve known him. He gave you your job– Made your job happen.”

It takes a long moment for it to click, for the shape of manager Choi to come to Hanjae’s mind. Haruki’s looking at him like he’s expecting Hanjae to do something horrible: mouth set for a fight, eyes so red they look like they’ve been painted over.

“Hyung,” Hanjae breathes. His voice is an even quieter thing, afraid. “Do you mean– Are you being serious?”

“Am I! Am I serious?!”

He’s up again, quick – Hanjae loses his equilibrium and falls back on the street. Haruki doesn’t wait for him to get up to resume stomping.

It takes two street turns for Hanjae to understand they’re detouring from the dorms.

They sit on another bus stop bench, hop on another bus. A quiet and tense drive, this one. Haruki’s no longer crying, just grinding his teeth.

They go to the front gates of a tiny building, their final destination, and Haruki tells the security guard an apartment number, wais to be buzzed in. He does soon, and Hanjae, yet to be told to leave, goes up with him on the stairs.

Delilah gets the door he bangs on, and Hanjae’s stuck blinking at the sight of her, who shouldn’t still be in Korea. Haruki barges into her place like a hurricane: shoes still on, pushing her a little back, closer to the wall.

They both stare at the spot he occupied on the corridor a second ago, a held breath.

She recovers much quicker than he does. Deh tucks a long lock of her caramel hair behind her ear, greets him with an awkward, “Hanjae, hi. Hi...”, and Hanjae gets overwhelmed by too many things at once; how glad he is to see her, the shame of how they had parted. Her sad face when she told everyone she couldn’t stand to work with them anymore.

“You’re back.”

“I am! I am back!” Deh says. “How could I not! Europe’s too gray for me. The food’s too bad, and...” She sucks air through her teeth, takes an anxious look behind her, back inside. “... And all that.”

Hanjae shakes his head, agrees – agrees to all that even though he has no idea what all that is. There’s a pool of spit on his mouth, and he has to concentrate on gulping it down, has to try more than once.

“Hanjae, baby, look– I’ll send him on his way later. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Just…” She trials off. “Please don’t tell the others we met, okay? I don’t want Seungsoo looking for me or asking around. I don’t want to see him again, ever.”

Fair, Hanjae thinks. After everything, fair.

Deh flashes him a final grim before closing the door, still awkward, and it doesn’t last. She drops it for a split second, fully drops it, looks instead concerned, anxious.

Hanjae waits a moment, then moves before he knows it. He presses his ear against the shut door, closes his eyes and hopes to catch anything. A creek of wood. A vacuum cleaner being turned off. The sound of someone channel surfing. Deh saying what might be, “Haruki, what do you want me to do? I can’t know, love. I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Another sound drowns everything, nearer. Someone from the apartment on the left starts to unlock their door, it’s about to walk out, and it leaves Hanjae panicking, it makes him jog all the way out of the building, nonstop.

He makes the inverse way back home, alone. His own phone is a hot thing in his back pocket. When he gets to the dorm, Chihoon is the first person he bumps into, planted right beside the shoe rack. Hanjae’s seen him in this set of clothes, short shorts and a knockoff Pokemon shirt, more than he’s seen his own dad’s face these last few years.

Dylan grabs at Hanjae when he notices it’s him, pushes him back out quickly. He puts a finger in front of his mouth – quiet.

“I’ve given you some cover,” he whispers. They’re circling the house, Hanjae realizes, going to the backyard. “Said you were not feeling well. It won’t fly with Minwoo or Taesong, so think of something. And you're not gonna get paid this month, because of the clothes. Neither of you will.” He looks around, eyes sharp in a way Hanjae didn’t think they could be. “Where is he?”

“Deh’s,” Hanjae blurts out, and remembers he promised not to speak of her, grows meek.

He’s tired, deep in the bones tired, from all the walking, all the running. The socks inside his sneakers are still wet, his fingers have gone cold.

“Good,” Dylan says, remarkably unsurprised. “That’s good enough.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. In Hanjae’s head, a pinned image every time he blinks: Haruki’s eyes, red like a bruise.

“Chihoon hyung, I think– I think there’s something wrong with–”

Dylan’s grip on his arm is steady, but no longer comforting when he says, “Hanjae, listen, yes. Yes. Something’s wrong. Too many things–” He shakes his head, clicks his tongue once, and again. “No need for you to worry about it, because there’s nothing you can really do, okay? It’s been too long, now. The time for anyone to really do anything, over.”

He looks like he doesn’t want to be saying it, like all those words taste bitter, bad.

“So just keep being nice,” Dylan concludes, and his voice breaks at the end. “Be nice with him right now, alright? And patient, and normal, just like always, and…”

Dylan doesn’t say what else. He looks down, and Hanjae follows. Near their feet, a trail of black nicotine ash and tiny bits of paper; someone’s worry, someone’s wait.Kind, maybe, Hanjae concludes on his own. Maybe kind was what he was going to say.

March 12th & a Bit Of 13th, 2022.

Sunyoung immediately strikes Hanjae as someone who’s never held a small house party before, and it’s a bit painful to see her try.

She greets them at the door, a little overdressed: Chanel earrings, Chanel bag. “Is that everyone?”, she asks, craning her neck to peek behind them, and when they mumble ‘yes’ she visibly withers.

Taesong steps in front of them to give her a gift – a flower vase so yellow Zhiming had to look away from it, rubbing at his eyes.

She stares at it for a minute, frowns hard, then composes herself, says, “Ah! Thank you so much, oppa! This is so– Yeah, thanks! But you didn’t have to! Gon, baby! I said they didn’t have to!”

“I told you they don’t listen to me,” Haegon mutters. There’s a dark cloud over his face and Sunyoung seems to not mind it. She squeezes his arm when he passes her by, smiles at him prettily. 

She checks the corridor one more time, and for a moment Hanjae thinks she looks sad; that she looks angry.

The party is a housewarming party for the brand new double storey apartment in Nine One Hannam she’s sharing with her BombShell leader Yoorim, who strongly opposed herself to throwing anything. Hanjae catches a glimpse of her looking displeased and bothered behind the kitchen aisle, and bows his head a little – she rolls her eyes, turns her back on him, disappears behind a small group of people.

Beomseok refused to come, decided to take the afternoon to go grocery shopping, the night to visit family he can’t take Haegon to see; the side that calls him a parasite. It had been a clear jab, right at Haegon’s face. Even Minwoo thought it was insensitive, and his response to the invite had been nothing but a disgusted face that spelled out ‘no’.

Hanjae watches him move through the living room, greeting some people. Haegon’s been here yesterday, and the day before that, and if Hanjae’s not cautious, he’ll stay over despite their early shooting tomorrow.

“That old man put you on babysitting duty, eh, Hanhan?” Seungsoo leans in to whisper to him, somehow with a drink in hand – white wine. The smell of his cologne is already stuck to the collar of Hanjae’s bottom up by osmosis.

“He’s just concerned. It makes sense to be concerned.”

On their first day back from L.A, Haegon had announced over dinner that he now had a girlfriend: they met last week, and had been dating for three days. The situation had driven Beomseok crazy. Haegon asked if him if wanted to meet her every day for two weeks straight, and he said: no. He eventually got around to meet her and said with even more conviction: no, break up, now.

It’s an age gap, even if very small, but she’s about five years his industry senior, he told Hanjae. And Sunyoung’s from YG Entertainment, the face of too many brands. She’s going to eat him alive, spit him out, leave him heartbroken and Beomseok is going to have to deal with it, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it.

“She can just like him. People can just like him,” Taesong tried to intervene, high pitched, and Beomseok cutted him off right away, said, “No. No, there’s something– Be serious, Taesong. No.”

The front door dings again, and it takes a long minute for Haegon to untangle his arms from Sunyoung’s waist and let her go get it. Hanjae watches her walk across the house, a firm walk of a supermodel, of someone important, and gets embarrassed with how bad he is at this, how obvious.

Another glimpse her way, and the person with their two feet planted on the ‘welcome home’ carpet is Haruki. He also said he wouldn’t come but gave no excuse, yet: here, dressed nicely. He’s got the same convenience store from years ago under one arm, the one from a memory.

They talk, talk, talk, and he still won’t leave the entrance. Haruki makes her laugh, the most genuine thing Hanjae’s seen Sunyoung do all night. He sees her look at him, look around, then lean closer again: point upstairs and give Haruki a thumbs up as he finally makes his way in, into the stairs and out of sight.

Sunyoung’s back on the couch, to Haegon, and Hanjae makes himself look. They’re fine, they appear very fine, holding hands, he doesn’t have to watch them all night, there’s no need to watch them at all, and–

Hanjae goes up the stairs, which he knows it’s technically off limits. He tries to not let his eyes wander to the photos on the walls, the books on the shelves tucked next to an award behind protective glass, a big shiny plaque framed above it.

There’s only one door with light peeking through, right at the end of the corridor. He taps at it three times, and waits. Another three taps, slightly stronger.

“Occupied,” a voice says from the inside – a tone he knows. “All night.”

Hanjae can’t think of what to say: can’t think of anything at all, for a second. He gives the door another hopeful tap, waits more, and he lets out a sigh of relief when it creeks open. He goes in, closes it quietly behind him, and looks down.

The room’s a bathroom, straight out of a home decoration magazine, all black and white. Haruki seems to be setting up an improv bar on the floor, in the big space between the bathtub and the sink. There’s a bottle of something Hanjae can’t read, blue and half empty, tucked in between his legs like a treasure.

“Ah, you,” he waves at Hanjae’s vague direction, not looking up. “Hello, you. I’m just– Don’t mind the mess. Someone made me something once. ‘Trying to put it together.”

Hanjae hums. He can’t make his hand ease its grip on the doorknob.

It’s been weeks since they abandoned the shoot, and since then Haruki’s been avoiding him constantly. Looks at him from across rooms and seems pained, constantly, and Hanjae hasn’t had the heart to come near.

“What is happening?” Haruki asks, suddenly, and tries to land a smile. He blinks a lot and then not enough looking up at Hanjae. “Down. Down there.”

“Nothing much.”

“How is he?”

“Haegon?” Hanjae asks, and Haruki nods at him loosely, mouths the name without making a sound: ‘Haegon’. “He– Uh, he seems alright.”

“Great couple, yes or no? For our maknae, is she great?”

“I– I don’t know.”

Disappointment flashes vividly through Haruki’s face, and it lands on a sad shagrin. “You don’t know,” he says, to himself, and goes back to emptying his bag with a slouch to his shoulders.

‘Be normal’, Dylan had said that day, his only instructions: ‘Be nice.’

Hanjae lets go of the door and goes to sit in front of him, legs crossed like his are. “What’s it supposed to taste like? The drink.”

There’s no humor in Haruki when he says, “Acid.”

He offers a thermo bottle to Hanjae filled with the failed replica. Hanjae takes a tiny sip and can’t swallow it, feels like his tongue is on fire, and it makes Haruki huff a laugh. “More disgusting than that.”

He makes more combinations that demand more tasting, and Hanjae at times struggles, at times doesn’t – Haruki empties a Soju bottle and refills it with Somaek, calls it ‘Hanjae’s palette cleanser’. He also makes Hanjae go downstairs to grab things they don’t have: more cups, ice and fruit juice, if Sunyoung has any, which she does – too many options.

Hanjae comes back from the trip and sets all his findings at Haruki’s feet, then feels weird about it, exposed about it, and pushes some of it closer to himself.

The bottle opener, they notice a minute later, has disappeared. Hanjae thinks he took it with him to the kitchen and abandoned it on the counter. Worry not, Haruki says; worry not!, because he knows how to open them with his front teeth. It’s a hidden skill, a secret talent.

Haruki asks him to hold a bottle close to his face so he can prove it, and Hanjae does so, but it’s a frail grip, not good. Haruki puts a hand over his to make it steadier, makes it worse. Another hand, a shove closer until their knees are touching. Hanjae adds his free hand into the pile, the lonely hand, and Haruki looks straight at him – looks like he’s saying, ‘Bet?’

It takes a second, really. A pop and the lid comes off in the company of an enormous foam eruption. Haruki gets both his hands away, does a smiley flourish: ‘ta-da!’

“But you shook it! Too much, you–!’ He laughs, and can’t stop laughing. Hanjae’s still holding the bottle and tries to hand it to him, but Haruki shakes his head ‘no’. “For you. It is for you.”

It’s bland beer, he takes notice when he drinks it, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

From the corner of his eyes he catches a glimpse of metal in a corner, and it’s Haruki’s new phone, exiled.

Hanjae is surprised to hear himself ask him, “Are the calls– the calls still coming? The ones from–”

“Always,” Haruki responds, eerily nonchalant. “Always will.”

“It’s not over, then? You still–”

“It is. It is over. It is over the way it can be over.”

“What wouldhe,” Hanjae closes his eyes, reiterates, “If it’s over, what would he still want with you?”

“What do you think,” Haruki asks, staring fixedly at the alcohol going from one bottle to the other. A bit of it it’s running straight to the floor. “What do you think people want with me?”

It’s said– weird. Something in his uncaring tone makes a lump of sadness form in Hanjae’s throat.

“Hyung, you know that, if you everneed to talk to anyone about anything. Me and the guys, we all– We all listen. We would listen.”

“Anything?” Haruki pretends to be impressed. “Big. That is big.”

“Seriously. I’m being serious.”

Haruki looks up at him. Even more alcohol spills to the floor.

“Okay. Okay, anything. Anything…” he hums, dropping the bottles, mimicking being in thought with an obnoxious pout. His mouth is now a purple dot, and his eyes a shiny brown daze...

Hanjae often catches himself wondering if he just knows. If he looks into a mirror and just knows that he’s beautiful in a way that looks hand drawn, that looks meticulously planned: a subject of equal envy and admiration. If Sangwon ever told him that, and if so, how many times, had it come close to enough, had he used the right words to say it, did Haruki believe him when he said it, or if he didn’t – what did it make him feel? What exactly did he make him feel?

Hanjae always thought he was so mean, so bitter. He can’t remember ever hearing him say anything nice to anyone about anything.

Hanjae’s staring, he’s realized, and his eyes hurt. He makes them look down to where Haruki’s got a firm hold around the slim of a bottleneck, tapping a weird rhythm into it, impossible to decipher. He has long fingers with hard skin on them, which isn’t something you would expect. He used to paint, used to do calligraphy; used to go to a prestigious arts academy during high school, all boys.

Hanjae’s still starring, and he’s too close to drunk to properly command himself to stop. He hears Haruki huffs an unheard laugh, suddenly, short and maybe frustrated, maybe not that, and Hanjae’s head snaps up to his face to meet it.

He’s being stared at, too – is being analyzed, too.

“I thought of something. Something I want to say, a thing,” Haruki announces. The grin on his face suddenly looks very, very sharp, like there’s something tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I will whisper to you. On your ear. ‘Gimme your ear and I will tell.”

And with that he comes forward, a sudden and ungracious movement, and doesn’t stop when they’re front to front, an inch apart. He climbs Hanjae up – actually climbs him up, his legs around the middle of his body, cageing him in.

Haruki grims again and it’s lazily, in slow motion. He puts a hand on Hanjae’s chin, tips it high, says, “Not your ear.”

He turns his head to the side. His nose rovers near Hanjae’s head, and Hanjae tries to escape it in reflex, but they’re all too slow, drowned in alcohol.

Into his ear, lips touching skin, Haruki says, “I know you like me. For a very long time. Since that one time. Ever since we went out, we got drunk, that one time.”

“Sorry,” Hanjae mutters, hushed.

“‘Sorry’,” Haruki laughs again, like that’s the funniest word there is, like it’s the meanest. It rings so loud, it has an echo. “Now you sorry?”

Hanjae sinks more into the floor, almost laying down, and Haruki follows, saying, “Are you going away? This close? I am this close, and you going away?”

They’re kissing before Hanjae fully processes how, and it’s a weird kiss at a weird angle; Haruki won’t bend his body all the way down, and Hanjae has to keep craning his neck to meet him midway, his elbows pressing against the tiles, hurting.

He feels a hand slide up his shirt almost immediately, and Hanjae understands, with drunken horror, that he’s being undressed – quickly.

“Ah, wait–” He says, and then can’t get out anything else: Haruki shoved a thumb inside his mouth, in between his teeth, as he goes for the spot where Hanjae’s shoulder and neck meet.

“You smell like home here,” he says, a goosebump. He buries his face there, opens his mouth above it, bites and sucks hard enough to make Hanjae jump  – for him to know it’ll leave a pinkish mark, evidence–

It’s exactly then and there that someone bursts in through the door, says a curse loudly, startles the two of them slightly apart, knocks the air out of their lungs.

“Close your eyes! I need to pee right now, right now, close your eyes!”

It’s a tall woman, this one – Hanjae sees her quick rush to the toilet and closes his eyes tight shut.

“If any of you try to act funny and take a single peek, I’ll fucking castrate you both– Hey! Hey, you, back on the floor, don’t come near, I’m fucking serious, I’ll kill you, you fucking–!”

The door clicks shut, and it takes Hanjae a moment to take in the lack of heat above and around him, to correlate the two: Haruki’s gone, walked out, left him.

From the side, he hears an instrident, “Can you at least cover your fucking boner, dude?!”

Hanjae rolls to his side, facing the opposite wall to where the toilet is; he pushes his knuckles into his shut eyes, for good measure. He waits for the girl to finish peeing, and tries not to have an anxiety attack or a heart attack or a nerve attack about everything that happened in the last ten minutes: Haruki on top of him, Haruki no longer on top of him, having to hear a stranger peeing.

“I’m done,” she announces, and he turns back to the same position as before.

There’s little dots of light in his vision, dancing. The girl’s using the sink now, and she has a blonde bob, so blonde and so short. It follows the shape of her mouth and up, even shorter at the back.

“Not a word from you, ever,” she warns, drying her hands on her skirt, pushing it down more, back in place. She gives him a pointed glare that makes Hanjae look down at the state he’s in, at his busted open shirt, a single button in the middle holding it all together. “Not a word from me. Now get the fuck out, please. People need to use the bathroom.”

And she gets going too, without closing the door all the way. The hum of the party downstairs carries over.

Hanjae inhales, looking at the bright ceiling light. His fingers have gone pruney where they were holding him.

[…]

Eventually Hanjae has to get out of the suite, and do a walk of shame back to the housewarming party. He takes down with him all the glass and cups he can manage, not a lot of them, goes straight to the kitchen sink, and begins to wash them, it’s done with them, goes for all of Sunyoung and Yoorim’s dishes.

Around him, the kitchen has emptied out – on the front the living room, mostly emptied out, too, except for little clicks. He spots J.J right in the center of the one installed in the couch, gesticulating enthusiastically, telling someone some story until they make eye contact. He stops, excuses himself, rushes near.

Up close, Jiahang looks at him, up and down, bug eyed, and Hanjae understands he didn’t do a good job of piecing himself back together.

He got a glimpse of his face in the mirror before walking out: lips glossy, bangs far apart and sticking up, somehow, not all the buttons of his shirt tucked in the right cases.

“Hanjae, oh my God. Dylan, Dylan, look!” He calls out, and Hanjae sees Chihoon appear on his left, face slightly dazed. “Oh my God, Dylan! Hanjae!”

“You fucking animal!” Seungsoo, coming out of nowhere, slaps him on the chest hard. “Who? Who who who who?”

They’re all too close, too soon, and Hanjae can’t look anyone in the eyes for too long– he just can’t.

He catches a glimpse of Blonde Bob Piss Girl in a corner, looking bored, on her phone, and stares at her for a moment too long. Everyone follows, looks at her too, and his bandmates erupt into enthusiastic ‘Eeeeeeh!’s. Someone, proprably Seungsoo still, raises his soupy arm up so he can be given high fives, and Hanjae doesn’t know what to do – to let the lie linger or to kill it. What can he even say? What can he say if not that–

Hanjae finds himself grabbing Dylan’s sleeve and tugging at it, leaving behind a damp. He feels like a little kid that broke something, suddenly – overwhelmingly so. “Where ‘d Haruki go?”

“Dude, I didn’t see him. You sure?” Chihoon asks, and Hanjae’s not; he’s not sure.

“Whaaaaat? Haruki came? Haruki’s here?”

“Great. Another one to hunt down. We’re never gonna leave this fucking place in time,” Jiahang whines. “Yoorim noona’s going to delete my number.”

Hanjae asks all of them at once, “We’re leaving?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear? Sunyoung and Haegon ditched,” Seungsoo says, and Hanjae’s stomach drops. “It’s her house and they ditched, disappeared, poof! Yoorim’s pissed, told everyone to leave. And Taeng’s freaking out! Someone broke his little vase, someone spilled something on him. I think he’s gonna snap. We need to get that freak home.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Hanjae,” Seungsoo laughs. “Old man was right, after all… Shit.”

[...]

They do a small search around the apartment, the balcony, and conclude: no Haruki anywhere, so they group everyone they have to leave, go wait to be picked up on the sidewalk in front of the Nine One Hannam gates.

“You just dreamed him up, Hanhan! Wouldn’t be the first time,” Seungsoo jokes. It’s a bad joke. O.z shoves him in the chest hard about it, tells him, “Quiet.”

Hanjae looks straight ahead, not at them. In front of him J.J keeps bouncing on the wheel of his feet, saying, ‘I’m going in the front, I’m passenger seat, forget it, it’s me me me me,’ even though no one’s putting up a fight about it.

Minwoo pulls up soon enough on the curve in one of the two black company vans, and downs the window just to give them all an open scowl, then a frown. “I’m only seeing seven of you.”

J.J circles the car to get to the front door, struggles a little to get it open. “Hyung, you’re not gonna believe.”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Jiahang.”

“Shut up, you do. You really really really really do. You were–,” and then he becomes aware of the slouched figure of Hanjae trailing behind him, turns and frowns. “What did I just say!”

“No, I’m…” Hanjae looks at Minwoo looking at him, one eyebrow raised, says, “Sorry.”

Minwoo pinches at his nose, hard. “Just get in the goddamn car, Hanjae, Jesus Christ.”

Hanjae thinks, out of everyone who has a driver’s license, Minwoo drives the shittiest. He needs glasses, he never wears them, he grumbles curses at every slow driver and every rush driver and every driver, in general.

On the way home, he stops the van only once, by popular demand. Taesong steps out to vomit, and spends the rest of the ride jittery about it, cracking his knuckles even when they make no sound.

“We’re so fucked,” Chihoon says when they park inside the dorm’s garage, rubbing his eyes. “It’s 3AM. We’re so fucked.”

While everyone rushes to their rooms to piece pajamas together and form a long row to shower, Hanjae’s elbow to elbow with Dylan, going up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as they can.

He and Haruki have, by far, the best room in the whole house: spacious, with a nice window. It used to be Haruki and Sangwon’s up until he got fired – some excuse about rooming with the manager to learn Korean quicker, about making sure Haruki wouldn’t sneak beer into his room. It makes Hanjae sick now, seeing it, standing so close to it.

Dylan tries the handle once, and the door doesn’t budge, only makes a stubborn click – locked.

Hanjae dries his hand on his jeans, still wet, somehow, asks him, “Is he– He’s in there? Or…?”

Chihoon rests his head against the mahogany and sort of sighs, sort of laughs. “Yeah, definitely home. He’s the only one with the key to lock me out. Classic. Just classic.”

“Get my bed,” Hanjae says – implores. “Use mine, you can– mine, I’ll couch.”

“You’ll couch?” Chihoon looks at him with the trembling smile of someone who’s about to laugh. It falls off his face quickly when he takes in the guilt Hanjae knows he’s wearing openly on his face.

“Hyung, I–” It’s out of his mouth before Hanjae even knows it. “Tonight, something – Something has happened, and I think, think I should– say.”

Dylan’s giving him an analytical once over, and he stops at his moving hands, on his marked neck, looks at the door again – locked. 

“Hanjae,” he says his name like it’s an insult, and for a moment Hanjae feels like it really is – his name, an insult.

He crumbles. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry, we just– I didn’t mean to– It was just, just a kiss, I think, and I– I–”

“You kissed him?! ‘You think’? What does that mean? What do you mean ‘you think’?!”

Hanjae looks around and then down, behind him. “Dylan…” he manages, airy, and doesn’t know what he wants the rest of the phrase to be, where he’s trying to take it.

Chihoon’s mouth hangs open, a painful disbelief, and then slowly shuts.

“You know what,” he says harshly, but not angrily – he sounds more disappointed than anything, more tired than anything. “I don’t want to know. Not now. I’ll know, just– Not now. But fucking Hell, Hanjae, you. You just had to, didn’t you? You saw an opportunity and you just had to.”

Hanjae’s breath catches. Dylan is a figure in his eyes, growing blurry.

“I’m taking your bed,” he announces. ”Eveytime he kicks me out from this day on, I’m sleeping on your bed.”

He storms off, his bare feet on the floor a sound until it isn’t anymore.

Hanjae knocks on the door, a small tap. Nothing.

He thinks of saying it again: sorry. But no one’s around to hear it, no one’s around to accept it. There’s no point.