#or very philosophy student friendly for that matter. but it's the way i have to learn it and also Jill does not understand that other people

[jillthecia-agent]

... Okay. Let's give it a go. It wouldn't be right to refuse to educate you just because you're young and a snake.

Indirect realism is the philosophical idea that the way we perceive reality is not quite exactly as it is, but through a veil of perception, so some qualities- secondary qualities- are subjective. The immediate objects of our perception are mind-dependent objects or sense data that are caused by or represent mind-independent objects and their properties.

For example, when you look at a brown table, the shape and weight of the table are inarguable. Objective. However, the table also has secondary properties like colour that change depending on the person. For example, turning the light off appears to change the colour of the table to dark brown. This is because secondary properties are, according to indirect realism, subjective and appear to change depending on the perceiver, but primary properties always stay the same.

Does that make sense?

Wait???? Your telling me Zero is from the same planet as the dinosaurs?????

[nexility-sims]

hi, just stopping by to ask could you give me answers for 26, 33, 42, and 44 for leonor? please and thank you

HARD MODE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT  /   accepting ! ooh, mary, these were so good !!! thank you !!!

26. how does your character behave around children?

solid question ! leonor has the capacity to be good with children, but it's just a matter of her choosing to give them the attention and patience that requires. she's steady, reliable, and treats children like proper human beings, which i think they tend to appreciate. she's also observant and good at figuring out what other people want or need, so that can be useful. still, like i said, first step is choosing to acknowledge their existence and bother with them. she's a relatively hands-off parent with her own child, and certainly was when she was younger and most needful, so ... i think she's usually disinterested but nice or friendly around other people's children.

33. in the face of criticism, is your character defensive, self-deprecating, or willing to improve?

it's complicated, although i'll say she's never self-deprecating. leonor is someone whose natural response to criticism is defensiveness, but she's also well-accustomed to being criticized. she was raised as an heir to the crown for the first twenty years of her life, and the uspanian philosophy for preparation to rule is, in a phrase, early and intense. her sensibilities about criticism were shaped by beatriz, who was her instructor and model more than safya. leonor was a better student than her mother in some ways. anyway .... being defensive makes sense, i think, if you're someone who's deliberate and purposeful, independent and resistant to change, domineering and arrogant. yet, there's still a willingness and need to improve beneath it all. it's not from the desire to please or avoid conflict but because leonor is smart and self-serving enough to discern useful, applicable criticism from what she can ignore.

42. has your character ever had a parental figure who was not related to them?

i'm blanking ! her family is so large and, in some ways, insular that it's hard for me to come up with someone who'd both be a plausible candidate and already exist as a character ... outside of her mother and grandmother, it's her grandfather and her aunts and uncles, so ... well. this is actually such a useful question because i'm realizing i should flesh out someone who was gonna be tiny character in the spinoff series anyway. with that in mind, i'm going to say that, in theory, she must be close with the chiefs of staff to her mother and grandmother. these people have full-time jobs, which very often included making sure baby leonor was comfortable, paying attention, and having her many very serious questions answered :^)

44. how easy or difficult is it for your character to say “I love you?” Can they say it without meaning it?

it's harder for her to get there than to say it. she doesn't strike me as someone who hesitates to make her feelings known, whether out of fear or rejection or lack of confidence. telling someone you respect them, they disgust you, you hate them, you love them ... leonor likes to know where she stands, and she likes for other people to know where they stand, too. so, i feel like it's not something she would lie about or fake, either. if she doesn't feel that way, why pretend? certainly not for trivial reasons like sparing anyone's feelings or keeping the peace.

[yhwhrulz]

Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for December 4

Tozer in the Morning Man - The Dwelling Place of God - Some Thoughts on Books and Reading

ONE BIG PROBLEM IN MANY PARTS of the world today is to learn how to read, and in others it is to find something to read after one has learned. In our favored West we are overwhelmed with printed matter, so the problem here becomes one of selection. We must decide what not to read.

Nearly a century ago Emerson pointed out that if it were possible for a man to begin to read the day he was born and to go on reading without interruption for seventy years, at the end of that time he would have read only enough books to fill a tiny niche in the British Library. Life is so short and the books available to us are so many that no man can possibly be acquainted with more than a fraction of one percent of the books published.

It hardly need be said that most of us are not selective enough in our reading. I have often wondered how many square yards of newsprint passes in front of the eyes of the average civilized man in the course of a year. Surely it must run into several acres; and I am afraid our average reader does not realize a very large crop on his acreage. The best advice I have heard on this topic was given by a Methodist minister. He said, "Always read your newspaper standing up." Henry David Thoreau also had a low view of the daily press. Just before leaving the city for his now celebrated sojourn on the banks of Walden Pond a friend asked him if he would like to have a newspaper delivered to his cottage. "No," replied Thoreau, "I have already seen a newspaper."

In our serious reading we are likely to be too greatly influenced by the notion that the chief value of a book is to inform; and if we were talking of textbooks of course that would be true, but when we speak or write of books we have not textbooks in mind.

The best book is not one that informs merely, but one that stirs the reader up to inform himself. The best writer is one that goes with us through the world of ideas like a friendly guide who walks beside us through the forest pointing out to us a hundred natural wonders we had not noticed before. So we learn from him to see for ourselves and soon we have no need for our guide. If he has done his work well we can go on alone and miss little as we go.

That writer does the most for us who brings to our attention thoughts that lay close to our minds waiting to be acknowledged as our own. Such a man acts as a midwife to assist at the birth of ideas that had been gestating long within our souls, but which without his help might not have been born at all.

There are few emotions so satisfying as the joy that comes from the act of recognition when we see and identify our own thoughts. We have all had teachers who sought to educate us by feeding alien ideas into our minds, ideas for which we felt no spiritual or intellectual kinship. These we dutifully tried to integrate into our total spiritual philosophy but always without success.

In a very real sense no man can teach another; he can only aid him to teach himself. Facts can be transferred from one mind to another as a copy is made from the master tape on a sound recorder. History, science, even theology, may be taught in this way, but it results in a highly artificial kind of learning and seldom has any good effect upon the deep life of the student. What the learner contributes to the learning process is fully as important as anything contributed by the teacher. If nothing is contributed by the learner the results are useless; at best there will be but the artificial creation of another teacher who can repeat the dreary work on someone else, ad infinitum.

Perception of ideas rather than the storing of them should be the aim of education. The mind should be an eye to see with rather than a bin to store facts in. The man who has been taught by the Holy Spirit will be a seer rather than a scholar. The difference is that the scholar sees and the seer sees through; and that is a mighty difference indeed.

The human intellect even in its fallen state is an awesome work of God, but it lies in darkness until it has been illuminated by the Holy Spirit. Our Lord has little good to say of the unilluminated mind, but He revels in the mind that has been renewed and enlightened by grace. He always makes the place of His feet glorious; there is scarcely anything on earth more beautiful than a Spirit-filled mind, certainly nothing more wonderful than an alert and eager mind made incandescent by the presence of the indwelling Christ.

Since what we read in a real sense enters the soul, it is vitally important that we read the best and nothing but the best. I cannot but feel that Christians were better off before there was so much reading matter to choose from. Today we must practice sharp discipline in our reading habits. Every Christian should master the Bible, or at least spend hours and days and years trying. And always he should read his Bible, as George Muller said, "with meditation."

After the Bible the next most valuable book for the Christian is a good hymnal. Let any young Christian spend a year prayerfully meditating on the hymns of Watts and Wesley alone and he will become a fine theologian. Then let him read a balanced diet of the Puritans and the Christian mystics. The results will be more wonderful than he could have dreamed.

Tozer in the Evening Growing Despite the Obstacles

A lifetime of observation, Bible reading and prayer has led to the conclusion that the only thing that can hinder a Christian's progress is the Christian himself.

The true child of God can live and grow in circumstances that are wholly unfavorable to such life and growth. Outward circumstances can help little or none in a Christian's spiritual life. The whole philosophy of the spiritual way requires us to believe this.

For this reason, it is always bad to blame anyone or anything for our spiritual or moral failures. God has so ordered things that His children may grow as successfully in the middle of a desert as in the most fruitful land. It is necessary that this should be so, seeing that the very world itself is a field where nothing good can grow except by some kind of miracle. The old hymn asks the rhetorical question, "Is this vile world a friend to grace, to help me on to God?" And the implied answer is no. Grace operates without the help of the world.

Copyright Statement This material is considered in the public domain.

[the1975attheirverybest]

love ur take on the banned books discourse! I agree that it's dangerous to ban book. as a german this debate is a lot different for me tho, since here it mainly focuses on banning "Mein Kampf" (h*tler's book) and my personal opinion on that is that the ideology is not gonna disappear by banning it and i'd rather have a commented version to educate ppl.

on the other hand one teacher made us read 13 reasons why in 8th grade and that was very much not appropriate and in my opinion shouldn't be discussed in school the way it was (she literally made us watch hannahs scene that later was removed). personally i think the books sends a wrong message, especially to 14 year old ... 🦦

Oh my god NOOO THAT BOOK IS HORRENDOUS!!!! I’m so sorry you had to read that shit.

All other things being equal, I think there is such a thing as good or bad representations of issues like mental health, sex and gender identity, etc. like, we actually had to talk about this when I was a college student cuz we read a book that was a queer love story but it was written by a straight woman, lol. And it kind of came off as her being weird and fetishizing lesbians or something. And it opened a discussion about whether or not art has a responsibility to be ethical, etc. which is obviously an important debate to have, BUT DEFINITELY NOT IN 8th GRADE AND DEF NOT THROUGH 13 REASONS OMG. If the teacher wanted to talk about mental health, there are sooo many better, child-friendly options to make you read. That was shit.

I’ve actually read Mein Kampf. It was in a political philosophy course I took that focused on the politics of WWI and WWII so, obviously, it was important to talk about that book. So, like, yeah, everything has a time and a place. Context and critical reading skills matter. But I feel like banning stuff shuts down the possibility for critical conversations and doesn’t really solve the problem. Cuz, as you said, it’s not like banning the book is gonna make the ideology disappear. White supremacists are, unfortunately, present everywhere. With or without specific manifestos.

I’m definitely not opposed to putting age restrictions on stuff or having the conversation about what counts as appropriate and when. I just think banning is such a terrible, extreme idea. Like we have skipped wayyyyy too many steps there, lol. And we’re doing it for entirely the wrong reasons so it’s kind of taking away from kids instead of helping them.

[homosexuhauls]

Joanna Moorhead

Culture of silencing any challenge to prevailing ideology is damaging academic freedom, says professor

The press release that accompanies Prof Kathleen Stock’s new book says she wants to see a future in which trans rights activists and gender-critical feminists collaborate to achieve some of their political aims. But she concedes that this currently seems fanciful. As far as she is concerned, the book, Material Girls, sets out her stall – and she knows a lot of people will find it distasteful.

Stock, a professor of philosophy at the University of Sussex, says the key question she addresses – itself offensive to many – is this: do trans women count as women?

Whatever else about her views is controversial, she is surely on firm ground when she writes that this question has become surrounded by toxicity. But the problem for her is, at least partly, that many people do anything they can to avoid answering it. “Very few people who are sceptical talk about it directly, because they’re frightened,” she says. “It’s so hard psychologically to say, in reply: ‘I’m afraid not.’”

Stock is at pains to say she is not a transphobe, and also that she is sympathetic to the idea that many people feel they are not in the “right” body. What she says she opposes, though, is the institutionalisation of the idea that gender identity is all that matters – that how you identify automatically confers all the entitlements of that sex. And she believes that increasingly in universities and the wider world, that is a view that cannot be challenged.

“There’s a taboo against saying this, but it’s what I believe,” she says. “It’s fair enough if people want to disagree with me, but this is what I think.”

That last statement is loaded, too, because the gender identity row is closely linked, especially on university campuses, with freedom of speech. Campuses are a minefield for those wanting to discuss these issues, she says, and she has faced calls for her university to sack her. So she is supportive of the government’s controversial plans for a free speech bill, which critics including English PEN, Article 19 and Index on Censorship have argued will have the opposite effect.

In a joint letter, they argued that the legislation “may have the inverse effect of further limiting what is deemed ‘acceptable’ speech on campus and introducing a chilling effect both on the content of what is taught and the scope of academic research exploration”.

But Stock backs the bill: “I think vice-chancellors and university management groups have shown that they can’t manage the modern problems around suppression of academic freedom. I think there are some genuine instances of unfair treatment of controversial academics, and those academics should be able to seek meaningful redress.”

This week the University of Essex apologised to two professors, Jo Phoenix and Rosa Freedman, after an independent inquiry found the university had breached its free speech duties when their invitations or talks were cancelled after student complaints.

Stock grew up in Montrose, Scotland, the daughter of a philosophy lecturer and a newspaper proofreader, and studied for her degree at Exeter College, Oxford, going on to do an MA at the University of St Andrews and a PhD at Leeds.

Having come out as gay relatively late in life, she now lives in Sussex with her partner and two sons from her previous marriage. She regards her OBE, awarded earlier this year for services to higher education, as a signal that her views have at least some backing in the establishment.

“Academics being online, students being online – it’s introduced a whole new landscape for dealing with controversial ideas, especially when those ideas are controversial within your peer group or a student body. Threats to academic freedom don’t just come from China, or millionaires trying to buy a library wing for your college; they also come from students whipping up a petition within seconds of you saying something and trying to get you fired.”

Sometimes, she claims, it is more insidious than sackings: “For academics [the gender identity debate] has a chilling effect, because academics believe their careers may suffer in ways that are less visible: they don’t get promoted, or they’re removed from an editorial board.” The net result of all this, she says, is an impoverishment of ideas and knowledge, and damage to the dissemination of information.

Because another of Stock’s key arguments in her book is that her own profession, academia, has failed to look in detail at some claims made by trans activists. She questions some of the data that gets shared regarding violence against trans people, saying that a lot of it is produced by groups that adhere to a particular narrative.

“I don’t doubt that transphobic crime occurs, but I want to know to what extent it occurs in a way that could help the trans community better understand the problem it faces.” She’s disappointed, she says, in some fellow academics for not rising above the fray. “I thought the point of philosophy was that you would be able to argue things without resorting to ad hominem attacks – I thought that was the point of our training.”

How, then, in her view, have we got to where we are? Stock takes issue with Stonewall, the LGBTQ+ charity, which campaigns for trans inclusion and opposes the views of gender-critical feminists. The charity’s Diversity Champions programme is very popular on campuses, and Stock believes this has in part “turned universities into trans activist organisations” through their equality, diversity and inclusion departments.

Beyond this, the introduction of student fees has played its part in the current situation, Stock believes. “As soon as students started to pay, they became customers, and universities became much more deferential. They started talking about coproduction of knowledge, giving them much more choice over the whole experience.” The problem with that, she believes, is that “some young people come along with fixed ideas about gender identity theory, and it’s awkward – especially when universities are branding themselves as LGBT-friendly and queer-friendly.”

Philosophy is a vast space, most of it without risk of abuse. So what keeps her in this particular arena? “I was bullied as a child and I think that gave me experience of social ostracisation and toughened me up,” she says. “I’ve also got amazing support. Sure, some philosophers and colleagues are against my views, but others are very supportive.

“Plus it’s personal for me: I’ve struggled with my body in terms of femininity. I could easily aged 15 have decided I was non-binary or even a boy. And I feel very worried for teenagers who are now foreclosing reproductive possibilities and their future, or damaging their bodily tissues in irreversible ways, based on an idea that they may come to relinquish at a later date.”

One tragedy of the gender identity debate is how hate-filled and polarised it has become. Stock says she has suffered online abuse, but makes it clear that she is going to continue to state her case.

Material Girls: Why Reality Matters for Feminism by Kathleen Stock is published by Fleet

[moral-turpitudes]

College Headcanons: Modern!Peaky Blinders Edition

Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: This came to me in a dream. Enjoy. 

Thomas Shelby:

Double Major: Political Science and Business Management (bc he likes to work himself to death) Minor: Military Sciences/ROTC

Likes debating and trying to outsmart the professor.

Often seen on campus with bloody knuckles from rocking someone’s jaw.

Would 100% punch a motherfucker for being mean to someone he cares about.

Doesn’t need to be in a fraternity to be known around campus, just don’t mess with him and you’ll be fine.

All the girls whisper as he walks by but he don’t give a fuck cuz he has to go to his lectures.

He’s on time for every class and pulls out his pocket watch if the professor is more than 5 minutes late. If the professor can’t bother showing up then he dips out.

Almost got suspended for one too many fist fights.

Has a “thing” for the barista at the campus Starbucks. He learned after frequent visits, that her name was Grace and that she liked black coffee just like him.

Mysterious and moody af. No one knows if they’ve ever seen him smile, except when chatting up Grace.

Tries his best to study, but ends up getting dragged into his siblings shenanigans or into his head about the family business.

Keeps to himself for the most part, except for having a few close friends.

Hates technology so he uses a typewriter and prefers receiving letters/mail over emails.

Can’t figure out how to use Grace the baristas phone when typing in his number and tells her to write it down instead.

Often tells her to meet him after her shift. 😏

Professors hate him because of his reliance on paper. Totes not eco-friendly but he doesn’t care. Tommy always gets his way.

Grace always gives him a cookie for free cuz she knows he forgets to eat.

Always seen smoking or sneaking drinks of whiskey in a flask, even at 7am lectures.

Binge drinks on weekends with his bros, and drunk calls barista Grace when he has maybe 3 working brain cells left for the night. On other weekends when he’s coherent, he meets with Polly and tries to discuss business plans since their dad dipped out like a bitch.

To make matters worse, after dating for a while, Grace just leaves him. He thinks his aunt Polly may have been too hard on her, but he didn’t know until later that she lied when she said she didn’t know about the business. But barista bitch knew everything, and was gonna expose them to her higher-ups in the criminal justice department before long.

Arthur Shelby:

Major: Agriculture Minor: Military Science/ROTC

Graduated just barely.

Ended up in some trouble with his peeps in the military science department, probs for cussing someone out.

Angry, loud, and emotional af.

Loved drinking with John and his frat boy friends.

No one messed with him if they valued their life.

Started one too many fights and got suspended for reals. Almost beat a man to death but we don’t talk about that.

He gets stressed really easily so in his free time he draws horses.

When he gets real mad he takes it to the campus boxing ring and punches to his hearts content.

On his way back to his dorm one night he saw a girl who was in his agriculture class. She was cute and also in a “Christian” ministry group on campus. He decided to chat her up when she was preaching, just to see what it was about.

They later dated but then she cheated around with a fellow churchy man and just went off the rails. When he found out it wasn’t pretty.

Her friends and pastor most likely shamed her cuz she be ✨sinning✨. Therefore not helping her mental state.

Her name was Linda. Never trust a Linda.

Everyone tried to console Arthur but only boxing and drinking at Johns frat house did the trick.

Tommy often had to run to his dorm in the middle of the night to talk him out his mental breakdowns. College is hard.

In the end, he was glad he did agriculture even if his crazy ex would constantly stare at him during lectures, probably plotting his demise.

Some days he’d take out his frustrations by chopping wood and helping out on the farm where he worked and studied most days.

But you bet your ass fuckin’ Linda showed up to his dorm one time though with a gun and tried to shoot him, but she didn’t know his brothers and aunt were there too. Polly may have shot her in the arm tho. But when the campus PD showed up shit really went down.

We don’t know where Linda is now, but that’s probs for the best.

John Shelby:

Major: Music (idk I felt like he’s a musical boi) Minor: Military Science/ROTC

He’s a frat boy through and through. He drops it low on the dance floor and is known to dive onto beer pong tables.

Constantly going to parties and hooking up with sorority girls, that is until he meets a girl named Esme who’d been dragged to the party by her friends.

Suddenly he ain’t no hoe no more, he’s head over boots in love with her and she loves him too.

They be sneaking around in various buildings, often having to make a run for it to escape security.

He’d play her songs after hard training days with his military buds cuz it helps him calm down.

He’s not as violent as his older brothers, but he’ll fuck a person up if needed.

His fraternity is the second most important thing to him besides his girl. He loves the energy of the fraternity, the partying, and acting a whole fool with his friends, but Esme has him whipped.

His studies are struggling though cuz he loves to get turnt. He hates the studying aspect of college.

Always getting his brothers into trouble.

Snorts coke off Esme’s tits on occasion at the frat parties. It’s a wild time.

Has the mouth of a sailor but a heart of gold.

Talks of kids with Esme after dating for a year. Can’t afford a ring yet tho, but their bud Jeremiah marries them anyway on a whim.

After Arthur and the Grace fiasco ensues, he drops out of college because Esme falls pregnant. In the end, she ends up getting the chickens and wild cottage!core house she’d always wanted. They both decide to raise their kids there, living their best lives until Tommy drags them into more family matters later on.

Ada Shelby:

Major: English Minor: Gender & Women’s Studies

Always seen in the most stylish clothes.

She’s quiet most times but can be very knowledgeable on various subjects.

She’s constantly going off on her older brothers and trying to smack some sense into them.

Feels like something is off with the barista Tommy’s been seeing, but it’s not her problem.

Can 100% find her chilling in the back of Starbucks reading old novels or writing literature reviews.

When she’s not there, she’s holed up in the library where she works part time, studying and practicing for debates.

10/10 would fuck in the library cuz she knows all the best secret places to go to. 😏

Organizes meetings with different campus associations and demands equality for students.

Spends her free time surfing the net for clothes or keeping an eye out for a potential new bae.

Is probably the best at studying. She earns the best grades let’s be honest.

Will not hesitate to call a bitch out. She may not throw hands but she’ll throw words that can cut you like a knife.

Works for the campus paper, spilling all the tea on campus life. Her brothers often reluctantly agree to be her mock interview subjects for a range of assignments.

She breaks necks when walking around campus, everyone moves out of their way for her.

She’s a bad bitch.

Finn Shelby:

Major: Photography Minor: English

He hates how violent his brothers are but would 10/10 back them up if needed.

Often asks Ada for advice on studying and girls.

Doesn’t like the frat boy scene like John, but goes to the parties anyways with his best friends Isiah and Bonnie.

He’s a freshman and you can tell. He still has a glimmer of life in his eyes and a pep in his step as he walks around campus.

When he’s not taking pictures for class, he’s taking pictures of his girlfriend.

She’s his muse even when doing the simplest of things like sitting in a chair or reading one of his English books.

Each week he’d surprise her with a picture he took when she wasn’t looking, telling her how beautiful she is.

He may not look strong, but after many nights at the boxing ring with Arthur, he knew how to throw a punch.

He almost flunked his studies a couple times, getting too caught up in partying or being with his girl, but Ada and his Aunt Polly set him straight.

Voted by his family as most likely to not get arrested or suspended from college.

He’d have deep conversations with his friends, often confusing them because it was just that deep.

In his spare time he’d go boxing with Arthur or would try to help Tommy with his essays, but Tommy would get frustrated and tell him to fuck off within the first 10 minutes.

Polly Gray:

Profession: Business Management Professor Side Job: Managing the blinder business with Tommy

When she’s not teaching class, she’s managing the blinder business that was left to her and Tommy to tackle. This also means covering up any suspicions that arise on campus. She has her hands full.

She’s Tommy’s only shred of common sense some days when he gets too stressed out from his 10,000 majors and minors, or wants to plan to overthrow the university.

Will not hesitate to slap someone, preferably her unruly nephews.

Anyone can lie to her but the truth always falls through the cracks, and when she finds out, you’d pray you faced the devil instead.

In her spare time she reads tea leaves and prays for the corrupt souls of her son and his cousins. She really just begs to god that they can come together for once to get the business in line, but even that may be asking too much.

Knows a snake when she sees one. *cough* *cough* Grace the barista.

She’s the first one to tell someone I told ya so, especially her students when they flunk her tests because they decided to get drunk the night before.

When she’s not yelling at her nephews or grading papers, she can be seen at the local bar chatting up coworkers and old flames, hoping to find “the one” eventually. She ends up having a “thing” for the quirky Philosophy professor though. He’s kind of shady cuz she finds out he’s in a similar business on the side, but it only makes her like him more. She craves the danger.

They later end up in a whirlwind romance similar to John and Esme, and everyone loves that for them.

She can also be seen with her head in her hands when trying to persuade Tommy to use technology.

“What is copy and paste Pol? Can’t I just write it down? What’s up with all these gadgets aye?”

“If you want your hand to fall off and to make me lose my mind, then yes, write it down. Grading is bloody hard enough as it is, let alone grading your papers. You’re just like your father ya know, always doing things the hard way.”

Tells Gina off when she gets the chance just like she did Grace. She didn’t shoot her like Linda though, she just hurt some feelings.

May have aided in Grace’s “sudden” departure…maybe…just a little bit.

Secretly ships Tommy with a woman named Lizzie who had been her assistant at her office. She knew she could trust her more, at least.

Despite her harshness, she’s just trying to keep her family from completely fucking up their lives.

Michael Gray:

Major: Accounting Minor: Business Management

Like Tommy, he doesn’t get the hype of fraternities so he just hangs out with his cousins or his small circle of friends, they aren’t saints though.

His mom, Polly is his business management professor. She always calls on him and gives him a hard time when he spaces out in class.

Is often seen around campus with a few friends or his girlfriend Gina who he met in business class. They’re sickening and it was like a whirlwind romance tbh.

He usually finds himself cleaning up his cousin’s messes when it comes to fighting, but if he has to throw some punches he will.

He’s not as impulsive when it comes to matters of business, but where matters of the heart are concerned that’s another story.

When the blinders and Polly were all at her house for dinner one night he announced he was going to marry Gina. Arthur and John laughed and Tommy smirked slightly, still butt-hurt after his Grace left him for little-to-no reason. Ada grinned and bared the news whilst Polly nearly smacked him on the head.

People didn’t dare mess with him, and that went for all his cousins as well.

He spent a majority of his days in class crunching numbers, and most his nights out with the boys getting drunk or fuckin’ with Gina.

Because his mom held him accountable, his grades rivaled Ada’s causing them to get into some friendly competition at times.

He’s cunning like Tommy though. He got into many a screaming match with the older blinder after trying to take over his position in the family business. It ended in some black eyes and Polly smacking both of them with her newspaper. He knew better than to mess with the devil himself.

Despite the tensions between the cousins at times, he’s always the one they go to when they can’t figure out their math homework, and he’d always have to meet one of them in the library at 3 am to smuggle in some cocaine and a drink to keep them studying.

[bnhayyy]

The Call (9)

Chapter Title: Betrayal

Wordcount: 5.4k

Fic Tag: Click

Ao3 Link: Click

Chapter Summary: Mikasa receives an alarming phone call.

Notes: My final upload for @mikannieweek​ ! Day eight was a free prompt, and I went with... well. You'll be able to see what I went with.Thanks Celadon for the beta!

Mikasa woke up with a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. It spread out through her body and into her limbs. It did not make the world seem softer or kinder - she had seen too much for such a thing to be possible. But it did make her feel that much more capable of facing the day ahead. It made her exhaustion a little weaker and her will to fight a little stronger. Maybe, just maybe, that was because it was suddenly so much easier to remember that she had a reason to fight.

What she was feeling wasn't love. Mikasa had never experienced romantic love, but she knew enough to know that this wasn't it. It was too new. Too fresh. There was too much that she didn't know about Annie, too many feelings that came up when she thought about her that she hadn't yet identified. This was something vague and tentative and mysterious. Yet it was also undeniably nice. Refreshing. It was the knowledge that she wasn't alone anymore. That there was someone who understood her, and an attraction that drew them closer together. It was...

...If she allowed herself to hope, she would go as far as to say that it was something with potential.

Mikasa hadn't allowed herself to hope in a long time. She wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to do so now. So instead, beyond a moment of consideration early in the morning, she didn't allow herself to think too heavily on the feelings. She would simply settle for being happy that they were there.

Her day panned out to be a simple one. Annie was busy, but Mikasa didn't have any plans other than trigonometry class in the evening and patrolling after it. That was fine with her. She used the opportunity to get caught up on her admittedly daunting pile of late trigonometry work. Assignments from that class piled up quickly, and even with Annie taking some of the weight off her shoulders, she hadn't managed to get fully caught up.

It took several hours to work through her to-do pile, but she didn't mind. There was something nice about being able to block the problems of the rest of the world out and focus on numbers and equations.

Then, an hour before she had to get going to trigonometry class, her phone rang.

Mikasa ignored it at first. However, not even a minute after it stopped, it began to ring again. With a frown, Mikasa pulled it out of her pocket and checked the ID.

Unknown number.

She let the caller go to the answering machine without picking up.

They called again.

And again.

She broke down and answered on the fourth call. As a rule, she tended not to answer her phone for unknown answers. However, if something was urgent enough for someone to call her four times in a row, then she supposed she could give them the time of day, however irritating it may be.

"Hello?" Mikasa answered.

"Ackerman," replied a familiar, unwelcome voice. "It's Ymir."

Mikasa's good mood died instantaneously. She reflexively tightened her grip on her phone, the device straining beneath the pressure. "How did you get this number?" she hissed.

"Doesn't matter," Ymir said.

"Was it Krista?" Mikasa pressed.

Ymir scoffed. "You really think Krista is going around sharing her classmate's numbers?" She barreled on without giving Mikasa a chance to respond. "It really doesn't matter. I have something important to tell you."

Mikasa grit her teeth. "There's nothing I want to hear from-"

"Bertolt and Reiner are vampires."

The air around Mikasa seemed to freeze. "Excuse me?" she breathed, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Bertolt and Reiner," Ymir repeated. "Annie's friends? They're vampires."

"No," Mikasa said, not a hint of hesitation in her tone. "That's impossible."

"Why?" Ymir questioned. "Because you've seen Reiner in the sunlight?"

Mikasa pursed her lips. "For a start."

It was impossible because Bertolt and Reiner were Annie's friends. Reiner was warm and kind. She may not have seen soft-spoken Bertolt as often, but he was supportive and treated the people around him nicely. They were her allies. At this point, she might even go as far as to say that they were her friends as well.

They weren't soulless monsters.

However, Ymir seemed set on a different story. "Ever noticed that ring Reiner wears?" she asked. "Gold with a big green stone?"

There was no reason for Mikasa to hesitate. There was absolutely no point in her entertaining a single word that this vampire had to say. Yet something in Ymir's voice, the confidence and condemnation, sent a shiver running up her skin. That made her pause for a moment.

Ymir seemed to take that pause as an invitation to continue. "It's called the Gem of Amara. You can ask your watcher about it. When a vampire wears it, it grants them complete invulnerability. Can't be staked, can't be beheaded, and holy water, crosses, and sunlight all have no effect; but they're still a vampire."

Mikasa stayed silent for another moment, trying to wrap her mind around the ridiculous story that Ymir was trying to spin. It was a mistake. Ymir paused for just a second, and when Mikasa failed to cut her off, she added in a forceful, demanding tone, "you've been all buddy-buddy with Reiner. Tell me, have you ever touched him? He's awfully cold, isn't he."

"Reiner isn't a vampire," Mikasa snapped. "He's a good person, not a murderer."

"Then how come Krista and I found him tossing a body in the river last night?" Ymir snapped right back. "He was going to kill her for walking in on him. Want proof that he isn't human? We can meet up; I have a broken leg from our little fight."

A faint, cold feeling began to sink in Mikasa's stomach. She ignored it.

"You're lying," she said.

"I'm not," Ymir replied. "But okay, you won't believe me about Reiner. What about Bertolt? Tell me, Ackerman, have you ever seen him out in the sunlight?"

This was a dangerous game. She didn't want to give Ymir any information that she could use. At the same time, she couldn't just stand there and let those accusations slide. So slowly, cautiously, but as cold as the winter's frost, she said, "it's his schedule. He works all day and takes classes online."

"Have you checked?" Ymir asked.

Mikasa faltered. "What?"

"Have you checked," Ymir repeated. "Because if you look for a roster of the college's online students, I guarantee that he won't be on it. Hell, do you have any proof that he actually has a job? Ackerman. Is there even one shred of evidence to support those claims?"

Mikasa didn't allow herself to be moved. "Annie's a slayer. That's evidence enough."

"Yes," Ymir said, her voice deepening with enough gravity to make a lump form in Mikasa's throat. "She is. And that's why you need to understand that you are in serious danger."

The coldness in Mikasa's chest began to spread. She ignored it. "Why would you care if I was in danger?" she asked.

"I don't," was Ymir's immediate response. "But I care about Krista, and Reiner was going to kill her last night."

"You're a vampire," Mikasa said, not even acknowledging the other lie.

"And that means I can't have anyone I care about?" Ymir retorted.

Mikasa took in a long breath and slowly let it out. "I don't have time for this," she said.

Ymir snorted."Good, because I didn't call you to talk about philosophy. Bertolt and Reiner are vampires, and Reiner's going to be damn hard to kill, but they're also just pawns working for something much longer. Ask your watcher about the Tybur Group."

A moment of silence. Mikasa wanted to protest, defend Annie. Find the flaws in Ymir's argument and point them out, because there had to be so, so, so many. What Ymir was saying couldn't be the truth. She shouldn't even be entertaining the thought. Yet the faintest whispers of doubt had begun to sprout on her mind, and they were enough to freeze her solid.

The moment was shattered by Ymir's low but urgent hiss. "Think about it, Ackerman. What could pose a bigger threat to a slayer than another slayer? Leonhardt and hers didn't come here to help you, they came here to get you out of the way. "

It was a lie. It had to be. Annie was all about teamwork (it got her close to her) and had found her because she didn't want to be the only slayer anymore (she'd said so little about herself). Bertolt and Reiner were kind, friendly people (element of surprise). Meeting Annie in the graveyard that night might have been the best thing that had happened to her in years (good things didn't just happen).

Mikasa should have said something.

She didn't, and so Ymir pressed on. "You care about the well-being of the world, right? Well, if they kill you, Tybur will have the one and only slayer in their pocket. And once that happens, the world will start looking a lot different."

Her words shocked Mikasa out of her stupor. "That's ridiculous," she said, because it was. It had to be. The big, devastating picture Ymir was hinting at was a betrayal of Annie's very nature as a slayer. Mikasa's stomach twisted with guilt at even entertaining the thought. (Yet the coldness of suspicion continued to spread through her veins.) Besides... "Annie saved my life when we met."

"And Reiner's been doing a good job of worming his way in with your friends, by the sound of it." Ymir paused for a heartbeat. When she resumed speaking, her voice had grown fractionally softer. Sympathetic. "It's a cruel game, Ackerman. That doesn't mean they aren't playing."

Mikasa felt sick. She reminded herself that that was probably Ymir's aim. The vampire had probably called her to knock her off balance and make her doubt her allies. Mikasa opened her mouth to say as much, but before she could get a word out, Ymir was talking again.

"Don't trust me. Then talk to Leonhardt. But not right away. Take your time, think it through, and get ready to fight for your life first, because she is not the person you want her to be." Ymir paused and Mikasa heard a faint huff and the sound of shuffling papers. "I have other idiots to warn, but. Good luck. Try not to die."

The line went dead.

Mikasa pulled the phone away from her ear, and for a moment, all she could do was stare.

Then she started to plan.

***

Erwin would want to know about the phone call. However, Mikasa dismissed the thought of going to him as soon as it had occurred to her. This was between her and Annie, and she could handle it without his interference.

So she blocked all thoughts of her watcher from her mind and focused on the facts.

Mikasa liked Annie, more than she had expected to, maybe even more than she should. She trusted her. Over the past handful of weeks, she had even come to depend on her to a degree.

She did not know her well. She did not know Reiner well. She was only somewhat familiar with Bertolt. As much as it hurt to acknowledge those facts, to let that whisper of suspicion in, she would be a fool to not acknowledge it at all.

Ymir was right about one thing. This whole thing could be settled by a conversation. Odds were, the vampire was hoping that Annie would be hurt and offended that she even considered Ymir's accusations. She wanted the weight of the accusation to tear them apart. However, Mikasa trusted that Annie was more logical than that. She had to be aware of how little she had told Mikasa about her own past. She would understand that Mikasa couldn't just brush Ymir's story off without looking into it at all. The distrust may sting a bit, but it would not tear them apart completely. They may even come out stronger for having had the conversation.

Once that was over with, Ymir would be well and truly dead. Neither of them would tolerate a vampire messing with them like that, especially one who already killed scores of innocent people. They would double down on their hunt and Ymir would be dead within the week.

It was a headache, but it was straightforward and simple.

Except it wasn't. Mikasa also had to consider the elephant in the room, the entire reason why she couldn't just ignore Ymir's call.

The possibility that she was telling the truth.

That possibility made Mikasa text Annie to tell her that she wouldn't be in trigonometry class today and request that they meet in the graveyard. It was the reason why she readied her crossbow, one of her knives, and a sword, but didn't bother with a stake.

A stake was far from the most efficient weapon when dealing with a slayer.

It probably wouldn't come to that. Mikasa knew (hoped) that it wouldn't come to that. However, there were parts of Ymir's warning that just wouldn't be shaken off. So, on the tiny, improbable, impossible chance that the vampire was telling the truth and her fellow slayer was the enemy...

She got ready to fight for her life.

***

The sun had long set by the time Annie appeared in the graveyard. It wasn't an accident. Mikasa had asked her to show up later than usual, just to be safe. If there was going to be a fight...

There wasn't going to be a fight. Ymir was messing with her, Annie and her friends were allies, and they would have all of this cleared up and sorted out before the night was over. Mikasa was taking precautions even though she knew there was no real reason for them. However, if, theoretically, two slayers were going to fight, she would want to minimize the odds of them being spotted.

Annie only had her sword with her. That was good. Mikasa glanced down at her own weapon, clasped tightly in her hand, before turning her attention back to the other slayer.

Annie wore a somewhat puzzled expression, but otherwise looked like she wasn't going to comment on her fellow slayer's odd behavior. That changed when she drew a little closer. A slight frown fell across her lips as she took in Mikasa's expression, followed by a furrowing of her brow. "Is everything okay?" she asked.

"Ymir got my phone number," Mikasa said.

"Ymir," Annie repeated, surprise flickering across her face.

"Yeah," Mikasa said. "She... told me a story, about you, Bertolt, and Reiner."

For a second, the surprise lingered on Annie's face. Then it began to fade away into an expression that wasn't quite stony. It should have been, but there was something under it, feverish, wild, and fighting to get out.

No.

"Oh?" Annie asked, lips quivering.

Prove her wrong, Mikasa thought.

"She said that Bertolt and Reiner are vampires, and that you're here to kill me."

Please. Prove her wrong.

Annie stared.

Then she began to laugh.

No.

Mikasa took a step back, but the laughter continued. Annie's face began to flush bright red as she tilted her head back and placed a hand over her stomach.

Moving thoughtlessly, like nothing more than a puppet powered by the knowledge of what she was supposed to do when faced with an enemy, Mikasa extended her sword.

"I told- I told Reiner this was a bad idea," Annie wheezed.

"Is that a confession?" Mikasa asked, voice colder than she'd heard in months.

Annie straightened her head to give Mikasa a wild, joyless grin. It was nothing like she had seen on her before. Or more it was more true to her than anything she'd seen yet. Looking at it, Mikasa suddenly realized that she wouldn't know the difference.

"Mikasa," Annie said. "It's been fun."

And then the other slayer drew her sword and lunged for her throat.

Mikasa ducked and raised her sword. The clash of steel against steel was as much of an anchor as it was a shock, a reminder that this really was happening, that she couldn't allow herself to think or feel yet. She pushed back against the force bearing down on her. When she felt Annie's sword begin to slip, she lunged to the side and sprang upright.

Annie swept her leg out to try to knock Mikasa's feet out from under her. Mikasa jumped and swept her sword out at Annie's still-moving leg. The side of it grazed her thigh, drawing a line of blood to the surface but earning no outward reaction from the other slayer.

A flash of Annie's free hand told Mikasa that she was going for her dagger. Mikasa lashed at her with her sword, but Annie ducked down and somersaulted forward, springing up only inches away from her face.

Annie thrust her dagger forward.

Mikasa dropped her sword and grabbed her wrist before the blade could plunge more than a  centimeter into her stomach.

Mikasa wanted to gasp. She wanted to gasp from the pain of the knife in her gut. She wanted to gasp because this was actually happening. She wanted to gasp because she had been foolish enough to end up in this situation in the first place.

Instead, she looked Annie in the face. Time seemed to freeze as their eyes met, Annie trying to force her dagger further into Mikasa’s stomach while the other slayer’s grip on her wrist held firm. 

Annie’s eyes darted down, and time resumed. Mikasa brought her leg up and kicked Annie in the stomach. The force of it made her drop her dagger and sent her flying several feet.

Mikasa turned her mind away from the pain and forced herself to move quickly. She pulled the dagger out of her stomach - painful and risky, but necessary to keep fighting - and opened her bag to drop it in. Instead of picking her sword back up, she kept the bag open long enough to grab her crossbow, already primed and ready to shoot.

When Annie got to her feet, it was to find the crossbow aimed at her face. She glanced down at the sword in her hand, then at the weapon, then at Mikasa's face.

Their eyes met, and Mikasa did the worst possible thing.

She hesitated.

And Annie turned and ran. Mikasa adjusted her aim and pulled the trigger. A bolt flew forward and embedded itself in Annie's shoulder. The rogue slayer let out a sharp cry and stumbled, but did not stop running. Mikasa took off after her, but couldn't run as fast as she needed to with the sharp, persistent pain in her stomach.

The chase couldn't have lasted for longer than a few minutes. Soon Annie was gone, and Mikasa was left alone in the graveyard. The graveyard, where she absolutely could not afford to stay right now. Because if Ymir had been right about Annie...

A massive weight came crashing down upon Mikasa's shoulders. Everything that she had been naive enough to shuck since she met Annie, plus the reality of this new situation. More than the stab wound, it made every step feel like a marathon as she limped her way back to where she had dropped her sword.

The sword that Reiner had given her.

Mikasa stared blankly at the weapon as she picked it up. It wouldn't do to leave a weapon sitting around in the graveyard, but she was suddenly very certain that she wouldn't be using it much in the future. 

***

Walking back to her apartment was grueling. The pain radiating from her stomach made her want to walk slowly, but she couldn't afford to. If someone caught her walking around with a stab wound, she'd have to make up a cover story and waste precious time with a hospital visit. If an enemy happened upon her in this state, she would be at a stark disadvantage.

And it seemed that she had more enemies than she had realized.

No. Not seemed. The blood smearing across her stomach was proof of how foolish she had been.

Mikasa closed her apartment door, then leaned heavily against it. The keys shook and slipped in her fingers as she locked it. When she finally heard that click, it didn't come with its usual sense of security. Instead, Mikasa just felt... numb. Empty. Foolish.

Alone.

She looked down at the sword still grasped in her hand - Reiner's sword - and let it go. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Next, she let her shoulders go slack and felt her weapon's bag slip off and onto the floor beside it. Her keys were pocketed, but for a moment, it felt like those would slip from her fingers as well. It was tempting to allow herself to drop to the ground as well, to slide down against the door and give in to the emptiness and despair inside her.

She didn't. Couldn't. She was the slayer, and that meant she had a duty to do. That duty wouldn't be aided by tears or emotions.

Mikasa had to take care of her wounds, get back into fighting condition, and then she would do her duty.

Blood dripped onto the carpeting as she walked into the apartment. She noticed it, distantly acknowledged that she would have to clean it up later, but it quickly disappeared into the depths of her mind. Everything did. The only thing she allowed herself to focus on was taking one step after the other.

She walked through the kitchen on her way to the bathroom. As she passed the kitchen table, she pulled her phone out of her pocket and set it down. Her fingertips left little smears of blood on the back of the casing.

Upon reaching the bathroom, she headed straight for the tub. She squatted down beside it in order to avoid jostling her stomach too much, put the stopper in, and turned the hot water on. Then she stood up and turned to the first aid kit sitting beside her sink.

A consequence of being the slayer was that a normal first aid kit wouldn't cut it. Mikasa's was larger than most people and contained, among other things, advil, rubbing alcohol, a suture needle, and sterilized suture thread. Those were the items that she fished out and carefully set on the toilet. 

First, she swallowed a couple of advil dry. Then she began the painstaking process of taking off her blood-stained clothes. It was difficult to do without jostling her stomach too much, especially her shirt, but she managed.

She didn't know if doing this in the bathtub was a good idea, but at the moment, she didn't care. It was going to be painful, unpleasant, and difficult no matter how she went about it. The warm water might make it a little more tolerable, so she was going to take advantage of that.

Mikasa got in the water before getting started. She allowed her torso to sink beneath the water and winced at the fresh sting when water seeped into the wound. Her blood rose into the water in a cloud of pinkish-red. For a moment, she stayed still. Then she began to tenderly rub at the edges of the wound, washing off the bits of blood that had dried against her skin.

Her eyes began to water. She didn't allow herself to think about the reason why.

Once her skin was clean, she used her foot to turn the tub's faucet off, then pulled herself up so that the wound was out of the water. The movement sent a fresh burst of pain through her torso, to which she grit her teeth and reminded herself that the worst was yet to come.

Mikasa reached over the edge of the tub, toward the toilet, to grab the rubbing alcohol. She opened it and dropped a splash onto her wound, then gasped at the sting it elicited. Still not the worst part.

The needle and suture thread were in individual packages. She opened both and threaded the needle, then dipped the needle in the alcohol just to be safe.

Then came the miserable part.

Mikasa had to focus on what she was doing to make sure she handled the stitching correctly, but it was also easy enough that she didn't have to put much conscious thought into it. That was how she powered through. Although a good portion of her willpower was spent on staying still, she focused the rest of her mind on everything that was worse than having to suture her own stab wound.

Mikasa had tricked herself into believing that a second slayer meant that she wasn't alone while getting cozy with an enemy. Because that was what Annie was. A threat. A rogue slayer. An evil slayer, if she was cooperating with vampires. Because that was what Bertolt and Reiner were. Vampires.

None of them had truly wanted to work with her or be her friend. They had espoused the merits of teamwork to her because she would be easier to kill if she trusted them. She could see it now, how the manipulation worked, where she had been too quick to trust.

She had decided to trust someone for the first time in years, and this was where it had gotten her.

Annie wanted to kill her. It was her mission to kill her, from what Ymir had said.

Mikasa may not have known Annie half as well as she had let herself think she did, but she knew that she would not give up on a mission easily. Not a real one, one that she had truly dedicated herself to.

If Annie wanted to kill her, then Mikasa would have to kill her first.

Just like she would have to kill Bertolt, who was rarely seen not because he was shy and had a busy schedule, but because he couldn't step into the sunlight without bursting into flames.

Just like she would have to kill Reiner, who was a soulless murderer with a ring that granted him invulnerability.

None of them were her friends. And Mikasa had been foolish and weak to let herself think that they were.

The thoughts created a miasma of anger and guilt that didn't quite dull the pain, but redirected it enough for her to power through the operation. She clung to it until she had sewn the final suture, at which point she, blinked the tears out of her eyes, tied off the sutures, and broke off the needle and remaining thread with a sharp gasp.

Mikasa allowed her muscles to go law and slumped back against the bathtub. She didn't sink low enough to submerge her stitches, but it was a close thing. The edges of her vision flickered black as pain coursed through her. It was a sharp stabbing in her stomach, as if Annie were still digging the knife in, that faded into a throbbing ache as it radiated out into her limbs. She knew that the pain would begin to fade if she just gave it time.

She didn't have time to wait for the pain to fade. The most she could justify was waiting until it had dissipated enough for her to be able to move. Regardless of her personal feelings for Erwin, she could see where it would be foolish not to inform him of all that had happened. Plus she would have to warn everyone else about Annie, Reiner, and Bertolt.

They wouldn't take it well. Annie and Bertolt had kept some distance, but most of the group had grown attached to Reiner, blissfully unaware of the false pretenses their relationship was built upon. Perhaps it was a good thing that Annie had stabbed her. Physical proof would make it easier for her to get them to believe her. After that, she would only have their actual reactions to worry about.

Mikasa was overcome by a wave of exhaustion that had nothing to do with her injury. She leaned her head back and allowed her eyes to slide shut.

When she opened them a few seconds later, Eren was standing over the bathtub and staring down at her.

His eyes were glistening.

"Mikasa," he said. "I'm so sorry."

Mikasa glanced down at her stomach. Flecks of blood welled up around the crisscrossed black of the sutures. If she squinted, it almost looked like a mouth snarling up at her.

"It's fine," she murmured, voice dull and lifeless. "It'll heal."

"That's not what I meant," Eren said. There was no denying the pain in his voice, something caught between desperation and loss. Mikasa may have tried to analyze it at another time. Right now, with all her earlier feelings flowing out of her as exhaustion and pain took over, she just couldn't bring herself to make the effort. Instead, she watched as he knelt down beside her. He started to reach out a hand, but faltered and withdrew it when his fingertips were a few inches away from her arm. Or the illusion of them, at least.

"I'm sorry that I let this happen," Eren clarified. "I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about them."

Oh. So this was what was happening.

Mikasa tilted her head back and closed her eyes. "I should have figured it out," she said. "I let them trick me, and I only have myself to blame. I don't need you to remind me."

"That's not what I meant," Eren insisted, the strain in his voice building until it sounded like it might break. "I hoped that you could reach them, and maybe we wouldn't-"

"-Eren," Mikasa cut in before he could get any further, or the stinging in her eyes could get much worse. She'd already cried too much today. She didn't need to add any more tears to her mess. "I can't do this right now."

A moment of silence. Then, just before Mikasa was going to open her eyes, Eren whispered, "alright. Just remember that I'm sorry. I didn't... This wasn't my intention."

"I know," Mikasa said. "But when I open my eyes, I need you to be gone."

No response. She kept her eyes shut for several more moments, just to be safe. Then, slowly, she opened her eyes.

She was alone once again.

Mikasa allowed herself to linger in the bathtub for several more minutes. It could have been more, but the water was beginning to grow cold. The whisper of a chill dancing over her skin reminded her that the world wouldn't stop and wait for her to have a breakdown.

With gritted teeth, she began the painstaking process of extracting herself from the bathtub. Standing up made flashes of black cling to the edges of her vision once again. She braced a hand against the tub's wall and squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, the pain hadn't faded, but her vision had refocused, which was enough for her to work with. She grabbed the fluffy white towel hanging from the shower rod and carefully wrapped it around herself. Pinkish droplets of blood-soaked water sank into the fabric, telling her that she would need to include it in her next load of laundry.

She made her way into her bedroom and pulled on a pair of pajamas. It felt like a defeat - the admittance that she wouldn't be doing anything else that night. She dealt with it by reminding herself that she shouldn't risk anything more. Tomorrow she would be healed enough to put actual clothes on. However, if she tried for too much tonight and tore her stitches, then her healing would be set that much further behind.

Once she was dressed, a deep, guilty part of her wanted nothing more than to lay down in bed and go to sleep.

Mikasa pushed it down and forced herself to walk into the kitchen. There, she sat down at the table and picked up her phone, which was now flecked with dried blood.

Three calls were waiting on her voice mail. 

As she stared at the notification, her phone started ringing once more. She answered it immediately.

"Mikasa," came Erwin's voice, rushed and urgent. "You need to get to my house immediately."

Mikasa swallowed down the lump rising in her throat and asked, "why?"

"Marco Bodt has been murdered."

[beaubaptiste]

Beau lived on the fine lines between curiosity, paranoia, genuine interest, and straight up nosiness. She had always been an extroverted person, and thus felt no shame at all in asking Gabriel for his life story. Her philosophy was, in fact, that you get to know people by asking questions just as much as observing them, and it had once again proven to be right, as she wouldn't have been able to guess upon first glance that the man had a love for sweets. " Really? You eat yet, baby? I know I got some pie in the fridge." Before he could respond, Beau was already on her feet heading to the fridge to retrieve the homemade blueberry pie and heat up a slice. Her nature was such that feeding people was a joy as much as a habit, and as much as she resisted it growing up, Beau had a love for cooking and baking that spat in the face of her desperate want to go against gender norms. Into the oven the pie went, Beau , moving to the cupboards again to get plates this time as she listened to Gabriel talk. A glance over her shoulder out of respect for keeping eye contact revealed something akin to a blush on his tanned cheeks, Gabriel looking away with a sweet smile that made Beau herself smile along with him. It wasn't every day that she got under a man's skin like that, and she couldn't help but feel smug.

"Everybody in this town knows somebody's business." She stated in a matter-of-fact tone, as if to, excuse her being nosy. "Buildings age, walls are thin, and when the alcohol is runnin' free, people talk they business louder than they realize." She chuckled. "Lots of teachers, not many educators." She shrugged, hoping her meaning came across. leaning on the counter for a moment, Beau listened carefully to Gabriel open up. She was glad she hadn't slipped anything into his drink to make him talk, as he seemed to be friendly enough to tell his life story on a whim with very little prompting. Her head cocked to the side at him as he spoke, noting a look of sorrow in his eyes in spite of the softness of his voice and the smile he tried to hold up. Beau could tell just by looking at him as he spoke that he truly felt a passion for his job and his students, in spite of the shitty end of the stick that teachers always got. "Ain't that always the downside to doin' what you love?" She chuckled humorlessly as she made her way back to the table. Taking her cup in her hand, Beau let out a little sigh. " There comes a time when you gotta choose between doing what makes you happy, and making money. Few people in this lifetime get to do both, and half the people who do aren't getting both through honest means of livin'. I noticed that the more good a person tries to do, the more shit life throws their way - pardon my French." She smiled. " But those people who do wrong always seem to get away with it because they keep company with other bad people and everyone else stays outta their way to avoid bein' a target. I've seen it first hand.

A warm, sweet smell flooded the kitchen and Beau took a small sip from her teacup before moving back to the over. Grabbing a towel, she removed the pie dish carefully and set it on the stove. " But take heart, Mr. Gabriel. It's people like you that keep this world from goin' rotten. You'd be surprised what a lil' bit of light can do in a dark room. You may not see it in your lifetime, but the minds you shape today make the future brighter with the seeds you planted. " Beau looked over her shoulder at Gabriel and smiled, hoping to have encouraged him a bit. It wasn't just lip service before, but somehow his kind heart made the man seem even more attractive. Beau dished out two slices of pie and retrieved two forks before heading back to the table to set them down. " Now you eat up. I'll send a text to Josiah and tell him to come on down here so he can speak to you in person." Beau offered. She was more sure than before that Gabriel had good intentions, and again, the house would protect them if he had fooled her somehow. Still, she had a good feeling about the man.

“Two, I’ve got a sweet tooth.” Gabriel smiled as she plopped the sugar in his cup, letting his fingers sink into the warmth that radiated from each side of the cup. He chuckled at her comments, the lack of context so alluring he fought himself to ask for more crumbs of what she could possibly mean. Perhaps the mother had her fill and taken matters into her own hands, he knew the father certainly earned it. “Yes and no.” he reasoned “You learn to read people after a while, the kind of effort they put into the little things is usually how much they’ll put into others.” Gabriel knew more than this from trained eye and the pattern that followed it. One thing always led to another, a domino effect that led him to seeking retribution for his own student.

A blush which hadn’t graced his face in quite some time set into his cheeks and he hoped, sort of boyishly, that she couldn’t see. He sipped at his coffee, eyes closing for short moments at the bliss of the brew - it was nutty and fragrant and not at all like the coffee pot he had at home. “Well I’m sure in all your wise, sagely wisdom you’ve seen a lot of educators come and go these last few years. In North Carolina it’s not as centralized, there’s less people to carry the load…no beautiful woman at the end of her stoop to pick up the pieces when all the kids are mad cause we cut music and art classes. It got depressing.”

He thumbed the side of the mug. “Lots of teachers left due to neglect, lack of care for the condition of the classrooms and just overall health.” He sighed, sitting back and remembering all the stress he’d left behind. “I loved my kids but I didn’t love the way I felt everyday, like I was letting them down. And the money was just…non-existent. Coming out of pocket for supplies is one thing but it just..took its toll. I wasn’t making any money, I started getting behind on bills. The ties I had that kept me there relieved themselves and so I left.”

Gabriel didn’t indulge in more of the pity party he felt starting to weave, knowing well enough that she might see through certain context. A teacher with no money in their pockets was a common plight so being left by his partner seemed inevitable. He was not ashamed, not as much as he been before, but still wanted to uphold a good impression with her. It had been so long since he last cared of being in someone’s light.

[rice-pudding-slaps]

A WILD thought just crossed my head but a Cats High School Teachers AU? It would be ✨glorious✨

Just imagine!!

Jennyanydots would totally be a language teacher That's how we call it in my country lmao language and communications. It's basically grammar and literature ANYWAY that is also kind of a mother for kids who need help. She would totally and absolutely be that Miss Honey kinda Vibes™ teacher that always has a kind word for you and if she sees you crying, she will protect you with her life (And also maybe she has this huge bag filled with napkins and sweets). She's strict tho. But not in a mean way. She doesn't just gift grades, she makes you work for it. You can turn up your paper again, but it will have 300 corrections. But she will praise your efforts and help you overcome your difficulties.

Skimble gives me such Math Teacher That Always Has a Story and Rarely Actually Teaches The Class kinda vibes. His class is always on the most absolute of silence and no one ever DREAMS of pranking him. The kids knoooow that they can say "Hey, mr Skimbles I heard you were on a train once" and boom he will tell you all these stories about his time being in charge of the Northern Mail. He has told the story sooooo many times that the children once put on a play with one of the stories for Teachers Day or smtn. He was moved to tears

Demeter would absolutely be an art teacher and be the most understanding teacher ever. She's patient and kind and she will give you a day more to bring in your work if you need it. She also always has a way to find hurt kids. Coming from an abusive background herself, she's quick to act whenever she feels a child migh need any type of help. She ended up being That Teacher That Every LGBTQ+ Kid Befriends and she is proud to be helpful and provide love to those who need it. She's very close to Munk and is always helping with the props for the plays.

Bomba is a science teacher because I said so. And because she has a similar vibe to most of my science teachers when I was in school lmao. She's funny and charismatic and pretty laid back. And you never know what to expect from her. The kids love her bc she might spend some class talking all about formulas and next class is "Hey kids wanna learn how to make EXPLOSIONS??" they never actually blow up something, but she makes the lab classes the best thing.

Munkustrap is an absolute history teacher. No questions asked. The man knows how to narrate every historical moment like you were there. He has a silver tounge (pun intended). And he always tries to teach the most he can, because history is just so broad and there is so much to talk about. And he definetely would answer all the questions, even the more weird ones. He's called by kids the Protector because even when he's easly the most strict teacher ever, he would never let anyone bad mouth his students. No matter how chaotic the class was, he will always tell them that as long as they learned something, they won. He also works in the theatre departement, so the theatre kids are in love with the guy. They tried to set him up with Demeter in a play, but gave up after a half hour speech on how they shouldn't be involved in their teachers personal lifes.

Tugger is obviously a music teacher. He is that laid back, friendly and overall awesome teacher that everyone just loves. He plays any instrument you can think of and will teach you if you ask. As a joke, a whole class asked to learn the bagpipes and when next class this rockstar of a teacher appeared with a fucking bagpipe and a whole lot for the kids they fucking LOST IT. He will help you with practice and if you want to get into serious music, then he will absolutely root for you. He has a song composed for every teacher and absolutely everyone hates him for this. He's also with the theatre kids and always helps with plays maybe to mess with Munk, maybe he likes the attention. He's also in charge of music and dance presentations and he abuses his powers greatly. And everytime a class graduates he says that he doesn't really cares that much (is the circle of life, baby) but will shed silent tears everytime bc he's gonna miss the kiddies.

Misto's obviously a dance teacher. Duh. He might be an ex student for the same school. He's fresh out of college and he sometimes doesn't know what to do, but he tries really hard. And he's harsh as fuck for the same reason. He always wears a tuxedo to class and a bowtie bc he tought it was a formal thing and now it's kind of like "his thing". He's kind of cold at first and doesn't talk really that much, the kids first tought he hated them, but later found out that he just goes non verbal sometimes and designed a whole system to communicate instructions and corrections. Misto was so happy. And that's why there is a board on the classroom they use to dance. He's also one of the teachers that every LGBTQ+ kid loves, and he tries his best to support each one. And yes, every day they ask "DO THE CONJURING TURNS MR. MISTOFFELEES" and he gladly does. There was this rumor that he was magic bc once a kid saw him in a presentation out of school and they swear he sparkled out of the blue. He knows, and sometimes he would do little tricks for the kiddos for funs, and other teachers just to mess with them. He also goes to the teathre departement and it's constantly working with Tugger so the music and dance kids do presentations together. The kids ship it so hard

Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer are the best gym teachers ever. They also are very new to this, but they make class the most fun thing ever. They teach sports and gymnastics with ease. And they have no mercy on dodge ball. No. Mercy. They once were playing on the field with the kids and hit Tugger on the head. The legend says that they ran across the school for all night. The truth is that they outrun Tugger, but not Munk.

Jellylorum is the school's nurse. She always has a tecito de hierbas for you. And she will always hear you and try to get you to be better. She has infinite patience for eveyone. And she always carries pads and tampons for the kids who may need it. And if you ever need a shoulder to cry on? She's there too. She and Jenny have their officed flood on Mother's day because they are the second mothers of so many kids. She also catches up with ex-students and remember every name.

Gus is the official Theatre teacher. He is this old man who is so wise and strict, but just because he loves his craft so so much. Every year there is some kind of rumor that he might retire, but it never seemed to happen. He has a little office with so many photos and diplomas and it's just filled with memories. He is very harsh on the kids. Very. But they love him because he also can spend hours talking about his greatest performances on theatre. When he actually had to retire because he was starting to have very fragile health, everyone cried. They held a big play and he played Growltiger. No one had a dry eye that night. And he still visits the school from time to time. He goes to every play.

You might say that Old Deuteronomy is the principal and you would be very right. But this man was a teacher in his day. He taught philosophy and history and english and literature. He has more degreed that a high school teacher had to have, but he loved dearly the art of teaching. And he remembers every kid. Every morning he sits at the entrance and says to every one of them by name. He plays with the kids when his health let's him. He has a framed photo of him and Gus on their first years as teachers just along side a photo of the year Tugger joined Munkustrap on the school staff. And everyone is very sure that he might let Munkustrap take the position one day. He's also a kind soul. And will let kids tug on his beard. There was this christmas when he dressed up as santa and it was the sweetest thing ever.

Tantomille and Coricopat are philosophy teachers. They take turns doing classes and you will never know wich one taught you last class because they are in perfect sync. Their test are the most outlandish thing ever, and give points for "originality" wich is mostly just wich kid said the most weird but true thing. The kids are kinda scared of them. Just enough to not to mess up their classes.

I am not completely sure, but Alonzo being a spanish teacher just brings me so much joy. He's always teaching them songs and little games to learn spanish and the kids take total advantage of that just to mess with him. He never gets truly mad if they play a prank on him. And he's the Protector number 2 to the kids, bc he would absolutely turn up to a teachers reunion wet from head to toe and instead of tattle on the kids, he would just say it was an accident. Munk knows and always ends up catching the culprit, not always with Alonzo's help.

The Rumpus Cat is the school mascot.

[willcwthewisp]

false god complex | ben & willow

LOCATION: university of maine, white crest. PARTIES:  @professorbcampbell and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: ben is more than happy to lend willow a helping hand.  CONTAINS: elements of grooming.

Willow’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel of her car in a near death-grip, already dreading what was to come. Why had the telemarketing company thought she was a good person to deliver toner? She’d done her best to avoid getting too close to anyone in the office, constantly afraid that she’d end up throwing someone through the flimsy walls that made up their miniscule cubicles. But somehow they’d settled on her to make a delivery that required a signature. She couldn’t even find peace in the knowledge that she’d be able drop the package and run. No- the telemarketer would have to come face to face with an actual person. This was the exact opposite of what she’d signed up for when taking a job that was about being away from people.

Pulling into the university, she struggled for a moment with the box of printing supplies, finally managing to balance it on her hip as she locked her car. One slow and deep breath later, she was steeling herself as she walked towards the closest building. Just find a person. Have them sign. And get out. That’s all she had to do. At least it was later in the day, getting closer to a time of the evening when less students were on campus. Throwing a college student into the quad fountain was also on her list of scenarios to desperately avoid. And it was a rather long list. Why were there so many people in the world? Turning the corner into a hallway, she scanned for any nearby lifeforms, finally spotting the back of a man’s head down the way as he walked away from her. “Um- excuse me!” she called out, her free hand waving with uncertainty above her head as she made an awkward shuffle towards him. “Excuse me! Sir? Sorry- I just- well I’m dropping off this toner, and it needs a signature. Do you think- well would you mind signing for it?”

Thumbing through his mail, Ben scanned the various letters. Hardly anyone sent him physical mail anymore, but he made a point of checking his mailbox once a week. It was good practice to walk through the halls, make a show of being polite and friendly to all of the cubicle dwelling student workers and pitiful staff members who didn’t have access to offices of their own. His office was on the third floor of the building, and while he didn’t have a corner office just yet, he had it on good authority that the next vacancy would be his. Tossing a few pieces of junk mail into the recycling bin, he headed out of the mailroom back to his office. He would finish up some emails and then take home his remaining essays to grade. Perhaps stop by the coffee shop, see if he could arrange a serendipitous meeting with a student--

As he walked down the hall, Ben was caught off guard by the sudden flash of movement and a woman’s voice calling out to him. Toner? What, did she take him as a secretary? It wasn’t his job to make sure the printer room was stocked. But, he offered an easy smile instead and hurried towards her. “Here, let me take that.” He said, taking the heavy package of toner from her easily. “You’re a ways off from the printing room. I can carry this and sign once we get there?” He said with a nod.

“Oh- oh no, you don’t have to-” Willow began, but he’d already taken the package from her hip in a movement so smooth she almost forgot to be nervous about the proximity of him. Almost. Realizing how close she’d come to potentially grazing against the man, and therefore possibly tossing him into next week, the medium took a healthy step back. “Sorry- it’s been so long since I went here, and I swear they moved everything around,” she breathed with half an attempted chuckle, trying to set herself at ease after the close call. “You really don’t have to, though,” she started once more, hating to be any sort of inconvenience. “I mean- I didn’t mind carrying it! And it’s not your job, you know?” As she said the words she finally did a cursory one over of the man in front of her, blinking a few times in quick succession as she began to fully understand just how handsome he was. Oh god- now she was nervous again. “And I mean- you could just sign here, if you wanted! Then I could just take it to the printing room or wherever and set it and leave it there since you...signed for it. And it’s just toner! I don’t think anyone wants to take toner or anything, right? I mean, have you ever heard of anyone ever stealing toner before?” Willow ended on an semi-awkward chuckle, practically begging herself to stop talking before she said anything else that sounded equally, or god forbid, more idiotic.

Hefting the box in his arms, Ben made his expression one the model of politeness and patience. It was irritating to have to maintain his role as the good-nature professor for someone who so clearly wasn’t worth his time. Well. She was cute, in an out-of-sorts kind of way. Which was typically how most women acted around him. “No, it’s quite alright. It’s a heavy box and it’s easiest for me to just carry it while I have it now.” He said with an easy smile and tilted his head. “The printer room is on my way back to my office, so it’s no skin off my back. Two birds with one stone, hm?” He said as she rambled on and on. Incredible. She just kept speaking without providing anything of substance. “No need to worry. And no, I can’t begin to imagine why someone would steal toner of all things. Unless they’ve got a massive printer at home, I can’t see why they’d do that.” He laughed. “Ah,” Just shut up, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by just taking the box from you. You just looked as though you were struggling and I wanted to offer a hand. Or two.” Ben gestured to the box resting in his hands.

“Oh- well...thank you, then.” Willow wasn’t about to argue with a man who was being so perfectly polite about helping her, especially when he looked as handsome as this one did. After all, who didn’t enjoy it when a good-looking man helped you of his own accord without seeming threatening or overbearing? Feminism be damned. “Sure,” she agreed, feeling like she’d be doing that more often as the conversation went on. His words and actions were so confident that they nearly even set her at ease, which was no small feat. “Thank you, again.” She should make conversation, shouldn’t she? It was only polite after he’d helped her. “So you’re...a professor here?” That much was obvious given his mention of an office. “”What do you teach?” For a moment she laughed with him, still somewhat amazed that she’d been able to do so in the first place despite being at risk of telekinetically throwing someone in a public setting. “I guess so. Unless there’s some toner black market that I’m completely unaware of.” It was her own attempt at a joke. “No, no-” she began, not wanting him to think she was upset. “It was nice of you- really. I just wasn’t entirely expecting it and-” She didn’t like people getting close to her. Not when she was a ticking time bomb. “-and I appreciate the two hands.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Ben said with a kind smile he didn’t mean in the slightest. This woman looked familiar, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on why. She looked to be around the same age as him, perhaps a few years younger. Blonde, brown eyed, classical bone structure, but why did she look familiar to him? Perhaps he’d be able to worm the information out of her. “Please, it’s really not a problem. And yes, I am. I teach the classics. Greek and Roman history, culture, and philosophy for the most part, but I dabble in most ancient Western civilizations.” As he always did for the more nervous types-- and this woman struck him as quite nervous-- Ben offered a self conscious grimace. “But, it’s hardly the most interesting field.” He said as he led them through the halls at a leisurely pace. A toner black market. Knowing some of the creatures who roamed this town, there very well might be. “Well, my apologies for startling you. It wasn’t my intention at all. Do people generally let you,” Flounder “Struggle without offering to help? That’s hardly the sort of behavior I’d expect of people here.”

He seemed like a very nice man. Or a well-meaning one at the very least. The more he spoke, the more Willow settled into the situation she’d been handed, figuring there was little she could do at this point if he was going to be so insistent about helping. She just had to keep her distance, and everything would be alright...right? “Oh- well that’s all very impressive sounding,” she replied with a tentative smile, as if she were testing the waters when it came to the expression on her face. “The closest I ever got to the classics or anything like that when I was here were the art and visual culture classes for the eras.” While Ben carefully practiced humility, Willow was already shaking her head in denial of his words. “Oh no- if it’s interesting to you, that’s what matters, right? And I’m sure there’s plenty of people who find it really stimulating.” As she walked along with him, her eyes scanned the hallways, curious to see how her alma mater had changed in the years since she’d roamed it. “No, really- you don’t need to apologize at all. I mean- you were just being thoughtful. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all! Pretty much the opposite, actually. As for other people...I guess I wouldn’t know- I’m not really a ‘delivery’ sort of person, but the usual person was out today.”

Walking alongside the woman, Ben continued to appraise her. She seemed to have calmed down a bit which had resulted in, thankfully, less rambling. Some people rambled in productive ways, providing little insights into their lives, their minds. This woman? Not exactly. She spoke as though she had to fill the air with sound or else there would be dire consequences. “Ah, thank you, though it’s hardly impressive.” Ben said with a shrug. Oh, he was very impressive. Department co-chair, associate professor, and well established within the college at his age? No, he was impressive and he knew it. “Art and visual culture? Are you an artist?” He asked with interest, though internally he couldn’t care less. “Indeed! That’s how I find it as well.” Ben nodded as they continued down the hall. Rounding the corner into the printer room, he set the heavy box on the counter. “Ah, in that case, I’m quite glad I was there to help. It’s never pleasant when you have to take on the responsibilities of others.” He said with a sympathetic smile. He leaned against the copier, waiting for her next move, curious to see how she’d fill this new gap in conversation.

“Don’t say that,” Willow insisted, apparently gaining confidence where Ben carefully lost it. If there was one thing she was confident about it was boosting the spirit of others. “You know something that plenty of people couldn’t even begin to really grasp. Isn’t that impressive?” A friendly nod had her head bobbing up in down as he asked about her, blonde hair bouncing along with the motion. “I majored in Fine Arts when I was here, and then opened a gallery a few years out of school.” A smile grew more comfortable on her lips while he continued to be perfectly amenable. “Well then I’m glad you agree,” she finished with a small chuckle, finding herself more at ease with every moment. “Oh- well I was definitely lucky that you were there to help. And that you’re obviously more than happy to lend a helping hand.” A shrug tugged at her shoulders. “It’s alright- I don’t mind helping.” At least that was usually true when it didn’t put her in public situations that might result in someone getting broken in half. “But um- if I could get that signature from you now, that would be great?” She offered him the little electronic device they’d given her at the office, a pen attached to it. Holding it by the very ends, she desperately tried to ensure that no contact would be made when he took it. 

“I suppose it is.” Ben said and offered a sheepish, apologetic smile as the woman admonished him. So she was one of those types. An optimist, someone who tried to lift others up. Naive. Interesting, very interesting. He couldn’t help but weigh and measure her, even if he had no real desire to lure her towards the way of his Lord. But who knew. She might be able to be of use to him, one day. It never hurt to cultivate “friendships.” Just as he thought, an artist, one of those creative types. “Now that, that sounds quite impressive.” As she held out the little device, she watched the way she kept him at arms length. As though she was scared of him? No, not quite. He wasn’t entirely sure why she was so frightened. “Of course.” Ben signed off on the machine with a smile before handing it back to her. “Ben Campbell. A pleasure to meet you..?”

Willow’s grin widened as the man agreed, happy to see that he wasn’t planning on minimizing his accomplishments anymore for the time being. Why shouldn’t he be proud? She was fairly certain everyone had something to be proud of in their lives, and if they couldn’t see that then she was more than happy to help show them. “Oh no- I mean- it’s not that big of a deal.” Willow fell naturally into the persona that Ben had cultivated for himself over their conversation, a slight blush creeping over her cheeks at his praise. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Relief flooded her as he didn’t offer a hand to shake along with his introduction, knowing she would have only made the conversation terribly awkward as she refused to take it. “I’m Willow- Willow Finch. And thank you for the signature, Ben,” she said warmly, already taking a step back as she reminded herself that she was testing the limits of her telekinesis simply by talking to him. “I hope you have a good day, Professor Campbell.” Then she was starting to head off, wishing she could have counted the man as a new friend, but knowing it wasn’t possible with her current situation. But it had been nice to pretend for the length of the walk down the hallway.

[lillupon]

thoughts on kmg situation

Hi everyone, your friendly neighbourhood minwon writer here! I apologise to those of you who were hoping for an update this weekend. In light of recent events, I found it very difficult to get excited about Achieving Escape Velocity. Before I can resume posting, I feel it is necessary for me to work through my own thoughts. 

I am not trying to persuade people into believing a particular side. I share this with the hope that it will help others who are struggling to reconcile feelings similar to my own. I also see this as an opportunity to—with your guidance—become more passionate, and to learn how to be a decent human being, if that’s what I need to do. I recognise that I come barreling in here with my own cultural and environmental biases. Thus, anyone who understands the nuances of this situation better should feel free to educate me on the matter. If this is of no interest to you, kindly scroll on; I hope to see you when I next update. Otherwise, please join me for a few minutes. 

TL;DR

I support both Mingyu and the victim/OP

I believe that people change as they grow older and become more educated and informed

I am conflicted and have my misgivings about the additional allegations (group chat screenshots + bullying a student with special needs—which has now been resolved, yay!)

I will not unstan Mingyu

I will continue to write and update Achieving Escape Velocity

I want to start by saying that I am an older fan in my twenties, and that I have been a fan of Seventeen since 2015. I have found great joy and comfort in them for many years. As much as I have tried to remain impartial, I have likely fallen short of that ideal. The truth is, I adore this boy! I admire his talents as an artist. I am charmed by the persona of him that we get to see in the media; I see parts of myself reflected in this curated persona. That being said, I tried to remain critical of the stance I am taking. I asked myself, “If this situation was not about Mingyu, and was about my local weatherman instead, would I still feel the same way?” And the answer to that was: hell fucking yeah! Don’t worry, Local Weatherman, I got your back… 

Lastly, I want to say that I am approaching this from a Western point of view. I grew up in Canada, albeit with the traditions and beliefs inherited from fairly strict and conservative Asian parents. As an international fan, there will inevitably be some cultural disconnects in this thought piece. 

There are three main parts to my admittedly rough and disjointed thoughts. The first part addresses the original accusations. The second part addresses additional accusations that were made against Mingyu. The final part is about the future of my minwon stories.

You may agree with all of this, part of this, or none of this. These are simply the thoughts I am trying to work through. 

Thoughts on original allegations (therapy records OP)

How do I describe opening up Twitter on Thursday morning? One moment, I was reading about Mingyu drawing pubes on the classroom whiteboard. The next moment, I was reading about how serious allegations against Mingyu were. People were unstanning him and Seventeen, calling Mingyu a rapist, sending him death threats, etc. I truly did not understand how the situation escalated so quickly, and I nearly gave myself whiplash trying to follow jumps in logic. 

One side of Twitter was convinced that the Original Poster (OP) was lying and doing all of this for attention; they said victims could not be believed 100%. The other side of Twitter declared that Mingyu should be cancelled, and bashed anyone who supported Mingyu or remained neutral. People were sending Mingyu death threats despite the history of k-pop artists committing suicide. All of this reminded me why I avoided Twitter for so many years: Purity and cancel culture run rampant; the mobs want blood penance for every wrongdoing without first considering the nuances of the situation. People blindly defend their ults and set aside their morals to do so.

Here is what I got out of my initial reading of the translated (version 1, version 2) accusations:

OP was shy, timid, and isolated from her classmates. When she tried to speak up in class, Mingyu would tell her to shut up. This happened enough times that, eventually, OP stopped talking in class at all.

Mingyu and his friends told sexual jokes while OP was in the vicinity. These comments made OP uncomfortable and triggered her. However, they were not directed at OP.

The sexual jokes and comments did not escalate to sexual assault or violence. OP explicitly states there was no violence or physical contact.

Mingyu and his friends drew and laughed at inappropriate pictures of body parts/hair on the board. OP is not actually sure if it was Mingyu who drew the pictures, only that he was up there laughing with the others.

OP struggles with anxiety and depression; Mingyu was not the sole reason why she attended therapy. OP mentioned that she brought Mingyu up only briefly with her therapist.

Could I believe all of this being true? Yes, because I personally adhere to two Me Too philosophies: 

The first is that women almost never lie about sexual harassment, abuse, or assault. I absolutely believe that Mingyu is capable of making sexual jokes and comments. Teenage boys and girls alike are notoriously emotional and hormonal between the ages of 12 and 14. I can also imagine Mingyu drawing penises on whiteboards, complete with elaborate pubic hair. These are the antics of a typical middle school boy. For some reason, teenage boys—at least in North America—are very fascinated by their own genitalia and like to announce they have one by drawing pictures of dicks on any available surface. 

The second philosophy I abide by is that men and boys in power are likely to abuse it. All men—even k-pop idols—benefit from patriarchy. They are in a position to abuse, degrade, and humiliate women (obviously, I hope none of these things happen, but I also have to acknowledge the possibility that they do). This is especially true in patriarchal Asian societies. Someone as popular and attractive as Mingyu holds great influence and power in his peer groups. Can I see a young Mingyu being a dick to a girl who is quiet and timid and isolated from her peers? Yes.

But also… Who wasn’t a dick in middle school? I feel like my classmates and I were colossal idiots back then. Was it just my school where classmates told each other to shut up all the time? Was it just my school where kids put their thumb and forefinger in an “L” shape to their foreheads and called each other losers? Everyone has a different threshold for what they consider bullying, but for me, these gestures and comments were so commonplace that I merely accepted them as part of the elementary and middle school experience. These things are mean and insensitive, yes, but it’s possible to grow out of these antics.

It is difficult for me to form an opinion about these sexual jokes Mingyu made for two reasons: (1) cultural differences, and thus my own internal biases, and (2) we don’t know about the nature of these jokes. It’s hard to determine whether these comments constitute as sexual harassment without this context. Even then, people have different thresholds of what they are comfortable with, and what they are not comfortable with.

We don’t know whether these comments were along the lines of “That’s what she said” or “You know what else is big?” or “I grow hair down there...on my toes!” ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Or if they were jokes about sexual experience/performance, speculation about what someone looks like naked, the colour of their underwear, or raping a person (I’ve often seen these “jokes” directed at female streamers and influencers). In my opinion, there’s a big difference between the two. 

The former, while crude and immature, is not generally said with ill-intent, nor is it generally directed at a specific person. These are jokes that teens, both male and female, commonly make in North America. (Perhaps this is part of the problem: the fact that I consider this to be standard teenage behaviour...) I would hesitate to call it harassment unless the victim made it known that she was uncomfortable, and the boys continued anyway. I also understand that the victim may not have felt able to speak out against Mingyu and his friends. In this case, the boys might not have been aware of her discomfort. Teenage boys are not particularly well-known for being sensitive. 

The latter, however, objectifies and diminishes a person, and is disgusting and reprehensible. The latter is, without contest, sexual harassment. Absolutely no one should have to tolerate comments of this nature. Anyone who makes such jokes should be educated on why these so-called jokes are damaging, and how they perpetuate rape culture, as well as the sexualisation and dehumanisation of women, as well as men. Anyone who makes comments of this nature should be called out (and here I emphasise called out as opposed to cancelled) for their behaviour. It is imperative that they are educated, given the opportunity to reflect, apologise, and make amends. This is with the hope they know better in the future and do not make the same mistake again. 

Now, based on what OP said, the jokes Mingyu made seem more like the first case: he made a pun about body hair. I am pretty sure if Mingyu made “jokes” of the second nature, OP would have chosen to highlight that instead of a pun. However, this is something that needs to be clarified. The content of these jokes drastically changes the severity of the allegations.

Currently, I interpret this through the lens of my uncouth Western sensibilities: what OP described sounds like typical Western teen behaviour. There are many actions, events, and experiences that take place during our formative and adolescent years that come to define who we are as adults. Personally, I don’t think that drawing hairy penises on the whiteboard—inappropriate as it is—or being an asshole in middle school are these things.

But who am I to say, “Yeah, what OP went through was not that bad”? I can’t be the judge of that, and that’s absolutely not what I’m trying to do here. I don’t know the whole story, and even then, it doesn’t matter. I am an outsider in all of this. I’m not trying to diminish the years of suffering and torment the victim went through, and I apologise if that’s how I came off. Nothing I said previously changes the fact that these jokes negatively affected the victim. Nothing I said changes the fact that this girl’s voice was silenced because of some thoughtless middle school boy’s comments. These are wounds that people carry from childhood through to adulthood.

Impact matters just as much as intent. I might argue that in cases such as these, impact matters even more than intent. Mingyu might have done all these things without ill-intent, but OP’s trauma is very much real. (As a side note: This is one of the reasons why I am very happy with Pledis’ official statement. Their focus on healing and reparation—without absolving Mingyu or throwing him under the bus (yet)—is the right move.)

I’ve just been seeing so many death threats and demands for Mingyu to leave the group that I cannot help but wish people would extend him the empathy that they themselves would appreciate.

People are condemning a 12-14 year old Mingyu for making sexual puns and being an asshole. People are measuring a middle school aged-Mingyu against the ethical and moral standards they hold as adults, and they are finding that this young Mingyu fell short. This should not be surprising. I know if I judged younger-me by the standards I have today, I would be left wanting. 

I remember the kind of person I was as a teenager. I was hormonal. I made “That’s what she said” jokes, among others. While I never intentionally set out to hurt anyone, I know I have said crude and unkind things. As a teenager, I didn’t possess the tact I do now; I didn’t know how to self-regulate. I could be a mean and horny kid (not necessarily at the same time, haha!), but I also had parts of me that were deeply sensitive and caring and thoughtful of others. Teenagers and adults are multi-faceted. I would not want anyone to dig up these past receipts and use it as the basis to judge the person I am now. I would not want people to pick out the worst of my past actions and words, and use it to invalidate my success today. 

It varies case by case, but for the most part, I don’t think people should be punished for what they did or said as children; I would have been cancelled long ago if this were the case, as would many others. People change as they grow older and become more educated and informed. It is different if these behaviours and actions persist into adulthood. Then, yes: there should absolutely be consequences. I am not saying we can just sweep all our childhood wrongdoings under the rug. It is still important for us to acknowledge and reflect upon the wrongs of past words and actions, and to offer apologies and reparations where they are due.  

Should these allegations prove true, can I support both OP and Mingyu, or is that cheating? I do believe OP and my heart goes out to her. I understand why she chose to speak out. I know it must have been difficult to do so against someone who is a man, famous, well-loved, wealthy, and successful. I know it must hurt to see the whole world adore a man who has caused you pain. South Korea has a culture of enduring silently; this results in great mental strain and suffering. In speaking out, she relived past and present power imbalances. This is not easy for a victim to do, especially when you are a woman in a patriarchal society and your bully is a male celebrity.

I hope I am not invalidating her feelings when I reiterate that Mingyu was a young teenager, and teenagers can be mean and crude—intentionally or not. Mingyu is a public figure, so naturally, he is held to higher moral standards. But he is also human. He can and will make mistakes. He can and will continue to grow. I feel a lot of empathy for Mingyu, both now as he is forced to confront his past immaturities, and as he moves forward in his career. 

Thoughts on additional allegations (KakaoTalk group chat + ableism)

I will not be addressing allegations of Mingyu bullying a classmate with autism now that the issue has been resolved. (Again, I commend Pledis for their response, and for recognising that the ableism needed to be addressed first. Of the three l accusations, this was the one that Mingyu would not be able to recover from. Even now, he will not emerge from this unscathed). I will only be sharing my initial misgivings about these additional allegations.

First off, this is a very nuanced and precarious topic. I don’t want to diminish a potential victim’s experience, yet I hope people understand why I am so skeptical about accepting screenshots of chat rooms as hard proof. Here are a few reasons why:

(1) Bullying scandals have been erupting left and right, especially as of late. Some of these accusations have been proved true. Others have been proved false. Regardless, there seems to be a trend of digging up past receipts—fabricated or not—of celebrities with the aim of cancelling them or undermining their success. 

(2) Screenshots and chat rooms are easily manipulated and fabricated. This is different from a victim with a face speaking out against past incidents of bullying. They could be someone with malicious intent, or they could be a genuine victim. We just don’t know. And in the case of the chat rooms, it wasn’t even the victims who were speaking out.

(3) I wondered if these were antis who jumped on the coattails of the initial OP to stir the pot. These allegations (particularly the case of ableism, which has thankfully been cleared up now) are far more serious than original claims—why wait until now to bring them up?

(4) I find it difficult to trust even yearbook proof because people can and will sell yearbooks if they went to school with idols. In addition, yearbooks cannot prove interaction, and therefore, cannot prove bullying. At the same time, how do you prove bullying incidents from ten years ago? How do you disprove it? Cases of bullying aren’t often well-documented. It essentially becomes a game of my-word-against-yours. 

(5) There is a pretty well-known article from 2016 where Mingyu defended a classmate with a disability. It doesn’t necessarily disprove the current claim, but the timing is important here. The classmate shared their account back in 2016; it did not just surface after recent allegations. However, if I want to believe that the KKT screenshots are false, then I must also be willing to believe that this 2016 article may have been fabricated as well.

(6) As someone in their 20s, the thought of being in a group chat with a bunch of my middle school classmates is baffling to me. Personally, I don’t want anything to do with my middle school classmates.

There is not much more to say on this; I will patiently wait for Pledis’ statement on the remaining allegations.

Achieving Escape Velocity and other MinWon stories

In a previous blog post, I stated that when I write and talk about AEV-Mingyu and Wonwoo—or other variations of Mingyu and Wonwoo—they are strictly characters that I have made up in my head, and they are separate from the real Mingyu and Wonwoo. At the same time, I do absolutely draw inspiration from the real Mingyu and Wonwoo in the creation of these story characters. It is their faces, bodies, and voices that I imagine. Thus, my current anxieties surrounding this situation make it difficult for me to write and enjoy AEV.

However, I still love this story a lot, and I love sharing it with everyone! There’s so much more to this fic that I want to show. As I mentioned in the initial author’s note, this is the first time I’m posting something of this length and I worked really hard on it. For these reasons, I have every intention of continuing to write and update Achieving Escape Velocity. Regular weekly updates will resume this coming weekend.

[ghosty-schnibibit]

and here's the actual list! i tried to divide it into categories based on subject matter but it's all very arbitrary. there are 40+ recs so it's going under a readmore for ease of access:

Video Game Analyses and Retrospectives

Perhaps, This is Hell: SIGNALIS (Summary & Analysis) [Feat. SulMatul] by Codex Entry

SOMA Critique - Anatomy of the Soul by Monty Zander

Rule of Rose: The Survival Horror that Lost to Plagiarism by tangomushi

MyHouse.Wad – Inside Doom’s Most Terrifying Mod by PowerPak

Forbidden Siren: The Most Unforgiving Survival Horror Game by eurothug4000

Why The Ace Attorney Trilogy is Brilliant by NezumiVA

Detail Diatribe: Tears of the Kingdom’s Lonely Sky by Overly Sarcastic Productions

The Disturbing Development of a Haunted Game… by Sagan Hawkes

Books, Movies, and TV

Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro Is a Perfect Movie, and Here's Why by BREADSWORD

The Pink Aisle of Crime Fiction Must Be Stopped by Laura Crone

The Beauty of Anime Backgrounds by Internet Pitstop

How Barbie Cis-ified The Matrix by Jessie Gender

a video about mars, musk, and marx by biz barclay

a normal creepypasta retrospective by hazel

Ranking Every Adaptation of The Thing by coldcrashpictures

How Mina Murray Became Dracula's Girlfriend by Princess Weekes

Stranger Things & The Meaning of Life by CJ the X

Hunger Hurts: Cannibals and Why We're Obsessed with Them by Lola Sebastian

The Lion King 1 1/2: Judaism, White Pride, and Paranoia by The Sin Squad

When a DEEP Character Pretends to be SHALLOW… (Hobie Brown) by schnee

The Inevitable Failure of 2023 Blockbusters by Friendly Space Ninja

One Way Out: Andor Season 1 by Ladyknightthebrave

History Education

The False Evolution of Execution Methods by Jacob Geller

The Company that Broke Canada and Sinking in Scandal: The Death of Nortel by BobbyBroccoli

Area 51 & the Geography of a Secret by We’re In Hell

The VERY Stange History of Unicorns by Kaz Rowe

The Ancient Apocalypse Series by Miniminuteman

The Weird History of Giving Gifts at Your 1700s Funeral ☠️🎁 by Abby Cox

How Accurate Is “The Muppet Christmas Carol”?: The London History Show by J. Draper

clothes are so much worse now 😭 by Mina Le

Politics, Economics, and Social Issues

A Man Plagiarised My Work: Women, Money, and the Nation by Philosophy Tube

Plagiarism and You(Tube) by hbomberguy

The World Is Not Ending | Sophie From Mars by Sophie From Mars

The Future is a Dead Mall - Decentraland and the Metaverse by Folding Ideas

Is The Economy Mad At Us? | Mia Mulder by Mia Mulder

The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling | ContraPoints by ContraPoints

Did feminism FAIL men? by Alexander Avila

almond moms and the cult of generational diet culture by Rowan Ellis

2010s Pop Feminisim: A Painful Look Back by Lily Alexandre

Are Students Getting Worse? by Elliot Sang

Tradwives and the White Supremacists Who Love Them and ‘Oppressed’ by Choice: Tradwives Against Feminism by shanspeare

The AI Art Apocalypse by Hello Future Me

and that’s it! like i said in the beginning the categories are very arbitrary, i probably could have sorted a few differently or broken up that last one, and there are probably a ton of people whose work i enjoyed throughout the year and just forgot to add, but i just wanted to get this out before midnight.

i hope everyone enjoys my selection and checks out any unfamiliar creators in 2024! happy new year everyone! ^u^

🎉 my top video essays of 2023 🎉

i saw a bunch of people on my dash do this last year and it was a really fun way to find new people to follow and new really great essays to watch, so i figured i'd do it this year!

my own personal criteria for what went in this list:

the essay was first posted in 2023

minimum length of 30 mins (most are much longer than that lol)

only one essay per creator, though i will count longer videos split into multiple parts as one piece on a few occasions

i'm putting the actual list in the next reblog so tumblr won't exile it from tags, i hope you all enjoy~!

[yhwhrulz]

Morning and Evening with A.W. Tozer Devotional for December 4

Tozer in the Morning

Man - The Dwelling Place of God - Some Thoughts on Books and Reading

ONE BIG PROBLEM IN MANY PARTS of the world today is to learn how to read, and in others it is to find something to read after one has learned. In our favored West we are overwhelmed with printed matter, so the problem here becomes one of selection. We must decide what not to read.

Nearly a century ago Emerson pointed out that if it were possible for a man to begin to read the day he was born and to go on reading without interruption for seventy years, at the end of that time he would have read only enough books to fill a tiny niche in the British Library. Life is so short and the books available to us are so many that no man can possibly be acquainted with more than a fraction of one percent of the books published.

It hardly need be said that most of us are not selective enough in our reading. I have often wondered how many square yards of newsprint passes in front of the eyes of the average civilized man in the course of a year. Surely it must run into several acres; and I am afraid our average reader does not realize a very large crop on his acreage. The best advice I have heard on this topic was given by a Methodist minister. He said, "Always read your newspaper standing up." Henry David Thoreau also had a low view of the daily press. Just before leaving the city for his now celebrated sojourn on the banks of Walden Pond a friend asked him if he would like to have a newspaper delivered to his cottage. "No," replied Thoreau, "I have already seen a newspaper."

In our serious reading we are likely to be too greatly influenced by the notion that the chief value of a book is to inform; and if we were talking of textbooks of course that would be true, but when we speak or write of books we have not textbooks in mind.

The best book is not one that informs merely, but one that stirs the reader up to inform himself. The best writer is one that goes with us through the world of ideas like a friendly guide who walks beside us through the forest pointing out to us a hundred natural wonders we had not noticed before. So we learn from him to see for ourselves and soon we have no need for our guide. If he has done his work well we can go on alone and miss little as we go.

That writer does the most for us who brings to our attention thoughts that lay close to our minds waiting to be acknowledged as our own. Such a man acts as a midwife to assist at the birth of ideas that had been gestating long within our souls, but which without his help might not have been born at all.

There are few emotions so satisfying as the joy that comes from the act of recognition when we see and identify our own thoughts. We have all had teachers who sought to educate us by feeding alien ideas into our minds, ideas for which we felt no spiritual or intellectual kinship. These we dutifully tried to integrate into our total spiritual philosophy but always without success.

In a very real sense no man can teach another; he can only aid him to teach himself. Facts can be transferred from one mind to another as a copy is made from the master tape on a sound recorder. History, science, even theology, may be taught in this way, but it results in a highly artificial kind of learning and seldom has any good effect upon the deep life of the student. What the learner contributes to the learning process is fully as important as anything contributed by the teacher. If nothing is contributed by the learner the results are useless; at best there will be but the artificial creation of another teacher who can repeat the dreary work on someone else, ad infinitum.

Perception of ideas rather than the storing of them should be the aim of education. The mind should be an eye to see with rather than a bin to store facts in. The man who has been taught by the Holy Spirit will be a seer rather than a scholar. The difference is that the scholar sees and the seer sees through; and that is a mighty difference indeed.

The human intellect even in its fallen state is an awesome work of God, but it lies in darkness until it has been illuminated by the Holy Spirit. Our Lord has little good to say of the unilluminated mind, but He revels in the mind that has been renewed and enlightened by grace. He always makes the place of His feet glorious; there is scarcely anything on earth more beautiful than a Spirit-filled mind, certainly nothing more wonderful than an alert and eager mind made incandescent by the presence of the indwelling Christ.

Since what we read in a real sense enters the soul, it is vitally important that we read the best and nothing but the best. I cannot but feel that Christians were better off before there was so much reading matter to choose from. Today we must practice sharp discipline in our reading habits. Every Christian should master the Bible, or at least spend hours and days and years trying. And always he should read his Bible, as George Muller said, "with meditation."

After the Bible the next most valuable book for the Christian is a good hymnal. Let any young Christian spend a year prayerfully meditating on the hymns of Watts and Wesley alone and he will become a fine theologian. Then let him read a balanced diet of the Puritans and the Christian mystics. The results will be more wonderful than he could have dreamed.

Tozer in the Evening Growing Despite the Obstacles

A lifetime of observation, Bible reading and prayer has led to the conclusion that the only thing that can hinder a Christian's progress is the Christian himself.

The true child of God can live and grow in circumstances that are wholly unfavorable to such life and growth. Outward circumstances can help little or none in a Christian's spiritual life. The whole philosophy of the spiritual way requires us to believe this.

For this reason, it is always bad to blame anyone or anything for our spiritual or moral failures. God has so ordered things that His children may grow as successfully in the middle of a desert as in the most fruitful land. It is necessary that this should be so, seeing that the very world itself is a field where nothing good can grow except by some kind of miracle. The old hymn asks the rhetorical question, "Is this vile world a friend to grace, to help me on to God?" And the implied answer is no. Grace operates without the help of the world.

Copyright Statement This material is considered in the public domain.

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Two

“We parted on difficult terms. He had some ideas that… challenged my sense of professional integrity. I told him I was out and, well, men like that don't tend to handle rejection too gracefully.

All I know of him after that point is that he ran into some health problems and was forced to step down from his position. It may seem cruel but I think the world is better off for it. Rappaccini is no more qualified to treat the human body than I am to teach a dance class.”

Students filed into the corridor, too busy rushing to their next destination to take note of the visitor as she slipped into the lecture hall. Branching off from the main room itself was a small office, and inside, a lone professor plugging attendance data and homework grades into a blocky desktop computer. Gianna waited until the last lingering students dispersed before announcing herself with a knock on the doorframe.

The professor looked up. “Well look who it is.” She adjusted her glasses and squinted at the figure before her, taking all of her in from the spots of dribbled varnish on her shoes upward. “And who is it who stands before me? Not Virgil’s little girl.”

“I actually go by Gianna these days. Or Ms Alexander if you’re feeling formal,” she said wryly, though not without affection. 

Her face broke out in a grin that deepened the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. She unhooked her cane from the arm of her chair and stood. “The last time I saw you, Gianna, you were half-- no, a quarter of your height and missing your front teeth. Time is a funny thing, isn’t it.”

“You’re telling me, Dr Bagnol.”

“Call me Petra. Or Professor if you’re feeling formal.” She winked and patted her arm. “We are colleagues of a kind now, aren’t we? I think you’ve earned the privilege.”

“I don’t know about that. You’re a biochemistry teacher and I fuss around with cotton swabs.”

“Technicalities! Don’t sell yourself short. You know, your father called just recently and when he told me you were going to be working here, I thought he was going to burst a lung the way he wouldn’t stop singing your praises.”

Gianna blushed at that.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t set your sights higher than our humble university. I heard you were studying in Naples for a while.”

“I guess I was feeling homesick. Then I moved back in with my parents for a while and soon it was the opposite feeling.”

“Sick of home,” she supplied. “I know the feeling. I remember being your age, never wanting to be still for a moment. I was only surprised to hear you weren’t seduced away by foreign shores.”

She shrugged. “It was never about distance, I just needed to find a place where I felt like my life could really begin. And for right now I think that’s here.” Wanting to move the subject away from herself she added, “Dad says hi, by the way. He also says you need to start answering your email more than once a year.”

“Email. A man of literature like your father should give more respect to the written word. You tell him I won’t settle for less than a hand-scribed letter, like they did in the old days. I want to smell that clean valley air he goes on about etched into the paper.”

Gianna laughed. It was reassuring to find some things never changed. Although the silver in her hair had grown more prominent, Dr Bagnol was in many ways just the same as she remembered her. She never knew exactly how she and her father had met, only that it was while they were both still students, and that Petra had been a firecracker from the start, determined to surpass the role that had been imposed on her as a disabled woman in a field that was often unwelcoming to her. Though Gianna couldn’t say she knew her very well personally, the mythos that had been handed down to her had definitely played a part in her decision to become more independent. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Petra said. “Virgil dropped some hints that I should track you down once you started working here but I told him I wouldn’t have that kind of attitude. You’re a grown woman and you don’t need nannying. However,” She picked up a tote from her desk and slung it around her shoulder. “Since you came to me, I’m free to invite you to lunch.”

“Dad wanted you to check up on me?”

“Don’t take it for a lack of faith in you. Parents worry. It’s what they do. I’m sure he just wanted you to have a familiar face to turn to, should you need it. Come to lunch with me, Gianna. We’ll catch up.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to--”

“I’m just going to keep asking until you give in. You know that, right?”

She felt herself soften under her insistence. It wasn’t as if she had other plans anyway. “Yeah, alright. That sounds nice.”

Petra led the way to a little sandwich shop not far off campus and, despite Gianna’s protests, insisted on treating her. The weather was kind to them that day so they took their lunch on the patio watching the cars crawl by to the rhythm of the neverending traffic. They sat and ate and spoke of nothing in particular until, without warning, Dr Bagnol’s gaze caught on something in the distance that put a troubled frown on her face.

“What is it?” She started to turn in her seat.

“Nothing,” she said quickly. Too quickly. Her voice had taken on a sharp quality that startled the young woman, but she caught herself and when she spoke again her voice was even and deliberate. “I thought I saw someone I knew. That’s all.”

Not satisfied with her answer, Gianna glanced over her shoulder. Across the street, standing motionless in front of the crosswalk, was the withered old man she had seen in the garden that first day: Beatrice’s father.

Ever since she had met her that one evening on the fire escape, Gianna had come into the habit of chatting with her almost every day. She couldn’t always guarantee she’d be home from work when Beatrice went out to tend the garden, but on the days she spied her from her window she never hesitated to climb down and visit. 

Their chats together weren’t anything especially profound; she got the impression Beatrice really just wanted a friend to keep her company while she worked and Gianna was happy to provide. Often they kept the conversation light and simple. One would ask about the other’s day, or an interesting book they read, or something they heard in the news. Then Beatrice would eventually be summoned by her father or the memory of some other chore she had to attend to inside, and they would part ways.

On the occasions Beatrice wasn’t in such a pleasant mood however, no matter the initial topic the conversation would eventually find its way back to her father. Apparently he was, as Gianna had predicted, in a bad state and sick more often than not, and while Beatrice wasn’t his sole caretaker he trusted her more than the average nurse. The old man had been a doctor before being reduced to the role of patient, and a somewhat renowned one at that. He had homeschooled his daughter and taught her everything he knew. Now she was expected to apply that knowledge by taking on the bulk of responsibility for his care.

He was frail, she said, and the state of his health could be unpredictable, so she was on constant vigil. The only time she really had to herself was when he was asleep or on a rare errand, and she spent that time for the most part in the garden, the place that gave her the greatest sense of peace. It must have been hard on her, Gianna often thought, to be in the prime of her life and chained to his bedside. She understood though. If it had been either of her parents she was sure she would have done the same. 

Knowing this also gave her some more sympathy for the old man. It painted him in a more human light, and she berated herself for ever being afraid of him in the first place. But seeing him here now, staring at her again with those scrutinous sunken eyes, resurfaced some of that initial dread. Dr Bagnol seemed to sense it too.

At the moment Beatrice’s father was wearing an unseasonal gray overcoat and carrying an old-fashioned black carpet bag. He lifted his free hand and slowly waved at Gianna, his stony features cracking with the barest attempt at a smile, which did nothing to soften his appearance. In fact, the more she looked at him the more leering the grin appeared to be.

“Don’t acknowledge him, Gianna,” said Dr Bagnol coldly.

“No, no, it’s fine. That’s just my neighbor.” She forced herself to give a friendly wave in return. 

Petra reached across the table and grabbed her hand back. “What do you mean he’s your neighbor?”

“His building is next to mine. Why?” 

She sighed shakily and gave another glance across the street. The man was beginning to shuffle away now, the retreating shape of him becoming swallowed up by the crowd of fellow pedestrians. Petra released her hand and drew in a tense breath. She steepled her fingers together over the table.

“His name is Giacoma Rappaccini. He was… I knew him, for a time. Not well. He came to me for some insight on a project of his years ago.”

“I heard he was a doctor,” Gianna offered. “You worked together?”

The professor chose her next words carefully. “Officially, he was a 'doctor of holistic and alternative medicines', before he retired that is. But he liked to dabble. Botany, chemistry, anthropology, philosophy. I knew when I met him that he was the sort of man who could spend a hundred years studying and still feel he hadn't learned enough.” She smiled ruefully. “It was a quality we shared, so I agreed to assist him.”

“Doesn't seem like you like the guy much.”

“We parted on difficult terms. He had some ideas that… challenged my sense of professional integrity. I told him I was out and, well, men like that don't tend to handle rejection too gracefully. All I know of him after that point is that he ran into some health problems and was forced to step down from his position. It may seem cruel but I think the world is better off for it. Rappaccini is no more qualified to treat the human body than I am to teach a dance class. 

"He's a brilliant intellectual, sure, but he lacks any compassion, any consideration for the value of human life outside of points of data on a chart. He never cared about helping people with his medicine; he only ever cared about pushing his own limits. I think, in the end, he must have pushed himself too far."

Gianna sat and processed that. The man did give her the creeps but in the scant few times she’d witnessed him he’d never come across as malevolent, and Beatrice clearly loved him. Even on the bad days, she only ever spoke well of him, and it was hard to believe a girl like Beatrice could exist without having had a loving upbringing. Whoever her mother was or had been surely was loved by him as well. That was enough evidence for Gianna that he couldn’t be everything Petra claimed him to be.

“You said he’s your neighbor. Has he ever spoken to you? Invited you over?”

She shook her head. “Rumor has it he’s a pretty private person, and I’m not exactly going over to borrow a cup of sugar or anything.”

Gianna opted not to mention her afternoons with his daughter.

She relaxed at that reassurance. “Good. Take my advice and stay far away from Rappaccini. Nothing good ever came from getting too chummy with that man. Now, where were we?”

They changed topics and the conversation gradually returned to safer, more pleasant territory, but Gianna couldn't stop thinking about what she had said, about the old man and about the sweet but melancholy girl who was left alone with him.

-----

Against the professor’s advice, Gianna did continue meeting with Beatrice. It hadn’t even been a question in her mind whether she would. If anything, knowing about Petra’s history with Dr Rappaccini made her all the more curious about the young woman. 

She reasoned that she was still technically acting in line with Dr Bagnol’s wishes; she hadn’t so much as glimpsed the shadow of the man since their lunch outing, and the more she spoke with Beatrice the more certain she felt that the daughter was nothing like the boogieman father Petra had described to her, however much of her telling was even accurate.

Beatrice was a sweetheart, bookish and reserved. She smothered laughs behind her hand and averted her eyes when she found herself caught in Gianna’s warm gaze. She was smart, happily listing off the latin genuses of her favorite plants and reciting lessons on phytochemicals she suddenly remembered (she might as well have been speaking latin here too, for as much as Gianna understood her) but at the same time strangely naive. 

She had a boundless love for the world, yet Gianna got the impression she’d seen very little of it. Her eyes always went wide with interest when Gianna spoke of the traveling she’d done. Gianna never thought it was all that impressive but she would gladly talk about it, would say just about anything in fact, if it would get her to pay more attention to her than her flowers for a moment. 

One time, Gianna playfully inserted a flirtatious Italian phrase into their conversation and was flustered to find Beatrice spoke it near fluently, as well as Spanish, Portuguese, Romanian…

“How many languages do you know?” she asked, stunned.

“Six,” she replied. “Not counting English. I’m thinking about trying Mandarin next, and I can read Arabic but can’t speak it. Honestly, I’m not great with the conversational stuff. I’m just good at memorizing new vocabulary and being able to understand multiple languages gives me a much wider variety of reading material.”

She spoke about her talent with words like it was a card trick she’d picked up in her spare time.

“What do you like to read about?”

That got her excited. When Beatrice got excited she found it harder to play coy or smother her emotions under a layer of cool composure, so of course Gianna tried to get her excited as often as possible.

“Everything. Anything. Father’s library is huge but it’s mostly textbooks and old scientific journals and stuff like that. Which is fine,” she added hurriedly. “I like to read those too, but what I really like to read is… romance novels.”

She confessed it like it was some deep dark secret, grinning and turning berry red beneath the brown of her skin. It occurred to Gianna quite suddenly that she was falling in love with her. 

The panic set in right away. She had been happy to have Beatrice as a friend, tamping down her attraction in order to keep spending time with her, but now it was becoming clear that the dam wouldn’t hold forever. She needed to say something, if only to keep from leading her on, if only to keep her from getting the wrong idea or, heaven forbid, the right one. 

What if she was straight? Did gay girls read romance too? Did gay girls wear their dresses long and their hair short like her? Gianna had crushed on butches, on femmes, on lipstick, chapstick, snapback, every kind of sapphic on the vast spectrum of preference and presentation, and she still couldn’t get a read on her. Beatrice seemed to be from another world, another time, somehow out of step with the rest of humanity. If she started dropping hints, she couldn’t predict if she would follow her lead or recoil in disgust and never speak to her again.

That night, Gianna had a strange dream. She might have expected she would, given how wound up she’d felt since their last discussion. The ghost of her had followed her up, back through the window of her apartment, and as she tossed and turned in bed that night she was dizzy with it.

In her dream, she found herself walking in a cathedral. As was the way with dreams, her sight was blurry and visions danced and flickered in front of her eyes before vanishing in the same instant. However even as the edges of her surroundings blurred like a bad photograph, she heard the echoing of her footsteps clearly, and felt the largeness of the air around her. There wasn’t another way to describe it, she thought, just a strange sensation of vast emptiness surrounding her, rendering her infinitely smaller by comparison. 

She was a child now, and she was at a wedding. Or could it have been a funeral? There were flowers everywhere, but dark ones with big thorns and a smell that clung to the back of her throat and watered her eyes. She reached out to touch one and.

--

next chapter

[getlitaesthetic]

Hello, I find your dark AU really interesting and I was wondering if I can have a match up please? I'm a 20 year old med student with a preference for she/her. Appearance-wise I'm tall (175cm) with really long skinny legs, average build, bigger shoulders and chest and kinda boney. I have green eyes that change colour depending on the light and long-ish dark brown hair with two blonde streaks e-girl style, high cheekbones and prominent eyebrows. (1/7)

I'm the poster girl for ENTP, a slytherin and a scorpio, and my alignment is neutral evil. I'm extremely ambitious (although also a big procrastinator who is astoundingly lazy and waits until the last moment to get something done) and competitive (my biggest motivation is spite, think whiplash if you've seen it). I am usually high in top of my class, not necessarily because I enjoy studying, but because I hate losing. I tend to be mean and I'm too blunt for my own good. (2/7)

I'm intelligent and I have a wide range of interests from astrology and tarot (I'm highly intuitive which makes me pretty good at interpreting tarot) to philosophy, cinematography, reading, traveling, make-up and all things creepy. No matter what I do, I am thorough and I strive for perfection. I also love puzzles, my favourite thing when it comes to medical school it's putting the pieces together and figuring out the disease. (3/7)

My fashion style is versatile and I love coming up with interesting outfits and make-up looks. I also have a good sense of humour, or so I've been told and I'm very playful. I analyse the people around me a lot, and I'm quite empathetic and can pick up on the emotions of others easily. I have few close friends which I care very deeply about, and a lot of aquittances since I'm pretty easy to get along with and I never say no to a party. (4/7)

I'm adventurous and I'm always craving some sort of excitement in my life. I love my independence and I hate being controlled, but I'm willing to make compromises and adjust to the situation, though sometimes not for too long. I'm a very passionate person, the nothing or all-in type. I tend to be stubborn and messy, but there is order in my chaos. I have a hedonistic streak and I often indulge in smoking or alcohol. (5/7)

If I were to date a villain I'd probably be kind of supportive since I'm morally ambiguous and I love pleasing my SO ~ and I'm also kind of a slut for angst. I'm highly adaptable and even though I can be reckless when the stakes are high I'm extremely calculated and able to play whatever part I need in order to get my way, so I would try to remain in their favour as long as possible, whatever that means. (6/7)

I guess my biggest fear is that I'm running out of time and that I'll die without having lived everything I wanted. My biggest desire is money, not out of greed necessarily but because money gives you power and if you use it cleverly enough high status. Sorry, this turned out to be quite long, oops and thank you! (7/7)

-----

I match you with: ASMODEUS

You couldn’t stand being told that you wouldn’t survive a job in the highly popular clubs around the Devildom. Application after application, rejected, laughed at, your classmates and peers so clearly mocking your attempt. So you were determined. You would be the first human to get a job at one of Asmodeus’ clubs.

You found your in through Seroth, the bubbly and incredibly efficient heart-dotted demon who was in charge of Obscaena. You admired how fast, thorough, and controlled she was, it was as if everything she did was completely effortless. After quite a lot of convincing (read: favors paired with begging), she recommended you for a server job at one of Obscaena’s sister clubs, Smut. You accepted the job eagerly and without thought, knowing you would put 100% into any task asked of you.

On your first day, you showed up in the most beautiful clothes you could afford from one of the boutiques nearby, face and hair carefully done and set, a smile on your face. You had learned from Seroth that being friendly and flirty was... well, most of the job description.

The job was mostly what you expected, bringing orders out to customers, anything from drinks to room keys to very large sex toys. You were often harassed by patrons, but did your best to brush it off night after night. You were so proud. You had proved them all wrong.

Until the fateful night came. You had just arrived to the Hall after your shift, when a courier in all pink and gold knocked on your bedroom door. You opened it, and your blood ran cold as you were handed a very familiar envelope, also pink, and closed with a beautiful wax seal. You opened it, already knowing what it said.

It detailed in stunning calligraphy the time you were to report to your own place of work for a one-on-one session with Asmodeus himself, who until now you had only seen and slightly longed for in passing. You knew intimately that it would be the last day of your life. It was signed in the curling font of the Sin.

You lasted 6 months and 3 days in the Devildom, and died 17 hours into your session. Pity, that.

[vanaera]

Daffodil Rings

Synopsis | In a world where the red-string-of-fate tale has been proven true by science, each scientific journal has been up to date with every new-found “soulmate system,” and everyone out there has been in their never-ending search for their soulmates, there stands one bug in the system: You. You don’t believe in the absoluteness of the soulmate phenomenon, nor the too-perfect-to-work-out soulmate systems, arguing each and every bit of them are for everyone but you. With 17 years of defiance against such natural occurrence, you did not expect you will be literally swept off your feet by your soulmate on some ordinary Thursday into the wildest night of your life. Everything only goes downhill when you learn that “soulmate” of yours happens to be Park Jimin, the singer from the worldwide famous boy group BTS, you have embarrassingly crushed on for six years.

Characters | idol!Jimin x law student, part-time florist!you (soulmate au proven by science; strangers to lovers trope)

Genres | Fluff, angst, implied smut

Wordcount | 22.3k (I’m sorry)

Playlist | I was Made for Loving You by Tori Kelly ft. Ed Sheeran

Cross posted on | AO3

A/N | Hi everyone! Friendly reminder that everything in this story is fictional and has no intended connection with actual individuals and groups involved in this story. I just felt the need to remind you all ;)  

                 You always loved arguing. Whether it be about politics, philosophy, human rights issues, science advances, or if pineapples really do belong in pizza (which you agree with) – the topic doesn’t matter because you found it always necessary to go against the current. For check and balance, you insist. You don’t want to admit that “hobby” of yours was almost pathological.

               You tell people it started from a time you were five and went around your neighborhood. Your mother told you to get outside your introverted shell and talk with the kids of your age. However, instead of striking friendships, you started arguments, arguing person after person on the littlest of things–from the notion that ocean sunfishes are the stupidest animals to exist, to the fallacy behind ‘blood is thicker than water’.  Unlike your mother’s expectations, you earned angry snarls and glares to the point she was almost bothered by the stinging stares of anyone who will pass by your house. “Almost” is the keyword, because as soon as local debates were announced in your community centers, you became the most sought-out consultant of every single contestant. Times now seemed short of instances people can prove what they’re ideas are worth. Anyway, your mother forbade you to enter the contest because you were too young to join at that time (“Goodness, you’re just five!”). And because Mrs. Thornbow, your third grade English teacher and adviser, was not impressed of your carefree negligence of school rules, especially regarding proper attires. You guessed your teacher warned your mother of letting you participate in debates in your notorious black slacks, the one you always wear in school instead of your red plaid skirt, in case you get too “out of hand” again in school.

               Unlike the story you told everyone, the real origin of your almost-sick hobby has to do with the red string of fate. The invisible, indestructible string created by fate which ties two people together, two soulmates, for the rest of their lives. Generations upon generations were expecting to be paired with a person made by the heavens just for them. Even more, most relationships, marriages, and families are the fruits of this system. Thus, it will be unnatural for anyone to go against such destiny.

                The soulmate phenomenon was an inexplicable truth and people explained such phenomenon through the myth of these red strings, until 1986 when Professor Vandikes and Doctor Weber discovered biological evidences of the soulmate phenomenon. The two found extraneous neural interconnections of two “soulmates” through neuroimaging. Vandikes and Weber discovered that thoughts can be transmitted back and forth between the soulmates because of their identically coordinated neural activities. Even more, the soulmates simultaneously produced similar accurate results even when they’re living in two different countries.

               As soon as Vandikes and Weber’s study hit the news, everyone was automatically convinced in this soulmate science. It even prompted researchers to investigate every single existing soulmate systems. No wonder everyone accepted the soulmate phenomenon as an unarguable truth, an unbreakable tradition, and even as absurd as a purpose in life. Of course, everyone except you.    

               You didn’t believe in fate dictating who you should love when you already have enough of the society telling you who you should be. Science has proven fate is capable of planning someone to be awfully compatible with you but, it does not ensure it will always work.  Your existence was enough of a proof.

               You do not have any existing soulmate system countl. There is no “soulname” on your wrist, a permanent, inborn tattoo of the name of your soulmate, the very soulmate system your mother and father has. You do not feel any kind of “soulbond,” the emotional transparency system between two soulmates, nor do you see any “soul-art” decorating your body, a system of identical, dull tattoos, which only turn vibrant at the touch of a soulmate. You already see the world in color since you were born, unlike your playmate Jung Seolhee. She said she has “soul-vision” as her soulmate system that’s why she sees the world in black and white until her soulmate comes and enters her field of vision. And, you most definitely do not have any thoughts, other than yours, rambling in your mind as you grow up unlike what Vandikes and Weber claim in the rare soulmate system, “soul connection”.

               In short, the soulmate phenomenon did not include you into their equation. Hence, at sixteen, you’re adamant about your disagreement with this red-string-of-fate bullshit–a sentiment you nurtured since you’re five–when everyone of your age has already set out to travel the world to find their soulmates. You decided you won’t base your life on what fate has dictated.  You will create your own path, your own life, and your own destiny. Cures for numerous illnesses have been discovered yet their effectivity for every single person are not identically applicable. The soulmate phenomenon excluded you and it most probably happened so because it’s not for you.

               You love arguing, most especially when it comes to the soulmate phenomenon. Your 17-year-defiance is enough of a solid proof and such experience warranted you enough skills not only to graduate college as the top of the class, but also to pursue law school. You just didn’t imagine your longest duration of arguing will not be against a competent lawyer inside the court, but against a stranger you met in a hole-in-the-wall bar, who unknowingly becomes your greatest misfortune of your night.

               It all started at ten o’clock, fifth of September 2019, in Marti’s Hub, a small bar you always frequent when you’re in need of intoxicating liquids. You never thought anything aberrant will happen as two hours prior, you were just mourning over the disappointing results of your Law 114 essay with some drinks with your bestfriend Lucy.

               “C’mon, Y/N, let’s dance! Stop being such a party pooper!” you feel Lucy’s insistent pull on the sleeve of your jacket and you glared at her before putting your drink down on the table.

               Actually, two hours prior to that dreadful ten o’clock, you were mulling over your Law 114 essay while Lucy is mulling about the probability of her soulmate appearing in the bar. And as much as you totally love arguing, there is only one exception to your uncontrollable hobby: you hate doing it with your bestfriend.

               Lucy Kim has been with you since you’re an intolerable ten-year-old in elementary and for the longest time your friendship lasted, it isn’t hard to tell the girl was a sensitive bunch. You remember her fat ugly tears in senior high when Peter Lee, the local asshole, told her her braids look dumb. Like every other friends, you’ve had fights here and there. Everytime you argued with her, you hated yourself a bit for making her feel bad and you feel much worse when you have to apologize and see her tear-streaked face. It’s ironic how you’re this soft for Lucy when you didn’t bat a damn eyelash at your mother whenever she complains you’re the frequent source of her headaches. In your defense, Lucy understood your anomalous hobby as your second nature far better than your mother could.

               However for tonight, you’re gonna cross the line and disregard the exception you reserved for your bestfriend.

               “Lucy, I told you I came here to drink. Not dance.” You picked the lime on the plate and took a bite.  Your fingers enclose firmly on your glass before your friend could attempt to take you away again. “Plus, I just agreed to tag you along because you told me you want to cry over your fruitless job hunt. I did not agree to accompany you to hunt for your soulmate tonight, which is what you’re doing right now.” You look pointedly at her.

               “Well,” Lucy drawls, rubbing her arm, “you can’t blame me. I’ve already searched our entire neighborhood, my hometown, and even my old university and still I can barely see any Michael Hudson coming my way.” Your eyes caught how she grazes her fingers on the soulname marked on her right wrist. You tried to sympathize with her but still-

               “That does not justify why you’re asking me to accompany you to the dance floor.”

               Your remark is returned with a scathing look from your friend. “Are you not listening to me? I told you I already searched the entire city! And you’ve always accompanied me in every single soulmate hunt! Plus, you didn’t have any qualms yesterday when you and I started to search in nightclubs. It won’t hurt for another try tonight.” You turn away, silent in the truth of what she said. Lucy huffs, “Also, a Michael Hudson sounds someone that usually goes to nightclubs.”

               “It does not,” you mutter, taking another swig from your drink.

               “Uh yeah?” Lucy’s frown deepens, eyes turning into slits as she glares at you like you’re an imbecile. Hypothetically, you are one based on your non-impressive streak in your law essays but that’s beside the incredulity of the things your bestfriend is spouting. Whether she understood the disinterest painted in your whole face or not, she continues on, “I already met lots of Michael’s yesterday and I just met two ‘bout 20 minutes ago. My Michael Hudson may actually be here.”

               You placed down your drink on the bar to stare at your friend. “Lucy, your argument is a false causation. Look,” you sigh, “a bar is not an ideal place to find true love. In this generation, it is more likely you’ll meet an asshole Michael in here instead of your prince charming Michael.” You grimace but you continue on, “Your Michael Hudson may be having some coffee right now in a sophisticated café while some ‘Michael’ here turns out to be a jerk who just wants to get into your pants. Why don’t we just go home, yeah? I’m already finished with my drink and I don’t want to drag your drunk ass back to your home again.”

               “Y/N, you don’t understand,” Lucy groans. “I feel he’s here right now. I can’t just go up and leave without trying. My guts are telling me to stay. It’s a soulmate thing!” You scrunch your face in a disgusted cringe. Lucy narrows her eyes. “See? You’re just saying these stuff because of your prejudice against the soulmate phenomenon.”

               “It’s not a prejudice. What I believe is true–”

               “Doesn’t matter. Look,” Lucy sighs, “If you want to go home, you can go. I’ll stay here and take my chances.” She doesn’t wait for your reply and turns around to head for the dance floor.

               A heavy rock settles on your chest. You don’t like arguing with your bestfriend especially when it comes to this soulmate thing where your views are in absolute disagreement with hers. You don’t like to come off as a bitter, unsupportive friend who ruins everyone’s mood with their cynicism. But sometimes, you can’t help but say a thing or two to wake Lucy up from her fantasies. After toxic relationships with already three Michael Hudsons in your university, you figured Lucy is annoyingly naïve for outright jumping in a relationship with anyone who has the same name as the words inked on her wrist.  You’ve already picked up broken piece after broken piece of herself from relationships after relationships, helping her stand on her feet again and again. You’ve always been by her side to not let her stay far too up in the clouds, balancing her happy-go-lucky spirit with your boring seriousness to help her grounded to reality. That’s why you can’t ignore the thorns pricking your chest when she dismisses your advice so easily as if she never learned anything from her hopeless romance just a week ago.

               You bite your lip and decide to have some soda. You’re not yet leaving but you most definitely won’t wait for her to go home with you. You just have to soften the heavy walls building on your chest so you won’t sleep tonight crying. You hate doing that.

               Another glass of soda and a plate of lime later, ten minutes have passed with just you indulging on a combo you know will be frowned upon by other bar patrons. Ten minutes of doing just that is also enough for you to notice the man in a navy button-down by your left was now a little too close to you. You saw him seated on the far left of the bar, about three feet from you prior to your argument with Lucy. He was ducked on the table, shoulders hunched, which guaranteed you no opportunity to assess his face before. Now, he’s by your side, elbow brushing against your jacket and back straightened enough to see a cringe-worthy smile he’s sending your way. You don’t manage to make out his whole face though because his disheveled brown locks were covering about half of his face. You take your focus back on your plate. Your grasp on your glass tightens. There’s no need to panic. Maybe the stranger transferred seats because your spot has closer proximity to the shelves where the bartender is situated. Maybe he’s sober and you’re just making this whole situation blow out of proportion in your head. Maybe–

               “Hi, doll. You seem tense. Wanna come over to my place to loosen up?” His breath against the shell of your ear makes the hair on your neck rise. Your shoulders stiffen and you gulp. You could feel a ghost of a hand looming on the exposed skin from your ripped jeans. Warning bells wail in your head.

               “I’m not interested,” you mutter between gritted teeth. You don’t look his way as you swat his hand away that was about to rest on your knee. You don’t want to make a scene when you’re about to finish your drink and leave this hole of a bar. You’ve had enough drama for the night already.

               However, the man seems to turn deaf because he smiles at you again. “Oh, don’t play hard to get now, doll. I know you want it. You’ve been staring at me earlier.” His alcohol-stained breath fans against your face and despite what you said earlier, he places his hand on your knee, grazes your clothed skin, and then gropes the swell of your thigh.

               Motherfucking hell–

               “Hey, man, can you please take your hands off my girl.”

               A voice from another stranger blares behind you and you freeze in your spot. What the fuck, now you have another gross man to deal with?! You grunt in annoyance and whipped your head to the side to finally yell the fuck out to these creeps. Social conventions be damned. You’re gonna make a scene.  However, the man behind you holds you on the curve of your shoulders, not too tight to hurt yet not loose enough for you to turn in your seat. You furrow your brows, bewildered. You lean away slightly to get a glimpse of this man’s face but it didn’t do much because his bleached blonde fringe is almost covering his eyes and a midnight black mask was pulled over the lower half of his face. Now you’re just terribly confused. Is he a wanted criminal to cover up almost majority of his face or is he severely ill with something much worse than the common cold? You don’t know whether to trust this man or be wary of him.

               “I don’t know man,” the drunk creep slurs, hand still poised too comfortably on your thigh. You wriggle in your seat but the man keeps his hold on you firm.  The stranger smirks at you, then to the stranger behind you. “From what I know, this girl is my chic. Go find your own, dickhead.”

               What the absolute fucking shit–You found your rage already growing the best of you and you swat his hand repeatedly but the man grips your thigh even tighter. You open your mouth to scream at the the drunk out of mixed pain, anger, and frustration–but the guy behind your back beats you to it again.

               “Look, man. Take your fucking hands off my girl before I call the cops. She’s my soulmate.”

               At the mention of ‘soulmate,’ the drunk man lets go of your thigh as if his hands were burned. He raises both arms to show he’s not touching any part of you anymore and before you could say something back at him–to redeem yourself and at least roast him into his next life–the guy behind you has already grabbed you by your shoulders, taking you in tow as he walks in fast, short steps towards the exit of the bar.

               The chilling wind of September slaps you in the face and even if you’re still shaken up from the whole deal earlier, you still have your brain on your head to make out the dark interior of the semi-vacant parking lot of the bar. Another set of warning bells blare inside your mind and you thrash your arms around, never caring who you’ll hit or if you’ll be hit, just to break free from the hold of the stranger. You’re not going to get kidnapped after being just indecently hitted on! The man instantly lets you go but it doesn’t put him in any good light for you not to turn around and raise an accusatory finger at him.

               “YOU! Just who do you think you are to hold and take me out here?! Who–”

               The man pulls down his black mask and immediately, words die in your throat.  It’s his drooped eyelids and warm brown eyes that hits you first, then it’s the small slope of his nose and the soft curves of his full, pink lips. Your eyes fleet toward the side of his face and goddamn, the long silver earrings dangling on his pierced ears were the same ones you were ogling at an online article you were reading yesterday.

               Your eyes widen and your jaw falls open in shock. “You-you-you’re–”

               Some random stranger was grabbing you by the shoulders earlier and now in front of you is fucking Park Jimin. Park Jimin, vocalist and dancer of BTS, the biggest boy band in the world who sang tracks upon tracks that earned the greatest number of music show awards in history. Park Jimin, member of BTS who performs in sold-out concerts in countless stadiums around the world. Park Jimin, the famed contemporary dancer from Busan, the beautiful man whose full lips and gentle eyes you’ve continuously written about in countless fanfictions since you started stanning BTS. Park Jimin, the person who may or maybe not have been your ultimate celebrity crush and the object of your both innocent and not-so-innocent fantasies for six years now. Goddamn, is he Park Jimin, the boy you straightaway took a liking to ever since you saw him in his cringe-worthy snapback and No More Dream black jersey ensemble in BTS’ 2013 debut music video.

               Your jaw twitches. “Oh my–Oh my God. You-you–”

               “Wait, don’t panic!” Jimin reaches for your trembling fingers and then you feel it–the explosion. Blinding silvery fireworks seem to go off behind your eyes as hot white combustions fill your chest  for a millisecond before their aftereffects register in a series of numbing kaleidoscope of feelings running hot and wild. Your body is tingling, your chest is burning, and searing pain is engraving its way down your arm from where the man touched you. You immediately pull up the sleeves of your jacket and there you see it–tens, no, hundreds of vibrant, yellow daffodils growing an inked garden in astounding speed from a bloom that has looped around your left ring finger. The blooms spread towards your elbow, creeping even further up to your chest where you can see a bud already peeking out on the skin exposed from your low-cut white tee. Your mouth remains open in shock. You clasp your right hand on your newly-tattooed left arm only for you to mumble a faint “oh my god” when you see your right hand–and right arm–also inked with the same yellow flowers.

               Still hunched over, your eyes fleet towards the stranger–towards Park Jimin, and it was only then you manage to let out audible words again. “You’re-you’re–”

               “–your soulmate.”

               “–Park, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles, “Oh, you know me already. This wasn’t so hard as I thought.”

               You don’t register what he said, still caught up on the instant sleeves you are now sporting and the outlandish word the man in front of you spouted. “My soulmate,” you trail off, voice softening into a little above a whisper, “my–my soulmate. Oh my god.”

               Unaware of the war going on in your mind, Jimin chuckles. “Yeah, I’m your soulmate. I already know. You don’t have to repeat it again and again. It’s true–”

               “Out of all people, why you?!”

               Jimin’s face falls. “Why? What’s wrong with me?”

               “I–you–ugh!” you throw your hands up and cover your face in hopeless dismay.

               Jimin is more confused than he has ever been in his whole life. “Hey, what do you mean? What’s wrong with me?”

               Your eyes peek out from your hands and you see the distance Jimin has closed between the two of you as now his beautiful, perfect face is practically shoved in front of you. A gunfire inside your head resounds and you blow up. “You! What’s wrong is that you’re Park Jimin! Manggae of BTS who sing in sold out concerts in every goddamn country and the youngest recipients of the Order of the Cultural Merit from South Korea and are now the biggest boyvband in the world!” You huff out, breathless. And then you pale. Oh my god, did you just word-vomited–

               “I didn’t know you know me that well,” Jimin giggles. “That’s great! We’re off to a good start!”

               Confusion flickers in your eyes for only a second before it turns into aggravation. “Why is this not bothering you?! You’re an idol!”

               Jimin nods, “Yeah, I’m an idol. And I’m also your soulmate.” He takes a step toward you and you take one back. Seeing the apprehension in your tensed form, he doesn’t push further and instead opts to place his hands in the pockets of his ink black leather jacket. “Don’t you know why I came just in time before that drunk jerk even tried to further push his sick plan?”

               You don’t answer him, still shaken up from everything that’s suddenly happening.

               Jimin just smiles. “I felt you’re near and you’re distressed and anxious. Soulbond, as people say. I went with my gut feeling and I proved it true when I saw you at the bar with that man. It’s a soulmate thing. And oh, I also have this.” Jimin pulls up his sleeve and raises his left hand, flashing you his ring finger inked with a daffodil looped around it just as yours. His tattoo didn’t spread into a sleeve, hinted by the clear skin peeking from the seams of his leather jacket toward the rest of his hand. But still, his inked ring is undeniably a daffodil bloom just like yours. Jimin smirks, “I told you, I’m your soulmate.

               You could hear your heart pulsing loud against your ears and you could still feel your veins thrumming with the aftershocks of the explosions of stuff you don’t want to label anything that is already connected to the grinning boy in front of you. You open your mouth only for you to close it again. You cannot deny his statement when two full sleeves of tattooed flowers bloomed right in front both of your eyes. He’s your soulmate and that’s undeniable. However, a different chaos brews in your mind again when you remember that this man in front of you was very much the celebrity you have fawned over for the entire latter six years of your life. You must have weirded him out already when you blurted out the achievements of his group earlier. You cannot let yourself further creep him out by telling him you’ve always raved about him, dare even adored him way, way back then before this very night. Sure, you’ve never believed in this soulmate thing for 17 years of your life but it doesn’t mean you didn’t know about love nor experienced it. Your three ex-crushes under your belt and your six-long stable years of intense crushing on this boy in front of you (that even prompted you to write cheesy romance and dirty filth about him in your still-very-alive tumblr writing account) are enough to color your single-as-fuck-since-you-were-born life with enough joy and pain. But anyway, you can’t let him know everything about this. It’s too embarrassing. It will definitely make him run for the hills just like your three ex-crushes.

                You wouldn’t have to do all of this hassle in the first fucking place if Park Jimin is not your fucking soulmate. Goddamn it, you didn’t even imagine in your whole life you will actually fucking say that ridiculous “s” word.

               Frowning again, you storm off.

               Jimin laughs and joins you in your furious steps outside the parking lot.  

***

                Unlike your initial plan of running away, you didn’t know you will actually stay with Jimin into the night as he rambles about future date plans.

               Half past ten, the two of you are seated in Aunt Marie’s, a 24/7 retro-themed diner you frequent every finals week for late night dinners. Massive cheeseburgers are on your plates and Jimin is seated across you, sporting the mask you have seen on him earlier.

               You drop your utensils and sigh. “See? This won’t work. How the hell will we date if your face is always covered with that?”

               “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about dating me.” Jimin’s eyes sparkle as he sets his elbow on the table, cupping his face. “I’m liking this fast pace so far.”

               You didn’t know this man can easily evade your question by getting sidetracked like a pesky toddler. You purse your lips, unamused. “I’m not thinking about dating you. I’m just laying out a general probability for anyone who will date you. Don’t get ahead so fast, you don’t even know me.”

               “You know me.” Jimin shrugs. “At least that’s a headstart.” You glare at him and he laughs. Jimin continues, “We have lots of time to know each other. That’s why we’re here.”

               “Correction, we’re here because you told me you’re starving and this is the only near place I know that serves good food this late in the night.”

               “Which means we get to know each other,” Jimin repeats, smile turning into a grin. “I could have brought us to a place I know but you insisted going here, hence I learn tonight that you like eating at Aunt Marie’s.          Therefore, we are here to eat and also learn about each other. It is inevitable.” You sigh in defeat and Jimin smirks at his victory. “Also, I can eat, look.” He slices his burger, pulls down his mask and shoves a piece in his mouth, and then pulls up his mask on again. You can’t see his teasing smile but you could tell he’s already giggling because his cheeks grow rounder, making his eyes turn into crescent moons. Slicing another piece, Jimin says, “So, can I know more about you, Y/N?”

               Your mouth opens again like a blubbering fish. “Wait, how did you know my name? I haven’t told you my name yet.”

               For a second, you see his eyes widen but it passes like a blur when you find yourself starting to like the mischievous glint shining in his warm eyes. Jimin shrugs and answers, “It’s a soulmate thing.”

               You cringe and Jimin chortles. Okay, you take it back. You don’t like the mischievous glint if he does that while saying that ridiculous “s” word.  When his snickers die down, Jimin repeats his question, “So, can I now know more about you, Y/N?”

               You  dab your napkin on your lips and sigh for the nth time. “Well, everything about me is as plain as plain Jane can be. Name’s Y/N L/N, only child from a middle-class family. I had a quite nice childhood, playing here and there, making many…friends.” You can’t help but cringe at the word, quite unsure if you could ever tell your neighbors who consulted you during community debates were your friends. You want to make a good impression even if you weren’t still sold into this soulmate phenomenon. Unlike back then, you weren’t too fond of people seeing you less of what you are now. You pushed on, “Until middle school came and I learned how friendships work only if everyone gets to free-ride on projects and you carry the whole group.”

               Jimin snorts, “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

               “That asshole’s name is Kim Yeonjun. I still remember the cookie he stole from my lunchbox. Never gonna forgive him.” Your serious front breaks out into snickers and Jimin follows suit. “Anyway, I didn’t know my life will get more boring until high school came and our teachers taught us in detail about Vandikes and Weber’s soulmate science–”

               “Wait, this soulmate thing has a science behind it?” Jimin looks at you, eyes round.

               “Well, yeah,” you reply, brows scrunched. “Your teachers didn’t tell you about them? It was like the only thing any kid will actually remember from studying next to reading and writing.”

               “I don’t remember anything about such science. I studied in a performing arts school in Busan.”

               You look at him incredulous, “Impossible! It’s more likely you’ll know about the soulmate science before you even learn how to read. Parents already start the red string of fate bullshit as soon as their kid starts to speak gibberish. It’s impossible to leave out anyone from the soulmate science since everyone was raving about it–teens, adults, and even kids.”

               “Do you rave about it?”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen. “What? No!”

               “Well, that’s not everyone,” Jimin leans on his seat. “So, people like me who’ve never heard of such science are justified.”

               “Touché” you agree, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get away without learning at least a two or thing about it because teachers start to teach soulmate science in basic sciences at the end of middle school.” You lean forward, eyes challenging his. “And everyone studies basic sciences in middle school. Heck, you even mentioned soulbond earlier. You’re just probably asleep when your teacher taught it in class.”

               “Okay, I surrender my fight,” Jimin mutters and you laugh.

               “So long story short, Vandikes and Weber first discovered  the biological proof of the soulmate phenomenon. They show how neural interconnections of two soulmates transmit info to each other at the same time even when they’re in two different countries. Which then means the soul connection and all other soulmate systems are scientifically accepted as a truth now than just some folklore.”

               “Wait, what’s the soul connection?”

               “It’s the soulmate system where two soulmates get to read or hear each other’s thoughts. It’s the phenomenon Vandikes and Weber witnessed while formulating their biological proof. Also, it’s rare. Only five couples were recorded to have that system. One of them was the participants of Vandikes and Weber’s study.”

               Jimin hums and you continue with your story, “Anyway, I was surrounded by screaming teenagers desperately looking for their soulmates and all that cringey stuff while I busy myself with studies because that’s the only thing I’m good at.”

               “And you’re busy loving pre-debut BTS.”

               You choke on your burger, eyes wide before you glare at him. How did he know? The guilt on your face must be evident because Jimin starts breaks into a laughing fit that other people (a couple of nightowl teens and couples) look at your way. In your defense, 2013 you didn’t know any better and just spent hours googling BTS and buying posters with each members’ faces on them (with always an extra poster of Jimin’s solo picture everytime you buy a bundle) instead of getting a social life. At least 2013 you were smart enough to realize you’re broke and you can’t afford to buy albums yet when you’re already struggling just to get your hands on required textbooks your teachers assign. You maintain your pointed look at him, refusing to admit to his very much true statement. You don’t want him to know even when the proof is right in your home–the posters you collected for three years, rolled up and still tucked in the corner of your closet. You never found it in yourself to dispose them even after every annual promise to throw them away.

               Jimin sniggers before he cues for you to continue on. “Sorry, it wasn’t funny.”

               “Anyway,” you stuff your face with the last piece of your burger and swallowed it, “I got high honors and got into my dream college. I realized next to studying, I was good at arguing–

               “–so true–”

               “–so I decided to go into law school.” You send Jimin another glare for his (very true) remark and he smiles. “So here I am now into my first year in law school, flunking every essay, and currently worth minimum wage.”

                 Jimin nods in interest, “Where do you work?”

               “Oh gee, I didn’t know you’re into asking occupations of your date like every other cliche dates.”

               You see Jimin’s eyes spark in interest and you regret what you just blurted out. “Oh, so you do see this as a date.”

               “Nooo,” you groan, heat already creeping up on your cheeks, almost like a wildfire. What the hell is happening to you? You always know how to control your word vomit; you’re never impulsive when it comes to speaking out. You’re a law student for Christ’s sake!

               “Don’t worry, I also see this as a date.” You could feel Jimin’s stare linger on your warm cheeks. You snug deeper into your jacket, wishing for the ground to break open and eat you up. Instead of further teasing you, Jimin repeats his question. “So, where do you work?”

               “At Petal Hill,” you mumble.  “It’s a flowershop two blocks away from my flat.”

               “Oh, a flowershop. Then, you must probably be knowledgeable of a lot of flowers.”

               “Yeah” you answer, a smile instantly tugging on your lips. “I get to recommend the best bouquets and sets to my customers, not to mention I have great grasp on the flower language to help them pick flowers they want to convey their messages through.”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah! I mean, I get to understand your confusing I Need You and Run music videos just with the two flowers used alone,” you blurt, thinking fondly of your Tumblr text-post, the only one that got you over 300 notes, where you wrote flower theories about BTS’ music videos. However, the moment you see Jimin gawking at what you said, it’s too late to undo what’s already let out in the open air.

               “Really? Oh my god, I never even knew the meaning behind those flowers. The directors just tell us to sit here, hold this or that, and do sad-emo-boi hours.”

               You stifle a giggle but it comes out unsuccessful when you break out into a huge grin, “You– what?”

               “Don’t get me wrong,” Jimin laughs, “We actually knew the plot of the music videos and internalized the characters assigned to us. But really, I never knew the flowers alone are a huge hint to the whole story.”

               “Well, my time to shine has finally arrived,” you grin, finding the need to stretch out your arms comically like how Tom does when he’s smug about catching Jerry. “The most iconic flower you guys used again and again is the white lily. Although the flower means rebirth, royalty, and purity with its delicate yet grand petals, they are often associated with funerals. White lilies symbolize the restored innocence the departed soul receives after death. That’s why the moment the music video flashes Seokjin’s character spreading six lily petals on the floor, I already knew either all your six characters or Seokjin’s, will die, before the video even reached to your guys’…sad-emo-boi hours.” Jimin nods in interest and you continue, “The Japanese version of the music video for I Need You was a large give-away since the large masses of flowers surrounding Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s characters resemble like the clump of flowers thrown at a coffin being buried.” You gulp, “Anyway, going to the lighter side because I don’t want to dwell on such grim topics, the second flower you guys used that caught my eye was the blue rose.”

               “Oh yeah, that one!” Jimin eyes glimmer in recognition. “It was the only flower we used in the Run music video. What’s its meaning?”

               “Impossible love.” You said, lips forming a thin line. “Blue roses don’t occur in nature because roses do not have the specific gene to produce such color. Instead, they are made by placing blue dye into the bark of the roses’ roots. Since it’s impossible to produce blue roses naturally without artificial means, these roses mean impossible love. So when the video flashes the blue rose in the background of Yoongi and Jungkook’s characters fighting, it can be said their familial love for each other, as they were depicted like brothers in the videos, will be unable to mend the wreckage of their characters.”                

               “Wow, I didn’t know it’s possible to reach to such accurate perception with the flowers alone.”

               “Then are my theories true?” You lean forward.

               “Yeah, on Jungkook and Yoongi’s characters being brothers and their strained familial bond. Also with the connotation of the lilies, although,” Jimin leans forward, too, smirking, “I wouldn’t reveal to you who really died or didn’t in the music videos.”

               You scoff. “Wow, such torture. You’ve been keeping the fans in the shadows about the story far too long.”

               “Not my choice, blame Big Hit. The concept team just tells us anyway the plot when we have to shoot them so you can say I’m also in the dark” Jimin shrugs. “Also, I want to keep you on your toes, making theories and analyses. They interest me.  How did you easily connect the dots?”

               “I’m a part-time florist. And, I took English literature as my undergraduate study. The plot analyses and the story critiques we did really grew in me.”

               “Oh wow,” Jimin gasps, leaning back. “My god, I didn’t know you were so out of my league!”

               “What?” Out of his league? Is he fucking crazy? He’s the one across you who’s got millions of followers, followed everywhere by the media, known and loved in every country, not to mention, worth of millions of dollars. And you’re here, who’s got millions of bills to pay, followed by countless work and university deadlines, barely spared a glance from the people in your university and work, and you hate to mention again, worth minimum wage. Hell, you could tell Jimin’s face is glowingly beautiful even with his mask pulled on while you’re here, probably sporting a full oily face look. By all blatant circumstances, he’s the one who’s out of your league.

               At the sight of your frown, Jimin’s hands wave in front of you, trying to dismiss any misunderstanding. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just–I didn’t know you’re such an intellectual. You read lots of books and do analyses and you’re so damn good in arguing. You always get me convinced. I haven’t done anything yet in our date but gawk and say ‘wow’ like a kid. I don’t…want to look stupid in front of you.”

               “You’re not.”

               “Huh?”

               You clear your throat. “You’re not stupid. And no, you didn’t just ‘gawk and say wow’ at me. You did a good job arguing with me earlier…about the ‘date.’ And that takes a lot because it looks like you’re having fun doing this friendly debate with me when people curse me for being so adamant in arguments.”

               “Why would they curse you? There’s nothing wrong in fighting for what you think is right.”

               You shrug, “They got nothing substantial to say so they resort to shaming you for what you know. Sick way of lifting yourself above others.  Anyway, why don’t you fire me some flower questions you have in mind? I’m in the mood to go all out in my flower-nerdiness today.”

               “Okay, so…what do you think is the best flower to give for your friends?”

               “Pink tulips are automatic to-gos. They mean ‘I care for you’ and also ‘good wishes’ so they’re also perfect for joyful gatherings. Pear blossoms also do the trick as they mean lasting friendship.” You glance upwards and hum before you return your eyes to Jimin, excitement thrumming in your nerves, “Oh, and Arborvitaes may not be popular but they’re the perfect flowers to give to a friend if you want to have ‘everlasting friendship.’”

               “Hmm, then what about the best one to give to your parents?”

               “Flowers of gratefulness are the top candidates. Campanulas, azaleas, and dark pink roses all mean gratitude and thankfulness.”

               “I’ll make sure to remember that next time I buy flowers for my mom,” Jimin smiles. “I always go for red roses every damn single time.”

               “It’s the classic. Can’t blame you though, it has the most generic message applicable to many kinds of relationships.”

               “Yeah, really?”

               “Yeah, they mean true love–True love for your friend, true love for your parent, or true love for your significant other. People usually use the connotation of “true love” for romantic relations when it’s actually applicable to familial bonds and friendships. After all, all of these relationships require truthfulness and love at the same time.”

               Jimin’s  mouth forms an o-shape. “Oh, I never really thought of that.”

               “Well now you know,” you grin.

               “Inked and stamped now, ma’am,” Jimin slaps his palm on his head and you giggle. At your laugh, Jimin smile grows bigger. “Okay, here’s another one: what flower is the best one to give to your mortal enemy?”

               “Are you insane? Who gives flowers to their mortal enemy?”

               Jimin shrugs. “Why not?”

               “Disregarding the money and time you’re wasting picking these flowers for such person,” you squint your eyes at him and Jimin laughs, “you should definitely go for foxgloves and orange lilies. They literally mean ‘Fuck you’ to the hardest core.”

               “‘Fuck you’ in what sense?” Jimin teases.

               You easily go along with it, mischief easily brewing inside your head. “They mean ‘fuck you’ as a curse, but if you mean the suggestive ‘fuck you’ then go for balsams. Though they may not be that arousing because they have these large, curving petals that look worn and limp, and you DON’T want to imply you’re like that flower.”

               Jimin guffaws, “Then why do they mean ‘fuck you’ if they’re not the least bit attractive?”

               “I don’t know, blame the Victorians who invented this floriography. Preferences change over time anyway so we can’t blame them for thinking balsams back then are ahhhsm.”

               You’re co-workers always found that joke dry and lame and yet in front of you, Jimin laughs as he holds his stomach, even finding the need for his other hand to slap the table again and again.  At this rate, he’s toning his abs from how hard he tries to keep his laughter not loud enough to disturb other customers. Despite the forming grin on your face, you found the need to say, “Okay, sorry that came out really, really suggestive.”

               “No, it’s okay,” Jimin assures. “I was the one who insinuated the suggestive themes anyway. I don’t mind at all.”

               “Me too,” you gulp. “It’s cool that we get to sit and chat like this without worrying about anything sexual.”

               “…Yeah, I agree,” Jimin tugs his shirt and clears his throat. “Anyway, what flower is the best one to give to your significant other? The most romantic one, the one that will instantly make your heart flutter?”

               “Well,” your fidget in your seat, “that depends on what the significant other likes. Flowers may hold different meanings but the preference for them still largely relies on the recipient.”

               “What do you like to receive?”

               You look at him, gaze questioning any ulterior intentions, any flirtatious comebacks he wants to blurt after possibly faking interest about such important topic. But when he tilts his head, waiting for your answer, you can’t help but blindly disregard your doubts and just answer his question. “I think pansies would be enough for me.”

               “Pansies?”

               “Yeah… They have these delicate, round petals and they’re resilient whether the sun beats too harsh on them or the winter almost freezes them to their roots. Whatever weather, whatever place they live in, they’ll always, always live. I guess that’s why they mean ‘You’re always in my mind.’ There’s nothing more infectious, more resilient, than any disease but a constant thought. That’s why I think being always in someone’s mind is a lot. To have a significant other that gets to see you, feel you, hear you, smell you, even taste you without them being aware of it is already akin to…love. You can’t control what passes through your mind, much less on what or who stays in it. But it doesn’t matter,” you laugh awkwardly, throat hurting in the process. “I’m not into receiving flowers. They’re over-the-top and they wilt and I just have to throw them away when they served all their worth.”

               “But what would you do if someone is willing to give you those pansies everyday, help you clean them away when they wilt, and assure you a new batch will make its way to you again?”

               “Then…I will accept it. Gifts are free and my labor will be lessened.”

               Jimin leans back, eyes shining. “I will make sure then to drop by in your shop and buy you a bouquet of those to make up for my lack of gifts for our date today.”

               You scoff at him. “You’re buying flowers right from my workplace to give to me? That’s not romantic.”

               “Wanna see me come over with a suit and tie, then?”

               “Oh my god, why are you like this?” you wail, palms covering your face. You’ve always adored Jimin’s unwavering determination in their reality shows, however, having him here in front of you showing you this stubbornness is something else. You don’t know whether to hit him or kiss him. Wait, what–

               “How about this then?” you feel Jimin’s fingers part your hands away from your face and a breath gets stuck in your throat. He has leant forward, mask pulled down to his jaw, and his eyes trained straight towards yours. You find yourself unable to tear your gaze away, too absorbed in Jimin’s intense stare. The thought that his vision is probably just filled with you and nothing else just like how your eyes only frame his entire face makes you queasy in your seat. You’ve never had someone look at you this, sincere and so open before that your long-time indignation to real-life romance and the whole soulmate thing has rendered you incapable of thinking what you should do–or if you should actually do anything than just get lost in another person’s eyes. You see Jimin’s lips pull into a soft curve of a smile. “Is this romantic enough?”

               Before you could choke on your own spit and indulge in awkward silence you know you’ll probably won’t get out of, a foreign voice by your side breaks your little bubble with Jimin. You glance to your left and a tall waiter bows. “Sorry to interrupt you, ma’am, sir, but would you like to order some dessert?”

               You look down at your plates to find everything in miniscule bits and crumbs, your meals completely finished. You sneak a peek at your wristwatch. It’s only 10:51, just mere twenty minutes have passed since you stepped onto the diner’s black and white tiles. You never imagined time could run so fast with another person invading your space than just your comfort zone.

               You see Jimin turn to the waiter. “Oh, no we’re finished. Can we ask for the bill?”

               Wait, you’re already finished? So soon? Your scrunched forehead must have gave out everything you’re thinking because Jimin turns to you and says, “I want to show you to some place. My turn to let you learn more about me.”

               Indifferent to the exchange between you two, the waiter hands Jimin the receipt. “Here it is, sir.”

               “Okay,” Jimin hands the payment on the waiter’s awaiting hands and you gape as you flounder for your own wallet. Jimin dismisses you. “I got this. You can pay me later.” He turns back to the waiter, “Thank you for the service.”

               “Thank you, too, sir.” The waiter returns and when you see him smile at Jimin again, his voice trails off and his eyes squint at the man across you. “Say, sir…you really look like Park Jimin from BTS.”

               “No.” Jimin’s smile drops into a frown and he quickly pulls up his mask.

               “No, really! I’ve been staring at you earlier and I can’t deny the similarities!” the waiter insists and you see his eyes spark in recognition. “You have the similar droopy eyes and familiar voice. Oh yeah, Jimin’s blonde hair on yesterday’s Music Bank is the same as yours–wait, don’t tell me,” The waiter pauses and raises his index finger to Jimin, “you’re the Park Jimin himself?” Jimin glances at you in panic and the waiter catches the small movement of denial. “Oh my god, you are Park Jimin! Damn, man, can I get an autograph? My sister loves you so much!”

               Neither you nor Jimin were able to say a thing after that, nor did you get a chance. The customers that didn’t care about your presence twenty minutes ago are now looking at your way with full, intent stares.

                “Jimin? Park Jimin? That singer from BTS?”

               “Jimin is here?!”

               “Oh my god, it is him! It’s Jimin! It’s the same hair color and jacket and earrings he wore in tonight’s V Live!”

               In the next second, everyone is screaming and rushing out of their tables to approach you.

               You’re frozen in your seat, chills rising in succession in your feet, arms, and spine. Crowds of faces were shoved right against your face, bunches of arms reaching and grabbing and thrashing around, and the screams and hollers were so loud they turn into garbled white noise. It’s like the zombie apocalypse except the creatures grabbing at you are still real, living people.

               “Jimin! Jimin!”

               “Oh my god, Jimin’s with a girl!”

               “Hey, Jimin, look here!”

               “Jimin, please sign this!”              

               “Wait, is that Jimin’s girlfriend?”

               “Jimin, can I take a picture with you?”

               “Jimin, who’s that girl?!”

               “Jimin, I love you!”

               The next moments are a blur. A second ago, jumpy teens and young adults were crowding your table, screaming and thrashing around. In the next second, Jimin has his hand clasped around yours, pulling you fast out of your table and out of the door. And now you’re here, running on the city street, your steps pounding on the cold pavement in heavy beats as a thunderous stampede follows close behind your tail.

               You’re finding it hard to take in all that is happening that the sudden pull on your arm toward your right has you dizzy and almost nauseous.

               “What’s ha-happening?”

               Jimin sneaks a glance at you and then back on the street. “Our fans are chasing us. Keep running. We don’t want them to ruin our date.”

               You purse your lips and will your legs to keep up with his pace. You’re about to chide him for what he said but you decide against it and just kept your mouth shut. You can’t bite back a witty comeback when you’re running out of breath.

               Huffing, he pulls down his mask to take a breath. “C’mon, let’s run faster!”

                The city whizzes by you, multicolored houses meshing into straight lines and warped shapes in a fast-forwarded reel. The streetlights overhead promise another corner to turn to and the pavement below your feet remains constant in its grayness and never-ending stretch. You and Jimin run and turn to corner after corner and it wasn’t until you’re stepping on the fifth street from your run do you realize your hand is still clasped in his.

                It feels weird to have another hand next to yours, much less a hand with fingers that oddly perfectly fill each gap between yours. What’s more odd is that you are comfortable, running to god knows where, hand in hand with a stranger. Well, Jimin’s not technically a stranger, given that you’ve known about him onscreen for six years, but still, everything feels too new and strange especially when he’s your…soulmate.

               The sleeve of your jacket has ridden upward your arm and your eyes immediately caught your inked daffodils. You’ve let your eyes miss their beauty in your shock earlier. But now, you can’t help but stare at awe when the flowers’ yellow petals rival the golden daylight as if the moonlight above has reflected every bit of the sun’s shine onto the art inked on your arms. You’ve never heard of this kind of soulmate system before, nor its strange incongruity with Jimin’s soulmate system. What is truly strange, is you’re already finding yourself dismissing any doubts about them. It’s horrifying that you can’t seem to care about anything anymore because all you could feel is…joy. Everything feels too perfect like a dream. Maybe it is true that you’re actually dreaming because as far as you’re concerned, the soulmate systems have ousted you since you were born. Everything about this daffodil sleeves and Jimin are probably just conjured by your unconscious, trying to make you feel better to ease the guilt of ruining Lucy’s night. You’ll wake up to your alarm to another shitty day in law school and then –

               “JIMIIIIIIN!”

               Unlike your expectations, it is a blaring scream that wakes you up to your senses.            

               “Where’s Jimin?!”

               “There, there! I can see his blonde hair AHHH!!!!”

               “Jimin! Don’t run away from us!”

               And then, you’re running fast again, lungs squeezing in short breaths as Jimin pulls you to corner after corner, maneuvering you in and out of street after street. Your legs are starting to numb from exhaustion but before you could start to whine at Jimin for a short break to rest, he has already pulled you into a dark, narrow alleyway crammed between two clothing retail stores. Only a few seconds later, a mass of shouting teens runs past the street.  You turned your face away, holding your breath in until the last one behind them misses your hiding spot, only finding it permissible to breathe again when the fans’ loud voices dissipate in the next corner.

               When you turn your head back to your front, you’re met with Jimin’s own flustered face. Only mere inches separate your lips from brushing against each other. Words are caught in your throat as you let your eyes take in his flushed state: his fringes matted on his forehead, his pink lips parted as he huffs, his ears reddened from the cold, and his warm brown eyes that reflect your own blushing face. If everything that has happened tonight really turns out to be a dream, you hope your sleep could be long enough to let you drag this night for as long as you could.

               “What are you staring at?”

               You’re suddenly brought back to where you are, pressed uncomfortably against the cold walls of the alley. Your eyes instantly moved down to your feet and with the motion, you caught a glowing thing sitting right atop on your left ring finger. It takes you a second to realize that the yellow glow is coming from the inked daffodil on your ring finger. Your daffodil ring is glowing like a fucking firefly. Your eyes widen and they fleet upward to meet Jimin’s eyes, your mouth gaping. “I–uh-uh–um–”

               Jimin raises his eyebrows, lips curving upwards. “Can’t get enough of my beautiful face?”

               “What? No!” You turn away and scowl, hoping the night could cool down the heat forming on your cheeks. You frantically pull the sleeves of your oversized jacket to hide your glowing tattoo.

               “Don’t need to be defensive. You can stare as long as you want, Y/N. After all,” Jimin raises his index finger and gestures to his face and down to his body, “you own all of these.”

               Your eyes twitch and your lips form an unamused frown. Jimin laughs.

               Jimin was the first one to squeeze out from the narrow space and you follow next. Despite your reaction earlier, you find it necessary to keep the frown on your face. You try to not let it show how much his words are making your heart pound loud and proud against your ears.

               You clear your throat. “You’ve got some serious fans out there.”

               Sighing, Jimin takes off the mask pulled under his jaw and stuffs it in his jacket pocket. “Ah, yeah. We always get that occasional…warm greeting whenever we land at airports. I guess we’re already used to that.”

               “Warm?! It’s borderline harassment!”

               “They’re just…excited to see me, that’s all. I can’t complain because I signed up for this when I decided to pursue this career.”

               “But still! That doesn’t mean they get to shove their faces to you and scream and demand you to take pictures with them or sign this or that. You still have your personal space and people should respect that. You’re still a human being, Chim.”

               Jimin stares at you before he breaks into a chuckling fit. “I didn’t know we’re on the stage to be making petnames for each other now, Y/Nie.”

               You gulp as you feel your cheeks heat up again. “I’m serious!”

               “Yeah, I know. I’m just joking to laugh off the heartbeats I hear pounding loud in my chest. You look at him, brows furrowed. Jimin shrugs. “I can’t help it. You make me feel like this.”

               You clear your throat again, diverting the conversation to where you are before he got sidetracked. “Anyway, can’t you get like a restraining order on them or something?”

               “You know that’s impossible.”

               “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just pissed off.” He looks at you smirking, and before he can come up with another cheesy line, you spoke out, “For you! Pissed off for you, yeah. Any person shouldn’t go through such trauma.” Jimin nods and you ramble on, “I only saw you guys’ airport fiascos on fancams. I never knew a toned down version of those like this will be already this bad. Heck, I’m already trembling with just a couple of fans hot on our toes, what more for you guys who get pushed and shoved and grabbed here and there by a flock of them. It’s goddamn scary and infuriating. If I were in your shoes I would have dropped down and screamed and cried. I’m glad I didn’t push my stupid 17-year-old dream of becoming an idol. I can’t do that stuff.”

               “I’m glad too you didn’t pursue that dream. I don’t want other men freely ogling my girl with no lawful repercussions.”

               “’…Ew. Don’t say that again.”

               “What?”

               You blanch despite the heat gathering on your cheeks. “The ‘my girl.’ It’s cringey.”

               “Oh hell no am I never gonna say that again if you’re blushing and being cute like this because of it. Oh my, Y/N, you can just say you like it! I can say it again if you want to–”

               “Oh please, no–”

               “My girl.”

               “Shut up!”

               “Ahh, you’re blushing more!”

***

               The skyline has long deepened in an inky indigo blanket yet you can’t feel your eyes fluttering close any minute now. It’s true because about eleven thirty, you’re still busy chirping away flower meanings to Jimin who was attentive to every word down to every flower color, to notice you two have already reached the business area of the city. There were no more residential areas or any run-down bars. Skyscrapers stood tall and brooding on strict two sides of the road while cut-straight gravel streets measure a meter or two to separate establishments. Unlike the streets from the bar to the diner, which were colored in various hues of maroon, beige, blue, and occasional flickers of yellow, the buildings in front of you followed a narrow color palette of light gray to black. However, the gloomy vicinity did nothing to dim the colorful trivia-dump you’re doing with Jimin.

               “Did you know, most yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings?”

               “Really?”

               “Yeah, like the marigold. Despite being a vibrant flower, it actually means envy and jealousy. And oh, don’t get me started with carnations. I always find myself inquiring young men who came into the shop picking yellow carnations if the flowers were for a first date.”

               “Why is that?” Jimin raises his brows.

               “It’s a horrible choice for a first date! Yellow carnations mean disdain and you DON’T want to jinx a starting relationship with such a negative connotation.”

               “What flower should I pick then for a first date?”

               “Roses are safe. Red, pink, or white are definitely the charmers. White carnations also do the trick for you as they mean sweet love. Although I mentioned yellow flowers usually have the most offensive meanings, there’s one flower I know that stands out, the most perfect one I think for a first date.”

               “What is it?”

               “Sunflowers,” you grin. “Despite all their beauty and all that mechanism where they turn towards the sun’s direction, they are quite tedious to grow. They’re needy of nutrients. They drain the soil from its nutrients, hogging them that no other kind of plant should be placed near them as they will easily die. That’s why they carry the meaning of draining love. But you know what? Even if they’re draining, they hold one of the most delicate and romantic message”

               “What is it?”

               “Everlasting love,” you smile. “They may be quite draining but their beauty is worth every effort. See? Wouldn’t be that the perfect flower for a first date?”

               Jimin nods. “Yeah, they are.” He looks at you, smiling and you bite your lip to prevent yourself from smiling too wide.

               When you turned to another street, Jimin asks, “Do you know another flower that holds such a…bittersweet message?”

               “Yeah, spiderlilies. But you know, I think that flower has the saddest story to tell.”

               “Why is that?”

               “It’s the flower of parting. It–” You suddenly trail off and Jimin stops in his step the minute you pull his arm into a stop. “Wait, where are we? Why are we in the business part of the town?”

               Jimin tilts his head, “I told you I’m gonna show you a place.”

               “A place? In here?”

               “Just trust me,” Jimin chuckles and he grabs your hand before you can utter another word.

               After a couple of minutes weaving down two streets and turning two corners to the left, the two of you stand in front of a humongous gravel gray tower. It would have looked uptight and intimidating if it weren’t for its darkening edges, from the soot or age, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that Jimin is already pushing through the large glass double doors with you in tow.

               “W-wait, what are you doing? This is trespassing and if you don’t know what it is, it’s illegal!”

               “We’re not trespassing. Trust me.”

               The furrows on your forehead deepen, anxiety grappling at the edges of your nerves, but you couldn’t do anything but follow him. You don’t want to admit your feet were walking on their own so you’re gonna blame Jimin for holding your hand too firmly.

               The ground floor of the tower wasn’t that much. All it has was clean white walls and cream-tiled floors. Its reception desk wasn’t too grand with just a gold bell, a couple of stacked news articles cased to the side, and a fake Picasso painting hung behind it. You can tell it’s Picasso because it was the same painting you always stare at in the guidance counselor’s room, with a small black label printed “Picasso” underneath it. And you know it’s fake because the guidance counselor told you the original piece of that painting now resides in the residence of an old Italian antique collector. The two of you wound a corridor and passed two hallways before you stop in front of metal double-doors, the ones used for fire exits in hospitals. It has a built-in lock and by the way Jimin pushes the door without any advances, you know it’s locked. Jimin fumbles for the back pocket of his jeans and produces his wallet, taking a silver key tucked in its small flaps.

               You gawk. “You have a key for this?”

               Jimin doesn’t answer but smiles, inserting the key. When you hear the doors unlock, he pushes one open and gestures for you to come inside. You didn’t have any qualms and just followed him. You figured that if Jimin has the key, then what you’re doing is not trespassing, and you find yourself relaxing eventhough you’re boggled as to why Jimin possesses such key when his entertainment company is in another twenty-six storey building on the opposite side of town.

               Jimin leads you down a wide hallway past the metal double-doors, now colored in gray walls and darker gray tiles instead of the standard white and cream of the rest of the ground floor. There were a couple of doors lining on the sides, each designated with a position of an authority you didn’t catch to read. At the end of the hallway, a set of stairs lead downwards and you find yourself yet again, waiting in front of another set of metal double doors as Jimin inserts another silver key into the built-in lock. He pushes the doors open and as you stepped inside, you feel your jaw drop to the floor.

               In front of you was a skating rink, surrounded by glass partitions that measure about a meter. Black benches surround the rink like the ones you see in the hockey games inserted in films. However, unlike the ones you watched, the benches weren’t many enough to hold spectators of a game, and the rink was too small to hold a proper hockey game. It’s probably ideal only for recreational skating like the ones you went to with your mother whenever she feels like taking you out in winter.    

               You turn to Jimin. “What is this skating rink? I thought we were inside a business building.”

               Jimin leans on one of the benches. “Me and my group always go here to let out stress. When we were stressing for our debut, when we need a breather for comebacks or, when the cameras and media were too much–we always go here. It’s a secret hangout place, tucked underneath this large corporate building.About 50 years ago, this building was like a winter sports complex. It has this large skating rink where monthly local competitions for hockey and curling are held. Sometimes, it’s lucky enough to hold regional competitions as this part of town was far from the business center back then. Aside from contests and trainings being held, anyone–kids, teens, adults–gets to arrange who uses the spare time from the fixed schedule of the complex for recreational hockey, curling, or just…skating round and round.” Jimin laughs. “Sometimes, the complex frees it schedule to invite anyone to come and skate for a downgraded price. You know, like how your local authorities turn the frozen lakes into a public skating area when winter comes.”

               Jimin’s lips form a straight line, “However, business turned sour in the long run because another sports complex was built near the area, equipped with more supplies and employees. So the owner of the complex and the land had to sell their whole business because of that, and also because her family is going to migrate to the States. This skating rink was supposed to be taken down but the first owner of the land run back to this town and made an agreement with the buyer. Pleaded nothing will change from the negotiation except she’ll pay anything just for the buyer to keep the rink. She went all out with her money then. Even sold her house and her ancestor’s villa in Taiwan.”

               “She…spent all her money for this?”

               “Well, yeah. She did go almost bankrupt but at least she got to keep her skating rink before she died.” Jimin glances at you, waiting for a reply but when you just return a stare, he tilts his head in inquiry.

               You pull on your sleeves. “I didn’t say she did bad choices…it’s just that–it’s a lot of risk. I don’t think anyone could do that but her.”

               “Anyone can do that, it just depends what they’re willing to risk. Because–well, some things are just worth risking everything for.”

               You stay silent, staring at him. Jimin chuckles and grabs your hand to lead you towards the locker room. He proceeds with his story, “The buyer built a commercial building but fulfilled his end of the agreement by keeping the rink. And when the buyer eventually handed over the building to his son, the skating rink was then cut into half as the 3rd owner got the building renovated and sold half of the land to another millionaire. The other section of the rink was turned into another building but this one remained because the owner’s son loved to skate whenever his dad brings him for bring-your-child-to-work day. Now the son, the current owner, kept this skating rink and even opened it to the public because unlike the previous owner, his dad, he’s fun and wants to let kids come into this concrete jungle just to play and hang out.”

               “How do you know all of these?”

               “I’m friends with the current owner. His name is Henry Kim, a friend from preschool, and I swear I never knew how filthy rich he was back then. We became friends because I got enticed by his story of the first land owner meeting her soulmate, her husband, in a local skating rink which inspired her to build the sports complex and even had the succeeding owners keep the rink. Henry even got me some articles about it to read. So now, I and the boys get to have alone time in here whenever we want, away from all the cameras and the media and the pizzaz. It’s a privilege, I know, given our…status, but I’d like to think it more as out of our friendship.” He turns back to smile at you. “It makes me warm.”

               You didn’t know how to reply to his last statement so you just returned his smile and let his hand guide you to the locker rooms where you can strap on your skating shoes. It didn’t take you too long to lace up your skating shoes and waddle onto the rink because within just a couple of minutes, you’re already giggling, waltzing on the ice. It’s been a while since you let yourself enjoy like a child like this–free from societal pressure, success strife stress, and family expectations; to laugh aloud and feel nothing akin but being on top of the world just because of simple things like this–skating round and round.

               “So you told me, it’s your turn to let me learn more about you,” you skid in front of Jimin, grinning. “When is that gonna happen? You’ve been rambling about on and on about a lot of other people.”

               “Well, there isn’t much,” Jimin skates in time with you towards the east end of the rink. “I practically showed and revealed everything already on TVs and magazines.”

               “Not true. You’re more than what the cameras show what you seem to be.”

               “You’re a fan though. You practically already know everything about me.”

               “Also not true. No one is capable of fully knowing everything about everyone. All you have is your perception of others and others’ perception of you, but they will never be enough to be everything about you nor others. People are like mirrors, you know. They see each other based on the images they envision them in so, they’re just staring at what their thoughts collectively created about another person. In the end, the only one who truly knows themselves are no one but themselves.” You sigh, turning to him and taking his hand as you let centripetal force control your balance and skate you backward. “How about this: you tell me things you’ve never told anyone before.”

               “Okay,” Jimin agrees and he pulls you back to his side, hands still connected. “Do you know I used to dream of becoming a fisherman?”

               “A fisherman? Do you even know how to fish?”

               “Well…no. But you know how preschool assigns you this homework where you have to draw your dream?” You nod. “Well,” Jimin continues, “I don’t really have a dream for me back then and I can’t draw for the life of me. And then, I figured a fisherman is easy to draw because you just have to get the trapezoidal boat, the swirling waves, the stickman, and the two lines of a fishing rod right. You can add puffy clouds and the ‘m’ birds for background. After that, I convinced myself all I ever wanted is to be a fisherman and when I told that to my mother, she almost fainted.”

               “Oh my god,” you giggle, “you just made up a dream for yourself out of a drawing?”

               “Yeah, and it wasn’t the only scenario,” Jimin laughs. “By 3rd grade, I learned how to draw a motorcycle from sticks and circles so when the draw-your-dream assignment came up again, I upgraded my drawing skills and changed my dream: I now want to be a pizza delivery guy. Of course, I told my mom about it again and this time, she also upgraded: she chased me around with a slipper.”

               “I understand your mom though,” you manage to chortle in between snickers. “Being a fisherman and a pizza delivery guy are honorable but they weren’t the greatest permanent jobs in this down-slope economy.”

                “True,” Jimin agrees and this time, he lets himself skate backward, keeping his hold on your hand, firm. “Anyway, the rest is history. The media already wrote about how I got into a contemporary arts school and from there I learned to love dance and eventually dreamed of becoming a performer.”

               “What did I tell you about not being only what the people see you to be?”

               “Okay, okay. Umm,” Jimin trails off, eyes wandering as if the things he wanted to say can be easily picked up in the skating rink. But just a second later, he’s suddenly looking straight into your eyes, his own ones glimmering. “Oh, I got one! I was a hell of a headache when I was a kid. I was always so jumpy, running around, loudy as hell–the type of kids you cannot contain in one place?”

               You nod, smiling. “A lot of kids were like that.”

               “Well,” he chuckles, “the difference is that I cannot still be contained in one place even I’m way past a kid. Anyway, the me back then was a whole different level. I like going to town after town, wandering around, always hoping for some adventure. I once got on top of a delivery van, parked near my neighbor’s house, so near that it was easy for me to jump on it from their balcony. Their balcony wasn’t that tall anyway because their house was some kind of a Spanish-inspired bungalow. We were playing hide and seek at that time. I was so competitive I thought if I got on top of the van and lied down very flat, I will be unnoticed. It turned out to be a good idea because ten minutes later, the kids are now calling out for my name, yelling for me to show up so we can start another game. When the van suddenly rumbled, I quickly realized what I did was a terrible idea. The van picked up its pace and now we’re really moving from the front of my neighbor’s house. You know what I did?”

               You shook your head, giggling.

               “I cried. Real loud. Snot, sweat, and tears mixing, I look like a dumb, reckless kid who always gets complaints from the neighbors.” Jimin laughed. “So after crying for like good two minutes, that I thought was an hour back then, I started choking on my own spit. With the wailing turned down, I heard my father running behind and screaming for the van to stop. I was lucky that the driver immediately stopped after hearing my father’s cries. But after that, I wasn’t lucky anymore. My mom felt the need to keep me away from vans and my neighbor’s balcony. God, it was so embarrassing.”

               “At least your ‘hobby’ got corrected,” you quip.

               “You think jumping on vans was my hobby?” Jimin scoffs then smirks. “Don’t underestimate me. I can do much more than jumping on vans. I even did bungee jumping. Remember that episode on Run BTS!, our TV show?”

               “Of course I remember. You screamed like a screeching pterodactyl.”

               “No, I did not. That was Taehyung.”

               “Okay, okay, touché. I was just trying to make you laugh.”

               Jimin grins. “You don’t have to try though. You can always effortlessly do that.”

               You tilt your head. “Are you telling me my existence is funny?”

               Jimin pulls you towards him and you almost tumble forward but his firm grip on your hand keeps you balanced on your skates. However, you could feel every bit of warmth coming from his body as his arms are now wound around yours, keeping you as close to him as possible. Close enough for you to feel his breath fan against yours, close enough for you to trace every constellation marking up his face, and close enough for you to see the reflection of your face in his eyes…again. Jimin breaks into a grin. “I’m trying to tell you that you can easily make me happy without even trying.”

               You feel scorching heat immediately spread on your chest and to the rest of your body. You lightly push Jimin away, scoffing. Jimin puts his hands into his pockets. You sputter out,“W-what? As if I can do that. I’m really really intolerable and insufferable, you know?”

               Jimin chuckles, “It’s okay. I can handle that.”

               Before you can mumble out another disagreement, Jimin grabs your hand again, leading the two of you to the other side of the rink, this time, skating side by side.

               “Continuing from what I left on, you know what good came out from my reckless days?”

               You don’t answer him but glance his way.

               Jimin continues on, “I managed to get lots of friends. I got a bunch of them in preschool, then in elementary. When I got into high school, my group of friends got so large that almost everyone in the school, not just our batch but the lower grade levels as well, practically knew me before I even knew their name. Man, it was crazy. I get to hang out with different people per week and I get to learn their stories. It’s so fun.”

                “You must be quite of a people-person even back then.”

               “Ah, yeah,” Jimin nods. “People said I thrive off people surrounding me. Said I like being complimented and that I grow more when I’m surrounded by them. Something about collective growth.”

               “But, who wouldn’t like compliments?”

               “True. Everyone likes them. It’s just…I think they are right, but sometimes…I beg to differ.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I feel like it’s the people who thrive on me, not the other way around.”

               You look at him, curious. “How come?”

               Jimin breathes out, tugging the collar of his leather jacket closer to his neck with his free hand. “I thought why people liked me back then was because I was fun. You know that type of kid, who gets the crowd’s attention easily and entices everyone to join them in in whatever they do? That type of kid who’s easy-going and can effortlessly make boring things look cool? The people around me told me I was like that and at times, I do feel it’s the reason why I got so many friends. But as I grow up, I feel people liked me because I really love listening to their stories. I love it too much that it was even quite…abnormal.”

               “Abnormal?”

               “Yeah…abnormal. You see, back on the days, I used to latch on to person after person telling them, no, begging them to tell me their stories–the place they were born in, where they grew up in, their secrets and interests, anything. I learned how to clean vinyl records from an old unmarried man in our neighborhood. I got to travel to Geneva from a rich girl who told me her summer vacation at the playground. I even unknowingly caught up with the local gossip of a married man and his mistress three blocks from our neighborhood. I don’t know why exactly I did it. It just felt nice. It seems our generation’s now short of anyone willing to listen to what they have to say. So when people heard of my abnormal…hobby, they searched for me and spilled everything. They get someone to listen to them, and I get myself new stories. It’s a win-win situation.”

               Jimin steps to the side, creating a wider gap between your bodies as you skate but still kept your hands interlocked. “They treated me like a pond they could throw rocks into, entertaining them with my fascination and curiosity and assuring them I will not tell another soul about what they said. Just repeating what they said, nodding when they ask questions, and taking everything they told me inside when they bid their temporary farewells. They always come back for another listening session and everything will repeat. Some people I listened to talked too excitedly as if a day will never be enough to tell their story. A few talked in spurts that it’s hard to determine the beginning and the end of their stories. There were the factual lessons, rambles of nonsense, litanies of achievements, and some tear-jerkers.” Jimin sighs. “But the most amazing one I ever got to listen to was how my mom and dad met.”

               You purse your lips. “U-uh, who told you that story?”

               “My mom,” Jimin grins. “She told me the story of how they met as soon as I can understand anything. Of course, they told me the red string of fate story, but what interested me the most was their soulbond. Their soulmate system lets them know what each other is feeling even without talking about it. It’s amazing.”

               “How did they meet then?”

               “Well, my dad had a crush on my mom before he even knew she was his soulmate. My mom is my dad’s childhood friend. She became his friend in his very first day in school after she defended him from a group of kids bullying him for being too short. After that, all he ever did was admire her. He wasn’t too adamant about the soulmate system before then because all he could ever feel from his system was annoyance and irritation.  My mom lived next to dad’s house and belonged to the same group of friends he has so it was easy for him to always see her. However, talking to her was a difficult feat because my dad is one hell of an introvert and he always gets frozen feet just at the sight of her. So when my mom finally had enough of my father’s tiptoeing around her, she demanded for him to just tell her whatever issue he has with her so she can stop feeling awkward with his coldness.” Jimin giggles, “Of course my father is bad at confrontations so he just hiccupped and ran away in embarrassment. However, my mother’s words sunk in so he pulled out a recorded track he made about a month ago–a song he made just about my mother, and edited it, ending with a shy ‘I-I know you probably have many suitors by now…but can you please, please, please take a chance on me? Okay, that was too forward, shit, I’m sorry, how do I turn this off?’”

               Your jaw hangs open in disbelief. “You memorized it word per word?”

               “Of course,” Jimin chortles. “It’s too funny to let go!”

               “So after my mom heard about the record my dad left on her doorstep, she immediately asked him to dinner that night. And during their date, that’s when dad felt his soulbond feeling at peace and in love. It didn’t take them to put two-on-two together to tell they were each other’s soulmate. I swear, their soulmate system is wonderful. Dad can easily tell when mom is upset and he easily convinces her to talk it out with him. I always think communication is a strong foundation of every relationship, and to have such a soulmate system to let you feel easily what the other is feeling, it must be heaven! Imagine not having to guess or tiptoe around one another when conflicts arise. Feelings assure you the truth because no one can control what they want to feel, not to mention that soulmate system betters you to become a more empathic person.” Jimin turns and locks his eyes with yours. “Don’t you think it’s amazing to have such phenomenon? To have a significant other crafted by the universe just for you?

               You glance away. “…Yeah.”

               Jimin diverts his eyes back on the ice. “Unlike the me back then, I wasn’t that much into stories now.”

               “Why?”

               “These days, it’s hard for me to reach out and listen to people who have anything but hate or illusioned righteousness fueling their systems. The only things people tell me now were how great I was, how much I make from this job, how handsome I got. Sometimes I get to listen to bitter people who feel the need to question my career choices, making me feel bad to uplift themselves. And then majority of the time, I get people who idolize me so much, put me on the pedestal, and make me out as someone that wasn’t really me. I know some of them mean well, but sometimes…you’re just not comfortable anymore.”

               You look up at him, “Because you know you’re more than that?”

               “Well, yeah,” Jimin glances at you. “You put it really well into words. I’m impressed.”

               A question was on the tip of your tongue and you purse your lips, debating whether to ask him or not. But then, this might be your only chance you could ask him this, so you made up your mind and tugged his jacket. “Tell me, sometimes…do you ever wish you didn’t get this humongous fame at all?”

               Jimin stares at you and a couple of seconds passed before he decided to answer. “Yes, sometimes. I hate how people follow me everywhere, invade my privacy, and treat me more as a commodity than a human being. I hate how I have to hide my family and childhood friends from the limelight just so they don’t get dragged in any scandals people are so obsessed in making up. I hate having to wake up and unconsciously worry about my looks, my angles, and my weight more than anything else because I know more important matters in the society are more worth thinking and talking about–but I–I don’t know, I just can’t help it. I can’t help how the media changed me. Of course, there’re good and bad changes it brought to my life but I hated the bad ones to the very core.  But you know, when I look back and trace my steps to where I was before, I realize that fame made me happy before,” he looks at you, “and how it still does now. With this fame I was able to bring joy to lots of people and give them love they were unable to receive from those around them. With this fame I was able to give my parents a home they used to only dream about. With this fame, I was able to meet my bandmates who loved me like a family…and, I wouldn’t have met you if I didn’t become the Jimin now.”

               “H-how so?”

               “You wouldn’t have taken a chance on this date, on this soulmate thing for one whole night with me, if I wasn’t who I was today.”

               Your forehead furrows, your chest constricting in pain. “N-not true. Why are you telling me that –okay, maybe I gave you that impression of an obsessive fangirl because I blurted everything on my tongue when I first saw you, but honestly I wanted to know you more as a person and not as–”

               “No, no,” Jimin waves his hand, chuckling. “I’m sorry I implied it that way. What I mean is: You wouldn’t have trusted me enough to stay with me tonight and try this soulmate thing if I wasn’t able to love myself first before I met you.  I didn’t know what love was back then. I just imagine myself being unconditionally admired and taken care of my soulmate. And, I guess I wasn’t my best during that time. I complain a lot, demand too much, and bottle my feelings inside until they suffocate me. When things go wrong, I find it easy to blame someone else. I regarded too highly of myself that I’ve become selfish and insensitive to the people around me. So when I slowly started  to outgrow my horrible past-self, I then learned it’s impossible to trust someone about love and relationships if they are still unable to love themselves. Sure, people will argue that they can figure that out together. But still, I think it’s better if we learn how to be comfortable in our own skins before we demand others to love us. It’s not fair for them to tolerate their significant others who can’t love them right. How can we love others when we don’t know even know how love is supposed to be and feel like? That’s why…I’m glad I met you now, because I think I’m ready to love–” Jimin bites his lip, “Okay sorry, I got too sidetracked and went off the loop again , but do you get what I mean?”

               “Yeah, it’s just,” you close your eyes, shaking your head, “everything about this soulmate thing still shocks me and I’m still trying to get a hang of it so sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

               You keep your glance down, apologetic, waiting for Jimin’s reply. But all you got is, “Why do you like flowers so much?”

               You look up and Jimin looks at you, eyes warm, smile wide. You didn’t have to stare for long to know he’s trying to change the topic. Trying to make you comfortable again. Actually, he never failed to make you comfortable throughout the whole night. He has never pushed you to tell everything about yourself–never demanded for you to tell him about your family like how he openly talked about his, never forced you to reveal your weaknesses and insecurities when he let you in on his vulnerability.  And even though you’re starting to think whether to talk about each one of them or not now, he still gives you the choice to come back to your safe zone whenever you want. All of these are enough of a reason to grip his hand tighter in yours and pull him to the center of the rink, facing each other.

               “Wait, whoa!”

               “Okay, why don’t we dance?”

               Jimin’s eyes almost bulge out “Dance?”

               “Yeah, dance! You know what, I’ll take the lead.” You pulled him closer to you, looping your arms around his frame in a gentle hug. Jimin’s shocked and tensed for a bit, but it wasn’t long before you can feel him giggling behind your ear and returning the hug.

               “I didn’t know you were this…aggressive.”

               “Shut up,” you laugh. “Can you just indulge in my free offer and not say another cheesy pick-up line?”

               Jimin chuckles. “Okay, will do.”

               You didn’t move much. Just, swaying and turning in small motions with your arms wound around each other. You can’t exactly point out why you’re suddenly doing this when an hour ago, you’re too adamant showing him you’re not affected by him at all. All you know is you can no longer disagree that everything with him felt right. Even if you’re still afraid and unsure, everything you did with him made you feel good. Everything you did with him made you feel something akin to happiness.

               And this time, you feel the urge to take the risk and dive in. Just for this night, you’re going to do yourself a favor. Only for one night.

               “I… like flowers so much because words can sometimes be never be enough. Flowers are the only ones that can materialize them. They’re ephemeral and they wilt, like how words evaporate into thin air once you let them out in the open. But, you know that they once lived to fill a moment because you saw their beauty and their ugliness in such a short period of time. They did exist and you know it. And I guess,” you murmur, snuggling deeper into Jimin’s hug, “it’s only through those flowers I get to be true to myself.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “Out of all the things I said tonight, the truest of them all are only the flowers. I’m not a great…arguer at all. I’m a pathological liar. I lied to myself about my distrust in this soulmate system. My cynicism to it was never solely because I wanted to make my own destiny. It was because I saw my mother and father’s relationship go down the drain even when they’re already made for each other. They knew each other so well that it’s easy for them where to hurt each other each time one of them fucks up. They divorced and I have to live in a broken family, torn between the two of them, afloat and in limbo as to where I should stand when they’ve easily marked my days as to what kind of daughter I should portray whenever I have to visit them.  And for me to live without any soulmate system at all, it felt I was further kicked down to the curb by life. Because as much as important love is, sometimes what only matter the most is the assurance that somehow, someone will love me. Because that thought is enough of an emergency kit for my mind whenever I feel too cut off from the world. And having no soulmate system as any kind of assurance….I pitied myself, thinking I can never find out what love truly feels.”

               You hiccup. “I lied to myself for years that my mother’s disappointment in me didn’t bother me. I always knew I’m difficult and for her to see me grow as a woman that she did not expect me to be is hard. I was never into law. I’m into gardening. My mom knows that because I was the one who always tended to our plants and made our garden grow as much as it could even if we’re just in a single bedroom condo unit. I just decided to take law because I know I can’t make a living out of gardening yet. It’s sad, I know, but I have to push through so when the time comes I get to save enough, I can open my own garden shop. And,” you trail off, grasping Jimin tighter in your arms, “I lied to myself I hated every bit of this night with you when tonight’s probably the happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

               Jimin didn’t say anything. He just hugged you tighter when your shoulders quiver, stroked your back when he felt stray tears wet the skin of his neck. He didn’t push you to say more. He lulled you back to comfort in his swaying, singing you a tender melody by your ear to help you feel at ease again. He is just there, unobtrusive, just patiently waiting for you to do anything.

                When he felt you loosen a bit in his hold, he lets out his voice. “Would you mind to continue the story of the spider lily? You left me quite hanging there.”

               You don’t know why he’s diverting the topic again, but you didn’t mind, having the chance to relieve yourself from years-worth of heaviness you just have mindlessly let out in the empty ice rink. After all, he’s a stranger and telling him everything in your mind wouldn’t hurt because they all leave unobtrusive marks in your life which they easily erase once it’s time for them to go. However, it pains you to type in Jimin as just a stranger in your life.

               You clear your throat. “The-the spider lily is the flower of parting. Their flowers only bloom when the leaves die. They were believed to be lovers who aren’t destined to be together at all.”

               “That’s…terrible.”

               You nod. “…Yeah.”

               “I’ll make sure our story does not go like that.”

               You draw back to look at his face. “What?”

               Jimin smiles. “I’ll make sure our story does not turn out like the spiderlily’s. I know you’re still probably against this soulmate phenomenon. But…I want you to know that you don’t have to feel alone and unloved anymore. I’m already here. And I’m serious about you. Soulmate or not, what we have now isn’t just a one-night thing.”

               “What do you mean?”

               “I love you.”

               Jimin stares at you and it only takes a second before he suddenly rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “I-I know it’s too soon and you don’t have to say it back but I can’t control what I feel and–”

               You lean forward and shut him up with a kiss. Jimin freezes in your hold for a second, and then he instantly melts in your arms and returns your kiss. You don’t know why you’re doing these–embracing him tighter, angling your head, deepening the kiss to taste more of him, letting him pull you closer so that you can now compare the matching rhythm of your heartbeats. You don’t know why you’re exactly doing these things with a man you just met, no, your soulmate you just found tonight, when hours ago you’re expressing your disdain on the existence of the soulmate phenomenon. The only thought unwaveringly running in your mind now is you don’t want this to stop.

               You don’t want to stop staring at Jimin, even when you struggled getting in the cab he hailed, too busy getting lost in his eyes. You don’t want to stop enjoying the warmth from the small kisses he places against your nape, even if you had difficulty pulling your house keys from your tight jeans pocket as you giggle and moan in his warmth. You don’t want to stop feeling hot and high, even when the coldness of your home starts to seep into your toes as Jimin sheds the clothes on your body, piece by slow aching piece. You don’t want to stop holding his hand, even when you had to strain one arm pulling off his black shirt as he laughs against your neck. But most of all, you don’t want to stop kissing his lips, even when you have to part from him for a second as you lose your breath when his hips bucked into you when he laid you down on your bed.

               Jimin hovers above you, kissing you with such passion as if it will be the last time he would be able to hold you. And, you tried to return the same intensity, to balance the heat he radiates on your burning skin, to pave every expanse of his skin you could reach as he ventures every curve and ridge he could touch. With your bodies bared and stripped naked to each other, you can no longer hide the plethora of feelings that has welled on your chest just from such dream-like night you had shared with him. When Jimin parts away to cup your face in his hands, thumbs slowly caressing your cheeks, you see nothing in his eyes but the image of you–breathless, flustered, happy. You almost wanted to cry.

               “Can you be my first and last, Y/N?” Jimin asks, voice almost quivering.

               You can only manage a whisper through parted lips. “I can, Jimin. A-and I want you to be mine too.”

               After that, you were a goner. No words are further exchanged as Jimin starts to leave a trail of kisses from the sunken juncture of your jaw, to the ridge of your collarbones and onto the valleys of your tender breasts. He travels the gentle swells of your stomach, onto the curve of your hips until he’s down to the banks of your hot core, aching and willing and waiting for him. No words are slipped past each other as he dives in and savors every inch of you, nipping, and licking, and kissing your sopping heat until you’re a moaning mess on your sheets. And when he finally brings you to your high, no words are enough for you to express the euphoria thrumming in your nerves, settling on your chest, filling your head. No words are needed when your eyes and his convey them for you as you plead for more, more, and more and Jimin willingly gives all of him to you.

               Every touch of his hand on your quivering hips has you groaning and pleading. Every caress on your waist and shoulders has you sighing and moaning. Every brush of his hard chest against the soft buds of your breasts has you moaning and wailing. And every graze of his lips against yours, you can’t help but melt and let your body speak your thoughts for you. You pull him desperately, cupping his face as you roll your hips against his that has him choking out a moan.

               “Jimin,” you breathe into him and he smiles.

               “W-What?”

               “Please.”

               You don’t need to say anything in words for your dazed and glimmering eyes are enough to convey them all. Jimin smiles and gives in. He captures your lips into another kiss, murmuring your name between interlocked mouths. You feel him shift in his position above you and when he deepens the kiss again, you finally feel him burying himself deep in you. Jimin gives himself to you in slow and deep strokes that have your back arching off the bed, fingernails digging into his skin. You sputter his name again and again and despite how far gone he is losing in your heat, his gaze on your eyes never wavers, nor loses trace of every bit of him he has exposed to you, making you lose yourself into him even more.

               Everything compounds into each other in such miniscule timeframe–from the moment Jimin intertwines his tongue with yours, to the second you clutch his head closer underneath your chin to continue his featherlight kisses on your jaw. When he angles his cock deeper into you, you can only think about nothing but him, him, and only him. As he holds your hand tight in his hold, with his lips on yours as he mutters “I love you, I love you, I love you,” in between every thrust, you finally feel what it’s like to be on top of the world.

               Like the explosion you felt when he first touched your hand, it only takes one second for Jimin to let you fall apart in his arms. Euphoria living alive in every inch of your nerves, you clutch desperately on his arms and Jimin draws you closer to him as your walls clamp onto him and coaxes him to also let go in your arms. The fullness and torrid heat of him spreads inside you and Jimin kisses you once more with everything he’s got–sloppy but passionate, messy but powerful–a beautiful mosaic of the feelings you had in the most wonderful night of your entire life.

               You’re dazed and shaken, wondering if it is possible for everything to be a dream. But when Jimin collapses next to you and pulls the blanket over your bodies, all thoughts cease in a staggering halt as he whispers, “I’m happy I get to know you.”

               You smile in his embrace, “Me too.” Sensations always hit first before thought and without thinking twice, you find yourself breathing out, “Promise me you’ll be by my side ‘til tomorrow morning.”

               Jimin kisses your left hand, the one with the daffodil ring, and as he says “I promise,” you fall into a peaceful slumber. His words are enough of an assurance for you.

***

               When tomorrow comes, you wake up on a cold bed. Jimin is nowhere to be found. You didn’t need to feel more of his side of the bed to know his clothes and shoes and every trace of him in your home is now gone. But still, he promised.

               You slip into your shirt discarded on the floor and drag your worn body to the living room. Your couch and your coffee table stood untouched. When you turn to your right, you find your kitchen and dining table empty. No smell of cooked food lingered in the air. You dashed to your shower even when you hear no sound of water splashing on the tiles. The door swings open and your shower stands empty, polished tiles dry, no trace of use on the faucet. With pounding steps, you run back to the living room, straight down to your door. Fingers skimming down on your bolts, your hand trembles when you find the knob and grasp it. When you twist it, your door clicks open as it unlocks.

               You refuse to acknowledge the obvious possibility looming on your head since you woke up. But now, it only takes one more second of you standing by your unlocked door before your thoughts crash down, choking out a broken sob from you. Jimin left the minute after what happened last night. He didn’t go outside to just buy something before coming back to your home. He didn’t even stay long enough to wash up and clean himself. He just got up, locked your door close, and went out, leaving you behind.

               You hunch over your doorstep, grunting, pain hammering on your chest as your body falls to the ground. Uneasiness, frustration, and desperation muddles into a heavy iron ball that sinks on your chest, sinking deeper and deeper until its heaviness constricts your lungs of any air.

               Jimin left and he didn’t even bother to leave a note. He doesn’t have your keys, nor your number. He isn’t planning to come back.

               You stiffle a broken scream on your clenched hands.

***

               Three taps on your desk grow louder by the second, each one nipping on your nerves.

               “Hey, Miss, my roses?”

               “O-oh, right,” you stir, eyes fluttering wide, taking in the bouquet of roses you were wrapping. The flower shop is brightly illuminated by the overhead lights and the morning daylight, yet everything looks so hazy, the frantic movements of your hands sticking out so aberrant from your perspective.

               “Here’s your bouquet, sir. Thank you for coming to Petal Hill.” The man waves off and your smile falls the second the glass door swings close in his exit.

               Everything went back to normal. You went to university in the morning, started your shift in the flower shop in the afternoon. You didn’t miss a day and you eat and sleep the same way. Routines are done the same way they are until they blur day after day, just how you live your days with sleep marking the end and beginning of every tomorrow. But, they are still not enough to fill the gaping hole in your chest. Whatever you do, they’re not enough to let you forget of that night. Even if you tried to convince yourself that you felt okay after Lucy made up with you, your false defense just crumbles whenever you so much glance at the inked flowers on your arms, the ones Jimin ignited to bloom that night. More so when now the flowers have dulled in their yellowness after he left.

               Even if you know it’s futile, you still did everything you can. You changed your sheets and cleaned your home. You refused to look into any online article pertaining to him. You busied yourself until you break down tired. You screamed and have already cried for so many nights. And you did something you abhorred: wait–wait for someone to come back without any assurance they have actually plans of coming back.

                You wait for Jimin to show up at your door, explain and apologize and fulfill his end of the promise. Because even if you abhorred the sight of your mother endlessly waiting for your father to come back and how you did the same for the both of them, Jimin is different. He is your soulmate and that night you met him, he convinced you it won’t hurt to give this soulmate phenomenon a chance. So each day after that dream-like night, you waited and waited until all seconds, hours, and days add into an excruciating week.

               For one week, Jimin didn’t show up and when a gray Sunday afternoon comes, eight days past the night, you’re starting to wonder if you should still keep your unrealistic hope alive.

               The glass door swings, ten footsteps echo in the silent shop, five pansies are laid down on your table–and then you stop. Your thoughts halt in a frozen limbo, your body stills in staggering shock.

               It’s the same bleached blonde hair, the same black leather jacket, the same silver earrings, the same drooped eyelids and warm, brown eyes – it’s Jimin, Park Jimin, who stands in front of you, waiting for you to wrap the pansies on your desk. It’s him, the soulmate you’ve been waiting to come back to you for so many days and nights and all you can do is–

               Your eyes immediately dart down to your desk as your fingers scramble to wrap the flowers. “If you just came here to make sure I won’t tell anybody what happened, don’t worry, I already plan not to. Your reputation will remain clean and you’ll still have millions of fans. You can leave after I wrap this.”

              “W-what? No, I’m not gonna do that, Y/N. Never...I came here to talk.”

              “Oh, so now you wanna talk. After a week of silence, you now decided you want to talk.”

              “Y/N–”

             “So now that you wanna talk, what are we gonna talk about? How everything that happened was a mistake?” you spit out. You’ve already thought about this but hearing them loud from your own lips starts to make your eyes sting with tears. You immediately look down again at the flowers you’re wrapping. You can’t cry in front of him again, let him see you this weak again. You can’t have him to kick you down to the curb again.

            “No, Y/N. I’m sorry. Please–please look at me.” Jimin says, a sob escaping his lips. Receiving no response, he places his palms on your desk and pulls down his mask as he leans forward to meet your downcasted eyes. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he repeats, voice cracking. “I’m sorry for leaving you. I’m sorry I wasn’t by your side that morning. But believe me, I didn’t want to break my promise, I just have to do something–”

              “What do you have to do?” you cut him as you raise your hand to wipe away the tear that has made its way down your cheeks. “What do you have to do that is so fucking important for you to just leave me as if nothing happened between us? Why do you have to disappear for a week without any word? Why do you have to just show up now? Why, Jimin, why?”

              You face Jimin, letting your eyes meet his for the first time and really look at him. His lips are chapped, his complexion pale, the bags under his eyes dark. He looks just as bad as you but you don’t want to dwell on it, afraid your resolve will crumble down when you should be keeping a strong front.

              “Y/N, I–I'm sorry,” Jimin says again as a tear escapes down his cheek. “What I did is unforgivable and I know you have every right to hate me right now. But I-I have actually planned to stay and make you breakfast and tell you–”

              “I don’t need to hear what you could have done because it did not happen,” you look at him and Jimin freezes. “You didn’t stay like you promised, Jimin.”

             “Y/N, please–” 

             “Just tell me why you left me. Why do you have to appear now?”

              “I,” Jimin starts and he sighs. “Namjoon called me around four, demanded where the hell I am. Apparently...the media has already published pictures of us getting in a cab together that night. Namjoon asked me to come back to the dorm right that instant before the media can do a massive stakeout in front of your building and barrage us with their cameras. So I didn’t come back the morning after to not raise any more suspicion. I waited a week to pass for the paparazzi to calm down and drive away their cars before I can go back to you.” He raises his hand to wipe a stray tear on his cheek but it’s not enough to prevent the small wet drop from landing on the pansies. “I-I can’t let the media invade your privacy and create horrendous articles about you. They can do that to me, but not to you. Never to you. You don’t deserve that.”

                You’ve imagined this confrontation scene again and again in your head for the last couple of days. You’ve planned what you’re going to say and how you would end this goddamn connection with Jimin once and for all. And yet...you couldn’t remember the words you’ve planned for so long to say right now. They just died immediately at the tip of your tongue as if they were never there in the first place. And you hate it. For once, you thought you could finally have some control over the effect of this man has on you. You feel ashamed. You feel as if you’ve betrayed yourself.

                Biting your lip, you bring your eyes back to the pansies. “I guess that’s better than having you figure out I’m just a simple nobody you can fuck over for one night of fun and throw away when you’re done and satisfied. Because that’s what I thought when you left me.”

               “No, Y/N, I’ll never do that to you–”  Jimin scrambles to reach for your hands but you take a step back away from him. You could see pain brim in his eyes and hurt pangs in your chest. You thought if you could deliver the same pain he brought to you, you would feel better. But no, you only felt worse. Worse for thinking hurting back the person you love is the right thing to do. Just like what your mom and dad did to each other. Tears sting your eyes at the thought. You swore never to become like them and you’re doing the very mistake they did. You hate this. You hate feeling so weak. You hate how you’re even thinking about Jimin and what he must be feeling when your own chest feels so heavy with the pain he caused.

               You tear your eyes away from him and dart them to your clenched hands. “I already heard your apology, Jimin. You don’t have to repeat it again to convince me. I’ll just finish these pansies so you can go.”

              “No, Y/N, you don’t understand. Can you please–please just look at me?”

             “What for, Jimin? I already heard you out, what more do you want?” You wipe away the tears that have streamed down your face, “Do you want me to hear now how sorry you are because you didn’t mean everything you said? Because if you do–”

              “I meant every single thing I said,” Jimin breathes out. “I love you, Y/N. So much that I want to do everything I can just for you to be happy. I waited for so long to finally meet you and I’m so, so, so sorry I broke my promise and fucked everything up. But I swear, Y/N, I want nothing but you and I meant everything I said especially when I told you I love you.”

              You raise your head to finally look at him and you almost wanted to regret your decision. Jimin stands in front of you, sobbing, eyes wrecked. He looks so vulnerable, cut wide open for you to see. You know he must be saying the truth but you still can’t ignore the doubt clouding in your head. You’ve already believed him once. You don’t want to repeat your mistake again.  “I would be lying if I told you I don’t want to believe what you said,” you choke out a sob, “But Jimin, I can’t just take you back and pretend what happened did not hurt me.”

               Jimin freezes. “N-no, Y/N, please–”

               “Jimin, I want you to prove you mean everything you said. I’m sorry, but I...I just can’t forgive someone so easily with mere words. I’ve seen hundreds of relationships go down because of that.” Your voice cracks, “Hell, I’ve seen my own mother and father destroy each other with repetitive apologies and forgiveness. I need to respect myself, Jimin, I–” you let out a shaky breath and hand over the wrapped pansies, “I’m sorry I can’t accept your apology now.”

               Jimin looks down and nods, “I understand, Y/N.” He doesn’t take the flowers and turns away, walking to the door. Each step he takes is synonymous to another crack making its way down your heart but you know you have to do this for yourself–for you to have enough reasons not to regret the decision you already made up in your mind about his and your future. You have to do this for yourself so you can finally deal with your fears and doubts about the soulmate phenomenon. So if Jimin can’t do what you request for, then you’ll let him go. You can’t let him and yourself experience the inevitable tragedy brought forth by the intense intimacy and transparency the soulmate phenomenon brings. You can’t take it if the both of you will face the same horrible ending your parents had.  

               Jimin stops by the door and you look up to see his retreating frame.

               “Keep the pansies. They’re for you. I-It was nice seeing you again, Y/N.”

               After that, he’s gone.

***

                You didn’t expect anything from him after your meeting in the flower shop. However, you know better than to anticipate nothing from Jimin but an effective counter-argument. You know your judgment is right when you found the proof first on your doorstep in the morning after of your talk, September 15. Five pansies stood in a small vase placed on the right of your door, next to your umbrella stand. Underneath it was a pink note, which said, “I’m sorry.”

               That evening, you stayed up late into the night. Your clock ticks ten thirty and then you hear it: a click of a button, a faint clink of glass, and Jimin’s soft voice.

               “Hi Y/N. I…I’m sorry for what I did. And I hope you know I won’t give up making it up to you for you to know I’m really serious about you. I–I’ve brought you pansies. I remember every single thing we talked about that night and after that night, the only thought that always comes to my mind ever since is you.”

               The morning after, you see the same vase and a fresh set of flowers, the wilted blooms probably cleaned up and taken out. However, instead of the note, a record lies next to the vase. When you slid it into your beat-up player, a relic you kept from your mother’s home, it plays his short message last night.  

               The routine falls into place the following days.

               “Hi Y/N. Our schedule today wasn’t full so I had the time to go to a library and read about flo-flo-floriography? My tongue always gets twisted when I say that so please don’t judge me. I’ll pronounce it better soon. So back to the book–I read that sweet peas mean ‘Thank you for the lovely time’ and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to give you that right after our date. After all, it was the happiest night of my life. Anyway, I got you some sweet peas now with the pansies. I hope you like them.”

               “Hi Y/N. I’m sorry I’m late.  We got dance practice until ten and I rushed here right after our choreographer called it a night. I wish I can show our dance to you now, but yeah…I guess you wouldn’t want to. You’ll probably throw the flowers I have now to my face. Okay, I’m kidding. I know you wouldn’t do that. I just want to make you laugh. I miss hearing you laugh.”

               “Hi Y/N. I stopped by Petal Hill this afternoon but I didn’t see you there. Someone filling in for you told me you skipped your shift to study for your tests. I wish I could help you like how guys in cheesy romance movies do but I guess I won’t be able to do that because I’m not that smart. I’ll leave early today so you can study. Eventhough I know you’ll slay it, I’ll still wish you good luck. I hope these gardenias with the pansies will give you additional good fortune.”

               “Hi Y/N. We did songwriting today and I wrote my first solo song. Guess who’s my ispiration. Surprise, Surprise, it’s you! Namjoon told us to just write out anything we’ve been thinking a lot lately and all I could think about is you. I can’t show it to you yet because it’s still messy but I promise, as soon as I made it perfect as it should be, you’ll be the first one to hear it!”

               “Hi Y/N. I read a book about flowers again! This time, I got curious about azaleas, the small, pretty pink blooms on the front shelf of Petal Hill? The flower book I read says they look like azaleas. Anyway, I learned that they require quite an effort to grow because they prefer a little sun and a little shade. I guess that’s why they mean ‘fragile’ in the older books of floriography. However, I read that even if they’re fragile, they can last for several weeks. Thus, they also mean ‘take care’ in modern floriography books. Isn’t that amazing? I brought azaleas today so they can last long and remind you to always take care of yourself.”

               Every morning you collect the records he leaves and every night you can’t help but forgive him bit by bit. His flowers and records make your mornings worthwhile; his soft voice and songs, a lullaby that you start to anticipate in the night. Jimin does his routine religiously night after night and it wasn’t long before you find your heart softening to him again, opening up for him so easily even when you didn’t want to.  There’s no use to deny the fluttering of your heart anymore because as nights go by, you already find yourself gathering up your courage to open the door and finally let him back in.

               For twelve nights, Jimin’s routine doesn’t fail. In the latter six nights, you’re by the door, practicing what to say. You plan to just throw open the door once you finally sorted out everything you want to say. However, that plan immediately goes down the drain because of one Monday night, the 14th night of Jimin’s supposed routine.

               “Hi Y/N. I know it’s late but….I have to say something important. I…I won’t be able to stop by for the next few days. We’re having our comeback tomorrow and soon after, promotions will require us to go overseas. I just came because I hope you’ll open the door by now and at least show me your face. Doesn’t matter if you throw the door close to my face the second after you show your  face. I just want to see you real bad. It would be long before I can see you again and I…I miss you. I miss you so much, Y/N. So can you please open the door? Because…I know you’ve already forgiven me.”

               Your body freezes and before you know it, your feet are pounding hard on your floor towards your door. The millisecond you tear open your door, you barely whisper, “Ho-How did you know that?!”

               Jimin stands in front of you, eyes wide. His hair is still bleached blonde like the last time you saw him, his gentle eyes still the same. He looked better than the last time you saw him, healthier. But unlike your expectations, there’s no vase and record this time. It’s just him and his flowers–a bouquet of pansies and sunflowers in his hands. Tears well up in your eyes and your lips tremble. But before you can say anything, he answers your question. “I–I can hear your thoughts.”

                “W-what?” Your jaw falls open. Oh my God.

               Jimin opens his mouth. “Oh my God.”

               Your forehead furrows. What the fuck, is he copying me?

               Jimin shrugs. “What the fuck, is he copying me?”              

               What the hell –“H-how did you know what I’m thinking? Wha-what–”

               “It’s my soulmate system,” Jimin looks into your eyes and your body goes rigid in shock. Jimin bites his lip. “I lied about soulbond being my soulmate system because…I don’t want to scare you that night that I practically already knew everything about you before I even met you. That I purposely went to Marti’s Hub just to get a glimpse of you when I knew you’re going to that bar to cry over your Law 114 essay and I just happened to be near that area. And that how I came to your rescue was not perfectly a coincidence, but intentional because I heard your…mental cries of help.”

               “The-then what about the-the daffodil ring?” You point to his left hand and Jimin breathes shakily.

               “This ring wasn’t because of your soulmate system…or mine,” he admits. “Remember that time when you’re fifteen and you thought about how romantic it will be to have a daffodil bloom inked around your ring finger instead of a wedding ring? I thought about that a lot until I can’t think about anything else. All I knew is that I have to own a permanent mark of you on my body because it felt wrong not to be tied to you in some way when you already own every part of me. I have a daffodil inked on my ring finger because,” he trails off and looks into your eyes. “What’s the meaning of the yellow daffodils?”

               You’re the only one.

               “You’re the only one,” Jimin breathes out. You felt your tears trailing down your cheeks and Jimin’s thumb wipes them away. He keeps his hand on your cheek and you look up into his eyes, into his eyes that reflect nothing but you. One second is all it takes for your defense to crumble down and fall. Fall into Jimin’s arms, fall into him again, letting him hold everything that you are–your strengths, burdens, weaknesses–everything.

               “B-but what about y-your parents?” you choke, “The-the soulbond–”

               “They’re true,” Jimin says, firm. “Excluding my soulbond soulmate system, everything I told you that night is true. My parents, my stories, my wishes, my intentions, my ‘I love you’–they’re true. All of them.”

               You tremble in his arms and Jimin holds you tighter. It is right then you decide to finally deal with your fears. “H-how can you be so sure, Jimin? How can we make this work? I-I’ve only known about you in one night.”

               “That’s not quite true,” Jimin chuckles. “You’ve known about me since 2013. I know I caught your eye the instant I showed up in the screen with the cringey snapback, trying hard to swag with cheap gold chains on my neck.”

               “But what about me? You only knew me i-in one night…”

               “Not true too.” Jimin cups your face in his hands. “I told you, I can hear your thoughts. I’ve been hearing them since you were born–all that you did, all the things you liked, all the people you disliked–I’ve already known you since I started hearing you. Hearing the minutest details of your thoughts for over so many years is enough for me to know about you.” He breathes out, smiling. “Enough for me to know my soulmate already loved me before she even meet me. And I want her to know I already felt the same before I even saw her.”

               Before you can say anything else, Jimin leans over and presses his soft lips against yours. It’s gentle, intimate–a delicate touch that conveys nothing but love. You make a noise of surprise but you already know you’ll be melting in his touch within mere seconds. You know because your cheeks feel warm and your chest flutters in joy. You know because everything about the night suddenly feels right. You know because even if you haven’t said it aloud, Jimin knows what he said is true.

               When you part, you’re greeted with his soft smile and gentle eyes that you love so much. And right then, you know that even if it scares you, you’ll have to say everything in your heart aloud. What’s let out in the open air cannot be undone anymore and you have no plans of taking back the words you will utter.

               “I love you, Jimin.”

               Jimin smiles and beams back, warm and bright. “And I won’t get tired telling you I love you, too, Y/N.”

               Standing there on your doorstep, as the world slowly turns around you, you think it’s finally time that you accept the tale of the red string of fate is more than just a fairytale for everyone else but you. Because right in front of you, is your own happy ending. And, you’re sure, even in another universe, you will relive that night you met Jimin again and again if it will grant you what you have now in your arms: love.

               You don’t need to glance at your glowing daffodil ring to prove that you’re right.

Epilogue

                As you touch your red-stained lips with one final dab, your voicemail beeps. Your free hand presses your telephone to hear the call you missed since you’ve been out of your house the whole day.

               “Hi Y/N. It’s mom. I…I wanted to tell you this in person but it would be a while before my bus reaches your place. I just…I just want to say that your father met up with me two weeks ago and…yesterday, we decided to give us another chance. I’m sorry I’m only telling you this when I always felt I should have said this way back before: the soulmate phenomenon works and I’m so sorry we caused you to distrust it and lose hope in love. I know we’re not the best parents out there, but Y/N, I want you to know that you are loved and someone out there made by the heavens and destined by fate will love you more and make you happier than we ever could. This soulmate thing–it works as long as you give it a chance and work hard too to make it work. We will be there at your place tomorrow with your father…We missed a lot about you these recent two weeks…especially your father, and I hope we can catch up. Always take care, Y/N. Mom and dad loves you.”

                   “You ready, Y/N?”

                  You turn to your boyfriend, smiling. “Yeah, Jimin, I’m done.” You grab your purse and take Jimin’s open hand, giggling when he presses a chaste kiss on the corner of your lips.

                   Smirking, you said, “You really know now how to kiss me without smearing my lipstick.”

                   Jimin looks at you, grinning, “Of course, I won’t ruin your perfect makeup. You made yourself pretty for our date tonight.” He leans to the crook of your ear and whispers, “Unless…you want me to do now what I have in mind for us later in the night.”

                  You cringe at him but Jimin probably already knows his words have affected you because you already feel your cheeks starting to heat up. “Ah, you’re so cute. I love teasing you,” Jimin chuckles as he interlocks your hand with his. When you step out of your home, you glance back to your telephone and then to your daffodil ring, glowing faintly. Smiling, you close your door.

A/N pt. 2 | Hi hons! Thank you for reading this 2nd long-ass oneshot I made after Translucent Fireworks! The inspiration from this fic came from one of the requests in my Songs to Read Playlist:

3 minutes of listening to I was Made for Loving You and one eureka moment are all it took for me to plot this story in detail from start to finish.Thus, I decided then to make this a full oneshot, and now, I am drained and tired after finishing this. This has sucked the lifeblood out of me as this kept me busy for one whole f*cking month and next week is all I have left of my summer break before uni starts hell again. But hey, at least I made up my lack of activity to you hons with lots of wordcount! Thank you for appreciating my works and I hope you all stick with me longer as I have a lot of upcoming works in store for you!

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