#sometimes i feel like i'm drowning in my grief

[deathsbestgirl]

even disregarding anything beyond s7, they literally live such joyless lives. like, the grief they have experienced is overwhelming, how could they ever truly be happy with that grief always hanging over their heads, the discomfort that would bring is enormous

well, no. they did not have joyless lives. like everyone, life happens to them and that means pain & grief but that doesn't mean their entire lives & existence are joyless.

we really only see them at work, we don't know what goes on outside of it.

they're actually really happy in season 1 & season 7. in season 1, they're getting to know each other, they become best friends quickly. the smile & laugh constantly, they tease each other. they always enjoy their debates & most cases. even when they're scary, even when they don't get all the answers. they get to know each other so well in that time and it's a gift to them both. they still have light moments in every season and you can't love like they do and be just miserable. in season 7, they're together. they're experiencing so many new things in their relationship that they've wanted for a long time and finally let themselves have. they're constantly flirting & smiling and talk about their feelings more openly than they have in the past.

and the other years, they find so much in each other when the world turns their back on them. mulder is scully's light when she loses melissa, when they close her case, during her cancer, with emily. he fights so hard for her and holds her up when she needs it. scully is mulder's light through every hard case, when he loses his mom, helps him find closure about samantha. she is always pulling him from the depths. he tries so hard to tell her what she means to him in his mulder way, and she finds so much meaning in a keychain & he's in awe of her. she's always asking him to get out of the car because the truth & work doesn't have to be all their lives are. and eventually he starts to learn and they play baseball and they dance and have movie nights and exchange gifts.

mulder & scully learn what to do with their grief, the love they can't give to the people they've lost. mulder fought for every child & family they came across and never gave up until they had answers, or were safely returned to their families. scully goes back into the medical field and helps every child & family she can. they go home to each other and they have a quiet life for a while.

yes, mulder was sick for a while but he comes out the other side more able to relax and he lives. he asks scully on dates, they go back to the work they love and it's much lighter than it was before. until they come across their son. there was pain in that, but there was also so much relief in knowing that jackson was loved. he had parents who loved him and took care of him and tried to get him help when he needed it. he played baseball. and for a little while they thought he was dead, but scully realized the moment his body disappeared that he wasn't really dead. and they sought him out and he gave scully small little gifts that he could. the snow globe, the knowledge that he was alive & could protect himself & that he really wanted to know her. he heard every word she said to him. my struggle iv ends very open ended. they think jackson was shot but scully is pregnant again, and they have a chance to be parents to another child like they always wanted. and you can believe they never see jackson again but that just. can't be the truth. it's open ended to leave room for them to come back, because the x files never gives us all the answers. because the fact that jackson is alive & they're having another baby is so hopeful. maybe we don't see them as a family in the end, but i think they made it clear mulder & scully never give up and jackson wants to know them. he wanted to protect them but he's just a teenager.

grief is hard but it's a part of life and it doesn't mean they can't be happy. it might never be pure, but there's no such thing as pure, untainted happiness. it's the human condition. we get to feel the whole spectrum of emotions and life grows around grief. you learn what to do with it. you learn ways to share the love you can't actively give to the people you've lost. but the connections & love don't go away. that love is belongs to you and there are so many ways to honor it, to share it with others and it can still be all about that person. that's what the x files is all about for mulder & scully. it's always what the show was about. chris carter was right: mulder and scully are the light in dark places. the show is all about their love, the way they love each other & the world & all the love they're surrounded by.

[not-a-naturaldisaster]

I know the ultimate goal is to lower dissociative barriers, and integrate our different experiences more so we can function like a whole person. But like also that's a long process, and sometimes the brain needs parts that see themselves as fully separate people.

The emotional pain the system is going through right now is almost unbearable. But me existing like I do- I know logically I'm not Daisy, but personally that is my reality, that's me- means I can front for them, because I can take this. I'm used to being in pain physically and emotionally and still surviving. I have friends, a family, that helped me be better, and I have those memories to keep me strong.

[epicbuddieficrecs]

Favorite Season 6 fics

So these used to be called "Fic recs for my BFF", but unfortunately I was unable to sway her to buddie, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ these are just for me now (and you guys too I guess 😅)

Season 6

🔥Curl Up in My Heart and Let Me Keep You by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Animal Transformation | 10K | Teen): When an orange tabby cat starts hanging around the Diaz house, Eddie doesn't think anything of it. The little guy's cute and cuddly, and seems to always know when Eddie's having a bad time. Weird how the cat's never around when Buck is, though.

🔥let the world have its way with you by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-Coma AU | 54K | Explicit): “It’s just that—I died,” Buck continues, voice unsteady enough that Eddie wonders if this is the first time he’s acknowledged that out loud. “I died, and there’s so much more. There’s so much more I want to do, things I don’t even know I want to do yet, and I almost had the chance to have and live them taken away. I don’t want to die and regret missing out on everything else, Eddie.” “So let’s make a list,” Eddie says. “Let’s do them.” or, a bucket list that’s really about buck needing to make a change and an eddie who’s ready to do anything to see him fall in love with life again. it takes some crossing off for eddie to realise—the thing at the top of the list in his own heart? it’s been right here all along

🔥like a dog with a bird at your door by fleetinghearts/ @shitouttabuck (Post-S6, Getting Together | 51K | Explicit): The kid with blood pouring down his shins is not so far from the dog lonely enough that he thinks breaking his housetraining is worth it for the ten minutes of berating that come with it, the ten minutes of undivided, if reluctant, attention. Buck thinks, sometimes, that at least he wasn’t the kind of puppy that gets put in a sack and drowned at birth. He wasn’t always unwanted. And he isn’t anymore. or, evan “i love you like a dog” buckley has only ever known how to love like, well, a dog, but maybe eddie diaz is the kinda guy to give a flea-bitten mongrel a forever home

🔥Something Dumb to Do by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 8K | Explicit): "Too bad we can't just date each other." Eddie laughs. "What?" "No, I'm serious!" Buck sets his beer down, the better to gesture with both hands, face lighting up, and Eddie just—he really loves the guy, okay. Ridiculous as he is. "It would be so much easier! You wouldn't have to introduce a new person to Chris—he already likes me anyway—and you could tell Pepa so she'll stop setting you up on dates that don't go anywhere—" "And what would you get out of this?" Eddie asks, grinning. — Or: Buck and Eddie try something out together. (Part 1 of homeward bound)

🔥find a way to you (if it kills me) by foxwatson/ @eddiediazes (Post S6E13: Mixed Feelings, Pining | 19K | Mature): It’s something about the way Eddie phrases it. Something about the combination of his words and the way he’s staring down at the floor, and the flush in his cheeks and the way he’s fidgeting. Buck thinks, abruptly, he’s going to ask me on a date. “Well I - wanted to tell you first, and I need someone to watch Chris, anyways - I know he’s getting old enough now he doesn’t like feeling like he’s got a babysitter, so I was hoping - sorry. Not the point. Uh. I have a date on Saturday.” Just as abruptly as his own hopes had come soaring up above the cloud cover of his own unawareness - they go crashing back down to the floor - to the basement, and into the mud. “A date?” Buck rasps out. — the one where eddie decides to start dating again, buck figures out his own feelings just a minute too late, and then he spends a week going through the five stages of grief

🔥Being Eddie by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel, Post-S6, Getting Together | 80K | Teen): When Eddie starts seeing a new therapist, he’s presented with the opportunity to revisit several days from his past and right regrets that still bother him. OR: Eddie goes through the time travel therapy process of the 2009 Canadian TV show Being Erica.

🔥 Evan Buckley & The Coma-Verse of Madness by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Coma AU, Multiverse | 58K | Teen): After being struck by lightning on a call, Buck experiences a plethora of alternate realities showing him different directions his life could have taken. Fighting hard to get home, Buck learns what, or who, is important to him in every lifetime.

🔥 Both Blade and Branch by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6 | 62K | Mature): The chances of being struck by lightning twice are incredibly minute, but Buck still manages to pull it off. During a double date with Marisol and Natalia, nonetheless. Eddie manages to resuscitate him, but as Buck recovers from yet another trauma, Eddie can’t help but notice there’s something very different about him. He’s not quite sure what version of Buck he got back.

🔥 where all of the people dancing and clapping would greet me with such warmth by trysetmeonfire/ @try-set-me-on-fire (Season 6, Magical Realism | 15K | Mature): In the fall, Buck begins to disappear. (or: Buck can see that people become transparent when they're about to die) (Part 2 of All I Am, All That I Am)

🔥 Ace of Hearts by glorious_spoon/ @glorious-spoon (Post-S6, Getting Together | 9K | Teen): "I've been wondering…" Maddie pauses, watches Buck make a face like he's bracing to be smacked. "What happened with Eddie? You two were dancing around it for so long, and then… what, it just didn't work out? Was the date really that bad?" She's expecting another wince, or even for him to duck out of the conversation entirely, but instead Buck is staring at her like she's grown a second head. "Maddie. I've never been on a date with Eddie." Or: the poker game was a date. It takes Buck a while to catch on, though.

🔥 situations, circumstances, miscommunications ( i just may like some explanations ) by heartbeatdiaz / @lonelychicago (Didn't Know They Were Dating | 4K | Teen): "You didn't know?" Eddie asks, calmer but not less confused. He frowns. "How could you not know?" "You never said anything?" Buck tilts his head to the side. "We were dating?” “I guess not,” Eddie sighs. His heart is beating a little faster, an unpleasant buzz beneath his skin as he all but chokes on a feeling he can’t quite name— it could be hurt or disappointment or maybe a mix of both. In that moment, he knows three things very clearly. 1. Buck is going to be the death of him. 2. He is in love with the most dense, most oblivious man on planet Earth. 3. He is too gay and, honestly, too old for this shit.

🔥listen to you breathing (is where I wanna be) by Yavilee/ @theladyyavilee (Presumed Dead | 41K | Teen): The thing is – and Eddie should have known this, has been taught this cruel lesson over and over and over again – the thing is most of the time the worst day of your life will start like just any other day. A million small moments, so familiar and mundane you almost don’t even notice them slipping by - until you would give anything to go back and get just one more. (You can’t.) — Or the one where Buck is presumed dead after a building collapse and Eddie has to live through the reminder that tomorrow isn't promised to anyone

🔥Eddie Diaz vs The Feelings by ElvenSorceress/ @elvensorceress (Season 6, Sexuality Crisis, Demisexual Eddie | 62K | Explicit): Eddie dives into the mysteries of attraction, romantic love, and asexuality because there's a good chance he's fallen in love with his best friend. AKA demisexual!Eddie figures out he’s demi and finds the happily ever after he’s been longing for

🔥tomorrow will always and forever now be today (tomorrow is our always and forever) by withmeornotatall/ @chronicowboy (Post-S6, Time Loop | 43K | Mature): "Think I can get a hug from my best man on my wedding day?" he asks, quietly hopeful in a way that makes Eddie want to tear off his skin. "Sure," Chris replies with a shrug, turning to throw Eddie a cheeky grin. "Dad, Buck needs a hug." Two things happen at once then: Eddie has to plaster on a smile authentic enough to convince the one person on this planet that knows him inside out—except he doesn't really have to fake his smile, not at first, because of number two—he sees groom-Buck for the first time. And groom-Buck is every bit as beautiful as Eddie might have imagined him over the years. For a moment, Eddie falls into the greatest betrayal his brain has ever laid out for him, imagining that he might have got to see Buck like this for the first time from the other end of the aisle— (OR: eddie gets trapped in a time loop on the day buck marries natalia)

🔥 Muscle Memory by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S6, Amnesia AU | 40K | Teen): After a disappointment in his personal life, Buck wakes up one morning to find everyone he loves has forgotten him completely. No memories. No recognition. Almost like he was never really there.

🔥 but i can see all along, love (it was you all the way down) by diazchristopher/ @captain-hen (Post-S6, Time Loop | 28K Mature): He puts his laptop away after a bit, and paces the length of his apartment as he tries to take stock of the situation at hand. One: The date is March 22nd, 2024. Two: It has been March 22nd for 3 days now. Three: Buck is trapped in some kind of time loop that is forcing him to relive this day. Four: Eddie is, apparently, in love with him. And. And. Five: Buck doesn’t feel the same way.

🔥 a blaze in the dark by woodchoc_magnum/ @woodchoc-magnum (Post-S6, Eddie Coming Out | 117K | Explicit): Set post-Season 6, where Buck has inadvertently sacrificed his friendship with Eddie in order to focus on his new relationship with Natalia, and is shocked when Eddie comes out to the team and subsequently reveals that he is dating a guy.

AUs

🔥Nothing Left But You by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars ("Blip" AU, Post-S4E13: Suspicion | 27K | Teen | Warning: MCD): In May of 2021, 25% of Earth's population suddenly disappears. Including Eddie. In May of 2026, they all come back. Eddie finds himself suddenly in the middle of a world he doesn't recognize, where the people he loves most have changed significantly.

🔥 Your Love is an Oil Slick (It Glows like Rainbows, It Stains My Soul) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Canon Divergent - Supernatural Elements, Ghost Buck | 67K | Explicit): When Eddie's son claims he has an imaginary friend, Eddie doesn't think much of it. Christopher is seven, it's what kids do. But then weird things start happening around the house, and Eddie starts dreaming about a handsome blue-eyed man. Turns out, Christopher's friend isn't so imaginary. Their house is haunted.

🔥like when the sun came out by spaceprincessem/ @spaceprincessem (Canon Divergent, Ghosts | 39K | Mature): He completely pulls the charger from the wall as he fumbles to put in his passcode. He doesn’t know who to call first. Everyone is busy, carrying on with their lives and Buck is stuck here in the loft with the terrifying ghost of his childhood like an omen. Out of the corner of his eye he catches the Crooked Smiled Man now standing in the dark entrance way to his bathroom. He swallows around the taste of blood in his mouth, hands shaking, useless as his list of contacts blur beneath the burn of tears. Eddie Eddie Eddie. He doesn’t know where the feeling comes from, but it’s sudden and sharp and excruciating. Eddie is the first name at the top of his list, his most recent calls and texts, and he doesn’t hesitate to hit the call button. [or buck can see ghosts au]

🔥All My Shattered Oaths by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 107K | Explicit): Eddie wants to stay away from his family’s legacy and give his son a normal life. Buck’s desperate to find a way to get over the love he lost. Fate has other plans for both of them.

🔥 Further Than Blood (Or Than Bones) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Vampires AU | 50K | Explicit): Once, Eddie chose to save a newly turned against his better judgment. Five hundred years ago, Buck was saved by a rescuer he thought was a hallucination. Now they're together again and about to find out just how far either of them will go to try and deny what they are to each other.

🔥 let it pour out of your soul series by Rianne/ @rianneeyre (Magical Realism AU, Witch Eddie | 3 works | 71K | Complete):

collectively unconsciously composed (S4E6: Jinx | 46K | Explicit): Or: in which the author re-watched Buck Begins and Jinx and thought: what if this was gayer and had actual magic?

that systematic drug (PWP | 5K | Explicit): Eddie’s mouth goes dry when he opens the door and sees Buck. He’s clean-shaven and with his hair carefully styled back, smiling at Eddie sweetly and a little teasingly. Buck is wearing his dark jeans and his light blue v-neck polo shirt, the one that’s tight enough that it shows off the bulge of his biceps and the definition of his pecs and abs. Eddie knows this shirt. Buck's favourite, because he knows he looks good in it.

something binding us together (Established Buddie | 20K | Teen): Or: Eddie plans a long-avoided visit to his parents, discovers some things about his magic, and begins to build his family a home in LA's witching community.

[whumpgifathon]

Hello! And welcome to my brand new whump gifmaking challenge! I'm your host @aceofwhump and I'm excited to bring a whump challenge specifically created with gifmakers and visual artists in mind.

The challenge begins August 1, 2024!

Rules:

All gifs posted must be made by you. Do not just post gifs using the gif keyboard and claim them as yours and do not repost other people’s gifs. No AI-generated content please.

Various mediums are welcome! So long as the visual art aspect is the focus you can make whatever you want. Yes this is primarily a gifmaking challenge so everything is geared towards that but any visual art is welcome. If you draw, make moodboards, edits, videos, etc you’re welcome to participate!

You can use the prompts however you like. There is no wrong way to use a prompt. Feel free to interpret them however you wish. If you think it counts as whump? It's whump! Make it! Angst, comfort, emotional whump, small things, big things, it all counts so no need to over think it.

Tag all potential triggers (things like emeto, gore, nsfw, blood, eye whump, rape/noncon, etc.) When in doubt, tag it.

Tags to use when posting so I can find your ppst: #whumpedit, #whumpgifathon, #whump gifs

Please try to include the show/movie title, character names, and episode number (if applicable) somewhere either in your tags or in the post caption. This way anyone interested in watching it can find it easily.

An example of a way you can caption your gifsets:

@whumpgifathon | Day #: "prompt description" Show/Movie title, episode number, character name

And here's the prompt list!!! I hope you guys like it and find it inspiring but not overly challenging!

Remember that this is a relaxed event!!! I just want to offer my fellow visual artists some inspiring prompts and an opportunity to have some fun. So sit back, relax, and have fun!

Text version below:

Whump Gifathon - August 2024 Prompt List

Day 1: Space Oxygen Deprivation | Time Loop | Experiment

Day 2: Feeling Sick Fever | Infection | Delirium

Day 3: Environmental Earthquake | Storm | Hypothermia

Day 4: Captivity Chains | Caged | Rescue

Day 5: Water Shipwrecked | Drowning | Waterboarding

Day 6: Skills Try out a new technique you haven’t tried before using your favorite whump trope as inspiration!

Day 7: Emotional Crying | Panic Attack| Fear

Day 8: Hospital Ambulance | Intubation | Waking Up Disoriented

Day 9: Battlefield Explosion | Gunfire | Field Medicine

Day 10: Temporary Effects Blinded | Amnesia | Poisoned

Day 11: Recovery Sling | Pain | Seeking Support

Day 12: We All Go A Little Mad Sometimes Straight Jacket | Forced Injection | Hallucinations

Day 13: Aesthetic Highlight your favorite whump aesthetic

Day 14: Sleeping Nightmares | Exhaustion | Passing Out

Day 15: Trapped Impaled | Buried Alive | Locked Inside

Day 16: Western Cauterized | Bitten | Hanged

Day 17: Comfort Hugging | Blankets | Gentle Touch

Day 18: Broken Broken Bones | Emotional Breakdown | Broken Spirit

Day 19: Relationships What is your favorite type of whumpee/caretaker relationship? Platonic? Romantic? Familial? Show me!

Day 20: Blood Bloody Hands | Bleeding Out | Covered in Blood

Day 21: Fantastical Nonhuman | Resurrection | Magical Healing

Day 22: A Knock to the Head Headache | Knocked Out | Bloody face

Day 23: Travel Gone Wrong Car Accident | Plane Crash | Train Delrailment

Day 24: Magic Magical Exhaustion | Cursed | Possession

Day 25: Period Drama Pick a time period of your choice and highlight the whump!

Day 26: Everything Hurts and I’m Dying Grief | Resuscitation | Presumed Dead

Day 27: Superheroes Overused Powers | Powers with a Side Effect | Villain

Day 28: Torture Beaten| Flogging | Choked

Day 29: Restrained Zipties| Rope Leash | Medical Restraints

Day 30: First Aid Ice Pack | Stitches | Bandages

Day 31: Colors Highlight a specific color in your art

Alternate Prompts:

"Stay With Me" Begging Heat Exhaustion Bedside Vigil Self Surgery Taser Scar Reveal Collapsing Protective Electrocution

[notmorbid]

the drowning kind.

dialogue prompts from the drowning kind by jennifer mcmahon.

the dead have nothing to fear.

if they come for one of us, they'll have to take us both.

i'll know if you cheat.

you think you're protecting me, but really, you're just lying.

dreams can be scary, but they can't follow you into real life.

i know you're there. i can feel you listening.

if you're mad at me, i get it.

how can you be so mean?

you make everything look easy.

i didn't know you were living here.

can you come?

there are no secrets from the dead.

you hold things close to your chest. it makes you a fine card player, but at times, a difficult friend.

what do you see in the clouds?

does their need to be an occasion?

this place is obviously haunted.

i believe in a thousand little gods.

what's the difference between a ghost and a memory?

it was nothing. a trick of the light.

i love you dearly, but you're a bit of a wet blanket.

there are very old stories about this place. some say it's a door between worlds.

people are frightened by things that can't be explained with reason and logic.

i'm starting to think something must be wrong with me.

i didn't even know you were back in town.

the biggest changes happen so slowly, you hardly notice them.

why didn't you pick up the phone?

i feel like a sleepwalker. like i'm under a spell.

did something happen to you? something bad?

you're coming back to my place tonight. no arguments.

i loved you, in my own way. i really did.

sometimes i think our brokenness held us together.

they're just dreams. don't let them trouble you.

i could use a rational voice.

i was sorry as hell to hear what happened.

how can i be here for you if you won't let me in?

there's something down there. something grabbed me.

i know you're lying. i just don't know why.

if you need anything at all, call me. day or night.

grief can do funny things to the mind.

we come as a pair. there is no me without us.

you were smart to get out when you did.

what do you say to going for a little walk?

i double dog dare you.

why the sudden interest in ____?

you don't know how to live in the moment. you don't appreciate the here and now.

perhaps it's not for us to understand.

you've got some strange ideas about things.

i'm so happy you came. come sit with me.

your ____ would have been proud.

you look like ____, you know.

you've got to slow down.

please. you're not making any sense. start at the beginning.

you don't want to be out here after dark.

i'm not a big believer in closure.

that's what we do: pretend that if we don't talk about a thing, it didn't happen.

you knew. you figured it out.

how are you doing, really? the 'no bullshit' answer, please.

i'd love to say goodbye before you go.

secrets can fester, bloom into something much bigger.

you know what they say: you never get over your first love.

it seems impossible that we were ever that young.

i can't believe you're real.

the times i've felt most like myself, i've been with you.

you believe me, don't you?

i'm sure things will look better in the morning.

you've got to stop thinking so hard about what's real and what isn't.

i feel like i'm under house arrest.

you've seen ___, haven't you?

i was wrong to leave.

we have all we could ever need right here, don't we?

if you make a wish, you have to be prepared to pay a price.

i'm sorry. i shouldn't have done what i did.

have you ever seen things you didn't want to see?

i was your wish, and you were mine.

my life feels like a dream i had.

[starlost-andfound]

claire de lune | bang chan

bang chan x friend gn!reader

summary: on a particularly rough night, y/n and chan find comfort in each other's company under the moonlight

word count: 1.1k

warning: discussions of grief, losing loved ones, mentions of death, angst and a bit of bittersweet but comforting (?) fluff

authors note: i don't actually think anyone will read this but i'm missing some ppl a little more than usual tonight. i thought i'd write this as a comfort for myself and for others who feel the same too

additional note: also, after years of using tumblr, i just figured out how to do this three pictures in a row thing and i am absolutely ecstatic about it

_ _ _

The knock on his studio door snapped Chan out of his trance.

He blinked his eyes a few times, his vision slowly coming back to focus, staring at the black computer screen in front of him. How long had he been zoned out? His head drifting to other places, clinging to lingering thoughts? 

He glanced at the clock. 1:45 AM. Had it really been that long?

The knock sounded and Chan cleared his throat, “Come in.”

The door opened slightly and y/n peaked through the small gap. 

“Oh, hey you,” Chan smiled tiredly. “It’s been a while.”

Y/n smiled. “Mind if I step in?”

“You know you’re always welcome,” Chan gestured to the couch behind him. The bags under y/n’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him. He couldn’t deny that he held his own too. Chan had been in the studio for so long he could barely remember what time he had entered and how much time had passed.

Y/n closed the door behind them, leaning against it. 

“Why are you up so late?” Chan asked.

“I could ask you the same.”

Chan chuckled. He glanced at the time again and sighed. He looked back at y/n, “Wanna go out on a walk?”

“Yeah, I could use some fresh air.”

_ _ _

Chan and y/n didn’t really have a destination in mind. They walked quietly side by side, matching each other’s pace. Occasionally, a soft sigh would break the silence or one of the two would point out the nice weather or a stray cat on the opposite side of the street. Both carried some kind of weight, a wearing shadow looming behind them.

Eventually the two found a park and made their way to a bench. Y/n let out a sigh as they sat. Chan followed, sitting a slight distance away from them. Neither made the first move to speak, both of their hearts aching to let go of the heavy anchor in their chest, but neither were courageous enough to say the words they needed to.

Chan looked up and sighed.

“Oh,” he whispered. “It’s a half moon tonight.”

Y/n followed his gaze up to the sky. They hummed in agreement. “Yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“You never did tell me why you were up,” Chan added.

A small pause. “Too much on my mind,” y/n mumbled.

“What were you thinking about?”

“It’s not so much of what I was thinking about,” y/n replied. “- but more of who i was thinking about,” they whispered. 

Y/n inhaled deeply and cleared their throat. “Why were you up?”

Chan chuckled, but his laughter held some heaviness. “I guess the same as you.”

After a longer silence, Chan spoke again. “Were they a friend, family... or a lover?”

“Family,” y/n spoke quietly, afraid if they spoke any louder their feelings would burst. “You?”

“Friend,” Chan sighed..

He laughed lightly. “It doesn’t get easier, does it?”

“Nope,” y/n chuckled, fiddling with the hem of their t-shirt. “I feel like every time it hits me I drown again.”

“They say it comes in waves.”

“Yeah,” y/n bit their lip as their eyes started to water, a lump building in their throat.

“Sometimes it’s unforgiving like a high tide and it completely floods and it drowns you,” Chan continued with a deep breath. “But sometimes it’s gentle and kind like the low tide on a shore on a quiet morning.”

A tear slipped passed y/n’s eye and they quickly brushed it away.

“I hate it, I really do.” their lip trembled. They inhaled shakily. “I just wish it would go away.”

“I know,” Chan said. “Me too.”

He couldn’t tell when the first tear had fallen, quickly wiping away the tears smudged on his cheeks. 

“I just don’t know how to deal with all of this pain that I have left, all of this love I have left for them. I don’t know where to put it. I don’t know how anyone lives with it. How the world just keeps spinning but I’m still stuck here.”

“I guess we just have to learn to live with it,” Chan whispered. “Slowly, step by step. We put the love we have left for them into the way we live.”

He paused, and breathed shakily. “Maybe by smiling a little more for them, or doing that crazy thing we’re scared of, just living more for them - because they would’ve wanted that for us.” His voice wavered, “They would’ve wanted us to be happy.”

Y/n sniffled. “You have a really good way with words.”

“Funny.” Chan laughed through his tears. “People say that a lot.”

“Sometimes, I feel really lost without them. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m doing with myself, with my life.” y/n spoke. “They used to be a call away and now, I don’t know what to do when I need them the most.”

“It’s hard, learning to live and grow.” Chan said. “As you get older, you grow apart or you have to learn how to keep growing on your own.” 

He sniffled. “But they’re always looking out for us, even when they’re gone. You just need to look for the signs.”

“Do you think they can see us from up there?”, y/n asked, looking back up at the sky.

“I think they do. They always watch over us, in the stars.” Chan pointed up in the far distance, to a small cluster of stars surrounding the moon. 

The two sat in silence again, both looking up at the stars, the moonlight washing over them with a soft glow, wrapping them in a gentle embrace.

“For what it’s worth, I think they would be really proud of who you are today.” Chan looked at y/n.

Y/n’s eyes welled with tears again. “You really think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you,” y/n said quietly. They glanced at Chan. “For what it’s worth, I know that they’re really proud of you too Chan.”

Chan remained silent for a moment, composing himself before he replied. “Thank you, y/n.”

They sat together quietly for a few more minutes, each allowing the other to feel their own heaviness in their chest, in their own time. 

After some time passed, the only sound heard was the distant chirp of crickets and their quiet breathing.

“Do you want to head back?”, y/n asked.

Chan looked back up at the moon and exhaled shakily. “I think I’d like to stay here for a bit longer, look at the stars a little more.”

“I think I’ll stay a little bit longer too.”

Up above them, in the light of the moon in the dark sky, a pair of stars shined a little brighter.

[furiousgoldfish]

On effortless recovery (personal)

I've been slowly dealing with cptsd and osdd for the last 8 years, and while I've had to actively work on some stuff, other have just happened without my interference, or at least, without me knowing I did anything about it. I have not been to therapy; or rather, there's been several attempts that were not working, and I had to end them. For instance, I've had therapy with someone who showed next to no interest in my issues and kept minimizing and ignoring whatever I've been saying, and this was the only person who didn't try to institutionalize me.

I've had to actively work on osdd, and it's something I'm learning about, and understand more as I go, but I also get that osdd is making everything else much easier on me. For instance, lots of my memories and thoughts are being blocked from me, and contained in alters who are making sure that I'm not affected by it, that is a huge help. Lots of thoughts that would upset me if I thought about them, are completely out of my reach, and if I do try to think about them, my mind goes blank and I forgot what I was thinking about. That's a great help for issues like anxiety and spiraling; I used to drown in my own fears and worries; now I just can't remember any of it. It is slightly depressing that my own peace of mind requires that big amount of amnesia, but you know, having some peace is so nice I could never be anything less than grateful for it. Being able to maintain some semblance of peace feels like resiliency, it means I have a place of quiet where I can go back to, even when distressing things happen.

I'm having my chronic pain and chronic exhaustion ease away from me very slowly. I still get exhausted easily, and am tired way more often than a regular person, but I now rarely get days when I can't get out of bed, or have to sacrifice a whole week due to a flashback or a nightmare. I no longer get anxious about planning to do something a day or two ahead because I can count on having at least a basic amount of energy. I don't think I've done anything to create this, it was just happening over the years, on its own. It's also happening so slowly that I don't even feel the progress, I have to remember to look 3 or 5 years back and remember just how much time I've been spending in bed then, to realize that it's less now, that I can do multiple activities a day now. I know I'm extremely lucky to be recovering from this, because there are people who have a chronic condition that doesn't allow for recovery, and I am very grateful for every day I can move around.

Another thing that is much better is sleeping! I used to wake up feeling like I'm dying, overheated, stressed, anxious, sometimes even paralyzed in fear, and if not fear, then grief would hold me down and I would be too sad to move. Now I'm finding myself waking up thinking 'Oh I'm so well rested! I have the energy to tackle some chores' like I'm in an actual good mood. And it's like ??? what is going on, since when is this me. I've been dreaming of having mornings like this, and now I have them, and it just happened over time (8 years) I still only think about doing chores when I have energy, because I know it's the only time of day I'll have any energy, so if I wake up restful I will rush to do dishes, laundry, cleaning, cooking, and whatever else, because I know the energy will go away later and I will become a sad slob. But it's much better than waking up and having to take a few hours (or days) just to recover from sleeping. My sleeping schedule has been 8 hours all along, I somehow can't sleep over the 8 hour mark, and can't function if I sleep less than 7.

I will still sometimes have flashbacks and meltdowns if anything bad happens to me, but the recovery time from them has gone way down. It used to be weeks, months even, to recover from a single bad event. Now it's more like hours and days. It's still not very similar to what I think a regular person would have to deal with, but I love the progress very much! One thing that slips my mind is that I regularly forget how much worse things used to be. If I bounce back from something, I forget that in the past, this would ruin me for weeks, and I forget that this is progress and to take a minute to acknowledge that. I just take what I can and go. But it's good to look at it and see that life is a little easier.

Some anxiety has also withered away from me, because so much of my anxiety was due to inexperience. New problems that would appear in my life seemed unsolvable and catastrophic, because I never faced those problems before, didn't know how to solve it, didn't dare to ask for help, didn't have skills or knowledge to tackle any of them myself, and all of it felt like it would lead to my doom. After already having solved some of those problems multiple times, I'm at peace just because I know what to do now. I haven't done much asking for help to be honest, because I hate it, but in struggling to solve the problems myself (sometimes taking months and years to do so), I've gathered knowledge, skills and experience, and I now have a general idea of what to do in situations that reoccur, and also know what to expect, how long something will take, what type of action will resolve it. Just living and tackling things by myself, and succeeding, eases a lot of anxiety. There is a solution to everything, with sufficient knowledge, experience and skills.

A lot of stuff that's previously been bothering me to the level where I couldn't deal with it, can now be dealt with merely distracting myself from it. Which I think is very funny, because I used to consider all my time playing games or looking at funny videos 'procrastination', because I wasn't being productive right, I was just 'procrastinating' and delaying dealing with life. Now I value these activities specifically because they can save me from feeling miserable and sad. There's a warmth to looking at people being goofy, funny, interesting, entertaining, and taking joy in it, and reminding myself there's still a lot of good things in the world, there are good people, there is warmth, there is love, and I feel better after seeing it, regardless of how awful I felt before. Having my own thoughts redirected to something hopeful is making my days better, more stable. I think I'm just stopping myself from spiraling into hopelessness, by looking directly at hope and staying fixated on it for long enough. And it's something I didn't previously value as a real activity, because I didn't believe that making myself feel better while producing nothing, was a worthwhile pursuit.

Being safe from abuse for a long time managed to erode the feelings of guilt and shame I had in my own interests, thoughts and activities, and I've became unafraid of any failures. It is now very clear to me that failing is the only way towards learning and it's incredibly valuable. I'm shameless at starting new hobbies and activities and it does not bother me whatsoever when I do badly. Even failing at big stuff in my life, things that created actual damage to me, supplied me with knowledge I don't think I would otherwise gain, and I treasure it. I don't feel ashamed or like I've done anything wrong. I've been able to engage with my own curiosity about things and I'm now able to ask questions about anything, without feeling bad for 'not knowing already'.

I've also accepted that I'm bad at some stuff, and it doesn't mean anything much about me, we're all bad at something. Sometimes I'm bad at stuff, but enjoy doing them, so I still do them, fun gives it good value! And if I'm both bad at something and don't enjoy it, then I completely drop it, and feel okay knowing this just isn't for me. I remember when I used to believe I'm bad at everything, just because I was getting such horrid feedback on it, now it's almost funny. I like stuff I create even when I do them badly, because I remember how much fun I had doing it. If I want to do them better, I know I just need to keep practicing and it will happen. Nothing a human creates is shameful, especially if it's not causing any harm to anyone. We're made to create and it makes us happy.

I don't think I've done anything specific to create these changes, maybe some critical analysis of the past, and some willingness to consider my own happiness important and worthwhile. I think I spent so much time grieving that I've actually processed the most of it, so I'm no longer as overwhelmed by it as I was before. It's not like I'm no longer sad, I will start sobbing frequently and whenever I'm tired, I am automatically miserable. But it is no longer constant, suffocating feeling that follows me for every second of existence.

I haven't done anything to fix the sleeping or to ease the chronic pain, that was just time and being safe from abuse for a longer period. I wanted to write this specifically because I've been waking up feeling okay the last few days and that was a shock to experience, what a bliss to wake up and think 'I'm well rested'. Incredible life experience.

[trans-axolotl]

reading writing from other people who have also survived solitary confinement (in so many different places, prisons + institutions + more) and sometimes the grief overwhelms me. i feel such a strong connection through the page--they put words to this swirling mess of emotions that lies under my skin when i think back to those weeks. they've found a way to talk about what it does to you and what you become and what it's like to try to come back to the world afterwards. i still can't speak about most of it. some days i wake up panicking because my door is shut; I'm glad my walls are thin and my roommate plays music slightly too loudly at night--it's easier to fall asleep when i know she's there.

this quote: "I am filled with the sensation of drowning each and every day."

and this one: "When he walked out of the SHU, he saw his first tree in 12 years."

and this one: "Solitary confinement is a living death. Death because it is the removal of nearly everything that characterizes humanness, living because within it you are still you. The lights don’t turn out as in real death. Time isn’t erased as in sleep…"

(from shane bauer reporting on solitary confinement in California: x)

i don't have words for the kind of rage i feel when i think about all the people being tortured in solitary right now and every single fucking day; loved ones + activist acquaintances + people i have never met. i want to start breaking things. i want to tear it all down. some days i feel so incredibly guilty that i saw the leaves fall outside today--how is it that i get that and she's still in there. there are no words.

[lilmissnatcat24]

Electric Sheep Chapter One- Honey? Where's My Supersuit?

Shepard, two years after the events of Turn Left, is stationed on Horizon with Kaidan Alenko when an unknown entity attacks the colony.

pairing: Female Shepard/Garrus Vakarian

rating: Explicit

tags: Lovers to enemies to lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Minor Character Death, ,Violence, Blood and Gore, Torture, Disturbing Themes, Dual POV, Earthborn (Mass Effect), Ruthless (Mass Effect), Mass Effect 2, Whump, Eventual Smut, Requited Unrequited Love, Mind Control, Pining, so much fucking pining that even i'm a little disturbed, Hurt/Comfort, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, OC Central, a kid show called the electromenom that teaches shepard about basic physics, yet another cliffhanger ending (sorry), second in series

cover: done by the stunning @milkywayes!!!!!

lil text blurb

“Do you miss him?” Kaidan said. 

Shepard thought that was a very stupid question to ask. Dramatics weren’t necessarily her style, but she would say that since Garrus Vakarian died, there’s been a gnawing at her chest that makes every breath just a little bit more difficult. She would find herself smiling at times, just to wipe it off her face, disgusted that she even could feel anything other than immense grief. She’s been irritable, she’s been snappy. She’s had a near constant headache and buzzes just inside of her ears. Sometimes, when she woke up, she would gasp and claw at her chest as if she were drowning. Then she would remember that yes, she was drowning indeed. Because life without Garrus was exactly like drowning. 

Except Shepard could never say any of that out loud, now could she? So she swallowed it, with the rest of her liquor, letting it burn her throat on the way down. “It’s getting late. I should go to sleep.” 

[gomapda]

sidewalks we crossed [side B: him.] (pt. 1)

this is broken into parts because tumblr has a limit of 1000 blocks.

side A found here!

author's note:

oh goodness. it's been a while.

i really did intend on posting this soon after i published the first part, but then life kind of got in the way. i graduated from grad school, moved to south korea, and have been here since. i'm still a carat, and i really do think about this fanfiction all the time, mainly because this story is truly me bearing my soul to the internet and my friends who have access to the original google doc.

this one is a lot less edited and looked over, but it's because this portion of the fic reminds me of something i'm still in deep grief for. so, for those of you who will read this, i was originally going to have a third installment, but i think i'll leave it at this two. it feels good and true to leave it here.

this was supposed to be published yesterday on seventeen's anni, but i was busy spending time with my korean host family who i've not been able to see that often since moving out :')

maybe i'll write short stories including these two because they are so special to me, but this main story has come to a close. the real final push was jihoon releasing "what kind of future?" officially, the very song that inspired this fic, in honor of his beautiful friend and human, moonbin. bin-ah, i hope you're sailing among the stars and looking over all of those who love you and who you love in return.

and to you, who may be reading this, thank you for being here.

✧⋆°｡☾☼꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧ ⨯ ς(>‿<.). ⁺ ✦ * . ˚ ⨯ ੭ * ‧☼☽⋆｡°✧

tagging @fiantomartell since you asked me to whenever i published this. it's been a long while, but.

pairing: lee jihoon/woozi (seventeen) x f!reader

genre: romance, fluff

summary: an accidental like, an off-chance comment, a purposeful message. you were in an unrequited love with your childhood best friend and decided to run away from him and your feelings and years later you find yourself in the same city with the same feelings when he stalks your instagram.

rating: 13+

length: 30k (bro WHAT LOL)

tags: idol!jihoon, childhood friend!reader, unrequited love (but not really), reconnection through instagram, this is just different scenes pieced together (including a ton of flashbacks), reader’s nicknames are all bug-themed, reader has depression and it manifests as suicidal ideation sometimes, this is basically real life (aka seventeen exists and debuted 150526), but the years are a little bit off for the trainee period, jihoon left busan later and trained for shorter for the sake of my story hehe, cursing, pining, mamamoo + ateez are the besties of reader, member x member pairings, jihoon and reader are both dumbasses, reader is extremely book smart but has one brain cell when it comes to romantic feelings, jihoon writes music like he’s been divorced 12x, word genius lee jihoon, idk how doctoral degrees work, i only got my masters and it was a non-thesis track lol, also idk how trainee auditions work either, miss communication is a lady we all know too well, super cute soft shit too tho tbh, no beta we die like men, i spent 5 hours trying to format this for tumblr and i’m still unsure

inspired by “drivers license” by olivia rodrigo and “what kind of future?” by woozi

inspo spotify playlist found here!

──────────────────

side b: him.

The rapid beating in his chest drowned out the slam of the door behind him as he rushed down the stairs of your home, desperate to just get away as soon as possible. Your parents weren’t home, so he didn’t have to worry about looking like an absolute fool in front of them.

You knew. You fucking knew.

You knew how much he was in love with you and this was your way of rejecting him.

He was stupid, so stupid. If he just put his feelings aside then you wouldn’t leave. You wouldn’t have to leave. But this was all his stupid hormones and brain chemistry and his fucking heart. He knew that it wouldn’t pan out. You never saw him as anything more than just a dear friend, a brother. You made that clear.

Since the beginning, your pinkies intertwined promised a forever, but you both had different ideas of what that was. And he was stupid to believe there was a chance.

He ran.

He ran so far and so hard that he couldn’t make sense of left or right or forward or backward. All he knew was that he needed to get away from you.

But he couldn’t.

He passed by Old Man Park’s home with a winding tree you were convinced held fae people that would only come out when the entire town was asleep (there was a 50km radius, you said).

He ran by the rusted bars of the playground you two snuck off to instead of going to cram school where you attempted a flip and promptly landed on the crown of your head, wood chips tangling themselves into your hair, tears mixed with laughter and pain streaming down your cheeks.

The library where you would spend more time in the children’s section than anywhere else because you would practice your ‘reading voice’ for your future children’s bedtime stories.

The baseball field where the realization that he was in love with you hit him harder than any fastball pitch ever could.

You were everywhere.

And he needed to get away.

He went to your house to share the news of passing the trainee audition, that was the whole purpose of seeing you.

However, that wasn’t the only thing he planned on confessing.

If you asked him to stay, he would have.

But instead, you rejected him before he even got one word out.

So, he packed his bags up for Seoul, a place untarnished by you. A city that not even your light could reach, no matter how radiant you were.

──────────────────

Years later.

“Jihoon-ah, aren’t you working too hard?”

He glanced up at Jeonghan who was probably let into the studio by Bumzu. Jihoon glanced at the clock to notice a bright 4:02am glaring back at him. “Ah, hyung. I didn’t even notice the time.”

“I figured. I brought you some food.”

Jihoon glanced down at the two bags in his hands. His eyes narrowed. “Hyung, I don’t eat as much as you think I do.”

“I’ve seen you eat three full meals in one sitting. Get away from your desk and we can eat.”

Jihoon sighed before he reluctantly left the seat he hardly moved from for over seven hours. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replied happily, snapping the wooden chopsticks into two. He started chewing on one of the danmuji, the sound of its crunch reverberating in the studio. “Oh. And also, the wi-fi’s down at the dorm, so.”

“So, you’re here to steal my bandwidth.”

“I brought you food. I paid my toll.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “Alright, sure.”

“So, are you in the composing stage or the writing lyrics stage?”

“...Lyrics.”

“Hm. What are you writing about? Or rather, who are you writing about?”

Jihoon stabbed the grilled fish. “...You know who.”

“She’s really got a grip on you, huh.”

Jihoon grunted in response. Obviously.

Jeonghan continued, “I saw that one of the local newsletters interviewed the group home that she volunteers at. She was voted as volunteer of the year. Again. She smiles with her entire body. Seems like a good person.”

The younger of the two picked away at the fish, not bringing it onto his makeshift plate. “Yeah.”

“Do you still stalk her on Instagram?”

Jihoon let out a loud sigh.

“That’s a yes, then.”

“You know it’s not as bad as it used to be. I used to check, like, every few weeks, but now it’s gone down to just a couple times a year.”

“She hasn’t blocked you yet?”

“Hah. I don’t think she even knows that my account is reactivated.”

“Well, you never needed to reactivate before. Her Instagram used to be public. The rest of the members and I used to scroll through wondering how a bright girl like her could be associated with such a deadpan guy like you.”

“Wow. Thanks, hyung.”

Jeonghan merely brushed off Jihoon’s sarcasm, already used to it. “She only made it private this last year, right? Since she complains about her program being out to kill her on her story. To be honest, I’m surprised she didn’t realize you’ve been watching her stories.”

“I don’t think she checks who watches her story since she has over a few thousand followers.”

“She attracts people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she always has.”

“Can I see her profile again?”

“You’re not going to do something weird, right?”

“Ey, Jihoon-ah.”

“That makes me really not want to.”

“Ey.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes before pulling out his phone. He opened Instagram and clicked on the “Search” feature and saw your profile appear at the top without even needing to type anything. He signaled for Jeonghan to scoot down the couch so he could sit down and handle the phone in his own hands. Jeonghan peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through your profile.

“Oh, is that Japan?”

“Yeah.”

Jihoon clicked on your post.

But it wasn’t opening.

So, he clicked again. And then again.

And his phone decided to catch up with his thumb’s movements.

The once white heart was now red.

His grip loosened on the device of betrayal and it clattered to the ground. “Oh shit.”

Jeonghan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He placed his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. “I’m sorry, but. This is karma for not letting me see her profile on my own.”

“Hyung. Hyung. What should I do?”

“Just unlike it? I’m pretty sure that Instagram doesn’t send a notification as long as you unlike it before she sees it.”

“How do you know?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Jihoon. It’s not the end of the world if she happens to see it. If she blocks you, then you know, and you end up writing another heartbreak masterpiece—” Jihoon couldn’t even appreciate the comment. “—but. Who knows what’ll happen?”

“...”

“Uh. I’ll just… do it for you, then.”

Jeonghan picked up the phone, facing the screen towards Jihoon, the camera scanning his frozen features to unlock and Jeonghan tapped the red heart to empty it again. He placed the phone back on the younger man’s thigh, but Jihoon remained in the same position as earlier, eyes glazed.

“Jihoon-ah.”

“Hyung.”

“Let’s just wait, yeah? The food’s getting cold. So, let’s finish eating.”

“...Okay.��

──────────────────

Jihoon picked at the rice bowl in front of him, his mind light years away, chest filled with concern for the future. Was auditioning for a company worth it? Even if he started the process now, wouldn’t it still take a while to even hear back?

“Jihoonie.”

His heart constricted once he heard the voice of the person who made him unsure. He caught you blinking owlishly at him. “Y/N.”

“Hrmm. You seem quite a bit down, my friend. You’ve barely touched your first bowl of rice. It’s concerning.”

“Just thinking.”

“Oh, don’t do that. We know that usually ends badly for people.”

“Well, someone between the two of us has to have brain cells.”

“I pride myself in simultaneously never thinking and also being the top student of our school.”

“You work miracles, Y/N.”

“Hey, now I know you’re down because you didn’t call me a flipping nerd. Your best moods are usually accompanied by your worst words.”

“You make me seem like an asshole. You slander me to other people, don’t you?”

“Of course. I can’t have them know just how utterly wonderful and fantastic you are. I’d rather you have that butthole reputation if I get to keep my best friend all to myself. I’m a selfish lady, you know.”

Did you even know how much your words affected him?

“You’re neither selfish nor a lady.”

“Oh, but I am. I’m a selfish lady who’s only checking on you because I refuse to be wrought with worry for the rest of the day. So, come on, Jihoonie. Let’s go play darts.”

“Last time we played you almost stabbed my hand.”

“Your fault for reaching for the board when I was about to own you. Come on. Let’s go. I’ll make a pinky promise with you.”

Jihoon snorted. “Of what?”

“I promise to do whatever you want if you win.”

Jihoon scrunched up his nose in response. You were always so naive with him, trusting him wholly. But a part of him was grateful that you did. He merely sighed and stood up.

He might as well use your promise to his advantage.

──────────────────

“She didn’t block me.”

“Oh, really?” Jeonghan glanced up at Jihoon who suddenly broke the silence.

“Who’s she?” Soonyoung’s ears perked up.

“You know. His firefly,” Jeonghan replied.

“What? Why would she block you?” Seungkwan directed his question at Jihoon, who was simply trying to edit lyrics in his own studio, which was being occupied by several SEVENTEEN members.

“Jihoon accidentally liked one of her posts last night, but we unliked it. Oh, sorry. I unliked it because he was completely frozen.”

“The notification probably didn’t go through,” Seungkwan supplied. “I’m pretty sure unliking a post makes the notification go away.”

Jihoon had set his phone aside earlier in hopes of not constantly checking it. His mind may be unsteady, but he was always self-disciplined.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Soonyoung glance down at his own phone screen that buzzed a second prior.

“Oh. Jihoon-ah, she liked one of your posts.”

Before his mind could even catch up, Jihoon flung himself to his phone, his self-discipline be damned. He frantically clicked on the notification and it redirected him to his Instagram page, where he saw your name among the list of likers. He wasn’t sure whether his heart was racing or whether it stopped completely because the buzzing in his ears overtook all of his other senses.

He even ignored the boys’ laughter around him.

“Is… Is social media actually facilitating real connection right now? Are we about to prove all of the ahjussi and ahjumma wrong? Are we about to witness history?”

“Seungkwan-ah.”

“Sorry, Jeonghan-hyung.”

“She… She didn’t block me. She saw me. What is this? What do I do? Do I just ignore it? Or should I let her know I saw it?”

Soonyoung snorted. “Yah, I’ve never seen Jihoon this nervous for any performance ever.”

“His heart’s probably racing more than it did the Golden Disc Awards.”

“WHAT DO I DO.”

“Jihoon-hyung,” Seungkwan started. “I think the first thing you need to do is breathe.”

So, he did. In. Out. In. Out.

After what seemed like years, Soonyoung spoke up. “So… Are you gonna message her?”

Jihoon sat in contemplation for a moment before he decidedly shook his head. “No. It’s time to write a song.”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows rose at that. “You’re gonna go back to work after all of this?”

Jihoon bit his lip. “No. This is gonna be a solo song.”

The corners of Jeonghan’s lips curled up at his dongsaeng. “I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”

Jihoon nodded almost mindlessly.

Everything about her usually is.

──────────────────

“Jihoonie~ Wake up~”

He groaned loudly under the bed covers.

He heard you snicker, the only warning before you landed with a loud thump as he let out an “oof!” from beneath you.

“Get off me. You weigh like a million pounds.”

Rather than listening, you spread your limbs and trapped the adolescent boy beneath you, nuzzling further into the outer casing of his cocoon. “Nope. Just yesterday you yelled at me for not eating enough when you flung me off of the couch by accident because I stole the remote. So.”

“I’m suffocating. You’re killing your best friend.”

“Oh, but to die with a beautiful girl on top of you, isn’t that the way to go?”

There was a moment of silence where Jihoon contemplated catapulting your entire being off of his bed before, “Pretty sure that’s your dream, you damn pervert,” came his muffled reply.

“Huh. You might be right there.”

“Get! Off!”

His hand easily found your weak point between your first and second rib and you cried out as you toppled down onto his bedroom floor. He emerged from the confines of his sheets with hair sticking up every which way.

You grinned lazily up at his disheveled state and he glared right back at you. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

“Because your mom said to come and get you! We’re going to Muju today, remember? In time for the Firefly Festival!”

“Right. It’s your yearly family reunion.”

“Yes, I will become one with the bugs. My fursona will arise again. Or is it bugsona?”

“Is a buggy better than a furry?”

“You’re asking me to choose between two evils, my dear Jihoonie. Come on, get up. I’m excited to spend an entire weekend with our family.”

It was way too early for his mind to whirr as fast as it did at the simple implication of ‘our’. “Alright, firefly. Get out of my room so I can get ready.”

“Okay! I’ll go help Mama downstairs.”

You were committed to calling Jihoon’s mom as Mama instead of Eomma, as the latter held a tone for you that was nothing less than stressful.

Jihoon smiled at your joy, but stopped when he noticed you freeze in place. “...What?”

You shifted the weight in your feet before speaking. “Mm. Just had a thought. With a smile like yours, who would ever need the summertime?”

You grinned at him while his heart stopped. You always spoke without a care in the world; never carefully crafting your thoughts before speaking them aloud. You were spontaneous. Wild, even. Sometimes it ended with you in some kind of trouble, while other times, like this one, ended with him in trouble instead.

You scurried out of his room before he could respond.

He released a dragged out sigh as he felt his cheeks warm.

Forget summertime.

He wondered whether the earth could be sustained through all of the seasons at the sheer brilliance of your smile.

But he ought to thank the summertime.

Because it meant, every year, without fail, he would wake up to you, he would smell the breakfast you helped his mother cook, he would hop on a plane to travel to a different province and see the night sky alight with hundreds of fireflies, your face aglow with soft awe and wonder.

Yeah.

He needed the summertime.

──────────────────

“What? Jihoon-hyung is talking to the girl that just upped and left him and fled the country?”

“Chan-ah, your wording needs work,” Seungcheol chastised. The other members that were near enough to hear nodded, while others were distracted by their own activities.

Jihoon buried his face in his hands. “Eugh, I don’t even know anymore. It’s not like we’re actually talking; she just reliked one of my posts. It’s like, she went back and let me know that she saw me. But is that supposed to be a warning? Is it supposed to be a white flag?”

The youngest member of SEVENTEEN shrugged. “Hyung, I think that you’re putting a lot of meaning behind something that was just a small gesture.”

“Nah, Chan,” Seungcheol interjected. “Jihoon has been in love with this girl since he was a kid. This is more than just a small gesture, after what she did to him.”

Wonwoo spoke up. “Hey, don’t forget Jihoon was the one who left Busan first.”

The accused groaned.

“Wonwoo, you’re just biased towards her because you think that she and Jihoon would make a good couple and you believe in an ideal love.”

“Hyung, I just think that if Jihoon can write what he writes about her, there’s something there.”

“You romanticist.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Jihoon-ah, I think you’ve tried to reach her with your words time and time again, but maybe it was never made clear that she was the one it was for. You mentioned that she really thought you were in love with your noona—” Jihoon grimaced at the memory. “—so, maybe she’s just unaware.”

“She can’t be that oblivious,” Soonyoung interrupted. Jihoon knew Soonyoung was almost fiercely protective over him because he was the one who witnessed Jihoon’s aftermath firsthand. Soonyoung may be over-the-top some days, but whenever Jihoon needed it, he would help ground him.

Wonwoo’s eyes flicked between the two of his fellow 96ers. “We were all kids once, Soonyoung. We were all so focused on ourselves we couldn’t really see what was happening around us.”

Soonyoung pursed his lips. “...I guess. Jihoon, what do you think?”

Jihoon stared at his hands. “Does it matter whether she knew back then or not?”

They all collectively raised a brow.

“Whattaya mean?” Seungcheol asked.

“I can make a ton of assumptions about her. That she was actually in love with me and was scared. That she was rejecting me in her own cruel, yet kind, way. That she had no idea and the timing was just completely off. But all of that, I don’t actually know. All I do know is that… I want to see her. And not just from afar anymore. But part of me also hates her. But all of me misses her. I don’t know. I guess I’m just too stupid to figure this out.”

A heavy silence passed over the group.

Soonyoung broke it. “If you’re stupid, then I’m the biggest idiot on this planet.”

“That’s not comforting, that’s just a fact.”

“Hoon, you wound me.”

──────────────────

Award shows were weird.

At first, everything was an out-of-body experience for him and could barely process what was happening. He even couldn’t believe that he and his twelve members managed to earn their matching pinky rings and the right to produce and perform, let alone be nominated for an award. When they went on the stage, they did their best to be as refreshing of idols as they could be.

But it was much more daunting than they were used to.

Their debut year went by, and although there were many nominations, they remained only that.

In middle school, he would often tell you that you had a strange fixation on being number one in your graduating class. He said that he didn’t get it, that being in the top 5 was already something that was admirable.

He would never forget the look you gave him when you said, “One day, you’ll know what it’s like. You’ll know what it’s like to almost have something and then not. It’s the kind of feeling that eats away at you, Jihoon. The feeling of, ‘But what if I did more?’”

He merely rolled his eyes and called you dramatic.

That is, until he experienced it firsthand.

The first time ever was when he was doing a music competition for clarinet and compared himself to his bandmate, who received several achievements while Jihoon found that he simply didn’t have the body to be able to hold the same lung capacity.

Then he felt it: that driving force.

You both pushed yourselves further, to higher heights.

And it ended with him sick and bedridden.

And you, heartbroken and unsure of life.

The two of you would reprimand each other for trying too hard, but even with accountability, that envy, that desire for an indisputable win, that fear of failure, would still sneak its way into you both. You, with your academics. Him, with his musical endeavors.

For several years after their debut, at award shows, Jihoon would clap, the rhythmic beating of his hands echoing that in his chest, his smile lined with bitterness, his ears rang with the whispered voices.

‘Those people didn’t deserve it. You worked so much harder. These people don’t even produce their own music. Or maybe it’s because they have real producers and composers, unlike you. Who are you to think you deserve that award?’

One night, after another show of no wins, he collapsed onto his bed, unlocking his phone, intent on watching an anime episode before falling asleep. His members were discouraged and no one wanted to discuss what more they could even do.

Even if they did everything right, maybe it still would never be good enough.

When he opened up the YouTube app on his phone, he saw a recommended video. Your name written out in English caught his eye and he realized it was Part II of a podcast you had done with the channel before. It was a Korean-American podcast and you would share your experiences in the Korean language, connecting with your culture despite being in a foreign country.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he clicked on it, hoping to find comfort in a person he always had, in someone he probably always would.

Several minutes in and he realized just how thick that red string must be between the two of you.

“You know, I thought I undid a lot of my perfectionism before coming to college. Korea is the birthplace of comparison and pressure, I’m sure of it. It was ingrained into me from childhood. So, I did what I could. I got out. Learned to broaden my horizons. But when you attend a school like Yale, your environment really just kinda forces you to be perfect just so that you can survive. Because if you’re not, then you’re cut.”

He thought back to his trainee days.

To his current days.

How similar.

“I remember being at an event where we were being presented awards for our achievements. I remember that I was in the running for one of them, and I won’t say which one so this doesn’t come back to bite me. But at this one event, I remember no other guests were invited, only the nominees and peers in the same field. And when they announced the winner, everyone applauded, of course. However, I won’t ever forget the sight that I saw.”

You chewed on your lips, gazing upward trying to find the right words to say, a habit you’ve had for years.

“The winner had the biggest grin on their face, proud of themselves, as they are allowed to be. But when they turned back to the crowd? I think they saw something. I think they saw that our smiles were forced, that we were judging them, judging ourselves, trying to determine whether they actually deserved the recognition or whether we should have been the ones to win. And… their smile faltered. It was quick, but it was noticeable. And I think the only reason why it even faltered was because it was only those of us who were nominated or could have been. Like, it’s easy to cheer on someone for a prize that you didn’t want, but as soon as you have stakes in the game? Well. That’s a whole different story. But when they lost that smile, it felt like something shattered.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, but they didn’t fall.

“They say it’s lonely at the top. I haven’t been there in a long time, but. I don’t even know if that’s where I want to be. These people have done super cool things, and who’s to say that I would’ve gotten the same results if I had tried? And maybe, maybe they have enough competitors. Maybe they need someone who celebrates them. Someone who knows the hardships of working in this field. And maybe that’s what I can do. I just want to do what I love and what I love doing is social work. Celebrating other people. Learning their stories. Not saving the world, but trying to make it into one that might be worth saving. If I happen to get recognized because of doing those things and they give some kind of trophy for it, then alright. But that’s just a byproduct of the greatest award I’ve already given myself, which is just letting myself do what I love.”

And those were words he carried with him as he went to bed that night. 

When they won their first award. Their first Bonsang. Their first Daesang.

Award shows were weird.

It was all about performance.

Performing on stage, prepped through sound-check, clean-cut choreography, and pre-recorded live vocals to grab the audience’s attention.

Performing when at their designated table, giving reactions at a timely rate for both the fancams and large screen cameras.

Performing when behind the stage, being the best hoobae or sunbae they needed to be, adapting to whatever situation they may be placed in.

He knew how to perform. He was good at it.

It was why he’s in this industry.

But there are some things that don’t warrant worrying about an audience.

As he watched the seven members of BTS walk towards the stage, reaching for their Daesang. He clapped to match the rhythm in his chest, sure and steady, at ease. His smile, genuine and wide. The voice in his head, not unlike yours mixed with his own, provided gentle comfort.

‘They deserved it. They worked hard, just like you did. Their ability to collaborate with other musicians is astounding. It would be an honor to work with them. And you, too, have won, you’ve given yourself the greatest award by continuing to do what you love.’

──────────────────

Jihoon once again found himself at the recording studio, however, at a more reasonable time. He was trying to finalize all of the details on the songs for their comeback album, so he was spending his days in the recording studio and ending it in the dance studio, fully exhausted to where he would only have enough energy to shower and trudge back to his bedroom, just to pass out on his bed.

He heard the door to his room open but didn’t make an effort to turn around.

“How’s the song coming along?”

“The album is nearly complete—”

“No, the solo one.”

Jihoon finally glanced up at Seungcheol who now stood beside him. “I haven’t had as much time to work on it. Why?”

“No, I just wanted to check in with you.”

“You’re a good leader, hyung,” he said quietly.

Seungcheol clicked his tongue. “Of course, I am. But I’m mostly just curious because you’ve never written a song about her specifically that only had you singing it.”

“…that’s not true.”

“What? Which one?”

“The first song I ever wrote.”

“Oh what? What was it?”

Jihoon shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s an old song that I think only I remember anyway, plus, I only had vocals at the time. No instruments or anything.”

“…huh. What was it about?”

──────────────────

You wiped your snot away from your face, unable to differentiate between mucus and tears. Your unrelenting sobs weakened to light shudders.

His voice carried from above you, his hand entangled in your messy knots as he rubbed soothing circles against your temple. You curled yourself further into the tear-stained pillow he so lovingly dubbed, “Y/N’s Breakdown Headrest” which also doubled as “Y/N’s Punching Bag” when your emotions were forged from fire and not a dam that couldn’t hold anymore of the taunts and cruelty from your own parents.

His thigh was a mere hair’s breadth away from grazing the top of your head. He had a tendency to bounce his leg, one you continuously called him out on, but he wouldn’t ever stop his bad habit.

That is, unless you needed him to.

And he always gave you what you needed.

So, he sang to you a song of hopes and dreams and the magic of forever and always. Lyrics of never-ending friendship and pinky promises.

──────────────────

Jihoon paused, wondering how you comforted yourself now, wondering if you now had a Breakdown Headrest 2.0, before he spoke again. “It’s about what all the songs I write are about. Love. Although, more lowkey, not as direct.”

“Love and her are synonymous to you, aren’t they?”

“She’s the one who taught me most of it,” Jihoon said nonchalantly. “A truly honest and genuine form of it.”

“Wow, how romantic of you,” Seungcheol laughed.

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you know I only have the patience to tolerate all of you guys because of her. She believes it’s her divine mission to be as annoying as possible.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, she’s taught me how to be patient and remain calm. But she was also incredibly patient with me. Honestly, it feels like all the things that make me likable are all from her.”

Seungcheol made a “oOooOooOOOooOOooo~” noise before Jihoon got fed up and kicked him out. Of course, his reprieve was short lived as more and more members flocked into his room, a constant moving traffic of his twelve brothers.

He imagined you meeting them.

With Seungcheol, you would probably tease him relentlessly, trying to come up with new names for the S. Coups game, while also thanking him for being so protective and steadfast, praising him for his taste in emo music and asking him to sing My Chemical Romance with you.

With Jeonghan, you both would sneak off to devise plans on how to create chaotic dynamics in between the members and cause more infighting while eating stolen snacks or spend hours just sitting around, doing fuck all, because why not.

With Jisoo, you both would speak in English (with you affectionately calling him by his English name “Joshua!”), sharing music as well as probably arguing between Los Angeles and New York, since that was a common feud topic Jisoo brought up.

With Jun, you would try to get as many reactions out of him as possible or get him to write down the list of all of the authentic Chinese restaurants around Korea or you would sit with him at a piano and watch as he played OSTs to Chinese dramas, applauding all the while starry-eyed.

With Soonyoung, you both would either be each other’s soulmates or the banes of each others’ existence, both fiery and passionate; however, you were always good at matching the energies of those around you, so you would let him ebb and flow while you merely followed, likely to call him, “Hoshingi,” just as Jeonghan does, and you would probably love caring for him the same way you did with elementary school students.

With Wonwoo, you would watch him play his PC games, probably in awe of his prowess or you would discuss lyricism and poetry, both exchanging flowery words for no reason as you would try to pick his brain as to what really lies beneath the surface, whether he truly is as straightforward as he seems, and be intensely satisfied that he simply is as he is.

With Seokmin, likely to sweetly call him “DK~”, you would ask him to sing for you since you loved Broadway style voices, and since you both were so generous with your kindness, there would be no doubt that the two of you would somehow manage to start up a non-profit that manages to eradicate all the bad in the world.

With Mingyu, you would discuss filming and the latest movies to watch and you would ask him how he finds the motivation to do many different hobbies at once especially when busy with being an idol; you would probably try to trick him into listening to you tell ghost stories as if they happened to you.

With Minghao, you would share your favorite poets and philosophical ideas, sharing the life lessons that you two have learned and realized you managed to hack life’s code at a younger age than most, you both realized the real importance of being alive: contentment and love.

With Seungkwan, you would probably be laughing so hard at his wit that you wouldn’t have much time to breathe, you would try to figure out how exactly he managed to memorize so much information surrounding K-Pop and why exactly he was so passionate about it or if neither of those, you would ask him if he could get you the plug for those Jeju hallabong oranges.

With Hansol, you would call him “Vernonz,” since you loved names that began with the letters V and Z, and ask him about his parents once you found out they were both artists, and you two would definitely discuss the effects of late-stage capitalism and social media on humanity.

With Chan, you would do your best not to baby him, but you hold a lot of fondness for those younger than you, you would try to figure out how he is so particular about his attention to detail and whether it is something that is pressuring him (and if there was some way you could alleviate it).

He imagined you there, integrated into his life again. He imagined you showing authentic interest in every one of his precious members, unlike most interviewers they would be forced to interact with every comeback. You would learn all of their names, find out their favorite foods, the best way to make everyone collectively laugh, and ultimately, how to help all of them feel comfortable around you and inevitably love you.

And once they did, he could say that his most beloved people were finally all together.

He fell in love with you, but you’re the one who taught him how to walk into it with his eyes wide open. So, he did it with his members. It took practice, having to actively choose them. With you, it may have always been a choice, but it was as natural as breathing, even if there were times he felt like he was being suffocated (or wanted to suffocate you).

He remembered the first time he became aware of it. Most people talk about how love comes, there was always talk about rose-tinted glasses and how it softened the world around them, unable to forget the brilliant smile on their face, but no. You always shattered expectations.

From anyone else’s standards, his realization came at an inopportune time. But it was so clear. It wasn’t as though you had sparkles around you as you emitted a warm glow, it wasn’t as though your hair was perfectly touched up with no strand out of place, it wasn’t as though you were perfectly dolled-up with eyes lined and lips colored. No. It was just… you.

And that's when he knew.

Because there was no filter to block the sheer clarity he was hit with when he finally accepted he was in love with you.

──────────────────

When Jihoon saw your crying form, a slurry of words filled with concern and instructions were the only thing leaving his mouth as he packed his things up. He only deviated once he gave a quick farewell to his noona who left with her dad.

Jihoon bit his lip. Would you be okay? Maybe he’ll just rush home now and shower then call you later at night. Or maybe he should go prepare his bedroom if you decide to visit. Yes. He should do that.

Jihoon turned on his heel to make his way back home, his newfound mission resounding in his mind.

However, your cousin’s voice reached his ears, “Wait—Jihoon, I can give you a ride.”

He looked back at him, saw the way your shoulders still trembled, and shook his head firmly. His fist clenched, the baseball preventing his nails from biting into his palms. He spun it once. Twice. And up into the air.

“Here, firefly.”

You caught it by instinct.

Your gaze met his.

He felt his heart ache at the sheer brokenness apparent in your eyes, rimmed with red and puffed skin. He grit his teeth. He hasn’t seen you cry this hard since the day your parents told you that your number two class ranking was nothing to be proud of and that they expected more from you.

His jaw clenched so hard, he heard an audible bite.

“Why are you giving me this?”

Your voice sounded so soft, like a child. A visceral instinct within him wanting to lull you into a peaceful rest with a lullaby.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Because that would be embarrassing.

(That was a future Jihoon problem.)

“It’s your win today.”

He much preferred the look of confusion on your face to the look of agony you held just a few moments ago.

“Huh?”

He swallowed thickly, his brain unable to keep up with the words tumbling from his mouth. “Even when you feel like you’ve lost, even when you feel like you have nothing to gain, just the fact that you’re still here, that’s a win. So. Scream. Cry. You can do what you want. It’s your win.”

Your gaze trailed down to the baseball, too large to wrap your fingers around entirely. It was probably much denser than you thought it would be, the weight foreign in your hands, unlike his.

You sniffled.

A soft smile formed on your lips.

And Jihoon realized he preferred that look on your face than any other he’s seen.

Pretty.

He rapidly turned on his heel before he even gave a second to try and unpack that thought.

The weight of his baseball gear was really doing a number on his heart, he realized belatedly.

That night, he didn’t prepare his room. He didn’t even call you.

(Not that you reached out.)

He merely stared up at his ceiling, his heart in a constant flux of rapidly beating or stopping completely.

He groaned loudly as he played through the day’s earlier events, thinking himself stupid for giving you a fucking baseball. You don’t even like sports. Did he think he sounded cool when he said all of that cringey stuff?

It’s your win?

But despite the feeling of wanting to curl in on himself, he couldn’t help but still agree with his earlier self.

You did win his heart, after all.

(He threw his pillow at the wall.)

──────────────────

“You’ve been liking her posts more easily.”

Jihoon merely grunted as he tapped away at his computer, Soonyoung on the couch beside him. “I decided to just… stop overthinking. Well, more like just stop thinking in general. I’m too tired to try and pretend I’m smarter than I actually am.”

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. “You got it bad for her.”

Jihoon glared at him, who was scrolling through his (Jihoon’s) phone. “Be careful what you say. For the amount of songs that are about her, she covers basically 60% of your salary.”

Soonyoung laughed. “Guess I owe her a lot, huh? If she didn’t up and leave, you wouldn’t have come here and we would’ve never met. So, I guess I’m grateful to her. Plus. She’s cute.”

“She’s more than that.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” Soonyoung went quiet for a moment. “She… A part of me really doesn’t want to trust her. I keep remembering that day, you know. Where you just… didn’t seem like yourself. Barely there—” Jihoon cringed at the recalled memory. “—but she also just seems so genuine that it makes it hard. I want to be your bro, you know? Bro code and all—”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“—And I’m nothing if not a bro. But I don’t think you’re the type of person to be hung up on someone who’s not trustworthy. Like. You lose interest in people easily if you don’t see them on a regular basis. But her? It’s been years, bro.”

“Okay, bro.”

“Just letting you know I support you in your decisions,” Soonyoung stated, but there was an edge to his voice that sounded as though he was trying to convince himself more than Jihoon. “If she’s really who you say she is. If she’s the one who’s captured that stubborn heart of yours. Then I’ll do everything I can to help you out—Oh, she posted again. Wow. She posts often and yet still gets over a thousand likes. It hasn’t even been a day. Oh wow!”

Jihoon twitched but tried not to show his eagerness. “What?”

“They’re doing a donation drive for the group home that she works with. Ey, how can someone who does volunteer work to help kids and teens be a bad person? Jihoon, are you kidding me?”

“Young-ah, you’re the one who said it, not me—”

“So close-minded, Hoon.”

Jihoon rolled his computer chair over to Soonyoung, snatched his phone back, and smacked the annoying gnat’s hand in the process. Soonyoung yelped in pain, but laughed it off. He saw your post (noticed that Soonyoung ‘liked it for him’) and a figurative lightbulb lit up over his overworked head.

“This looks like something Bumzu-hyung would post on his story. Maybe I can ask him to share it. Oh, but this is her private page. Oh wait. She tagged the group home.”

“Thanks for the play-by-play.”

Jihoon ignored him and clicked the profile to see they had the exact same e-flyer post. But he knew that you’d probably notice there was an influx of donations (hardly anything got by you) and he didn’t want to bombard you with unsolicited help.

But it’s for a good cause!

But he might be trespassing on her territory.

Everyone cares about youth and kids!

This group home wouldn’t have even caught his eye had it not been for you.

He groaned inwardly. “I don’t know whether I should ask Bumzu to reshare or what—”

“Dude, just ask her if you can share it and then wait for her reply. It’s not like there’s only a one day donation thing.”

Jihoon blinked at Soonyoung. “You’re right.”

Soonyoung immediately sat up straighter, pulling out his own phone from his pocket. He opened up his voice memo app. “Say that again, I need to record that so I can set it as my ringtone.”

Soonyoung pressed the Record button, extended his phone receiver to Jihoon, who leaned in promptly and said:

“Fuck off, Kwon Soonyoung.”

──────────────────

“Kwon Soonyoung, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean? It’s not like I planned this.”

Jihoon glared at the boy before him who was somehow wearing matching clothes again. He specifically came home after rehearsal to change into something different and yet, here he was, matching with this endless energy ball. Jihoon specifically changed out of his all-black garment to choose a long, plain blue button-down overshirt and ripped, dark jeans. Something different from his usual style of a t-shirt and shorts.

Yet, there Soonyoung was, in nearly the same outfit, minus the overshirt being a blue flannel.

“I think this just means that we’re soulmates, Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon pulled back his fist as if to hit Soonyoung, but the latter didn’t flinch at all, only laughed at the expense of his friend. The other members were downstairs waiting for them so Jihoon didn’t have enough time to change out of the outfit. And it felt almost ridiculous to give this more attention than it deserves, as if he was losing by admitting that it bothered him to the point of needing to change clothes.

But Kwon Soonyoung, the man that he was, would not let him live it down.

“Wow, we look like a couple. We should go on dates, huh? Get some sushi or–ack!”

The shorter of the two pressed his foot against the back of the other’s knee and Soonyoung nearly came crashing down had it not been for his instincts to catch himself.

Jihoon huffed down the stairs, shaking his head at the situation and readying himself to be made fun of by his members. Once he got through that door, it was game over.

And he was right.

Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Dino were the ones who rallied the rest of the group to heckle, which only added insult to injury, as those three were the ones who had the longest rap sheet to make fun of. Jihoon kept his disgusted face on as Soonyoung wrapped his arms around his shoulders, announcing to (what seemed like) the world about how he’s ‘matching with his best friend.’

Jihoon came back with a slew of half-hearted insults at the rest of his members, but they unfortunately outnumbered him. He is rarely on the receiving end of this level of teasing, but he was dragged into it thanks to Soonyoung, who was eating it up.

Even in the midst of it all, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel thankful that he even had someone to accidentally match with who would wear it with such pride and not shy away from it. Sure, it might seem dumb and annoying, but it reminded him that he could have that kind of playful relationship with others outside of you. He had other friends in school or at baseball, sure, but none were as comfortable, as relentlessly fun. He thought there would never be another you.

And there never was, but that feeling of acceptance, of joy, of gratitude.

He was able to find it outside of you.

Which was a heartbreaking realization before, but now he only hopes you’ve done the same.

And mere hours after his own outfit debacle, Jihoon sees your instagram story to find you accidentally matching with Hyejin, her making the same face that he did not too long ago. But you had a shit-eating grin, no doubt proud of causing a disruption in your friend’s life.

Your caption read: “oh, you and your soulmate are tied by a single, red thread? that’s nothing compared to the matching threads we got on right now. eat your heart out, makoto shinkai.”

Beneath it in smaller letters: “if you can’t tell by her face, this was not planned at all, but man, am i really rolling with it.”

Jihoon snorted at the serendipity of it all.

Perhaps the string of fate really isn’t just a single thread.

──────────────────

It was a rare day in which Jihoon found himself at home.

Which meant he had a lot of time to think about you.

(You replied to him. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. But he was, pleasantly so. Of course, it included a thumbs up emoji which was the visual manifestation of the acquaintance zone, but he would take what he could get.)

Album preparations were underway, and although there is a part of him that feels as though he should be scrambling, especially as their anniversary date was literally tomorrow, he thought back to a voice from his youth.

Years ago, he laid in his childhood bed, struck with a nasty fever from pushing his immune system too far by attempting to balance school and various music competitions. There was a half-asleep you, exhausted by misplaced guilt, with your fingers intertwined with his, who said: Jihoonie, Koreans always say ‘fighting’. I told you that this morning, and I knew you weren’t feeling well. I could’ve stopped you. And now here you are. I said ‘fighting,’ but why? Why do we have to fight? Life isn’t a battle to win. You don’t have to overcome anything, okay? You can just lay here and be with me. Please don’t get sick again. Please remember to rest. Some days, it’s okay to just be.

So, here he was. Simply being.

Whenever massive events (like SEVENTEEN’s six year anniversary) happened, he made sure to spend the 24 hours prior doing nothing than just being, to gain enough energy to last the following day.

Otherwise, the nagging guilt would get to him.

You were always weaving stories with even the thinnest of threads. Your knack for adding dramatic flair, amping it up to eleven, was a nightmare sometimes. For example, when he got sick and you kept repeating that you should’ve said something instead of letting him go on stage only to nearly faint afterwards. You took on too much responsibility for things outside of your control, which only caused you to lose your grip on what you actually could.

His chest tightened at the thought of you losing your grip completely. There were very few things in life that terrified him, but you potentially ending yours was one that plagued him until he learned how to remain steady when you were feeling unsure, and even still, it tore him up inside. But he knew that it wasn’t his battle to face; he wasn’t meant to save you. You reminded him of that time and time again, so instead, he learned how to let you live the life you weren’t sure you wanted. He observed warily.

As a teenager, he knew just how bad these thoughts could get for people at that age. He knew how people fell prey to the lies that they were unworthy of life and love.

So, he simply tried to be as honest as possible. He would do his best to not invalidate your experience, but he refused to enable those insidious feelings. He would come off as abrasive, he was sure, but your ability to detect bullshit was like no other. Your parents had a big hand in that. So, instead, he was truthful in his own way, in his own language, one that you learned to understand.

A few years ago, you did a two-part YouTube podcast at Yale. The first one was released a couple of months prior to the second, and he’s sure at least one hundred of the views are from SEVENTEEN (not all him, his members also took away a lot from your words).

He listened to that podcast time and time again. He heard the life in your voice, the curiosity of the future outweighing the pain of the past. You said that life was, at first, a means to be with the people you loved. But you slowly came to believe that life was something that you would choose to love every single day, and so you did.

He hoped that you still did, but trusted that, if there were days that would come where you did not, you would reach out to someone to wait with you until the storm passed and you could choose to love again.

His chest filled with pride thinking about how far you’ve come.

But he couldn’t help but wish there were some things that remained from back then.

That glimmer of hope spurred him to become mindful of the object he was fiddling with in his hands. He held up a bracelet of years ago, hardly worn by time or by him. He wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to. It was one-half of a pair, but if its partner no longer existed, then.

However, he never had the desire to throw it away.

The metal charms felt both foreign and at home in his hands as he fiddled with them, the faint clicking sound of the chain barely registering as his mind was in an entirely different place. His eyes focused once again on the charm of the sun caught between his fingers.

If only catching you was as simple, he mused.

Jihoon sighed and covered his eyes, desperately trying not to cringe at his internal monologue, habitually reaching for the Chopper plushie that you gifted him years ago, squeezing the body to diffuse the embarrassment he felt.

He remembered when he saw the charms at some random shop he heard about from others and thought you would enjoy, so he decided to scope it out in advance for the two of you. It was easy, on his way home after spending a few hours on his own to rehearse his clarinet, a regular occurrence.

Although there was no doubt the two of you gravitated towards each other, you both valued your independence and alone time.

──────────────────

“We’re giving us the chance to miss each other, Jihoonie.”

“Who said I’d ever miss you?”

“Well, gosh darn. Guess I’ll cover for you and miss you twice as much.”

“…You’re dumb.”

“Yes. Can I have some of your fries?”

──────────────────

He retaliated by taking the ketchup bottle and squeezing them all over the tray of fries and you immediately retracted, believing that fries should be dipped in its respective sauce (unless they were loaded fries, of course, which warranted using a utensil of sorts).

He chuckled to himself. Fifteen was one of the most turbulent years of his life, but there were plenty of moments (like fries drowning in ketchup) that reminded him it wasn’t all intense.

Your fifteenth year started off with that charm bracelet.

Two weeks before then, you were so moody that he nearly gave you your birthday gift earlier than he intended, just so he wouldn’t have to see you be so upset (for which, he has only a vague remembrance of what could have made you so upset). Of course, it might have been easier if he had simply brought up his concern and asked how you were, but he knew you would have brushed it off as nothing.

He paused.

Did he know that though?

Or did he just assume?

He clicked his tongue, annoyed at his own self-reflection.

Communication was easy in theory.

Application, however.

He often found it difficult, matching your pace.

You were always so quick.

Quick-witted. 

Quick to anger.

Quick to assume.

Quick to run away.

He heard a soft knock at his bedroom door (which meant it wasn’t Mingyu or Soonyoung) and he grunted in response. The door slowly opened (that ruled out Seungcheol and Chan) and revealed who decided to greet him in such a manner.

Ah, he was right.

“Woozingi~”

“Jeonghan-hyung.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Jeonghan moved to sit at the edge of Jihoon’s bed, with his legs crossed. “The members are wanting to get dinner tonight altogether since we have a schedule tomorrow. The staff said they’ll pay since it’s our six years.”

This had Jihoon propping himself upright. “Barbecue?”

Jeonghan snickered. “Yeah, it’ll be good to get ready in a few hours. But I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person since I know you like to mute the group chat.”

“That’s because it’s constantly going off,” Jihoon grumbled.

“Yes, that happens when people are trying to have a conversation, Jihoon-ah. You should try it sometimes. Especially since it sounds like you have communication issues.”

Jihoon winced. “Hyung. Your timing is terrible.”

“No, it’s impeccable. Just not for you. Anyway, a word of advice.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t have to fear rejection anymore,” Jeonghan started, slowly, the words seeming almost foreign in his mouth. “Regardless of what happens with her, you have people in your life that care about you as you are. You don’t have to try and match her. I don’t want you to subconsciously fall back into a habit of appeasing her because you’re afraid of scaring her away again.”

Jihoon blinked slowly. “I wasn’t expecting actual advice, so I’m a little stunned right now.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “I’m gonna be honest. The other members told me to come talk to you because the rest are either too scared or don’t know what to say.”

“Hah, we’re back to our trainee days, huh?”

Jeonghan grinned, probably recalling the amount of times that he was the emotional support pillar of the boys before they each learned to open up to each other. “Speaking of, I remember when I first met you. You were a teen with a cold-hearted exterior and a lot of opinions as well as the weight of the world on your shoulders. You had the responsibility to carry the music of twelve other guys and you had just lost something that was precious to you. You threw yourself into your work and that became your identity.”

“I—”

“I know you’re not that way anymore, but I’m just reminding you that, no matter what happens with her, no matter how she may respond, you aren’t that cold teenager who had to bear the weight all on your own. You’ve grown and are surrounded by people who can help ease the load.” Jeonghan paused for a moment. “Also, if I could think of a member who laughs easily at anything, you are one of the first that comes to mind. So, it concerns me that you haven’t been laughing lately, even when Mingyu accidentally sneezed out his ramyeon noodles—“ Jihoon snorted at the memory from last night. “—and, if I can assume anything about her, I don’t think she’d be very honored to know that it’s because of her. So. Come back to us, Jihoon. If she’s really meant to be in your life, she can match your rhythm. Don’t leave us in the dust.”

“Is this a long-winded way of saying ‘bros before hoes’?”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “Maybe so!”

──────────────────

“Our Jihoonie~”

The teenage boy grunted in response, shooting up a look at one of the older members. “Is there something that you need, hyung?”

“You speak so formally, it’s off-putting.”

“That’s because someone refuses to act his age.”

“What a tough Busan guy,” Jeonghan teased.

Jihoon’s face twitched.

“Bumzu-hyung is looking for you. Said he wanted to finish up some more lessons.”

“Agh. I knew he was going to have criticisms. I’m barely getting a grip on this music production stuff, so I don’t even know if what I’m making is good enough to sell. Everyone might hate it.”

“Even if everyone else hates your music, just know I’m one of your biggest fans.”

“...If my music is hated, then we won’t make any money, which means you’ll be poor. What? Is it your dream to become poor?”

Jihoon expected Jeonghan to laugh and tell him that he was right and that money mattered. But instead, Jeonghan replied, “Jihoon. Your music is good. And if we don’t make money because other people aren’t able to see it. Then what’s the point? You say that it’s your responsibility as to whether SEVENTEEN succeeds or not, but, we’re thirteen members. Three units. One team. We’re SEVENTEEN. Stop acting like it’s all about you. Maybe my dream used to be becoming rich. But now, it’s just doing this. With all of us.”

──────────────────

Jihoon stared at his hands, at the charm bracelet. “Is it selfish to want this life and her as well?”

“Maybe it is. But, so what if you’re selfish?”

“Isn’t being selfish supposed to be a bad thing?”

“Just hope that she’s as selfish as you are,” Jeonghan shrugged. “By wanting her in your life, does that mean you want to be with her romantically?”

Jihoon paused. “You know, I’m not sure. I think I would be over the moon if we could even just be a part of each other’s lives. To have that line of communication open. But as the people that we are now. I think I’d like to meet the new Y/N. She probably has more in common with the new Lee Jihoon than the old her anyway.”

“You two have grown apart, aren’t you worried?”

Jihoon went silent for a moment, trying to pick out the right words. “Rather than grown apart, it feels like we’ve simply grown in separate spaces, by taking different routes, but our lives seem too intertwined for our paths to never cross again. Plus, she’s one of the few people that I could really be myself around. It’d be nice to have another safe space like that outside of SEVENTEEN because who else can I complain about you all to, that wouldn’t cause conflict between us?”

“Ay. What is there to complain about?”

Jihoon gave his hyung a pointed look.

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan started. “But be honest. Real talk. You really think she wouldn’t spread it to Dispatch?”

“She has always valued people’s stories more than anything, so it really annoyed her when other people would take out-of-context excerpts and twist them. So. That’s how I know she wouldn’t spread it. Also, if she was that kind of person, she would’ve done so by now. She has a ton of blackmail material on me.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Interesting. You said she likes stories, so is she a writer like you?”

“Not in the traditional sense. She’s more of a speaker than a writer. In high school, of course, she had her awkward moments like everybody else did, but even then, she was a tier above the rest. I don’t know how to say this kindly, but she doesn’t really think before she talks, but she doesn’t usually have to because what comes out is almost always what she intended.”

“So, she must be eloquent then.”

Jihoon clicked his tongue. “Just because things come out as she intended doesn’t mean she wouldn’t intentionally be mean or annoying.”

──────────────────

“You like unnie, don’t you?”

Jihoon spluttered. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to gather his thoughts, but failed. He wasn’t good with spontaneous spoken words, that was always your realm of expertise. He needed time to think of the right thing to say, but you never waited for him. “F-Firefly, I—”

You barked out a laugh, and he nearly retaliated at the harshness. He wasn’t sure why exactly you were being so harsh. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. She’s pretty high up there, above us mortals. From now on, I’ll do my best to help you out, yeah? That’s what best friends are for. Plus, you’re like family, like a brother to me, so.”

Jihoon sank back.

Family? Brother?

He wondered why that left a bitter taste in his mouth. But that didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t being called family the highest praise?

So why the hell did that piss him off?

Instead of speaking his actual thoughts, his mouth had a mind of its own. “I can handle myself, Y/N.”

You sneered at him.

God, you were so infuriating sometimes. 

She wasn’t like that.

She was the soothing waves of Busan, ebb and flow, constant and expected. She was everything you weren’t. She was older, more experienced, graceful, calm, soothing.

She was beautiful.

But she didn’t have that burning fire you did. Didn’t have him reacting the way you managed to every time you opened your damn mouth or rolled your eyes—there you went again!

What the hell was wrong with you?

Rapid escalation, raised voices. You, accusing him of not trusting your judgment and hiding his crush from you, saying that you wished he trusted you. Him, arguing that he didn’t need to share every little thing, that it wasn’t about his trust for you at all, and that God, he did! He did trust you! Of course, he did!

So, why didn’t he tell you about the stupid crush?

It wasn’t that deep, but you were convinced it was, and he was too tired to even try and correct you. So, sure, he could be “in love” with his noona, like you believed. Because then he wouldn’t have to untangle the mess in his chest. He could shove it under the rug like he always had, always would.

You slammed your fists down onto the table before you walked away from him, in a rampage. Like a damn wildfire trying to clear everything in sight.

You were a volatile thing, explosive, even.

But.

You fizzled out just as fast.

He awoke around midnight to the soft knocking at his window, your silhouette perched on the thickest branch the tree outside his childhood home had to offer. He had half a mind to not open the glass pane but he saw you shiver and his body leaped out of bed without a second thought.

“I’m sorry, Jihoonie,” you said, a few moments after you clambered into his room.

“Okay.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for being friends with me anyway.”

“Sure.”

So, he wrapped your favorite blanket around you, the one he kept in his room for nights like this. Color slowly returned to your face and he saw the stains of tears on your cheek in the moonlight. You muttered words of apologies and told him about your day, not having the chance to earlier.

You were better like this, quiet, but not silent. Like a crackling fireplace beckoning all to come and listen, to be enveloped in warmth and light.

He never once called you his family.

But he’d be damned if you weren’t his home.

──────────────────

“Funny enough, despite the fact that she’s more of a speaker than a writer, even more than that, she’s a listener. She listens to more stories than she tells them. I think that’s helped with her pride. If she knew she messed up, she would always apologize, even if she hated doing it.”

“Well, that’s one lesson you haven’t learned from her yet.”

Jihoon pulled a face and Jeonghan laughed in response. The older of the two snatched away the Chopper on the opposite end and started throwing the doll up and down.

“Alright, lover boy. What I got from this conversation is that you’re still in love with her, but you gotta make sure she’s worthy of your love, alright? Heed my warning, don’t be afraid of being rejected by her. It’s already happened anyway, and here you are: world-star idol with twelve bros behind you no matter what.”

Jihoon cracked a smile. “You’re right. I got lucky.”

Jeonghan tossed Chopper back in his original vicinity. “I think Dokyeomie wanted to ask something from you too, but I don’t remember what it was, so maybe you can go get ready and he’ll come find you.”

“What a useless messenger.”

“Your luck can’t be perfect, Jihoon-ah,” Jeonghan quipped. He turned to leave the room but stopped in his tracks. “I hope to hear her story one day. Hear her side of things.”

“…Me too, hyung.”

──────────────────

“How much is the corn dog?”

“Hmm… Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”

Jihoon mustered as much displeasure as he could hold in his six-year-old body. “Y/N, you can’t pay with stories, that’s stupid.”

“It’s my shop!”

“Jihoon, we’re just playing pretend,” your cousin added, his eyes darting between the two of you, likely worried about needing to do damage control.

“Hyung, her idea is dumb!”

“Why!” You whined. “People pay with money all the time, but you can get money whenever! I don’t get to hear stories! I like stories! My parents don’t read to me every night like yours do, Jihoon!”

Jihoon stomped out of the playroom in annoyance, ears grated by the sound of your crying and your cousin’s failed attempts to console you. Stories couldn’t buy the new toy race car that he got. Stories couldn’t buy him candy at the corner market near the kindergarten. Stories couldn’t buy a GameBoy.

Stories didn’t matter.

Money mattered.

Still, nearly a decade later, you never failed to ask for your unconventional form of payment every time he took a portion of your lunch. He knew you packed more for him anyway. And he knew you would always ask for a story in return.

And he intentionally packed smaller meals so he could tell you about how the History teacher had botched up his classmate’s test and accidentally graded off by one, about how the clarinet solo he was learning required a finger pattern he wasn’t used to, about how that one guy—oh, the tennis player?—no, no, the flautist—isn’t it flutist?—it doesn’t matter—yes, it does, Jihoon—anyway, he asked out a girl—the senior?—yes—oh wow, how bold.

And you would smile in return, sliding your food choice of the day within his reach.

He learned that you hated money; it was the one and only thing your parents ever gave you consistently. Simply, it was the manifestation of their love (or lack of) for you.

So, he paid you with recountings of the mundane. You never complained, even when he felt as though his storytelling skills were lackluster. He held your rapt attention; your eyes wide with wonder, voice laced with curiosity.

Eventually, he asked you why.

Why stories?

“Because without them, I wouldn’t have learned that you love the X-Men series because of Hugh Jackman, that you prefer winter over summer, that the first ever K-Pop group you listened to was Brown Eyed Girls, that when you tell me a funny story, you wait until I react before you start laughing.”

And you gave him that smile that made his heart stutter.

“Money is everywhere, Jihoon. But there’s only one you. That’s all there is to it. People, at the core of it all, are just stories. So. That’s why. People will always matter more than profit.”

──────────────────

After Jihoon readied himself for the group dinner, he plopped himself down onto the communal couch and found himself scrolling through Instagram. He stopped at your latest post, a candid shot of you reading a children’s book to several six-year-olds, your face aglow with excitement, a high chance the photographer captured you mid-way through some silly voice attributed to the character on the page.

“Hey, hyung.”

“Hm?”

“Can I borrow your microphone for the day?”

Jihoon didn’t even have the chance to think twice before the words left his mouth, “Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room.

“Is… Is this a hidden-camera?”

“...never mind. Just put it back when you’re done.”

“It’s blue, by the way.”

“I don’t care—”

“It makes me feel happy because it’s the color of the sky and of the ocean, which means it can be super calm or super exciting. It’s also one of the colors of our Caratdeul.”

“Okay, Dokyeom-ssi. Get out.”

“Yes, hyung. Thank you.”

Jihoon thought about how, if given the chance, you would ask Seokmin if he liked the paleness of 9am or the depth of 6pm? If he liked the gentleness of serenity or the vibrancy of cerulean? Or if he appreciated all that the shades encompassed before fading into greens and indigos?

But he wasn’t you.

You were the inspiration; the muse.

You were the reason to write.

He was just a storyteller.

──────────────────

“THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO IS HERE. THANK YOU TO THE PLEDIS STAFF, OUR MANAGERS, OUR CHOREOGRAPHERS, OUR MUSIC TEAM, OUR DANCERS, OUR STYLISTS, OUR CAMERA WORKERS, OUR FAMILIES, AND OUR SEVENTEEN MEMBERS! HAPPY SIX YEARS. HERE’S TO MORE!”

Everyone in the rented out restaurant cheered before drinking together. Even the sound barrier breaking screams of Soonyoung wasn’t enough to dampen Jihoon’s pride and spirit over how far they’ve come as a team. He looked around at his table, several members already seemingly drunk, and couldn’t help but smile to himself.

“Jihoon-ah, make an exception for tonight and drink!”

He shook his head fervently. “There’s going to be several of you who are going to regret drinking when we have our V LIVE tomorrow. You’re going to look super puffy.”

“I can already feel it,” Seungcheol laughed, his eyes slightly glazed. “But the food and the beer are too good to pass up.”

Speaking of, Jihoon made sure to snatch a piece of kalbi to put onto his plate before Mingyu could. The younger one gave him the stink-eye while Jihoon merely smirked and tilted his head back, challenging him. Mingyu decided to change his target and grab at Seungkwan’s piece, who promptly smacked his hand with a “Kim Mingyu!”

Laughter went around the table as they reflected on the last six years, the amount of embarrassing moments that were brought up were positively correlated with the amount of shots that were taken.

Jihoon grit his teeth as he tried not to fold in on himself, remembering how they threw him up as a cheer and nearly ended his life by creating a Jihoon-shaped hole in the ceiling. He was so much smaller back then, easier to launch without thinking.

They laughed about the incident where Mingyu was nearly beaten to death by Jihoon with a guitar, which Jihoon argued that he still believed he was in the right. They discussed one of their first performances as a team, where they performed NU’EST’s “Hello” and they all had helmet hair. They poked fun at Seungkwan for his revolutionary English skills when he said, “are you kimbap kidding?”

They’ve grown so much.

International interviews with BuzzFeed, Seventeen the magazine, and others. GOING SEVENTEEN as a show has grown alongside them, more than just showing Carats the behind-the-scenes, but has now turned to variety that garnered the new fanbase of Cubics, and has been an honest highlight to Jihoon’s career, where they can just go wild and laugh with each other, just as they always do.

They talked about how they used to sneak in food, how they used to help each other get ready for school, how they still have the same playful spirit as they did back then, but with more trust that has formed between them (although, less for Jeonghan since his cheating at games has only gotten worse).

Jihoon leaned back, full of food and laughter and gratitude.

He wouldn’t trade his life with his team for anything.

(Not even you.)

However, that didn’t mean Jihoon didn’t want you to be a part of his already complete life.

He was a selfish human being.

He hoped you would be one too.

──────────────────

May 26th.

Six years ago, “Adore U” came out, marking the beginning of the journey of a thirteen member boy idol group named SEVENTEEN.

Now, here he was, trying to not be bullied into drinking another shot of soju after already consuming several in a short period.

Their anniversary V LIVE ended not too long ago and they did not have a schedule the following day, so the team decided to celebrate on their own, playing Mafia and messing around. A few hours ago, Jihoon would’ve hardly been able to tolerate the noise level, but since his hearing has been compromised due to his heart beating so loudly in his ears from the alcohol, he was plenty fine.

He shooed away his members and retreated back into the corner of the room, pulling out his cellphone and ignoring Mingyu making stupid kissy faces and noises. Jihoon shot him a look of disgust, but Mingyu merely laughed it off and went to go bother his next victim, who seemed to be Boo Seungkwan, a prime choice indeed.

As soon as he refreshed his Instagram app, there you were (with a highlighted gradient ring around your profile picture, your head tilted back with a soft smile grazing your features as you took in the endless sky above you).

He clicked on the circle and saw you and your friends there, a dimmed photo but your collective smiles large and wide. He recognized Hyejin and Wheein easily (the former with a disgusted look apparent on her face and the latter with a deep dimple), as they were two friends who were a common occurrence on your feed.

And there you were.

alexa, play congratulations by post malone ft. quavo 🥳🎓 #PHinisheD

The corner of his lip quirked up at the cleverness in your caption.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol in his system, he swiped up to send a message:

i figured u would be a day6 or eric nam kind of fan

His brain short-circuited.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Who was he to think he could directly message you like this? Also, who the hell was he to figure anything about you? He hasn’t even spoken to you. Jesus Christ, what has he done?

Before he could stop himself though, his thumbs decided to speak his thoughts.

sorry that was dumb of me to assume

of course u would like post malone considering u could rap the entirety of eminems album

What the hell, dude.

You were going to freak out and call him a creep and then block him.

You’ve literally never done that.

He tried to calm his heart.

However, not even ten minutes later, he realized he couldn’t take that risk.

sorry that was stupid

ignore me

congrats y/n

He felt nearly every goosebump that crawled along his skin, creeping up to his neck, threatening to choke him out. He breathed in deeply through his nose, hoping no one bears witness to him.

“Yah, Jihoon-ah.”

His eyes trailed up to see Soonyoung with a look of concern, mixed with a twinge of panic and anger.

Ah, it would be him.

“What did she do?”

──────────────────

For people who didn’t know him, Kwon Soonyoung comes off as, well, not-so-bright.

But that wasn’t (entirely) true.

Kwon Soonyoung was aware.

He knew how to read a room, but oftentimes, he would purposely choose to simply do what he wanted anyway. Hardly did he ever prioritize another person’s comfort and complacency over his expression of his individuality. He knew what it took to be a performer, and he never denied himself the opportunity to be one.

So, him simply staring at his friend in silence with eyes that alone could have earned him his moniker of “Tiger’s Gaze,” was a major indicator that something was amiss.

Also, the fact that his friend was shrouded in near darkness, eyes rimmed with red, only a corner lamp illuminating his pale features.

“She went to America. She’s never fucking coming back.”

Soonyoung tried not to wince at his friend’s broken tone. Jihoon cursed like a sailor when they were trainees, but it was a habit that he slowly lost since he would often be reprimanded for his speech. He had to do the work to censor himself.

Well, the K-Pop industry was not a stranger to censorship, he mused.

“Wasn’t she already at an international school, though?”

“Yeah, but I just… I thought she would come back after graduating from that boarding school, you know? She wanted to go to Seoul National University, but. Fuck, dude. What if I’m the reason she stopped? What if she stopped following her dreams because of me? What if I–”

“She made her choice, Jihoon.”

“This is all my fault.”

“How?”

Soonyoung saw confusion flit across Jihoon’s face, but it quickly settled with a shake of his head. “It just is, alright?”

“Jihoon–”

“I’ll never be good enough for her. Fuck, I just thought if I tried, then maybe I could be, and– God, who do I think I am? Of course she’d never want someone like me–”

“Dude! Shut the fuck up, will you?”

Jihoon sat there in stunned silence.

“This might not even have anything to do with you. And if she really went to America because she’s trying to avoid you, then she’s a massive bitch–”

“Don’t fucking call her that–”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. Just like she’s doing whatever the hell she wants.” Soonyoung’s anger was slowly morphing into rage. Who was this person in front of him? He was so used to the sure, secure Lee Jihoon who would never truly get riled up.

But one mention of you and suddenly he would spiral.

Who the hell did you think you were?

Leaving this man who loved you so fucking wildly, to the point where he was just one moment away from begging on his knees for your return.

Soonyoung felt disgusted, but it was more of a ringing concern in his ears.

“Jihoon, you’re acting crazy right now. So what if she doesn’t come back to Korea? Are you gonna wait like a fucking sad dog out in the rain? Hoping that she’ll come pick you up again? You’re missing your own fucking life here.”

“I just–”

“Yeah, yeah, you love her. I get it. But… If she were to see you right now, do you think she would even want this kind of love? This obsessive, insecure kind?”

Jihoon’s face was now contorted in pain and Soonyoung tried so terribly hard to keep his face neutral. Soonyoung was plenty capable of being a soothing person, especially to his fellow members, but he was so riddled with frustration that he knew that he would come off as disingenuous if he even tried to pretend to be.

“Let her go. If she comes back, then she will. But don’t let her come back to someone who is incapable of even picking himself off of the floor.”

“...Okay.”

Kwon Soonyoung was aware.

Aware of how much Lee Jihoon was in love with you.

Painfully so.

──────────────────

“I just–”

“You just what?” Soonyoung’s eyes bore into his friend’s face.

Jihoon recoiled at his tone. “I replied to her Instagram story and it was some dumb comment, but what if she thinks I’m being too much and she backs off and–?”

“Jihoon-ah.”

“...Soonyoung-ah.”

“She’s human, right?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Then why are you acting like she’s this untouchable goddess? Who cares if she thinks you’re being too much? You’re putting her on a pedestal she probably doesn’t even want, dude.”

──────────────────

“Why’d you reject the guy?”

You glanced up at her best friend. “What’re you talking about?”

Jihoon cocked his head to the side. Was it already so quickly forgotten by you? It happened at lunch and it was kind of rowdy. Poor dude. “The guy who asked you out to the dance. You said you thought he was cute before and that he was good at tutoring math.”

“Yeah, I might know him, but he doesn’t know me.”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you guys tutored together.”

You clicked your tongue. “Yeah, we do, but. He doesn’t know me. I know him because I ask him questions. I ask him about himself. But he never once asked me a question about me. If he did, he would know that I hate public gestures. He would know that I don’t like receiving flowers. He didn’t even care to ask any of my friends about what I liked. The main reason as to why he asked me to go to the dance is probably because I made him feel good about himself. I might know him, but he doesn’t know me, and that’s one of the most annoying things.”

“What, that people don’t know you?”

“No. That people assume they know me.”

Jihoon paused for a moment.

“People think that I’m this super wholesome good kid who gets perfect grades.”

“Well, one of those things is true.”

You cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, well. The more people assume I’m on a different level from them, the lonelier it is. I just… I don’t want to be lonely, Jihoon.”

“It’s alright. I’ll make sure you aren’t.”

It was chilling, how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, as if you knew a secret he didn’t, as if you already prophesied a future that rendered his words empty. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lee Jihoon.”

──────────────────

Jihoon nearly bit his tongue.

Ever since he no longer had the security of having you be by his side, he became exactly like one of them, forcing assumptions onto you.

You were out of sight and he was out of his mind.

He told you that you could always be yourself around him, and here he was, creating a caricature of you in his head that he knew didn’t exist. To push forth the narrative he wrote. One born of insecurity. “...I don’t understand how you’ve been so right lately?”

“I really do wish I had my phone around to record you when you say that,” Soonyoung said off-handedly. “So, you’re not going to try to unsend those messages?”

“You can unsend messages?”

“Uh–”

Jihoon immediately unlocked his phone to go to his messages. There, he saw your chat. He long-pressed the message without much thought and his thumb hovered over it.

But he hesitated.

“...Just watching from afar isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?”

Jihoon stared up at his friend, who had a look of (almost) pity etched across his features. Jihoon swallowed the lump in his throat. “...No. I don’t think it is.”

“Well, if she rejects you in any kind of way, I can comfort you.”

“No thanks.”

“Yeah, thought you’d say that.”

──────────────────

Almost exactly sixty minutes later, Jihoon witnessed a miracle.

“...She replied.”

Seungkwan glanced up at Jihoon. “Who?”

Jihoon turned his screen to his younger member, who leaned forward to read his screen. Only to audibly gasp and cover his mouth with his hands. “You messaged her?!”

“Yeah, like an hour ago. Keep up.”

“Hyung, you didn’t tell me–”

“Ah, Boo Seungkwan.”

The corner of Seungkwan’s mouth twitched and Jihoon merely smirked. He turned his attention back to your messages, smiling fondly at your usage of 🥳 after greeting him a happy anniversary.

Oh shit, wait. You knew SEVENTEEN?

And he portrayed that sentiment exactly when messaging you.

(With some typing errors.)

(He may or may not have taken one, two, several shots once the anxiety settled back into him.)

(His alcohol tolerance was nonexistent.)

The messages were now rapid-fire. He found out that you were a Carat and that you favored Yoon Jeonghan.

He snorted at that, of course you would.

A lightbulb lit up over his head. Ah. He could do something for you.

He jumped up from his seat on the couch, away from Seungkwan who was watching over his shoulder the entire time who chose to remain silent because he knew he would be kicked out if he said anything compromising. “Jeonghan-hyung.”

“Woozi Woozi~?”

“Can you do something for me?”

Jeonghan stared at him, frozen. Then after a moment to process what exactly Jihoon said, the older one crossed his arms over his chest, a scandalized look in his wide eyes. “Depends on what you’re asking for.”

“YAH.”

“Lee Jihoon, don’t yell at someone you’re trying to ask a favor from. You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

Jihoon held his tongue, but his expression must have given it away because Jeonghan laughed and said that he would rather not die, and asked Jihoon to continue with what he was saying. “Y/N just graduated and she basically said that you’re her favorite SEVENTEEN member–”

“WOW! I like her already.”

“Hyung.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do for both my cute fan and my even cuter dongsaeng?”

“Just a video to congratulate her.”

“My videos are rare, it’s not easy to get something like this, you know.”

“Hyung, please.”

Jeonghan cackled, but quickly acquiesced. “Alright, alright.”

Soon enough, he found himself in a rhythm speaking to you. It was so easy, there was no residual awkwardness (on his end, at least) and it felt so natural. The banter was still there and so were your emoticons, escalating from the “:)” of your childhood to the iPhone emojis. You seemed so close, within reach, attainable.

That felt dangerous.

He could feel it. He could feel that desire to spill out everything he could. He spent years coming up with the words he wished he could’ve told you, some of them now award-winning songs, and it feels almost euphoric to know that he could tell you it all.

But.

He wasn’t sure, still. How receptive you would be. Would you run away like you did in the past whenever things became too much, too overwhelming? He always reminded you that you could never be that, but he wasn’t sure whether he was of the same capacity.

He wants you in his life. There is no doubt about that, especially not now.

But what if you leave again?

He cannot mess this up. He can’t.

So, he kept things light between you, jokes and jabs.

But that didn’t stop him from pushing for more, disguised in a (not-so) innocent attempt at ensuring that he would be able to have open contact with you in the future.

And that’s all he needed. A future with you in it.

That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

──────────────────

Yes. Yes, it was.

After a few days of no response from your end on KakaoTalk, your Shikamaru profile picture almost mocking him with his permanent deadpan look, the answer was resounding.

But Jihoon’s entire identity was based on his stubbornness.

So, he decided to take a chance and message you on Instagram.

Only to retract immediately saying you didn’t have to reply.

Stupid.

Thankfully, though, you responded within 30 minutes, admitting that @narutofanfreak123 was not exactly a username you wanted to share with anyone above the age of twelve. You both quickly resolved the miscommunication (wow, Jihoon thought, imagine if we had this before).

He chuckled at your choice of KKT username, @MadameFirefly, oddly touched that his nickname for you still held enough weight to be your moniker for a messaging app.

He did his best to casually ask what you were planning on doing in the future (not like he wanted to see if he could somehow fit into it, or whatever).

Jihoon was left staring at his phone screen, the weight of his phone now burdened by the weight of your choices. Seoul? Or New York City?

──────────────────

“You didn’t have to miss the dance just because I got a B on an exam, you know.”

“Your parents are insane for grounding you to the library for a B on an exam, you know? And for a hagwon that’s way above our grade level.”

You shook your head, not willing to admit out loud that you agreed. “What I mean is that you don’t have to keep me company while I study when you could go off and meet cute girls and sweep them off their feet.”

“Why would I do that when I can watch you and your snot-nosed face trying to do college level calculus?”

“It’s all so that I can get into Seoul National.”

“Firefly, you could get into any school, even outside Korea.”

“Maybe I’ll do just that,” you laughed. “Finally get out of here.”

“Just let me know and I’ll stow myself into your suitcase.”

“Oh please. You’ll probably be the one traveling internationally doing whatever you do. A world-renowned musician.”

“Alright, you can be in my suitcase instead then.”

“Okay, can you leave breathing holes for me?”

“No, get better lung capacity.”

You clicked your tongue at him and he laughed. “Seriously, though, Jihoonie. You could be spending your teen years the way the movies do it. You could be ‘swearing you’re infinite’ while a slow-mo cam focuses on you as you dance, surrounded by beautiful people definitely too old to be cast as teenagers.”

“No thanks.”

You put your forehead down onto the table. “Please. Do it for me. Get a girlfriend because I can’t.”

“You know, you’re probably why I can’t get a girlfriend.”

No. You definitely were.

You shot him an annoyed look. “You could easily go and find someone who’d be smitten with you. But instead you’re about to watch me get a nosebleed over how hard I’m working my brain here.”

“Maybe I’m a sadist and want to watch that happen.”

You threw your eraser at him, but easily missed, the rubber object bouncing off of the table and onto the carpeted floor. You whined at the idea of having to leave your seat and Jihoon just rolled his eyes and picked it up for you.

Sure, he could be dancing with his friends, with cute girls, with whoever. He could be surrounded by endless snacks and overly sweet punch, the dance no doubt smelling like youth and pride and reckless decisions. He would see that there are plenty of people in his life outside of you.

But, no.

If he did, you would be left here, in this almost deserted library on a Friday, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into what your parents have convinced you matters more than your health.

You gave him a large grin as he passed you your eraser before you went back to focusing on your work.

Yeah, he’d much rather see this instead.

──────────────────

Later that evening, he found himself again in his recording studio.

Our past that didn’t line up,

If I could go back in time,

Rather than roughly, but warmly,

Would I be able to let you go?

He stared at the lyrics he wrote, feeling discontent. He wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t feel any kind of residual emotions towards you. Who would be able to meet you where you were and wish you well, no matter where you decided to go.

One of his biggest regrets was storming out of your childhood home the way that he did. He could’ve had answers but instead he was left with hostile emotions and questions.

He could only hope he would’ve done something different.

But now that he is faced with letting you go, he’s not sure how easily he would yield.

He took a moment to bury his face in his hands and tried to think about this from your perspective (something he had to practice while living with twelve other boys). He breathed in deeply and thought about the you that you are now, about how the person he fell in love with could easily be gone, and you were nothing but a shadow of what remained.

But that didn’t feel right either. It seems as though the person that you’ve grown into, that you’ve flourished into, is someone he would’ve wanted to get to know regardless of whether you had history or not.

Perhaps that is because of the artifice of social media, or perhaps it’s because you carry an air of authenticity with you that has now been given the opportunity to bloom instead of stifled in the environment you were raised in. Whether or not you were mere remnants of his past, it does not mean that the person you are now is any less lovely.

He groaned loudly.

Emotional labor is hard.

How is this something you enjoy doing?

──────────────────

“You really want to become a social worker, huh?”

You shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It feels like the best use of my skills. I like being able to potentially help people like me and well, there are a lot of people like me, you know. I don’t know whether I want to become a private practice therapist, but that seems like a solid option for now until I know more about what else is out there in the field.”

He would disagree, but he decided not to. “I just can’t deal with all of those emotions.”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most sensitive people that I know.”

Jihoon felt ruffled by that. “What? What are you talking about?”

You quickly put your hands up in mock defense. “I’m not saying that being sensitive is a bad thing. I’m saying that there’s no way you would be my friend if you couldn’t handle emotions. I have way too many of them, I’m not that blind to that. Also, I’ve read your poetry and heard your music and that’s some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Like, even the way you hold your clarinet is emotional.”

“I think that’s you projecting yourself onto me.”

“Say what you want, Jihoon. You’re a sensitive soul, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Yeah, well, sensitivity isn’t what gets you awards, you know. Skill does.”

You huffed in response. “Yeah, well, once you build up the second, the first is what will create a legacy that will be one to remember for ages to come. I’m speaking it into existence now. And I lay claim to the title of being your first fan. I will support you the entire way, no matter what you do. Music, baseball, comedy. Whatever!”

Jihoon snorted. He wouldn’t dare become a comedian, but it made him feel good that you thought that was a viable prospect for him. “Whatever industry I’m in, I’ll probably have to protect you from all of the bad people. You’re too soft. Even just last week, I mean…”

“What? You mean, when Nahyun made fun of me during my presentation in front of everyone?”

Irritation washed over Jihoon. 

The self-proclaimed It Girl decided to try and belittle you while in the middle of your presentation, as you were explaining the measurements that you used in your findings, she asked whether you had ‘measured’ your weight recently because ‘you really ought to’.

He never wanted to get into a fight more than then, especially when your other classmates laughed along. It was a subpar, typical, low-class mean girl line, but it filled him with rage.

You were completely unphased by it, continuing on with your presentation, not even choosing to spare a glance in her direction.

Luckily, the teacher, not being a prick himself, called out Nahyun and pulled her aside after class to apologize to you. (Jihoon would’ve preferred a public execution apology.)

Jihoon stood just a few feet away as you accepted her half-assed effort. You paused for a moment and muttered something to her, something that only she could hear. Nahyun merely pursed her lips afterwards before walking away. Irritation rushed through him again.

“Seriously, though. You’re too soft, firefly.”

“Hm. I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“No. I just think everyone else is too hard on themselves. And each other.”

“...You’re gonna be a great therapist.”

“Thanks. Hire me.”

──────────────────

Jihoon had his own fair share of meetings with professional counselors (especially in the midst of living such a hectic life as an idol), but he was worried whether you would be as cut and dry as they were, whittled down by years of academia. It seemed almost like they were reading out of a textbook, using vocabulary words like ‘empathy’ and ‘self-care,’ so he never saw it fit to return if it wasn’t necessary.

However, the places you’ve poured your time into left only glowing reviews for your passion and compassion for the field that you were in.

Jihoon was roused from his thoughts at his phone ringing on his desk. He looked at the Caller ID and saw a name he has been in and out of contact with for over a decade, it was your cousin. He picked it up. “Yo, hyung. What’s up?”

“Are you busy right now, Jihoon?”

“No. It’s a slower day today. Do you need something?”

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Seoul in a few weeks. Your noona and I are planning on celebrating saying goodbye to our single days by drinking way too much within the span of 12 or so hours. I wanted to see if you were down to join.”

“I probably won’t drink, but if it’s for you, hyung, I’ll go.”

“Nice. And you can feel free to leave after the dinner, we’ll just be at an apartment we’re renting out in Gangnam, since I don’t trust those fools to walk around the streets of Hongdae.”

“I’ll probably do that, I don't want to accidentally be caught by Dispatch.”

“Right, right. We wouldn’t want to sully the name of the best producer in all of K-Pop.”

“That’s a title I don’t think I’ll ever get.”

Your cousin laughed. “You never know, you might get that award sooner than you think, kiddo. Alright, I’ll keep you updated on our schedule. But uh…”

Jihoon knew his hyung well. He was about to bring you up again. “What about her?”

“I just wanted to ask whether you’d be interested in a meet-up with her. Not that we’ve asked her or anything, but I know we’ll probably meet up with her at some point, and I know it’ll feel weird if we’re not all together, you know? The four of us.”

“Yeah… I want to say that I’m courteous enough to wait for her response, but I just know that I’m willing to meet with her, if anything. Even just one last time.”

“That… sounds kinda sad, but. I guess I’ll take it. If you’re down, we could even make it a surprise on her end.”

He imagined your deer in headlights look but couldn’t think further than that. “Sounds like we’d really be putting her on the spot, if that was the case.”

“Hey, she’s rarely played it safe. Same with you. Might as well keep the flow going. And if anything, I’ll take the brunt of it all. She can’t stay mad at me for too long.”

“We both know that’s literally not true.”

“Okay, fine. Your noona can take the blame.”

“Wow, very excited to see how this marriage will go.”

His hyung laughed. “Amazingly, I’m sure.”

A thought occurred to Jihoon and he realized it was strange that he was mentioning it as an afterthought, as if it was something to be expected, something natural and normal. “Oh, hyung. By the way, I’m talking to Y/N again.”

Jihoon heard the undeniable ‘beep beep beep’ of being hung up and he stared confused at his phone screen until he saw another phone call from your cousin. He picked up with a, “Hello?”

Your cousin sounded much more flustered than he did just seconds ago. “Sorry. I hung up because I dropped my phone by accident. Say that again. You’re what?”

“I’m talking to her again. Kind of. I guess. Like, Instagram DMing went to KakaoTalk.”

“Jesus Christ, you slid into her DMs?”

“Can you not say it like that?”

“Can you say that that didn’t happen?”

Jihoon relayed the entire experience to him, only now realizing he didn’t even share all of the details with his members because it would’ve been too much teasing fodder from them. But your cousin, his hyung, was the kind of fellow that wouldn’t do that, even given the opportunity.

──────────────────

“Hyung,” Jihoon started one day, across from said person in a local Busan restaurant. “I don’t get how you’re single.”

“Why, you wanna date me?”

Jihoon’s eye twitched and your cousin laughed. Jihoon bit on his straw, the family style meal between the two young men long since devoured. “People compare us, you know.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What’s there to compare?”

“I don’t know. So many people around us know how cool you are. You’re good at sports, you’re smart, you have a lot of friends, you’re handsome. Everyone always says you’re one of the best listeners they’ve ever met.”

“The trick is to not pay attention sometimes and just nod.”

“I’m gonna tell Y/N you said that.”

“I’m sure she knows,” he laughed. “Well, I'm honored that you think all of those things, but those are all traits you have too. You do realize that, right?”

Jihoon grunted. “Not… really.”

“Well, just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean others don’t. My cousin definitely does. She’s a good kid and has a good heart. Same with you. If you ever decide to do anything about those feelings of yours, just know that I approve.”

Jihoon nearly choked on his drink. “Wh–?”

“Oh, it was a secret?”

“Hyung!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything to her, don’t worry. And if you ask me, I’d say that you’re the only one on this planet that even has a chance. Well, except that girl from the cake shop.”

Jihoon sneered.

Fucking Woo Soyeon.

With her shiny hair and long eyelashes and doe eyes and tanned skin from her beach volleyball playing.

Giving out discounts to you like nobody’s business. Calling you cute and flirting nonstop while twirling a lock of her hair. Saying you’re her favorite customer. He could swear Woo Soyeon would throw a knowing smirk at him every time you stuttered a little too long when saying thank you.

That damned girl behind the counter, the one whose beauty and voice (“It’s just so velvety, you know? Like the chocolate cherry cakes.”) he knew you were smitten by.

She was even taller than him, especially in her heels.

At the ripe age of 15, Jihoon understood what jealousy was.

Because of fucking Woo Soyeon.

“Watch out, Jihoon. I can hear your thoughts all the way from over here.”

“Sorry.”

Your cousin laughed. “Trust me, you mean a lot more to her than cake counter girl. My cousin wanted all of us to go see the Christmas lights in the city together. You don’t see her inviting that cake counter girl, do you?”

Jihoon felt a weird sense of pride well up in his chest. Then immediately deflated. It felt stupid to feel like he won against a person who’s just trying to sell cakes to a loyal customer. “Hyung, how do you do it? You’d never let yourself get angry or jealous over stuff like this.”

The older of the two cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t get jealous over a cake counter girl.”

“Says who? I get jealous. It’s normal, you know. Jealousy isn’t inherently a bad thing. It’s just what you do with it, right? Like, just because you’re jealous of cake counter girl, does that mean you stop Y/N from going to that shop?”

“What? Why would I do that? She loves that shop.”

“Exactly. Emotional maturity doesn’t mean you stop yourself from feeling the emotion, it just means you learn how to handle it as it comes. And once you practice it enough, it becomes easier and easier.”

“You make it sound easy, but it’s not.”

“Hey, I’m not anything big and special myself.”

Jihoon shook his head. “Hyung, you’re a superhuman.”

“No, I’m just human and letting myself be that,” he corrected. “Trust me, there’s plenty of good people out there. A lot of them just aren’t making the decision to do so. It’s easier to be cruel, but. I want to prove that you can be kind and still be a man. We get to define what that means. If I decided to be cruel, to become what society says is ‘a man,’ then I have no doubt Y/N would lose trust in me, and probably, all men.”

Jihoon noticed that his hyung stared at him for a second.

“Actually, maybe not all men.”

Jihoon felt embarrassed, but also honored, at the implication. “Thanks, hyung. You know, for not making fun of me. And for admitting that you also feel those kinds of things.”

“Absolutely, I’m glad I could help.”

“I’m seriously still surprised that you’re single.”

“Yeah, well. That might not always be the case if I can figure out what to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well… you know your noona?”

──────────────────

Jihoon couldn’t help but shake his head at the way the events unfolded. Your cousin told him about his feelings for his future wife, but it still took a few years for anything to come out of that. He wondered whether being childhood friends had anything to do with it, as if the longer and deeper the bond, the riskier the chasm was to try to jump across.

However, your cousin still managed to do it.

“How did you do it, hyung?”

“Hm? What’s up?”

“Just… how did you manage to tell noona how you felt?”

The older man laughed. “You really think that it was me who confessed? No, no. It was her. I think she was tired of the back and forth that was happening between us. I mean, so was I, but I was a coward, but thankfully, she wasn’t. Now because of her saying that she loved me first, I get to be the one who says it last. Then we start again. It’s a dialogue, you see. It doesn’t matter who starts the line, as long as it continues.”

“Oh…”

“Am I proud that I was a coward? No. I sometimes wish it was me who said it first so she wouldn’t have any room for doubt. But we can’t go back and change the past, only commit to a better future. All of this to say, though, Jihoon, it’s been long enough of not saying anything between the two of you. I don’t think you want to wait any longer.”

“…yeah. I agree.”

That night, hours after preparing for the album, Jihoon’s fingers tapped away on his Notes app.

This waiting, it’s not easy to endure.

It was past 4am now.

But he didn’t want to wait any longer.

So, he switched apps and instead of a blank Note, he began typing into a message box.

i know its late. rehearsal never ends until 3am and i know that when u get texts you wake up even if ur phone is on silent bc the vibration wakes u up so im trying to type this all in one message so that it doesnt wake u up (hopefully) but i didnt want it to seem like i left u on read because i was upset or something. but i didnt want to message until i had the time to have a full conversation but i dont think thats happening any time soon anyway. when you see this i hope it makes sense im not sure if i am

A response from you was the last thing he expected, but you always managed to surprise him.

The first time he heard your voice directly in his ears, he thought he was going to spontaneously combust. But he tried to keep his voice level as he asked you about where you were leaning towards for your career.

The relief that rushed through him.

The hope that ignited in him.

That was the spark needed for him to explode.

And so he did, into words.

“I’m proud of you, you know?”

He heard your throaty stutter, one that only came out whenever you were really caught off guard. “Uh—what?”

“You got a whole ass PhD. From the best university in Korea,” Jihoon still couldn’t believe the two of you went to the same school. “You got offered a job at a super big school in America. One that’s super big in the field that you studied. You graduated from an even school for undergrad, a school that even I know the name of. And just… I know that people expect you to achieve because you’ve always been a genius, always so brilliant, but. You also work really hard. So I’m proud of you.”

He could barely hear your, “It’s not that big of a deal—” over the pounding in his ears.

“But it is, firefly.”

And suddenly he was brought back to all the years before. Where he spent more years in love with you than not. How that nickname encapsulated exactly as he saw you: inspiration, guidance, hope.

“I mean, I just—”

Your flustered response only encouraged him to continue. “You don’t have to believe me. But that won’t stop me from feeling it.”

“Jihoon, I—”

He didn’t realize just how much he’s missed hearing you say his name. But more than that, “I’ve missed you.”

There was a pause on your end, but he was done with his.

“I’ve missed you a stupid amount. Like us stealing your dad’s car to drive to McDonald’s at 3am and then running a red light on the way there. And then somehow almost hitting an entire flock of seagulls—” which he would never admit to being the reason he never wants to get behind the wheel again. “And then going to some random, deserted parking lot. And then realizing we didn’t know the way home, so we drove aimlessly, for, like, 45 minutes. And then panicking when we kept seeing the gas needle going down. That kind of stupid.”

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was naming a memory that you no doubt remember as well, it was near traumatizing. But there was something in him that didn’t want you to forget. He didn’t want himself to forget. Because…

If I forget someday, as if nothing is wrong,

Our future will be empty and sad.

It’s not that I want to forget you.

Ah, he made a mental note to switch to his Notes app later.

“I… I missed you too.”

Jihoon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his cheeks, almost to the point of straining them. It was already so late and he still had enough function in his brain to know he ought to cut this short now. Otherwise, he’d be on the phone with you for an ungodly amount of time. “I have to sleep now, but. I just. I couldn’t not tell you. That’s all.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounded so small, he had to press his phone closer to his ear to ensure he didn’t miss anything.

“Get some sleep, firefly. Or should I call you, Dr. Firefly now?”

“That sounds like a cartoon villain.”

He laughed hard at that. You would say that. “Alright, we’ll just go with firefly then.”

‘We’ felt good on his tongue.

“Night, night, Jihoonie.”

“Sleep well, firefly.”

He told you he needed to sleep, but with the way that he was running on sheer endorphins from finally releasing some of that pressure inside of him, sleep was the furthest thing on his mind. Instead, he imagined you getting some well-deserved rest, wondering what kind of dreams you hoped to have.

You were falling asleep, he was falling in love.

──────────────────

In less than 24 hours, he was going to see you in person for the first time in years, no more needing to find YouTube videos or podcasts or news articles or social media posts.

Tomorrow, he’ll be face to face with you.

And the dorm was in chaos.

“He should wear the white button down!”

“No, he should wear something funky, with cool patterns!”

“What? Absolutely not, hyung! Jihoon-hyung looks best in plain clothing, his skin shines that way!”

“Well, he’s been avoiding his skincare, so that might not be the best route to go down.”

“Hoon is handsome no matter what!”

Jihoon was exhausted. Why were his members more invested in this than he was?

Even Soonyoung was getting giddy. And that was a problem. When it came to you, Soonyoung was his voice of reason, but after he relayed the phone call he had with you, Soonyoung was easily won over by your: ‘I missed you too.’

“I knew it!” The tiger had exclaimed.

(Jihoon wasn’t sure whether he did.)

Junhui was thriving off of the chaos and was now leaping across the wooden floor, with Jeonghan quickly on his tail, trying to coerce him into stopping and failing miserably. Seokmin was still trying to convince Seungkwan that a funky pattern was like how, in nature, peacocks showed off to their mates—“he’s not a bird, hyung!”—while Soonyoung kept interjecting saying that Jihoon was attractive no matter what so he could just wear a plastic bag (which earned him a gentle slap by Seokmin). Mingyu disappeared for a moment after Wonwoo’s off-handed comment about Jihoon’s skin, only to return with his skincare products that Jihoon knew were going to be slapped on him soon enough. Seungcheol kept repeating in an exasperated tone, “Stop fighting, we already got a noise complaint this week,” while Jisoo and Minghao were probably off in Jihoon’s closet trying to establish an outfit for him without his consent. Hansol was on his phone, noise-canceling earphones on, completely uninvolved in what was going on. Chan was only goading on whoever was the loudest in the moment (currently, Junhui).

Jihoon piped up. “Do I get an opinion on this?”

In near perfect synchronization (including the boys in his room), everyone responded with a, “No!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

God, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

[continue reading here]

[noahsresources]

HURT / COMFORT STATEMENTS THAT HIT ME RIGHT IN THE FEELS

pardon me please, i'm just having a moment. possible tw for suicidal ideation and references to death and loss. bonus points for specifying a scenario!

from those who are struggling. ❝ i never thought i'd ever make it this far. ❞ ❝ ... when were you going to tell me about this? ❞ ❝ i don't ever want you to die. please ... don't die ... ❞ ❝ we had our whole lives planned out. ❞ ❝ i just can't, it's too much. it's too fucking much. ❞ ❝ losing him/her/them was the cruelest thing i've ever experienced. ❞ ❝ people say things like, 'you're going green with envy', or 'there's smoke coming out of your ears'. you think they'd come up with a statement like that that describes someone who's in constant pain like this ... ? ❞ ❝ sometimes you need to make room for grief. make time for it. embrace it. it's all i've been doing as of late. ❞ ❝ how is it possible to hurt this much when nothing's wrong? ❞ ❝ drowning in sadness is more fulfilling than drowning in pleasure these days. ❞ ❝ it's hard to let go of the fact that i'm probably going to outlive everyone else in my life. ❞ ❝ i've already lost everything near and dear to my heart. everything except for you. ❞ ❝ i'm just so tired. i just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. ❞ ❝ i was so close to giving up once. ❞ ❝ i don't want him/her/them to die alone. i'd never forgive myself. ❞ ❝ please, don't go ... i just need to feel your arms around me ... ❞ ❝ there's a reason why i hide my emotions locked in a metal cage so deep in my heart. it's so i won't get hurt like this again. ❞ ❝ i've always had to deal with these kinds of things alone. i don't need your help. ❞ ❝ it was my fault. i did this to him/her/them ... ❞ ❝ i can't even see my future anymore. i don't want to. ❞ ❝ there's no way i could possibly be this important to you. ❞ ❝ if i lose him/her/them, then there'll be nothing else for me to live for. ❞ ❝ i don't see a point anymore. in going on, i mean. ❞ ❝ time won't slow down. it never does. i had to learn that the hard way early on. ❞ ❝ go away ... please, just go away. ❞

from those offering support. ❝ ... i'm sorry. i'm so, so fucking sorry that you had to lose him/her/them. ❞ ❝ it wasn't your fault. you did everything you could. ❞ ❝ just remember they'll always be in your heart. ❞ ❝ i don't know what to say to make you feel better, but ... i'm here for you, if that means anything. ❞ ❝ believe it or not ... i know how you feel. i've been through this exact same thing. ❞ ❝ he/she/they loved you. he/she/they loved you so much. trust me ... i know. ❞ ❝ you're not alone. i promise you, you're not alone. ❞ ❝ don't worry, i'll stay. i'm not going anywhere. ❞ ❝ you've been through so much ... be kind to yourself. please. ❞ ❝ it's okay to cry. you don't have to hide your emotions around me. ❞ ❝ you don't have to talk to me. hell, you don't even have to look at me. but, please ... give me a sign that you're hearing what i have to say. ❞ ❝ please ... don't tell me that you'd choose to spend eternity up there with him/her/them over an eternity with me ... ❞ ❝ you're grieving. it's an understandable reaction. but you should rest. you've been overexerting yourself far too much lately. ❞ ❝ the man/woman/person who you lost, who loved you ... he/she/they wouldn't want to see you doing this to yourself. ❞ ❝ crying is your body's way of telling you that you've been keeping everything in for way too long. so let it out. you're safe here. ❞ ❝ sadness is like an ocean. sometimes we drown in it, but other times, we're forced to swim in it. ❞ ❝ as long as i'm here, you'll never not have anyone ever again. ❞ ❝ i hope you know that you can talk to me about anything at all. share anything you need to get off your chest. i'm here for you. ❞ ❝ love is often felt the most in your favorite memories. honor him/her/them by remembering all the happiness he/she/they gave you. ❞ ❝ if you don't feel strong right now, then you don't have to be strong. it's okay to be vulnerable, weak, scared, and sad. ❞

[ohbo-ohno]

Revisiting a distant memory but its ex lovers with Price. Maybe some yearning? And incorporating "for the old times sake"? Thanks and happy writing!

1k game here - no more please!

GOD this one is hard!! i lovelovelovelove second chance romances (it's my favorite romance trope lol) but i really have absolutely no idea if i'm any good at writing them :')

2k of price x reader ft. reader mourning her marriage at a friend's wedding and price trying to be a good future ex-ex-husband. (btw this is laswell's wedding so we're all pretending that she says "girlfriend" instead of "wife" in game to make this work) no smut!

It's difficult not to drown your glass of wine in one long swallow, the déjà vu an almost overwhelming feeling.

You know it's not fair to Kate, but God did she have to have her wedding in the same venue as yours? Everywhere you look you're reminded of the best day of your life, and the subsequent worst months.

You take a deep breath, and try to shove all thoughts of the past out of your head.

It isn't easy these days. Even though you were the one to ask for the divorce, you've never stopped loving - stopped wanting - John. You feel the loss of him everyday, just like you had the endless weeks and months he spent deployed.

It wasn't the time away that did you in - it was the secrecy of it all. You maintain that you could've made the relationship work had you at least known where he was, or even been afforded texting rights. But it's hard to pretend you're living a normal life when you haven't heard from your husband in six weeks and you have no idea whether he's even alive.

The day Kyle came to the door instead of John, you knew you couldn't stay married to him.

He was lucky - John had been injured and sent Kyle to bring you to the hospital since he was already back on base, but you'd seen the man and broken down into sobs before he'd even managed to get a word out. The poor soldier had tried his best to tell you that your husband was alive and would be fine, but you were inconsolable.

Once you'd realized what was going on you realized the truth of your situation. John's death would break you, and you'd never recover from it.

That moment where you'd thought he was gone... it was like a part of you had died, like grief had swallowed you whole and refused to let go.

You were scared when Gaz finally explained to you what was really going on. And all at once, all the pieces of your life started to click together.

When you served John with divorce papers you told him that you couldn't handle so much time apart anymore, that you wanted more stability in your life than he could give you. But the truth is you were scared, and a growing part of you thought that maybe if you distanced yourself before he got himself killed, the inevitable grief would be easier to swallow.

You think he saw through your bravado and straight to your fear. You've never known John Price to be anything but a fighter, but he hardly hesitated when you gave him the papers with shaking hands. He raised an eyebrow, said are you sure this what you want, love? and hugged you after he signed.

You'd cried more than he had, had sobbed into his chest and clung to him to hold you together. Looking back you're embarrassed of your reaction, but at the time it truly felt like you were cutting off half of your soul.

It still feels like that most days. Sometimes you lie awake at night, haunted by the idea that you've only caused yourself more grief, that you're going to feel hurt and terrible until something or someone kills John, and then you'll have to experience that grief you fear anyways.

But you've made your bed, and now you're laying in it, cold and lonely and missing your husband.

You take a deep breath and a small sip of your wine, try to center yourself. It's difficult not to dwell on your own mistakes - perceived or real - but you're determined not to cry at Kate's wedding. You are not going to be that divorced woman. You simply refuse.

Still, it's a close call. You close your eyes and drain the glass before your fingers stop shaking, and you hate that you've got nothing to do with your hands, nothing to distract yourself with. The deep breaths don't help, and the idea of getting a bit wine-drunk looks more and more appealing.

When you open your eyes again, John stands in front of you, holding a fresh glass out in offering.

He looks good, but you already knew that. It was difficult to look anywhere but him during the service, and he caught you enough times for it to become almost humiliating. You've been telling yourself all night that you could pass the flush in your cheeks off as the heat of an outdoor ceremony, but you know he noticed.

Still, he doesn't look smug about your obvious discomfort. Silver lingings, and all.

You take the offered glass after just a moment, deciding that it might be better to bite the bullet and invite John back into your space rather than keep trying to avoid him all night. It's not like your divorce is a secret - every person in this room saw you two attend countless events together, the tension between you two is probably painfully obvious.

John steps to your side as you take a small sip, heart skipping a beat at the taste of your favorite wine.

"Where did you get this?" It's not what they're serving, or you'd probably already be well on your way to wine drunk.

He smiles softly at you, dimples covered by his beard. "I can't give away all my tricks. Then what would you keep me around for?"

You laugh a little sadly at that, and his smile grows.

Honestly, you've missed John enough that you don't even really mind if he keeps your wine hostage for the rest of the night. You're willing to keep up the facade if he is.

You take another sip and stand a bit straighter, try to prepare yourself for another conversation with your ex-husband. None of them have been easy, but it gets less and less painful to see him every time. You know he goes out of his way to make this easier on you, never once showing any hint of animosity. Besides the lack of PDA, he's hardly changed his behavior from when you were actually married.

"Are you enjoying yourself?"

He shoots you a look, one that says he remembers exactly how much you always hated small talk, but he indulges you. "It's a beautiful ceremony."

"It is."

He cocks an eyebrow. "But...?"

You sigh, gesturing with your glass as the wine loosens your tongue just enough for you to be a little too honest with your ex-husband. "It's all a little too familiar, isn't it? I mean, I haven't been back here since our... well, you know."

He snorts. "Yes, I do remember our wedding day."

You flush, elbowing him playfully. "Don't tease."

His smile is familiar, everything you've missed from him, when he looks down at you. "Can't help it, love." He lifts a hand, one big palm cupping your cheek and running a thumb over the apple of it. "You're just too pretty when you blush."

You can't help but close your eyes, leaning into his rough palm a bit. God, you miss him so much. Having him here, feeling his touch, and knowing that you'll go home tonight to an empty bed...

It's almost too much. The tears come entirely against your will.

"Oh, sweetheart," he coos, other hand cupping your cheek and thumbing away your tears. You blink up at him, free hand wrapping loosely around his wrist.

His eyes bore deeply into yours, and you see everything you feel reflected there. The memories, the pain, the yearning, the love that just refuses to dissipate.

"John," you whisper, voice shaky.

His head dips forward just enough to rest your foreheads together, breaths mingling. Despite the music still playing and the sound of conversations all around you, you can't help but feel like the world begins and ends with the man in front of you.

That's always what John has been for you - everything. Even now, months after your separation, you haven't figured out how to live in a world that isn't defined by John Price. You're not sure you really want to.

"Oh, love," he sighs, grip just firm enough to make you feel held. "When are you coming home?"

You bite your lip to hold back a sob, face crumpling. John coos a little, pressing forward just enough to kiss the tip of your nose and using his thumb to coax your lip from between your teeth.

"It's alright," he soothes, rubbing soft circles into the indention your teeth left in your lipstick. "We don't have to talk about it now, alright? You can take all the time you need. I'm a patient man."

You nod a little, taking in another deep breath. His patience was always something you'd admired, considering your own patience is horribly short. You can't stand to wait, and despite the many times he'd try to help you see the beauty in delay (both in and out of the bedroom), you'd only become frustrated.

Like now. Here John stands, poised and put together and nowhere near tears, and you're the exact opposite. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't one of the main reasons you fell for him in the first place - he's always balanced you out where you need it most.

You take another gulp of your wine, the glass half gone already. John chuckles a little as he stands up, hands shifting to rest on your upper arms and giving you a comforting squeeze. "Might have to get you another glass sooner than I expected."

You consider him for a moment, thoughts slow but a bit erratic, and then drain the rest of the glass in one go.

His eyes widen a bit as you nearly slam the glass onto a table, looking up at him with determination.

"No more wine - for now - but how about a dance?"

You wouldn't be asking if you hadn't had three glasses of wine already. But you have, and you're just inebriated enough to say screw it. As long as you don't wake up next to John tomorrow, nothing you do at the reception can really hurt your progress in getting over him too much.

But God when he smiles at you like that, soft and loving and just sweet, you want to forget completely about the divorce and go back to the life you'd had.

Stress and fear and separation pains regardless, you want John Price with every bone in your body. But you can't help that your mind convinces you otherwise, whispers all the reasons being with him can only lead to pain.

He shakes you out of your musings by offering a hand, stepping away just enough to make you reach for him.

"For old time's sake?" He asks when you take his hand, letting him pull you onto the dance floor with the other couples happily dancing together.

You nearly giggle at the poor excuse, knowing you can both see right through it. Still, you agree with him.

"For old time's sake."

You both know it's a lie, know that there's something more to a slow dance at a wedding, but you're not ready to say it yet. For now you'll hide behind the mask of nostalgia for better days.

Someday you'll be able to move forward. But that's a mission for post-wedding you to figure out, a plan for future-you to construct. Wedding-you, almost-wine-drunk-you is more than happy to let your ex-husband tug you close and trail his hands almost inappropriately low on your waist.

You tell yourself that you can worry about John's words, about his tone and his touchiness, in the morning.

For now, you bask in the presence of the love of your life, and try not to think about how much it will hurt when you leave him all over again at the end of the night.

[screamingintothestarss]

wildflowers (part ii)

pairing: fratboy!Hunter x f!reader

chapter rating: gen

chapter warnings: starwars university!au, use of she/her pronouns, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, miscommunication, some angst, almost kissing, sorta cheesy love tropes lol, emotions are complicated

word count: 2.1k

notes: i am so so sorry for the late updates, i’ve had like two projects and an essay due. it’s also midterm week for me! however please enjoy!! ╰(▔∀▔)╯

chapters: i ii iii

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You spread the cloth across your face, rubbing at pink blotches of makeup sitting pretty on your cheekbone. You think that maybe if you scrub hard enough, you can wipe away the memory of tonight–of him. 

He was so casual with her, so easygoing and flirtatious, and it left you feeling all soured and rotten. He never flirted with you, never throwing you that sly wink and smile you’d seen him give other women. Would you want that, though? To have another guy lick his lips, eyes gliding along your curvature just to see you as another score? The feeling is like a vibroblade in your gut, twisting and screwing its way into your stomach, spilling out dead butterflies and buried feelings. 

“You almost done?” a tinny voice raps on the door and you jump. 

“No, not really,” you grumble, and you try really hard not to let her have it. You’re already trying not to drown in the murky depths of your emotions, and the last thing you need is your pushy roommate pulling you under.

You take a long hot shower to soothe that ache in your chest, much to her chagrin. 

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“What's wrong with him?” Wrecker whispers rather poorly in Crosshair's direction. 

“I'd bet it's that girl of his,” he rasps, toothpick bouncing between his lips. Despite the bite in his tone, he can't peel his gaze off of Hunter, those brotherly gears in his head starting to turn. Sure, he'd seen him upset before, like that time he'd cut his hair after losing that bet, or the time he got ghosted by that one girl, but this felt different. It felt like an axe to his chest, hacking away at muscle and bone–it made him hurt. He wished he had the words sometimes, an answer, even, but those circuits weren't wired correctly either. 

Echo's were, however. He always seemed to know what to say and said what needed to be said. He'd cut you open to the core and patch you right back up afterward.

Crosshair taps around on his comm and in no time Echo emerges from his bedroom, adjusting his prosthetic. 

No other words need to be exchanged: it's a silent agreement, an understanding built over years of brotherhood: tight-knit like a warm sweater. 

Echo hums and takes a seat beside Hunter, the leather cushion dipping under his weight. Crosshair and Wrecker quietly clear the room, leaving the two brothers alone.

Hunter doesn't stir, still stuck in the thick fog of your perfume. 

Echo gives him a once over before speaking up; "What happened, Sarge?" 

"You know I don't care for that nickname, Echo," he laughs, and it's strained, the soreness in his chest pulling it taught. 

Echo's brow relaxes. At least he wasn't plagued by that all-consuming grief, the kind that leaves you gutted and slack-jawed.

"You went to that party one way and came back another...my guess is it's something to do with her?" He says it rather bluntly, like a heavy box falling onto the ground with a thunk.

Hunter meets his eyes and nods. His jaw circles, and he clicks his tongue.

"She saw me with someone else," he breathes, "It wasn't...it wasn't like that."

Echo nods, understanding melting onto a stony expression. Hunter didn't need to explain anything further, never with him.

"A miscommunication, then. But I'm guessing she wasn't up for talking about it, eh?" 

"No. She wasn't." It's flat and grainy between his teeth, but there's a buried longing there; he just needed to sift through the sand. 

But maybe you didn't want to be found.

Maybe he should keep you buried, letting granules of sand and dust fill in the cracks of what could've been.

What the hell was he thinking?

Echo sees him falling into his thoughts–dark, deep, and treacherous; but his next words reach out to catch him. 

"Do you like her?"

Hunter pauses and hits the replay button on his memory. …Do I like her?

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

"Quadratics are pretty simple," you explain, "First, you want everything in standard form, then you need to plug in all your variables and-" you pause, meeting the brown-grey eyes boring into yours. 

"Are you even listening?" Your voice is like spice to his ears, and he doesn't think it's an addiction he wants to shake. 

"I'm always listening to you," he says cooly, and you can't pinpoint what's behind his eyes. It makes your stomach recoil nonetheless. You blow, holding your head down so he can't see the red and pink hues bleeding onto your cheeks. 

He definitely notices.

How couldn't he? 

He's unconsciously mapping your features, scrawling them onto some blank page in his memory. Truth be told, Tech had already taught him everything he needed to know about mathematics, piercing that thick skull of his. But Hunter allowed himself to admit that he simply wanted to spend more time with you, emptying what he could and letting you fill in the rest: all flowery and saccharine-sweet. 

He lets himself slip away for a moment, getting lost in that hazy scent you're always wearing. It's funny; he wasn't one for perfumes or smells in general, but something about yours had him inebriated, stumbling over formulas and equations. You meet each other's eyes, hues swirling together like paints on a palette, and he's tempted to create something beautiful.

He leans in closer to you, sealing in that distance that's been driving him up the walls. Like that evening at the dinner table, you're both magnetized, unable to pull away, and you're about to seal the deal when-

“Hey, I think I reserved this room?” a sharp voice sounds, cutting through the line keeping you both tethered.

“Sorry!”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“I like the way these ones glow,” you say, eyeing a beautiful array of bouquets and arrangements. You and Hunter are stopped in front of a flower shop, its colorful exterior bouncing with pretty plants from all over the galaxy–some of these colors you swore you’ve never even seen before. An elderly Pantoran woman exits the shop, the door sliding open with a ding! 

“Looking for anything in particular?” she squeaks, her voice small and frail much like her stature. 

You peer at her and shake your head kindly, “No thank you, we’re just looking.”

“Nonsense! There’s plenty more to look at inside!” Her veiny blue hand tugs at your arm, pulling you through the door, and you look back at Hunter whose expression is a mix of amusement and…nervousness? He trails behind you both, hands tucked into a red and black letterman jacket.

You ooo and ahh at the various arrangements decorating the shop, but one in particular catches your eye. Sharp for her old age, the woman’s eyes sparkle as she follows your gaze, and then she’s got that iron grip on your arm again, whisking you away to the back of the shop. 

You’d never seen anything like this before. The arrangement is nothing short of gorgeous; dark blues, violets, pinks, whites–a myriad of hues that has you clutching your heart. Its bioluminescent glow reflects in the whites of your eyes like shooting stars, and Hunter watches planetside, transfixed on how your features are framed in the underglow. 

He doesn’t know what to make of the feeling settling in his stomach, all warm and sweet and comforting. He’s staring at you, and he can’t help but to think of that one painting in that art gallery you dragged him to: what was it, again? It was really, really colorful…like…like a field of-

“Felucian wildflowers!” The woman tells you, her wrinkly smile edging ear to ear. 

“They’re beautiful,” you sigh.

“Yeah…” Hunter breathes, paying no mind to the flowers adorning your frame. “Beautiful.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“What!?”

You’re laughing, a mix of amusement and disbelief that has Hunter fiending–a line under the ocean’s surface, he’ll keep reeling you in until it snaps. 

He scoffs, “Don’t believe me?”

You psh, your frame lazily laid out on the hood of his speeder. “I’m supposed to believe you and Tech used to drag race?”

He mimics you, getting cozy on the hood before looking back at you. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You meet his eyes and try really hard not to get lost in brown and grey hues, afraid you might never find your way out again. You’re staring at each other, laid out under a starry sky and the white glow of the moon. It’s as if the light is cradling you, he thinks, holding you with the same adoration he’d give a piece of himself for.

“I believe you,” you speak up, and it’s breathless, the heat of want wafting through your lips. 

“Okay.” It’s all he says before moving closer to you, head all stuffy as calloused hand reaches out for soft skin to-

The chiming of his comlink yanks him straight back into the parking lot, met with a low groan and your giggling.

He does little to hold back his eye-roll as Wrecker materializes onto the comm, his blue figure fizzing in and out.

“Sarge!” The cheerful nonchalance in his tone relaxes Hunter a bit; at least he didn’t start another kitchen fire. 

“Yeah?” 

“We're about to start movie night! You comin’?”

Hunter internally curses; he'd been too wrapped up in everything you that movie night had completely slipped his mind. He knew Omega wouldn't want to start without him, and the thought of her waiting up for him pricked at his skin like thorns.

“We're on our way-” The words slip from his lips before he can catch them, and his eyes flit towards your frame.

“Huh? Who's ‘we’?” Wrecker raises a thick brow, slowly putting the pieces together. “Haw! You're with your girlfrie-!”

Hunter closes the channel.

An awkward laugh stumbles through your lips, rolling around in the tension. You try to keep a cool facade, a blank canvas that he won't be able to paint on, but the way you're fidgeting gives him a few colors to start with.

You're reeling, brain jumping around in your skull trying to find somewhere safe to land; We're on our way.

Four simple words, yet they hold the weight of a thousand stars. We–us. Is that what he thought of you? As a part of him? A cog and screw working together to power this machine of fondness creeping up between you two? It has you feeling so secure and tender, yet terrified. 

You start to remember the shameless looks and wandering eyes tearing him apart on campus, and it leaves you feeling sick. 

Your thoughts wander into someplace creaky and dark, grimy and lifeless. All that sweet heat you'd just felt is swept away by the brittle winds of doubt. 

You remember how close she got to him on the desk, running a hand over his shoulder like you weren't sitting right there. 

Sick

You remember the one who'd throw her hair back, trying to pry his attention from you. They'd been…involved before, and you remember having to suppress that anger boiling in your gut.

Sick, sick, sick

You don't know how to feel or what to think. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, assume his intentions are pure, and you know they are, but it's why you're so confused. That fear creeps up your neck, and you try to shoo it away. 

“Did you want to come?” He’s asking you, and it pulls you from the muck–but you're still covered in that grime. 

“No, I'm okay,” you breathe, and it’s heavy; weighed down by spindles and thorn branches.

He doesn't press you any further, but he's worried. Did Wrecker's words scare you off? Was he sitting too close? Was…was it something you'd want? His head’s spinning, caught in the hamster wheel of conflicting emotions. 

He could finalize it right now if he wanted: confess to you what you've already etched on the foundations of his heart, slaying that beast of confusion. 

But he can't risk it.

So he plays it safe.

“My frat's throwing a party on the first…I'd like it if you could be there.” He regains that cool huskiness in his voice, and it's got you hot all over again.

You breathe, and try not to let those chilly winds blow you into oblivion. You decide to face toward the sun and give into that warmth; that of trust.

“Okay.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

“Hunter?”

He bristles, and the lenses in his eyes adjust their focus, finding Echo’s concerned expression.

“Sorry Echo, I-”

“Do you like her?” He repeats, his tone less weighty this time.

Hunter exhales, briefly looking away. He knows they both know the answer; he may as well have tattooed it next to the skull on his face. Saying it out loud seemed so final: like ink to a page, there was no room for error–no eraser to smudge the truth away. But that’s exactly what it was: the truth. And Hunter wouldn’t lie to you.

“I love her.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

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[fili-urzudel]

Burning Gold - Western!Fíli x Reader

A request from the lovely @twentysomethingfangirl from wayyy too long ago. I'm sorry! If it's any consolation, 1) the only reason so much got written is because I'm burnt out and procrastinating and 2) there could definitely be more to this and I would like to write it sometime.

it bears repeating: requests are still not open :( feel free to send asks just to chat though!

Summary: Lost after a tragic incident, the reader finds herself alone and desperate for survival in the vast and untamed West. Help arrives in the form of a man on a mysterious mission.

Warnings: Mention of knives, mention of guns, mention of hunting, mention of death by drowning, description of scars, continuous description of feelings of exhaustion, hunger, thirst. Grief.

Word Count: 2.5k

If there was one word Fíli would use to describe this area of the state, it was flat. Nothing but dirt and scrub trees for miles in either direction, until some hills and buttes dared to make themselves known on the horizon in the west.

You came blurrily into his vision, a wavering spot of dark amongst the blinding beige of the sand. 

He eyed you suspiciously as he came up on you, hand and hat shading his vision.

Though he couldn't tell just by looking at you, you had seen him, too.

It had been two days out in the wilderness. Two days since you had gotten lost. Three days since you had seen your family swept into tumultuous waters down a river you had been trying to cross. 

You attributed your survival to nothing more than the will of the good Lord, sure your mediocre swimming had nothing to do with it.

On the third day in the wilderness, salvation came. 

Or at least a man on a horse.

You breathed a sigh of relief, preparing to yell at the man. Your mother had warned you countless times how dangerous strange men were, and doubly so in the west, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. Having run out of water and not having eaten in three days, the man seemed the lesser of two evils.

"Hey!" You shouted, waving your arms in a crisscross over your head, moving as much as you could to get his attention. "Hey! Over here! Hello!"

Though Fíli had a hard time seeing through the heat at such a distance, your voice left no doubt in his mind. You were a lady, and you didn't sound like a very dangerous one at that.

He cupped one gloved hand around his mouth, the other fixed in the reins. "I see you!" He replied, his voice booming across the plains. 

You stopped your jumping.

Black spots danced in your vision as you attempted to calm yourself down, wringing your empty bag in your hand like it would help you.

As the cowboy approached, you could see the dusty chestnut horse he rode and the sagging bags on either side of his saddle. However, it was harder to see his face, especially with his hat shading it and the sun blinding you from behind him. "What are you doing out here all alone?" He asked seriously, sounding at least a little concerned. 

"My family—my family was migrating out here," you explain, a lump in your throat from dehydration and grief. "I lost 'em down a river about," you glanced over your shoulder, cursing yourself for ever having lost your way. "I don't know, seven miles east?"

The cowboy nodded in understanding. "That one's a beast, alright," he agreed. So you couldn't have been too far off in your estimate. "So, no family, no food, no water?"

"Yes," you answered, holding your arms across your stomach. Your jaw ached, but your body didn't have enough water to make tears. "I'm lost. I just need to get to the nearest town, somehow. Please, can you help me? I don't have any money, but—but I can find a way to pay you, I can start working somewhere, and I'll get the money to you, I promise—"

"Stop," he commanded, and you obeyed. "No need for any of that. Get on, I'll take you where I'm going and someone can help you out there, alright?"

You felt faint with relief, and probably heatstroke as well. "Thank you, sir, thank you so much, I won't forget your kindness—"

"I'm Fíli," he interrupted you again, unused to people gushing over him the way you did. He reached out a gloved hand to hoist you up. "The horse is Myrtle."

You accepted his hand silently, settling into whatever space was available on the saddle before speaking again. You told him your name. "Thank you," you said again, and Fíli huffed. 

"You're welcome," he said, if just to get you to stop thanking him.

Once on Myrtle, you could see Fíli a bit more clearly. He had long hair, just down past his shoulders, pulled into a ponytail with a strip of leather that matched his hat. His hat was well taken care of, from what you could tell, but it had seen hell and high water.

"So, where are you going?" You asked cautiously, unsure of how much the mysterious man would want to divulge. 

"About 65 miles north, it's less of a town than it is a waystation, honestly," he answered.  "I uh, I'm meeting a good portion of my family up there."

"Oh?" You said politely. "That's nice."

"We're going further west."

You hummed in response, bones aching and head pounding. 

“Water’s in the left bag,” he supplied helpfully, and you wasted no time in confirming. You forgot manners entirely, grabbing the waterskin and taking two large gulps before remembering who the water belonged to, and what a precious resource it was. You sheepishly recapped it.

“Thank you,” you said again.

“There’s a stream I wanna set up camp by tonight, about 10 miles up,” he ignored you. “You can refill your skin when we get there. And you can stop thanking me. I’m only doing what’s decent.”

Another thanks stuck in your throat, you nodded and fell silent.

“You might wanna hang on, we’ll be keeping a good clip,” he advised you, and though you were wary, you complied, gingerly holding onto his waist. Your grip tightened as he snapped the reins, Myrtle obediently picking up the pace.

You hadn’t even noticed that you drifted off until you were woken up by Myrtle stopping.

You heard Fíli curse under his breath. “Damn drought,” he grumbled. He tapped your hand gently. “You awake?”

You hummed affirmatively, picking up your head from where you had rested it on his back.

“I’m getting off for a second,” he told you, and you let go of him so he could. 

After a moment, you decided to follow suit, clumsily dropping from Myrtle’s back onto shaking legs. The sudden movement caused another explosion of black in your vision, and you were again reminded that you hadn’t eaten in almost four days. You braced yourself with a hand on Myrtle’s saddle, and she turned her head to snort at you. 

“Sorry, girl,” you said quietly.

“Damn,” you heard Fíli say again as he scuffed the heel of his boot against the dry ground. “There’s not been near enough rain this season, this stream’s bone dry.”

You felt anxiety begin to creep over you again. “What does that mean for us?”

“Means we keep heading north and hope the next bed we hit has something to offer us,” he sighed. “Might as well ride through the night, no use wasting away in the sun with no water.”

“Alright,” you agreed, just glad that he had a plan. “Is there… Anything I can do?”

He thought for a moment. “No, don’t worry about it. Let’s just get going.”

This time, your arms settled around his middle without much thought.

It was the middle of the night, but you were wide awake, your empty stomach and dry mouth unable to allow you rest.

The open plains and the moonlight made for a surprisingly clear trail, and for the first time in weeks, the seemingly endless expanse of the desert wasn’t completely terrifying. 

Without sleep, the only thing for you to do was look around, and after a while with no landmarks, you had to observe the man right in front of you. For the first time, you noticed the revolver resting at his hip.

“Do you—” you started to ask, your words almost caught by the way your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. “Do you need a gun out here?” You asked out of pure curiosity, your tired mind not inhibiting you as much as it normally would.

Fíli sighed in thought. “Well, yeah. All sorts of dangerous things in these parts. You have to protect yourself somehow.”

You considered his words. “My Pa never believed in ‘em.”

“He didn’t think they existed?”

“Didn’t think they should exist,” you corrected.

He huffed. “Can’t say he’s right. Can’t say he’s wrong, either. How’d he feel ‘bout knives?”

“I would imagine he thought they were good for plenty of things, if you used them right,” you mused.

“They’re mighty handy,” Fíli agreed. “I've got two, actually,” he told you. “A straight knife and a bowie.”

“Hm. I don’t know what those look like,” you confessed. With your upbringing, you weren’t taught the difference between all different silhouettes of practical blades.

“You wanna take a look?” He offered easily, drawing the bowie out with his opposite hand and handing it to you, handle side out, over his shoulder.

“Uh, sure,” you accepted hesitantly. You were nervous about removing your arms from his waist, but you were trotting along slowly enough that there wasn't much danger of falling off. 

You held the knife with both hands, holding it firmly flat. The sharpened edge almost seemed to wink at you in the moonlight.

“Guns're handy, no way around that,” Fíli said quietly, hands twisting in the reins. “But there's nothing like the pride that comes with wielding a weapon that you made with your own hands.”

You trailed your fingers along the ridged handle of the knife, noting it was made of a well-maintained antler. What animal it came from, you weren't enough of an expert to know. You were examining the way the knife bowed as it came to a point, giving it stabbing as well as slicing properties when he spoke again, his manner becoming more serious. 

“And anything that forces you to be closer to a life you're taking... I think it helps you keep being human.”

His words sat heavy on your mind. Your fingertips stopped along the blunt edge of the knife. “Have you…” You asked hesitantly, unable to form the whole question.

Fíli sighed, knowing that would come up when he started talking like that. “Well, uh, yeah, a couple deer, a couple elk,” he told you. “A mountain lion that just about killed me, I've still got the scars from that one. That's when I forged that knife. One bison, just one though, other people need and value them more than I do. Done some trapping, small animals.”

He trailed off, finishing his sentence but clearly not his thought.

You shifted uncomfortably, sensing there was more he wasn't telling you. If there was, that was his business, but you were on his horse, out in the middle of nowhere, and he had two knives and a revolver.

"Here's your knife," you notified him, handing it, handle out, back to him. The words seemed... abrupt, in the space created by the silence.

“Thanks,” he grunted.

Another few minutes passed before he spoke again. “There’s hardtack in the right bag if you’re hungry,” he mentioned, and you wondered why he brought it up. It occurred to you that you had simply gone deaf to the sound of your own stomach growling. 

A small piece was enough to hold you over for a while.

It was another two days of dozing and sparse conversation before you hit another stream bed, and the lack of water was beginning to wear on both of your patience. You had been quiet most of the day, and Fíli was somehow less talkative than usual. 

The sun had gone down an hour ago, and you were beginning to be convinced that there would be no stream or waystation. The thought made your heart ache as you began to pray that you would get to see your family again, and be happy with them. You sniffled, sobs bubbling up from your chest, though once again, your eyes were dry. You hiccupped, holding a hand over your mouth.

Fíli shushed you quietly. “Hey, hey,” he said, more insistently. “Hey, quiet,” he commanded, and you suddenly stopped yourself, confused and more than a little hurt.

“You hear that?”

You took a deep breath and held it, attuning your ears to your surroundings. You heard it. 

Water.

You extricated yourself from the saddle as fast as possible, falling to the ground in the darkness and scrambling back to your feet. 

“A stream?”

“A river,” Fíli corrected. “A strong one, too.”

You sobbed with relief, feeling as though you might collapse to the ground again. 

“C’mon, let’s get you something to drink and then you can rest,” Fíli suggested, his boots hitting the ground. 

“No, you need to rest,” the words left your mouth instinctually, though your bones ached to meet a flat surface. “You’ve been awake near this whole time.”

“I’ve gone longer without sleep,” he assured you. “And one of us has to keep watch, ideally.”

“I can do it,” you insisted.

“You sure?”

“Sure enough,” you nodded.

Your eyes screwed more tightly shut against the rising sun, and you finally realized you had lost the battle against your tiredness. You huffed, displeased with yourself, and noticed that Fíli wasn't up against Myrtle's side, where he'd chosen to rest for the night.

His hat and gloves rested atop the saddlebags, just next to the fire that was nothing but coals now. A splash drew your attention to the river—there he was. He shook his head, clearly having just washed his face in the cool water. He dried his face with his bandanna before turning back to the fire.

You watched him. His face was in full view for the first time, the early morning light only making his blue eyes more noticeable. His blond hair stood up and stuck out, mussed by days or maybe weeks under his hat. Without the bandanna, his neck was strong and sturdy, just like his forearms, exposed by his rolled sleeves. His left arm was mottled with deep, pockmarked scars. His face was darker than the rest of him. No way to avoid it in the desert, you supposed.

He noticed you staring after a short while. “What?”

“I've never seen your hands before,” you said innocently, voice full of a quiet curiosity.

He gave a chuckle, the first glimpse you’d ever had of a smile from him. He eyed you incredulously, holding his palms and then the backs of his hands out to you. “Nothin’ too special,” he dismissed as he set his hat back on his head and replaced his bandanna around his neck.

You hummed and shrugged, standing to stretch out the stiffness from your night on the watch.

“You know, most watchpeople, uh, stay on the watch,” Fíli pointed out just as you started walking toward the river.

You flushed red. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “Any real danger would’ve woken me up. I’m used to no one watching my back. It’s good to keep your word, though.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do once we’re back to civilization?” He asked nonchalantly after a comfortable pause, and you nearly froze. It was unusual for him to be the one asking questions, and such a weighty one at that.

“Not much,” you admitted. “I’ve sort of been forced to take everything as it comes. Pa didn’t even buy any land before we started out here.”

He hummed in understanding, scratching his beard as his eyes left you and wandered the landscape.

[gurokiitty]

VOULD I ASK ABOUT A COP READER AND STRADE???

Like the readers older sibling was missing and they were looking for them, who also got kidnapped (and possibly killed by strade) he meets them at the bar, reader is like REALLYY drunk, she whines about not being able to find their older sibling, and Strade knows. He knows what he did.

a/n: what a fun idea!! strade would definitely be extra horrible if he knew his victim was a cop. hope you enjoy, anon!

PIGGY

{ strade x gn! reader }

word count: 1.3k

warnings/tags: alcohol use, violence, kidnapping, psychological torture, forced voyeurism, implied sibling death.

The room spins and the edges of the world soften as you gulp down another shot, the sting of alcohol burning a path down your throat. The dim lights of the bar flicker, casting elongated shadows that dance mockingly around you. This place is a sanctuary of sorts— a shabby dive where lost souls come to drown memories and silence their demons with liquid oblivion.

Strade finds you there, at the edge of dissolution. His entrance is unremarkable, yet somehow you feel the atmosphere shift, a predatory chill seeping through the smoky haze.

His eyes catch yours across the crowded room, glinting with a dark curiosity as he takes the stool beside you. "Rough night, buddy?" he asks, his voice smooth, dangerously inviting.

You nod, swirling the ice in your nearly empty glass. "You could say that." The words spill out of you, heavy with bitterness.

His smile holds a semblance of warmth, perhaps a touch too studied, but under the weight of your despair, you don't notice. He leans in, the movement calculated, as if setting the stage for a confession. "Wanna talk about it? Sometimes airing it out is the only way to breathe again," he suggests, his voice a careful blend of intrigue and concern.

You hesitate, the words hanging precariously on the tip of your tongue. The presence of a stranger, oddly enough, feels like an opportunity to unload, to confide. "It's my older brother," you finally say, the words escaping in a rush. "He's missing, and I feel like I'm chasing shadows. It's like he just vanished into thin air."

Strade’s interest sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours, unblinking. "Disappeared? That’s heavy. How long has he been gone?"

"Three weeks," you reply, the number feeling more substantial with each passing day. "Three weeks of not knowing. It’s eating me up inside."

"And the police?" Strade probes, his voice a soft nudge pushing you deeper into your own turmoil.

"They're doing what they can, I guess. But I'm a cop too, and it feels like I should be able to do more. It's different when it's personal, you know?" You take another sip, the alcohol a poor salve for the ache of helplessness.

Strade nods, feigning empathy. "I can only imagine. Being so close to it, being expected to just wait and see. Must be tearing you apart."

"It is," you admit, your guard crumbling under the weight of your grief and the false security of his attentive gaze. "I keep thinking I'll miss something, or that I’ll get a call saying they've found him, but not... not in the way I hope."

He leans back slightly, giving you space to breathe, yet his presence envelops you, thick as the smoke in the bar. "Sounds like you’re carrying the world on your shoulders. Someone like you shouldn’t be alone with this."

You laugh, a hollow sound. "Feels like I don’t have much choice in the matter. Everyone else is just... moving on."

"But you can't," Strade concludes, his voice soft. "Not until you know."

"Yeah," you whisper, feeling the truth of his words like a punch to the gut. "Not until I know."

He watches you for a moment, a predator disguised as a confidante. "Let me do something for you tonight. Let's make sure you get home safe. It’s the least I can do."

Gratitude, misguided and dangerous, washes over you. "Thanks, I... I appreciate that, really."

"Don’t mention it," he replies, a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he signals the bartender to settle your tab.

You lean heavily on him as he guides you outside, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the stuffy atmosphere of the bar. The alley beside the establishment is dimly lit, deserted, and as you stagger against the cold brick for support, Strade’s demeanour shifts imperceptibly.

"You really think I'd help a cop?" His voice is suddenly sharp, a serrated edge that cuts through your alcohol-fueled haze.

"What?" Confusion clouds your mind, struggling to keep up with the sudden change.

"I’m not calling you a cab," he sneers, his face inches from yours and his grip tightening painfully on your arm.

Before you can react, your head slams against the wall, a burst of pain radiating through your skull as stars explode in your vision. Strade’s mocking laugh is the last thing you hear before darkness claims you.

When your consciousness creeps back, it’s a cruel awakening. Your body aches, bound tightly to a cold, metal pole in a room that reeks of blood and decay. Panic claws at your chest as your eyes adjust to the dimness, the figure of Strade emerging from the shadows.

He's watching you intently, holding an expensive-looking laptop under his arm. "Awake already?" He asks, his voice mockingly gentle.

"Where the fuck am I?" Your voice is raw, fear sharpening each word.

"My little workshop," he replies nonchalantly, as if discussing something as mundane as the weather. "You want to see your brother, don't you?" Strade smiles, sensing your fear. You quickly nod, hope and desperation surging through you.

"Then relax. You won't want to miss this."

He casually opens the laptop, types something on the keyboard, and turns it towards you. The flicker of the screen casts eerie shadows across his face as the video begins to play.

You squint, trying to make sense of the images flickering across the laptop as he holds it just out of reach. Your heart sinks as you recognize the figure in the video— it's your brother, bound and terrified. A cold dread washes over you as Strade walks into frame, your mouth dry, words failing.

"What is this you sick fuck?!" You manage to spit out, your voice laced with horror and revulsion.

The screen flashes with horrific scenes, your brother's pleas echoing in the cramped, dark space as Strade approaches with a knife.

He watches you, a perverse glee lighting up his eyes. "See, your brother... he's become quite the celebrity."

Despite the overwhelming urge to look away, to shut out this nightmarish reality, you can't. Your eyes remain glued to the screen, each image searing itself into your memory— your brother's fear, his pain, his futile attempts to plead for a life already doomed as Strade's knife slices through his skin.

Guilt surges through you—irrational and overwhelming—guilt for not being able to stop this, for not finding him sooner, for every moment you spent doubting the worst had happened.

Strade's face twists into a smirk as the video unfolds before you. "Touching, isn’t it? The bond between siblings..." His words hang in the air, a new kind of torment. "Y'know, he talked about you, even towards the end. Kept saying, 'My sister is a cop. She’ll find you. She'll stop you.'" He laughs, mocking your brother's voice with an exaggerated shrill.

Your response is visceral. A scream rips from your throat, raw and hoarse, as the full weight of the horror crashes down upon you. Hot tears stream down your face, mingling with the bile on your tongue. The bonds around your wrists chafe painfully as you struggle against them, the metal pole unforgiving and cold.

He stands over you, a dark silhouette against the dim light, watching your every reaction with an analyst's eye. As the final scenes play out, your brother's wet, gurgling screams fade into a haze of pain and terror. Strade closes the laptop with a slow, deliberate motion and leans in close, his breath foul against your ear. His voice, a venomous whisper, sends shivers down your spine. "Your cop friends are probably wondering how torn up you are about your brother... It wouldn't be too surprising if you just... disappeared too."

"Now, why don't we film a sequel, little piggy?" His words slither around you, tightening like a noose. "And find out if you squeal just like your brother."

[kentokrazy]

a/n: 🙈 this is terrible but my mind is rotting

ex-sorcerer!nanami kento x gn!reader

warnings: death, grief, could be considered toxic but not in my opinion

nanami kento's red flag

* i saw a tiktok edit so now i'm thinking about this

* but dating nanami kento, he's the perfect man

* brings you flowers

* walks closest to the street

* listens to you, like actually listens when you say things

* he always keeps a level head, during arguments, during stressful moments and even when he's upset

* when he dated in you he invested in you

* that means there are no big life changes made without talking about it

* his finances are even stricter than before, he's going to save every penny he can

* his eyes are on the housing market every other day, checking houses in malaysia and nicer neighborhoods

* if you so mention the idea of kids, he's got schools bookmarked, scribbles of life long plans

* he remembers anniversaries, holidays, birthdays

* but there's one thing

* one, small, tiny thing

* the littlest of red flags

* and if you didn't know him, it could've sent you running

* because nanami trusts you completely, he loves you deeply and wouldn't make this much of a change in his life if he didn't

* but if he could lock you away from all harm he would

* you can feel it when he holds your hand, when he doesn't stray from your side for more than a minute in public

* when he requested you share your location

* if you don't answer your phone when he calls, his heart seizes and his palms get sweaty

* when he doesn't get a single text from you, he can feel the rippling of an anxiety attack

* sometimes, if you sleep too stiffly, his fingers on your neck can stir you.

* he doesn't mean to be overbearing, not really, but can you blame him?

* at the ripe age of 17, he carried his best friends dead body back to his school

* and sometimes the nightmares reminding him of the fact aren't always haibara, sometimes they're of you

* those are the days he seems to be incredibly nervous, driving you to work with a hand on your thigh, picking you up, walking so close he might as well be a backpack when you go to the grocery store

* he doesn't trust others to get close on those days

* he was banned from the convenience store down the block

* nanami's left the sorcerer world for good this time, he has a good reason to do so

* but sometimes he can't help it if he notices a curse getting too close to you (or anyone he deems worth saving)

* sometimes he finds it hard to breathe, thoughts of what could happen to you when he's not around drown him, in those times all he can do is close his eyes, try to remember that those days are behind him

* and when that doesn't work, he calls you, leaves work early, finds you and just needs to feel you

* there are few days he cracks under the pressure, and those come months after shoving those feelings away but you can always see it coming

* he forgets things when those days come, not important things- no, but little things like drinking, eating, sleeping

* he lays down next to you, sure, his hand is somewhere on you but he just stares at the wall, the back of your head or the window

* his bags are deep, his hands are shaky and he becomes the husk you first met, where the only thing on his mind was money and forgetting

* but when he breaks it's bloody and red skin, his nails are bitten and fingers with hangnails

* his hair is tussled and his clothes are disorderly, tie discarded and sweat soaking the fabric of his shirt

* his eyes are watery and your phone is filled with missed calls and panicked messages

* a cool cloth and silent holding is the beginnings of piecing him together, brushing his hair out of his face and whispered assurances bring him back from the fog in his brain

* nanami is well spoken, polite and god forbid he use the wrong honorifics around you, but here he's choking, spitting up and crying, his hands are clutching you like he's not sure you're really there

* that's he's not sure he's real

* propping him up in the bathroom, washing his red skin and sitting with him ground him

* trying to remind him of his change, his growth and his safety

* nanami is a foodie, he prides himself on cooking the best food and buying the freshest vegetables he can find

* but his dirty secret is that on days when he can't stomach anything, can't do much but cry and worry and sometimes call an old student that reminds him of a friend to make sure they're okay, he likes one thing

* a cup of noodles that a friend used to buy is the one of the only things that he can digest, as much as he wishes it wasn't true

* there's a shelf full of them, tucked away from the rest of the world, and each time one gets used another takes it's place

* noodles with the side of a particular soda and a childhood candy stitches together the bleeding part of his heart

* and when that meal is over and his mental fight has exhausted him, nanami sleeps like a rock, for hours (once he slept for two days) he keeps his arms wound around you so tightly

* because his red flag is in the shape of his bleeding heart