#sorry for insulting them it's hard not to

[froothytoothy]

Your Idol

Saja Boys x Idol! Reader

────────────────────────────

summary - you were a part of the failing girl group, Harmoness. Despite being disliked by both the staff and your members, you somehow managed to capture the eyes (and hearts) of five hot demon idols.

warning - fem reader, light bullying, body shaming, pushover reader (gets character development later on), doesn't follow the movie timeline that well

w/c - 2.3K

a/n - this is my first post/work on here so sorry if it's a bit bad. pls correct me if there are any mistakes, comments, reblogs and likes are much appreciated, hope you enjoy!

────────────────────────────

The recent surge of popularity with the Saja Boys left your manager more distressed than ever.

At the start of your idol life your group, Harmoness, had actually been quite popular. Seeing your popularity at the time, Manager Hojin was convinced you were going to make it big and ended up spending way too much money on overused concepts and expensive music videos.

However, once he saw the numbers drop he had to find someone to blame. It ended up being you, seeing as you were the least popular member of the group. Not by a wide margin, but enough to make the manager take notice and choose to believe that you were the issue here.

From then on life had been nothing but endless dance practices for your "sloppy dancing", hours of vocal training for your "croaky voice" and a strict diet for your "overweight body".

Your fellow idol members had been just as critical, believing that they were already perfect and that you were holding them back. You felt isolated within your group.

You were known as the "sunshine" of the group. The girl whose smile never faltered, who always had the most energy and stage presence. But because of the constant criticism and strict diet, you began to lose your confidence and energy, something that your fans loved the most about you, making your popularity decrease further. You were still happy and energetic, but it was hard to keep it up all the time when everyone around you seemed like an enemy.

Although, despite all the suffering you've endured as an idol, you still loved it. Performing had been a struggle as you often went on stage hungry, but seeing thousands of fans so happy to see you, watching their eyes sparkle at you. It was so amusing how high they'd scream if you waved at them. To be needed and wanted by so many, it was a thrilling feeling. Your manager and the other members may not see your worth, but you know they did. The job is hard but if it means making them smile, you’d gladly work even harder. They deserved it. 

The new group, Saja Boys, had been a real hit ever since their debut song "Soda Pop" went viral. You couldn't help dancing along to it whenever you had the chance, it was too catchy not to. When Hojin caught you listening to them, he screamed at you. Belittled you in front of everyone. Accusing you of purposely putting the group down and siding with other idol groups for fun.

You remember how confused you felt that day. 

Why is he acting like this is a competition? That we're meant to only side with our groups. Is it wrong to want to support your junior idols? Hojin heavily disapproved of the idea, and it had only made him angrier. 

He began to insult you in more ways, even as you tried to calm him down, knowing that everyone was staring at you. The shame and embarrassment you felt that day left such a mark on you that you could no longer listen Soda Pop, even outside the company building. Every time you tried to, it only brought back the bad memory. 

─────────────

"Good work today girls, I'll see you again tomorrow”.

Your knees almost buckled at the sweet sound of freedom. After several gruelling hours of training, you were finally done. The Idol Awards were coming up and Harmoness's newest song "Bringing Myself Up" was planning to debut.

Whilst taking a sip of your water you overheard your fellow members talking and giggling about something. Eun-jin and Soo-ah were latching onto Jina, fawning over her.

Jina Jeong was the leader of Harmoness, and the most popular member. As the lead vocalist, she often worked besides you, which often made you sound like a dying bird compared to her. She was one of the lead competitors on an idol show, but lost. In the end, she was offered a place here, so things worked out for her. You couldn't help but envy her in every way, aside from her big ego she was perfect. 

Eun-jin, also known as SKY, was a rapper like Soo-ah, and the second eldest. She was known as the “tomboy” of the group and was the harshest when it came to insulting you. 

And finally the maknae of the group, Soo-ah. She had a sweet, innocent-looking face that often resembled a mouse. But in truth, she was a brat. On stage she would treat everyone so kindly and with so much respect, but when she was off the stage she was horrible. Never listening to the makeup artist's instructions, or showing up to practice on time. You saw how she treated service workers as lesser beings than her, and you found it horrible. 

It never used to be like this though, they were all so kind at the start of the group's debut. But things changed once a bit of fame got to their heads. Although, you knew deep down inside that there is some good in them, even if they didn't always show it. 

"You’re so lucky you get to meet Jinu, he's my bias".

This caught your attention. Despite the incident you still absolutely loved the Saja Boys, knowing almost everything about each member and collecting as much merch as your wallet could handle.

The mere mention of them made you bubble with excitement.

You put your bottle down and turned towards your members. Even though you didn't have a good relationship with them, you always made an effort to try. Completely cutting them off wasn't going to help mend things, but trying might!

Plus, deep down, you secretly believed that it truly was your fault that the group had been doing so bad. You always did your best to stay positive but it wasn't always easy when everyone keeps telling you it's your fault. Also, it was a potential bonding moment with them. You felt as though you could finally set aside some of your differences and become friends. 

"Hey girls, what's going on? What are you talking about?" You said casually, hoping to break the very thick layer of ice between you and them. They look at you, their faces shift from glowy excitement to pure disgust. It was obvious they were already bored of you, but you continued. Needing answers.

"I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about the Saja Boys. Are you guys fans too?" Your smile never came down despite the eye roll you got from Soo-ah.

"Was I mistaken? It's just I heard you talking about meeting Jinu and I was thinking Jinu from the Saja Boys, but maybe it's a different Jinu that I don't know, sorry if I was mistaken" you ramble, hands going everywhere in an embarrassingly panicky way. 

Eun-jin moves her head closer to the centre of the group, all whilst maintaining eye contact with you, and whispers "Why is she listening to our conversations like a creep?"

The group began to burst out laughing whilst you stood there, head down in shame. 

Were you really that creepy to them?

Jina stopped her stream of laughter, and the others followed suit. "If you must know, tomorrow the Saja Boys are coming here. I've been chosen to give them a tour of the place," she says nonchalantly, although you could see the joy twisted in her eyes. 

"Yeah, since the Saja Boys aren't actually under any label at the moment, the company wants them here" Soo-ah chimes. 

You couldn't help the wide smile breaching your skin, the Saja Boys coming here? Where you could meet them? Talk to them? 

If they joined the company, you'd be able to see them almost every single day. Different scenarios began to pop up in your mind. 

You could imagine Jinu flashing his signature smile at you.

Getting close enough to Mystery where you could hopefully see past the layers of hair covering his eyes.

Romance putting his arms around you whilst talking to you.

Abby letting you take a closer look at his abs.

And Baby letting you pet the soft hair on his head. 

You blushed, now is definitely not the time to be thinking weird thoughts! 

Jina was so lucky she got to not only see them, but even give them a tour. You assumed the manager no longer saw them as an enemy but as a potential ally. The thought made you giddy inside, imagining them as your juniors. Although referring to them as your juniors sounded a bit odd considering they were older than you. 

"So what time are they coming over? I'd love to meet them". 

"The manager doesn't want you seeing them".

On the outside nothing changed, but inside you felt your heart break. 

"Yeah, he says you'd just get in the way, you know, make the company look bad... like usual".

You couldn't even focus on who was talking, all the sounds muffled together. You knew that once Hojin made up his mind, he wasn't going to change it. You just had to accept that you may never meet the Saja Boys. 

Looking up with a pained smile, you forced out "It's alright. I hope you have fun though Jina, you deserve it”, mostly in envy. Jina was the member you looked up to the most. She was so good at everything. Her vocals were heavenly, and she was a fast learner when it came to dancing. It was like she was born to be an idol. 

Before you could embarrass yourself any more you ran off quickly, taking your bag with you, but not before hearing the burning sound of laughter from the girls. Most likely mocking you for your attempt at connection.

─────────────

The next day you walked into the company building, holding a large gift bag. 

After spending the night weighing the pros and cons of meeting the Saja Boys, it was obvious what should be done. 

There were actually a lot more cons than pros, but meeting the Saja Boys was just that important it outweighed all the others.

If Hojin found you talking to them he'd get really mad, but honestly, when wasn't he? 

Since you didn't know when the Saja Boys would be coming you decided to come early in the morning. You had prepared special gifts for each of the members, some things were handmade, and the others were stuff you knew they liked. Considering the lack of time you hoped it turned out well. 

On your way to the cafeteria you spotted Hojin, and you quickly hid the gift bag behind your back once you saw him approach you in frustration. "(Y/N) didn't the others tell you the Saja Boys were coming today? If they see you, it'll mess things up".

You weren't sure how meeting them was going to "mess things up" but you didn't question it. Most likely would lead to another lecture. 

"I know that Manager, I just came to get some practice for the Idol Awards," you said extra sweetly, hoping he'd let you off. It wasn't necessarily a lie, you were going to practice after eating breakfast. But the main reason you came was of course to try and see the Saja Boys. 

"Good, Lord knows you need it. Why are your movements so sloppy? Come, I'll take you to the dance studio so you don't wander off”.

"Oh I was actually going to get breakfast, I haven't had any yet. But I'll make sure to be quick".

"You can afford to skip a few meals, now come on" he commands, grabbing your wrist tightly and dragging you to the locker room. Being an idol meant being so busy you would be forced to skip breakfast a couple of times, but you had gotten so distracted preparing the gifts last night you forgot to eat dinner. You were starving and dance practice wasn't going to help. 

Although you doubt Hojin would care.  The only thing that you could do now was wait for lunch. 

─────────────

Unfortunately, you lost that chance once you realized that he had locked you in the studio. You weren't sure if it was done on purpose or not but one thing was for sure, you were starving. 

Three hours into practice you wanted to refill your water bottle, only to realize you couldn't open the door. You tried to look for your phone when you remembered you left it in your locker. At the time you weren't all that worried, you were sure someone would come and unlock the door for you. 

But minutes became hours and panic started to settle in. You started to bang on the door, praying someone would hear you and come to help. Unfortunately due to the dance studio being in an isolated area of the building, it was unlikely unless Hojin came back for you. 

Your body felt like it was shutting down. Black spots started to cloud your vision. Your head ached in pain and numbness. There really was no chance you'd see the Saja Boys now. Who knows what time it is. 

From the distance, you could hear the sounds of muffled chatter and you shot up from your place on the ground. You rushed to the door, banging on it as loud as you could and calling out for help. Your head felt heavier and heavier and your vision started to fade rapidly. 

Hearing movement from the door you backed away slowly, and upon seeing a man's chest you fell forward, passing out in the stranger's warm arms. 

────────────────────────────

edit - I'm so happy so many people like this :D

a lot of people have been asking to be tagged in the next chapter, if you also want to be tagged just comment below and ask to be tagged and I'll add you to the list!

────────────────────────────

[shimjake]

flowers in december

pairing . jungwon x fem! reader (ft. sunghoon) about . 16.2k+ words, angst, unrequited love + hanahaki synopsis . jungwon doesn't think there's anything scarier than watching his best friend, who he's secretly been in love with his whole life, get married to another. however, as he coughs up blood and tries to ignore the ache in his chest, he starts to believe that maybe, there just might be something worse: death.

warnings . major character death, blood, throwing up, alcohol/drinking, cursing, themes of suicide and death overall, this is a hanahaki au so i cannot stress enough how much grief there is in this, miscommunication, heavy angst, depression, sickness, there's like 1 suggestive line, its barely implied reader is shorter than jungwon but it doesnt matter too much, if you are reading this hoping for a good time there is none ok

playlist . flowers in december by mazzy star, bonfire by wave to earth, no one noticed by the marias, romantic homicide by d4vd, space song by beach house, favorite crime by olivia rodrigo, beaches by beabadoobee

notes . first fic on this account hello!! also this was written for @hoonigiris i hope you enjoy my grad gift to u! (let's ignore how this was supposed to be done by last august.) also thank you to @sungbeam for dealing with me crashing out every single time and for beta-ing, i love u so much. genuinely writing this has ruined me i'm so sorry jungwon for putting you through this much pain but at least i finished the fic yknow 😭

The light that streams in through the blinds is unbearably bright today.

Usually, Jungwon can ignore it. He can reach over to tug the blinds shut or bury his face into his perfectly fluffed pillow. He can pretend he has no other obligations and surrender to the slumber that consumes him once more. At least, until his alarm rings, he can exist in a world of peace where his only soulmate is the quilted pattern of his blanket.

Unfortunately, though, he cannot replicate this sequence of actions today. Mainly because no matter how hard he tries, the ever-so-persistent buzzing of his phone doesn’t seem to quell. 

Jungwon reaches for his bedside dresser unquestioningly, not wanting to open his eyes, which currently feel weighted down by dumbbells. His fingers fumble around the hardwood until they land on something smooth, and he grips his phone with whatever strength he has this early in the morning. With one eye, he peeks at his phone screen to see a flashing call appear on the glowing screen. With a grumble, he picks up.

“Hello?” he whispers. Only then does he register the dryness of his throat, that scratchy, aching feeling he gets after one too many vodka shots at the club. 

“Jungwon, finally!” he hears from the other end. It takes him a little bit to recall your chirpy voice from the other end of the phone. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you? This is–”

“Y/n,” he starts, his eyes scanning the clock hanging across his room. “It’s seven in the morning. I never wake up this early. You never wake up this early.”

Jungwon hears a rustle of sheets next to him, a soft whine echoing out from his sleeping hyung. Jay’s tired eyes blink open, and he throws an arm over his eyes as if the light streaming in personally insulted him.

“Fuck, my head hurts. What time is it?” Jay mumbles.

“Seven.”

Jungwon’s headache makes its presence known on cue, and flashes of last night’s misadventures spring through his memory. He groans, already regretting tagging along with Jay to the bar near his house, the one with Jay’s bartender friend that always gives them half off on drinks. Nights like these are ones he always regrets, never too fond of the aftermath of a raging headache, but sometimes he just needs a little something after a long day of work.

“Are you with Jay?” Jungwon hears on the other end, and he hums softly. “Good, because I have something important to tell you both!”

Your voice is wispy, full of breaths and almost-stutters as if you landed in some sort of unescapable trouble. Jungwon’s heart picks up, worry pounding through him as he puts your call on speaker and climbs out of bed. He fumbles around the room, tugging on a shirt and searching for his keys as he responds.

“What’s wrong? Did you miss your bus again? I can come pick you up–”

“No, Won, nothing’s wrong.” Your breathing staggers on the other end, as if you were controlling every inhale and exhale, and he finds himself not believing your words.

“Are you sure?”

“Jungwon. Listen to me.”

He stops, pausing for a beat, and listens. He listens, just like he always does.

“He proposed, Won. Sunghoon proposed.”

And suddenly, Jungwon feels like he’s suffocating.

He doesn’t register much after that, only Jay expressing a small ‘congrats’ as you both continue talking. His knees buckle, and he’s forced to sit back down on the bed with his shirt half-on and shaking hands. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he hears shuffling across the room and finds his tears staining Jay’s bare torso, pressing into his chest as Jay brings him in for a hug.

Jay doesn’t say anything at first; he just rubs circles into his back with a touch so delicate that it barely registers. When Jungwon cries harder, he breaks, whispering apologies into his ear as if they can do anything to crush the tidal wave of anguish that just swept over Jungwon. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats, over and over again like a mantra, but Jungwon doesn’t understand why. Did he do something wrong? Did you do something wrong? Is loving someone who isn’t him wrong? 

Or is it he that’s wrong, loving you irrevocably despite your heart belonging to another? Loving you and lying to everyone about his true feelings with only a selfish desire to keep you close. Was it so wrong that he just wanted to be with you, even if it was as your best friend and nothing more?

All the memories of you suddenly resurface, handpicked moments where he could’ve confessed at any moment, but instead remained silent. Moments where he watched you chase your happiness, even if that didn’t involve him. A small, gnawing feeling in his chest makes itself known, crawling its way up his intestines and up his throat.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers. Jay pulls back, searching his eyes and anticipating any sort of grief-filled reaction that comes Jungwon’s way. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”

Jay frowns, already reaching for the pink Hello Kitty bucket in the corner of Jungwon’s room, reserved for hangovers, rough nights, and maybe in rare cases like this, heartbreak. Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut as he heaves, and heaves, and heaves, all his yearning leaving through his mouth until nothing remains and he’s pulling the bucket away with a slight cough. 

“Won, you need to rinse your mouth,” Jay starts, patting his back. Jungwon stares into the bucket, his face contorting into something of confusion.

“Won?” he hears again, but this time he rubs his eyes in disbelief, blinking three times before tilting the bucket towards his hyung.

“Look, hyung. Petals.”

White, curled petals, sitting against the baby pink interior of the bucket. A sight so unrealistic that it doesn’t even look real until Jay shakes the bucket and the petals flutter to the bottom. Jungwon can only stare in shock, almost in wonder, until he throws up again.

(He finds out later, after he’s calmed down and the tears on his cheeks have become one with his skin, that Sunghoon proposed to you on that mountain. The one that you and Jungwon discovered first together, back in high school when you ventured off the trail for your senior pictures and stumbled upon the view of a beautiful sunrise studded with pine trees. The mountain that you’d revisit with Jungwon every summer, dragging him, and later Sunghoon, along because it became something of a tradition, sitting at the top of the world with the whole forest spread beneath you.

You would stare at the view. Jungwon would stare at you.)

In retrospect, it’s not like Jungwon didn’t see it coming.

He’d anticipated it for a while now, or at least started expecting it after Sunghoon had pulled him aside during a house party months ago and shyly asked him for his photographer friend’s number, the one who specialized in weddings and surprise proposals. Sunghoon had stared at him so cutely from behind his thick-rimmed glasses that Jungwon had no choice but to ignore the sinking feeling as he forwarded his friend Riki’s phone number, tapping him on the shoulder and wishing him good luck.

(That sinking feeling that he’s always had when he sees you with Sunghoon, as if he doesn’t have a Pinterest album of his ideal wedding that he’s imagined you walking down the aisle in. As if he hasn’t daydreamed about sliding a ring on your finger since he was seventeen, mourning the distance between you two as you headed off to college without him. As if he hasn’t imagined how he’d get down on one knee in the midst of a rainy afternoon and ask to be yours forever.)

It’s just that Jungwon didn’t expect it to be this soon. He thought he’d have more time to bury his reverence for you, to pretend as though you really just were two best friends. He’d wanted to imagine himself cradled in your arms one last time before he lost you for good.

Instead, he has to settle for watching you from a distance. He glances at you one too many times today, admiring the flowy sundress you have on as you sit in the wicker chair next to Sunghoon. It’s like his body knows that you’re slipping from his grasp, because his eyes flicker over to you like it’s second nature, and he has to fight to regain his focus. 

It’s the first time he’s seen you, physically, in a long while. You look different, almost as if you’re glowing, so giddy with every movement that Jungwon feels it radiate off you. Conversely, Jungwon feels as though there’s a storm cloud brewing in his stomach, twisting and turning and flipping over and over again as though he’s sick. The complementary croissant from the restaurant lies untouched on his plate, and he busies himself with his phone, reading through the influx of messages from Jay about what’s supposedly wrong with him and his newfound ability to throw up petals.

“Jungwon,” you start, abruptly enough that he almost drops his phone before his eyes glance back up towards you, “and Jake. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome? What is this, an announcement?” Sunghoon’s best friend chimes in, stifling a laugh at your formal behavior.

“Sort of, actually,” Sunghoon responds, observing Jungwon’s confused expression. “We, um,” he clears his throat, the pink rising to his cheeks. “We’re getting married. In two months.”

Time seems to hate Jungwon. It trickles down at moments where Jungwon’s impatient, watching the clock tick as he taps his foot in rhythm, and it crashes through like a tsunami when he craves some peace and quiet. Time seems to slide through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass, escaping through every crack as if it's running away from something. He never seems to have enough of it, either too much or too little, and right now, he wishes that it was more friendly to him because he knows that getting over you will take a lot longer than two months.

(Really, he’s had a lifetime to do this, but he’s deluded himself into thinking that getting over you is measurable. A process he can start once he needs to. It’s not. Getting over you is an immeasurable entity that he will be battling for the rest of his life. It’s not time that’s unfair to him; it’s himself.)

“That’s so… soon,” Jungwon finds himself saying lamely.

“Yeah,” Jake echoes. “Didn’t you guys just get engaged?”

“Sunghoon has a work trip early next year, so we thought it’d be best to tie the knot before he goes off,” you explain. Your ring glints from the soft sunshine as you meet Sunghoon’s gaze, like a cheesy romance scene in a movie Jungwon wishes he’d never seen. “And we’d like you both to be part of the wedding party.”

The swirling in Jungwon’s stomach intensifies.

“Like, I’d be your maid of honor?” Jungwon lets out, drinking a glass of water to calm the weirdness in his chest.

“Or like, a dude of honor,” Jake comments. Jungwon’s too preoccupied waiting for your reaction to notice Sunghoon’s eye roll.

“Yeah, basically.”

He can’t stop his brain from overthinking, trying any way to get out of something he’d regret. Something you’d regret.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, like, what about Wonyoung?” he asks, knowing how close you are with your college roommate. “She probably knows more about this wedding thing than I do. Or what about Ningning–”

“Won,” you interrupt, placing your hand over his. Your touch is delicate, like always, but he finds it scathingly hot today, as if you’ve set him on fire. “You’re my best friend. Why would I want anyone other than you by my side?”

Oh, how he wishes he could be by your side, not just as your best friend, but as your lover. Sometimes he thinks you know this gaping secret he’s hiding, choosing to say innocent little musings about him and you as if they have no effect on his sanity. He feels sick again, that same sickness from when he gripped Jay’s shirt tightly as tears cascaded down his face, and all he had was the overwhelming urge to get it out. He can’t necessarily do that now, though, not when Sunghoon’s stare is piercing into the side of his head, waiting for a response.

No matter how fucked up this all is, how you unknowingly take and take from him until he has nothing left to give, he still prefers this over not knowing you at all. So he agrees, just like he always does.

“You’re right. Okay,” he says numbly, watching your face light up in a grin as you clutch his hand a little tighter, as if his skin hasn’t been burnt off enough. Even though the whole table radiates with joy, infectious from your laughter, he feels like his heart is being ripped to pieces with every smile you throw his way.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, the urge to vomit becoming unbearable with every word he watches you say. He watches the petals float down into the toilet basin, scoffing as he slumps down on the gray tile and wipes his mouth. His hands are finding Jay’s contact before he can even register it, and he tries his hardest not to cry and make a fool of himself in front of you as the phone rings.

He wishes he could go back to a time when he wasn’t in love with you. When all you were to him was just another friend, when he didn’t feel guilty for staring at you a little too long or wanting you more than he wanted anyone else. He wishes he could go back to that time, even though he knows that it never existed, because all he’s ever known is how to love you. He knows he’s been put on this Earth to love you, and to wish otherwise would mean he’d cease to exist.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers when the call goes through. His throat is raw and scratchy again, aching just like his feelings for you.

“It’s called hanahaki disease, Won,” Jay whispers slowly, as if it pains him to say. “It’s rare, but it happens when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. You’ll keep coughing up petals until eventually you die from it.”

Jungwon laughs bitterly because somehow, death doesn’t seem that bad compared to losing you for a lifetime. In the end, death seems better than this sick and twisted fate of his.

Jungwon has always known that you wanted to get married in a garden.

He knows that it’s been a dream of yours to get married with the river flowing behind you and the dandelions peeking through the blades of grass. Early enough that the morning dew still prickles beneath your feet, but not too early for you to complain about your heavy eye bags from lack of sleep.

Jungwon hates that he knows little details about you like this. He hates that he has the ability to read you faster than he’s read himself, as if you’re a book filled with annotations and dog-eared pages from a life well-lived. If Jungwon were a mere acquaintance, crushing on you from afar, he thinks it would’ve been easier to distance himself emotionally. It would be easier to stop loving you without the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders.

To his dismay, however, Jungwon is not a random nobody to you. He’s your best friend, your other half, the one who completes your sentences and ties your shoelaces. Jungwon knows you like to think of yourself as a star, a tiny, twinkling star that somehow found its place, but to him, you are the epicenter of every universe. A universe where he handpicked all the stars and galaxies, painted the darkness behind you with a soft brush as if it barely exists in comparison to your glow, because he sees you for all that you are. A universe where he settles for being a small planet that orbits you because he is bound to you by heart and soul, and he won’t be able to escape that, no matter how hard he tries.

Your relationship is so tightly knit that he’s the one helping you pick out flower arrangements today instead of Sunghoon. He adjusts uncomfortably in the too-smooth leather couch in the floral shop, watching your fingers flick through the guidebook and trying not to stare at the ring that has now become a permanent placeholder on your body. He subconsciously makes note of the flower arrangements that you linger on for too long, knowing that you won’t remember them until you retrace your line of thought.

(It’s okay, though. He’s always been there to remember things for you. Like the time you forgot your notecards for your sociology presentation, and he printed out spare just in case. Or when you forgot to ask for mango sago in your drink, so he pulled the cashier aside after to let her know. Even if you’re not aware of how much he does for you, he’ll still continue to do it just to see that glow on your face. That same glow that spreads slowly, the one that barely appears, but the one he still notices because he loves you.)

“They’re all pretty,” you murmur, flipping back and forth through a couple of different arrangements. “What about the petunias?”

Jungwon eyes the multicolored flowers in the photo, his brows arching skeptically. “You didn’t want flashy colors, though,” he reminds you gently, taking the book from your hands.

You sigh, slumping against the couch as if you’re over this whole ordeal, even though it’s only been thirty minutes. Jungwon flips to the next page, ignoring your disinterested gaze because even though your eyes glaze over, he knows how important this is to you, and therefore how important it is to him, too.

He scans the pages until his fingers pause, pressing indents into an arrangement with white colored flowers and pretty green springs. His heart rate spikes as his mind races with every intention to turn the next page, to forget about the same flowers that continue to plague him, but you’ve already noticed his silence and leaned in curiously to examine the page.

“Those are pretty, aren’t they?” you echo, your fingers tracing over the white crysanthemums. Even in the picture, they look delicate, as if one harsh gust could blow away the petals, and all Jungwon can think about is how much they remind him of you.

(They’re the same white flowers he wanted to ask you out with. He’d preordered the bouquet weeks in advance, waiting until the cherry blossoms bloomed to plan the perfect date. The collared shirt he picked out matched how pure the flowers looked in his hands, and he purposefully waited to get his hair cut because he knew you liked to run your fingers through the silky length. 

The date never happened, though, because you told him about your crush on Park Sunghoon three days later. The cute barista who always drew hearts on your coffees and added extra boba to your tea. Jungwon smiled back at you as if every word didn’t pierce through his chest, and the bouquet stayed in his dorm, shriveling up until the color became unrecognizable.)

“They are pretty,” he whispers. “Are you sure, though? White flowers tend to wilt faster.”

“They’ll only be for the centerpieces, Won. Besides, the color is versatile enough to go with everything, so it’ll be easy to make a theme around it.”

He wants to tell you that he won’t be able to bear seeing you walk down the aisle with white crysanthemums, a pointed reminder of what could’ve been if you had reciprocated even an ounce of his feelings. He wants to tell you that he’ll die because of this very flower, that the petals he throws up because you don’t feel the same way are the same ones you want to center your entire wedding around.

He wants to tell you that white chrysanthemums mean death, not for you, but for him.

He can’t say any of that, though. Not when you speak so happily to the cashier, discussing logistics and deciding this is the one you want. He can never say no to you, because denying your happiness is like denying his whole existence, even if it causes every part of him to wither away until all that remains is a singular white petal.

The wind whips through Jungwon’s hair as he peeks his head out of the car window, but even that is not enough to stop the ever-so tumultuous feeling in his stomach.

His disease is getting worse. Initially, he’d only throw up after being close to you for prolonged periods of time, or when you sat a little too close for comfort, a little too close to even function. The petals were annoying, and it felt hard to breathe at times, but it was bearable enough that he could deal with it. He could pretend everything was fine when you stared him in the eyes or when your voice fluttered through his ears.

It’s harder now, though, because even the mere thought of you is enough for him to find solace in the Hello Kitty bucket again. There are more petals, too, stained with blood at the tips as if they really are a part of his body and not some figment of his imagination. He chokes on his words more often, always accompanied by a cough and wheezing. He’s gotten paler, enough that he has to apply copious amounts of foundation to resemble his usual self, and his lips are chapped from the number of times he’s had to throw up in the past month.

Jay has moved into his apartment indefinitely, treating him like a sick patient because, well, that’s what he is. There’s no cure, no medicine that can make him feel better, and he has to suffer with this terminal illness until he either dies or kills himself at your altar. Jungwon just hopes he dies after your wedding, while you’re blissfully aware on your honeymoon with Sunghoon. He hopes that when he dies, your last memories of him consist of nothing but happiness.

The Hello Kitty bucket joins him on the way to the cake shop, becoming a permanent fixture in his hands as Jay drives in the seat next to him. Jay’s fingers grip his thigh every time Jungwon coughs, but he manages to make it to the store in one piece.

At least, until he sees Sunghoon’s car parked outside, and all that he has tried to hold back spills out (all the secrets he has buried, one flower at a time).

“It’s okay,” Jay says, wiping the blood from the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, “I’ll be here. I’ll come up with dumb excuses when you need a break.”

The soft aromatics of the bakery waft through Jungwon’s senses as he steps out, and he just prays that he’ll be able to hold on for long enough today in your presence. He wonders how he’s supposed to survive your actual wedding if he can barely even make it through cake testing today, but he knows he’ll have to figure out a way without making you suspicious of what’s going on.

As much as he hates that Sunghoon loves you, it’s hard not to see why. You’re incredibly perceptive, even having noticed the lack of color in Jungwon’s skin despite his best efforts to try and hide it. You’ve seen how much he’s been coughing recently, even calling him more often to check in on him. You make him chicken noodle soup when he feels notably worse, and even if he doesn’t have the heart to see you, you deliver little gift baskets to his door with medicine. If anything, the question is, how could someone not love you?

The doorbell jingles when you walk in, and your eyes immediately light up when Jungwon walks in. Already, you’re skipping over to him and shoving some flavor of cake in his mouth. Knowing you, you’re probably on some sugar rush from all the sweetness, but if anything, it just makes you seem even more adorable in his eyes.

“Red velvet,” he says through bites and shaking his head, “It’s good, but it’s a hit or miss for a wedding cake.”

“Back to the drawing board,” Sunghoon sighs behind you, picking up another slice of cake and sliding it over to Jungwon. He shovels it into his mouth, already grimacing at the sour lemon taste and glancing over to see your reaction.

“God, I hate this,” you say, and Jungwon hands you the water glass before you can even reach for it. You thank him before taking a big swig, finishing the water in the cup, and you step aside to refill it with Sunghoon in tow.

“Can you be any more obvious?” Jay whispers from his side, and Jungwon quirks an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man. You look at her with googly eyes. You have to be a little more subtle with these kinds of things before Sunghoon catches on.”

“Yeah, but,” Jungwon sighs, running his hands through his hair, “that’s how we’ve always been.”

“You have to understand that it can’t be like that anymore.” Jay rests his palm on Jungwon’s shoulder, gripping it to emphasize his words. “They’re getting married. You can’t take care of her forever because that’s Sunghoon’s job, not yours.”

Jungwon already feels it crawling up his throat before Jay can finish, and his feet fly towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he empties his stomach. Jungwon watches in horror as the once white petals are now blood-stained to the core, soaked in deep red as they make their way down the drain. One look in the mirror shows the blood coating his lips, and he tries his best to wipe off the residue so he doesn’t leave the bathroom looking like a vampire.

Loving you is destroying him, he admits to himself with a bitter laugh. He’s living in this sick, twisted version of fate where he’s punished for wanting what his heart desires. 

(When in reality, loving you has always been a form of punishment for him. Watching you at your college graduation as Sunghoon pulls you in closer with your purple graduation stole, leaving featherlight kisses on your cheeks as if you two were the only ones to exist in this world. Knowing that, as he recorded you throwing your graduation cap high in the air, he’d never be enough for you. The sleepless nights when he’s agonized over you, haunted by being in your shadow because he’s simply not worth it, have already burned his soul to ashes. His heart is already a decayed, shriveled version of what could’ve been; he’s just too late to realize it.)

Jay is waiting for him by the door as he steps out. One look at his face, and Jay can already tell how much worse his condition has become, but he chooses not to comment on it as they walk back into the room.

“Are you okay?” you ask, scanning his face in worry as he walks over to you. “You were in there for a while.”

“Yeah. My stomach was kind of acting up from the lemon flavor.”

“I didn’t like that one either,” Sunghoon responds, eyes trailing over Jungwon before his brows furrow. “Hey, you have something on your lips.”

Jungwon’s thumb runs over the corner, pulling back to reveal a smidge of blood he’d missed in the bathroom. He pales, and Jay tenses up next to him, trying to think of an excuse so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

“It’s probably from the dark chocolate raspberry, right?”

Jungwon laughs, dry and hollowed out. “Yeah! I had a lot cause it was pretty good.”

“I wanna try,” you say, scanning the tables for the flavor. Your fingers reach for the cup, and Jungwon watches your eyes light up as the fork disappears behind your lips. “This is pretty good,” you say between muffled bites, “not too sweet and not too tart.”

Sunghoon grips your shoulder, and you turn slowly, facing him with wide eyes. Your eyes lock, and he blinks once, twice, a silent exchange passing between you both before he pulls back to disappear behind the cake counter. 

(Jungwon can’t help the bitter taste in his mouth that spreads when he looks at you. Once, that was you and he, sharing secrets between your eyes in a language you both could only understand. Now, he has to watch his form of love being exhibited by another. A love that he’s now a bystander in front of.)

“Thanks for the save,” Jungwon whispers to his hyung when the noise has settled down.

“Don’t mention it.”

Jay passes him a leftover cake slice, and Jungwon shakes his head. The back of his throat burns, and he can’t tell if it’s from throwing up earlier or the raw intensity of his feelings pounding through his chest every time he looks at you. And even though his heart echoes in his ears, he knows you can’t hear it. 

He has always been on mute for you, just static background noise in a world where only you and Sunghoon exist.

Jungwon doesn’t like looking at his reflection in your mirror.

It’s not that he hates how he looks, per se (although he does look like a shell of his former self, vampirish with how pale his skin is and how chapped his lips are). He’s just constantly reminded of how out of place he is in your apartment, all long legs, floppy hair, and that constant nagging feeling that he doesn’t really know you anymore.

He feels a little more disconnected every time he visits. Even though he’s seen it evolve from beige walls and empty floors, even though there are remnants of him everywhere he looks, he’s always felt like an outsider looking in. 

From the stain on your carpet when he spilled beer in a drunken stupor to the cat magnet on your fridge, which he’d bought at an Asian market years ago, physically, he knows you. However, Sunghoon’s things scattered throughout the apartment remind him that, emotionally, you are not the same person you once were. A casual hoodie draped over the bar stool is enough to make his stomach stir.

(These days, he has to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. However, so many ins and so many outs cannot help him hide how left out he feels in your presence. He hates to bear witness to you and Sunghoon sharing glances, as if he is the only one that matters to you. He hates the thought of Sunghoon trailing kisses down your stomach, of whispering breathy words against your thighs like a poem made just for you. He hates knowing that no matter how much Sunghoon loves you, he could love you better.)

Jay was right. Your eyes don’t search for his anymore. They search for Sunghoon’s.

“Stop thinking,” Jay chastises. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”

He can’t, though. To him, you’re second nature, a permanent fixture in the back of his mind like an itch that won’t stop bugging him. It’s so irrevocably easy for him to think of you because he searches for you in everything. In every flower bouquet he passes by at the market, in every banana pudding recipe he finds on the internet, in every gray cat he sees running by on the street. Asking him to stop thinking of you would mean losing the very thing that’s been keeping him going.

He hears Jay sigh beside him, turning to place an envelope and a wedding invitation card in his hand.

“Focus on this first. You can think about her when you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Jungwon nods, slipping the card inside the pocket absentmindedly. His heart is never really there during your wedding preparations, or really anything that has involved you lately, but he hopes you appreciate the effort he puts into trying to show up. It’s hard, especially when he feels the blood swirl in his stomach after seeing your name carved next to Sunghoon’s on the envelope, but he’d rather sacrifice his happiness for yours instead of being apart from you.

He’s gotten better at training himself, though. Focusing on his breathing and counting down from ten seems to do the trick most of the time. However, it comes with a heavy price tag. The blood gets worse when he holds back, and it almost feels like he’s hyperventilating once he does find a chance to empty his stomach. It’s always worse in your presence, too, but good thing you’re not here today, leaving your friends to mail out the invitations as you figure out the decorations.

“Jungwon,” Jake calls out from beside him, “do you think the white stamp or the gold stamp looks better?” He flashes both colors in front of Jungwon’s face, the lights glittering from the clear reflection of the gold one.

“Gold. She’ll like that it’s shiny.”

Subconsciously, his eyes flicker toward Sunghoon, looking at him for approval. He nods, not looking up from the table, and Jungwon’s eyes linger before turning back to his own task.

Jungwon doesn’t really harbor any resentment towards Sunghoon. He’s always viewed him through your eyes, always your boyfriend before anything else. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong other than being the unfortunate human being that you happened to be in love with, the person that took everything away from him. It’s hard to see why not, too, because Sunghoon loves in that silent, caregiving way that you don’t realize until you really get to know him. Sticky notes you find on the counter after you come home from work, dishes cleaned if you’re feeling particularly down, holding your hand in his jacket pocket because he loves deeply, not openly. In many ways, Sunghoon is everything Jungwon has ever wanted to be for you.

Jungwon has always wondered if Sunghoon knows about the extent of his feelings towards you. He always stares into Jungwon as if he’s reading his soul, with that piercing gaze that’s not harsh or unkind but rather, telling. They’re not ridiculously close, but they play video games together sometimes and share a cup of coffee after a long few weeks. Sometimes, late at night, when Jungwon gets roped into Jay’s drinking escapades and doesn’t want you to know, Sunghoon will pick him up and let him sleep over. He’s always gone by the time Jungwon wakes up, but he never leaves without leaving fresh hangover soup and painkillers on the bedside table next to him.

Sunghoon is not a bad person, which makes everything incredibly difficult. In fact, he’s the ideal boyfriend, and the guilt eats Jungwon alive whenever he interacts with you and Sunghoon stares a little too long.

“Jungwon,” he hears. It takes him a moment to register that he zoned out, staring at Sunghoon’s face. Sunghoon smiles awkwardly before asking him if he’s alright.

“Sorry– I was just lost in thought.”

Sunghoon hums, and he feels Jay’s stare burning into him as Sunghoon continues.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the orchestra arrangement.” He stands abruptly, beckoning Jungwon to follow him into the kitchen.

Already, Jungwon has that sinking feeling in his stomach because he knows this conversation will be about anything but the orchestra arrangement. He wipes his sweaty palms against his cardigan, and Sunghoon frowns.

“Look, Jungwon. We’re all excited for this wedding, and I’m sure you are too, but if it’s too much, we’ll understand, okay?”

Jungwon looks at him with a blank stare.

“I– I just mean, you just look exhausted, Won. And I know that,” Sunghoon sighs, running his fingers through his hair as if he’s bracing himself, “I know that I’m not exactly your best friend, but I’m here if you want to talk about it. I care about you, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Jungwon feels horrible. In his mind, it’s always been him and you, or you and Sunghoon, but he’s never really considered how Sunghoon thinks about him. Sunghoon is genuine, caring about Jungwon’s health, even though he’s five seconds away from ruining his marriage.

(Jungwon doesn’t deserve any of the good around him. Not Jay, who loves him more than he loves himself. Not Sunghoon, who has always tried to be there for him when no one else was. Not even you, who cares for him even when there is nothing left to care for.)

“I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, hyung. I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t worry about it.” He coughs, and Sunghoon looks unconvinced. “I promise.”

“Are you sure, I mean–” Sunghon starts, reaching out with his fingers in an attempt to graze his cheek. Jungwon flinches, and his fingers pause midair. “Sorry, you’re probably right. I’m just overthinking.”

Sunghoon has that shyness to him, the one that makes his cheeks pink. He looks guilty, and Jungwon’s heart breaks.

“Thank you for checking up on me, though, hyung. It means a lot.”

Sunghoon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jungwon turns to leave before the room feels too suffocating, before the walls close in on him and taunt him for how much of a horrible human being he is, but he pauses once he feels Sunghoon’s palm on his shoulder.

“Wait, Jungwon, I–” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “I know, Jungwon.”

Jungwon stills.

“I know that you love her.”

It feels like his heart is decomposing, burning alive from just the mere mention of you. It hurts a little too much, and he doesn’t even register that he’s crying until he sees the droplets staining the floor. He’s not standing in your apartment anymore, crafting wedding invitations with his friends and debating what color looks better under your cheap lighting. All that he now knows is himself, the tears that slide down his face, and the weight of Sunghoon standing behind him.

“I’m sorry, Jungwon-ah. I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon chokes out. Sunghoon’s fingers grip his shoulder tightly, and Jungwon can distinctly feel the way he trembles underneath Sunghoon’s touch.

He can feel the cool metal of Sunghoon’s rings through his thin shirt. The tears fall too freely now, silently as if he’s afraid to make himself known, and a singular teardrop finds its place against the smooth skin of Sunghoon’s hand.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jungwon whispers so quietly that he’s not even sure Sunghoon hears it. His chest feels too tight, as if he’s curled into a cocoon. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault.”

Jungwon has been hearing a lot of apologies lately. Apologies for loving too much, apologies for loving not enough. He doesn’t really know whether he deserves these apologies, if they really mean anything, or are just words that are intended to fill that gaping hole in his heart, but what he does know is that he’s sick and tired of hearing them. These apologies symbolize that there is something to blame, someone who is guilty, when really, there is only one culprit here.

When really, everything is his fault. Jungwon is the one who learned to love, and now he has to learn to forget. The apologies that fly around his head, whether of pity or sorrow, are worthless to him because, if anything, he is the one who should be saying sorry. Sorry to Sunghoon, sorry to Jay, sorry to you, and sorry to the universe for loving so much that it hurts even to mention it.

“I was too selfish,” Sunghoon whispers. The word sounds foreign in his voice, too unassuming and soft, as if Sunghoon doesn’t even know what it really means.

Jungwon laughs bitterly. Right then and there, he realizes exactly why you fell for Sunghoon and not him.

Sunghoon is too kind to the world. He cares about everyone and everything, from the little caterpillars in the weeds to the dandelion waiting for its dying wish. Jungwon is the opposite. His heart is blood-stained. He feels only for one person, you, and only you. His heart beats too fast because his love for you is like that, someone who feels too much and too intensely. Jungwon’s love is ruination, destroying everything along its path until it’s just the two of you in this universe.

Maybe Sunghoon is selfish, but at least he knows moderation. Jungwon’s love has no limits. He only knows how to take, to take and suck you dry until all you know is him.

“You’re not the selfish one, hyung. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

After he goes home, he throws up. Jay brushes his hair out of his face, and when Jungwon pulls back, all that meets his eye is dark, soul-crushing blood. No more petals. Just blood.

“Maybe you should tell her,” Jay suggests off-handedly as Jungwon drinks water. “It might be good to let it out of your system.”

He can’t, is what he tries to tell Jay. He can’t because admitting he loves you is like confessing the worst of his mistakes. Speaking it into existence will only force him to confront the horrifying truth that you always viewed him as a best friend, or worse, a brother, and he would rather live with the what-ifs and the daydreams than let you leave because of one stupid confession.

Instead, he finds himself nodding. “Sure,” he squeaks out miserably, with every intention of not doing what he’s told. And then he throws up once more.

Jungwon wakes up from a nightmare.

He doesn’t remember what exactly it’s about, only that he’s now dehydrated and his phone is buzzing on the counter next to him despite how late it is.

He sees your name flashing on the screen, and he’s already tugging on his jeans as he answers. It’s like clockwork to him, answering your calls, worrying about you even though you’re probably fine, but he still can’t stop his racing heart or his trembling hands.

It’s as if his brain is hardwired for you. Every beat of his heart, every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his legs, it’s all for you. Jungwon has never lived a single moment without being reminded of your existence in some shape or form. He has never lived a single moment without knowing how to love you.

“Hello?” he asks, almost tripping over his keys.

It takes him a few moments to recognize you crying on the other end.

“Where are you?” he whispers, gentler this time, so as not to scare you away.

“Practice room,” you mumble, so softly as if you don’t want to say it.

He finds you slouched on the ground as he walks into the studio a couple of minutes later, tears staining your light-washed jeans as you furrow into yourself. You’re not crying anymore, not visibly, but somehow knowing that this is the aftermath makes him feel ten times worse.

He’s never really heard you cry before. He knows you’re a private person, someone who likes to share your happiness but keep your sadness to yourself. So, the fact that he could hear your hiccups over the phone meant you were holding back too long, trying to do it all and ruining yourself to the point where you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.

He hates that you never recognize he’s right here for you. All he’s ever wanted was to be the person you could lean upon, the chest you could curl into as you cried your heart out. He wants to be that person that you share your sorrows with, the one to take hold of your burdens and shoulder them himself, but you never let him do it.

(So it brings him, with sickening greed, a small amount of satisfaction to be the one that’s here for you tonight. Even though his mind tells him not to, even though his body physically forbids him to be near you, his heart only beats your name as he slides down next to you.)

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter. Your fingers pick at the dry skin near your fingernails, and he can see the redness of your eyes as you look up at him. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I won’t judge,” he says, repeating himself when you don’t respond. “Please.”

You sigh. “Hoon and I had dance practice today. You know, for our first dance. But I–” you laugh, wiping away the tears that make their appearance, “I can’t seem to do it right. He moves so effortlessly, and it feels like I’m stumbling and picking up the pieces. It’s dumb, but I can’t stop thinking about not being good enough.”

One thing Jungwon has learned about you, so subtle that he doesn’t even think Sunghoon knows it yet, is that you’re fragile. He knows you hold your heart in pieces, begging the universe to glue you back together, even though he knows it can’t. So, in lieu of the universe, Jungwon tries. You never give him direct liberty to, but he holds you. He holds you and your broken pieces, and even though it eats him alive that he can’t help you more than this, somehow, it works. It always works for you because he treads carefully, gently, never pushing too hard to keep you grounded.

Right now, as you stare up at him with glossy eyes and the world in your hands, Jungwon knows he has to prove to you that, truly, you are enough. Just as he always has, like when you failed your physics exam in ninth grade, or when you didn’t get that promotion at work even though you tried so hard for it. All he knows in this life is how to be there for you, even if you’re not there for him.

He takes your hand in his, pulling you up from the floor as he turns on the music. “Let’s practice. I’ll help you until you get it right.”

A soft melody floats through the air, spinning around the two of you until he’s clutching your waist. His touch is so light that he’s pretty sure you can barely even feel it, but already he’s regretting being in such close proximity with you as the blood swirls throughout his stomach. Your hands clasp each other behind, wrapped around his neck, and you can’t see the way Jungwon stares at you because your eyes focus on the ground with staggered steps. You stumble as he moves you left, and then right, and the concentration in your gaze wavers as you try not to step on his feet.

“I can’t do this, I–”

“Shh,” he whispers. Your arms loosen, and he grips your waist a little tighter. “This isn’t a performance. It’s just a dance.”

You’re still unconvinced, a frown working its way onto your face. One of his hands comes up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up so that you can meet his gaze.

“Just focus on me.”

You let Jungwon lead you, your eyes never leaving his as the music flows between you both. A slight blush makes its way across his cheeks, but he reminds himself to focus on the steps, back and forth, as if you’re not right in front of him. Jungwon moves like magic, flitting across the dance floor as if he has wings, and you quickly learn how to soar with him, to match his pace and create a rhythm of your own. He notices how relaxed you’ve become when he dips you, a little too low, and you just giggle and hold onto him tighter. 

“Thought you were going to drop me,” you gasp after he lets you up. He shakes his head, twirling you around before bringing you in.

“Never,” he murmurs. “I would never drop you.”

He’s so close that he can see the texture on your skin and the light reflecting across your hair. Your irises seem to swirl, lulling him in, and your lips have the curve of a faint smile that he’s worked hard to bring back to your face. He’s so close that he could kiss you, so close that every inch of his curiosity could be satisfied if he just leaned in, but the music behind him slows to a stop as you pull away from his grasp.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. Then, teasingly, “It would be easier if it were you up there with me instead of Sunghoon, right?”

And suddenly, Jungwon remembers his nightmare. It wasn’t really a nightmare, not something that was frightening enough for his heart to race in fear. Instead, it was a dream tinged with blurred lines and all his what-ifs, a dream of him kissing you after your first dance and how brightly you’d smiled. It was a dream tinged with his blood, a dream that could never be true because you would never think to look at him the way he looks at you.

You busy yourself with packing up your stuff, too focused to see the absolute pain on Jungwon’s face as he clutches the barre next to him. The world caves in around him, and he has to try his absolute hardest to wave goodbye to you as if he’s not crumbling on the inside. Of course, his feelings are nothing but a joke to you, as if they’re not the very reason he’s currently on his deathbed surrounded by a pool of flowers.

He wishes it were him, too. As the blood spills from his lips, dripping down his face, his arms, down to the very floor he stands on, all he wishes is that it could be him dancing with you, being in your arms legitimately, instead of yearning from afar as he twirled you around today.

Maybe, if it really were him dancing with you at the end, this wouldn’t be his last dance alive.

You look happy.

It’s the first thing he notices as you climb into the car, already a little tipsy from the alcohol you’d consumed at your pregame. Your friends, not faring much better than you, help you keep your balance as you buckle your seatbelt and motion for him to start the car. You look genuinely happy. Not just in the way a drunk person looks, but in the way that it’s infectious. You radiate with that kind of energy that makes him want to tug close and kiss the life out of you.

The streetlights twinkle through the window as he drives, filtering out the loud bass of your music and your friends singing along in the backseat. The club you’d chosen for your bachelorette party was a little far from your apartment, but your group doesn’t really seem to mind as they control the aux on his phone and queue another Britney Spears song. The air is charged with that upbeat feeling, the kind that has him drumming his fingers along to the music as he steps on the gas.

He notices your silence in the front seat, watching your head tilt out of the window and the wind whipping through your hair. Usually, you’d be singing along, especially after a little bit of alcohol in your system, but you seem lost in thought today, and it makes him a little worried.

“You okay?” he asks. He wonders if you even hear him over the loud karaoke of your friends, but you turn back to him with a soft smile.

“Yeah. It’s all just kind of hitting me right now, you know?”

“What, the alcohol?”

There’s a soft pause before you look back at the window, pressing the button and watching it roll up.

“No, the wedding,” you say, playing with your engagement ring absentmindedly. “It just feels so surreal.”

Jungwon chooses to say nothing, turning up the volume of the music instead. He feels your eyes on him, but he doesn’t know what to say as he grips the steering wheel tighter. He’s glad he chose to stay sober tonight because maybe he would’ve responded with something not particularly appropriate. Perhaps he would’ve decided to tell you that he does wish this wedding were just a figment of his imagination. Maybe, he would’ve told you that he’s scheduled to die soon because of your surreal wedding, your surreal love for Sunghoon, and his not very surreal love for you.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He keeps his emotions in check and drives, watching the headlights of the car next to him race by. He drives until the bright neon lights of the bar flash through the mirror, and he barely has a chance to park before you and your friends clamber out, giddy with excitement.

The club has this dizzying sort of atmosphere, the flickering lights from the dance floor and the loudness of the music hitting him all at once. He feels like he can’t breathe, he really, really can’t breathe, and he’s already making his way to the bathroom before you have a chance to drag him to the center.

I can’t do this, he texts Jay. The multicolored ceiling tiles blur before his eyes as he slumps against the bathroom stall door. He hears someone throwing up next to him, and he wonders briefly that if everything were normal, that if he weren’t dying because you loved him back, maybe he’d be a drunk idiot throwing up in his Hello Kitty bucket too.

He’s not normal, though. Every time he inhales, it feels painful as if something’s stuck in his throat. His voice has become too raspy, and he swears he can feel the weight of his lungs through every breath, pounding against him particularly hard whenever he’s near you. Every ticking moment reminds him that you are genuinely content with all this. Content with Sunghoon, content with this wedding, and content living a life Jungwon may not even be in.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the bathroom stall, pouring his feelings out, but he wipes the blood off with a tissue and leaves the stall. His eyes look bloodshot in the mirror, and his heart pounds with every beat of the EDM music reverberating through him. He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol, but this is the sort of effect you have on him, world-spinning and regret seeping through his every vein.

His eyes scan the dance floor for you, and he relaxes slightly when he finds you swinging your arms in the air to a Charli XCX song. You’re in your own little world as your friends dance around you, and Jungwon feels like he’s standing on the edge of it, one foot in and one foot out. It's as if he’s almost there, but not quite.

(Lately, though, he’s been choosing to stay out. Choosing not to get devoured by the force that is you, all-consuming and leaving him with no room to breathe. Once upon a time, he would choose to drown every time, to feel the burn in his lungs as he swam towards you.

Now, there is no more burning left in his lungs. There is no more you. It’s just him and his thoughts, floating endlessly in the ocean until the point of no return.)

He’s scrolling on his phone, slouched against the bar stool, when he hears two taps on the marble next to him. He looks up to find the bartender sliding over a glass of fizzy liquid, topped with a sliced lime and a salted rim.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” Jungwon sputters, reaching to push it back, but the bartender clasps his hand and wraps Jungwon’s fingers around the glass.

“It’s on the house, and it’s non-alcoholic, so don’t worry about it.” The bartender smiles, a contagious sort of grin that makes Jungwon want to smile too, and he leans over slightly to speak closer to him. “You look like you need it.”

Jungwon thanks the bartender, sipping at his drink slowly and feeling the bubbles fizz down his throat. It’s a Sprite, mixed with something a little fruity, and already it has him feeling lighter than a couple of moments before.

“I’m Sunoo, by the way,” he hears. Sunoo’s nameplate flashes from the strobing lights, dancing from all the colors around him. “So, tell me, which girl is it?”

Jungwon coughs, the drink going down the wrong pipe, and Sunoo merely blinks, watching him.

“What? What girl?”

“The girl that’s you’re heartbroken over, silly!”

Jungwon sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re like a dejected puppy. Even a five-year-old could probably tell.”

Jungwon sips at his drink, carrying it while peeking back over his shoulder. His eyes search until they land on your figure, now at the far left near the DJ.

“That one, over there,” he says, pointing at you. “The one in the white.”

“She’s pretty,” Sunoo says absentmindedly, and Jungwon finds himself agreeing before turning back to face him. “Did she reject you?”

“No,” Jungwon starts. His throat feels parched, suddenly, despite his dedication to sipping the drink in his hands. “I– I never told her. She’s getting married next week.”

Sunoo’s gaze softens. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

The drink tastes bitter now, prickling in Jungwon’s mouth. His lips press into a line as his fingers play with the straw in his glass. He swishes it, around and around, watching the little cyclone that appears when he moves the straw too fast. He wants to tell Sunoo that it’s okay. There’s no reason to apologize, and he’s sick of every sorry that comes his way because it’s fine. In a normal world, Jungwon would have moved on, slowly but surely, and he’d have come back to this bar in the future as a healed person.

It’s not okay, though. It’s not okay because how can Jungwon move on when you make up every inch of him? How can Jungwon move on when the reason he lives and dies is because of you? You pour life into him and take it away from him all at the same time. You are the one to poison him and you are the one to heal him, and Jungwon just has to stand there and take it until he physically isn’t able to anymore. Jungwon will never be able to find someone who loves him just as much as he loves you, because he only has space in his heart for you and no other. So even if it means that Sunoo’s last memory of Jungwon is right now at this bar, pining after you from afar, he’s forced to accept it. 

After all, there is no him without you. 

There is only you without him.

Jungwon should be at the venue already. Instead, he’s lying against his mahogany rug, fingers twisting in the strings that are woven into it as he tries to reach for his phone.

He was having a good day, or at least, he thought he was having a good day. He woke up early to run some errands before work. His presentation proposal went spectacularly well, and there was barely any traffic as he sped home. He got a free hot chocolate today with the welcome of a new month, a new December, and he didn’t have to spend any portion of today hunched over a sink waiting for his guts to spill out.

He was having a good day until, well, everything started to go wrong.

He was searching for his keys as he straightened his suit tie and fixed that annoying strand of hair that kept falling in his face. He was on call with Jay, who had offered to drive him to the restaurant where your rehearsal dinner was being held. It was all fine. 

He was fumbling around for his suit jacket when suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He doesn’t know how he ended up on the floor, or how the sharp, radiating pain spread from his lungs to his heart. All he knows is that he’s crying, and Jay’s voice is somewhere distant, telling him to stay calm and to wait for him. He can’t respond, every hoarse attempt to speak failing miserably with a cough. His insides feel like they’re being burned alive, and distinctly he can feel the tears drip down his cheeks, or maybe the blood spill from his mouth.

He can’t seem to move, not when he tries to reach for his phone, not when Jay shows up and shakes him by the shoulders, not when the paramedics show up at his apartment and shine a bright light in his eyes. He can’t move when he’s hooked up to the oxygen mask, or when the ambulance shudders beneath him and Jay’s tears drip down his arm.

Somewhere along all of this, he fades in and out of consciousness, dizzy from the bright lights and the emergency siren. He can’t tell if the pain gets worse or if it gets better, but he tries to focus on the beeping of his heart rate and how grounded Jay’s hand makes him feel.

And throughout all of this, despite his best efforts to ignore it, he thinks of you. He thinks of how you’re probably at your rehearsal dinner right now, holding hands with Sunghoon. You’re probably talking about how you met him, how you fell in love with him, and how you will continue to love him just as he loves you. You’re probably talking to all your friends and family and serving your homemade banana pudding recipe that you worked hard to make. He knows you probably have that stupid little grin on your face, the one he sees in his daydreams of you and him, and other words that don’t belong together.

He’s still dreaming about you when he wakes up, barely registering the pain from the IV needle as he scans the room. His eyes land on Jay in the chair next to him, who’s already rushing over as soon as Jungwon’s eyes open.

“Where am I?” Jungwon says groggily. His free hand clutches his forehead, aware of the dull headache that rests on the sides of his forehead. “Is this the hospital?”

“Jungwon,” Jay breathes, cradling Jungwon’s face. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Not long,” Jay says, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers clutch Jungwon’s hand tightly, as if he’s still in disbelief over Jungwon breathing and talking right in front of him. “A couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?” Jungwon shrieks. He tugs the needle from his arm, wincing from the sharp pain as it rips out. “We’re so late. So late. She’s probably waiting for me! I told her I was gonna help set up the decorations–”

“Jungwon,” Jay whispers, gripping his wrist. Jungwon sees the frown lines etched on his face and pauses. “I sent her a text about us being late. She never even responded.”

“No– that’s– she would never,” Jungwon scoffs. His fingers reach for this phone on the bedside table next to him, dialing your number before Jay can even stop him.

The line rings, once, twice, too many times before the sound of your voicemail filters in. He tries again, and again, and each time feels like a stab to his freshly wounded heart. His eyes fog up, and he can’t stop the tears that escape him as he dials over and over again. His tears fall on his phone screen, staining the glass until he can’t even click on the call button, and the phone slips from his grasp.

His body pulses in his hyung’s hold as he hugs him, heavy sobs erupting from him as he finally lets go. He lets go of all the pain and misery he’s faced from you, about you, like an asteroid that burns up when it reaches too close to the sun. No matter how hard he tries, it’s impossible for him to accept that he’s just another person in your orbit, fading in and out when you need him.

He remembers all the times he’s centered himself around you. Every moment when he thought he was wanted by you, even if it was just as a friend. Now, all he can see is how convenient, how easy he is for you. How pathetic he is to fall in love with you, to keep loving you even though he knew you would never love him back. And yeah, he’s always there when you need him, but even now, as he sits inches away from his death, you’re never there for him.

“You always put her before yourself,” Jay murmurs in his shoulder. “Even if she’s the reason you’re dying, you’re still addicted to her.”

“I can’t help it, hyung. I love her.”

Jay exhales, pulling away from Jungwon. Even though Jungwon is stupid, the never-give-up kind of stupid, he appreciates Jay for still trying to save him, even if there is nothing to be saved.

Jay reaches over to grab a folder from the table, the bright blue color matching the print of his hospital gown. He flips through a few pages before pulling out a black, semi-translucent slip of film, flipping it over for Jungwon to see.

It takes a few minutes for Jungwon even to register what he’s seeing. The scan is zoomed in on his upper half, centered on his lungs and vertebrae, but what’s in his lungs is anything but typical. Flowers bloom through every crevice of his lungs, sprouting, growing as if they’re meant to be there. They’re still small, but Jungwon can already see the buds and even tiny flowers that have sprouted. There’s not an inch of space left empty, every alveolus filled with a leaf or a stem or a flower.

“Is this what I was coughing up?” Jungwon asks, fingers tracing his chest where his lungs reside. “That’s inside of me?”

“Yeah. The doctors said that as the disease progressed, there were too many flowers to cough up, so they started growing in you.” Jay speaks with incredulity, as if he can’t even believe it’s real.

“What do you mean, progressed? Is it not still progressing?”

Jay turns to him, and only then does Jungwon register his bleary eyes and the tear stains that have dried on his cheeks. His fingers tremble as he holds the page, and he speaks so softly as if he refuses to solidify the statement’s existence.

“You’re in your final stages, Wonie. You have a week left at best until the flowers bloom fully and you’ll die of oxygen poisoning.”

Jungwon thinks that if he weren’t so adamant about making it to your wedding and seeing you at the altar, he would’ve killed himself a long time ago. Maybe the day you asked him to be your maid of honor, or maybe even as early as when you got proposed to. Killing himself would’ve rid him of all this yearning, yearning that presented itself in the form of this disease that takes and takes until his very last breath. This disease, that no matter how hard he tries to avoid, reminds him of you. 

You with the soft fingers that he wishes he could intertwine his with. You with the eyebrow you always arch expressively when you dislike something. You with the back tattoo of a sparrow that’s a little chubby, just the way you wanted it. You with the soft voice that he’s blessed to hear through the little song covers you’d always send him. You who’d never notice the cherry blossoms that fell in your hair, the ones that he’d have to pick out imperceptibly every time.

You who he’s so irrevocably in love with. You, who despite having a heart full of love, have never loved him back.

And then, there’s him. Jungwon. That same Jungwon, with a heart full of love to give only to you. Jungwon, who stays by your side even if you never notice it. That same Jungwon, who worries about you when there is nothing to worry about. That same Jungwon, who kept a mental list of your favorite foods so you won’t feel indecisive at restaurants. That same Jungwon, who holds your hair when you drink a little too much and whispers that it’s okay in your ears, that it’ll all be over before you know it.

They say moles are marks of where your soulmate kissed you in your previous life. Jungwon knows where all of yours are: the one on your eyebrow, the two on your lower torso, the ones on your hands that he noticed when he interlocked fingers with you, and even the one on your forearm that he memorized as he watched you fall asleep during a sleepover. He doesn’t know if he was your soulmate that kissed those moles into existence in a previous life, or in any life at all, but he’s tried his hardest to be the one for you, even if you’re destined for another.

And even now, knowing that you two are never fated to be together in this life, he’ll still try. Because who is he, if he doesn’t even exist to love you?

And distinctly, he remembers the time he did confess to you. The time that he tells no one about because it’s a moment too pathetic to remember.

It was during break, the summer before his senior year of college. You and a couple of others, newly graduated seniors, were at a karaoke bar five minutes away from campus. Jungwon had to watch as you cozied up to Sunghoon from the other end of the couch, a little too drunk and a little too loose. His heart had simmered beneath him, tinged with jealousy every time Sunghoon had pressed a kiss to your cheek or pulled you closer.

He didn’t really mean to avoid you that day. He just didn’t want to third-wheel you and your boyfriend, especially since he was a little tipsy and didn’t trust himself to remain sane around you. You looked so happy, with a giddy voice and a bright smile, and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt your mood.

So, he stayed on the other side of the room. Even when you wanted him to join you in a karaoke battle, to that one song you always queued while he drove you around, he shook his head and remained in his spot. He didn’t drink too much, just enough to feel the buzz, but he still couldn’t shake off how pretty you looked in that dress, or how much you laughed as you curled into Sunghoon’s side.

After some point, the lights in the room and the loud bass of the music start to get too suffocating. He excuses himself for some air, grabbing the empty boxes from the food you’d ordered to throw them away. He doesn’t notice your eyes on him as he balances the carts and slides open the door.

The hallway is long and winding, and by the time Jungwon finds the trashcan and a water fountain, he’s a little out of breath. The walk has sobered him up a little bit, so he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he was when he walked here on the way back. He turns, wiping the corner of his mouth from the dribble of water that slid down, but he finds you standing right behind him instead, with a frown on your face and a bottle of Pink Whitney in your hands.

Already, he knows you’re more shitfaced since the last time he saw you. Pink Whitney has never treated you kindly, and as he sees you struggle to stand upright with your heels on, he knows you’ve passed that limit of tipsiness and charted into dangerous, drunken territory, the kind that he knows you’ll regret the next morning.

“That’s enough of that,” he says, grabbing the bottle. You protest weakly, attempting to snatch it back, but he holds it behind his back so you can’t reach. “Why did you leave the room? You can barely walk.”

“I missed you,” you hiccup. He notices how your tears pool in your eyes, as if you don’t want to cry but can’t really stop it. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“What?” he breathes. He didn’t really think you’d notice the distance that he’d tried to maintain, assuming you were too preoccupied with Sunghoon to even care that he made no effort to talk to you.

“You refused to share your fries with me. You always share your fries with me.” You’re full-on sobbing at this point, and your fingers find home in his jacket lapel as you sniffle. “Did I do something wrong? Why do you hate me?”

His heart hurts seeing you like this, being the reason that you’re reduced to this mess. His arms curl around you, pulling you in closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. Your fingers grip his jacket tightly, and he’s too focused on your feelings to notice how your tears stain his shirt.

“Why would I hate you?” he murmurs against your ear. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

And he means it. Not one inch of his body could feel any sort of resentment towards you, no matter how hard he tried. He wishes it could, so he could hate you peacefully and move on from all the grief he’s been shouldering, but there’s some invisible string tied between you two that he can’t seem to break, no matter how far he goes.

“Then why haven’t you talked to me today?”

He sighs, thumbing the strands of your hair. “I was just giving you space since you were with Sunghoon.”

You pull back, and through your glossy tears, he sees your lips pull into a pout.

“But, I want you too.”

You say it so simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him in your life, even though you already have the world with Sunghoon. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to admit that sometimes you love unfairly, and he doesn’t have it in him to seek anything otherwise. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him even though you have no more love left to give.

Like a puppy on a leash, he glows after hearing those words, even if they hold no weight coming from you. He cradles your face, brushing away the tear streaks across your cheeks.

“You already have me,” he says honestly. “I’m already yours.”

You smile with your eyes closed. It’s the kind of smile that’s earnest, one that stretches across your whole face. Jungwon would run to the ends of the universe if it meant he could see it again.

“I love you.”

The confession slips out of his mouth, raw and unfiltered, as he stops breathing. He didn’t mean to admit it, especially not in front of you like this with your boyfriend a few rooms over. It was supposed to be a secret he carried to his grave, not some abrupt confession he said in hushed tones in front of a karaoke bar water fountain. He was supposed to say it on that day, the day when the cherry blossoms bloomed, and he wore that white shirt to match the flowers in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to say it like this, holding an uninhibited version of you and taking advantage of the fact that you’re not sober enough to process his words.

He stills, like a frame paused, in time waiting for your reaction. He knows you’re going to hate him, not want him anymore, even if it’s selfishly, and he knows this is the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this. His heart pounds against his chest, erratic as if it’s escaping, and he can’t seem to find the words to apologize or take it all back before you slip from his grasp.

You don’t do any of that, though. You remain in his hold, with his fingers holding you like a porcelain doll, and that soft smile. Instead, your hands wrap around his, your fingers sliding between the crevices as you open your eyes.

“I love you so much, too, Wonie. You’re the bestest friend ever. My best friend.”

His lungs release the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, but it’s not loud enough to disguise the sound of his heart breaking. You don’t hear it, of course, oblivious to the tumultuous storm that rages inside him, and you just pull him tighter as you hug him again.

He cries. He cries against you just as you cried against him, only stronger with the weight of all his unsaid confessions pouring out of him. It’s silent enough for your drunk self not to notice, but the droplets plink against your hair, and he has to wipe away the tears rapidly before you catch on. It hurts so, so much. It hurts more than anything else he’s ever felt because, while you’re the center of the universe to him, he means nothing to you. While you’re everything to him, he’s just a fleeting moment to you.

Unmistakably, he wonders if anything would’ve even changed had he confessed to you properly then. Or if anything would’ve even changed if he confessed to you now, mere days before your wedding. If maybe the pain in his lungs would’ve eased away, if maybe the flowers would’ve withered and died right inside him.

Deep down, though, he knows that confession wouldn’t have healed him one bit, because you have never felt anything for him in return. From the very first time he laid eyes upon you, sculpting castles in the sandbox alone, to now, he has always cared for you and your impression of him. Even when that impression is anything but what he really is, what he really wants to be, he still cares.

He knows that even if he confessed to you, the flowers in his heart would still continue to bloom, unconstrained without the very thing he desires from you: love.

The air is a little breezy today.

Not breezy enough that Jungwon feels cold (although his suit jacket provides him plenty of warmth already), but just enough to make the blades of grass sway softly, as if they’re dancing along to the faint melody of the music in the background. It’s early in the morning, a time when he can still hear the birds chirping and the sun rays peeking above the horizon.

On a regular day, he’d still be in bed waiting for his alarm clock to ring. Or maybe he’d be hungover from a long weekend with his friends, choosing to sleep in and ignore a headache. Today, though, he stands under the drapes of the altar, next to the podium where Sunghoon shifts nervously.

Waiting for you.

Jungwon’s fingers fumble with the flower in his pocket, a singular, white chrysanthemum against the black of his suit. Your bridesmaids have the same flowers as corsages, but Jungwon’s is different because the flower rests right in front of his heart, beating, echoing with every pulse.

And already, Jungwon knows today is his last day alive, because today is your wedding. Today is the day he’ll lose you forever, the day that you step out of every daydream of his and into another man’s. Standing here, as your man of honor, is the most twisted punishment the universe could make him face. On the day of his reckoning, instead of wishing him away with peace, you’ve decided to make him bear witness to the very act that caused his ruin.

Sunghoon stares at him knowingly. He can’t tell if it’s with pity, or even worse, with pride.

All Jungwon wants is to get this over with. He’s agonized over this moment for months now, from the beginning of autumn to last night as he wrote his man of honor speech. Once upon a time, he had hoped he would be able to accept your marriage with a healed heart. Now, as the music shifts into something slower and the audience hushes, he knows he will leave with nothing but pain. With nothing but pure, raw desire simmering through his heart and burning every flower that grows inside of him until he no longer remains.

He feels like he’s dreaming when he finally sees you.

You, in your long, white gown, with handwoven patterns of silk and thread stitched across the front. A dress with patterns of all kinds of flowers, patterns of every stem and leaf that glimmer against the white cloth. The flowers sprout against the exterior of the mesh, with petals that sway with every step as you make your way to the altar.

And beyond all that, you’re wearing that smile. That same smile that he’d give up everything for. That same smile he’s yearned for his entire life, from the very first moment up until now. That same smile that he’s now dying for.

He doesn’t recognize his breath staggering until he feels lightheaded, hands finding purchase on the decoration behind him as he steps back. I’m so close, not now, is all he can think as you step even closer to the platform. He starts to see spots in his vision, black circles dancing around, and he’s thankful enough that everyone’s eyes are too focused on you to see him stepping off to the side and rushing to the bathroom.

Jungwon doesn’t make it that far, though. His eyesight blurs around him, and his fingers grip some random door handle before he stumbles inside. Faintly, he can recognize the mess of your makeup room around him, but he trips over a spare piece of clothing and falls before he can fully register his surroundings.

Sharp, dull pain blooms on the side of his head, but he can’t seem to move his arms to feel for any blood that might’ve been triggered from his fall. The pain in his head is nothing compared to the strain on his lungs now, though, as if every breath of his is poison. His senses are painfully aware of the weird, cracking noise inside him, but he can’t seem to figure out what it’s from. His ribcage? His neck? His throat? Or maybe even everything? He feels like he’s choking on air as the blood spills from his lips. His speech, the man of honor speech that holds everything he wanted to say to you one last time, falls out of his jacket pocket, and blood drips across the corner as if it’s ink. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t even think anymore as his vision fades out into nothingness.

And even in his final moments, like this, he remembers you. This universe is so, so unkind to him, to his soul that hoped to see you like this one more time before he left forever. Oh, how he wishes he were still alive to watch you recite your vows. To hear what it’s like to be loved by you, to be cherished until death do us part. To hear what maybe, in another life, what was meant for him instead of Sunghoon.

As it all comes crashing down before his eyes, all he wishes is that you will find peace. He hopes the flowers that bloom in December will treat you kindly, and every white chrysanthemum will be a poignant reminder that you are always loved. Even if he is not physically present with you on Earth anymore, he will love you through the gentleness of the breeze, through the swaying of the grass blades, through the sun rays that appear before the horizon, and through the smiles of everyone you hold dear to your heart.

And with this clarity, he is able to let go. To let go of all that he’s known of you through every flower that blooms in his heart. To let go of a timeline in which you and he coexist.

To let go of you, and therefore, him. Because without you, there is no him. And without him, there is only you.

Jay has never understood love. Or rather, the unbecoming of it. 

But he has never seen it ruin someone so wretchedly as it did Jungwon.

It’s Jay who finds Jungwon first, lifeless in a pool of his own blood and tears. The world blurs around him as he kneels down, shaking Jungwon’s shoulders in every effort, every plea for him to wake up. The words fall on closed ears. Dead ears. Jungwon is long gone, from misery only his heart could produce. He’s long gone from the flowers that surround every inch of him, buried in his own, sickly love for you.

His fingers clutch tightly onto Jungwon’s man of honor speech, one he refuses to read because he can’t justify that torture. It’s you who needs to read it, to recognize the consequences of your actions, of how greedy you were to have the most wonderful human being beside you and still yearn for another. He needs you to read this speech in all its glory, tear-stained, blood-stained, flower-stained, until you recognize the extent of how much Jungwon truly loved you. 

Of how much he truly still loves you.

The funeral happens on a Tuesday evening. The once forgiving December now releases its inhibitions, pouring from the sky as if it has been holding back this entire time. The universe thunders with anger and rage, and every strike of lightning is a furious reminder of what’s all been lost in the process.

Jay stands before Jungwon’s coffin. He has no umbrella to shield him from the fury of the universe, but he doesn’t care. He deserves this form of retribution for not trying harder, for not being able to save him, even though there was nothing more he could do for him.

You stand next to him. Sunghoon holds an umbrella above your head, and it sways with the sudden wind gusts and cracks of lightning. You haven’t said a word all day. You haven’t said a word since you found your best friend dead, veins protruding and eyes rolled to the back of his head.

(Your fingers trembled as you brushed his eyelids shut, watching as they carried him out with a stretcher. Even with his eyes closed, he still looked like he was in pain, shouldering it all upon himself, no matter how hard you’d tried to get him to open up. You’d wanted to shake him open, for him to let go of everything he’d held back, but he stayed in place, eyes boring into yours as if he had nothing more to say. Closing his eyes felt like finality, like he was finally gone from every memory you’ve had together and every memory you were supposed to have together in the future.

Now, all that was left was the remains of him and his soul. You cried against the pool of blood he’d left behind, letting it stain the pearly whites of your gloves until you drowned in his essence.)

Jay watches as you grab something from Sunghoon’s hold, walking over to the edge of Jungwon’s grave. The freshly buried dirt sinks slightly under your steps, and you place a bouquet at the center before you walk back under the protection of the umbrella.

Jay cracks when he sees the familiar white chrysanthemums against the dirt.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Your head twists sharply toward him, not expecting him to say anything of that sort, or anything at all. The wind whips through your hair as you stare at Jay with bloodshot eyes, and it’s only then that you recognize the single tear that’s slid down his cheek.

“What? What did I do wrong?”

Jay laughs, sharp and twisting. You feel it through your bones, the hatred seeping through you until you, too, start to cry. Sunghoon stares at Jay from behind you, begging him with wide eyes not to say anything that could ruin you even more, but Jungwon’s unsaid confessions rush out of Jay’s lips like the roar of every lightning strike behind him.

“What haven’t you done wrong? Were you that fucking stupid to see that he died because of you? Because of how you never loved him back?”

His words hit you like a truck, slamming into you with the impact of the wind behind you. You stumble back, one, two steps before you’re rushing forward and grabbing the lapels of Jay’s jacket.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, he loved me?”

Jay gives you a stare that is almost murderous, his voice dropping octaves as he responds. “He loved you. He’s been in love with you since the day you two met. He died from a disease caused by unrequited love, you fucking asshole!”

Your tears stain the edges of Jay’s jacket, and although he tries to push away from your grasp, away from you and everything you stand for, your grip on him remains tight.

“God,” he continues, laughing bitterly, “he loved you. He loved you so much that in the end…”

He can’t even finish his sentence because his voice breaks and he can’t breathe. And in that moment, he wonders if this is how Jungwon felt, if he was experiencing even a fraction of the hurt, the suffocation he had to endure on a daily basis.

“Jay, please,” Sunghoon echoes from behind him.

Your fingers finally release themselves from their grasp as you turn back to look at Sunghoon. His eyes never leave yours, and although he tries to lean forward to shield you from the rain with the umbrella, you push him away.

“Did you know about this?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. The rain seeps through your hair, wetting your eyelashes and streaming down your face, but even it cannot hide your cries as you sob in front of him. “Did you know he loved me?”

Sunghoon swallows so audibly that he doesn’t even have to say any more, and you start laughing. Ballistically, without any form or reason, you laugh with that crazed look in your eyes, your hands swaying against the wind as you turn back toward Jay.

“So you all knew about this and decided not to tell me?”

“You don’t get to act like the victim in this.” Jay’s words feel like a harsh slap in your face, but he continues. “How were we supposed to tell you months before your wedding? Oh, hey, by the way, Jungwon is in love with you, and he’ll die if you don’t love him back. Jungwon was an idiot for loving you, for sure, but he wasn’t stupid.”

He hates that he has to speak about Jungwon in the past tense now. He hates that he has to talk about Jungwon to someone who never reciprocated his feelings, someone who never saw him for who he truly was. He hates that he can’t put into words the extent to which Jungwon loved you, even if it meant putting you before himself and committing to death.

“What– what was I supposed to do?” you whisper. Jay has to restrain himself from telling you that you don’t have the right to cry, that you’re a murderer in his eyes, and he can’t even bear to look at you.

“You were supposed to love him back. All he ever wanted was to be loved by you.”

And, as if the universe is responding, the rain picks up. It drowns you, completely, as you stand in a sea of graves for the one person who maybe loved you more than anyone else ever could.

You remember meeting Jungwon for the first time. How he tapped your shoulder politely after watching you play in the sandbox alone, asking if he could build sandcastles with you, even though his other friends waited for him beside the playground. He always did that, putting you first before anyone else, and you can’t believe it took you so long to realize truly how much Jungwon really cared for you.

Even in all the little things, you’re reminded of him. From the buttons on your coat jacket that he thrifted to your shoes that he scrubbed clean after a long hike, Jungwon has always been that stagnant reminder that life keeps going. Even during your darkest days, when all you wanted to do was hide from the rest of the world, he sat beside you and nursed you back to health, piece by piece. It’s taken you so long to realize how Jungwon is your center, the gravity that pulls you back to Earth and keeps you grounded, the star that orbits around you in every universe.

How Jungwon has always been yours.

As Jay leaves, his footprints tracking through the dirt as a permanent reminder he was always there, he presses a slip of paper into your hands. The corner is speckled with blood, and your eyes flicker up to Jay’s gaze, already knowing what it is.

“Have fun on your honeymoon,” he mutters. He’s gone just as quickly as he came, the wind sweeping him away until he is no more.

As you sit in Sunghoon’s car, shivering underneath the heater from your wet clothes, you find your fingers opening the paper in your hands, smoothing out the crinkles from Jay’s rough grasp. And as you read, the warmth is not enough to stop the frigid cold that suddenly rushes through you, that crazed feeling that you can’t shake off, no matter how much time passes.

As you read, you cry. You cry for what lived, and now, for what you’ve lost, because this piece of paper represents all of Jungwon in his entirety, all of what’s left of the boy who paved the Earth so that you could walk on it. Of Jungwon, who sacrificed himself just to sustain a world with you in it, even while knowing that he and you are two parallel lines never meant to intersect. 

Of Jungwon, who didn’t know what love meant if it wasn’t made of you.

Dear you,

First of all, you know I have performance anxiety. So, making my speech come last feels like some sort of specially-inflicted torture that you and Sunghoon designed for me (cue the audience laughter. I hope they laugh).

I wrote many drafts of this. They’re all sitting in my trash can right now, because coming up with a speech to summarize everything I want to say about my best friend just isn’t something that can be done in one sitting. No amount of words can describe the extent to which I feel for you, of how much joy you’ve brought into my life and everyone around us.

I should probably be talking about Sunghoon and how he’s perfect for you, which, I mean, he kind of is (let’s hope the audience laughs again). I should probably be wishing you a happy married life, where you get that gray cat you always wanted. And I genuinely do want to convey all that to you, and so much more, because you deserve everything good in the world.

But I wanted this speech to be about you. For you to realize how much I, and everyone in the audience around us, care for you. I’ve been your best friend since childhood, watching you grow from that awkward little kid to the beautiful person you are today. You have uplifted and supported me in so many ways that no one else has, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful to have you in our lives.

Sunghoon, you are so blessed to have the most wonderful wife in your life. Cherish her, adore her, lift her up with all your strength, and twirl her around until you hear that beautiful laughter and see that beautiful smile. It’s so worth it. So, so worth it. As her best friend, I resign all my duties to you, for you to be her new best friend and her life partner. Love her wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your being until it hurts, and then a little more.

And you. No matter what comes your way, never lose your energy, your resilience, your joy, and everything that makes you who you are. I love you, and I can’t wait to see where life’s journey takes you, one step at a time.

From your now ex-best friend,

Jungwon

[airybcby]

♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ. For You, My Love

( rin itoshi x fem! reader )

♫ a/n — part 2 to my series Stay for Soundcheck! ( masterlist )

♫ word count — 1.1k

♫ content — rin itoshi x fem! reader, lead guitarist! rin, yapper gf x listener bf, established relationship (like 7 years), secret relationship, not proofread

♫ synopsis — The songs. The signed photos. The concerts. The world could have that, you could have the real Rin Itoshi.

↻ ◁ | love is just the same without fortune or fame | ▷ ↺

The world knew Rin Itoshi as the quiet one.

Lead guitarist of Blue Lock. Sharp fingers, sharper eyes. Never smiled for press. Never cracked jokes on stage. 

The kind of man people wrote fanfics about without knowing if he even spoke off-mic. 

Fans obsessed over his mystery. 

Over the way he could make a guitar sob, shred, or sigh — but never said more than three words in interviews.

He was untouchable.

Unknowable.

Until the day you burst through the studio door holding his forgotten lunch.

The band was mid-rehearsal.

Yukimiya was fixing his mic.

Isagi and Reo were bickering about tempo.

Shidou was juggling a soccer ball for no reason.

Kaiser was messing with the mic stands- trying to get them to the “perfect” height.

Rin, of course, sat on the floor, legs crossed, guitar balanced against his thigh, expression unreadable as always. His fingers moved like he didn’t need to think. 

Like he’d been born doing this.

Then a soft knock came from the door.

He stood without a word. Everyone barely noticed.

And then—

���Rinnieee~!”

Your voice, bright as a melody, filled the room just as you threw yourself into his arms.

You kissed his cheek, handed him a lunchbox, and chirped, “You forgot this on the counter again. Seriously, are you eating at all?”

Then you turned your head.

Five pairs of shocked eyes blinked back at you.

“Oh,” you whispered, smiling sheepishly. “I thought you were alone.”

Rin’s arm stayed firmly around your waist. He didn’t flinch.

Shidou stood up like he’d seen a ghost. “WAIT. YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Isagi dropped his pick. “Since when?!”

“Since we were fifteen,” you said with a bashful little wave. “Hi! Sorry for crashing your very serious rehearsal. I just bring him food and love. Please don’t kick me out.”

Rin’s only response was to tug you closer. His lips grazed your temple, but he said nothing — because that was Rin.

Letting the world see you was enough.

You remember your first date vividly.

You planned everything.

A picnic in the park. Your mom’s pasta salad (that Rin definitely wouldn’t eat). A blanket, two sparkling drinks, a speaker playing that slightly embarrassing playlist of love songs. 

Rin showed up in a hoodie and combat boots, looking like a stormcloud. But he sat down anyway, thigh brushing yours.

You were mid-sentence about the way clouds looked like lyrics when the sky cracked open and it started pouring.

Absolutely dumping rain.

You squealed, scrambling to fold the blanket, covering the food. Rin just blinked at the sky like he could out-glare it.

He ended up walking you to his house — yours was too far, and you were too soaked.

His room was simple. Neat. 

Low bed, plain desk, guitar tucked neatly into a stand. 

You were shivering in your damp clothes when he dug into a bed-side drawer, muttering something about you just grabbing a spare shirt.

You held up a hand fast. “Okay, full disclosure? I don’t do anything on the first date, so if you’re, like, looking for a condom—”

Rin turned, holding up a guitar pick.

“Ew. No.”

His tone was so deadpan it almost hurt. 

Almost.

You fell back onto his bed, laughing so hard you snorted.

“I’ve never been so insulted and flattered in one breath,” you wheezed.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re soaked. Don’t ruin my bed.”

“I deserve entertainment.”

He glanced at you.

You pointed at the guitar. “Play me something.”

He hesitated — then picked it up. Tuned a few strings.

And started playing.

No lyrics. Just gentle chords, tender and unsure, like he was showing you a part of himself no one else had touched.

You watched him like he was magic.

When he finished, you asked, “Is that the one that’ll make you famous?”

He said, “No.”

You asked, “Why not?”

He didn’t answer.

But years later, that was the same melody he played for you on stage. The one the world fell in love with — and he only ever played for you.

That evening at the studio, you sat on the rooftop while the sun sank behind the city skyline. 

Rin was beside you, sipping a drink you’d brought him — his hoodie still faintly damp from rehearsal sweat.

You finally asked what you’d always wondered.

“Why don’t you talk about me?”

Rin didn’t look at you. Just stared at the city below.

“I didn’t want to share you,” he said simply. 

“I didn’t want the media getting to you. The speculation. The hate. You’re mine. I wanted you to stay mine.”

Your chest ached — not in pain, but in love. Deep, endless, throat-tight love.

“Rin,” you whispered, bumping his shoulder. “I’d live in a bunker with you if I had to. But if you ever want to tell them… I won’t be mad.”

He finally looked at you.

“I’d be proud if you did,” you added, quieter now.

The last concert of the tour was a sold-out stadium.

Thousands of people. The kind of crowd that swallowed the sound of your own breathing. 

You stood off-stage, Rin’s jacket slung over your shoulders, watching as the stage lights painted him in gold and fire.

He barely looked at the crowd. He never did. 

But he kept glancing your way — tiny flickers, like he had to check you were still real.

Then: the final song. Rin’s solo.

He stepped up to the mic.

The crowd screamed.

He held the guitar like it was a second spine — steady, beautiful.

Then he spoke.

“This next part…” he said into the quiet, “is for someone I’ve loved since I was fifteen.”

The crowd hushed. Like the world itself was holding its breath.

“She stayed behind the lights. Not because I asked her to. But because she believed in me.”

He looked to the side. At you.

“For you, my love.”

Then he played.

The melody — the same one from your first date — rang out across the stadium. His voice, raw and low, trembled slightly on the high notes. No one breathed. No one moved.

And when the set ended?

He walked straight to you.

Dropped his guitar into Yukimiya’s hands, tugged out his in-ear monitors, and kissed you like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted to do. 

Soft. Deep. Sure.

You heard the crowd scream — but it felt like silence between his lips.

When you pulled back, breathless, he looked at you the way he always had. 

Like no one else had ever existed.

You whispered, “So. You told them.”

He kissed your temple.

“I’m never hiding you again.”

Let the world scream his name.

Let them beg for more songs, more mystery, more answers.

They could have all of it.

But you were the only one Rin Itoshi would ever play for.

hehe! if yall can't tell i love a good rin with yapper gf

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[formulafanfics13]

You’re doing amazing with these fics, I love them😚

Could you do one where reader and Oscar are in a relationship and they have Arthur over one night (because Arthur and Oscar are friends) then at some point their conversation gets onto the topic of their sex lives and when Oscar and reader say that they’re usually pretty vanilla, Arthur finds it unacceptable and teaches both of them new things?

(Sorry if it’s hard to understand, I was struggling to stay focused while typing out this though😔🤘)

You Call That a Sex Life? - OP81 & Arthur Leclerc 🔥

Masterlist

Summary: During a casual wine night with Oscar and Arthur, the conversation turns to sex — and Arthur, unimpressed by your and Oscar’s “vanilla” dynamic, offers to guide you both into something filthier. What starts as teasing turns into a real-time, explicit masterclass in depravity, with Arthur giving live instructions from a chair as Oscar undresses, pleasures, and ruins you while being watched. By the end, you’re fucked, shaking, and grateful — and Arthur looks smug as hell.

Warning: Explicit sexual content including voyeurism, exhibitionism, guided sex, praise kink, degradation kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), rough sex, creampie, and implied cuckquean/cuckold dynamics. Heavy power imbalance and dominant-submissive tones.

Arthur's the one who starts it. Obviously. You and Oscar are two glasses into a bottle of wine, curled up on the couch in sweats, your bare feet tangled with his. Arthur's perched in the armchair like he owns the place, hoodie sleeves pushed up, one leg hooked over the other, wine glass twirling dangerously in his hand. You've been talking shit all night. Gossip, race chaos, dating horror stories. Arthur's animated, Oscar's dry, and you're caught somewhere in the middle, giggling at both of them.

Then the topic shifts. Sex. Not in a creepy way. Just that lazy, oversharing way that happens when it's late and the lights are low and no one feels like holding anything back. Arthur's talking about some girl in Monaco who used handcuffs without warning. Oscar rolls his eyes. You laugh.

Then Arthur grins, sharp and boyish, and looks at you. "And you two? What kind of freaks are you?"

Oscar raises a brow. "Excuse me?"

Arthur shrugs. "Come on. You've been together for what, over a year? You must've done something feral by now."

You glance at Oscar. Then back at Arthur. "Honestly?" you say. "We're pretty vanilla."

Arthur's face drops like you just insulted his mother. "Vanilla?"

Oscar shrugs, unbothered. "Yeah."

"That's unacceptable," Arthur declares, sitting forward. "You're dating an F1 driver. Your body should be a playground. There should be toys. Ropes. Marks. Damage."

You blink. Laugh. "Jesus, Arthur."

Oscar rolls his eyes. "And I suppose you're some kind of sex god?"

Arthur smirks. "I'm not boring."

You kick Oscar lightly. "We're not boring."

Arthur raises a brow. "Name one non-vanilla thing you've done."

Oscar thinks. You think harder. Then glance at each other, slightly guilty.

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

You fold your arms. "Alright, Casanova. Enlighten us. What counts as non-vanilla in your world?"

Arthur smiles like a devil in a cathedral. He downs the rest of his wine. Sets the glass down. Then leans back and says, "I'll show you."

Oscar snorts. "You're out of your mind."

Arthur just raises his hands. "No touching. No pressure. Just guidance. Let me teach you a few things. I swear you'll thank me later."

You glance at Oscar. He raises a brow. "Up to you."

Your heart is thudding. Hard. But your body's already heating under the weight of Arthur's gaze. And something about the idea of being watched, of being coached, has your thighs pressing together under the blanket. "Okay," you whisper.

Oscar looks over. Then reaches for your hand. "Okay," he echoes. Voice low.

Arthur smiles. "Good," he says. "Then let's begin."

It starts with instructions. Arthur doesn't move from his chair. He stays sprawled, hood half up, one hand curled under his jaw, watching like he's in a front-row seat at a live porno. "Take her shirt off," he says to Oscar.

Oscar doesn't flinch. He shifts beside you, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, eyes locked on yours for permission. You nod. He lifts it slowly, deliberately. Exposes your chest to the air. Your nipples pebble instantly.

Arthur whistles. "Good start. Now kiss her. Neck, first. Slow."

Oscar obeys. His mouth finds the curve of your throat, and fuck, it's hotter with an audience. His tongue drags along your collarbone and you can feel Arthur watching, the room thick with heat and eyes and tension.

"Now bite."

Oscar does. You gasp.

Arthur's smile widens. "Perfect."

It escalates from there. Arthur tells Oscar where to touch you, how to spread your thighs, how to tease your cunt through your panties, how to keep you right at the edge until your whole body is begging. You're gasping, panting, nails digging into Oscar's arms. Every time Oscar looks at Arthur, it's with something darker in his eyes. Possession. Hunger.

"You're holding back," Arthur murmurs. "Don't. Ruin her."

And Oscar does. He pushes your panties aside. Slides two fingers in without warning and presses deep. You cry out. Arthur exhales like he's watching art come to life.

"Now fuck her mouth," he says.

Oscar blinks.

Arthur nods at you. "She's ready. Look at her."

You are. Your eyes glassy. Your body soaked. Your knees aching to be useful.

Oscar stands. You drop to your knees on the rug.

Arthur watches, silent now. Oscar cups your chin. Brushes your lips with his cock. "You want to impress him?" he murmurs.

You nod. He groans. And when he thrusts into your throat, Arthur moans too. You suck him off with tears in your eyes, spit coating your chin, while Arthur gives quiet instructions from the chair like it's a symphony.

"Deeper."

"Slower."

"Good girl."

You don't even know who he's praising anymore, you or Oscar.

Oscar pulls out eventually, breathing hard. Then Arthur speaks again. "Now fuck her properly. She's ready."

You look up at Oscar. His eyes are black. "You okay?" he asks.

You nod. Shaking. "Please."

And Oscar takes you. Right there on the rug. Right in front of Arthur. He pulls your ass back and thrusts into you hard, deep, fast. You scream. You're soaking. Oscar groans into your shoulder, gripping your hips like he's afraid to let go. Arthur watches every second, hands fisted in his lap, eyes hungry.

"Don't stop," Arthur says. "Make her come."

Oscar does. Hard. You collapse. Shake. Scream his name.

And when he comes inside you, messy, fast, lost, Arthur smiles. "Told you you'd thank me."

[dolliedyhard]

I’ve changed many things about my Jeff over the months so it’s time 4 an update! A lot of this is copy & pasted from the old hc’s but ofc there r many new ones as well. I also made the og hc’s post private. Other than reposts u can’t access it. If i come up wit moar ideaz, I might make a part 2 or edit dis post.

To find moar information about mah Jeff, read my creepypasta AU under his section. I left some info out from here bc itz just repeating what waz said there. The doc will also expand on certain headcanons + give them moar context. So if ya interested in dat, read mah doc.

HERE HE IS! (๑>◡<๑) This is liek my “official” design 4 him. I rlly didn’t like the last ver OMGG.

♥︎Attributes♥︎

He loves keeping his hair long. He’ll never CONSIDER cutting it short. His hair is one of his favorite parts of himself.

He for certain wants his hair to be down to his waist one day

Hair type is 1c

Jeff’s hair is naturally brown. When the “incident” happened the fire made his hair temporarily black. (Ik that’s not how real logic works but cmon let me have fun >:c)

After a few months his hair went back to brown

Now he dyes his hair black bc he prefers it that way.

He smells like incense and ash

His veins are most visible in his forearms and hands

Still no voice claim :/ but if i find one I’ll update

He has dark circles under his eye from staying up for days at end

He got some sharp ass canine teeth. In my AU he got bit by a vampire. He didn’t get turned into one bc the transformation was stopped right after his vamp fang came in. #ISupportVampireJeffTheKiller!!!!1!!11!!!! X3

Warm to the touch. Doesn’t matter what season it is, his body manages to retain a significant amount of body heat.

His skin is literally ghost white. This due to bleach, lack of sunlight, and frequent blood loss.

♥︎Personality♥︎

When meeting him for the first time he comes off as an asshole.

He insults everyone and it’s hard to hell if he’s joking or not.

And if he’s really pissed he’ll get REAL creative with the insults.

Swears like a sailor

Jeff loves stroking his ego, it’s so obnoxious but he could care less.

Lowkey thinks he better than everyone

LAWD he’s handsome and he knows it

Doesn’t care about ur personal space

Will creep up on u to whisper shit in ur ear to scare you. And other stuff like that.

Gives people the nastiest stares of all time. And I dare u too say something to him about it, he’ll square TF UP.

Says some really offensive shit but he doesn’t care if you get upset because of it.

And he’ll say it loud and proud no matter how much of a dumbass he looks like saying it.

Jeff’s one of the most defiant proxies in the mansion

He listens to NO ONE and hates more than anything to be bossed around.

Though he partially listens to Slenderman, yk, bc he has to so he can live in the mansion. Masky too bc he’s Slenderman’s right hand man.

For Jeff it’s more about if you guys get along and have a good time together than having the same interests.

♥︎Interests♥︎

Wannabe lead guitarist

He’s not good enough to be the lead but his ego says otherwise.

He owns a sick ass guitar tho

Started out being emo in his early teens, now he’s more of a metal head.

(I don’t know much about nu-metal or any metal at ALL so I can’t rlly say who his favs are. SORRY IM AN EMO FUCK AT HEART OKAY???)

Listens to goth music occasionally too

Loves going to concerts no matter who’s performing

If you happen to bring up a band he’s seen live before he will 100% without fail say “I saw them live at _!” And will proceed to info dump about what went down.

Even worse if they were in their prime when he went.

Fashion wise he dresses alternative but it’s nothing fancy.

A band tee + hoodie or jacket, jeans, shoes (cons, or boots), for accessories belt and some spikes bracelets. That’s about it :v

Paints his nails black on special occasions

Likes to collect weird stuff

His biggest collection is of knifes

Some of them are ornamental and some he actually uses to kill

He gets the money to fuel his collection off the dead bodies of his victims

Also has a strange fascination with history

Specifically historical torture methods & atrocities

Sometimes he uses the same torture methods he learned about on his victims.

HUGE HORROR NERD

He collects dvds of slasher & horror movies

And of course you can’t forget about the vintage TV to play them on!

He’s not a fan of snuff films or gore videos

Killing🔪

To Jeff killing is something he does for 3 things. Survival, satisfaction, and emotional regulation.

Once he’s got you in his grasp you won’t make it out alive.

Jeff commits the worst murders when he’s having a IED or BPD episode.

He’s not a kidnapper type serial killer

He likes to get the job done by the end of the day at the longest

He loves the taste of blood and often licks it off his knife (ZOMG VAMP TENDENCIES!?!?!?!?!?!)

He thinks he can train himself to be able to taste the differences between blood types.

He just likes inflicting pain on complete strangers, it’s thrilling to him.

And it’s usually not a stab and go kill, when he first started out that’s how it was bc it was more for survival.

Now Jeff has the taste for blood. And he’s got some horrifyingly creative ways to extract it.

Nowadays you’ll be lucky if it’s a stab and go. His goal is to make sure u feel the agony, every. second. of. it.

He would never consider hurting someone close to him, that would severely fuck with him.

Since the murder of his family he has no one. So he cherishes the few people close to him a lot more than he used to.

He’s never had any regrets about any of the many murders he has committed.

The one and only time he’s ever felt bad about inflicting violence on someone is his older brother Liu.

xxx Vices xxx

Jeff is a regular smoker (hence why he smells like ash)

He’s able to blow different shapes out of smoke

Prefers cigarettes over anything else

Hates vapes tho, he think they make you look like a massive pussy.

He’ll flat out refuse to fw you if you whip out your fruity-tuti flavored e-stick when yall go on a smoke break.

Jeff’s not a big drinker

Drinking just ups his already high sex drive to the max and he acts like a complete idiot when he’s drunk. Then after all that his hangover is fucking hell.

At the most he’ll get a bit tipsy cause the boost in arousal makes sex tenfold better.

Jeff has done hard drugs b4, Ben was the one who introduced it 2 him.

Jeff started doing drugs at 15

Jeff & Ben did heroin and cocanie together

♥︎A/N: Btw in my au Jeff had a much shitter life than the og Jeffery Woods so all of this with context makes sense.

Jeff doesn’t s/h anymore but did it heavily in his teens before he went crazy.

His life was genuinely a miserable hellscape that was picking at his sanity and at every turn it only got worse.

His mother and father didn’t care about him at all. The only person that actually cared and loved Jeff was Liu. But Liu rarely showed any affection towards Jeff so it didn’t really matter how Liu felt about him.

No one knew what Jeff was doing to himself up until he ended up in the hospital with the gashes on his cheeks.

[n1k0laa5]

I DESPERATELY need to yap about my better CR/waiting room boyfriend so here’s the encyclopedia of Sal, the emotionally repressed, mafioso-born, thick-accented, tough-on-the-outside New York Italian mess of a man who just so happens to be wildly, inconveniently in love with a multiverse-shifting, god-complex-having being named Nikolas. C’est moi.

PS. In this reality, my dearest Sal is completely aware of everything—and I mean everything. The waiting room, the shifting, even my OR. Knows all about it and it’s kinda fun that way. Still worried I’ll get too attached to him cuz he’s perfect. 😞

GENERAL PERSONALITY & VIBE

• Zodiac sign? Scorpio. He denies it. Claims astrology is “a buncha hippie bullshit,” but secretly googled compatibility with me once.

• Vibe? A pit bull in a leather jacket who’s been denied a hug for twenty years.

• Love language? Acts of service + physical touch he will never admit to liking.

• First impression? Probably that he’d rob you. Or marry you. Depends on how close you stand.

• Accent? Thick New York Italian. “Ya kiddin’ me? What is this, a fuckin’ fairy tale?” is a daily expression. Drops “-ing” on every verb: goin’, talkin’, fightin’, cryin’.

HABITS, QUIRKS, TICKS

1. Talks with his hands. Always.

Even when lying. Which is always. So the hands? They never stop.

2. Adjusts his hoodie strings when nervous.

Pulls them, tangles them, knots them in his fingers. If he’s real anxious? Chews the plastic tip.

3. Bites the inside of his cheek when trying not to cry.

Will never admit he’s doing it.

4. HATES crying in front of others.

Like viscerally. Would rather get shot.

5. Has a temper.

Real bad. Like “throws a chair across the room when overwhelmed” bad.

6. Cannot handle praise.

Compliment him and he’ll either insult you or kiss you and then storm off. No in-between.

7. LOVES candy.

Like embarrassingly. Jellybeans, taffy, weird hard strawberry candy wrapped in crinkly plastic. You give him a candy bracelet and he will suck on it and act like he ain’t.

8. Can’t take his shoes off unless he’s home.

Deeply embedded habit. “Ain’t takin’ ‘em off. What if I gotta bolt? Ya tryna get me whacked?”

9. Calls everyone by the wrong name just to assert dominance.

Knows your name is Steve. Will call you “Stan” and stare you down.

10. Secretly LOVES soap operas.

Thinks no one knows.

EMOTIONAL REPRESSION

(Because I love sad men.)

“I’m fine” is his catchphrase.

Said after being visibly not fine. Often with blood on his knuckles and tears he won’t wipe.

Can’t say “I need you” without choking on it.

Will reword it into: “Don’t be stupid, I just don’t want ya runnin’ off and gettin’ killed or somethin’. That’s all.”

Once broke a mirror after hearing “I love you” too gently.

Still apologizing for it.

Will never start a vulnerable conversation.

But will stay if you start one. Will stay even if it kills him inside.

WHEN HE’S LOVING

Whiny affectionate.

“C’mon, just lemme hold ya for five minutes, damn. You always runnin’ around.”

Protective in dumb ways.

“You cold? I ain’t got a jacket but I will punch the weather, swear to God.”

Does little things he thinks no one notices.

Puts my socks on the radiator so they’re warm in the morning.

Locks every window twice when I’m asleep.

Hates flowers, but always notices which ones I glance at while out.

Physical touch turns him into a melted puddle.

But only in private. Sal in public? Stone cold.

Sal in private? “Ya skin’s warm… I like that. Don’t move.”

Talks to Nikolas like he’s simultaneously his baby and his bodyguard.

“You’re delicate, aight? I mean—you’re powerful and weird as hell but like—don’t die, okay?”

WHEN HE’S ANGRY

Walks in circles.

Like a lot. Will stomp around the kitchen five times before speaking.

Punches walls ONLY when completely alone.

Would rather die than let anyone see that side.

Yells first, apologizes second.

“I ain’t yellin’ at YOU, I’m just yellin’—fuck, alright, sorry. Shit. Don’t look at me like that.”

Hates being misunderstood.

Which happens constantly. Cue the tantrum.

Once stormed out in the middle of an argument and came back with a sandwich for me.

“Still mad, but ya looked hungry.”

QUOTES

1. “Ayo—who the fuck puts spinach in a breakfast wrap? SPINACH? That ain’t breakfast. That’s lawn clippings with a side of fuck you.”

2. “I ain’t gay, I just like one guy. One. And he’s fuckin’… magical or whatever. Don’t make this weird.”

3. “You cried at a Folgers commercial two nights ago.” “He was makin’ coffee for his ma! There was emotion!”

4. “I don’t do soft, aight? You’re the soft one. I’m the muscle. I do the protectin’. I’m the big spoon. I—shut up, stop laughin’.”

5. “Yeah, I cried. One time. It was the wind. The wind got in my eyes. Shut up.”

6. “I missed a spot? You missed my ass when you kissed it goodbye last night.”

7. “I’m not mad. I’m just—yeah, no, I’m mad. Forget it.”

8. “Nah. Nah, we ain’t doin’ this. This smells like a baby shower hosted in Hell’s Kitchen. Turn that shit off before I start cryin’ for no reason.”

[Cue lighting another candle for funsies]

“You light one more of those arson sticks I swear to God I’m gonna choke you with throw pillows.”

LITTLE DETAILS

• Nickname for me is “Maraschino”. Yes. The cherries.

• Cries during the Star-Spangled Banner. Every single time.

• Thinks “emotions are for chumps” but owns a teddy bear named “Big T.”

• Loves my thighs. Like. A lot. Like “can’t talk properly if Nik is wearing shorts” a lot. I need my man affectionate.

• Once stole a priest’s Vespa just to pick up soup.

• Calls himself “a street prophet” when drunk.

In short: Sal is a walking contradiction. He’s violent and soft. Scared and cocky. A trauma-scarred product of a life in organized crime who’s been handed something fragile and divine in the form of a boy from another reality.

And I adore him. And I miss him. And I will crash out again without this fuckass Italian boy.

[jewishcissiekj]

Rewatched Hunt for Ziro (Quinlan's one of two TCW appearances, S3E9) because now I have more information about Quin and wanted to judge his characterization but now I have like a bunch of quinobi screenshots so:

Why is this episode so gay. What was the reason. Did they know wherever Quinlan goes homosexuality follows. Oh he has an effect on you. You are both men. What's wrong with you

Dude why was his second line in the ep complimenting a dude Also why is he trying to squeeze his way into every homoerotic relationship of Obi-Wan. First Cody then Cad Bane dude maybe chill Additionbally I strongly dislike his TCW design, maybe it's the blocky shapes that don't fit with the fluid image of him from the comics I have in my mind or maybe it's just that I hate the TCW style and maybe both It just doesn't work for me idk

KEEP YOU FUCKING HANDS TO YOURSELF MAN WE KNOW YOU WANT HIM

Quinobi content but at what cost (reduced to a comic relief character)

Yeah well where else would your eyes be looking deep into the other's eyes what the hell Obi-Wan

I need them dead

This is a 20 minutes episode where men touch each other more than they do in the other 132 Clone Wars episodes love me some 'close friends'

Holy shit they're holding hands!!!@!@!!!11!11 holy fuck!!!!!!21!1

Geuine question what is Quin looking at here for almost 10 seconds. That's not where Obi-Wan eyes are. Is he just staring at hs chest. Is he looking at his- *gunshot* (Is that what Obi-Wan meant by keeping their eyes forward)

I never doubted you moment! Woah this is just like Star Wars: Republic #70-

Hey why are you fighting with another man's lightsaber. Why is he putting his life in your hands. Why. Perish.

Yeah ok next one

You are? hanging off a cliff? with another man?

Insane that this is how their portion of the episode end. You'll know they'll be ok with each other. Especially after seeing that gayass smirk

His only (TCW) apperance after this was in Destiny (S6E12) btw, and probably the only thing close to an interaction with Aayla (HIS FUCKING PADAWAN) in canon

He should've had full Jedi robes here idc if it wouldn't make sense for them to design an entire thing for a bg character that appears for 10 second he's wearing his mission gear it's stupid

[inkyrainstorms]

based on the Billstill au by @jellynut! You guys should totally go check it out, it's so cool and angsty and somehow my monkey brain took that idea and made it Stan tormenting Bill forevermore. (This has spiraled rapidly not its own au of an au based on an earlier idea I had once) (might draw more of this au and that one who knows)

This has been going on for at least 15 hours straight, and Stan is having the time of his goddamn life watching Bill suffer

And then Bill gave Stan horrendous night terrors

And then Stan bought a giant bag of nachos and ground them up into crumbs and dumped them in the sea or some shit

Transcript and full image under cut

Bill, floating intangibly: You're a loser, Mac

Stan, looking up from his magazine: Yeah? And you're an interdimensional demon dumb enough to die in my head. You're the biggest idiot I know, and I know me

[hmsdoodlin]

Thinking about Heart often being portrayed with animalistic features (Mind calling him a creature and the fandom giving him those traits) when in canon he tries his hardest to stray away from being perceived like that

[the1weird1pencil]

Pepperman but he actually looks like a pepper Day 6: Pepperman

[cementcornfield]

https://x.com/vikingzfanpage/status/1867748114540433549?s=61

ummm excuse you justin, that is your best friend

lol really though!!

but nah, i touched on this in my tags of a rb of this tweet. like to me it isn't a huge deal or anything. they're obviously still close, they just don't talk in season (which they've both said before). but they spent time in france together this offseason and have also said that they love each other and are always gonna have that connection so i'm not too worried! friendships go through stages sometimes, and adult friendships are just kind of like that, even for football players i guess! (some of my absolute best friends in the world, my favorite people, i only talk to once a month if that. and like a real deep catch up session happens only a few times a year. it's just hard! and i can say for sure that me and my friends do not have nearly as much going on as these two guys lol)

but anyway i'm also gonna take this opportunity to ramble about some more ja'marr character analysis lol. so like, it's becoming pretty clear that ja'marr is deadset on keeping tee and joe with him as long as possible (not gonna get into contract details or likelihood at the moment because that's all still in the air of course. but like, ja'marr's intentions at least are clear at the moment). and it's also obvious how much ja'marr treasures his friendships! he loves his guys and thrives off of being around them! i wonder if like, the evolution of his relationship with justin has to do with how extreme he, tee, and joe are being about contract stuff right now???

like justin and ja'marr were SO close for awhile there. from the hyper competitive but clearly loving friendship they had going on in college. the way they were always together on the sideline and always doing their dances and making up ridiculous elaborate handshakes <3 the way all of their joint interviews involved so much laugher and loving glances. and even after joining the league still talking about each other in the media and how much they love and support each other even as they're still super competitive. hell, when i first became a fan in 2022, ja'marr would still be streaming with justin almost every week lol. (i think justin has stopped streaming and maybe doesn't even do much gaming-wise anymore, which may have been the main way they kept in touch tbh. like, many such cases for the men i know in my life lol)

and now they're at the point where they have so much else going on, that even though they love each other, the constant conversation and all that isn't as present. (and ja'marr has kind of made it clear that that started on justin's end. like, ohhh he doesn't text me back blah blah blah, however true that is 🤔). and i feel like, even though ja'marr probably understands, that had to have hurt. again he values his friends so much and is at his best mentally, emotionally, and athletically when he's around them!!! i wonder if that taught him something about like, "if i want to keep these people i love in my life as much as possible, i need them to stay on my team. justin went to a different team and something that was so beautiful and important to me changed. i can't have that for tee. i can't have that for joe. we need to figure something out" which like, could absolutely be me digging depth into something that isn't there but at the same time it makes sense motivationally for me!!! like did he sob on his agent's shoulder one night about how much he missed justin and how he couldn't stand the thought of that happening with tee (I WANT TO PLAY WITH HIM FOR ETERNITY!!!) and the agent was like, hey, we can do something about this actually! send me his info!

[o4o41]

it would have been good if Cindrella was more outspoken. And call out her family on not feeling **regretful and apologizing** after insults, ridicule and abuse.

[vaniloqu3nce]

my brother out of NOWHERE: you look like a “hey momma” lesbian

my sister, points at me: thats a bisexual

me, points at me: im a bisexual

my brother: i know but i feel like if you were trying to rizz up a girl you’d be like “hey momma”

[bwabbitv3s]

There was quite a bit of frustration at the start but I am almost done making the whip for my Catwoman costume. Was it eight times as hard making a real hybrid whip as buying a prop whip? Yes, yes it was. Does it already start to make the good crack, also yes. Have I potentially bruised or developed a new set of calluses on my fingertips, probably.

Here is the tutorial I am using.

[sateurn]

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

These sobs really limited my tags?????

I have so many more thoughts this is so so much less than 1/2. Broski. Big dislike

[heroesbrine]

no way i just saw a whole ass adult use "pannie" derogatorily towards pansexuals without an inch of irony. can we grow up please. that is such a childish insult to use in genuine anger. i thought we were over this years ago