#specially a freelance job where i am my own fucking boss and i set my own prices

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[itsamejin]

this love || yoongi angst

Summary: A story through the years detailing your relationship with Yoongi and all the ups and downs that came with dating an idol. 

Warning: cursing, sexually suggestive content

Genre: angst, fluff, idol!yoongi, artist!yn

Pairing: Yoongi x female!reader

Premise: Based on the song ‘This Love’ by Taylor Swift. Reader is an artist.

Commission Request: @minyoongail​

Word Count: 7,681 words

—

You met Yoongi when he was just a trainee, ready to take on the world and bursting with energy to get on stage. He had visions of grandeur- him living in a beautiful mansion, wearing name-brand jewelry, cruising in rare sports vehicles. When times were simpler, he’d promise that you’d be there with him, indulging in the glitz and glamour that came with his fame. He’d be an idol and you’d be his muse. Yet under all those pretenses, under all those empty promises, he was just Yoongi.

He was a guy who walked in and out of your life as easily as ocean tides come and go on the shore. He taught you how to fall in love, fall out of it, and rekindle it all the same. It was a sort of beautiful asphyxiation, being wrapped up in his lifestyle and learning to accept the consequences that came with dating a celebrity.

You wonder even now as you search his name on the internet, if you had any regrets. After all, you lost too much to be with him.

—

April 2013

A first meeting meant everything to you, especially when it came to your clients. You didn’t accept jobs from weirdos who didn’t respect your craft and you definitely hated impatient ones who badgered you to finish your pieces as quick as possible.

Big Hit was a happy medium and had hired you as a contract employee after reviewing your portfolio. Although the style of work they wanted from you was not at all what you specialized in, you were happy that they treated you like an actual employee and not some sort of machine. Plus, the pay was good.

You were asked to work on some cute animal characters for an upcoming boy group that you weren’t terribly familiar with, maybe stumbled on a vlog of theirs that you forgot about. You were intrigued by the slew of trainees that sat in front of you, their palms clenched out of anxiousness.

“I’m [Y/N], one of the digital artists that will be working with you guys from now on,” you introduce yourself politely to the seven bright-eyed boys in front of you.

You were in a room with other staff members, discussing the concept of the “Hip Hop Monsters” your graphics team was working on. This was a planned project lasting over a span of years and would eventually result in collectors edition items. It made you giddy just thinking of the royalties you’d earn from it all.

“I’d like it if the animals took after us,” one of the boys suggested shyly, slightly intimidated by the large number of corporate employees there were in the room for something that seemed so trivial. “I think our fans would like the characters more if they kind of resembled our personalities and stuff...”

You nod along to his suggestions, staring at his jersey to notice that the member who spoke up was Rap Monster. It was cute how they all wore clothes with their names on them. That’s one way to attract attention, you suppose.

“Any other suggestions you guys have for us?” you ask, jotting down notes and making rough sketches as they talk amongst themselves.

“I’d like it if,” a somewhat husky voice starts and you can’t help but stare into the guy’s eyes as he speaks, “my character was a turtle.”

You burst out into a fit of laughter along with the other staff members. He had said it with such a straight face and with so little enthusiasm, yet you could tell from his slight blush that he was serious. He was cute in the way that he wasn’t trying to be.

“You resemble one,” you grin at him, drawing out a small turtle with a cute beanie on your iPad, like the one he wore in front of you. You show it to him. “Something like this?”

“Exactly that!”

He breaks out into a gummy smile, one so bright that it hurt your heart to stare at him for too long. Now you were the one left flustered. He realizes how enthusiastic he was and got embarrassed once again, scratching the back of his head to avoid eye-contact.

“S-sorry, for shouting. It looks good.”

You bite your lip from forming too big of a grin. You still had to remain professional after all.

“You’re welcome,” you smirk slightly as he goes back to trying to look cool. You can’t help but doodle his name on your iPad even as the other members shared ideas for their own animals.

Suga, Suga, Suga.

You smile to yourself. It does have a ring to it.

—

June 2013

Yoongi sees you in the hallways sometimes and wants to say hi, but he can’t because other people are watching. Though, that isn’t the only reason.

He tells himself every day that he’ll muster up the courage to go talk to you, but every time he sees your face his legs turn to jelly. Yoongi was busy with debut stages recently, but he found some free time in his schedule to approach you.

Yoongi was never the shy type, more reserved if anything else, but you had something that enamored him- intrigued him. He wanted to know who you were other than the cute girl he was stuck in meetings with from time to time.

As you sat there on your desk, Yoongi lingered in an area nearby. He would give you his number today and if things didn’t work out then that would be that. There was no need to be all shy about this; it’s not like this is his first time asking someone out.

He strides over to you with feigned confidence and you look up after a minute, not noticing how his shadow loomed over you. He sees that you’re working on realistic portraits of the members and not the cutesy characters he usually sees you drawing.

“Hi,” he says curtly, trying to seem disinterested though he was the one that approached you first.

“Hello,” you smile up at him.

Suga.

“You draw really cool stuff,” he says to break the awkward tension. “You should show it to the CEO. I’m sure we’d have cooler concepts for our albums with your work.”

You look up at him, a happy glint in your eyes. He was complimenting you, although avoiding eye contact to seem a little less nervous than he really was.

“Well, I’m just a contract worker so I don’t think I really have the authority to start up new projects out of nowhere,” you say with a smile on your face at how flustered he looks. “I feel like you’re here to ask me for something. Am I right?”

He looks away for a split second, coughing to alleviate his nerves. He was a grown man for fuck’s sake, why was this so difficult?

“I was actually wondering if you could come give me some opinions about some art that I drew,” he lies through his teeth, just trying to find a way to get you in a more private area than the corporate floor teaming with watchful gazes. “I’ve been trying to start a new hobby.”

You chuckle slightly, seeing right through his words. You stand up to amuse him.

“I’d be happy to.”

He leads you to a studio filled with whacky knick-knacks and dim lighting, not necessarily the best place to draw. You know by now that he just said those things as an excuse to be alone with you.

“So where’s this masterpiece?” you tease slightly at his nervous expression. How did a guy who looked so deadpan have such a giddy personality?

“Well actually,” he starts off, palms already sweaty. “I-It’s not here right now, but I think I left it at the dorms. Maybe if we exchange phone numbers I can text it to you.”

He tried to appear nonchalant, but his hands moved as if he was doing a public speaking presentation. Yoongi thought he was doing great, though growing a little more nervous at how you were giggling.

“You know, Suga,” you start teasingly, “My number is in the company directory. Feel free to text me anytime.”

Yoongi slightly cringes hearing his stage name. He loves it, don’t get him wrong, but he didn't like hearing it come from you. He didn’t like the unfamiliar aspect that came with using his stage name- like you two only went by professional terms.

“Call me Yoongi,” he says with genuine confidence this time. “I like it better when my friends call me Yoongi.”

You nod, relieved that you could finally know this cute guy’s name. Truth be told, you were snooping around his conversations with other people to figure it out.

“So we’re friends?”

Yoongi nods, sitting down in his rolling chair.

“I’d like to be,” he grins, patting the sofa, hoping you’d take a seat with him.

And you do.

—

Present

It’s hard to work efficiently when you’re no longer in a corporate space. There’s no boss to check up on your progress nor is there a nosy coworker trying to see what you’re doing from the corner of their eye. You missed the hustle and bustle of an office floor, but it was nice exploring your creativity through freelance work.

You tap your digital pen onto the table repeatedly, looking at the reference image over and over again. It was a sick joke played by the universe to have been commissioned to draw your ex-boyfriend’s idol group, but you couldn’t refuse the hundreds of dollars the ecstatic fangirl was willing to give you. Truth be told, she might have offered too much pay, but you took up her offer anyway. Money is money.

Yet a face you’ve touched so often, a person you’d been with for years felt so unfamiliar to you. It wasn’t like you were drawing him realistically either. The client wanted anime-style figures that resembled them, looked enough like the boys to display it as her Twitter header. In the end, it’s still too difficult to draw. The rest of the members were lined up and sketched perfectly, but there was a blank area where Yoongi’s face should’ve been.

Your wrists hurt from the constant drawing and erasing so you set it down to massage your hand from cramping. In moments like these, you hated your job.

Ting.

A message notification popped up on your phone that laid beside your iPad. You usually left it silent when you were working, but you opened yourself up to distractions when drawing this particular piece. Whoever thought it was a good idea to specialize in celebrity artwork? You pick up your phone and smiled softly at the text.

hey, can I come over?

—

March 2014

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Yoongi, happy birthday to you~~”

You cheer on with the rest of the boys in their cramped dorm. Somehow you had gotten close enough with them to be at this level of comfort, sitting crisscrossed and shoulders touching with Jungkook and Seokjin. Yoongi blows out the candles and claps his hands, a little sad that another year passed by so quickly. He kept glancing at you who was focused on cutting the cake like the perfectionist you were.

He couldn’t help but feel like time was running out, like if he didn’t confess to you now then it would never happen. Yoongi took off the beanie he wore and ruffled his hair. He was feeling anxious all of a sudden.

“Dude don’t do that your dandruff is gonna get everywhere,” Hoseok whines. “The cake is gonna be decorated with your dead skin cells.”

“Go wash your hands,” Jin commands and Yoongi could only roll his eyes.

“Relax, I don’t even think we’re gonna have cake anytime soon when this slow-poke is taking forever to cut.”

He flicks your forehead as you glare up at him.

“I could so easily throw this in your face, but I choose not to,” you stick your tongue out at him and he scoffs.

“I’d like to see you try.”

All the members groan out of annoyance.

“Oh my god they’re having a lovers quarrel again,” Jimin yawned. “Aren’t you guys sick of arguing?”

Yoongi freezes at his words. Lover’s quarrel. That was a nice way to put it.

“They’ll stop arguing when Yoongi finally-”

Taehyung was cut off as Yoongi swipes three fingers worth of frosting from the cake and lathers it all over Taehyung’s face.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi shakes his head and soon chaos descended. Cake flew in places it shouldn’t have and ended when Namjoon knocked over a glass of water, managing to break it on the floor tiles. In the end, no one got cake.

Yoongi and you were laughing amongst yourselves at the kitchen sink, washing off some of the bits that got onto your shirts.

“I’m so sorry about your cake,” you say through your chuckles. “I’ll make it up to you some time.”

Yoongi only smiles.

“Yeah, you can treat me on a date,” he replies a little too boldly. You look at him in shock, not quite processing his words.

“A date?”

He nods.

“We should go out sometime.”

You purse your lips to prevent the huge grin about to be displayed on your face.

“We should.”

—

Present

It was subtle, the way it all started. You trace over the features you drew so far, only getting to his eyes. Yoongi and you were innocent lovers for a while, keeping your trysts a secret from everyone in the company except his managers and the members. A few of your friends knew, but none of them knew BTS well enough to be all that surprised. It wasn’t all that rare to go out with a celebrity in your line of work.

You almost miss those days when he was unrecognizable. After your friends realized who he was after he hit it big globally, you felt like a secret of yours was displayed to them. Your love was supposed to be private, but his fame left very little room for privacy. You missed when you were the only one that knew of him and maybe it’s selfish to think that way, but you were past the point of being selfish.

You text back.

yeah, can't wait to see you

—

Jan. 2015

Yoongi lays you down on the couch gently. His hands caressing your sides underneath the thin material of your shirt as he pulls you in closer to his kisses. This felt different from other nights, different in that there was nothing around to stop what would come next.

He pulls away from you slightly, panting from the lack of oxygen.

“Are you sure?” he asks, drawing circles on your hip with his thumb. He was only supposed to come over to help you unpack some stuff for your new apartment and here you were, pinned on the couch and sweating from the close contact.

You nod back in response, not finding the right words to get him to continue. He pulls your shirt over your head, peppering kisses on your neck and atop your breasts. He fixates on your neck languidly, biting as he sees fits.

There was a pause as you felt him press up against you and you knew then that there was no making it to the bed. You would have your first time with him on this newly moved-in couch.

The clothes dropped to the ground as his touches get more impatient, more desperate. It all passes by like a blur and you could only remember the pleasure that came with his long fingers, the satisfaction you felt when he was inside you. The climax of it all made you realize that you loved him, truly and without regret. He holds you in his arms when you come undone, flashing a satiated smile as you look up at him. It’s like the stars were in his eyes.

“How do you feel?” you ask him, worried he was already drowsy. You didn’t want to have to sleep on the couch naked.

“Satisfied,” he says with a smile on his face.

You can’t help but swoon, his eyes fixated on you. At least for now, he was yours He wasn’t Suga, a rapper. He was Yoongi, your boyfriend.

It didn't matter to you that he was struggling to make a name for himself in this cut-throat idol industry or that he would spend countless nights cursing as one of his numerous tracks get rejected. None of that was in your mind. Only he swam through your thoughts. Only him.

“I love you,” he sighs out. He was the first to say it.

“I love you too,” you reply back and he holds you tight against him.

He’s nuzzling himself in your hair, his chest pressed up against you so his heartbeat can synch with yours. He loves this, can’t get enough of it. He catches your lips and once again you are whisked in the pleasure of it all. This is it. This is what love is.

—

Present

The piece is finally finished and you send it off to your client, hoping she doesn’t ask for revisions because you can’t handle another second of drawing his stupid face. His soft skin, his tiny moles, his gummy smile...

It's not like you hate him. It’s just... a certain contempt lingers after a breakup from a long-term relationship. It’s the type of resentment that can’t really be explained. You don’t want to see him, but you catch yourself watching his videos on Youtube. You don’t want to think about him, but you hope he thinks about you. You don’t see yourself ever getting back together with him, but you don’t have his phone number blocked.

It’s a sort of paradox you catch yourself in and you wonder if you could ever get out of it. Will Yoongi ever escape your mind?

can't wait to see u too babe

—

Aug. 2016

Yoongi hugs you from behind, his face scrunched at the nape of your neck where several marks were made from last night’s events. Your eyes stayed focus on the TV in front of you, still impressed by your own ability to afford one in your bedroom at your salary.

“BTS' SUGA drops new music video for his song and mixtape Agust D...”

The news anchor drones on and you could barely hear her through the sounds of Yoongi’s soft snores. His hold on you grew tighter as he hears his stage name from an unfamiliar voice and it makes you giggle slightly at how different the edgy music video being displayed was from the same person wrapping you in his arms so tightly.

“Babe, wake up. I have work to do,” you whisper into his hair and he only shakes his head back in response.

“No,” he mutters, pulling you into him closer. You roll your eyes, managing to pry off one of his hands as you sit up on the bed.

“Don’t you have studio stuff to do today?” you ask him, searching for a shirt to wear.

He shakes his head as his eyes start to flutter open. You both reeked of alcohol since you opened a bottle of wine last night to celebrate the release of his first solo work. He was proud of it and you were proud of him.

“Can you turn that off, I’m getting a migraine,” he whines, covering his head with a pillow. You opted to wear Yoongi’s shirt instead of your own since you couldn’t be bothered to walk to the other side of the bed to find it. You smiled at his laying figure, cooped in a fetal-like position. He was still naked, but you were with him long enough to no longer be phased by that sort of thing.

“From one bottle of wine?” you tease slightly. “I think you’re losing your touch, Agust D.”

You chuckle as he throws the pillow on top of his head towards you.

“Don’t call me that,” he pouts, “It feels like you’re making fun of me.”

You stand up from where you were, stretching out your back as you make your way to the door.

“That’s because I am,” you smirk, “You know you’re saved on my phone as Sugar?”

He gives you a glare.

“It’s Suga,” he says, attempting to add some intimidation to his voice. It doesn’t work because all you do is stick your tongue out at him.

“Whatever sugar.”

He chuckles lightly and watches the silhouette of your figure exit his view. Yoongi can’t help but mindlessly follow after you.

As you exit towards the kitchen, you can’t help but hear the television from the bedroom.

“Suga has recently been caught up in a dating scandal with Suran, the solo artist, who sang with him in a song...”

Your head snaps up from those words, your skin crawling with goosebumps. You make it into the kitchen but with a heavy heart and no appetite.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, passing by you to pour himself some water.

“Nothing,” you say, though you sounded bitter. He caught on quite quickly. You were jealous again.

Yoongi heaves out a deep sigh and sets the glass of water down. He comes over to your angry figure and gives you a soft hug, laying his head on top of yours as if to comfort you. You try to pull away but he keeps you close.

“I’ll tell them to drop the rumors, okay?,” he says, genuinely enough to make you believe him. “I don’t want us to fight so early in the morning.”

“You promise?”

He pulls away.

“I promise,” he says, brushing a hair away from your face. “Let’s not think about those rumors right now. You and me both know they’re not true.”

You were never one to forget so easily.

—

It was around 2016 when you had stopped working at Big Hit. They halted the Hip Hop Monster brand and your contract was expiring with them anyway. You went from living a kush office life to struggling freelance worker in a matter of a second. It also meant that Yoongi and you would be spending less time together. His busy schedules couldn’t permit him to stay with you longer than a few hours and his presence slowly started to disappear from his side of the bed.

It was like a sinking ship, what you had with him. The pain starts off slow, unnoticeable. You’ll still laugh and keep up appearances as time passes, but you could tell there was an ominous atmosphere that wasn’t initially there in the relationship. Your screams start to grow silent as more problems start to stack on top of each other. It’s then when you hit the iceberg. It’s then when it all starts to fall apart.

He was still good for you, you convinced yourself, even as the currents swept you out under your feet.

—

Dec. 2016

“What the fuck do you mean you’re not coming?” you yell through your phone. You were sitting on the floor of your living room, holiday decorations strewn around the apartment. He promised he’d come spend a day off of his winter promotions to be with you.

“You know how hectic the end of the year gets with promotions,” he says in quiet hushes. “I can’t do anything about it. This is my job.”

You suck in your cheeks to prevent yourself from yelling. From the sound of it, he was in public.

“Yoongi, I called out of talking to a really high-paying client,” you say through gritted teeth. “And I still came home. Why am I the only one making sacrifices?”

He sighed at the other end. He didn’t have the patience to deal with you today.

“Look, can you stop being so fucking needy. I don’t need this right now.”

He couldn’t tell from the phone call, but your heart broke at the word. Needy. He thought that you were needy.

“I’m already stressed out as it is,” he continues through the phone. “I don’t need you up my ass all the time.”

“I’m not gonna wait for you,” you reply, tears threatening to spill over. “I’m going to sleep and you’re gonna get rid of all the shit you have in my apartment. I’m sick of you, Yoongi.”

He scoffs.

“I’m sick of you too.”

Yoongi hangs up, about ready to hit the wall when Jimin comes to calm him down. Small things that were never meant to be taken seriously built up until it was ready to crash down.

When Yoongi comes at night to visit you, he sees that you’re asleep on the couch. He sits next to you, pulling you into his arms.

“I’m sorry baby,” he whispers quietly. “I’ll do better.”

You nuzzled closer to him, comforted by words you forget the next day. Even when you woke up with a bad neck and Yoongi snoring onto your skin, you couldn’t find a way to stay mad at him. You knew, deep down, that some way or the other you’re gonna find yourself arguing about the same thing next week.

—

Present

Junghoon comes to pick you up. Junghoon, your boyfriend.

He’s a little uptight and too stern for his own good, but has a good heart and a knack of giving great gifts. You met him from working in the same industry, a 3D graphics designer for several video game companies. He was a new addition to your life, your relationship only about three months old.

You were warming up to him slowly, thankful for finally having a consistent presence in your life. He always made time for you, never used work as an excuse, and didn’t act cold just for the sake of acting cold. Junghoon was sweet in the way that Yoongi used to be when he wasn’t such a massive celebrity.

It was a relief to have someone like Junghoon in your life that didn’t walk in and out of your door without much of a thought to even say goodbye. Your life with him has been a tad bit dull, but you don’t mind all that much. Junghoon’s made you feel secure in ways that Yoongi couldn’t.

—

May 2017

“Your boyfriend is winning a whole ass award across the world and you’re having ramen with me?” Chaerin sighs. It’s typical for a best friend to judge the actions of the other.

“Yeah and?” you reply snarkily, swirling your chopstick around to find the perfect clump of noodles. “I’m not the top social artist according to Billboard, what’s it have to do with me?”

She rolls her eyes at you.

“I don’t know, you could at least watch him win the award?” she suggests. “The live stream is literally happening right now. Your boyfriend is making history and you don’t even care!”

You look at the clock on the restaurant wall. It was nearing 2 o’clock and your client meeting would be starting soon. You were in high demand as a graphic artist recently and as far as you were concerned, that was the only thing on your mind at the moment. You stare back into your bowl, suddenly losing your appetite.

“The apartment is lonely without him,” you admit sadly.

He bought one for himself and had you move in. ‘It’s easier to not get noticed by the tabloids,’ he convinced you. The modern sleekness of his penthouse was a nice change to your lifestyle, but you missed the comfiness of your small studio apartment. It was often too cold when he wasn’t around.

“You could watch it with me?” Chaerin suggested. “Yoongi’s probably so sad that his own girlfriend doesn’t even want to watch him win such a major award.”

You bite down on your chopstick harshly.

“Well he didn't even want me to come with him so I don’t wanna hear anymore about him from you.”

Chaerin squinted her eyes in your direction.

“Well I mean I get where he’s coming from. He’s still an idol, [Y/N],” she scolds. “It would be a massive risk to take you with him.”

You shook your head disapprovingly, pushing the bowl away from you.

“I’m not an idiot, Chae. It’s not like I was asking to be on the red carpet with him, I just wanted to be there waiting in the hotel room after the show. Two nights ago he suddenly backs out and says I shouldn’t come.”

Chaerin’s jaw dropped out of shock. That wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

“Did he say why?”

You stare down at your nails, your heart growing heavy as a long pause of silence takes place. It would be better to be honest, right? You shouldn’t have to pretend like everything’s okay when it clearly isn’t.

“He said he wants space,” you say, careful not to get choked up. “So I’m giving it to him.”

You clutch your thigh instinctively, remembering how Yoongi had brought that up with you just nights before. You two weren’t happy and that he needed to figure himself out before the relationship gets any worse. It’s just a break or whatever bullshit he spouted.

She scoffs.

“What is wrong with you two?” she asks, genuinely concerned. “You are not the type of person to take a break in a relationship.”

You stare bitterly into the reflection of your soup.

“I just don’t think I’ve been happy for a while,” you reply, taking a sip of your water that was left untouched for a better half of the night. “I don’t think he is either.”

—

Sept. 2017

The break lasted for months and you wondered if it was really even a break at all. It felt more like a break up if you were honest. He’d text once in a while and video call you when he was free but other than that it felt like he became a stranger, just another celebrity billboard you walked past on your way to a client’s workplace.

You’d draw sketches of him countlessly, in fear you’d forget how his face looked in real life and not through a low-quality screen. You etched every baby hair, every small blemish he’d hide with makeup. It was your method of not forgetting who the real Yoongi was because honestly, you didn’t know anymore. You didn’t know him.

Trrrringggg.

The sound of your doorbell could be heard all throughout your apartment. You stood up from where you sat on the bed, leaving the sketchbook of his face on the comforter. You weren’t expecting any visitors, but surely enough, Yoongi stood in front of you with a lopsided grin on his face.

“Hey.”

You let him in, not uttering a single word. He looks different now. His hair was black, thank god, but his face was a little softer than you were used to. You remember him being so paranoid about turning bald just a few years ago and here he was, no bald spots to be found. He looked healthy.

“It’s been a while,” you respond, hugging your arms close to your chest, uncomfortable that he was in your presence. It was his apartment technically, but you lived in it more than he did. He opted to stay in the dorm ever since he issued that idiotic break.

“I miss you,” he says in a lowly voice and you almost believe him. Almost.

You scoff.

“It seems like you’ve been having fun without me though,” you say through gritted teeth. “I thought you still wanted space?”

He shakes his head and brings his hand to touch your arm.

“No,” he swallows his saliva. “I miss you.”

You could feel his sincerity, but you can’t help but not trust him. He’s been viciously cold to you, but you find yourself pulling him closer anyway.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you threaten. “It’ll really be over then, Yoongi.”

He sighs into your hair. He loves you. He does. But he doesn’t know why it’s so hard to express it.

“I promise [Y/N]. I won’t leave.”

—

Aug. 2018

He buys you flowers, your favorite kind. It’s a small gesture, but it has you jumping into his arms all the same. It shows that he still cares somewhat. It’s been a while since he’s last shown it.

He holds you closely, appreciating the softness of your body and how you curl perfectly into him.

“I want to stay like this,” you say mindlessly, just relishing in his presence.

You’re not mad at him today and he’s not frustrated with you. It’s a high point in your relationship.

“Me too.”

His words are simple but it warms your heart nonetheless. Yoongi looks at you with twinkling eyes and for a moment you think that this could last forever and that it will last forever. You kiss him slowly and he reciprocates.

It reminds you of your first time, slow and careful- like you were the last person he’d ever want to hurt.

His love, although painful at times, was good to you when you needed it to be.

—

July 2019

Yoongi’s gone again. He’s on tour, as usual, and not giving you any updates. You were getting sick of it. The constant waiting, the constant insecurities that ate you up inside. You weren’t built to endure this kind of torture.

Suga. Suga. Suga.

It rolls off the tongue but it feels disgusting coming out of your mouth. His stage name, a persona. He starts to resemble that name more and more as the days go by. You hear it so much now that it no longer registers as an actual word.

You call him.

He doesn’t pick up.

Again.

No answer.

You’re about ready to throw the phone at the wall until a soft ring was heard from the small device. You take the call immediately, smiling as if you passed the hardest difficulty of a video game. The grin would soon be wiped away, though.

“Why’d you call?” he grumbles from the other line, loud music blasting in the background.

“Why weren’t you picking up?” You sound bitter. You don’t care.

“I’m out right now,” he says, exasperation laced in his voice. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”

Clearly, he just wasn’t in the mood to talk to you. Yoongi was at a party or a club or wherever he could possibly be in the streets of Shizuoka at 10 p.m.

You just wanted to chat, check on him as a good girlfriend would. He’s been complaining that you haven’t been in a while. You thought this was what he wanted- for you to care.

“I just wanted to see if you were doing okay,” you sigh. “How’d the concert go?”

“Good,” he says, clearly distracted. “Some of us snuck out of the hotel rooms to let loose for a bit.”

You nod as if he could see you.

“So you’re partying?”

You could hear him laugh at the other end, but it wasn’t from your comment. Someone else was making him laugh. Someone with a light and dainty voice, whiny as she got closer to Yoongi.

“Yeah, I guess you could call it that,” he says, clearly distracted. “Listen I’ll call you back, okay?”

You feel a lump stuck in your throat. There are no words left to say. The foreign girl on the other end giggled harder at whatever Yoongi was saying and it felt like you were invading their privacy- as if she was his girlfriend and you were nothing. You hung up, your mouth feeling dry as the tears poured down.

You see a text from Yoongi just a few seconds into your wallowing. You sniffle as you read it.

don’t misunderstand. nothing’s happening rn i'm just having a bit of fun.

This time you really threw your phone at the wall.

You go to your iPad that’s sitting untouched on your desk. You open your drawing app and just let the anger in the stylus take you from there. You draw a rough sketch of a couple on the edge of a beachside cliff. The woman seems to be falling into the water as if she was pushed. The guy’s hand reaches out to her, but you can’t really tell if he was trying to grab her or if he was the one that let her go in the first place.

As the tears spilled onto the cool surface of the iPad, you sob harder. Nothing could be fixed and everything still felt broken. It was meaningless, sleeping in his bed and wearing his clothes when he was all the way in Japan snuggling up to girls that were probably much prettier and much more willing to understand his lifestyle.

You look around the penthouse he had bought for the two of you, beautiful wide panel windows and modern furniture. It mostly looks empty, everything nice and tidy as if no one lived here. It had such a stark contrast to that of his old life when he shared rooms with other members and had no place to really put his keyboard except the studio. You smiled at the memory of you all hovering around the small coffee table in the cramped living room eating ramen.

Maybe it was your fault for falling behind, for letting the world around you build up and not follow in Yoongi’s tracks.

—

Present

You guess it was then when the relationship had passed a point of no return. When everything that felt right had started to feel incredibly wrong. You tolerated his presence rather than bask in it. You heard him speak but couldn’t bother to listen. Maybe you were petty, but more than anything you were angry.

You were angry that he could break you that badly and you would still forgive him for it.

You stare over at Junghoon who’s cooking you up something on the stove. This is what you needed.

—

Nov. 2019

Yoongi was back from some big-name award show that you didn’t watch. You heard he won Artist of the Year or whatever, the accolades that he’s collected no longer having meaning as the days pass. Why be happy for him when he himself showed no signs of excitement? This was routine. He expected the awards at this point.

You walked towards him. Yoongi looked angry, though you have no idea why.

“Hey, I made dinner to celebrate,” you tell him. Yoongi’s sitting on the couch, scrolling through the congratulatory messages he received from other industry stars. He looked like he needed to get something off his chest.

“I’m not hungry,” he mutters. “Just leave it.”

“Are you sure?”

He scoffs. It was a simple question.

“Not in the mood.”

You give him a pointed look and sit next to him.

“Why are you never in the mood for anything?” you ask him. “It’s just food Yoongi. I just want to eat with you.”

You don’t see it properly but he rolls his eyes.

“Just drop it okay? Today’s a good day, I don’t need you to ruin it.”

You suck in your cheeks.

“Ruin?”

Yoongi sighs heavily.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he starts, facing you. “Why do you have to be so dramatic over everything.”

You grit your teeth.

“Dramatic?” your voice quivers. “I didn’t know feeling hurt was being dramatic.”

His gaze softens and he touches your arm lightly.

“Sorry, I didn't mean it like that.”

You shake your head, feeling your eyes dampen at his words.

“I hate your apologies, Yoongi,” you say in a hushed tone. “They don’t mean anything anymore.”

He’s shocked, not really sure how to respond. You were never one to confront him, especially when he was angry. Instead, he holds your hand softly. He was terrible at comforting people.

“Yoongi are you really sorry?” you ask abruptly. It was a question you’ve been meaning to ask for years now.

His grip on you tightened and you can’t quite read his expression, but you can tell that it’s not a positive response. He looks conflicted and he shouldn’t have to be if he really was. You force him to let go of you.

“I am,” he says, knowing he answered a little too late for his words to not seem suspicious.

“I don’t think you are,” you reply sadly. “You say sorry more than you-”

say I love you.

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence because he knows. He knows what you’re trying to say.

“I am,” he says with more sincerity, but he looks at you with an unreadable expression. “I just don’t think it’s enough at this point.”

“What’s not enough?”

You were confused. Is he still talking about whether he's apologetic or not? Or is it something entirely different?

“I do love you,” he says with a certain conviction in his voice, “and I always will, but it feels like nothing’s working out.”

Yoongi doesn’t look at you and focuses on the leather of the fancy couch. He doesn’t say anything but you know what this means. He’s about to stand up, but you grab onto his wrist.

“This is your apartment,” you say before he could say anything to break your heart even further. “I’ll leave.”

“[Y/N], no,” he says. “You don’t have anywhere else to go. I’m just gonna stay over at the dorm. I just...”

Your eyes get blurry from the tears. Even now it felt like he was looking down at you. Nowhere to go. It was like he pitied you.

“...need to go clear my mind,” he finishes the sentence, standing up to grab his coat.

You shake your head and stand in front of him. He’s usually like this. A coward. A bumbling fool who would rather avoid problems than face them head on.

“I need you to stay, Yoongi,” you cry out. “I need you to actually stay for once and comfort me.”

He looks at you, mouth open but no words come out. He smiles sadly and walks toward you, kissing your cheek.

“I don’t think I can do that anymore, [Y/N],” he says and you watch him leave as easily as he walked in.

It’s not like he ever comforted you in the first place.

—

The break up happened silently over a late-night phone call a few days after he disappeared on you. You packed up your things, stayed over at Chaerin’s house, and braced yourself for what was to come. It should’ve happened sooner, you admit, but your heart still sinks when he speaks.

“I just don’t think either of us is willing to try anymore,” he says solemnly. “We’ve been on and off for the past few years and I don’t think it’s healthy for either of us to continue.”

You agree, just wanting the call to end quickly so you wouldn’t have to hear his voice any longer. It hurt to have to listen to him rationalize breaking your heart.

“I don’t think we should be together anymore, [Y/N],” he says, not even a tiny bit choked up. “I think we’ve... outgrown each other.”

You knew what Yoongi really meant. He’s outgrown you.

“I think so too,” you say rigidly. Short and simple. You left nothing to be desired. “Let’s break up.”

Yoongi looks at his phone, slightly disappointed. He wished you would fight back, maybe rekindle something in him that he’s lost over the years. Yet you were silent on the line and he just had to accept it- that there was nothing left to be saved.

“Take care, okay?” he says softly because in the end he still cares- he just doesn’t want to anymore.

“I will,” you reply, ultimately hanging up the phone. You collapse onto a bed unfamiliar to you. Yoongi would no longer sleep beside you, no longer reach over to hug your side and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He was gone and you had to accept that maybe he was never yours in the first place.

His last words replay in your mind.

Take care.

That was the most concern he’s ever shown you in the past few weeks. You almost scoff at the absurdity of it all. You don’t notice how truly broken you were until the tears start streaming down your face. You see the image of him through blurry eyes and you wonder how you could let Yoongi leave such a permanent scar on your heart.

—

Present

“Do you like your eggs runny or no?”

Junghoon asks as you approach his figure. You hug him from behind and smile at his warmth. Safe.

“Just a little runny,” you reply.

He smiles and nods, turning off the heat and grabbing some seasoning from your cupboard. You detach yourself from him when you realized what he was grabbing.

“Babe that’s not salt. That’s-”

Sugar.

You stop yourself from saying it and Junghoon looks at you with concern. He chuckles at your stoic state and ruffles your hair.

“Cat got your tongue or what?” he asks, grabbing the right container this time. “Maybe I should’ve asked if you like your eggs sweet instead, huh?”

“I’ve never tried that combination before,” you say teasingly. “Why don’t you test it out for us.”

He clicks his tongue at you and splashes some salt on your face.

“I’ll pour sugar all over you if that’s what you really want.”

You laugh half-heartedly. A simple word shouldn’t affect you this much but you find yourself get more teary-eyed as it repeats in your head. It wasn’t fair to Junghoon that you were thinking of your ex in his presence. It wasn’t fair to you either.

You feel a vibration from your pocket and you pull it out to serve as a distraction from your wallowing thoughts. It’s a text.

From Sugar.

—

A/N: This was so hard to write because my mind has just been empty these days but I’m so glad it’s done now >_< Thank you to @minyoongail​ for requesting this story. I’ve been bumping to the Taylor Swift song now because of this commissions T^T I recommend you all to listen to it. I tried to write this in a different style from my other works so I hope this is still readable for you all LOL

I’m closing commissions temporarily to focus on the ones I have now and to also start writing my own stuff. Let me know how you feel about this, I appreciate all types of comments and criticisms <3 Look forward to Part 2!

[baepsaets]

sunny day pt. 3 ~ park jimin

pairing: hybrid!jimin x reader

rating: sfw

word count: 4.3k

summary: you’re a veterinary student specializing in hybrid care when you get a call in the middle of the night that a feral hybrid has broken into the clinic where you work.

a/n: I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! Thank you for the kind messages while waiting for pt 3, I really appreciate all you have to say. I’m already about halfway done with pt 4 so hopefully that will be posted soon as well!

part 01 02 03 04 05 epilogue

You woke up that morning with a headache and a serious crick in your neck. When you checked your phone, you had a missed call. Seventeen of them. From Namjoon.

Voicemail, 9:07am: (Y/N), I just got done talking with Jungkook and he told me about last night. You better not be ignoring me. Call me back as soon as you get this.

Voicemail, 9:34am: You better not be dead either. As in like, murdered. By the actual stranger you let into your apartment. Because that’s what happens to people who do stupid shit like that—they get fucking murdered.

Voicemail, 10:58am: The longer you take to call me back, the more worried I get. I am this close to sending Taehyung over to check on you. Call me back.

Voicemail, 12:11pm: (Y/N). If you don’t call me back by the end of my lunch break I’m calling hybrid control, the police, and your family, I swear to God I will.

You checked the time in a panic, because you knew Namjoon’s lunch break ended at one and even then, there was the chance he’d be called away early. It was only twelve-thirty and you called back immediately. The phone rang for a split second before he answered.

“(Y/N),” he said, rather calmly, almost casual. “What the fuck.”

You bit your lip. “I can explain.”

“Then start explaining,” Namjoon hissed. His voice was edging on feline, which meant he was seriously pissed—Namjoon liked to present himself as human as possible at any given moment and did not often slip. “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t drive to your apartment and smack you in the head.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I should have called you. But whenever Jungkook told me a hybrid broke in and he didn’t want to call you, I was so preoccupied with helping Jimin—,” you cut yourself off and sighed into the phone. “I didn’t think.”

“That doesn’t matter!” he replied, and you realized then that Namjoon sounded much more than angry; he sounded concerned. “I’m your employer. I deserve to know about everything happening in my clinic.”

You transferred your phone from one hand to the other, rolling your neck. “Jungkook was too nervous to call you.”

“And I’ve already yelled at him. (Y/N), what if something bad had happened last night? What if one of you had been hurt? You’re under my care when you’re in my facility, and I’m responsible for you. I should have known. You should have called me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, a kernel of guilt lodged in your throat.

Namjoon waited a long moment to reply, until he huffed, “The fact that you didn’t call me isn’t the only reason I’m angry. I’m angry because you’re an idiot.”

You pulled the phone away from your ear. “Excuse me?”

“You’re an idiot,” he repeated. “What the hell were you thinking, letting a stranger into your apartment? What if he’s a weirdo? What if he’s a murderer?”

“He’s not a murderer. And he’s not a weirdo, either. I basically had to beg him to come here. You should be questioning his judgement, not mine.”

“I’m not questioning your judgement,” he was quick to say. “I’m just saying—,”

You interrupted him before he could continue. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” he replied, immediately and without hesitation.

“Then trust me to know what I’m doing.”

Namjoon laughed once, amused and annoyed. You could tell he wanted to protest but thought better of it; he was naturally argumentative, but often took the higher road to avoid confrontation. Changing the subject, he asked, “How is he?”

You sat up, holding in a pained groan. Glancing at the closed bedroom door you replied, “I treated him the best I could, but I didn’t have much equipment, and he wouldn’t give me access to everything.”

“Describe his injuries,” Namjoon requested, voice professional. Finally—you were much better at handling professional than angry and concerned.

“He has lacerations across his back caused by gravel. Last night I picked the rocks out of his skin and cleaned everything I could. He has a six-inch gash on his arm, but it shouldn’t need stitches. His left ankle is my biggest concern. I think it might be broken, but he won’t consent to an x-ray.”

You took a moment to inhale, sheepishly. “I, uh, borrowed a first-aid kit out of the storeroom, along with some other supplies.”

“Oh,” Namjoon replied, flatly. “Was that you? I’d assumed the hybrid had broken in there too.”

You huffed through your nose. “No, he only broke into your office. I cleaned it before we left, by the way. I couldn’t fix the door but I swept up the glass and blood.”

Mentioning his office seemed to bring Namjoon’s annoyance to the forefront of his mind. “God, it’s going to take forever for me to re-scent it. When I walked in, I thought I was going to drop dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you grinned. “You can take the cost of the broken door out of my paycheck, if you want. Consider it an apology.”

“I would never do that. Bring Jimin in and let me evaluate him, and we’ll call it even. I really want to make sure his ankle isn’t broken.”

You got off the couch and started to move toward the kitchen, leaning against the wall for support. Your thumb rubbed a restless rhythm across the edge of your phone. “I’ll talk to him once he wakes up. He seemed really reluctant last night, I don’t know if he’ll agree to it.”

“Oh, fuck that, get him in here. It’s the least he could do after wrecking my office.”

“I’ll keep that argument in mind,” you laughed. “What time would be best?”

“Anytime in the afternoon.”

After you and Namjoon hung up, you tossed your phone on the kitchen counter and ran a hand across your forehead, trying to suppress your growing headache.

“It’s not broken.”

You jumped and saw Jimin standing in the middle of the hallway, awkwardly. He was standing too rigid not to be in pain, but seemed to be trying very, very hard to put weight on his leg, like he was trying to prove it was fine.

“It’s not a break I’m worried about,” you said, corralling him onto the couch. He went nervously, sitting down and staring at you as you elevated his leg. “I’m more worried that it’s fractured.”

“Wouldn’t that be better?”

“No,” you replied, terse. You went in the kitchen to get him another bag of ice, but yelled back into the living room, “A break has a better chance of healing by itself because all the bone has to do is fuse back together. But you know what a fracture implies?”

You returned and set a cloth over his ankle, and then the ice bag, being as gentle as you could. “A crack. A fissure. Fragmentation.” When you looked up he was wincing, but his ears were turned toward you in attention. “If your bone is fractured, then those fragments are freelancing. They won’t heal properly by themselves and they’ll only make the fracture worse—or even worse than that, you’ll get an infection.”

“An infection?”

Nodding, you sat on the ground next to the couch. “I don’t know how much you heard, but that was my boss on the phone. He really wants you to come back to the clinic for an official checkup.” Immediately Jimin’s lip curled, but you pressed on. “I know it’s not something you’re completely comfortable with, but you’ll be completely in control—we’ll stop whenever you want.”

Jimin looked away, conflicted, so you decided to continue, “And Namjoon said you owe him for breaking into his office.”

He sputtered. “That was an accident. And I didn’t even steal anything—,”

“Doesn’t matter,” you interrupted with a laugh. “You trashed the place. Have some respect and at least let the poor man checkup on you.”

He went quiet, gnawing on his bottom lip. “If I go, what will happen afterward?”

“What do you mean?” you asked, cocking your head.

“If I go back to the clinic,” Jimin explained. “And get checked up, fixed up, and cleared. What will happen to me after that?”

You took a moment to consider the question carefully, because you knew he wouldn’t ask unless he was afraid of the answer. “Preferably,” you started, “we get in contact with the shelter—,”

Jimin hissed and recoiled before you could finish. You held up your hand to placate him, but the abject resentment and fear on his face made your stomach twist. “But that’s not the only option.”

“I’m not going to a shelter,” he declared, voice hard.

“We won’t make you,” you promised. “We’re just a clinic, Jimin. It’s not our job to hold you hostage.”

He narrowed his eyes, because he could hear the unsaid but at the end of your sentence. “Then what’s the problem?”

You rested a comforting hand over his. It didn’t escape you last night that he seemed to gain confidence from your soothing touch. “You’re a predatory hybrid. Even though we’re not obligated to call hybrid control to report you, it’ll look bad on the clinic if we allow a wayward predatory hybrid back on the street.”

“Then I’ll leave now,” he replied, simply. “That way you won’t have to worry—,”

“Jimin,” you interrupted, letting a bit of hardness soak into your tone. “Do I strike you as someone who values reputation over responsibility? I couldn’t care less about the opinion people have of our clinic—as long as I know we’re providing the best care we can to people who need it, I’m satisfied.”

He looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

You looked away from him, breathing deeply through your nose. “I know people have been unkind to you in the past. And I’m sorry.” Curling your fingers around his own, your stroked your thumb up and down the side of his hand and continued. “Sometimes I feel so useless. I read online about the way people treat you, I see it on television, I treat it in the clinic. I do the best that I can, but at the end of the day, the only way I can help is after the damage is already done.”

The injustice of it sat unregularly in your chest, constricting your throat until you were sure it would burst. No one deserved to be treated like an animal. You could feel Jimin staring at you and you let him, knowing he could smell your anger, your insecurity, the genuineness of what you were saying. It rolled off your tongue like syrup, cloying and saccharine.

“I wish I was preventative. I wish I could stop the suffering before it started. But I’m not even a doctor, there’s so much I can’t do.” You turned back to him, snagging his gaze and keeping it. “So whenever there’s something I can do, I make sure to do it.”

Come back with me, you didn’t say, but it was hung between you. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me. Trust me.

“I’ll go back to the clinic,” Jimin said with a small voice. “But you have to promise they won’t try to send me to a shelter.”

You nodded and held out your pinky finger. “I promise.”

Jimin stared at your finger before letting out a hollow laugh, hooking his pinky with your own and shaking. Warmth passed between the two of you, almost electric enough to make you shiver. If you had your way, nothing bad would happen to Jimin ever again.

~~~

Kim Namjoon was not particularly threatening.

He was too gangly, too clumsy—although he was often serious, something about him always seemed just as willing to be goofy as he was to be thoughtful. But standing in front of you now, tail whipping back and forth as you helped Jimin out of the passenger seat, you had to admit he had quite a presence.

“The next time you park like that,” he noted, “I’m giving you a ticket.”

“Bite me,” you replied, good-naturedly.

Jimin was tense next to you, and you wished Namjoon would tone it down. You turned to shoot him a pointed look, but your gaze slid off him and onto another head peaking from behind the sliding glass doors marking the entrance of the clinic. A very dark, very familiar head.

“What is Taehyung doing here?” you muttered under your breath. Namjoon and Jimin heard you, but you hoped Taehyung didn’t. You liked the guy, you really did, but now just wasn’t the time.

Namjoon had the decency to wince. “Didn’t you listen to my voicemail? I invited him.”

“Taehyung is a dog hybrid. When’s the last time you invited a dog hybrid anywhere?”

“Ten minutes ago, after I called him in case we needed to break into your apartment to retrieve your corpse.”

Jimin went rigid next to you, and you shot Namjoon another look. “Taehyung’s just going to make him nervous.”

Namjoon scoffed. “Taehyung is a harmless puppy.”

Taehyung was actually a well-trained police hybrid that could kick any of their asses, if he wanted. They were simply lucky he was laid back. Knowing you’d seen him, Taehyung emerged from the clinic, and Jimin’s tail went stiff with the implication—it was two on one, Jimin against Namjoon and Taehyung, and if a fight broke out, Jimin would be at the disadvantage.

Even though a fight was improbable, you were certain Jimin’s instincts were telling him to run while he still could.

“Officer Kim,” Taehyung introduced, and you wanted to pull your hair out. You’d known Taehyung since you were a freshman and had never heard him introduce himself as Officer Kim in your life.

Jimin stared at his feet and didn’t reply. The silence that followed was tense, and you found yourself stroking soothingly across the nape of Jimin’s neck. Namjoon eyed the gesture warily.

“Come inside,” he said. “Let me check you out.”

You walked straight passed Taehyung and he pouted, reaching for your hand. You smacked him away. It was customary for you to give him a hug, but you didn’t want his scent over you when you were trying to comfort Jimin.

“What breed are you?” Namjoon asked, casual. He was verbose, good at small talk, and had a dimpled smile that tended to put people at ease. Even without a number advantage, you could feel Jimin begin to relax when you walked into the clinic and found the lobby empty.

“Jaguar,” he replied. You gave yourself a mental high-five—you’d totally called it.

You needed to speak to Namjoon before he mentioned anything about the shelter to Jimin. It was only customary to call Jin’s shelter whenever they got a new patient that could be in need of a home. Jin always made sure the people in his care had the resources they needed, which was why he was the only shelter Namjoon chose to do business with.

He led the three of you to an empty examination room, carefully unscented and sterilized. Taehyung took a seat by the door and you hovered near him, helping Jimin sit on the examination table. Namjoon donned a lab coat and picked up a clipboard, prepared to start Jimin’s chart.

“(Y/N) told me you didn’t want to get x-rayed,” Namjoon began. You liked seeing him this way—coat on, glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, fingering absent-mindedly through paper. This was more than just Kim Namjoon, close friend and the world’s best boss; this was Dr. Kim, one of the most noteworthy hybrid specialists in the country. “I know the machine can be intimidating, but we need to see if anything is broken.”

“I’ll stay in the room the whole time,” you assured him, until finally he nodded his head. Once the x-ray was finished, Namjoon left the room to consult the radiologist. Jimin was bouncing nervously in his seat, lip tugged between his teeth, and you wanted to reach out to him. You’d grown protective of him in a way you couldn’t describe, in a way that surpassed any feeling you’d ever had toward a patient, and if you were being honest—it scared you.

Namjoon returned, and he checked Jimin’s bandaging while Jimin allowed him, passively. Namjoon commented on your good work. He decided to stitch the cut on Jimin’s arm closed to avoid infection. The entire examination happened in silence, with Jimin looking at the ground, you staring at Jimin, and Namjoon immersing himself so thoroughly in his work, he pretended not to notice any of it. Taehyung watched in amusement.

“So,” he smiled, seemingly impervious to the awkward silence. “Ever broken the law?”

You started to massage your forehead.

“Um,” Jimin began. “Not on purpose.”

Taehyung’s grin was wolfish. “Smart answer.”

Jungkook was the one who delivered the x-ray scan. He grinned at you sheepishly when he walked in, almost in apology for getting you in trouble. He greeted Taehyung enthusiastically, but turned shy again when he noticed Jimin.

“Feeling better?” he asked, handing Namjoon the folder. “You had me freaked out last night.”

Jimin’s face flushed red. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

Jungkook assured him it was no problem and went back to work while Namjoon displayed the scan, pointing to a tiny fissure in Jimin’s talus.

“Good news,” Namjoon said. “It’s only a hairline fracture. For a hybrid, it should only take a month to heal, and you won’t need a cast. Just keep it iced and elevated, and no running or strenuous activity.” He eyed Jimin over the bridge of his glasses. “That’s an order.”

Jimin almost went slack with relief. Deciding now was the best time to talk to Namjoon before he brought anything up in front of Jimin, you asked, “Namjoon, can I speak to you and Taehyung outside for a moment?”

If Namjoon was surprised, he didn’t show it. You opened the door and nodded for him to go first, and then Taehyung, allowing Jimin a quiet moment to collect himself before they went any further. You gave him a reassuring look and closed the door behind you.

You walked them to the west wing, hopefully far enough where you wouldn’t be overheard. Being surrounded by such advanced hearing every day was exhausting. You never got privacy. Once the three of you were alone, Taehyung lunged and enveloped you in a bear hug that was impossible to escape.

He nuzzled your cheek while you groaned. “God, Tae, I don’t want your scent on me right now! I still love you, but get off.”

“But I missed you,” he whined. You shoved him off and he let you, which was the only way you could shove him in the first place; he was ridiculously stronger than you. He fluttered his eyelashes at you while you faked a scowl.

“I’m still mad you’re here,” you huffed, turning to Namjoon. “Jimin’s not a criminal, and yet you invited Taehyung, a trained police hybrid, to act like some type of ridiculous body guard—,”

Namjoon flicked his wrist in dismissal. “Taehyung may be trained, but he’s just a German Shepard breed. Jimin is a jaguar hybrid. A predatory cat will give even the most trained K-9 a run for their money.”

“I resent that,” Taehyung injected. “Not that you asked, but know that I do.”

You let out a great sigh and grumbled, “I really can’t believe you invited him.

“He’s off-duty. And it’s not like he’s going to report him,” Namjoon snorted. “He’s basically here for fun.”

Shaking your head fondly, you looked away. It made you feel a thousand times lighter, knowing Jimin’s ankle wasn’t broken, knowing nothing serious was wrong. You turned to Namjoon with shy, hopeful eyes. “Is he really okay?”

“He’s really okay. You did everything perfectly,” he assured you with a laugh. Namjoon patted your shoulder. “But he’s going to need a lot more healing after this, and I don’t just mean physically. I’m going to call Jin and see if he has enough room in the shelter for a possible hard case.”

You winced. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Why?” His eyes narrowed.

You pulled your bottom lip through your teeth. “I want Jimin to come back with me.”

Namjoon cracked a half-smile, but then realized you were serious. “(Y/N), you know that’s a terrible idea.”

“If Jimin were a murderer he would have killed me last night—,”

“It’s more than just that!” Namjoon interrupted. “Jimin’s obviously experienced emotional trauma. He should be in a place that has the resources to provide for him, and no offense, but you’re not a therapist. Just because you’re going to be a doctor one day doesn’t mean you’re equipped to handle him.”

Giving Taehyung a nervous look, you admitted, “I think he’s had bad experiences before. Whenever I brought the shelter up earlier this afternoon, he was petrified. He wouldn’t come here until I promised we wouldn’t take him there.”

Namjoon and Taehyung exchanged a dark look. They knew better than you that not every shelter was hybrid-friendly. “We can keep him at the clinic.”

“And waste money, time, and resources on a patient who only has a hairline fracture? You know that’s not practical. And if we let him go, he’ll only be a stray again.”

“I can help him apply for citizenship,” Namjoon said. “That’s what I did with Hoseok.”

“Hoseok was able to apply for citizenship because Yoongi sponsored him, and even then, Yoongi had to own him for over a year.”

That was how it worked in your society; every hybrid was a pet until they could obtain citizenship, but to do that, they needed a human sponsor to adopt them for a period of time, in order to assess if they were fit for society. Finding a human sponsor was the most difficult thing in the world, because most people weren’t interested in doing it in the first place, and the people who did were severely limited due to government intervention and quota restrictions.

You gazed at Namjoon triumphantly while he avoided your look, staring off into the distance. Seeing his hopeless expression made your heart soften, and you reached out to pat his shoulder. “I know you’re worried. If I need help, trust me, Namjoon—you’re the first person I’ll call.”

You stared up at him with big, fluttering eyes, and in the background, you could hear Taehyung chuckling as Namjoon slowly but surely gave in to your hopeful gaze. “God, I hate you sometimes. Fine. Fine! I’ll get his paperwork for you to sign and fill out.

“I still have to ask him, you know. He could say no.”

It made you incredibly nervous, and you were sure they could smell it. What if the connection you felt with Jimin was one-sided? You couldn’t live with the thought of him back on the street, fighting just to survive, when you had an empty home and an open heart just waiting for him.

Taehyung shook his head. “He won’t.”

“How do you know?” you asked, turning to stare at him.

“It’s a hybrid thing,” he shrugged. “We’re not solitary creatures. Even the most introverted need to be around people, and it’s hard being a stray and not having that communal connection.”

Taehyung’s comment was reassuring, but you were still insecure. Namjoon and him stayed behind to start collecting Jimin’s paperwork while you went back to the room where he was waiting. Jimin perked up when you came back inside, ears turning in attention.

“Hey,” you greeted, grinning. Jimin grinned back, and it made your chest tighten. “Everything is checking out perfectly, treatment should be short and sweet. Namjoon’s getting your release paperwork now.”

Jimin sighed in relief. You could tell the clinic made him nervous, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Thank you.”

You nodded and bit your lip. “I have a request, though.”

His tail flicked, nervous. “Yeah?”

“I want you to come back home with me,” you said, and his eyes widened, tail freezing midair. “I know it’s sudden, but you still have a month of healing to do. I want to help you until you’re fully healed, and then I want to help you get your citizenship, if you’re interested.”

“Citizenship?” Jimin asked, surprised.

You nodded your head toward the closed door. “Namjoon got his citizenship in just over a year, and he’s helped countless people get their own. In order to start the process, you need a sponsor, and your sponsor has to adopt you for a year in order to vouch for you. I want to do that.”

He stared at you, flatly. “You want to adopt me?”

“I want to be your sponsor,” you corrected. “And after a year we’ll apply for your citizenship and the adoption will be null.”

Jimin looked away again, indecision written all over his face. You took his hand in your own in reassurance. “Take as much time as you need to think about it. I’m going to step outside with Namjoon to give you time—,”

“No!” he interrupted, and then blushed. “I mean, you don’t have to leave. I’ll do it.” He leaned back a bit and smiled faintly, teasingly, and held out jazz hands. “Adopt me.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Really? Really?” you asked, trying to conceal your growing excitement. Jimin nodded again and you had to suppress an honest to God squeal. “Yes! Oh, this is great—this is great. Okay, okay, okay. Let me talk to Namjoon, we’ll call Jin and set up the paperwork—oh! And we’ll get your treatment sorted out. I’ll totally be able to take care of you at home, but there’s a lot I need to buy. Not like, medical stuff, but like, hybrid stuff. Because I’m adopting a hybrid. Wow, okay. I should call my mom or something. I need to get clothes and shoes and everything else, I need to make a list, but first your ankle—,”

Jimin grinned and let you drone on, talking mostly to yourself. For the first time in a long time, he looked forward to what the future had to offer. 

[philalbinus]

A layoff look back

We had layoffs at work the other week. Three people I only interacted over Zoom have experienced that wonderful, modern employment euphemism - their positions had been eliminated. So we don't need those positions any longer, eh? Hmmm, maybe they were making horseshoes or setting up reel to reel stereo systems - you know, the jobs that were once popular decades and centuries ago. It’s odd that these three positions were eliminated - but hey, we are in the new normal after all. 

To be honest, I was not surprised. This happens. What did I feel? Relief. I felt relief and unabashed gratitude that it was not me. It’s like soldiers in battle where you hear the bullets whiz past and you are grateful to be alive. Still standing. After being laid off for two years and making less than if I was bagging groceries, I need this job. This boring job. I had a rough time around Christmas and New Year’s and I was convinced that I was going to be fired. Not have my position eliminated, but fucking fired. It didn't happen - I buckled down to work, asked for help and maybe they came to their senses that this job is tougher than they expected. (HA! - Editor)

This got me thinking: I have been laid off five or six times in my 30 plus years as a journalist, editor, blogger, magazine and web content provider. Here are some highlights of the layoff life.

Fired from a book store in Huntington, LI. Right out of college and I loved this bookstore even though the brothers who ran it were trolls. Absolute creeps. The boss walked out with my paycheck and said I was done.

Laid off from This Week, a small weekly newspaper. The paper folded and I no longer had a job. I don't think I had a severance.

HealthWeek and Managed Care News. I have no idea if that was the name of the managed care publication and it doesn't matter - Too-tired-to-Google is real, yo. They couldn't sell ads so I was laid off for 12 hours. I got a job at a new pub CMP bought called Windows & OS2 Magazine. It soon dropped the powerful but overlooked IBM operating system and focused on Windows when the PC age exploded in 1992. We grew by 50 pages of ads and copy a month and we would hire three new staffers a month and two would leave. We would fly 25 editors and staffers to Las Vegas and they would each get their own hotel room. Good times!

Home Office Computing magazine. Sold by Scholastic - the 401k info was decorated with Clifford the Big Red Dog! - and it was eventually bought by a fat macher who partnered with a libertarian-owned company. For once, like last week, I was on the right side of the layoff equation. They asked: Do you focus more on computing or on home offices. Computing! I would stay there until 1998, I think?

Winmag.com. Worked from home and was paid 80 grand to run spell check on columnists who didn't want their precious columns touched. Laid off after the dot com bubble burst. Got a job after a historic terrorist attack. 

Waters. I am now editor. Some idiots said, yeah he will follow orders, help sales and not fuck things up. After nine years I was laid off and I predicted it. They closed a (rather elegantly designed) buyside pub and named the South African editor who worked in London as the new editor. Frankly, they made the right call. I hated the topic and was burned out after the quick/slow demise of my father to brain cancer. Laid off March 2010.

Hired as editor of Advanced Trading, made some friends, got some good clips but we had no sponsored special reports, we dinars and only one live event. We were doomed and I was laid off September 2014, I think. (Again, too tired to go to LinkedIn. What decent person goes to fucking Linked in on a weekend?)

Freelanced and made some nice money and I was hired as editor of Traders. The publisher was struggling with the same aggressive brain cancer that claimed my dad and an ... “unreliable” sales person was hired as publisher. It later sold to a company that couldn't afford my $115K salary. (Christ, that was a LOVELY paycheck.) They hired my former ME and when he had a heart attack the owners asked him to start producing content while in the hospital. 

Now comes the cruelest layoff story ever: My editorial supervisor, who I thought was a decent man, offered me two weeks pay for 2.6 years of editorial service or I could work for a pair of employee benefit brands for $85K. A 25% cut! Fuck! I had a daughter going into a college and we needed every cent. I took the job, loved the topic and my colleagues until that same editorial supervisor went off the rails and became psychotic. (He’s now at the Journal and they can have him.) I was later laid off from the employee benefits teams in October 2018.

And here I am. Employed. Insured. Providing for my family. And I survived a round of layoffs.

I’ll take it. Good for me. 

JUNE 1ST UPDATE: Not so fast!

[iknownothingihearnothing]

Sense8 Ep 3 recap: “Polyphony”

iHELLO, FELLOW SENSATES!

I have never ‘capped a binge-watchy show before. They’ve always been network shows so...pluses and minuses here. I don’t really have a set schedule to get these ‘caps out, ‘cause y’all watch at your leisure. 

It’s THE FUTURE.

Pretty soon, Apple will release iBall, where we can watch all our favorite shows from a chip installed into our brains via specially licensed Apple neurosurgeons and projected directly onto our eyeballs. 

For a nominal monthly fee, natch.

Okay. “Obligate Mutualisms” ended with Croome, who had just revealed to Will that he was switching sides, with a knife in his neck and some poor lady Whispers had possessed to do his dirty work slitting her own throat in the Rijksmuseum. 

Everyone goes apeshit. 

Security guards at the museum order everyone out. But Will needs to cause some kind of diversion to find Whispers so Lito steps in as Riley with his actin’ skillz.

Yes, thank you, captions. I figured he was, indeed, screaming. 

He saw the terrorist! What is this world coming to?! They need to CATCH him! He went THAT way! Etcetera, etcetera! 

I love Lito and his skillz. He probs started out in a few telenovelas so he must know how to bring the dramz.

*snort*

Wolfgang appears to let everyone know that he met someone who can help. Her name is Lila and she’s a sensate.

Kala’s Reaction Face is priceless:

Nomi, however, is skeptical. She wonders aloud how Lila and her cluster have managed to elude BPO thus far. Either they’re really cunning or working with Whispers. Wolfie asks her to find whatever she can on Lila Facchini, but before she can do her hacking magic, Bug would kinda like to be in the loop now. You know, it’s a little unnerving that Nomi talks to air all the time.

Don’t look at Wolfgang, though.

So now we check in with our sensates in their individual lives. Sun is on top of the roof of the apartment building belonging to the woman  who’s aiding and abetting her and Ming-Jun’s prison break, doing some breathing exercises. Kala is all dressed up to attend a gallery opening with her boring, non-badass hubby. Wolfgang is presiding over his newly acquired club.

He is basically sitting on a frigging throne.

Aw, come on. Y’all knew that GIF was a-comin’.

At the gallery in Mumbai, we are introduced to this dude, who is totally checking out Kala in his first scene:

His name is Ajay, he works with Rajan, and he’s THIRSTAY for some Kala.

I guess Rajan and Ajay are biznezz partners? And they both have the same taste in dem ladies.

Up on the roof in Seoul, Sun continues to do her mystical exercises and I guess we’re meant to believe it does something to Wolfie and Kala because they both excuse themselves--well, Kala excuses herself; Wolfie just says he has to piss--to use the bathroom.

Where they meet. And Kala asks what we all have been wondering:

Y’all have some weird toilet fetish that you srsly need to explore with a psychologist. 

So they make small talk about her new job and then he’s all “I gotta piss” because angst or not this IS a bathroom until she stops him from emptying his doubtlessly bursting bladder, asking him why it has to be like this and why she can’t just talk to the one man she can say anything to. His reply:

Yeah thanks, German Angel. What the hell is it with these Brooding Heroes who make blanket decisions for themselves and their women folk? If you love said women folk, shouldn’t you, like, consult them? 

But Wolfie’s gotta piss, and when you gotta go, you gotta go. Unfortunately, when he opens the stall door, there’s Lila.

And then, if THAT’S not aggravating for his bladder enough, Kala tells him that she may not be the good person she is pretending to be, etcetera etcetera and okay I totes ship Wolfgang and Kala but oh my GOD WILL SOMEONE LET THE POOR MAN PEE?!

Fuck knows how many beers he chugged down. His kidneys must be bursting! 

Kala is forced to leave Wolfgang when her friends find her to gossip about that “wicked man Ajay Kapoor”. Lila appears amused that Wolfie has a tortured love. He meets her in her car and asks her how she avoids BPO. She spouts some bullshiz about wanting something bad enough blah blah.

Me no likey Lila. 

In San Fran, Nomi has just finished telling Bug that she sees dead people is a sensate and he;s like--

Bug, for the record, thinks it’s fucking awesome as fuck.

In Seoul, Min-Jung and Sun are on the roof talkin’. Min-Jung asks Sun if those assholes who tried to kill her were hired by her bastard brother. When Sun confirms this, Min-Jung says this is a good thing; it means he’s afraid. Sun is a strong, kickass woman. But she has a soft heart. Min-Jung is a wee bit worried that her revenge spree will compromise that. 

In Nairobi, Zakia stops the VAN DAMN to let Capheus know that their infamous interview has already amassed 2 million viewers. And she wants to know if they can do a follow up interview. Capheus doesn’t look too thrilled.

Meanwhile, Nomi is watching a live feed of her favorite author at the bookstore she *would* be working at if she wasn’t a fugitive. And Kala has returned to the scene of the crime/temple where that stabby fun she witnessed took place last year. It’s the first time she’s been back since.

At the temple, there’s some kinda demonstration goin’ on. Annnnnnnd there’s also one goin’ on at the same time in Nairobi. People at the temple are pissed about the Anti-Idoltry bill, you know, the one proposed by Mr. Rasal, who was knifed because of it? That one. At the same time, in Nairobi, the price of water has been raised again and people can no longer afford it. 

Both protests are interlocked together. Capheus attempts to reason with the asshole who keeps raising the price of clean water: “Water is life.”

Wow. That kind of evil takes years of practice. Congratulations, you schlongfuck. Denying desperately thirsty people the only clean water around for miles unless they can pay an exorbitant price is MASTERFULLY dickish. Someone set up an interview with Wolfram & Hart. 

In San Fran, Neets saunters out of the bookstore, Nomi on the Bluetooth, and gets on her motorcycle when--

--she thinks she spots Agent Bent Dick Bendix, the sleezy FBI agent on Nomi’s tail from last season. Not wanting to alert him to Nomi’s hidey hole-boat, she gets on her motorcycle and speeds away to lose him.

And this is where everything gets mooshed. One dude in Mumbai starts a chant of “One truth. Our truth” and Kala is singled out as “not belonging” somehow and there is a riot. People push and shove, just like in Nairobi. There, a woman with an infant goes down, and the baby begins to cry. Capheus cradles the baby while the woman stands, gives him back to his mother, then regards the asshole with determination. There WILL be clean water for all, damnit! All the while Neets is driving like a bat outta hell to get rid of Bendix.

Scenes like that are kinda hard to recap. I never really know if I should describe them individually or sort of meld them...or whatever. It’s headache-y!

Okay, so, the next scene with the lab. Can I just say--

Cha, this show is GREAT, don’t get me wrong but there can be moments of WTFery. I didn’t entirely “get” what was happening here so I turned to some other recaps of the episode and that scene was ALSO emitted so those authors likely had no idea WTF either. Riley is...testing...something. And blood is being taken out of her. By some Dutch guy she used to be baes with. 

All I know is Will mind-warps in all jealous-y “WTH is going on here?” and Lito’s all I think they were lovers. And Dutch Guy is all coweyes at Riley “I missed you” and she replies “It’s good to catch up” and I giggle because--

And because Dutch Guy cannot take a hint, he trails a hand along Riley’s hand and she subtly takes it away and it’s HIGH-LARIOUS.

Dutch Guy is NOT getting into her Riley Blues. 

In Nairobi, Kobi Kihara, Zakia’s boss at the station, is interviewing Capheus on air. She mentions his father, who was involved in politics and was killed for it when Capheus was a young boy. Did that at all “inspire his love for social justice”?

Capheus is a Social Justice Warrior I guess? Man, the alt-right would descend upon the poor guy waving torches and Pepe the Frog flags and screaming about “Reverse Racism”. 

(And no, before someone calls me a snowflake libtard sjw pos [although idk if they exist on tumblr, which seems to be a very liberal social media outlet, right?] I am neither liberal nor conservative. I am independent/centrist with gay rights support, mkay?).

Capheus seems to have an AHA moment. Maybe that IS why he is so involved in the community despite naive hopes to keep his head down.

In Mumbai, Kala walks into her really awesome new place wearing a really awesome skirt to learn that her husband has been receiving fucking bomb threats.

(Aside: I love Donald Glover so much. He performed some standup at my university and did some freelance with my friend. It was AH-MAZING.)

Rajan tries to reassure her by adding that it was so poorly made, the cops laughed. Still, a special agent has been assigned to keep them safe for the time being.

Kala looks peaked. Where the fuck is Wolfgang? If anyone knows how to diffuse a bomb, it’s him.

In Mexico City, Lito drives to confront Mr. Pasquale, the father of one Raoul Pasquale, the last of Angelica’s birthin’ cluster and his former interviewer/lover. 

We’re also given a sneak peek into snapshots of a still closeted, pre-sensate Lito’s life when he met Raoul, before the plot devise explosion that turned him into a true sensorium. 

In said flashback, as these two hot, sweaty men are makin’ out on the terrace, Lito stops to assure Raoul that he’s not gay. Uh, just, well...

We believe you, Lito.

Mr. Pasquale bluntly asks if Lito was Raoul’s lover. Lito stumbles out a yes as we are shown Raoul giving Lito a blowjob.

On the terrace.

Yo, Lito. If you’re trying to remain closeted, getting a beej from another dude out there for the world to see you, by an interviewer to boot, may not be the best idea.

Will steps in to inquire about Raoul’s disappearance just as we check on over to Seoul and meet Detective Mun.

Or, as I like to call him, Detective Mun of my Heart.

Good Lord, that actor is so absurdly hot. I searched all over IMDb to find him and finally someone on twitter filled me in. His name is Sokku Son and he needs to marry me.

After that ALL TOO BRIEF scene, we’re back with Raoul and Lito, where we’re shown some pictures Raoul kept of Angelica and her cabin and also some stuff he kept hidden behind a large poster of one of Lito’s movies blah blah blah BACK TO MY KOREAN GOD. 

Detective AYOOOOOOOOOOGA--

--knocks on the door, shows off his badge, and introduces himself as Detective Yes Please Mun with the Seoul Police.

At first, Mrs. Cho attempts to act all innocent but Detective Yum Yum Gimme Some Mun shows her Min-Jung’s and Sun’s discarded prison clothes (kinda a stupid move; Wolfgang should’ve knocked them upside the head) and invites them to search the apartment, presumably loudly, giving them ample time to escape. 

In Mexico City, for some reason, Mr. Pasquale still has a VCR and we watch a VHS recording Raoul took depicting Todd, the sensate who hated being a sensate. He’s all dolled up like Jonas and that Drake lookalike and strapped to a table. There’s also Whispers wearing a hideous shirt and...Professor Kolovi, who is not an absent minded professor. The machine is turned on, and Todd’s dreams of being “normal” are dashed when he’s turned into--

Lito and Mr. Pasquale (and mind-Will, mind-Riley, and mind-Nomi) are watching Evil!BPO: Origins. 

Raoul called his father just before he disappeared, crying, and saying nothing, with Angelica holding the phone to his ear.

Back to Seoul and Detective--

There’s a bang, and Min-Jung’s standing with her hands raised over Detective Bae Mun’s partner knocked out..or maybe dead? At her feet. Idk, idk. BANG could mean anything to me. Be more descriptive, captions. But Min-Jung obviously surrenders to give Sun a chance to get away, which she does, running to the roof in her bra and sweats.

Sun does a lot of escaping in her bra this season. 

Here is another gratuitous shot of Detective Yes Daddy for you.

Oh, and furthermore:

Y’all, when I was first watching this batch of episodes and I tweeted out Detective Awesome’s picture, I got MAD responses. Like whoa. This guy has groupies. I think I got something like 400 hearts and 250 retweets, it was insane. That was like over two weeks ago and I’m still getting feedback. 

Mr. Son, you’ve got fans.

K, so Detective Delicious goes to arrest Sun when she starts wailing on him. He begins to fight back but she’s got the upper hand because she’s a Slayer-In-Training a badass bitch and Detective Swoonworthy is all--

While they’re fighting, he flashes back to a jiu-jitsu tournament wherein he got his ass served to him by a girl.

Yep, it was Sun. Which he realizes just before she knocks his hot butt out cold.

Sun returns to the apartment to collect Min-Jung (and perhaps put on a shirt) but Min-Jung decides she’s had enough of freedom. She just hopes Sun clears her name and gets revenge on her brother.

In Amsterdam and San Fran, Will, Riley, and Nomi are having the same dreamemory. In it, Jonas and Angelica are arguing about...BPO sterilizing sensates?!

Look, man. That’s BAD, okay? You never wanna do anything that the Nazis did. That is pretty much a philosophy to live by. “Don’t do what the Nazis did”.

Except maybe for wearing Hugo Boss. Those uniforms were fabulous!

In real time, Jonas mind-visits them while Real Jonas is being wheeled into some Evil Operating Room at BPO HQ in Iceland. He is no longer necessary to them. 

They’re gonna kill him. And they want the sensates to watch.

Jonas is scared. Hell, who wouldn’t be?

While the Evil Doctors are getting ready to Do Their Evil, Dead Angelica appears to help Jonas cross over. It’s really kind of sad because they really did love each other and she knows how badly she fucked up.

His skull is beginning to be cut open WITHOUT ANESTHESIA and the last thing he sees before he presumably dies is Angelica’s face.

Oh MAN THAT IS SO SAD.

I love how binge-watchy shows end eps on a cliffy like we can’t just click “next” to see what happens trololol.

PS: Sorry about the lateness. I had biznezz to attend to. And by biznezz I mean my health insurance.