#take note USA
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Jimmi Simpson Has A Disappointing Update About A Return In Psych The Movie 4, But Promises "Mary Will Never Die"
Simpson also discussed the possibility of reprising his role as Mary Lightly in the fourth Psych movie. Although Mary died during the television series' fourth season, he has returned a number of times. Simpson reprised Mary Lightly in a dream sequence in both Psych: The Movie and Psych 2: Lassie Comes Home. Simpson also explained why he has returned to Psych so many times, even after his death.
Jimmi Simpson: Yeah, I don't think so. But here's the thing. James Roday is my ride or die. James Rodriguez is my ride or die. Half the times early on, the reason why Mary kept coming back is, I don't know, early on I needed health insurance. James was like, Well, I'll come up with a reason why Mary's back, and so I'll always be a part of Psych that will not be the last one. He's always throwing ideas at me of, What about this? What about this? And I'm always like, yes, yes, yes. Mary will never die. Don't worry.
#psych 4#jimmi simpson#psych usa#psych peacock#psych#i love that everyone talks about psych 4 like there's no doubt it'll get made one way or another#with or without mary#the question is when not if#take note peacock#ngl though the way this was written had me very confused for a minute#do better screenrant#also love that they keep casting people for health insurance reasons#and by “love” i mean wtf is wrong with SAG Aftra that someone like jimmi simpson has to worry about not getting enough work to qualify#i'm pretty sure the strikes had that on the itenirary and i hope things have improved
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What’s really cool about this hotel is that it doubles as a dorm for the local students of the University of Amsterdam.
So these kids go to school for free and stay at this 4-star hotel for free. They also get free tram passes, which otherwise cost like €25/week. Even the laundry machines downstairs have the soap already prebuilt into the machine, so they don’t even need to pay for laundry soap 🙏🏽
What a government 🙌🏽
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welp.
#what the fuck america#no seriously#chat are we cooked#on another note#is anyone in europe looking for a spouse?#taking applications now#usa#kamala harris#fuck trump#america#united states
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wishing all non-usamericans a very shut the fuck up about your opinions on our voting actually. contrary to popular belief we're not fucking stupid and we know how voting works. first of all if someone is making the choice to abstain from voting as opposed to voting for the lesser of two evils (or actually supporting one of the parties) they have put a LOT of thought into that decision and it's not made lightly! second of all do you fucking HEAR yourself. "don't even think about who that vote's going toward" what the FUCK are you talking about. it is so incomprehensible to me to walk up to someone and tell them that it's important to vote but not to? vote for something good? yeah don't worry bro just vote. surely putting no critical thought into the end result of your political actions will end up fine. even if this were not a much more complex situation where undecided votes are being used to pressure different political sides and decisions not to vote have a lot of thought put into them, this take completely ignores the central problem, which is that people don't want to put a man who is actively contributing to genocide at the moment back into power. i think it's pretty fucking significant to think about what someone might do if they get elected actually.
you get it. you understand. you see how it's different. man i really don't think you do actually. the way to fuck over one party in a two-party system is to vote for the other party and the "better" party here is fucking terrible and will only continue pushing right if unchallenged. "just vote for genocide joe! don't think about what will actually happen! don't you want to screw over trump!" man do you hear yourself???? if we could shut down the condescension for a second and use our brains maybe we could have a productive discussion that didn't hinge around a fundamental misunderstanding of both our electoral system and the political movements that are currently involved and invested in the actions of voters right now. in the meantime goddddddd if you don't know what you're talking about take the high ground and shut the fuuuckkkk upppppppp
#man i am never trying to rally behind any identity as an american. absolutely zero patriotism that shit is brain poison.#this site is very usa-centric! yes! and also. if you want to talk about our political situation then know what our political situation is.#banging my head against a table#thing about this also is the people who are not voting are either people who REALLY don't care#or people who care a FUCK ton.#the people who don't care are not reading that whole post chief i'm gonna be real with you.#the people who are very politically opinionated and invested are not going to take kindly to being baby-talked.#you have missed Any target audience here cause you don't even know what demographic you're appealing to.#long sigh whateverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter.....#valentine notes
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We live in a time where so many people are so resource conscious that it always blindsides me when people don't seem to be *water* conscious. I think maybe it's just a symptom of my growing up in a dry area during an extended drought, but water scarcity is perhaps the most tangible resource limit there is to me, way more so than oil or anything else. I was taught to take 5 minute showers, only run laundry/dishes with full loads, and use greywater & captured rain water for non-potable water needs. The city I grew up in had laws that only allowed us to water our yards 2 days a week, and only at night. If you go out to farming communities in places like the Central Valley, water rights continue to be perhaps the biggest political issue even now that the worst of the drought is behind us.
As far as I can tell from talking to people from wetter climates, water isn't treated as a scarce resource at *all*? Conserving water isn't something people even *think* about? The 2010s California drought may be over but that doesn't mean water's now an infinite resource here. Maybe in other places, water (even potable water) *is* effectively infinite? But that's hard for me to believe, especially with climate change taken into account.
#usaposting#this isn't necessarily a usa specific one this time but its in the same vein and I'm kind of specifically referring to CA here#(saw a post where people in the notes were harping on about how taking <20 min showers was unsanitary or whatever and like.#Y'all. When there's no fucking water you HAVE to take short showers. Long showers are WASTEFUL.#The shower thing is an aside to my main point and obviously there are exceptions (hi disabled people) but. Yeah.
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has that other anon ever met an upper class brit because i guarantee they wouldn't feel the same after encountering All That
literally 😭 like comparing classism is so dumb when it’s very much a subjective, varied conversation WITHIN a country let alone amongst different countries but that sentiment can and should coexist with the acknowledgement that british classism Does Not Fuck About
#like u cant lob both country's classim under an umbrella term when comparing them#bc our culture and history with it is so wildly different#like american classism IS there and IS a serious problem the irony here is that literally at no point did anyone say otherwise#so idk why anon got so up in arms lol#but the thing about british classism and the reason it gets talked about so much is because it is such a huge part of our lives#and americans never seem to really get that like even americans that acknowledge it i feel still struggle to grasp the severity of it#I’ve seen a lot of much smarter well-researched people say that class and race in the uk and usa are flipped#so while it’s important to note that BOTH countries have serious issues in both departments the way they manifest is different#so the way race is treated with such severity/extremity in america and racism so normalised and systemic#is exactly how class is here#and the way classism is typically more indirect and underlying in america#is how racism is here#does that make sense? there’s a lot of articles online that explain it better#like im explaining it v briefly and it's obviously not that black and white but that's the general gist of it#and if ur american thinking ‘classism doesn’t FEEL indirect for me so you're WRONG’#then consider im not wrong. that's just how severe it is here for me to be saying it#like idk I can’t stand this narrative anyway of taking away from the original problem to instead have a pissing contest about it#so this will probs be the last I speak about it#but it’s super interesting and it can’t hurt to know more about especially with the prevalence of americacentrism#which is why I responded so harshly to anon to begin with bc like really?#you saw ONE POST that wasn’t about america or american problems and got upset. be serious rn#ask
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It's funny how people don't recognize in the present events that are similar to those that happened in history. They are horrified by the atrocities in history, but somehow seeing similar ones now-- they ignore. Turn away as too "difficult". As if these people facing the same things now don't need help much more than the people from the past, because those events are long over. Or it's as if seeing through the framing of news and the lens of social media makes it less real somehow. Like it's not official if it's not in history books-- even though these are real flesh and blood people and it's happening before our eyes and it's NOT just entertainment to passively consume. People may be inspired by heroes of history, such as the resistance during World War II and the Holocaust, while they ignore the ones fighting evil that is viciously active right now. They cannot see the evil thats blatantly staring them in the face, daring them to do something, say something. Anything other than ignore it.
#do something could mean words#words travel#ukraine#war#russia#its not just “over there#catch it before it spreads#LOOK AT IT#the conflict of our time#mass suffering.#sorrt but we should all care about this.#such an evil invasion full of the same kinds of evil as nazis should not be ignored.#light in darkness#admire resistance#usa take note#freedom justice life#love#those eho dont learn from history#bc we dont see the present as part of history!#the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing#i mean by this is that evil wants us to ignore#what russia did in syria and chechnya...#georgia#must fight evil wherever we see#if its massive all should be involved in a way#your own corner also#and. perhaps other areas that need help.#so much.#we all should do something and not be so distracted by shallow trivialities
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Again I want to inform US-readers that there are laws in the European Union that prohibit the photographing and filming of strangers in public spaces (yes, not only in private spaces) and/or publishing the material in any kind whatsoever w/o permission of the person depicted.
Laws vary slightly from country to country and of course there are exceptions that allow photographing strangers w/o their permission (if there’s a larger crowd or they are only seen in the background for example) but generally showing off people w/o their explicit permission is illegal and punishable by fine or imprisonment.
i hate the "meta glasses" with their invisible cameras i hate when people record strangers just-living-their-lives i hate the culture of "it's not illegal so it's fine". people deserve to walk around the city without some nameless freak recording their faces and putting them up on the internet. like dude you don't show your own face how's that for irony huh.
i hate those "testing strangers to see if they're friendly and kind! kindness wins! kindness pays!" clickbait recordings where overwhelmingly it is young, attractive people (largely women) who are being scouted for views and free advertising . they're making you model for them and they reap the benefits. they profit now off of testing you while you fucking exist. i do not want to be fucking tested. i hate the commodification of "kindness" like dude just give random people the money, not because they fucking smiled for it. none of the people recording has any idea about the origin of the term "emotional labor" and none of us could get them to even think about it. i did not apply for this job! and you know what! i actually super am a nice person! i still don't want to be fucking recorded!
& it's so normalized that the comments are always so fucking ignorant like wow the brunette is so evil so mean so twisted just because she didn't smile at a random guy in an intersection. god forbid any person is in hiding due to an abusive situation. no, we need to see if they'll say good morning to a stranger approaching them. i am trying to walk towards my job i am not "unkind" just because i didn't notice your fucked up "social experiment". you fucking weirdo. stop doing this.
#take notes#right to ones own picture#basic rights#the more you know#every time I see lne of these videos (the ones not obv staged) the European inside me rages#and wants to report the video and have it taken down#and then i remember#and then I remember the the USA is a lawless land that calls itself free#of personal rights
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#nyc#arts and crafts#tumblrcrafts#usa#iBayam#JournalPlanning#BulletJournaling#FinePointMarkers#Colorful Pens#Art Supplies#tationery Addict#Creative Writing#Note Taking#Coloring Books#School Supplies#Planner Community#Doodling#Water Based Ink#Artistic Expression
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doing this again :33
10 notes and i’ll study hard this school year
20 notes and i’ll actually do more working out like i promised
30 notes and i’ll work on taking care of myself
40 notes and i’ll draw a lot more
50 notes and i’ll save a lot more money
100 notes and i’ll finish organizing my phone
500 notes and i’ll clean my (new) room every other week
1k notes and i’ll decorate my room with preparation
5k getting removed bc i don’t need to drop an extracurricular
10k notes and i’ll work harder on staying clean
100k notes and i’ll tell my parents that i think my health is bad and i’d like to get diagnosed for things
i swear i had another one but that’s abt it for now
might edit later if i think of anything else
edit: fuck you guys im limiting notes to 20 per person thanks to quinn
edit 2: GUYS NON-TYRANNICAL-USA HAS BEEN TAGGED LIKE 3 TIMES TAKE A PAUSE
edit 3: FUCK IT NO MORE NOTE LIMIT!!!!!! GO CRAZY
tags to start: @that-bisexual @bored-dromaeosaur @tameable50 @maryland-no-rabies @qu1nni3z-wr1d
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Reblogging because this is a great and important addition overall.
It is completely true, that America thinks it is the main character of the Earth, so I am sorry to be perpetuating that attitude more.
To be clearer on what is happening in my mind here, I have been trying to make my mind less USA-centric, and I see how it comes about that I unintentionally dismiss poverty throughout the world, because images of poverty and suffering are shown in American media as the ONLY images of most other countries.
Especially, in more religious areas of the USA, the ONLY opportunity to visit another country a poorer person will get, is through "mission trips" run by a church where a bunch of students are sent to an impoverished area in another country for a week basically to gawk at "third world" poverty, feel good about themselves for "helping" poor foreign people, and reflect on how they are so privileged and different.
Basically, reflecting on my privileges as an American is tricky because Americans are encouraged to do that...in an incredibly patronizing, deeply colonialist way.
When I say "we have poverty here in the USA" it is not meant to be "we have it worse than everyone else (or even equally as bad as everyone else)" but rather "USA media and popular opinion shows a simplistic binary of the world where America is the best place on Earth and all other places (except Western Europe) are nothing but poverty and misery"
This has the following effects: it makes Americans afraid to try changing or improving their situation for fear of making it worse, it forms a justification for meddling in other countries' business (because we have the privilege/resources to """"help"""" other countries, which are too poor/weak to do anything for themselves), and it creates the idea that Americans are innately different than everyone else.
I don't know how, but it seems like it's important to balance "Americans have certain privileges from being in a powerful, wealthy imperialist country" and "Americans aren't so different than everyone else that a poor or average American is more similar to a rich American than a poor or average person from another country, that's just a lie made to divide us"
Thanks for this thoughtful response, though.
I literally don't care when people are like "haha americans are so annoying/dumb/whatever" cuz I can take a joke, but I've been seeing tags on posts of mine from people who like. Deeply, Viscerally, Venomously Hate USAmericans.
They see us as the privileged oppressor class of the world who willfully and gleefully fuck everyone else over so "we" can enjoy luxuries. Our big cars, our extravagant restaurants, our Disney World and McMansions, right?
And it makes something inside me die a little bit, because the USA distributes TV shows, movies, magazines, newspapers and advertisements that tell you what America is like and what luxuries Americans enjoy...
...and it's propaganda. It's propaganda, not reality. These images and mythology of a luxurious, affluent America are so inescapable, constant and penetrating, like radiation, that even Americans believe it even in spite of reality around them.
It hurts that the propaganda is all anyone sees outside the USA as well, is what I mean to say, because inside the USA it's the same. I feel average, not poor, but I have always been demeaned by these depictions that tell me, "This is a normal American" showing financial privileges I would never hope to have and that my mother or her mother would never have been able to even imagine.
Like I looked up "average american neighborhood" on google images
And there are articles from American papers and publications that use these stock photos as images of an "American neighborhood" or "American homes" and it feels like being chipped away bit by bit, because when I was in middle school I went to the house of my friend and my friend's mom asked me condescending questions about whether my family ate instant noodles and "frozen food" (which they were too good for) and that year I was too humiliated to invite any of my wealthier friends over to my house, and yet they did not live in houses as big as the houses in these photos. THIS IS NOT AVERAGE. AVERAGE AMERICANS DO NOT LIVE HERE. WHAT THE HELL. There is a neighborhood in my town that looks like this and in my head I call it the "rich people neighborhood."
I come from the Americans that live here
and mobile homes/trailers are around 12% of houses in my state, so it's not rare, and when my mom was growing up everybody she knew lived in one of these. But this isn't what the world is shown. And even in America when this is shown it's something to be gawked at and pitied.
"Americans buy fast fashion every month and on average only wear it a couple times" I wear my clothes until they're falling apart and many of the clothes i have now are hand-me-downs from my mom or from Goodwill. "Americans eat out at restaurants all the time" Growing up I would eat out at Red Lobster as a treat with my dad about once a year, and sometimes we couldn't afford that. "Americans work so much because they're so obsessed with money" when I was a kid I remember when my dad would sometimes be working until 11pm or later at his construction and remodeling job, coming home exhausted and covered in drywall dust, and we barely got to see him because he was trying to dig us out of our house imminently going into foreclosure.
And I know that I have it so much better than so many people that came before me. Compared with the world my mom grew up in, I grew up in a world of fabulous luxury. My Mamaw's family was sharecroppers and by the time she was highschool age she started working in the cotton mills making gold-toe socks. And being white they've got a position of relative privilege even then. At least they didn't face violence and hatred over the color of their skin.
Why do the articles and writings say "Americans" live in big houses and eat in extravagant restaurants, but they don't say "Americans" live in flimsy, non-permanent structures propped up on cinder blocks and eat whatever cheap processed food is sold at the Dollar General, which is the only store for miles around and doesn't even sell fresh fruits or vegetables?
We're all trained to identify ourselves with the folks in the big houses, not the folks who have to camp out under tarps underneath the bridge, but I would say more of us are closer to the second one than the first. The images of America don't look like people I would talk to and hang out with, they look like the people that used to look down on me and my family like we were less than.
Fact is, "americans have it sooooo much better than all those people in third world countries, everybody there would kill to have the privileges you have" is a fundamental key part of the propaganda, and the purpose is to make Americans, especially poor Americans, think they're fundamentally different than working class people in other countries.
The mythology that the USA is the best place on Earth is a threat. Truth be told, a lot of poor folks are panicky conservative reactionaries in part because they can't afford to travel and see what the cities are like, let alone another country, and they have been told their whole lives that this is the best possible society, and they are scared to death of things getting worse.
Idk where i'm going with this, I just think seeing nation states as discrete categories of people that have more in common with each other than they do with anybody outside their country is a nefarious piece of propaganda
and also I have seen people claiming specifically that Black people in America have it better than the rest of the world by virtue of being American, which is so fucking stupid but i didn't wanna start shit but now i'm sick and in bed and kinda do
we are more alike than we are unalike and the people that say otherwise are mostly trying to get us to identify with a nation state that sees us as lower than garbage
#random#u.s. centric#us centric#oops this longer than i thought#it's just like. it's all true at once. yes americans have ability to Purchase Stuff and access to amenities etc.#higher than many other places around the world#but it's also like. a weird white savior-y and patronizing fantasy that americans are super affluent#and everyone else is rotting in poverty like ough i wish i was american#that's what we are encouraged to believe#and it's like. seeing ourselves as having innately different material circumstances no matter what#that's what fuels SO MUCH of the american sense of Specialness#some of it is just demeaning. people can't believe a 'third world' country could have scientists technology literature arts#i've had people in my notes insisting only the USA could possibly have wildlife conservation#as if??? people in a 'third world' country couldn't be educated/smart enough to value animals#or they don't have scientists and experts to study animals? or they're not Advanced enough to take action
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Wow... people having to identify themselves to a government because of they are part of a group that is seen as ¨other¨ or because they want to learn about a certain topic...where i have seen this before...
I don't know... maybe what it is considered one of the biggest red flags in steps of dehumanization of groups, mainly minorities?
Btw, this is what the people behind KOSA are trying to impose in all the United States of America.
[Image ID: News politcs article about USA politics that says ¨Kansas governor passes law requiring ID to view acts of 'homosexuality' online, vetoes anti-LGBTQ+ bill¨ /.End ID]
Link to the article: https://www.advocate.com/politics/kansas-veto-age-verification-gender-affirming-care-abortion
Edit: Since this gained more notes, for those who don't know KOSA is, it is a USA bill that was reintroduced on May 2023 (last year). It is called ¨Kids Online Safety Act¨ (KOSA for short). It has been introduced and reintroduced for a while now since 2022. It is meant with the intention to ¨protect kids¨ by restricting their use of internet by pushing age restrictions and people having to present their ID to use internet or access certain websites, quite similar to the Kansas state bill that got passed. Many groups and people have criticized this bill for the potential censorship it can come with it and do more harm to the kids than help them. Possible censorship that has been suggested this bill can bring is LGBT+ content, politics and news, mental health search, political and social opinions in general (adults included). What is more, it has been put into question the possible invasion of privacy for both minors and adults by having to share an identification to use certain websites. That people could get censored or doxxed by doing this.
As for the bill itself, there was a hearing earlier today in the Senate. ( April 17th-Wednesday). It could take a while before it gets voted and has to pass different stages. Then it would take months (18 months) to be implemented if it gets passed.
I'm not American myself, so i'm not sure how much i can do about this. What i do recommend is making calls to senators and people involved in pushing this bill to make clear your disapproval of it. Try sign petitions or just telling others about it.
Some sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kids_Online_Safety_Act https://www.stopkosa.com/ https://www.badinternetbills.com/ https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2024/02/dont-fall-latest-changes-dangerous-kids-online-safety-act
Website to keep track of the KOSA bill movements and cosponsors of the bill:
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Do you know my dear who's reading this post now there's no foods, vegetables, flour, fruits or any type of it in whole Gaza strip, seriously now people are suffering from famine, really people hungry. For me and my family it's ok we can eat anything even trees leafs 🍃 but how about my child 9 months what I should feed him no milk no eggs no chicken no meat no anythings contain Phosphorus, protein, calcium and vitamins، and if you rarely found anything from these things the price came from moon. The prices are unbelievable, even USA, Canada, Europe, Australia don't have this prices 😑.Imagen this your situation this your life this your child for the God any one tell me what I should to do. Sometimes I wish I could die and get rid of this thinking, why us? If anyone know the answer tell me what to do?
In the end I hope you can by anyway help me and my family, my baby 👶 reblog my post or donate if your situation allows. May God bless all of you and protect your family. I will put my donation link here also donation link and WhatsApp link at my tumbler description also.
NOTE : there's a lot of documentation like pictures ,videos and daily routine what we are facing here to fight famine, if someone want to take a look he can what's up me because the Internet connection is so bad , I can't upload it .
Vetted by :
@90-ghost here
@gazavetters here
@annabelle--cane @jingerpi @saintjos @gorps @davidtennantpussydimension @002700 @funkyness @romcommunist @georgeromerosanalcavity @infectiouspiss @pansyfemme @filmnoirsbian @troutreznor @robotpussy @leonardcohenofficial @yekkks @comrademango @estrellasrojas @anneemay-blog @zamanassad @wayneradiotv @evillesbianvillain @valtsv @gabajoouu @goldenspirits @scarletlich @rongzhi @marxistcomedy @hotvampireadjacent @carfuckerlynch @h-isforhoney @seravph @horreurscope @maxellmaxell @theunstablejester @heritageposts @ijaazatein-blog @grecoromanyaoi @kermitlesmis-blog @arunima @tunisian @cuttingstone @grimeclown @sheetzofficial @rickybabyboy @d-structive @sttoru @4pplec0re @cosmicguts @ohmigoshiloveu
#gaza aid#gaza genocide#gazaunderattack#all eyes on palestine#palestinian lives matter#i stand with palestine#save palestine#urgent#donations
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every fragile thing
pairing: park sunghoon x f reader
genre: enemies to lovers, figure skating au, college/university au
word count: 12.3k
warnings: alcohol consumption, jealousy, non graphic descriptions/depictions of injuries, use of the american (usa) university system, a kiss or five
soundtrack: get him back! / brutal / jealousy, jealousy / good 4 u / the grudge / bad idea right? / drivers license - olivia rodrigo
After an ankle injury lands you in mandated physical therapy sessions instead of on the ice where you should be training for nationals, you're absolutely certain you must be the most frustrated, emotionally volatile figure skater on the planet. Park Sunghoon proves you wrong.
or,
every fragile thing has one of two choices: become stronger or shatter into a million pieces.
note: hi hello yes this is me on a new blog with the same name. I deleted my old one and wasn't sure if I planned on remaking/reposting but here we are! if you've read this before, then I hope you enjoy just as much this time around. and if you haven't, I hope you love figure skater sunghoon just as much as I do! happy reading ♡
Silence. One word, two syllables. A fairly straightforward term with a meaning that can be easily deduced from a quick scan of its Merriam-Webster definition.
But unlike many words, silence is one that’s typically learned through experience. Through stilted moments, pregnant pauses, dreamlike moments in the dead of night while the world around you is at a standstill.
In the moments just before the music starts, when it feels as if the audience around you is holding their breath. And you stand at the center of it all, blades of your tightly laced skates against ice, chest rising and falling in time with your heartbeat, mind spinning with possibility. In those moments, your long trained muscles take over, following the memory of countless repetitions as your body prepares to do what it knows best.
There’s a question in that silence. One that’s asked with baited breath.
Will I land this skill? Will I go home with a medal around my neck, cold weight a familiar comfort against my skin? Will this be my best performance yet? Will they love it? Love me?
That, as you’ve come to learn, is your favorite kind of silence. The kind that’s filled with endless possibility, with the promise of something beautiful or disastrous or some odd mix of the two to come.
The feeling of freedom, of flying as blade cuts through ice, as your body defies gravity with every jump, every spin.
But that is very much not the kind of silence that greets you where Dr. Min eyes you warily over the top of his pristine clipboard, a crease forming between his dark eyebrows. Frowning, he glances at the paper once more before returning his gaze to you.
“You’re sure you’ve been resting? No weight on the fracture at all?”
It takes a good chunk of your willpower not to roll your eyes. Mostly because you’re lying through your teeth, but who’s keeping track?
“Yes, I’m sure.” Gesturing to the thick black boot the lower part of your left leg and foot have been imprisoned in for the better part of a month, you add, “This thing’s still coming off in two weeks, right?”
Two weeks is pushing it, but you’ve done more with less. Two weeks puts you exactly three months out from regionals, which gives you exactly ninety-one days to pull together the most jaw dropping program you or the judges have ever seen. One that’s certain to land you on the podium and secure a spot at nationals.
Once again, you thank your lucky stars for Coach Lee. She’s been with you since you were still struggling to lace your own skates, and there’s no one else you’d trust to have you ready for regionals in such a short time frame. No one else you’d bet your fate on like this.
“That was our original time frame, yes…” Dr. Min trails off, avoiding your gaze in a way that has your stomach dropping unpleasantly.
“And we’ll be sticking to it, I’m sure.” You hate the way the end of your phrase turns up like a question.
Dr. Min sighs. “Look, ___, our original time frame was ambitious to begin with, and I hate to tell you this, but your ankle is not healing as well as we’d hoped. Fractures don’t heal overnight, and the best thing for you right now is rest.”
The argument is already forming on your tongue. “But—”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not trying to ruin your life, ___. Truly. I’m saying this to you as the parent of an athlete and a former athlete myself. Pushing yourself now will only lead to reinjury in the future and will also very likely shorten your career. Your ankle needs to heal before you skate on it again. It needs to heal before you so much as put weight on it. And you need to let it heal completely.” The sincerity in his voice is hard to stomach when he says, “Believe me when I tell you that you’ll regret it for the rest of life if you don’t.”
And logically, you know he’s right. Know that this will be nothing but a minor setback if you allow it to run its course. If you follow his advice to rest and heal. But skating has never been something you’ve done with the logical parts of yourself. And Dr. Min doesn’t get it. You tell him as much. “You don’t understand what you’re asking me to do. Regionals are in less than four months, and—”
“I hear you. Believe me, I do. But this is your third year of university, which means you have another shot at nationals next year. If you push it and try to skate before you’re ready, you may very well lose that chance too.”
“So I’m supposed to do what? Sit around and do nothing until my ankle decides to cooperate?” Even voicing the possibility has you suppressing a grimace.
But Dr. Min has different thoughts. “Yes. That is exactly what you need to do.”
You don’t avert your gaze. Neither does he. Finally, after a moment, he sighs. “My recommendation at this point is still rest, but—”
“But?” Your excitement is impossible to contain fully.
Dr. Min levels you with a cautionary look over his clipboard. “But, if you’re going to do anything, our athletics department does also run a physical therapy program, which I think could be beneficial. It would help to retain flexibility, mobility, and agility in the areas of your leg that support your ankle. It could help get you back on the ice faster and maintain the leg strength you’ve built. There’s a group session that runs on Tuesday afternoons—”
“Yes,” you nod, not bothering to hear the end of his statement. “Yes, I’ll do that.”
“I… okay.” As much as you want to hate him for it, Dr. Min has a point. And while you doubt physical therapy will be anywhere near as grueling as your usual workouts, it sounds a hell of a lot better than doing nothing.
…
You’ve never liked hospitals. The odd juxtaposition of white, lifeless sterility and a culmination of some of life’s most painful moments has always left an unpleasant taste on your tongue.
It’s one that has you double checking the address Dr. Min forwarded to you as you enter the oddly cheerful building that is apparently home to a renowned athletics physical therapy facility. Despite the medical purpose, there’s a distinct liveliness that envelops the space.
The woman at reception informs you that this is indeed the right building and the session you’re attending has just begun in the room to your left.
Pausing at the door, you’re struck with a sudden timidness. A physical therapy group for athletes will obviously be filled with, well, athletes. And although you can’t speak too harshly on that particular subsect of people, being one yourself, they can be intimidating. It must be the competitiveness, you think. The drive to push, succeed, win that gives off such a distinct aura.
Steeling yourself with one last breath, you remind yourself that’s why you’re here. To get back to that version of you that has everyone else feeling a little shier. That version of you that eats, breathes, and sleeps with ice skates laced on your feet and visions of the top of a podium driving your every decision.
With determination straightening your brow, you push open the door.
And immediately find yourself grateful for the mental preparation as three heads snap in your direction.
Hitching your bag up an inch on your shoulder, you try not to melt under the sudden awkwardness. Thankfully, one of them is better at breaking ice than you.
“Hi,” the boy closest to you is the first to fill the silence. He’s all smiles where he gives you a friendly wave, moving a stray hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head as he tells you, “I’m Jungwon.”
You offer your name in return, trying on a smile to match his friendliness. You have a feeling it comes more naturally to him than it ever will to you, though.
Regardless, he offers an equally cheerful, “Nice to meet you.” Glancing over to where the second boy is moving through a series of stretches, Jungwon makes eye contact, silently telling him he’s up next.
Even mid-stretch, he acquiesces. “I’m Niki,” the second boy follows.
“And I’m Jake.” The last boy doesn’t need any prompting from Jungwon. Nodding towards the walking boot that covers the bottom half of your left leg, he glances at a similar one that he wears on his own. “Looks like we’re twins. Tore up my achilles pretty bad in my last soccer match,” he explains. “What about you?”
“Fractured my ankle,” you return, a rueful smile dragging your lips up. “Figure skater.”
“Ah, man.” Jungwon winces. “That sucks.”
You shrug, forcing a nonchalance you don’t feel. “No worse than a busted achilles.”
“That’s cool that you skate though,” Jake offers. “Kind of a funny coincidence, actually. There’s another—”
Whatever it is, he doesn’t get to finish the thought. At that moment, the door opens again, this time revealing a middle aged woman in a white physician’s coat. Her name tag reads Dr. Kim, and she introduces herself as such to you.
“Looks like everyone’s here, including our new members.” She gives another cursory nod in your direction. “Welcome again.” Glancing around, the instructor pauses. “Oh, wait. Except for—”
“I’m here, I’m here.” For the second time in the span of a minute, the door behind you opens. You don’t miss the glance that passes between Niki and Jake. You turn to face the new arrival, but his back is to you as he sets his bag down and begins the process of switching his shoes.
The way the new member enters with a dismissive wave of his hand and lack of proper greeting has you thinking tardiness is not an uncommon trait of his. Even from behind, you can feel the waves of arrogance he exudes. That seems to align more with your preconceived notions of athletes.
Studying him for another second, a sinking feeling of dread begins to build in the pit of your stomach. Long, dark hair. Unnaturally graceful movements, even if all he’s doing is digging through his bag. Tall stature, broad shoulders, long legs.
An athlete’s build through and through. Perfectly suited for the ice.
“Great.” Despite the statement, Dr. Kim’s tone is flat. “Well, we were just getting started and introducing ourselves since we have someone new joining us today.”
“Hi,” he offers, still fixated on his bag, yet to offer as much as a glance in your direction. If anything, it only serves as a confirmation of his identity. “I’m—” You don’t even need to hear him say it.
“Sunghoon?”
At that, he does finally look up.
Gaze locking with yours, a moment of confusion is quickly replaced by a furrow in his brow, the slight downturn of his lips. He’s not thrilled to see you either.
A beat passes.
Two.
Neither of you break eye contact.
The silence extends to the point of discomfort for all four onlookers, each of them hesitant to break the tension that’s rising by the second.
Finally, Dr. Kim takes a knife to the tension. “Do you two know each other?”
Park Sunghoon. Renowned figure skater at your rival university. Someone with such a natural knack for carving lines through ice that whispers of prodigy have been shadowing his footsteps since the minute he put them on a rink.
Someone with his head so far up his own ass you’re not sure how he can see half the time, much less keep his hair looking so perfect.
Oh, you know him alright.
“___?”
And it would seem he remembers you as well.
It also answers Dr. Kim’s question well enough.
“Ah, good.” It sounds like a question, like she’s hoping your acquaintance will be a positive thing instead of a disaster. You don’t have the heart to tell her otherwise. “The figure skating community is tight knit, I suppose.”
You suppress a scoff. That’s one word for it, you guess.
You remember when it felt that way to you, too. Before tight knit became too small. Back before university, when it felt like it was you and Park Sunghoon against the world, instead of against each other. Back when the two of you didn’t skate for opposing teams but instead were members of the same club. A time when you took the ice together, skated as partners until he—
You force your thoughts to stop in their tracks. Your blood pressure has spiked enough in the last few days, and thinking back on long days spent with Park Sunghoon will only send it skyrocketing again.
If anything, you’ll use this opportunity to practice perfecting your poker face for when you inevitably run into him at future competitions.
And future competitions means you need a healed ankle, not a bruised ego. And certainly not an unpleasant trip down memory lane.
Turning away from Sunghoon, you’re the first one to answer when Dr. Kim asks if you’re ready to get started.
“Yes,” you tell her, determination written across your brow, in the set of your shoulders, and perhaps most noticeably, in the way you avoid Sunghoon’s wandering gaze for the next two hours.
…
Without the rink, days are quick to meld into one another. It may be concerning, considering that you still have a set schedule of classes and homework to follow, but your life has revolved around training for so long that it’s hard to tell Mondays from Wednesdays without a set practice schedule.
Thankfully, you do still make it back to the clinic at the right time on the right day, this time for another session with Dr. Kim and your fellow band of broken athletes.
Including him.
Aside from the glaringly obvious exception, you’re not as bothered at the thought of returning as you feared you might be.
Jungwon, Niki, and Jake have proven themself pleasant enough company, and Dr. Kim seems to have built an understanding of how difficult it is to be forcibly removed from the sport you love. As such, she’s one of the least aggravating medical professionals you’ve spent time around.
“Hey,” Niki greets when you arrive. “Did you have a good weekend?”
You shrug. “Good enough. Mostly just catching up on homework.” Setting your bag down and switching out your shoes, you join him on the mat, beginning the series of warm-up stretches Dr. Kim instructed you through last week. “What about you?”
“Not too bad. I got some good news from my doctor, actually.” He switches legs in his stretch, and you’re almost envious of his flexibility. He’s a dancer, and an exceedingly good one at that. One with an unfortunate knee injury at the moment. “My x-rays are looking a lot better. He thinks I might be able to start easing back into regular use by next month.”
“That’s great,” you smile, even as a pang of jealousy stabs somewhere near your gut. “I’m really happy for you, Niki.”
“A month still feels like forever, though, doesn’t it?” He sighs. “I can’t remember the last time I was out of the studio for this long.”
Jungwon slides down onto the mat next to you, joining in on the stretch routine. “Consider yourself lucky, man. They told me at my last check-up that I probably won’t be able to do any jumping or kicks again for at least three months even though the fracture is already mostly healed.” He shakes his head. “No jumping or kicking,” he echoes, sarcasm dripping from every word. “You know, things that are super easy to avoid in taekwondo.”
“If it’s any consolation, I just got told that I’m gonna have to sit out of regionals this year. Which means I’ll have no way of qualifying for nationals.” You wonder how many times you’ll have to admit that particular reality to yourself before the sting starts to fade.
“That sucks.” Jake agrees, coming down to the mat and occupying the spot next to Niki. “I’ll probably have to sit for this entire season, too. I love my team, but it’s so frustrating watching them play when I know I could be an asset on the field.”
“That’s true.” You’re struck by a sudden wave of sympathy. “At least skating is an individual sport, so the only person I have to disappoint is myself.”
“Speaking of skating,” Jungwon sounds hesitant as he approaches the subject. “Do you and Sunghoon, uh…” he pauses for a moment in search of a neutral way of framing the unmistakable tension that surfaced the last time he saw the two of you together. “Do you two know each other?”
Grimacing internally, you suppose an explanation was bound to be solicited after your icy reunion. “We skate for rival universities.” Your gaze fixes on a spot on the ground. “And before college we used to, uh, we used to skate for the same club.”
The three boys share a glance. It’s hardly an explanation for the venom you said his name with but before they can press you further, the subject in question enters the room.
Again, he takes his time setting his bag down, getting his things ready. This time, he also pulls out an obnoxiously big pair of headphones, secures them over his ears before he bothers to turn around. Despite the fact that all three boys offer him friendly smiles and waves, he returns the gesture only with a tight smile, making his way to the mat on the opposite side of the room before he begins his stretch routine.
It’s a message that rings loud and clear. A frown passes between Jake, Jungwon, and Niki. It’s obvious to you, then, that you’re the reason he chose to set himself up as far away as physically possible.
So be it, you think, letting the slight roll right off of you. It’s not the first time he’s given you the cold shoulder for something he plays an equal part in, and you doubt it will be the last.
Besides, it will only make your sessions pass by quicker, if the burden of avoiding gazes and minimizing interactions falls on his shoulders instead of yours.
With nothing but a shrug, you adjust slightly, ensuring that the only view he has of you is of your back.
…
It’s a pattern that continues as physical therapy sessions start to become a regular routine in your week. Sunghoon, with his apparent disdain for anyone’s time but his own, is always the last to arrive. He also continues his habit of picking the spot in the room furthest away from you.
Despite the fact that you’d like to chalk it up to his social ineptitude alone, that explanation doesn’t track. Although there’s still a certain aura of aloofness that follows where he goes, it’s too often that you see him smiling at a joke cracked by Jake or sharing easy conversations with Jungwon and Niki.
Hell, he even interacts with Dr. Kim with a level of warmth you didn’t know was possible coming from him. If there’s any disdain in their conversations, he directs it all towards his right wrist. It’s why he’s here, you assume. Encased in a brace similar to the one you wear on your left ankle, his right forearm seems to be the reason for his attendance.
It’s hard to not be envious. While a wrist injury is nothing to scoff at, it doesn’t necessarily keep you off the ice. Not in the same way a fractured ankle does.
Refocusing your thoughts, you push the boy across the room firmly out of mind as Dr. Kim helps adjust you into the next stretch.
“How about now?” Dr. Kim pushes your spine a fraction of an inch further, pressure light but demanding. Before, this much flexibility would have been an easy request of your body, but lack of use has your muscles feeling tight. “Any tightness or pain?”
“No.” The bead of sweat on your brow begs to differ, as does the way the negation slipped through gritted teeth.
But you’re frustrated. Annoyed at the progress you’ve lost, at the new limits of your body, at the way you feel like a stranger in your own skin.
Across the room, you miss the flicker of annoyance that flits over Sunghoon’s features. Headphones on as always, you imagine you’re nothing more than a blip on his radar, a pesky intruder that’s easily ignored as long as he has his back to you.
“Hm,” Dr. Kim muses. “You’ve retained more flexibility than I expected.” She offers you a smile. “That’s a good thing, a sign of a quick recovery.”
You suppress a grimace. It should be a good thing. You should be recovering quickly. If only you could get your stupid body to cooperate.
Stealing another glance at the boy across the room, you can’t help the way a small burst of rage bubbles in your stomach. Prodigy. Why does he always get to be the anomaly, the exception to the rule? His injury is already less severe than yours, and he’s probably recovering quickly, too. Without even having to fake it.
Easing you out of the stretch, Dr. Kim jots down a quick note. “I’ll have Dr. Min run another x-ray at your next visit.” Nodding towards your ankle, she adds, “I think there’s a good chance that things are looking a lot better, and updated x-rays will help guide our next sessions.” She pauses for a minute. “I don’t want to get ahead of myself or get your hopes up, but I think we might be able to start putting some weight back on it soon. Start getting it stronger again.”
You’re hesitant to let your excitement grow too much. But it would be a lie if you weren’t already counting the days until your next visit with Dr. Min in your head. “Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll hope those x-rays come back looking good, then.”
“Me too,” she smiles. “I’ll see you next week, then. Hopefully with good news.”
You nod, returning her smile before heading to the door to gather your things. Jungwon catches you on your way out.
“Hey, ___, hold on a sec.” When you turn back towards him, he tells you, “The rest of us are gonna grab lunch at a place nearby, if you want to join.”
Your uncertainty must write itself across your features, because he’s quick to add, “Don’t worry. Sunghoon won’t be there. He’s got a class right after this.”
Slightly embarrassed by the way he read you so easily, you nod. “Sure. Lunch sounds good.” Despite their friendliness with Sunghoon, you’ve come to like the three of them. And it’s been far too long since you broke up the monotony of class, homework, and medical appointments with something as simple as lunch with friends.
And as long as he’s not there, you imagine it will be nothing but pleasant.
It doesn’t take long for them to prove you wrong.
Niki barely lets you get one bite in before he asks, “So, what exactly happened between you two?” Even without the name, the question is obvious.
Still, after choking on the sip of water you’d been taking, you answer, “Who?”
Jake just gives you a look.
You sigh. “Like I said, we used to skate for the same club. We, uh, never really got along, I guess.” Avoiding eye contact, you add, “And now we skate for rival schools. I suppose it’s only natural to not like each other.”
Niki doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, that sounds made up.”
Jungwon swallows his bite, parts his lips like he has something to say. Internally, you heave a sigh of relief. If any of the three of them spare you, you have a feeling it would be him. “I mean, it does seem like something else must have happened.”
Or not.
“You don’t have to tell us,” he adds. “But it’s just… I mean, the two of you can’t even look at each other.”
Sighing, you suppose the circumstances do look odd from the outside. “There was… an incident. Back when we used to skate together.”
“What?” Jake asks. “Did he steal your skates right before a show or something?”
“No, no.” You shake your head. “It happened on the ice, actually. During a program.”
“Wait,” Niki interrupts. “You said you used to skate together. Do you mean like, as partners?”
The guilt on your face says it all.
“No way.” Jake says.
Jungwon’s eyes grow bigger. “What did he do?”
“Yeah,” Niki turns to face you fully. “Wouldn’t being his partner be a good thing? At least on the ice, I mean. I know he can be a little insufferable, but isn’t he some sort of prodigy—”
“Prodigy, my ass.” You’re so sick of that goddamn word. “Wasn’t a prodigy when he dropped me in the middle of our program at junior nationals, was he?”
The way all three or their jaws drop in unison is almost worth the admission.
But the thing is, he was. No accusatory fingers pointed in his direction after it happened. No one blamed prodigy Park Sunghoon for the mishap.
No, it was decided fair and square by the jury of public opinion that the mistake was entirely your fault, your burden to bear. And it’s not like you were immune to the criticism. Whispers followed where you went. And you always, always managed to hear them.
Maybe if you’d trained a little harder, completed the second rotation a little sooner, the skill would have gone off without a hitch, they mused. Hell, maybe if you’d stuck to your diet a little better, those last two pounds would have spelled the difference between a perfect landing and your ass on frozen ground, program music still crescendoing as onlookers watched with horrified fascination.
“Oh,” Jungwon grimaces.
“That’s rough,” Niki agrees.
And they don’t even know the worst of it. Don’t know that back then, at fifteen, you’d had a giant, soul crushing, earth shattering, massive crush on your skating partner. That you searched for his approval just as eagerly as you’d sought out your coach’s.
That you’d squeezed in as many extra practice sessions as physically possible for five months leading up to the routine just to make sure you were as close to flawless as possible, just to make sure you were chosen to be his partner on the ice.
That you giggled, giggled, when you saw the matching costumes the two of you would wear for the first time.
That you followed where he went with long sighs and lovesick eyes. That you looked forward to the grueling hours you spent on the ice with him, turning perfection into something even greater.
That your heart skipped a beat every time you ran through your program, every time he caught you with sure hands and a strong grip.
That Park Sunghoon never made a mistake, never let you fall, not once.
Not until a spotlight was spinning dreams into reality and you were already anticipating the secret smiles you’d share with matching gold medals around your necks.
Not until it all shattered in a single moment.
It was cold, as you laid there on the ice, sprawled out and unable to move from the sudden shock of it all. Luckily, you’d avoided any critical injuries. You had staggered off the ice with nothing but some bad bruising, the worst of it staining your ego and your heart.
And after it all, no matter how many times you passed him on your way to the locker room, shared the ice with him, or searched for the gaze he pointedly avoided across the room, Park Sunghoon never uttered the two words that just might have made you forgive it all.
Instead of an apology or even the decency of an explanation, you got a cold shoulder and a lost friendship you were too confused by to mourn.
In the end, you’d decided to turn it all into a blessing in a very thorough disguise. From that moment onwards, all of your time on the ice was dedicated to you and you alone. Never would you let anything but the sheer strength of your own will, your own goals, motivate you to become better, faster, stronger.
And you found that victory tasted even sweeter, when the full weight of it could rest on your shoulders alone. When no one could whisper behind their palms that the only reason you stood on the podium was a prodigy of a partner.
So fine. Park Sunghoon didn’t owe you shit. Not an apology, an explanation, or even a second glance.
And if he was a prodigy, an ice prince or whatever stupid title he’d earned alongside his medals, well, you’d just have to be even better.
But now, sitting across from new friends with a fractured ankle and a ruined shot at medalling this year, a quiet part of you admits for the first time that maybe, just maybe, part of that resolve is nothing but spite in disguise. Part of the anger you’ve clung to for so long isn’t directed at him, but at yourself.
That it was embarrassing to fall in front of a crowd, yes, but it was also humiliating to know that he was hearing all those little comments about your inferiority too. To realize that his silence meant he probably agreed. That you were a liability of a partner, unequal in both skill and importance. That he could move on from the incident, from you, completely unscathed.
That your little crush was entirely one-sided, just like the respect and admiration you’d once felt for him.
You stare at the half-eaten lunch in front of you, appetite suddenly completely gone.
“What a coincidence that the two of you ended up injured at the same time,” Jake muses.
“And in the same physical therapy group.” Jungwon nods.
“Yeah,” you echo hollowly. “What a coincidence.”
…
When Park Sunghoon speaks to you for the first time in five years, it’s completely by accident.
As the weeks have continued on, you’ve fallen into a perfect routine during your shared physical therapy sessions. A routine of avoidance, ignorance, and as much space between the two of you as physically possible. It’s become so easy that the two of you navigate it with the kind of grace only two elite figure skaters could ever manage.
If anything, it’s more awkward for the other members of your session than it is for the two of you. Jungwon, Jake, Niki, and Dr. Kim are the ones suffering as they try to stay friendly with both of you without icing out the other.
It must be why he doesn’t even bother to check who it is that’s standing right next to him as he reaches for his bag on the shelf near the front door at the end of another session. Must be why he says it in a voice so casual you don’t think it’s him at first. “How pissed do you think Dr. Kim will be if I’m late again next week?”
Even though the voice doesn’t quite fit, you half expect to see Jake standing next to you when you turn to the side.
Sunghoon realizes his mistake at the exact same second you do. You watch as shock flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something guarded, unreadable. Just as completely closed off to you as always.
It pisses you off, the way he’s so utterly and completely unaffected by you. The way he can brush you off as easily as a piece of dust. Insignificant. Unimportant. Unwanted. It has you freeing the reins on comments you should bite back instead.
“Hard to say.” Ice and resentment drip from every syllable. “Then again, I’m surprised you care about what she thinks. Doesn’t seem like something that would bother you.”
That at least earns you some of his emotion. Another bout of shock crosses his face before it shifts to confusion and falls finally to anger. You can see it in the furrow of his brow, the set of his jaw. The flare of heat in his eyes.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
If he falls to anger, you’ll rise above it. At least on the outside. There’s no accounting for the way your gut twists in rage. Still, you offer him a smile that’s almost as fake as it is sickeningly sweet. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you spend enough time thinking about it.” It’s patronizing, and intentionally so. You hope it annoys him enough to keep him up tonight.
Reaching for the front door, you take your exit first. The hallways of this building have become familiar over the weeks. Even with anger clouding your vision and a bad ankle, you trace a steady path to the parking lot. You’re halfway to your car when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.
You freeze for a moment, turning the sound of it over in your brain, stuck on the way it almost sounds like a plea, a prayer coming from his lips. The sound of footsteps draws nearer. They fall quickly, as if he’s running. Your indecision still renders you immobile.
“Hold on a second. Did I… Did I do something to upset you?”
If you thought you were angry before, you’re surely seeing red now. How dare he.
Spinning around, you only hope you sound as outraged as you feel. “Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?”
“What? No.” His brow furrows. “I mean, I know our schools are technically rivals and all, but we haven’t really seen each other in years.”
“Right, because you’ve been so sunny and welcoming since I joined the group.”
“I was giving you space. You practically bolted like a scared cat when you saw it was me.” He runs a hand through his hair. You hate the way it falls perfectly back into place. And you hate the way he looks so good doing it. “But clearly you’ve got something against me.”
The audacity, the sheer, utter audacity. There’s no trace of humor when you say, “You’re hilarious, really.” And there’s no room for debate when you turn away from him again, continuing to walk towards your car.
“Wait,” he tries, but it falls on deaf ears. “God, ___, would you just hold on for a second, I—”
You turn. To do what, you’re not entirely sure. But before you can decide, the grip he has on his car keys loosens, the fingers of his right hand less dexterous than usual thanks to his arm brace. He still has his reflexes though. With his other hand, he manages to stop them from falling completely.
“Better take care of that.” You jerk your chin to where he awkwardly fumbles with his keyring, trying to find a better grip. “Wouldn’t want to drop those too.”
His gaze snaps to you, eyes wide, mouth slightly slackened. The keys fall from his grasp, metal clinking delicately on the pavement. A million questions swim across his features, none of which you’ll give the grace of answering.
Instead, you turn around once more. You make it all the way to your car, all the way out of the parking lot, all the way home.
And he never says your name once.
…
The following Tuesday, you are the last one of the group to arrive. And while you would usually never pass up the opportunity to best Sunghoon at anything, including being the latest arrival, competition is not the reason for your tardiness.
It’s avoidance. That, and the fact that you had to spend eleven minutes giving yourself a pep talk in the car before you could work up the nerve to approach the front doors of the clinic. In the end, it’s a glance down at the boot on your left foot that does it. You’ve let Sunghoon ruin your chance at a gold medal once, and you’ll be damned if you let him do it again.
Besides, your last visit with Dr. Min was a good one. Your ankle hasn’t healed quite as much as Dr. Kim suspected, but progress is progress, and you’re making plenty of it, according to your most recent x-rays.
You enter the session with an apology for Dr. Kim and concentrated efforts to not let your gaze wander to the back corner of the room as you make your way over to where Jake and Jungwon sit. Starting your stretches, you assume Niki is over with Sunghoon, but you can’t work up the nerve to confirm that.
Despite her initial annoyance at your tardiness, Dr. Kim is equally pleased at your latest x-ray results and gives you the green light to switch out the resistance bands you’ve been using for the next level up. Just as you’re reaching for the set of red bands on the shelf next to the treadmills, a set of obnoxiously smooth hands gets there first.
Turning to Sunghoon with narrowed eyes, you grab the end of the band set he just snatched out from under you, eyes ablaze.
The little fucker has the gall to roll his eyes. “What are you doing?”
You yank on the band. He doesn’t even flinch, grip steady. “I’m trying to follow Dr. Kim’s instructions,” you inform, tone flat.
This time when you yank again, he yanks back. Much to your annoyance, he’s able to exert enough force to have you stumbling forward. “You’re trying to provoke me.”
“And it’s working,” Niki whispers to Jake and Jungwon in the back corner of the room. Dr. Kim just shakes her head.
“Just take the green bands,” Sunghoon suggests.
“They don’t have enough resistance. I need these ones,” you argue. “Why don’t you take the green ones?”
“Pretty sure if one of us takes the lighter bands, it should be you.” Sunghoon tightens his grip. “Or are you seriously trying to claim that you’re stronger than me right now?”
“I’m using them for my legs, you absolute jackass. Which are definitely stronger than your forearms.”
Sunghoon cocks a brow. “Should we put money on it?”
“You are such a dick. Dr. Kim literally—”
“Has another set of red bands,” the woman in question interrupts. She levels the two of you with an exasperated look as she holds them out in front of her. “There’s another set of every color on the equipment shelf next to the door.”
“Oh, right,” you nod, pulling back a little on your end of the band before you release it, just to hear the small cry Sunghoon lets out when it snaps against the skin of his good wrist. “Thanks.”
And the satisfaction that comes from completing your usual number of reps with a higher resistance is almost as gratifying as when you see Sunghoon rubbing at the still reddened skin on his left wrist as you pack up to leave for the day.
“Those two are gonna kill each other,” Jungwon tells Jake and Niki as the three of them walk to their cars, brow creasing in concern.
“Or something,” Jake agrees.
Niki hoists his bag up on his shoulder. “My money’s on ___.”
A contemplative look passes between Jake and Jungwon before they nod in unison, “Yeah.”
…
You’re in the middle of passing a medicine ball back and forth with Jake the following week when he asks, “Are your school’s finals next week too?”
And although it’s hard to believe, first semester is already drawing to an end as the days get shorter and assignments get longer.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m up to my ass in essays right now.”
“Same,” Jake agrees. “Sometimes it makes me wonder how I do it when I’m training, too.” Although you agree, a pang of jealousy is the only thing his words inspire. Of the skaters on your team that are preparing to compete as you speak. That have already choreographed their routines and selected their music and are spending every waking moment perfecting each and every detail of their program.
It’s hard. It’s brutal. You’d be the first to admit that. But you miss it all the same, so much it hurts.
A moment passes before he continues. “Well, anyway, Jungwon, Niki, and I were thinking that since none of us are training right now, we should celebrate the end of the semester like everyone else does.”
You arch a brow. “You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”
“Right, sorry,” he apologizes. “Consider this your formal invitation to get absolutely shitfaced with us next Friday.”
The laugh that bubbles in your throat is so unexpected you can’t quite bite it back. While you have your fair share of good, old-fashioned fun, he’s right. Every other semester, you’ve celebrated the end of finals season with a cup of hot tea and an early night in bed. Traded one source of stress for another as you woke up bright and early the next day to hit the ice.
You send him a smile, tossing the medicine ball back in his direction. “Count me in.”
…
The following Friday night finds you double-checking the address on your phone before tentatively knocking on the front door of what you hope is Jake’s apartment. In the middle of the university district across the city from your own, you can’t say you’re familiar with any of the buildings outside of the athletic complex, which you’ve only ever visited for a handful of competitions. It strikes you then that this is also the university Sunghoon attends. And, stomach dropping, that you never actually asked who all would be attending tonight.
Before you have the chance to spin on your heel and high-tail it down the stairs you just climbed, the door swings open. It’s not Jake.
“Oh,” you mumble. The boy who opened the door is not Jake, but he is very much attractive. “Sorry. I’m looking for Jake Sim’s apartment.” Your voice turns up at the end like a question.
“You’re in the right place,” he smiles, and it’s gorgeous. “I’m Heeseung, Jake’s roommate. You must be ___.” He opens the door wider, allowing you space. “Come on in.”
“That’s me.” You offer him a grateful smile as you enter, hanging your coat and sliding your shoes off.
The interior is surprisingly sophisticated, for a college boy’s apartment. It’s clean, for starters, and as you follow Heeseung down the hallway towards the kitchen, you can’t help but be impressed by their choice in decor.
“Help yourself to anything.” Heeseung gestures to the impressive spread of snacks on the table. “But first, can I get you something to drink?”
“Um…” Your lack of alcohol-related knowledge is apparent, and the uncertainty must be obvious, because Heeseung just smiles again.
“I’ve got you.” There’s an undertone of something in his words. Something playful, something bordering on flirty. But it’s too subtle to tell for sure, and you’re not one to bet on losing odds. He reaches for a glass and a handful of ice cubes. “Do you like fruity flavors?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “That sounds good.” Besides, it’s been a minute since you’ve been well and truly flirted with at a college party by a boy that looks like he could spell trouble in his sleep. This could be fun, you think.
Glancing towards the adjacent living room, you notice the usual familiar faces. Jake and Niki are sitting on the couch while Jungwon chats with a pair of boys you don’t recognize. Eyes tracing the perimeter, you feel your shoulders tense when they land on a familiar silhouette. Sunghoon has his back to you, but his identity is just as unmistakable as it was on your first day of physical therapy. Like Jungwon, he’s talking to another person you don’t know.
Oh, well. It’s too late to back out now and too early to make an exit. If you and Sunghoon can coexist in a room once a week without starting too many fires, you’re sure you’ll manage to get through tonight just fine.
Heeseung hands you a full glass. It’s cold where it meets your fingertips.
“Should we join them?” He inclines his head toward the living room and you nod.
Following in his footsteps, you wave a quick greeting to Jake before taking a seat next to Heeseung, enough space between you and Sunghoon for you to relax slightly.
“How do you and Jake know each other?” You ask, searching for something to fill the silence, to keep the conversation flowing. “Do you play soccer together?”
Heeseung shakes his head. “No, we’ve been friends since elementary school. But I am on the basketball team, which helps. I feel like student athletes just kind of get each other, you know?”
You do know, and you tell him as much. The crazy schedule, the unwavering commitment. It’s much easier to explain to someone that’s living through the exact same thing.
“Speaking of which, you’re a figure skater, right? For the university across town.”
You arch a brow. “I’m surprised Jake told you so much about you.”
“Not nearly enough,” he flirts, and this time it’s blatant.
You take another sip of your drink with upturned lips, weighing a response on your tongue. Before you can decide how many cards you’d like to show, you make eye contact across the room with the one person you were hoping to avoid.
Sunghoon looks equally—scratch that—even more displeased to see you. Jawline so taught you could cut your finger on it and lips drawn in a straight line, he’s pissed where he locks eyes with you from his seat. Sunghoon is the one to avert his eyes first. Throwing back whatever’s in his cup, he slices through the moment of tension with a knife.
If Heeseung notices the way your breath splutters, he doesn’t comment. Thankfully, Jungwon chooses the next moment to say his hellos and introduce you to the boys you hadn’t recognized earlier.
“Sunoo,” he nods towards the boy he’d been sitting with earlier, who offers a friendly greeting. “And that’s Jay, over by Sunghoon. And you’ve already met Heeseung.”
“And you all go to school here?”
“Yeah,” Jungwon nods. “Jay and I live together, and Sunoo is Niki’s roommate.”
“You’re deep in enemy territory,” Heeseung elbows you lightly, teasing. “What are we gonna do with you?”
You lift your now empty glass towards him, grinning. “Get me another drink, hopefully.”
Sending you a wink, he takes the glass from your outstretched hand before standing from the couch. “On it.” You watch his back retreat into the kitchen, oblivious of the second one that follows it a handful of moments later.
Jay, as it turns out, is not an athlete, but does play guitar for a local band your friend has been raving to you about for ages. He’s already promising you two sets of complimentary tickets to every one of their upcoming shows by the time you realize Heeseung’s been gone for a while. Too long.
Excusing yourself, you head toward the kitchen. And it’s just your luck that you find the person you’ve spent the evening avoiding, instead of the one you’re searching for. Even with the buzz of your first drink fading rapidly, your inhibitions are feeling low.
Sunghoon barely has the chance to register your presence before you’re laying out accusations.
“I know you don’t like me, but do you really have to spend the whole night glaring at me like that? In front of everyone?”
Sunghoon’s shoulders tense, a confirmation that he hears you, but he says nothing. Instead, he just swallows the remainder of his drink in one large gulp. His eyes are still flaring, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you did something to piss him off.
But it’s just like him, to avoid conversations he doesn’t want to have with the end of another drink. To treat you like someone not even worthy of a response. You don’t know why you expected anything different. Scoffing, you notice the full drink sitting on the counter. Heeseung must have had the chance to refill it before disappearing.
You move to step around Sunghoon and reach for it when he finally says, “I’m not glaring at you.”
The gaze you level him with is incredulous. “Do you think I’m stupid? I have eyes—”
“For all I know you are stupid!” Sunghoon sighs, drags an open palm down the length of his face. “I mean, are you really gonna let some guy you just met pour your drinks all night?”
“Heeseung?” You’re confused why all of his rage seems to be directed towards something so insignificant. “He’s Jake’s roommate”
“And a complete stranger to you.”
It’s infuriating, the way he assumes his opinion should hold any weight in your life. The way he thinks he has any say in your decisions. “So should I avoid all the food now too?” You’re being petty now for the sake of it. “I mean, since you’ve been in here unsupervised for quite a while now.” You take another step towards your drink and he moves, blocking your path with his body.
When you look up, you find his eyes already trained on you, and there’s no ice in them now. Just pure, unadulterated heat. Fire. Flames that lick the base of your spine. “You’re so fucking agitating, you know that?”
“I’m agitating?” You take another step forward, hoping the proximity will force him away. It doesn’t. If anything, he leans into it. Into you.
You reach for the drink again. This time, he stops you himself. Fingers of his unrestricted hand wrapping around your wrist.
“Yeah.” His words are low, voice a caress even as it drips venom. You feel his breath ghost across your cheekbone. “Real fucking agitating.”
Your eyes are still locked on his, and you search them for a hint of something coherent, something that makes sense. Every bone in your body drawn taught, it’s as if muscle memory reverts you to the last moment you were like this, the last moment he held you this close, body entwined with his own in a familiar embrace. Your wrist slackens in his grasp.
Last time, he dropped you. Sent you scattering across ice until the only thing you could taste was the bitterness of defeat and the sharp sting of humiliation.
Last time, he let you fall.
You have no idea what he’ll do now.
In the end, it’s the sound of approaching footsteps that has the two of you springing apart, your wrist falling from his grip. In the scramble, you remember your original target.
Despite the long melted ice, this drink feels even cooler in your grip, a stark contrast to the simmering heat just beneath your skin.
When Heeseung enters, he’s tucking his phone into his pocket with an apologetic look. “Sorry, I had to take a call. My brother gets chatty at the worst times.” Nodding to your hand, he smiles, “You found your drink.”
“Yeah, I did.” You take a step closer to the living room, closer to Heeseung. Further from Sunghoon.
Glancing between the two of you, there’s a hint of uncertainty when Heeseung asks if you want to rejoin the others in the living room.
You put his worries to ease and your questions to rest when you agree easily, not even bothering to give Sunghoon a second thought.
You do seek his gaze one last time, though, before you follow Heeseung back to the party. Looking directly at him, you raise your glass in a mock toast. Without breaking eye contact, you bring the cup to your lips, swallowing half the drink in one long sip. When you do finally turn away, it’s to find the empty seat next to Heeseung.
The rest of the evening passes in a pleasant blur, trading stories and laughs with the people around you while Heeseung keeps the seat at your side warm. Sunghoon does you the favor of disappearing from sight after your stand off in the kitchen.
It’s easy to relax into the company of everyone else, so much so that you don’t see Sunoo until you’re running right into him, the contents of his cup saturating the front of your shirt.
It’s a problem Heeseung is quick to solve, and the gray hoodie he offers you is cozier than any of your own with a scent that’s almost addicting.
He’s sweet, you think. Sweet and charming and forward in all of the right ways. It’s solidified when he offers to join you on the porch when you tell him you’re stepping outside for some fresh air. It’s cemented when he accepts your refusal with nothing but a smile and the request that you “come back quick.”
Stepping outside, it takes you a moment to realize that you’re not alone. It would appear that your earlier assumption that Sunghoon must have gone back to his place was wrong. There’s no drink in his hand, but the way he sways with the gentle midnight breeze makes you think he’s still working through everything he downed earlier.
Silently, you glance up at the cloudless night sky, at the way the stars seem to wrap around you. Gaze returning to Sunghoon’s back, you suppose the simplest course of action would be to leave before he realizes you’re here. You turn to do just that, to make good on your promise to Heesung, when the sound of your name stops you in your tracks.
Or at least, you think that’s what he says. It’s hard to tell, with the way his syllables and sounds slur together. Turning back towards him, you find him already looking at you. He repeats your name, and this time around, it’s a bit clearer.
His eyes trace a downward line from your face to your change in clothes. Something in his face crumples, withers.
“‘M sorry,” he slurs, words not lining up quite right through the inebriation.
“What?”
“That day.” The sudden onset of sincerity in his tone makes him seem more sober than he is. “I should have caught you.”
The stars in the sky suddenly don’t seem so far away. You must have heard him wrong. A crease forms between your eyebrows, eyes scanning over his features. They’re laid open in their honesty, no trace of deception.
“I wanted to catch you. I tried to.” He sighs. “Was my fault.”
“I…” You search for words, for the vindication you’d always imagined you’d feel at his admission. In its absence, you find only confusion and an odd pang of regret. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“Sorry for what? Why are you bringing that up?”
He just shakes his head, eyes falling to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. Like a broken record. His pain is wrapped up in there too, trapped in a loop time has never quite let it escape.
When you return to the party, it’s with a jumbled excuse of needing to check on a pet cat you don’t have.
In the haste of it all, you forget to so much as exchange numbers with Heeseung. But you do find the time to pull Jake aside on your way out the door, to make sure that he helps Sunghoon get home safe.
…
The next morning greets you with a pounding headache and an unfamiliar hoodie draped over the back of your desk chair. It takes a moment of searching through hazy memories before recollection of that particular string of events finds you.
With a sigh, you head out in search of water and Advil, sending Jake a quick message that you’ll stop by his apartment later to return Heeseung’s hoodie.
Even a handful of hours later, you can’t decide if you hope Heeseung is home or not. It’s a Saturday afternoon after a long night, so you figure the odds are high. But you still can’t pinpoint whether that feeling in your gut is excitement or dread.
In an effort to delay the inevitable, you take a detour before visiting Jake’s apartment again. Your rival university’s sports complex is just as nice as you remember it, large, pristine buildings that hold everything an athletics department could dream of. Fondly, you remember the first time you skated in this stadium, back in middle school. It had felt so big, then, so special, to be skating for such a large crowd.
It felt even more special to be sharing the ice with someone who put dreams in your head and butterflies in your stomach. Still fairly new to pair skating, the two of you had put on a program with a less than favorable amount of deduction.
But still. It was yours. It was special. It was shared.
You wonder if he knew then, that one day he would be the reigning king of this very same rink.
Probably, you think. Park Sunghoon never had the habit of letting things feel impossible.
Looking down at the boot on your foot, you miss it, all of it, all at once. The late nights. The early mornings. The bruises and cuts and aching muscles. The determination after defeat. The elation after glory. The feeling of flying every time blade touches ice.
The sign posted next to the stadium is an advertisement, a reminder, of the upcoming regional championships. There’s a pang of loss, a moment of grief, for your program that will have to wait for next year.
But your x-rays are coming back better every time, and Dr. Kim is sure you’ll be back on the ice by the time spring comes.
For the first time in a long time, you think it’ll be okay. You know you’ll be okay.
In front of you, the stadium door opens, and you realize you’re standing right in front of the exit.
“Sorry,” you mutter, quickly moving to get out of the way, but then you take a closer look. “Coach Kang?” you ask, just as she says your name with the same air of disbelief.
It’s an odd feeling of synchronicity, to stumble into your childhood skating coach just as you’re reminiscing on the past.
“It’s been so long,” she beams, pulling you in for a warm hug. “What are you doing here?”
“Just visiting a friend. What about you?”
“Coaches’ meeting,” she explains. “Trying to see if I can get some of my junior skaters in to watch a few practices before regionals.” Nudging you with her shoulder, she adds, “speaking of which, how’s your program coming along? Are you getting excited?”
You shake your head. “I’m actually off the ice for this one.” Glancing down, you lift your booted foot in explanation. “Ankle fracture has me out for the rest of the season.”
“Oh, no.” Coach Kang places a consolatory hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. That has to be so hard.”
“It’s okay, actually.” You don’t know who’s more surprised, her at your admission, or you at the fact that you actually mean it. “Everything is healing up nicely, so I’m looking forward to an even better program next year.”
“Well look at you, all grown up.” She smiles. “I can say that thirteen-year-old you would not have had such a good attitude about it. Honestly, I’m surprised a fracture was enough to stop you. You were always so stubborn about things. You and Sunghoon.” She lets out a short laugh as your shoulders tense at the mention of him. “I was just thinking about you two the other day, actually. We had a skater fracture his tailbone and argue until he was blue in the face that he still wanted to compete.” Shaking her head, she adds, “It reminded me of that time Sunghoon insisted on skating even though he’d just sprained his wrist.” She shakes her head again, releases a small laugh. “Never could keep you two off the ice.”
It all checks out, the stubbornness, the determination even when it was stupid. But you’re hung up on one detail. You’re sure you could list every one of Sunghoon’s skating injuries just as thoroughly as he could. But before the current one, you can’t recall any wrist injuries. “What? When did he sprain his wrist?”
Coach Kang waves her hand flippantly, like the sinking feeling in your gut isn’t intensifying with every passing moment, like she isn’t about to confirm a realization you’re already dreading. “Oh, you remember. It was just a few days before nationals that one year.”
That one year. She skirts around it, for your sake probably. But you know exactly what she means, when she’s referring to.
And suddenly, you’re falling through air again, plummeting towards ice as a hand makes a desperate attempt to catch you. As sheer will alone is no match for injury weakened bones and ligaments and muscles. As you’re sliding across frozen ground and he’s gripping his wrist with pain on his face and terror in his eyes.
As your head spins, spots clouding your vision from the force of the impact. Before the world goes black, your eyes search for him.
And in those last few moments of consciousness, you watch as his mouth moves to form words you can’t hear.
“I’m sorry.”
…
Raising your fist, you pound at the door again. One, two, three times. At this rate, your knuckles will be bloody before you get a response.
But before you can start your assault on the wood in front of you again, the door swings open slowly, revealing a familiar frame.
“You absolute idiot.”
“Well hello to you too.” Rubbing at his eyes, you appear to have just woken him from a nap. If his head is feeling anything like yours was this morning, you almost feel sorry.
But there are more pressing matters at hand. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“That I’m an idiot? Probably not.”
“That you sprained your wrist three days before nationals? That you skated anyway? That you attempted to catch a person quite literally spinning through the air with a wrist injury?”
A beat of silence passes.
And then another.
Sunghoon suddenly looks wide awake. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh. What the hell were you thinking?” There’s fire in your eyes, an anger that’s directed towards him but not in the ways he’s used to.
He pauses for a moment, eyes searching your features for another beat. Finally, he sighs. “Would you have let me skate if I did?”
It’s not the answer you expect. And it’s just like him, to answer a question with one of his own. “I… what?”
“You heard me.” His eyes don’t leave yours. “Would you have let me get on the ice if you knew I was hurt?”
And what is it, him and his habit of asking ridiculous questions like they don’t have obvious answers. “What kind of question is that? Of course not. No one in their right mind would have let you do that program with a wrist sprain, much less your partner. And I love Coach Kang, but I’m about to file a negligence suit against her, because what the hell kind of—”
“Stop talking.”
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry,” he grimaces, and you’re still getting used to the way apologies sound on his lips. “That came out wrong. What I was trying to say was that you… Well, I… I mean…” He trails off for the third time, casts a tentative look at the way your eyebrows only raise higher and higher every time he stops a train of thought in its tracks. His gaze falls down, somewhere between your nose and chin. An exhale passes through parted lips. Something in his resolve slips. “Oh, fuck it.”
And then he’s kissing you.
Lips against lips and hands in your hair. It’s messy and awkward, and you can’t quite get the timing right.
Sunghoon pulls back a fraction of an inch, catching his breath and letting you do the same.
“What are you doing?”
There’s heat in his eyes and fondness too, a soft sort of expression that only melts further every time he looks at you. But now there’s anxiety in the mix, a crippling fear that he’s misjudged everything entirely, done something horribly wrong.
“I’m sorry.” Before today, you could count his apologies on one hand. Now, you’re running out of fingers. “Did you not want—”
This time, it’s you that pulls him down, hands lacing around the nape of his neck, exhaling a soft sigh against parted lips that sends his mind spinning.
And it’s only the second time, but it’s already better. Already a natural rhythm that the two of you seem to fall into with a little more grace.
The expanse of his door is cold against your back when Sunghoon pulls you into his apartment with his good hand, and he’s a quick study. Attempt number three is an even greater improvement as hands search for new skin to discover and things start to fall into place, one at a time.
Reaching for Heeseung’s forgotten hoodie, Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to toss it somewhere outside your current plane of existence. In this moment, you exist only within the space the two of you occupy, everything else an afterthought.
And you have the feeling attempt number four will be your best yet.
…
epilogue
“Are you ever gonna join me or do I just have to stay out here looking stupid forever?”
You don’t even take a moment to consider. “The second one.”
“Come on,” Sunghoon pleads, skating back towards you where you remain planted firmly to the bench on the perimeter of the rink. He moves towards you with a grace that used to inspire a raging, stomping green monster of envy. Now, you just admire the way he cuts across the ice with the agility of a dancer. “It’s fun out here, I promise.”
Avoiding his gaze, you let your eyes fall to your feet instead. They’re already laced up in your favorite pair of skates, black boot all but forgotten since you had it removed at your last visit to Dr. Min’s office. Since he gave you the green light to return to the thing you love most.
You had been ecstatic then. Brimming with so much extra energy Sunghoon had to physically intervene to prevent you from accidentally knocking over an elderly lady on your way out of the hospital. But now, with the opportunity you’ve been dreaming of for long, hard months at your fingertips, something in you hesitates.
Sunghoon says your name, and suddenly he’s serious. “This is all you’ve been talking about for months.” Sliding down onto his knees in front of you, you’re suddenly at eye level. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He casts a doubtful glance. “Really, I just…” It’s hard, to speak your fears into existence, to let them take flight. Even if the boy in front of you makes it a little easier. “What if it’s not what I imagined?”
It’s a million little worries wrapped up in one. What if your ankle isn’t the same? What if it’s never the same? What if you’re not as good as you were? What if you’re not good enough?
Sunghoon hears them all, and puts them to rest with a smile, a gentle touch as he rests his forehead against yours. “You and that big brain. Always worrying about the wrong things.”
“Hey! I—”
“It won’t be what you imagined.” He draws back a few inches, and your eyes have nowhere to land but on his own. “It will be different. It will feel weird, and your legs will feel wobbly, your muscles will feel weak, and your ankle might give out.”
Your lips flatten into a thin line. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re doing a terrible job.”
Sunghoon just pinches your cheeks together, forcing your lips to purse. “So you’ll show up. Over and over again. Every day until your skates start to feel like a second pair of feet and the ice starts to feel like home again. Until your ankle and your muscles and your stamina are all built back up, in a way that’s different from before but will feel familiar before you know it.” He presses a single, delicate kiss to the tip of your nose. “Until I’m dragging you off the ice instead of onto it, because your boyfriend needs attention and is feeling a little jealous of all the time you’re spending here instead of with him.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re so needy. It’s gross.”
Sunghoon only smiles. “Only for you.”
This time, when he gets back on his feet and extends a hand, you take it. You follow him onto the ice and headfirst towards your insecurities feeling a little bit like a newborn deer, a bike without its training wheels.
He laughs when you stumble and brushes hair out of your face when you pout.
After an hour, you’re already feeling more solid than before. After two, that feeling of flying is starting to return.
It’s somewhere just before hour three when Sunghoon says, “Remember how I told you earlier that you’re worrying about the wrong things?”
“Yeah.” You drag the word out slowly, not liking the hint of deviousness in his sudden grin.
“This is what I was talking about. Instead of worrying about getting back on the ice, you should be worrying about how long it will take you to be able to beat me on a lap around the rink.”
“You absolute asshole. I fractured my ankle!”
Already halfway around the rink, Sunghoon just laughs.
…
outtake—five years ago.
Sunghoon’s vision is blurry. It’s a terrible combination of things—the exhilaration of the spotlight, the pain in his wrist, the grief of an egregious error. The sudden onset of tears that sting in the corners of his eyes and fall without his permission.
Despite all of it, he finds his way back to his dressing room. Choking back a sob, he reaches for the glass of water he’d left out earlier. It tastes acidic on his tongue, burns like regret on the way down.
Stupid, he was so stupid. His hands tangle in his hair. He wants to pull it out. Wants to scream until his throat is raw and he can’t anymore.
It was a terrible enough decision to gamble his own fate on an unhealed injury, but as the reality of the situation comes crashing down around him, he realizes he’s done something much worse.
Eyes open, eyes closed. It doesn’t matter. All he can see is you, sprawled out on ice, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes dazed at the impact.
The unexpected impact. Because you trusted him. You trusted him so much that of course you’d never considered what you would do if his hands failed, if his wrist gave out. If he decided to risk your program, your fate, you, all on a whim, on an inflated sense of self-importance and a lack of regard for the injury he was so certain he could power through.
He couldn’t imagine it, three days ago. Telling you that he was injured, that he couldn’t skate the program. He couldn’t imagine watching as the features he bashfully considered so, painfully pretty twisted into disappointment. Into anger.
So he turned his shame into resolve, into determination. One that allowed him to catch you with a fractured wrist in every practice run, every time, except for the time that mattered. Biting back grimaces and cries of pain all for the fool’s hope of seeing you smile in a few days’ time, a gold medal around your neck.
Instead, he got to see you spinning through the air, slipping through his fingers, landing with a sickening thud. He wants to ask what hospital they took you to, wants to ignore the pain in his wrist a little longer and run there himself, just to make sure that you’re okay.
But then he imagines the way you’ll look at him when you see him. The way all that disappointment and anger he’d wanted to avoid so desperately will surely be all you have to offer him.
He understands. He does. He wouldn’t want to see him either.
Turning away from the mirror, he tucks away his shame for the future. But that only leaves his gaze landing on the bouquet of flowers sitting on the table. The one he’d spent nearly an hour agonizing over, the one his mother had assured him a dozen times you would love. The one he made sure had all of your favorite colors.
He snuck his own favorite in there too, in hopes of what exactly he can’t be sure, but he knows he likes the way they look together—your favorite color and the deep blue irises that represent his own.
It seems to stupid now. After everything, after this, he can’t imagine you want his flowers, and even less his favorite color. He can’t imagine that you want anything to do with him.
So he doesn’t seek you out. Not in the hospital that day, not when you’re cleared to practice and back on the ice again, not when chance has the two of you colliding five years later.
Not until he watches you walk away from him with all that anger and resentment and disappointment he’s been so avoiding for so long. Not until it strikes him in the face and he realizes that he can’t live with it, can’t let bygones be bygones and hope time and the absence of him in your life have healed you for the better when it still hurts to even look at you.
On a dressing room table, five years in the past, a bouquet of flowers wilts.
And Sunghoon learns that with love and patience and a little bit of sunlight, beautiful things, even the fragile ones, bloom when you water them.
.....
note: thank you for reading! as always, comments, reblogs, and asks are very much appreciated :D
#sunghoon fanfiction#enhypen fanfiction#park sunghoon#sunghoon#enhypen x reader#sunghoon x reader#sunghoon x you#enhypen x you#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon fanfic#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon angst#enhypen imagines#enhypen scenarios
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DCxDP fan fic Idea: Danny Fenton's Ex
Danny wants to know that he did not go looking for a fight. He merely wanted to have some of the best hot dogs this side of the USA, in Tucker's words. The human world had changed a lot across differnt timelines but his best friend had assure him, this one was particually tasty.
He planned to pop in, hunt down the street cart filled with buns and meat, then pop out of Gotham. He was meant to visit for less than an hour at most.
He just happened to be at the wrong place and time. It really wasn't his fault! Danny had been minding his own business, using a paper map on the edge of a tall building (his phone had broken in the last ghost fight. Not that it would do any good since it wasn't connected to any living towers), squinting at the streets below, hoping to figure out where he was. The next thing he knew, an angry child leaped out at him with a sword.
Of course, he defended himself! The kid was doing some insane slashes in the air, and Danny had fought enough samurai ghosts to know not to underestimate how powerful a katana indeed was. He had been able to beat the child, encasing his arms in ecto-chains, after a full half hour of combat.
Danny had been dead tired- pun not intended- but just as he thought he was done, a second child had leaped out at him. This one carrying a bo-staff. It took another thirty minutes to beat this one, and just as he was gearing up for a lecture, a third child appeared.
She was wearing all purple and seemed to favor strong kicks. Danny had the bruise to prove it, but just as he could take her down—and stop the other two from escaping since they were attempting to do so—he was attacked by an actual shadow and her red bucket-head friend.
Now, those two were difficult to beat, especially when it was two vs. one. Shadow reacted as if she could predict all of his moves before he even made them, while Bucket Head made incredible shots with his guns covering her attacks.
Danny had already been expelled from his other two fights, so it was a miracle he was able to trick Shadow by allowing more of Phantom to bleed into his fighting style. She couldn't predict the dead!
He ended up on a roof with five children- okay, more like a child, two teenagers, and what could be the early twenties, but they were all young to him. Each was tied up securely with some of his own ecto-chains and glaring- he could feel the hate in their eyes even behind their masks- trying desperately to catch his breath.
"Oh boy, I'm not as young as I used to be. " He gasps between huffs. Maybe Sam was on to something when she lectured them for not having enough greens, normal exercise routines, or even taking vitamins. They really weren't teenagers anymore. "Ugh, I think I pulled something. I need to lie down..."
Just as Danny is allowing himself to slide to the floor, two more shadows jump at him. This time he's far too tired to dodge, and the blue one manages to land a drop kick to his chin. The force has Danny spinning in place, losing his balance, and slamming hard against the roof.
The tied-up children cheer, and if he wasn't a walking bruise right now, Danny would be half tempted to show them all a round two.
"Great Gatsby!" He cries out of reflex, rolling onto his back, ready to take a swing-
"Danny?" a new familiar voice cuts in. The sound is something Danny will never forget, even after all the years they have been apart. He used to fall asleep to that voice, muttering into his hair and warm arms wrapped around him, making promises never kept.
Danny whips his head around to see a man in a bat costume. He squits, studying the strong curve of a very familiar jaw and his voice-
"Wayne?" He blinks. Those lips- so familiar and different all in one- curve into a surprise, but please smile. Yes, that is definitely Bruce.
"Danny, I haven't seen you since-"
"You broke up with me through a letter on the hotel note-pad? A note-pad that I had to pay for since you touched it!?" Danny hisses, suddenly energized with pure, unadulterated rage. The man freezes.
"I, uh, see you're still upset about that." Wayne winces, shuffling on his feet- Bruce Wayne, the little human he found wandering the Infinite Realms, rescued, helped, trained, and had become human again to have the man dump him to "find himself."
Danny knew he found a lot of ladies on his self-discovery trip. He never forgave him. It has been embarrassing to have to return to the Realms to his friends' knowing eyes and his sister's sad shrug.
You knew a human could never understand or live with beings like us. We aren't like them anymore. She had told him. It was bond to end in disaster.
"What is happening?" The bow-staff kid asks
"I don't know, but I don't like it," Blue tells him.
Danny ignores them to glare at the man. "What the hell are you doing here, Wayne?"
Wayne frowns. "You used to call me Bruce."
"I used to do a lot of things, Wayne." Danny stands, gesturing to the group of people he has captured. "Can you kindly disappear again? I'm in the middle of something."
The man makes no move to leave. Instead, he tilts his head. "Those are my children."
"Of course they are." Danny rolls his eyes. "Tell them to not attack innocent tourists-"
"Are you here on vacation? Would you like me to give you a tour?"
The familiar words- the ones from their first date- make rage boil in his core. "Oh, go burn in the worst levels of hell!"
He doesn't stick around for a reply, twisting in a tight circle and ripping a hole into the Realms. He ignores Wayne's call of his name; it's too late- fifteen years too late- and shifts back into Phantom.
He prays he never sees that deadbeat again. Or the family his wife gave him. Not that Danny cares; it's been years, and he could care less what Bruce Wayne and his stupid kin got up to.
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"Bruce, I say this with all my heart, what the fuck was that?"
"That was the one I let get away."
There is a moment of silence before Damian speaks up. "I demand to be taken out of my misery. Mercy, kill me now, Drake."
#dcxdpdabbles#dc x dp crossover#Danny Fenton's ex#Part 1#spirit halloween#Bruce fumbled Danny#Ghost king who is more other then human#Danny was just vibing before the bat clan came swinging#Damian mistook him for a villian#his siblings were trying to save him#Danny is stronger but they gave him a good fight#Bruce misses Danny
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[ID: A decorative orange ceramic plate with a pyramid of green herbs and sesame seeds, topped with deep red sumac and more sesame seeds. End ID]
زعتر فلسطيني / Za'tar falastinia (Palestinian spice blend)
Za'tar (زَعْتَر; also transliterated "za'atar," "zaatar" and "zatar") is the name of a family of culinary herbs; it is also the name of a group of spice blends made by mixing these herbs with varying amounts of olive oil, sumac, salt, roasted sesame seeds, and other spices. Palestinian versions of za'tar often include caraway, aniseed, and roasted wheat alongside generous portions of sumac and sesame seeds. The resulting blend is bold, zesty, and aromatic, with a hint of floral sourness from the sumac, and notes of licorice and anise.
Za'tar is considered by Palestinians to have particular national, political, and personal importance, and exists as a symbol of both Israeli oppression and Palestinian home-making and resistance. Its major components, olive oil and wild thyme, are targeted by the settler state in large part due to their importance to ecology, identity, and trade in Palestine—settlers burn and raze Palestinian farmers' olive trees by the thousands each year. A 1977 Israeli law forbade the harvesting of wild herbs within its claimed borders, with violators of the law risking fines and confiscation, injury, and even death from shootings or land mines; in 2006, za'tar was further restricted, such that even its possession in the West Bank was met with confiscation and fines.
Despite the blanket ban on harvesting wild herbs (none of which are endangered), Arabs are the only ones to be charged and fined for the crime. Samir Naamnih calls the ban an attempt to "starve us out," given that foraging is a major source of food for many Palestinians, and that picking and selling herbs is often the sole form of income for impoverished families. Meanwhile, Israeli farmers have domesticated and farmed za'tar on expropriated Palestinian land, selling it (both the herb and the spice mixture) back to Palestinians, and later marketing it abroad as an "Israeli" blend; they thus profit from the ban on wild harvesting of the herb. This farming model, as well as the double standard regarding harvesting, refer back to an idea that Arabs are a primitive people unfit to own the land, because they did not cultivate or develop it as the settlers did (i.e., did not attempt to recreate a European landscape or European models of agriculture); colonizing and settling the land are cast as justified, and even righteous.
The importance of the ban on foraging goes beyond the economic. Raya Ziada, founder of an acroecology nonprofit based in Ramallah, noted in 2019 that "taking away access to [wild herbs] doesn't just debilitate our economy and compromise what we eat. It's symbolic." Za'tar serves variously as a symbol of Palestinians' connection to the land and to nature; of Israeli colonial dispossession and theft; of the Palestinian home ("It’s a sign of a Palestinian home that has za’tar in it"); and of resistance to the colonial regime, as many Palestinians have continued to forage herbs such as za'tar and akkoub in the decades since the 1977 ban. Resistance to oppression will continue as long as there is oppression.
Palestine Action has called for bail fund donations to aid in their storming, occupying, shutting down, and dismantling of factories and offices owned by Israeli arms manufacturer Elbit Systems. Also contact your representatives in the USA, UK, and Canada.
Ingredients:
Za'tar (Origanum syriacum), 250g once dried (about 4 cups packed)
250g (1 2/3 cup) sesame seeds
170g (3/4 cup) Levantine sumac berries, or ground sumac (Rhus coriaria)
100g (1/2 cup) wheat berries (optional)
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp aniseed (optional)
1/2 Tbsp caraway seeds (optional)
Levantine wild thyme (also known as Bible hyssop, Syrian oregano, and Lebanese oregano) may be purchased dried online. You may also be able to find some dried at a halal grocery store, where it will be labelled "زعتر" (za'tar) and "thym," "thyme," or "oregano." Check to make sure that what you're buying is just the herb and not the prepared mixture, which is also called "زعتر." Also ensure that what you're buying is not a product of Israel.
If you don't have access to Levantine thyme, Greek or Turkish oregano are good substitutes.
Wheat berries are the wheat kernel that is ground to produce flour. They may be available sold as "wheat berries" at a speciality health foods store. They may be omitted, or replaced with pre-ground whole wheat flour.
Instructions:
1. Harvest wild thyme and remove the stems from the leaves. Wash the leaves in a large bowl of water and pat dry; leave in a single layer in the sun for four days or so, until brittle. Skip this step if using pre-dried herbs.
2. Crumble leaves by rubbing them between the palms of your hands until they are very fine. Pass through a sieve or flour sifter into a large bowl, re-crumbling any leaves that are too coarse to get through.
Crumbling between the hands is an older method. You may also use a blender or food processor to grind the leaves.
3. Mix the sifted thyme with a drizzle of olive oil and work it between your hands until incorporated.
4. Briefly toast sumac berries, caraway seeds, and aniseed in a dry skillet over medium heat, then grind them to a fine powder in a mortar and pestle or a spice mill.
5. Toast sesame seeds in a dry skillet over medium heat, stirring constantly, until deeply golden brown.
6. (Optional) In a dry skillet on medium-low, toast wheat berries, stirring constantly, until they are deeply golden brown. Grind to a fine powder in a spice mill. If using ground flour, toast on low, stirring constantly, until browned.
Some people in the Levant bring their wheat to a local mill to be ground after toasting, as it produces a finer and more consistent texture.
7. Mix all ingredients together and work between your hands to incorporate.
Store za'tar in an airtight jar at room temperature. Mix with olive oil and use as a dipping sauce with bread.
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