#team miso studio

[wordsofelie]

🎮Walls

Kenma x gn!reader

Summary: Life is falling into place for you: a spacious apartment, a good job, a healthy routine. That is, until you meet your neighbour—and the man is an asshole.

Content warning: time skip setting, manga spoilers, angst with a happy ending, alcohol consumption, mention of vomit, avoided sexual assault, swearing

Words count: 7.9k

Life feels like it’s falling into place. You have a new apartment in central Tokyo, in a building you used to admire when you were younger—one that made your neck ache from staring up at it. You’ve also started your own company, opening an architect's office that has been rewarding and you’ve made yourself a name in the field.

“What about your love life?” Your grandma asks.

And there it is—perhaps the one area of your life you’ve been neglecting. Well, that and your social life in general. Your work takes all your time. On the weekends you’d rather work or go to the gym or meal prep. Anyway.

“I don’t have time.” You answer casually. You always answer that.

Despite hearing this response hundreds of times, your grandmother still doesn’t seem satisfied. She hands you a box of miso soup and a bag filled with fruits and vegetables.

You chuckle, “thank you obaa-chan.”

“Are you sure you don’t need ojii-san to help you move?”

She points to your grandfather, asleep on the couch. That one couch that looks older than you and that you’ve seen your whole life. You often complain about the several holes and stains on it, but deep down, you know you would cry if they ever decided to get rid of it.

You put on a polite smile, “I think he needs to rest.”

The bag of food is well settled in your bike's front tray and when you start riding, you take a last glance at your grandmother waving from her window. You smile.

It’s only an hour by train, one and a half by bike, from your grandparents’ to your new apartment. Now that you have enough money and don’t have to live in a cramped studio that oddly looks like a garbage room, and with the university loans finally paid off, you chose to stay nearby—to be close to the family who raised you.

Your parents moved abroad when you were in junior high and they gave you a choice, which was probably the only time in your life that they listened to your opinion. And you wanted to stay in Japan, stay close to the two people you loved the most in the world. Your obaa-san and ojii-san, in their eternal kindness, sold their house in the countryside and moved to Tokyo so you didn’t have to change schools. You never told them, you guess because you were too grateful for what they did, but you wished you had left this obnoxious city, you wished you had grown up in their old wooden house instead of that tiny two-room apartment they brought—probably worth a lifetime of their work.

And the funny thing is, no matter how much you dislike the city, you stayed—for university, and now for work. The gods have a strange sense of humour.

You reach your apartment faster than expected. Outside, a few cardboard boxes are waiting for you alongside a team of sturdy men to help you lift them. You want to believe you could handle everything yourself, but after the first three trips between the sixth floor and the moving truck, you are overwhelmed with humility.

And remember, now you have the money to pay for this type of service.

You’ve struggled enough when you were younger—isn’t it finally your time to enjoy life?

The movers are surprised when you hand them generous tips with both hands. They bow a few times in gratitude. You want to tell them that you know what it’s like to have physical and tiring jobs like theirs, your grandfather has been there too—carpenter, brick mason, plumber, gardener, selling fish on markets from early morning.

Once they’re gone, you start to unpack everything. You keep a notebook with you to note down what you need to buy—extra sheets, dishwashing detergent, another glass of wine (if you ever invite someone over, the idea makes you cringe a little because gods know when that will happen, you don’t cross out the word anyway).

The first evening in your new place is… special. It’s quiet, spacious, clean in your living room, everything that you’ve ever dreamed of. You decide to open a bottle of beer and turn on your computer.

You still can’t believe you have a proper room where you can work, an office at home. It’s beyond what you imagined when you graduated from university.

It’s 8 p.m on a Sunday but you think that preparing for the week ahead won’t kill anyone. So, you sit down at your desk and check your emails.

The calm only lasts half an hour.

The first scream rings out, startling you so much that you almost choke on your drink. It takes a few seconds for your heart to return to a normal rhythm.

It is unusual. Absolutely, not like the screams in films. It doesn't sound like a woman’s scream, nor like someone needs help. Still, you ponder whether you should take a look outside or not.

 You’re about to finish writing an email when you hear the second scream, followed by thud of a fist hitting a table. This time you’re convinced of two things: first that it comes from the neighbour next door and second, that neighbour is raging over something.

A million scenarios play out in your mind. The worst-case scenario is that someone is being hurt—perhaps a child or a partner. If that’s the case, you can’t stand by and do nothing.

Barely a minute passes before you find yourself standing outside the neighbour’s door.

You don’t know where the courage to stand here comes from because when it’s time to knock on the door, all this courage disappears. What if they are drunk? What if they beat you up in return? What is your company going to become if you go to the hospital? What if you never see your grandparents again?

“D’ya need something?”

A low voice coming from behind you asks and when you turn around, you’re faced with a tall man with dark hair.

“I-”

He smirks as he crossed his arms over his chest and waits for your answer.

“Are you a fan?” He finally questions when the silence stretches for too long.

You blink, confused. “I heard screams,” is all you manage to say.

The man's reaction is anything but predictable.

He bursts into laughter—a loud and weird laugh, that you decide not to comment on.

“Ah, Kenma is probably playing LoL again. I told him to quit. It’s bad for his heart.”

Every word is said too fast, too casually. “Kenma? LoL?”

“You’re the new neighbour?” The stranger ignores your questions. Maybe you’ve whispered them.

“I am.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him to keep it down,” he says, already turning toward the door.

“Thanks… I guess.”

“I’m Kuroo Testurou by the way.” He calls over his shoulder as he steps inside the apartment. You simply say your name in return before he adds, “have a lovely evening.”

And just like that he's gone and you're left here, confused.

At least the screams have stopped, and you know the name of the person next door. It’s better than nothing and you won't end in a crime documentary about a murderous neighbour.

You go to bed early that night, hoping that this was the last time you would get interrupted working.

It turns out, you get interrupted every evening. The wall separating your office from the neighbour room is paper-thin. It makes you crazy.

Some nights it’s screams of anger, other it’s just uninterrupted chatting. You can ever hear the incessant clicks of keyboard keys.

You want to convince yourself that you can handle the situation, but when you start having dark circles under your eyes, when you pour orange juice instead of milk in your coffee, when you don’t turn to the right street to go to your grandparents house and arrive an hour later to their lunch, your obaa-san starts worrying about your heath (both physical and mental health).

“It’s been two weeks since you’ve moved,” she informs you as if you didn’t know when you started being woken up every hour of every night. “And you’ve been acting weird, my love.”

“My neighbour isn’t the quiet type.” It’s the first time you explain the situation to her. You don't want them to burden them with your problems, but fatigue brings out some honesty in you and the words leave your mouth before you can register them.

Logically, she advises you to go and talk to them. “Be kind and explain calmly that you work from home and need to rest because your job is very demanding,” she says. She can’t help but speak with pride when she mentions your work, and you want to smile. But you don’t because all you can do with your mouth is yawn.

“I’ll go if they don’t stop.” She thinks she looks terrifying with her pink apron and her pointed finger. You get up and kiss her cheek.

“I’ll do it, don’t worry.”

You’ve depended on them your whole life, you won’t bother them again.

It’s strangely silent that evening and with a heart full of naivety, you believe you will finally have a good night of sleep. But before that, you need to work on a very important project, one in collaboration with the city hall, probably the most important of your career so far and that you won against renowned architects’ companies. The first sketch is done, and you can start doing the 3D model now.

That is until you hear the neighbour talk and talk and talk.

Enough.

You don’t even check your reflection in the mirror or bother changing into a decent outfit. You simply grab a jacket, put your shoes, and this time, you dare to knock on the door.

You must have been very insistent or perhaps the knocks were loud enough to drown out whatever music or phone call he was listening to—because after three or four sharp taps, he finally emerges from his cave.

The man is nothing like you imagined. Long hair with remnants of blond colouring, yellow eyes narrowed as if annoyed. He is not small but not as tall as who you assumed was his friend. His attitude reminds you of one of those nerd boys you avoided in high school, though you would bet he is around your age.

“Huh?” Comes out of his throat.

Your hands clench into fists at your sides when he doesn’t even greet you.

“Good evening.” You try not to bark. You need to be the mature one here otherwise he won’t be receptive. You’ve learned that from dealing with arrogant old men in your job. “I am your new neighbour; I live next door. It’s a pleasure to meet you but I was wondering if you could talk a little bit less...loudly.” You remember the points your grandmother has given you and it’s all you can think about (apart from insults and words you might regret), “I am working from home so it can be hard to focus with your chatting.”

His face turns into furrowed brows and a wrinkled nose. You're pretty sure you hear a sigh escaping his nose. He avoids your gaze and when he meets your eyes again, the annoyed stare has disappeared, and he looks blank again. He's unreadable.

“Sorry. I will be careful from now on.”

His words sound as scripted as yours. A knot in your stomach forms and the palms of your hands start to sweat.

Why in the world does this asshole seem annoyed when you’re the one who hasn’t been able to sleep and work for freaking days?

“Is that all?” He dares to ask.

“I hope it will be.” You threaten with pursed lips and your chin lifts a little.

“Fine.” He mutters and closes the door behind you.

Great. Your neighbour is a shithead.

The gods are unfair sometimes. Life is falling into place for you but they seem to have one last obstacle for you: him. Kenma.

A storm of questions keeps you wake that night, the main one being: what is this guy doing with his life?

Doesn’t he have a job? What is he doing of his days since he doesn’t seem to be sleeping at nights? And how can he afford an apartment like yours when he looks like he just graduated from high school?

Maybe he was born rich—unlike you. Maybe his parents are paying for everything and he just spends the days doing nothing and doing LoL?

What’s a LoL, anyway?

You search the term online and discover it’s a stupid video game. That doesn’t surprise you. Kenma seems like exactly the type to waste time playing video games all day.

You don’t want to play it stupid, but you can’t stop thinking about how detached he looked when you complained (nicely and respectfully). A part of you wants to make him pay, just a little. Your grandma would probably disapprove, but that's fair play, isn't it?

And so, during the day you start putting on music. Musical music, it’s the only genre that helps you focus when you work. You make your phone calls while standing right next to the wall separating you from Kenma. You even move your coffee machine into your office. The closer, the better, right?

Your little revenge lasts a week. You don’t want to be cruel—not that it would matter much, since you assume he’s jobless.

At first, he doesn’t seem to react, but the second you turn off the music and return the coffee machine in the kitchen, the sound of gunfire and monstrous roars make your walls tremble.

You invest in earplugs.

You don’t see him much—which is a good thing. Occasionally, you pass by him in the corridors or the lift. Neither of you speaks. A lazy look from him and a quick movement of your head to avoid his gaze are the only interactions you have. He always wears his hair in a half-ponytail and oversized jumpers, from a brand you don't know and has them in every shade of colour. You almost look up “Bouncing Ball Co.” online but decide you don’t care. You don’t care about anything related to this man. Really, anything.

The other neighbours, however, seem to like him. They smile at him, greet him warmly as if he wasn’t a pain in the ass who plays stupid video games at full volume. You conclude they’ve never had to share a wall with his gaming room.

When you complain about it to your grandparents over tea and sweet potato cakes, your grandfather suggests moving back to their house. Your room, after all, hasn’t changed a bit, with your old drawings and posters still hanging on the walls.

“They should fix the problem, coming back here won’t change anything to the situation.” She says while pouring you another cup of green tea, the hot drink feels good and warms you up, if only a little. “I’ll go talk to that Kenma boy.”

Your grandfather only shrugs, he never wins an argument with her.

“Please don’t,” you beg. Your grandmother does that thing she does when she’s lying—she smiles and closes her eyes.

“Whatever you want, darling.”

You try to stop the chaos by yourself. By trying you mean that you leave notes at his front door (some rather fiery when you’re not in the best mood, others more docile when you have been praised for your work by your peers.)

But the letters pile up, eventually covering the straw mat outside his door. One evening, you hear a child on your floor asking their mother why there are so many envelopes by Kenma’s door. The mother replies, “Oh, those must be letters from fans.”

Fans. This word again. Coming from Kuroo you thought it was sarcasm; the guy looks like he often uses sarcasm even though you don’t really know him, but now it really starts to make you wonder: who really is this man?

When your initial plan doesn’t work, you resort to a more direct approach. Every time you hear noise from the other side of the wall, you pound on it with your fist.

If that rude bastard can’t read a polite note (you fucking said “please”!), he’ll surely understand this.

The only thing keeping you sane is that you’re going away for work for a full week. The train ticket, the hotel, the food, everything is paid by your client and when you finally leave Tokyo you feel a wave of relief. The knot in your stomach that you’ve been carrying for days disappears.

You call your grandma to inform her you’re in the train now.

“Have a safe trip and don’t overwork yourself. Your worth is greater than any project.”

You smile softly, “I know. don’t worry.”

She’s about to hang up, but you interrupt by saying, “And please don’t go to Kenma’s in my absence.”

“Kenma this, Kenma that. It’s always his name on your lips these days.”

You’re glad the train starts moving, you blame the surprise of the movement for the slight skip in your heart, “Bye bye, I’ll call you when I arrive.”

The business trip goes well. You manage to make your voice heard and your opinion valuable. You meet a lot of other architects, some congratulate you for your work, other only glower at you. They envy your position. You’re young, you’re not the child of a well-known person and you still success in everything you undertake.

You meet a man of a year or two your senpai; he’s very polite, smiles a lot and seems genuinely interested in your ideas.

The absolute opposite of your neighbour.

By coincidence, he lives in Tokyo too, and you end up on the same train back. The discussion is easy, mostly about architecture, and you enjoy conversing with someone who truly understands the nuances of your job.

He offers to drive you home since his car is parked near the train station and even if you refuse at first, you finally agree. It’s better than calling a taxi, right? You’re still confused at the fact that you’re the person who sits in a taxi rather than watching them from afar.

You don’t see it coming, the approaches, the undertones. He suggests stopping at a bar, but you decline, you tell him you’re tired, and the more he talks, the more it’s obvious he didn’t offer that ride out of sympathy.

Your throat feels tight, and you start cursing yourself for trusting a complete stranger just because he does the job as you. How stupid.

You finally catch a sight of your apartment complex and even though you liked the hotel room and the calm of it, you’re suddenly desperate for the four walls of your place—no matter how noisy they can be.

“You can stop here,” you tell, perhaps a bit too loudly. You try to make the shakings in your voice away. “Thank you.”

He does as you tell, you’re about to open the door when a cold hand lands on your thigh. A shiver runs through you, and your legs seem paralysed.

“Don’t you want to stay a little longer.”

You can't meet his eyes. “I appreciate the invitation,” you absolutely don’t. “But I really have to go home.”

“Your boyfriend is waiting or something?”

You open your mouth to lie, but the tension in your neck and throat is too strong. In a sudden move, you open the door and babble a “thank you.”

The engine stops and you know he is looming closer to you.

“Wait,” you want to go faster but he whirls you around by taking your arm. “C’mon, don’t be shy. You were all talk on the train, let’s continue the conversation somewhere else. Or maybe you want to invite me over?”

The snicker that tugs at the corner of his lips makes you want to vomit. Just like with your neighbour, you’re done being compliant and if being polite doesn’t work then you might use violence.

“Ah, you’re home.”

You both turn to the voice. The lazy and unbothered voice. Kenma’s voice.

“I brought to make curry, is it fine for you?” He lifts a plastic bag while saying this.

His eyes flick to the man for just a second—brief, almost out of time—but the intensity in his gaze is enough to make him pause, and then, instinctively, take a step back.

“Let’s go,” Kenma tells you simply and you follow him.

He walks behind you, from the moment you step into the lift to when you finally reach your front door. Somehow, you feel safe.

Apologise, thank him. Your mind orders. But your hands can’t stop shaking and your throat is still dry.

“If you need something…” he starts but stops, his gaze shifts awkwardly to the side, as if seeking the right words. “Just knock. On the door or the wall. You seem good at that anyway.”

You’re left speechless when he closes the door.

It takes you a whole minute to find your keys and get inside.

It’s cold. Silent. Dark.

It’s strange how you suddenly feel lonely.

You’ve always dreamed of living in a spacious place like this; but the white walls, the too-cleaned surfaces, the too-tidy shelves are oppressive.

“Ah, you’re home.” Kenma said.

But are you really?

These four walls and you; they’re not warm, not lively.

You curl up in your genkan, your shoes still on, the light still off and you start crying.

You haven’t in months, or maybe in years.

Did you even cry when your parents left? When you’ve been mocked for wearing soiled shoes in school? When your so-called friends called you boring?

You find the strength to shower and crawl into bed. Kenma lets you sleep that night. You close your eyes wondering if he is thinking about you for you are thinking about him.

Kenma is away for the next week, and you wonder what he is doing. You don’t complain about the peace his absence gives you, but you also want to say thank you.

Thank you for two things; of course, for helping you with the man but also for leaving a bento of curry at your doorstep.

I made too much–Kozume Kenma

It is written.

Now you know both his name and family name.

Somehow, the thought makes you smile.

The curry isn’t really good–it’s too salty and the potatoes are too hard. It’s nothing like your obaa-san’s food. Still, you think it deserves an apology for being an asshole with him, not matter how fair you thought it was.

The clean plastic box is waiting for him in your kitchen, wrapped in a pretty furoshiki and when you hear keys and footsteps coming from outside a few days later, you rush out.

“Kozume-san,” you call for him.

“Hello there,” Kuroo answers in its place.

You only notice the tall guy at his side when he speaks.

“Good morning Kuroo-san,” you bow.  

“Heh?” Kenma raises an eyebrow.

“What? You’re surprised because I’m friends with your annoying neighbour.”

“Annoying?” You mumble and a “oops” escapes the dark-haired man.

“His words, not mine.” Kuroo clarifies, pointing a thumb at Kenma, who only sighs in response.

You clear your throat and hand Kenma the box, “thank you for the food. It was...convenient.”

Before you can finish the acknowledgement, Kuroo starts laughing, “convenient. Kenma, man, for gods’ sake, stop cooking.”

Your neighbour takes the box from you and clicks his tongue.

You don’t linger on the goosebumps his fingers leave on your skin.

“My manager said I should eat healthy food.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve been telling you that for years, but you never listen to me. Anyway, we’re going out tonight, wanna come?”

You don’t realise he’s talking to you but the silence stretches for too long and his tilted head suggests he is waiting for an answer,

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“Kuro…” Kenma mumbles and his shoulders slump.

You can't tell if he’s embarrassed or annoyed. He’s so hard to read, it almost upset you.

“Kenma won’t be there,” Kuroo informs as if he isn't standing next to him. “It’s gonna be fun. Apparently, you work a lot, it could be good for you, you know. It’s not just me, by the way, some old friends will come.”

“Okay.”

Kenma widens his eyes and Kuroo smirks. Both seem surprised, though you’re probably the most surprised here.

“Okay.” You repeat, maybe to convince them—or yourself.

“Great, I’ll see you at seven then.”

He grabs Kenma by the shoulder and leads him inside.

Your eyes meet yellow eyes one last time, and your heart skips a beat—or a thousand. Either way, it feels good.

It’s hard to focus on work that day. You keep thinking about what you’re gonna wear, what you’re gonna talk about. What if you make a fool of yourself? What if you’re boring?

Your forehead hits your desk, and a long sigh escapes your lips.

You get ready when it’s time, going for something comfortable and simple, and when seven rings, you find Kuroo standing in front of your door.

“There you are, shall we go?” He offers and though your eyes scan around you, you find no trace of Kenma.

Kuroo said it; your neighbour won’t come.

You knew that, and in lieu of relief, you’re disappointed. You ignore the reason behind it—it doesn’t make sense, but you feel it anyway.

“Sure, let’s go.” You say with a last glance at Kenma’s door, hoping it will open. When it doesn’t, you decide to follow Kuroo.

Kuroo’s friends are fun to be with. There’s Yamamoto, a bit too loud for your taste but nice, then there’s Kai, who’s interesting and makes you comfortable and finally Fukunaga, who is quiet and—something else. The four of them went to the same high school, one from the opposite district where you grew up. They tell you there are usually more of them but one of them is in Russia, another is doing a campaign abroad. Kuroo mentions the other ones, but you don’t remember all the names.

“We’ve got some pretty famous guys in the team,” Kuroo says with pride.

“Kenma the richest though,” Yamamoto complains, and you raise an eyebrow. So, he does come from a wealthy family, you conclude.

Two more join the group, Bokuto and Akaashi, and you can’t help but relate a bit to the latter, with his serious attitude and reserved nature, especially when Kuroo jokes that you’re both workaholics. You don’t deny the assumption.

The evening goes pretty well, faster than expected. You’re not too awkward and find yourself laughing at Fukunaga’s lines to Yamamoto and discuss literature with Akaashi.

You drink a little too much compared to what you’re used to and it’s almost 2 a.m when Kuroo offers to drive you home. The room is blurring, and you can’t refuse.

You sleep the whole way home, vaguely aware of the man helping you into the lift, and only realise you're almost in your flat when you catch the sound of Kenma's voice.

“I’ll take care of them,” you hear him say.

The next second you're pressed against him. His skin his colder than Kuroo’s but his scent is a mix between hazelnut and white musk. Your nose is drawn to his neck.

You don’t know how he manages to take your keys and remove your shoes, but when you open your eyes again, you’re on the couch and he is standing in your kitchen, pouring water into a glass.

“You’re being nice… again…” The last part is above a whisper.

He takes his time to answer, he always does that. “I’m not a brute.”

“I thought you were.”

“Sorry.” He apologises and despite the alcohol making your mind dizzy, your eyes widen and you sit up straight.

“I should be the one apologising.” You reply.

“Don’t be so loud.” He groans and hands you the glass.

“Oh, wanna talk about loud? Weren’t you the loud one when you played shooting games and LoL?”

“I don’t play LoL anymore,” he avoids your gaze.

“I couldn’t sleep for weeks. I tried asking nicely, but you wouldn’t listen or even look at me.” You let out an annoyed grunt, “just like now. You’re not looking at me right now.”

Your body moves on instinct, and inch forward, your nose almost touches his. His ears turn red, but you don’t flinch back. “Do I disgust you or something?”

When he finally turns, when his breath brushes your face, and the pupil of his yellow eyes dilate, you feel every single one of your muscles stiffen. You break the eye contact when your cheeks are burning up.

“You don’t disgust me,” he says but you've already forgotten the initial question.

“Thanks for helping me last time.”

He says nothing back and gets up.

“Drink water and go to bed.”

What happens next must have been a nightmare (you wish it was). But he’s one foot outside your apartment when your stomach twists violently, and you barely make it to the sink before letting your guts out.

It’s the first thing you remember when you get up the next day, Kenma helping you walk to the bathroom, helping you brush your teeth, putting you to bed.

You vomited. In front of your asshole neighbour. He helped you, cooked you food, showed you his kind side, and you vomited.

You’re nothing but shameful.

You want to hide in your bed and never get out of it. Maybe you should move out, sell your apartment and go abroad.

That would make your grandparents sad, though.

You sigh loudly, your head hurts but you still go to your kitchen to make yourself a coffee.

Being in this place reminds you of the night before and if you don’t want to drive yourself crazy pacing the floor, you decide to take your bike to go to your safe place.

Obaa-san notices it right away; the dark circles under your eyes, your bad mood, your incessant fawning—everything gives away your lack of sleep.

“Is your neighbour annoying again?”

Your heart races faster at the mention of Kenma, “what? No, no. It’s over, we found a… solution.” You lie through your teeth.

“What’s wrong? You’re not even eating your food.” She wants to serve you more soup, but you stop her.

You sigh, again, but tell her everything. When you’re done with the story, you see her brows furrow deeper and deeper.

“We didn’t raise you to vomit on people’s feet.”

Your stomach twists, “please don’t talk about vom—I’m embarrassed enough.”

“As you should be. Isao, let’s go.”

She calls for your grandfather and starts packing a bag of fruits.

“What are you doing?”

“We are going to apologise.”

You curse yourself and every single decision that led you to this exact situation. You’d rather quit your job than face Kenma and be forced to write excuses in front of your family.

It’s cruel, cruel, cruel.

You follow them anyway.

“Huh?”

“Kenma-kun,” your grandmother says. “Pardon the intrusion but we came as soon as we found out what they did to you.”

You look down at the floor, not caring if you seem like a child instead of a twenty-something-year-old. You just want this to be over—soon, soon. But then, Kenma chuckles, and your head lifts.

“It’s fine,” he says. His laugh is soft, so nice to your ears. You’ve never heard him laugh before, but now, you don’t want to hear anything else.

“Please enter,” he offers the three of you, and you finally step inside his apartment.

The curtains are closed but lights cover the walls. Purple, red, blue. The couch is huge, and the kitchen looks too clean to be used. It makes sense when you see boxes of takeout and instant ramen on the counter. At the back, you see the door to his gaming room—the one next to your office—open. You can’t count how many screens there are, and cables are scattered across the floor.

And it smells like hazelnut and white musk. You’ve never smelled something so nice before.

Why does it feel so warm inside? Why do you feel safe here?  

“I brought fruits, it’s nothing, but please accept it.”

You end up staying there for about an hour, talking about everything and nothing at all. You learn he played volleyball back in high school, and that he is two years younger than you. Your grandmother is peeling fruits, your grandfather is drinking the lemonade Kenma offered and he explains that he owns a sports company.

“What a smart boy,” your grandmother exclaims.

You don’t really know what “sports company” means. It could be a million things, and it’s certainly more complex than that. He probably simplified it for your grandparents’ sake.

“Our grandchild is also very smart. They have an architecture office and are the youngest-ever architect to work with Tokyo City Hall. Do you know the new hospital they’re building in the suburbs? They designed the plans and-”

“Alright, it’s almost time for dinner.”

You get up suddenly.

The sun starts to get down, and you only take notice of the time by watching the hour on your phone.

The corner of Kenma’s lips lifts a little and you immediately turn to your grandfather for his smile is too sweet for your heart to handle.

“He is a kind man,” your grandmother whispers to you when they’re about to leave.

“I know, I know.” You groan.

She pinches Kenma’s cheeks, “call us if you need anything.”

You would’ve guessed he’d hate physical contact, but he doesn’t complain. His features are soft as she says goodbye.

“Good luck with them, they seem tough, but they can be very sweet!”

“Oi!” You shout but they close the door behind them, chuckling.

You don’t want to face Kenma, don’t want to show him the embarrassment on your face.

“So… dinner?”

“What?” you turn a little in his direction.

“You said it’s time for dinner. Do you want to order something?”

The question makes you happy even if it leaves you puzzled for a few seconds. It seems like Kenma Kozume is full of surprises. And maybe that’s what you need, so you shrug.

“Why not.”

When he takes his phone from his pocket and starts ordering food, you smile widely and bite your lips.

A dinner leads to another, and another, until it becomes a routine. You come to his place, usually on Mondays because it’s his only free night. He shows you some of his games, you never beat him, and he laughs when you blame it on the controller.

You’re impressed by his skills and think that maybe he should become a professional.

You pretend to be upset when you lose, but deep down, you just want to hear him laugh.

Sometimes you cook something together, though you’re the one in control of the quantity of salt and the temperature of the oven.

And he listens to you ramble or complain about your work.

When he’s out of town, which happens more often that you thought, you start to go out more. You decide that it’s time to put more colour in your apartment, so you buy cacti, and carpets and frames. You long to draw again, like you used to, so you bring back your old pencils and sketchbooks from your grandparents’ house. You missed the smell of that cheap paper and ceder. Sometimes, you have a drink with Kuroo after work (alcohol-free; you won’t repeat the same mistake twice) and a coffee with Akaashi on the weekends. It's often quiet with him; he reads a book and you draw him reading.

When Kenma comes home from his trips, you welcome him with drawings of beautiful places you saw while he was away and good homemade food.

“Better than what I ate at the hotel,” he says, and you can’t help but smile.

You don’t really know where this friendship is going, maybe it isn’t meant to go anywhere, but it’s comfortable and deeper than any relationship you've had in years.

You had no idea what you needed before, but since he showed up in your life, it all became clear.

You still know little about him; he remains a mystery to you, and you can never decipher what he's thinking. But you enjoy being with him—that is.

There are some glances exchanged that last a bit too long, hands brushing against each other, words left hanging in the air as if they’re too fragile to be spoken aloud. It’s not enough to call it something more, but it’s also too much to ignore. Sometimes, it keeps you awake at night.

It's Christmas and you hate this time of year. It's cold outside, crowded in the streets and on top of that, it's the time when your parents return to Japan. Apparently it's important for them to spend time with the family, which you find hilarious, given that they've never been here for any of your birthdays.

You complain and groan about it to your grandmother; she’s used to it. It’s the same song every Christmas. She always stays quiet, and when she does, you know she agrees with you.

It would have been more fun to be with Kenma, you can’t help but think when you’re sitting at the table, half-listening to your father talking about his new project in Singapore. Instead of being here, you could be eating KFC on Kenma’s couch, playing Mario Kart (you’re almost as good as him now) until the sun rises.

Your brother is watching YouTube on his phone (isn’t 12 years old a bit too young to have a phone? Why did you have to wait until you were sixteen and get a part-time job to buy one that lasted until uni?).

You don’t realise you’re glowering over him before your mother calls for him, “Kengo. Turn off that video, please, we’re eating.”

“But it’s Kodzuken’s last live of the year, and he’s breaking his record.”

You roll your eyes and get up to help your grandmother in the kitchen.

“Who’s that Kodzuken?” You hear your grandfather asks from afar.

“He’s the best YouTuber and streamer. You know he has over 10 million subscribers on YouTube, and he sponsors volleyball players too. He’s like the best.”

“Let me see that fabulous man,” Isao chuckles. “But that’s Kenma-kun.”

The plate you’re holding almost drops to the floor.

“Yes. His real name is Kozume Kenma.”

You feel the gaze of your grandmother on you, and she’s about to say something, but your voice chimes in, and you take the phone from your brother’s hands.

“What the fuck…” You curse.

“What’s wrong?” Someone asks; you don’t even know who. You’re too stunned to answer.

“I-I’ll go wash my hands.” You excuse yourself and go to the bathroom.

You sit on the edge of the bathtub and tap his name into the internet.

There are articles about him, a YouTube and Twitch channel, and your brother was right, with million and millions of views; he even has a Wikipedia page.

Why didn’t you know that? Why did you assume he was a rich kid too lazy to work.

You don’t know why but you’re feeling betrayed. It feels like you’ve been lied to—which technically isn’t the case, but it feels the same.

Everything makes sense now: the fans, Yamamoto’s comment about him being rich, the mention of his manager and above everything the sleepless nights spent on his games talking, chatting, screaming. He was just working.

You feel extremely stupid for not connecting the dots before, but you also wish he had told you. Not that it would have changed anything in your friendship, but at least you wouldn’t feel like you’ve spent the last few weeks sharing most of your time with a stranger.

The anger you experienced when your first met him is quick to come back, even if it’s not for the same reason now. It’s not because he is too loud, but because he is too quiet.

Maybe he doesn’t trust you. Maybe you don’t matter to him as much as he does to you. Maybe he’s not the stranger, but you are, and he just pitied you.

It’s a good thing your grandmother opens the door to come and get you, otherwise, you could have spent the whole evening making up scenarios and speculating on why Kenma never told you what he was really doing in his life.

You act like nothing happened when you sit back down at the table. Your brother has turned off his phone, and your grandfather keeps glancing at you. You stay silent until your parents leave.

"Don’t be mad at him,” your grandmother says when it’s time for you to head home.

You don’t promise you won’t be.

You do go home, but instead of your door, you stand in front of his. He’s probably still doing his live, but you knock on the door anyway.

When he opens, you can see the red in his eyes, probably from staring at the screen too long.

“What’s that?” You show him your phone.

“My… YouTube channel.”

He’s so unbothered, so unimpressed, it makes you want to cup his face with your hands and scream at him.

“I didn’t know.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you were doing this. You said you had a sports company.”

“I have a sports company. Why are you so upset?”

Kenma never asks questions, he usually just answers them and then listens to you talking, asking more questions. It leaves you confused.

“I know nothing about you.”

You feel your eyes getting wet and your throat tightens. Why are you so emotional when it comes to him? You hate how weak it makes you.

“What do you want to know?”

Everything. Everything, is the answer.

Your favourite colour. Your favourite food. What makes you laugh (apart from seeing me lose at Mario Kart). What films do you like? When did you start being friends with Kuroo? What's your happiest memory? Your saddest one?

“What do you think about me?”

Among the infinite questions rushing through your mind, this is the one you chose. Perhaps it’s the one you’ve wanted to know the most, the one that’s been eating you alive for weeks.

“I-”  He begins but stops immediately.

“Of course,” you turn around. Two steps, is all it takes to reach your door, but Kenma stops you.

When you face him again, you feel your blood rushing through your whole body, warming you up.

He’s avoiding your gaze, but his hand clings to yours and his face his red, from his chin to his ears.

“You’re interesting and it’s nice to talk with you… Your food is good. You’re passionate about your work and it makes me want to be more invested in what I do. You’re funny when you’re upset and you’re a terrible, terrible player.”

His grip loosens a little, and he straightens up.

“I think you’re great, a good person. Someone I like spending time with, someone I think of when I go to bed, and someone I miss when I’m away. I didn’t tell you about my job. Maybe because I assumed everybody knew me, well, at least everyone who uses social media. Maybe also because… you’re way cooler than me, and what I’ve done with my life is nowhere near what you’ve accomplished.”

You’re shocked, to say the least. It’s the longest you’ve ever heard him talk—he who never uses extra words, who makes minimal effort in everything he does—just bared his soul to you. He must be exhausted at this point.

You gulp loudly, and the only thing your mind can picture is you kissing him. So you do. One step toward him, a hand against his cheek, and your lips on his.

You fear he might push you, run away, and slam the door in your face. But instead, he kisses you deeper and his hands find your hair and the back of your shoulders and your waist.

You don’t know how long it lasts—one minute, forever. Your brain doesn’t seem to work properly, only your heart responds, and it screams his name.

Kozume Kenma.

One of you breaks the contact only to rest your foreheads together.

It’s awkward, but it feels right.

Someone passes by, one of your neighbours, and you both step back.

They greet you with a wide smile, excusing themselves for interrupting.

You clear your throat, “I-I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure.” He says, not meeting your eyes.

That night when you go to bed, even though the sheets are cold against your skin, you think the walls feel warm.

“And so, if you want to marry someone, you just need to be annoying and insult them for being an asshole.” Kuroo explains matter-of-factly to Bokuto.

“I never said Ken was an asshole.” You justify.

You hear Kenma sigh.

“Well… at least not directly to him. But I thought it really hard. Maybe I wrote it in the letters I left at his door-”

“Love… they got it I think.”

“Right, sorry…”

“Arrrrgh, I’m so jealous… I want to have a relationship like you guys.” Bokuto scratches the back of his neck and groans loudly.

“Bokuto-san, if you love someone just tell them.”

“But Akaaashi, I’m not a poet like you. I can’t just write love letters and stuff.”

“C’mon, bro,” Kuroo interrupts. “Isn’t it great to be single? You don’t have to worry about making the other mad or sad or-"

“Kuro says this because he doesn’t want to be the only single guy here.”

“Oi! Kenma, if I hadn’t helped you conquer their heart, you wouldn’t have been able to get someone like them.”

“You helped him?” You rest your chin in the palm of your hand and look at Kuroo.

“He never told you? The night when you were completely wasted, two years ago, I was the one who suggested he take care of you. And the day when-”

“Okay, time to go. Your grandparents are waiting for us.” Kenma gets up and you can see Kuroo smirk from the corner of your eyes.

You’re about to tell him to wait, you want to know more about his friend’s story. But Kenma takes your hand and leads you outside, not caring about Kuroo’s comments about him being a coward and Bokuto’s complaints about nobody caring about his love life problems.

Once you step outside, you call for him.

“Huh?” He speaks. He never says more than that.  

“I love you.”

He kisses the top of your nose and whispers, “I love you too.”

a/n: the story comes from a dream i had, i woke up and knew i had to write it haha. hope you enjoyed it

elie

[magicshopaholic]

Flight Risk (Yoongi x OC)

Summary: Just when you and Yoongi might be becoming friends, you become a liability.

Pairing: Yoongi x OC

Genre: Angst

Word count: 9.8 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: mature themes - language, smoking, mentions of homophobia, parental abuse, anxiety, dubious consent, sexual harassment

A/N: A very different tone than the rest. Mature themes; read the trigger warnings before proceeding. Set a couple of weeks after A Night Of Firsts.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @meirkive @faearchives @margopinkerton @dreaming-with-happiness @confessionsofamarshlily @purpleseoul7

Listen to: "u.r.a. fever" by the kills

yoongi masterlist | main masterlist

The moment Miso wakes up, her stomach squirms in discomfort.

It takes her a few moments to realise why. The sun is bright through the gaps in the curtains and her meticulously-set alarm went off on time. She sits up slowly and brushes her bangs messily off her face, frowning until she hears his voice and her stomach automatically squirms again.

He’s still here. He hasn’t left yet, even though he usually does by now. He’s late and despite not knowing why, Miso feels her chest contract in automatic fear.

She needs to be in the studio in one hour. There’s no option to be late today; Yoongi will have her head. This project is bigger than you, Kang Miso, he will say. She will reply with As long as you don’t take yourself too seriously with a roll of her eyes, he will wrinkle his nose and suggest she work with another producer if she has such a problem with him, and she will be forced to reiterate once more that she was assigned to him and that her assignments are not in her hands. People can’t switch teams of their own accord, Min Suga.

It will go exactly like this. It’s how it goes every time.

Miso stands motionlessly under the shower and then gets dressed, keeping an ear out the whole time for his voice. He still hasn’t left; despite how quiet and calm it is, it’s a sound that can cut through the air for her.

Finally, she has no choice but to descend the staircase, where she pauses midway. She can spot him - both of them - at the dining table, their housekeeper moving silently between them at opposite ends as she serves them breakfast.

His coffee is untouched. Miso exhales shakily; something is wrong.

She shuffles quietly to the open kitchen behind the dining table, uncertain if he’s seen her. His gaze is on his eggs benedict, but that means nothing. There’s a stack of fresh toast and baos straight off the stove on the kitchen counter, steam still rising from them. The rest are at the centre of the table, but Miso takes a plate and takes one of the hot ones when she sees his head move infinitesimally to the side.

No longer having a choice, she moves to the table, taking a seat on the longer side in between both occupants. Heart thumping, she gingerly picks up the bao and bites into it.

“Good morning, Miso.”

His voice is calm as ever, but she almost drops the bao. The steaming filling burns her lip but she stays put, eyes watering slightly.

“Good morning, Father.”

They lapse back into silence. She takes a silent sip of water, taking care to let it soothe her burning lips and glances at her mother. She sits still, her back straight against the chair, her hands clasped on her lap. She stares blankly in her husband’s direction, eyes glassy. Her plate is empty.

Miso can feel goosebumps erupt on her skin. The housekeeper appears behind her and soundlessly pours her a coffee.

“Where were you yesterday, Miso?” Kang Jaesung asks.

“At the studio, Father. At Big Hit.”

“And after that?”

“I went to get a coffee and a sandwich.”

“Where?”

“The new Caffeta coffee outlet. In Gangnam,” she adds.

Her father doesn’t ask anything further. Miso risks a glance at him to see him still eating. A large emerald ring sits on the middle finger of his right hand, and her stomach squirms again.

“Were you alone?”

Before Miso can answer, a soft scoff is heard from the other end of the table.

“Obviously.”

Kang Jaesung ignores this. Miso resists the urge to turn to her mother, knowing she would much rather take her mother’s surface insults over making her father wait for an answer to his question.

“Yes.”

“Did Seungkwan drive you?”

Just like all the questions he’s asked so far, Miso knows he knows the answer to this. He knows everything. It’s just safer to assume that way, because it’s usually the case.

“Yes.”

Her father nods. “Did he drive well?”

Miso’s heart races, for there’s no obviously correct answer to this. “He - yes. Like normal.” Then, in a rare move because she can’t resist, she continues. “Is something wrong?”

“There’s a scratch on the bumper.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. Seungkwan is taking care of it.”

Miso’s eyes flicker to his emerald ring again, the stone looking big and dark in the pastel dining room. She doesn’t know what this means, how to respond to this, or if she’s even meant to.

He finishes his breakfast and dabs his mouth with the napkin, before abruptly standing up and leaving the room. Miso hears the front door close but doesn’t look up from her plate, despite feeling her mother’s burning gaze on her. 

She has about twenty minutes to make it to the studio. Her heart still beating uncomfortably, she leaves the moment she hears her father’s car drive away and heads to her own car, wanting to see this scratch for herself.

The sleek black Range Rover stands in the driveway like always. Even before she reaches the car, she can see the scratch; a small, minute imperfection near the bottom of the bumper. Her father would have noticed it immediately. 

It had to have happened when Seungkwan was parking the car last night, she thinks, as the car leaves the estate, for it was the only time she wasn’t in it. She meets his eyes in the rearview mirror accidentally, a red mark visible on his cheekbone. Miso thinks of the emerald stone on the back of her father’s hand and looks away quickly.

She stares out the window, her chest still tight. Seungkwan has only ever been nice to her, but he’s still her father’s employee. Her movements are watched, and her father isn’t doing so himself. 

The drive is quiet as always. Miso looks out the window and puts on her headphones, no music coming out of it. She needs to be alert, but it’s better to not show it. Her knuckles are white where she’s clutching the strap of her bag until they reach the Big Hit building and the car stops right outside the front doors. She hurries out, eager to put some distance between herself and the fancy car with the uniformed driver.

Miso proceeds in through the glass doors and down the lobby, forcing herself to slow down and walk normally. Seungkwan can still see her, she knows; the reflection of the car is still visible in the glass panes of the building. She walks straight to the lifts and presses the button, holding her breath. She risks a glance over her shoulder to see the car still there, the red cut on his cheekbone discernible even from a distance, his dark eyes directed towards her.

The lift opens and five other people get in with her. Miso shuffles to the back, too wary to exhale in case it’s too loud. She can feel Seungkwan’s gaze in her direction until the lift doors close. One by one, the rest of the occupants get off on their respective floors until it’s just Miso remaining. The moment the lift doors close again, she audibly lets out the breath she’s been holding and bends over, her hands on her knees, and gulps in the air. For the first time since she’s awoken today, her chest loosens a bit.

Her heart slows down slightly as the lift reaches the top floor and when the doors open again, she steps out calmly and makes her way to Yoongi’s studio.

—

Yoongi leans closer to the mic and closes his eyes, concentrating on the music in his headphones and waiting for the beat before he begins his rap verse. He taps the right headphone to the rhythm and begins right on cue, opening his eyes slowly to see someone tapping on the plexiglass of the booth.

He stops abruptly and takes off the headphones. “What is it?” he asks, trying not to sound too disgruntled at being cut off. He wouldn’t ordinarily care but for this track, he cares. The man outside, Jung PD, lead producer in his forties, looks pensive as he motions for Yoongi to come outside. Behind him on the sofa is Hwan, nineteen year old ex-idol, whose forehead creases when the recording of his debut solo gets interrupted.

Yoongi’s eyes flicker to Hwan and back to Jung PD, who he knows wouldn’t get involved unless it’s serious. He glances at Hwan again, who’s trying and failing to not look worried. For Hwan, he cares.

“What is it?” Yoongi repeats when they’re outside the studio. “Hyung?” he adds belatedly.

Jung PD bites his lip. “How is Hwan doing?”

“Fine. For a rookie whose group disbanded overnight.” There’s a pause. “What’s wrong?”

“How far along are you on the recording?”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows at the obvious evasion of the question, but answers anyway. “Close to finishing. Hwan recorded his vocals in one day. He’s extremely talented,” he adds after a moment. “We can be done with editing by tomorrow and Marketing can release it on Friday, just like they planned.”

Jung PD rubs at his eyes tiredly. “Yoongi…” His gaze flickers to the studio behind him, where Hwan is no doubt sitting inside, wondering what the hell is going on out here.

Something catches in Yoongi’s chest. “What?” he whispers urgently.

“We have to scrap the song. I know it’s last minute, but complications have come to light and we have to -”

Yoongi doesn’t realise he’s already shaking his head. “No. No, no. PD nim, this was always the plan! The song releases Friday, and our tour kicks off in Seoul on Sunday!” he whispers furiously. “Hwan is a guest artist and he gets his publicity! After everything he’s been through - come on, we can’t do this to him.”

“Yoongi, I understand. I understand this is important to you - you don’t give the “Prod Suga” suffix to just anyone -”

“Hwan needs this!” Yoongi presses the heels of his palms to his temples. “He took years to debut and then his group disbanded over a scandal that had nothing to do with him - and then YG just abandoned him. I brought him here, I convinced him to join -” He breaks off, shaking his head. “What happened? Why - why do we need to cancel?”

“It’s got nothing to do with Hwan,” says Jung PD, quickly and deliberately. “We will find him something else - he just needs to wait it out a little longer.”

“If he doesn’t have this song, he has nothing,” says Yoongi flatly. “You know that. The company hasn’t officially signed him. This is all on the back of this one song - one song that Miso and I have been working on non-stop for two weeks.”

Jung PD sighs. “About Miso -”

“She’s doing a lot better,” he interrupts frantically. “Forget what I said in our last meeting. It’s - it’s working out now. She wrote most of this song, in fact -” He breaks off, realising he’s rambling. 

“Any way you get her off this project?”

Yoongi frowns incredulously. “No,” he answers, sharper than he’d intended. “Not after she got swindled out of having her name on the Jungwon-Minji collab.” He can’t quite tell Jung PD how hesitantly she’d enquired about her name being credited on the collaboration - and how, after losing out because of award nomination politics, Yoongi hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how he’d let her down, even though there wasn’t a lot else he could’ve done. 

“This is her song. Look, can you just tell me what’s wrong?” he asks after a moment. “Maybe there’s a different way around this. Maybe we don’t have to scrap anything.”

“Do you know who Miso’s father is?” Jung PD asks in a low voice.

“I - yes. What does that have to do with -”

“One of his brands is launching a campaign next week - Guasha, a skincare brand,” he says. “They’ve invested a record amount of money on product placement and whatnot and their biggest competition right now is Innisfree, whose brand ambassador is -”

“Hwan.” Yoongi blinks, hoping his hunch is wrong. He clears his throat. “But he owns a hundred brands - why does he care about this one so much?”

Jung PD frowns at him as though he’s missing something obvious. “Because his daughter can’t be seen collaborating with his competition. It’s either her or Hwan. So unless we ask Hwan to break off his contract -”

“We can’t do that.” The words are out of Yoongi’s mouth instantly, even as his heart sinks. He turns to look at the boy through the sliver of glass in the studio. “It’s - it’s his only source of income. We can’t… we can’t. How - how did Kang Jaesung even find out about this collaboration? He’s the only shareholder who’s never given a crap about our releases before.”

Jung PD shrugs. “No idea. Maybe because his daughter is involved? Proud dad and all? Either way, he’s scrapping it.” He scoffs. “I’m sorry, Yoongi. We’ll try to find Hwan something else and if we can’t…” He sighs. “He’s a talented kid. That always matters.”

No, it doesn’t. Yoongi doesn’t say it, because he doesn’t need to. He knows Jung PD has definitely seen more talented kids fall through the cracks than he has. YG had been ignoring Hwan, but he still had a contract with them. They could’ve done something for him had Yoongi not convinced him to give Big Hit a chance instead. 

He swallows. “We can make a new song,” he blurts out.

“You’re going on tour, Yoongi,” reminds Jung PD gently.

“Not for almost a week. Worst case, they push the release by a week and he features in our second concert instead of the first. We can still -”

“You have to get approvals, Marketing needs to work on a whole new campaign.” Jung PD shakes his head in sympathy. “I’m really sorry, Yoongi. I’ll speak to Hwan if you want.”

Yoongi screws his eyes shut before opening them and sighing. “No. I should do it. I should talk to him.” He glances back at Hwan again, his slender figure on the sofa, holding up the lyrics sheet and practicing by himself. Yoongi can’t hear him, but he can imagine the sweet, melodic voice that made him shine during his short-lived debut, coupled with his graceful, almost feminine movements on stage. 

“I should talk to him,” repeats Yoongi, feeling sick with guilt. His eyes flicker to the side when he spots a movement and sees Miso step out of the elevator, expensive headphones on her head and striding down the hall without a care in the world, blissfully unaware of the damage being caused by her very presence. “But I need to talk to someone else first.”

They meet halfway, Miso raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement and checking her phone. “I’m here a minute early,” she states dryly.

“Bully for you. Can we talk?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he pushes open the door to an empty studio right next to him and strides in, hearing her footsteps behind him and the door closing. He turns around to see a frown flit across her face momentarily. 

“Is this because I didn’t bring you a coffee this morning?” she quips, folding her arms across her chest. “Because you look way too serious for ten am, Min Suga.”

“Just… stop… talking.” Yoongi’s voice trembles in fury, and he tries to rein it in. “You… your -” He presses his tongue against his teeth, trying to find the words. “Hwan is not getting his debut,” he says finally, quietly. “A kid with more talent than half this building put together, who had a bad, bad hand dealt to him isn’t getting his last, deserved shot… because of Kang Miso, princess of nepotism.”

Miso’s eyes flicker with confusion. “What the hell are you talking about? Why isn’t Hwan -”

“Your father is shutting down the song,” he snaps, taking a step towards her. “Because a competing brand’s ambassador can’t be associated with his precious daughter’s music. You wrote one song in your whole life, sitting in your fancy fucking mansion while being waited on hand and foot. Hwan is the oldest of four siblings. He has only one parent left, and he’s trained until his feet bled to be able to provide for them! And now he can’t because of -”

She swallows but doesn’t move. Even through his anger, Yoongi can tell she had no prior knowledge of this. But he doesn’t care. They’re only inches apart; he can see her shock and realisation all at once, but the way she holds his gaze makes him take a step back.

Miso licks her lips slowly. “What do you want me to do about it, Yoongi?” she asks quietly. 

“Fix it.”

“I can’t. My father is -”

“I don’t give a fuck.” He takes another step back, resisting the urge to grab her by her thin shoulders and make her look him in the eye. “Your rich people's problems aren’t going to take this away from Hwan, or from me. Fix it,” he repeats. “Say whatever you need to to get your father’s head out of his arse or - you know what? I want you the hell off my team.”

She swallows and shakes her head. “Yoongi, you - you know I was assigned to -”

“If your father has the power to take away someone’s big break to satisfy his ego, he has the power to get you reassigned.” He ignores how she blinks rapidly, how her previously straight shoulders are hunched, how the guilt seems to expand in his chest for a moment. “I don’t want to see you in my damn studio ever again.”

He turns around and yanks the door open, stalking out and leaving her alone in the dark.

—

Miso doesn’t see Yoongi for the rest of the day. She doesn’t even try to seek him out; not once has he ever lost his temper with her like that and she has no idea how long it takes for him to cool down from something like this. She does see Hwan in the break room and darts away before he sees her, ducking into Donghyuk’s studio and desperately hoping he has some work for her today.

Around lunch time, she calls Seungkwan and he drives her to the last place she wants to be at, but the only one she can think of going to right now.

Kang Industries looks as intimidating as its owner, and just as impenetrable. The inside of the sprawling building is glass and stone, giving it the aura of a modern day tech prison. She takes the elevator all the way to the top floor and to the corner office; despite having been here only once in her whole life, she remembers it with striking clarity.

Her heart thumps against her ribcage as she nears it, spotting her father through one of the glass walls. He’s standing with three other men, all of them speaking while he stays silent, nodding only occasionally.

For a moment, Miso feels like turning around on the spot and running away. Let Yoongi hate her. She’s handled worse. But then, almost as if he’s heard her, Kang Jaesung’s eyes dart lock onto her. The impact of it makes her reel and she immediately lowers her gaze.

At the same time, his secretary spots her from the desk outside the office. She scrambles to her feet instantly and hurries towards Miso.

“Oh, Miss Kang!” she exclaims in surprise, seeming a bit flustered. “Please, uh - have - have a seat. I’ll inform your father that you’re -“

“It’s okay, I can wait until he’s -“

“Nonsense!” she interrupts in a high-pitched voice. “I’ll tell him his daughter is here and his meeting -“ She glances towards the room in a panic, and Miso can tell that she’s conflicted about which might be more important to him.

Fortunately, her speaker crackles to life just then.

“Send her in.”

The secretary exhales in transparent relief. “Right this way, Miss Kang.” She ushers her to the door of the office, just as it opens from the inside. One of the men, who she knows works for her father, is holding the doorknob while two others sit inside in similar-looking dark brown suits, facing her father’s desk.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Her father’s voice is calm but firm. “We will have to take a short break. My daughter is here.”

Both men seated turn to look at her and the younger one, dressed sharply with perfectly styled hair and an air of arrogance, raises an eyebrow. He turns back towards her father, presumably to argue, but something makes him stop. In spite of herself, Miso can empathize. 

Kang Jaesung waits patiently and says no more, until all three of the men file out. The youngest one, in the brown suit, brushes against her as he leaves. His eyes land on her and narrow, clearly insulted at being deprioritised. Miso looks away, waiting until they leave to step inside.

“I’m sorry for not calling ahead, Father.” She clears her throat, hoping her voice will stop shaking. Her father doesn’t generally respect underconfidence - or confidence, making it a fine line she needs to toe in order to appeal to him. “I - I can wait outside until you’re done with your meeting.”

“My daughter can’t be seen waiting here,” he supplies, typing something onto his phone and taking a seat behind his desk. “It’s bad for the family. It’s the only reason your mother shows up here on occasion.” His eyes flash with something and Miso realises with an uncomfortable twist in her stomach that he’s just made a joke.

Unsure whether she’s meant to react, she shuffles slightly and places her hands behind her back, standing straight. Her heart is beating too loud now, loud enough that she’s sure he can hear it.

“My time is too valuable to waste, Miso.”

“Of course.” She clears her throat again. “Father, I…” It will do no good to beat around the bush. It occurs to her now that her father knew this morning at breakfast that he was shutting down this release, which could have been the reason he’d stayed late. Her gaze falls to the emerald stone on his finger again and Seungkwan’s bruised face flits through her mind.

“I wanted to talk to you about… about the song that Big Hit is planning to release on Friday. By Hwan, produced by Suga of BTS. Written by me,” she adds after a moment. Her father observes her motionlessly, and his gaze feels piercing. “I heard that - that you’re unhappy with it and you… you don’t want it released. I would like to ask you to reconsider.”

His gaze is unmoving. “Why?”

Miso thinks about the list of reasons Yoongi had hissed at her and mentally throws them in the bin. Her father won’t care less about Hwan’s family situation or anyone else’s career.

“It’s produced by and featuring a BTS member. They are kicking off their world tour this weekend and have this song on their setlist already, meaning this song is going to be streamed all year. It will generate a lot of revenue for the company.”

His expression doesn’t change. “Every song this label puts out is streamed all year. That’s why I invested in it. Is that it?”

“Um -” She exhales shakily. Nothing else she’d rehearsed all morning comes to mind anymore. “I’m a writer,” she confesses quietly. “I - I wrote this song, most of it. It’s the first time I will ever be credited on a song.” Please don’t take this away from me. Not again.

Her father stares at her for a moment and finally shifts, leaning back in his chair for a moment. He crosses his legs and places his hands in his lap, his jaw sharp. “What do you think will happen if my daughter’s name is on a song that’s marketed under the name of a competing brand ambassador? Have you thought about that?”

“Nobody reads the names of the writers on a song,” she reasons. “No one - no one will care. It’s just… I wrote it. It’s just my name on a piece of paper inside the CD, in tiny font.”

“Your name,” he says clearly, “is my name. And my name is going to be nowhere near a man like that, who dances with other men and wears clothes like a woman.” He clicks his tongue and his upper lip rolls in a sneer. “Celebrating a man preening over his skincare. The depths this country is sinking to…”

Miso holds her tongue, privately thinking that she should’ve guessed that her father’s problem extended to more than just competing brands. Hwan - beautiful, sweet-voiced, ballet-trained Hwan - personally offended Kang Jaesung.

“I’ll take my name off the song,” she offers at last, her heart sinking. “My - your name won’t be part of the release at all.”

He raises his eyebrows. “How noble. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter. I’m still a shareholder, so I can’t sign off on it.” He slides a sheet of paper off his desk and begins reading it with disinterest, signalling the end of the conversation.

Miso swallows. “Please,” she pleads softly. “Father, I’ve never asked for anything -” She quells under the sudden look he gives her.

“You’ve never had to,” he states, and for a moment he sounds like Yoongi. “Do you know how people who don’t have everything handed to them go about a situation like this? They offer something in return.” He pauses, watching her stonily. “It’s called a quid pro quo.”

She purses her lips, willing herself to stay calm. The anxiety is bubbling up and threatening to choke her, for she has no idea how to go back to Big Hit now, how to face Hwan… how to face Yoongi. His face burns in her mind, the disgust and lack of respect so clear in his features.

“You see that young entrepreneur out there?” Her father asks, his gaze directly on her. “Don’t look,” he hisses when her head automatically turns. She immediately turns away, catching only a glimpse of the aforementioned entrepreneur’s glare in the direction of this office. “Lee Jiho. He’s an idiot. His name may be on the company, but none of what he has is his doing. His Chief of Strategy is the real brains behind the operation.”

Miso guesses the older person with Jiho is the Chief of Strategy. It takes all her willpower not to turn again.

“Lee Jiho is an idiot, but somehow, he tapped into the right market segment. I want to buy him out,” he declares, leaning back in his chair again. “But he doesn’t want to sell to me. Not at the price I’m asking.”

She nods and lowers her gaze. He’s making a point and the only thing left to do is to hear him out and nod on cue. Her eyes start to sting but it would be a mistake of massive proportions to let her father see her cry. 

“Convince him to sell to me.”

It takes Miso a moment to realise he’s expecting a response.

“Um… you want me to -”

“Any stock price that might fall due to a competing brand will get covered by the savings I make on this purchase.” He shrugs. “Convince him to sell to me and I’ll sign off on your song.” When Miso doesn’t respond, the corner of his mouth rises in satisfaction. “But you don’t think you can do that, do you?”

“Thank you for your time, Father,” she whispers, waiting just long enough for him to acknowledge her before she turns and walks out of his office. She almost bumps into Jiho and his entourage outside, who seem to have been waiting for her to leave, the former giving her a mildly appraising look. His features are sharp and pointed and expensive, his cologne reeking of new money.

“My daughter,” says her father from behind her. Both of them turn to look at him, and Miso doesn’t miss his small raise of the eyebrows towards her. It’s a challenge, one he only proposed because he knew she would back down from it. Kang Jaesung does not lose, ever, and he does not care who he is going up against.

“Miss Kang.” Lee Jiho bows stiffly the same time she does before they shake hands. Up close, he can’t be more than a year or two older than her, but something about the way he looks at her over his slanting nose makes it clear that he’s still miffed over having his meeting interrupted by her presence.

“Pleasure to meet you,” she mumbles before slipping out and hurrying away. She doesn’t stop until she’s out of the building and inside the car, away from her father’s turf. Her chest feels heavier than ever with the knowledge that this trip achieved nothing except putting her job on her father’s radar and giving him the satisfaction of pleading with him for something.

As the car pulls up outside Big Hit, it takes her a few moments to move. Yoongi will be in there somewhere, she thinks, angry and disappointed, with no one to blame but her. Until this morning, the Big Hit building felt like her only haven, the safe place she could go to that did not, for all intents and purposes belong to her father, without drivers and gardeners keeping an eye on her or her mother’s constant judgement following her around.

Kang Miso. Princess of nepotism. He hates her, and she can’t even defend him.

She can’t go inside the building now. The rising fear of what Yoongi might say if he sees her keeps her rooted to the car seat. She wonders when his opinion had started mattering this much to her, when the blazing fire in his eyes as he stood inches away from her had made her want to douse it instead of walking away. 

It’s either Big Hit or Kang Industries. Miso’s stomach rolls; it’s three pm and it occurs to her vaguely that she hasn’t eaten after that singular bao at breakfast. Despite that, she feels like throwing up. Either Yoongi hates her forever, or she risks taking her father up on his deal and potentially failing at it.

The fading bruise around her wrist seems to burn. Failing is not an option, not when it comes to her father. Having Yoongi hate her would be hard, but she can get over it. She remembers how he had offered to drive her home a few weeks ago after they’d spent half the night at his studio. He remained the first and only person in her entire life to extend such an offer without seemingly expecting anything in return, and her surprise at it had visibly confused him.

It’s either Big Hit or Kang Industries.

—

It’s still dawn when Yoongi’s phone rings, jerking him awake.

“What?”

“Come to the studio!” The person at the other end of the call mirrors none of Yoongi’s sleepy annoyance. “Now!”

He groans and rolls over in bed, still in the jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing all day. “Why? What’s - what’s happening?”

“We’re releasing the solo!” Jung PD’s voice is frantic and forcibly quiet, as though he’s trying to pace himself. “Hwan’s solo!”

Yoongi sits up with a jerk, his head pounding with the whiplash. “What are you -”

“He must have given up his contract with Innisfree,” he says excitedly. “Either way, Marketing just dropped an email - if we can get them the final version by ten pm tonight, they’ll release it on schedule!”

“But -” Yoongi shakes his head and rubs his eyes. “How did - what about Kang Jaesung and his -”

“Fuck him!” Jung PD uses a word he’s never used in Yoongi’s presence before. “Once the song is out there, he can’t do anything about it. For now, we’re in the clear - so get in here! Now!

Yoongi is at the Big Hit building in under twenty minutes. An intern hands him a strong coffee the moment he steps out of the elevator and he sees a group of people assembled outside his studio, comprising Hwan, Jung PD and two assistant producers.

“The smaller the group, the quicker this will go,” explains Jung PD when Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “We have -” He checks his watch “- fifteen hours to get this done.” Next to him, Hwan nods hopefully, wringing his hands in anticipation.

Yoongi nods, making a mental note to tell Namjoon he was right. He hadn’t been as worried as Yoongi yesterday, adamant that these things worked out somehow.

Maybe Hwan will choose his art over his brand deals, he’d said wisely. Some people take that call. Jungkook did.

Yoongi had looked at him incredulously. Jungkook was fifteen! And he took a really stupid risk, all things considered. He’s just lucky it worked out.

We’re all lucky it worked out, Namjoon had pointed out, frustratingly reasonable. Hwan is older, meaning he’ll realise the importance of his work as an artist.

Yoongi had stared at him, lost for words, not knowing how to explain to the philosopher in Namjoon that realising the importance of art and having the freedom to choose it were two very different things.

Miso can’t do anything about this? Namjoon had asked after a minute, making Yoongi’s anger cloud his worry once more.

Fuck her, he’d seethed. This is all her fault. He hadn’t elaborated any further, unable to find the words to explain that for a moment after Jung PD had given him the news, his first instinct had been to defend Miso. Days of working together in a closed studio had facilitated a rapport between them, enough for him to pick up on her hard work and talent, not to mention the lack of boredom that made him sometimes wait for her to arrive in the morning. But none of that compared to just how stupid he felt for forgetting, even for an instant, where she came from. 

He scans the group in front of him again and feels a begrudging satisfaction that she wasn’t called to rush over here. She’s a writer of the song, for better or for worse, and she will be credited. But when it comes to the hustle, to back-breaking hard work that can only be a result of desperation and everything to lose, someone like her has no business being here.

There’s no time to lament about his lapse in judgement, or about how he can’t help but feel a little uneasy at working on Miso’s song without her present. But he powers through, for Hwan’s sake. Hwan, to his credit, gives every last bit of his effort, singing the same lines over and over again without complaining, concentrating on Yoongi’s ad libs, focusing on the arrangements until it’s nearly eight pm, and they finally have their track.

“What do you think?”

Yoongi watches Namjoon and Hoseok, both of whom happened to be in the Big Hit building as well. His eyes are dry and he feels light-headed with fatigue, but his mind is buzzing a million miles a second. He needs this to release tonight, the rest of the weekend will have to be devoted to rehearsals until they take the stage on Sunday night for the first concert of their tour.

“It’s fantastic,” says Hoseok, as the track comes to an end. Behind him, Namjoon nods in agreement.

“Namjoon?”

“He sounds incredible.” Namjoon pats Hwan on the shoulder. “You’ll go far, kid.”

Hwan looks like he could weep with joy as he nods, watery-eyed and sniffling. “What do you think, hyung?” he asks Yoongi, eyes full of hope. “Is it good enough? Do you think they’ll release it?”

“They’ll release it,” confirms Jung PD, entering the studio as he hangs up on a call. “I just got the go-ahead. They can’t shut it down without losing money on all the promotional material, so as long as it passes the audio approvals in the next couple of hours, it’ll be done.”

There’s a smattering of applause and relieved chuckles from around the studio. Yoongi runs a hand over his face and smiles tiredly at Hwan. “Go home and take a shower,” he advises him.

He frowns. “Why?”

“We can’t have a solo debut without a release party,” says Jung PD, as though it’s obvious. “Granted, it won’t be as fancy as a pre-planned party, but nothing about this release has been traditional so far,” he adds, and a few people laugh.

Yoongi notices Hwan’s hesitation. “I’ll sit with the Audio team,” he assures him. “This track won’t be out of my sight for a second until it’s officially out.”

Hwan nods and wipes his eyes as subtly as he can and everyone awws, Hoseok and one of the assistant producers throwing their arms around his shoulders and squeezing him. It’s an organic moment of camaraderie after over twelve hours of work; Yoongi can’t help but be extremely proud of Hwan.

“I’ll get the admin team to send out a mass email to the department to come over in a couple of hours.” Jung PD waves his phone and steps out, already making the call.

Everyone shuffles out after that, Namjoon giving Yoongi a last relieved high-five before leaving. Once he’s alone, Yoongi sighs and takes a seat, trying to squeeze in a minute of rest before heading over to the Audio team. He doesn’t foresee any problems there per se, but it requires plenty of concentration that he needs to gather from somewhere.

After five minutes of stretching and finishing the last of the Red Bull in the studio, Yoongi stands up and quickly emails the track to the Audio team, marking it URGENT. Taking a copy of it in a pendrive, he reaches for his bag and at the last moment, remembers to take the sheet music just in case it’s required. Straightening the sheets, he sees the names on the front page. Suga of BTS. Hwan. Kang Chanel.

Yoongi pauses. The mass email to the department will include her for certain. His heart skips a beat at the thought that she will most likely not come to the party, and won’t hear how her own song turned out until the rest of the world does. 

The smallest twinge of regret at how he’d spoken to her yesterday begins to take form in the bottom of his stomach. He thinks of how, nearly a year ago, he’d visited her house on an invite, not from Miso, but from her father. She hadn’t said a word in his presence, but the way she’d abruptly gone silent had been so uncomfortable to watch that Yoongi had accepted the invitation without even considering it, just so her father would leave.

You don’t know my father.

She’d said that to him at her house and while he hadn’t pried, it hadn’t quite left his mind either. He swallows and shakes his head; he can’t afford these thoughts right now. He’ll apologise to her later if he needs to; after all, it’s still Hwan who gave up his contract.

With that in mind, he turns off the light and leaves the studio.

—

For a last minute gathering catered by the bakery from the Hilton down the street and leftover liquor from Big Hit’s last party, Yoongi walks in to see far more people than he’d expected. Fortunately, the office’s entertainment hall seems to have been available and after some minimal decorations, at least part of the crowd seems to know what they’re here for.

He spots Hwan near the stage, looking fresher than he’s seen him all day, talking to a couple of other artists. Deciding to let him have his moment, Yoongi slinks over to the makeshift bar and pours himself a small whiskey, watching the night finally coming together after two days of chaos.

Jung PD comes over to him a little while later. “Did Audio sign off?”

Yoongi nods. “They wanted this released just as fast as we did, I think,” he says in a low voice. “I don’t know if they know about the… situation, but they were more cooperative than I’ve ever experienced.”

He chortles. “That’s good. Do you have your speech ready?” he asks, just as the music fades away.

“Speech? Come on,” he says, rolling his eyes even as he spots Hwan jogging over to them. “I shouldn't be -“

“This is all because of you, hyung,” he gushes, rosy-cheeked, his thick black hair bouncing on his forehead. He grabs Yoongi’s wrist and steers him towards the stage. “You have to say a few words.”

There’s some clapping and hooting which completely drowns out Yoongi’s feeble protests, but the small and proud part of him chooses to play along and he hops up on the small stage, barely two inches off the ground.

“Um -“ Yoongi clears his throat. Now that he’s up here, he realises the number of people who showed up was more than he’d initially realised. He scans the faces, some unrecognisable, until he spots Hwan and Jung PD standing in front, and feels a rush of happiness for them.

“I shouldn’t even be the one up here,” he begins, fiddling absently with his glass of whiskey. “But now that I am, I think this night won’t be complete without thanking a few people without whom this wouldn’t have been possible. As you know, we had some complications -” He pauses while a few people chuckle “- but we did it in the end.”

Hwan looks thrilled, now not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s crying. Yoongi thinks about what he’s given up already, about all the faith he’s kept in him so far, and his heart twists with affection.

“The Marketing team, for their stellar promotion and last-mile effort; Minji and Adora, for the background vocals they came up with on the spot,” he lists, pausing after each statement for people to applaud. “The Audio team for giving us the fastest sign-off in the history of Big Hit -” There are a few more laughs as one of the Audio reps raises his glass in acknowledgement. “Jung PD, of course, for being the mentor and producer I can only hope to be like one day - and Hwan, of course, for the dedication and talent like no other.”

The applause is far louder now, with cheers and hooting, and Yoongi joins in until he spots Miso’s face towards the back of the room. His smile fades and for a moment, so does everything else.

He should thank her. He knows he should. As a writer, Hwan would quite literally not have this song if it weren’t for her. His eyes drop to the floor before meeting hers again. She’s wearing an olive green dress, her pale and slender arms crossed protectively over her chest. She doesn’t smile at him, but there’s something hopeful in her face. 

Yoongi exhales; after yesterday morning, he might just owe her this, even if it’s just to bury the hatchet. But then a movement catches his eye and he sees Jung PD hugging Hwan, and considers how inappropriate it might be to thank Kang Jaesung’s daughter in front of Hwan, one day after he’d almost lost everything because of a powerful billionaire.

He swallows and clenches his jaw. Maybe this isn’t the right forum. She’ll still be credited as a writer and that’ll be forever. That was all she ever cared about anyway, to be credited.

“To Hwan,” he says finally, watching with a sinking stomach how her face falls slightly while the room erupts in applause again. It disappears in a flash, however, and she takes a deep breath before turning and murmuring something to the man beside her. Yoongi frowns; he hadn’t even noticed this person until now, with sharp features and a suit, a distinct, hulking look as he stands just behind her so her shoulder grazes his tie. 

He vaguely registers Jung PD stepping up to the stage and looks away to give him the mic. By the time he turns back to where Miso was, she’s gone, with her companion following her outside.

Yoongi stares at her vacant spot with unease. He tries to remember the fury he’d felt yesterday morning when the song was being shut down, but it seems ridiculously far away. What seem closer are the days they spent producing the song together in the studio, rewriting the words over empty cups of coffee, and the look on her face when he’d told her to get off his team.

“Hyung, is everything okay?” Hwan asks a few minutes later, when the speeches are over and the music is louder.

“Fine.” Yoongi forces a smile and shoves his free hand in his pocket. “What about you? Are you ready for Sunday night?”

“Am I ready to perform at a BTS concert?” He lets out a low whistle. “It’s like a dream, hyung. I still can’t believe it.”

“You’ll believe it when you have to spend the next three days in rehearsals.”

“That’s not a problem,” he says immediately. “I can’t wait. I’ll have to talk to my agent about timings, though - he’s got me a meeting with Puma and Innisfree also wants to meet -”

“Wait, Innisfree?” Yoongi frowns. “Are they trying to get you back? I suppose you can now, after the song has been released.”

Hwan looks confused for a moment before shaking his head. “No, no, I didn’t break my contract. I didn’t need to - can you believe it? Jung PD just called me this morning and told me to come in and I couldn’t believe my luck.” He tilts his head curiously. “I was actually going to ask you about it. I thought you would know what happened.”

Yoongi’s heart starts beating fast - very fast. His mind isn’t able to spell it out immediately but the way his stomach jolts, he knows the only other thing that could’ve made this song go through. He looks to Jung PD and something in his expression makes the older producer usher Hwan away before speaking further.

“I got an email last night,” he says after a moment. “Miso offered to take her name off the song. About half an hour later, Legal emailed me saying that their complication has been removed. It’s not hard to put two and two together.”

Yoongi bites his lip, taking a deep breath through his nose and exhaling shakily. “And the reason you didn’t tell me this was because…?”

“I didn’t think you’d do it if you knew she wasn’t getting credited,” he says apologetically. “Not after the Jungwon-Minji collaboration. Yoongi, you have a good heart but we just couldn’t risk it getting in the way of this release,” he continues quickly. “We’ve invested too much - and think of Hwan! Think of how he -”

“You lied to me!” Yoongi whispers furiously. “How - how could you do that? She and I worked on this together! She’s - we’re -” He breaks off abruptly, feeling an unexpected heat creep up his neck. “She’s my assistant producer! How is it going to look, that someone from my team forgoes credit twice?”

“You’re covered there,” he replies immediately, to Yoongi’s surprise. “She switched to Donghyuk’s team just before writing to Legal, so technically, she was off your team when she stepped down. It won’t go on your record at all.”

Yoongi feels like he’s underwater. “How -” He shakes his head, recalling the number of times he’s suggested switching teams, and her exasperated response each time. “She - she was assigned to me. People can’t just switch teams of their own accord.”

Jung PD gives him a look that makes Yoongi want to hit him. “You know who her father is, Yoongi. All she had to do was drop one email and she could switch to any team she wanted.”

—

What if I fail, dad?

Believe me. You don’t want to fail.

Even as an eleven year old, her father’s words had sent shivers up her spine. She had failed anyway, losing the spelling bee to her cousin, whose father had then brought it up at a family dinner party. The next day, Miso’s pet rabbit disappeared. Upon asking, her father had silenced her with a stony look.

Failure has consequences. Your rabbit should be the least of your concerns right now.

Miso had been devastated beyond words until a week later, when their housekeeper had sneaked into her room and informed her that their gardener, who had been instructed to take care of the rabbit, had instead given it away to his brother’s children who lived near the outskirts of the city.

It hadn’t helped too much, for every imagined scenario of her pet rabbit stayed burned in her brain anyway, flashing through her mind every time the possibility of failing her father loomed close.

I’ll sign off on your song. Convince him to sell to me.

Miso’s father had kept his word; the song will be out to the public in a few hours. But it doesn’t let her off the hook, for if she isn’t able to convince Lee Jiho to sell his company to her father, there’s no telling what could happen. If she’s lucky, all he will do is take away her job. If she isn’t… her rabbit flashes through her mind again and she shivers.

“Are all your work parties like this?” Jiho looks around with barely-concealed judgement. He places his glass of untouched whiskey on a table and slips his hands into his pockets.

“They’re usually more… planned,” she admits. She wishes she hadn’t brought him here. Her idea had been to help him get his guard down, maybe get him a little drunk and start talking up her father’s company. A party at Big Hit typically meant a celebrity or two as well, which was usually an added bonus for most people.

Jiho, however, it became apparent soon, thought he was above entertainment entirely. Far from impressing him, she worries she’s putting him off even more than he already seemed when she’d called him earlier today on the pretext of “getting to know him better”.

“Do you want to step outside?” she suggests. “It’ll be quieter…” She tries to shrug her shoulders in a flirty manner, feeling both nervous and ridiculous.

Jiho fixes her with his gaze, and Miso feels a crawling sensation up her back. Somehow, he has a tendency to make her feel like she’s being studied.

“Sure,” he says finally. They walk out of the party together and to the outside, near a gazebo and a closed coffee cart.

“Do you smoke?” he asks, placing a cigarette in between his teeth and lighting it. When she nods, he offers her the pack and waits for her to ask for the lighter. 

“I got it,” he mutters, and steps forward to touch the tip of his cigarette to hers. His eyes stay on her as he towers over her figure, backing her up against the wall behind her. Miso freezes, but before she can react further, he takes a step back.

She exhales shakily and takes a long drag, almost gagging at the thick, unfamiliar taste of old school cigarettes. For a moment she thinks about the last time she shared a cigarette with someone, the minty flavour and begrudging friendship tied to it.

Miso shakes her head. She can’t think about him right now.

“You know,” begins Jiho, blowing a long string of smoke into the air. “I’ve been in a lot of meetings with a lot of important people. But none of them have been interrupted midway quite like the one with your father yesterday. Definitely not for…” His gaze drops to her and he narrows his eyes curiously, as though sifting through the words in his mind. “… a daughter,” he says at last.

So it’s been playing on his mind since yesterday. Miso swallows and nods.

“I’m sorry about that,” she says, giving him a small smile. “It was… it was important. There are some things only my father can fix. He’s a useful person to have on your side.”

Jiho nods, raising his eyebrows. “That’s touching. Unfortunately, that’s not what it looked like from where I was sitting.”

She’s failing. She can feel it. Her pulse starts racing in anxiety.

“My father holds you in very high regard.”

“Really? He told you that?”

“Of course,” she lies easily. “I… forgive me, but I don’t make it a habit to ask for the number of everybody my father does business with.”

He gives her that same appraising look again, as though she’s an object at an antique sale he’s trying to price.

“That’s good to hear, I suppose. Although,” he says a moment later, “if he does hold me in such high regard, why is he trying to buy me out at a lower price? Why isn’t he paying me what I’m worth?” He takes a step closer to her with his last word.

He’s too close for comfort. “I don’t pretend to understand the ins and outs of how he does business. I’d rather leave that to someone with more experience,” she adds, gesturing slightly towards him and seeing his acknowledgement of it. “But… he’s a very valuable asset. His partnership can offer you a lot more than money.”

“Is that so?” His voice is soft and the faintest smile flits across his face. “Well,” he says, exhaling and dropping the extinguisher cigarette on the ground, “he’s your father. I’ll take your word for it.”

Miso stares, somewhat confused. It doesn’t seem like the conversation is over, but there’s an air of satisfaction about him.

“That’s… that’s good.”

Jiho gives her the closest thing to a smile since she met him yesterday. “So. What is it worth to you?”

Something uneasy stirs in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

He doesn’t look away from her. “Well. I’m guessing your father sent you here to sweet-talk me into this deal. Must be that partnership you’ve told me so much about,” he adds, chuckling softly.

Two things happen around the same time. The first is her realisation that beyond a certain point, her father did not care about Big Hit releasing a song or who the artist was. What he wanted was an entrepreneur’s company for cheap, and what he needed was his daughter indebted to him to the point of doing whatever it took to pay him back. He’d played the long game, possibly all the way since breakfast yesterday morning.

The second is Jiho’s forehead clearing when he’s satisfied that she understands what he means. 

Miso swallows, her heart hammering in her chest as she imagines the feel of a rabbit’s fur between her trembling fingers. “Are you serious?” she whispers, without thinking.

Jiho shrugs. “Depends. Do you want this sale to go through or not?”

She remembers the glare he’d thrown her yesterday at the father’s office when his meeting had been interrupted for her. For her father, this is business. For Jiho, this is ego. Either way, Miso can’t see a way out.

Yoongi is contemplating leaving the party early when he finally sees Miso again. Hugely relieved that she’s still here, he pushes through the crowd and jogs towards her.

“Miso!” he calls, reaching her just when she whips around at the sound of her name and her eyes go wide at the sight of Yoongi. “Listen, I - I need to talk to you.”

Before she can say anything, however, the same guy who had been standing next to her during Yoongi’s speech steps forward. In his indigo blue suit, he looks ridiculously out of place at this party. 

“We’re in a bit of a hurry right now,” he says smoothly. “Maybe later.” He moves to leave, his hand big and unwelcome on the small of Miso’s back.

Yoongi fights the urge to slap it away and blocks their way. “Look, I don’t know who you are, but I really -” His gaze drops to Miso, who looks more troubled than he’s ever seen her. All sorts of unimportant things like writing credits and songs fly clean out of his mind; something is not right. “I really need to talk to you,” he says softly. He watches her carefully and just when he thinks he’s imagining things, she gives him an imperceptible shake of the head.

The man behind her steps forward so he’s beside her. “I’m Jiho. I’m a… a business associate of Kang Jaesung’s,” he says deliberately, with a sinister sort of pride in his voice. “And you are?”

Something cold sinks into Yoongi’s chest. Just like before, he can’t quite spell out what it is but he knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he can’t let Miso leave with this person. He ignores the question and keeps his gaze on her.

“Miso,” he repeats, a little more urgently this time. “It - it’ll just take a second. It’s about work.”

Jiho - Yoongi can’t recall if that’s his name - scoffs, clearly affronted at being ignored. “Miso, do you know him?” he demands.

Something flickers in her eyes before stabilising. “Just some guy I work with,” she murmurs.

“No…” Yoongi says it under his breath, his frown deepening. “Miso -“

But he falls silent when her eyes flash momentarily. There’s no anger there, or betrayal. It’s a warning: don’t get involved. 

“Let’s go.” Yoongi catches a glimpse of her wrist just before Jiho wraps his fingers around it, and notices the mark he’d spotted last time, but far more faded. 

Before he can say anything else, Jiho elbows him out of the way and they leave. Yoongi waits for a couple of seconds for Miso to look back at him, to give him some hint that she knows what she’s doing. But she never does. He stays rooted to the spot until they disappear around the corner, fear gripping at his heart, when a switch flips and he races after them.

He takes a call between the parking lot and the entrance of the building and hurries towards the former, stopping in the dark lobby to see a grey jaguar outside with a driver in the front, waiting with the headlights on. Behind him, the back door is open as Miso climbs into the back seat, Jiho still gripping her wrist.

“No!” Yoongi doesn’t grasp immediately that he’s shouted out loud, but it’s only when Jiho frowns for a second and looks around that Yoongi realises they can’t hear him. He hurries across the lobby as Jiho gets in the car as well and shuts the door behind him.

“What are you doing?” he shouts. “Miso!” But by the time Yoongi runs through the automatic doors and reaches the porch, the car has driven away.

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[tripcabinet]

Believe It! A Deep Dive into Naruto: The Gallery Singapore

Attention all fellow Uzumaki Naruto lovers! Be aware! You are starting to surf a wave of nostalgia! Celebrating two decades of the beloved anime, Naruto: The Gallery opens the door to the public at Universal Studios Singapore, which serves as its first official international nameplate. Unlike the usual exhibition, this one gives you the true nature of the Leaf that you’ve never seen before.

A Walk Through Memory Lane: Relive the Shinobi Saga

When you step into Naruto: The Gallery, watch closely how this lonely young boy, who wants to achieve the impossible and become the leader of all the villages. Will accomplish his bold dreams. The exhibition is beautifully planned and developed so that you experience traveling the series in the Naruto universe. Relive the epic sequence of events in the series, proving to be a true sensory pleasure, equally as affecting as when Naruto painted his first poster for the Ichiraku Ramen shop. How about those fierce fights against Zabuza Momochi, Hidden Mist leader, and Orochimaru a notorious Sannin?

But Naruto: The Gallery is more than reliving the moment again. Dedicate particular sections for world-building by showcasing meticulously drawn storyboards that picture the storyline. Such an approach is a great opportunity to think more deeply about how important every detail of production is.

A Celebration of Artistic Brilliance: Character Art and Beyond

The exhibition does not just stop there. Look at the exhibition of masterful character artworks. Come through the history of the young ninjas as they grow from Team 7 beginners to their ultimate ninja years when they begin as a team.

And for a truly special treat, Naruto: The Animation Gallery brings all together – they are original animations by the selective five up-and-coming animators. These resilient artists re-create the nostalgic moments of the anime, using a distinct approach and sparking up the fading passion for Naruto you had in the past.

Fuel Your Chakra at Naruto: The Gallery Café

So, the moment you have come to terms with how Naruto saved the world and amazed yourself with the realm of art that made the series possible is that you need to energize your ninja tendency! Head over to the Naruto: The Gallery Café, a themed café that will illuminate your taste senses by offering a cuisine menu, where the ingredients are inspired by the anime.

Yeah, this is where the playtime will manifest itself to you. Attacking with your teeth a steamy between-your-hands bowl of Ichiraku Ramen isn’t enough for you. Such a dish deserves the best place in history! For those who want something hotter, there is nothing for it. Let yourself be inspired by Uchiha Sasuke and his Miso Glazed Meatballs – similar to his Raging Bull Jutsu, which delivers a clean and hurting punch.

The café just doesnít on there. From refreshing beverages inspired by characters like Sakura and Kakashi to delectable desserts that pay homage to iconic locations like the Land of Waves, the Naruto: All ninjas, whether amateurs or experts have something tempting to discover in the Gallery Café which is our place to borrow masterpieces.

Dates to Remember and Essential Information

Save the calendar, fans of Naruto! Naruto: The exhibition will run from March 27th to June 30th, 2024.The best part? Entry is free with your Universal Studios Singapore ticket hence you are covered with no extra costs required to access a bit of the Naruto world.

Embrace Your Inner Ninja: Why You Shouldn’t Miss This Exhibition

Whether you’re a die-hard fan who can recite every jutsu or a curious newcomer just discovering the world of Naruto. Naruto: The Gallery Singapore is an experience you cannot afford to overlook. It represents a platform to commemorate the heritage of a show that the world fell in love with. A chance to revive fond memories, and a way to form new ones. In this regard, build up your team of ninjas, invite your friends and relatives, and get ready to travel to the colorful land of Konohagakure. It’s a chance to truly Make These Happen.

For those coming from Visakhapatnam, don’t miss Trip Cabinet’s Singapore tour package from Visakhapatnam to make your Naruto experience even more memorable!

[comradekiwi]

so we all know the jump festa mf bkdk coasters yeah

———

45. Their fucking agency was making them pose for 45 different fucking merch lines. They were a goddamn hero duo! They had more important things to do!

Katsuki glared at the email over breakfast while Izuku pattered away in the kitchen, mumbling.

“Oi. Did you see this shit.” Katsuki called out between bites of miso.

“Eh?” Izuku shuffled over and poked his head into Katsuki’s space, skimming the email open on his phone. “Oh, yeah. Lots of costumes! It might be fun,” he tacked on, eyeing Katsuki’s glare.

Katsuki groaned and laid his face on the table, and Izuku stifled a laugh and patted his head in commiseration. “Sorry, Kacchan.”

Their photoshoot was scheduled for the next week, and was projected to take the entire day, maybe more. Katsuki briefly toyed with the idea of quitting his job entirely. He considered it again the day of the shoot, when he and Izuku had to drag themselves out of bed at the crack of dawn and make their way to the studio. Izuku seemed to read his mind (probably from his murderous expression) and smacked him in the arm, the two of them flipping through the binder of mocks while they waited for their stylist teams to arrive.

The shoot director was a bubbly little person, excitable but firm. Katsuki had a begrudging respect for them; he’d done shoots with them before, and they were solid in their role, handling reluctant pro hero models with ease, adaptable to the point of flawless results each time.

Hiro, the director, had Katsuki and Izuku get into their basic hero gear first, probably to ease them into the day. Those photos were easy enough, directed to pose or smize or glare at each other, listening to Hiro chatter between directions about the theme of the shoot, how they were considering the title “RIVAL.” That made Izuku and Katsuki hide matching grins, glancing at each other in amusement. Right. Rivals.

They were posing in so many costumes for a test release of some minor merch, like coasters or the like, reception of each which would then be monitored to decide which line had the most potential. Hiro liked to be thorough, and their method worked, so the agency trusted them.

There were some, frankly, ridiculous get ups they were shoved into, like heavy winter clothes for some reason (really? arctic winter? in Japan?) and some fantasy RPG shit; some deceptively casual ones where they were in formalwear or civvies; and some admittedly fun ones, even though Katsuki still complained on principle. Like when Hiro had the costume team hand them full-on pirate gear, then for some godforsaken reason made Izuku sit in Katsuki’s lap. Katsuki had a feeling they were fucking with him and Izuku at that point, especially when their eyes lit up at Katsuki’s steadying hand on Izuku’s waist to keep the blushing fool from falling over. But something must have turned out well, because a bunch of shots after that also featured Izuku practically in Katsuki’s lap, if not physically.

Most of their shots had been taken separately, but by the hungry look in Hiro’s eyes as they clicked through the images, Katsuki had a feeling they were in for a world of photoshop. And Katsuki was always right, which is why he wasn’t surprised when they got the demos back and found him and Izuku practically on top of each other in half of the coasters. It was kind of funny, actually, because:

“Wh— Kacchan, am I that much smaller than you??”

Katsuki threw his head back and laughed.

[beevean]

逆転裁判　逆転のトノサマン Part 2 (捜査 1)

I will finish this game. I promise. I just need to speed things up.

I’ve decided to cut the vocabulary section, as that was my main drive to analyze everything and waste so much time. I think the small localization differences are more interesting anyway.

This post goes from the first meeting with Oldbag to the end of the first part. Nothing exciting happens here. Here’s all my playthrough from the beginning.

Oldbag says about Powers 「お茶の間に出せるシロモノじゃないよ。メシがまずくなる。」, “He’s not a fine thing that can be served during tea, the meal would go bad.” Somehow she sounds even more condescending. Speaking of which, she always refers to herself as “oba-chan” and to Powers as “that kid”. (why is she popular in japan i have no idea)

Yet another example of AA1!Phoenix being translated to be ruder: when Gumshoe tells him that Edgeworth is all sad after losing to him, Phoenix replies in Japanese “I... I didn’t know that”, with something of an apologetic tone「し、 知りませんよそんなの 」. English Phoenix responds with a far blunter “Umm... so?”

“That’s my endearing character trait!” was a far more drastic “My identity will crumble down!”「あ。。。あいでんてぃてぃがホーカイするッス！」

Mr. Monkey is described as a tenguzaru (テングザル), or proboscis monkey. I understand why they had to simplify it, but I found it interesting. Of course, the next comment isn’t “what kind of monkey has a nose like that?” but “do tengus have such a round nose?”

Typical example of localization: in Japanese Oldbag seems to like tea and yokan, which in English became coffee and donuts. Of course the English translation also took the opportunity to sneak in a “cops love donuts” joke, which in Japanese was Maya praising “the oba-chan of Nippon”.

As a reversal of the typical “AA1!Phoenix was ruder in English”, “I'm glad someone around here seems to be enjoying themselves” was an even more sarcastic “People can laugh so cheerfully”「人間って、こんなに朗らかに笑えるもんなんだ」

I may be wrong, but it looks like in the English version there’s a piece missing: if you investigate the drain grate in Studio 1 (and specifically the grate, not the drain itself), Phoenix comments that it’s bent and it would be a hassle to fix. It’s not that crucial to the plot, but this is the first time I’ve noticed that the translation straight up cut an object that could be investigated.

Another cute example of localization: the vending machine in Studio 1 sells “tea, miso soup, shiruko, kudzu tea and oden” instead of “cola, candy, chips and gums”. Similarly, on Will Powers’ table, there are wagashi instead of “cookies”. I honestly had no idea that the first game was so Japanese, I thought they started to add stuff in the second game.

Again related to localization, Will Powers has “Western clothes” mixed with “Japanese clothes”, instead of “some regular suits in among the costumes". Interesting.

Penny seems to be slightly more formal in Japanese. For example, when Maya introduces Phoenix and herself as Will Powers’ lawyer team, she says in English “I don’t envy you guys one bit!”, while in Japanese it’s just “That must be hard”. Or when Phoenix asks her if she knew that Powers was sleeping in his room, Penny says “No!” and it’s clearly embarassed in English, but simply “I didn’t know, I’m not so improper” in Japanese. They also did no effort to convey her use of the “masu-desu” form. (tbf it’s not like she has a shining personality anyway, so i don’t blame the translator for spicing her dialogue up)

Fun untranslatable detail: “Nick! You're craftier than I gave you credit for” was “うわあ、なるほどくん、おぬし、意外と悪だね”. Which means roughly the same thing, but おぬし is an archaic pronoun to refer to equals and inferiors, the joke probably being that Maya is speaking like a samurai. How can you even translate this sudden word choice?

I’m happy to report that the “ladder-stepladder” running gag is perfectly intact and the translation was faithful :)

“Eat your miso ramen hamburgers Maya.”

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.15

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 15/20

Previously <- Chapter 14: Fighting

Chapter 16: Heats and Ruts -> Next

Chapter 15: Gross Holiday Activities

Izuku was lying in bed staring up at the ceiling. He was exhausted, had been exhausted for the entire week. No one had warned him just how much presenting would take out of him, let alone just how terrible going through heat would be. That’s not something they talk about in school. They talk about the biological mechanisms of why secondary genders exist. About how wonderful and beautiful heats and ruts were. ‘They help us create life,’ he remembered his teacher intoning.

After this first heat, he didn’t think they were all people had made them out to be.

The only good thing that came from presenting was that if Katsuki wanted to return to partner skate one day, they could still be partners. Izuku could only hope that one day Katsuki would want to.

A soft knock tapped at his door.

The person didn’t wait for him to reply before pushing open the door. Cinnamon and star anise and sugar wafted towards him, and Izuku knew without looking who had entered his room. His scent had never been so strong before, but it was so very familiar.

“Kacchan?” he mumbled, turning to look at the newly presented alpha where he stood in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”

“Get dressed,” he said as answer.

“I’m tired, Kacchan,” Izuku said even as he slowly pulled back the covers and slid his feet to the floor. He felt weak like even if he stood up his legs wouldn’t be able to hold his weight. Sighing heavily, he scrubbed at his eyes. “How did you get in? I didn’t think Mom would let you in since…” He trailed off, eyes on his toes as he curled and uncurled them.

“You really think Auntie would let me being an alpha change her opinion of me?” Katsuki crossed his arms, leaning against the very noticeably open door. Normally, when he came over, Katsuki would come in and immediately close the door. Either Inko had talked to him, or he was already conducting himself in a way that wouldn’t make Inko’s opinion change.

It made Izuku sad. Things would never be the same for them from here on out. Everything was going to change no matter how hard he fought against it.

Izuku shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just surprised.” He didn’t move.

“Are you going to get up or am I going to just go on my own?” Katsuki snapped, impatience in his voice, but also the same exhaustion Izuku was harboring.

“Where are we going?”

“The outdoor rink opened today. You hate missing the first day.”

Katsuki didn’t have to say anymore. Izuku heaved himself out of bed with a groan, and hurried to find something clean-ish to pull on. Something that didn’t smell overwhelmingly of his heat. On their way out, Izuku’s hand trapped in Katsuki’s, he called, “We’re going to the outdoor rink, Mom!”

Inko shuffled out of the kitchen with a small bag, handing it to Katsuki. Miso soup or green tea that she always gave them before they went out on cold winter days. “Be safe, you two. Mitsuki is coming with you?” she asked, chaffing her hands together worriedly.

Katsuki nodded, face looking more severe than ever with the deep black bags beneath his eyes. “She’s waiting in the car.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you two in a little bit. Call if you won’t make it back for dinner, baby.” With that, she hugged Izuku tightly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

When they slid into the backseat of the car, Mitsuki and Masaru turned to smile at Izuku. “How are you feeling, Izuku?” Masaru asked conversationally as Mitsuki turned back around to watch the road, “You’ve had a long week just like Katsuki, haven’t you?”

Izuku nodded, tightening his fingers around Katsuki’s. “It was really tiring, but I’m happy to be out of the house.”

“We’re glad to help. Katsuki missed you.” Masaru smiled at his son, but Katsuki had propped his chin in his hand to stare out the window. He turned back around, leaving the boys to their solitude.

There weren’t as many people on the ice when they got there than Izuku had expected. Probably it had to do with how early in the holiday season it was and maybe even that it was the first day the rink was open. Silently, they shoved their feet in the shitty skates that the rink offered while Mitsuki and Masaru wandered off to check out the stalls close by.

When Izuku finally stepped out onto the ice, it felt as if he hadn’t in months. It was a relief. Being on the ice was easy. Being on the ice was uncomplicated. Being on the ice meant being with Katsuki, and Katsuki was one of the few constants in his life.

They skated together for hours. Round and round and round despite the eyes that found them, tracked them. Children who were newly presented had a stronger, more pungent scent. They received more attention, especially newly presented omegas. Over the week, Izuku had dreaded having to go back out in public remembering all of the omegas on the team who had presented before him and the unrelenting, mostly unwanted attentions they’d received. He worried about the eyes that would follow him and the noses that would catch his scent.

But being out with Katsuki made it easy. After a while, the feel of those eyes fell away, and it was just the two of them.

When they finally left the ice, sweaty and red faced and shaky from exertion, Mitsuki handed them food to share and Izuku said, “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“For what?” Katsuki grunted, cheek stuffed full with takoyaki as he looked out over the crowd. His eyes were flat, not as shiny as they usually were. Lacking his excitement for life.

“Asking me to come out. I was… I was scared about being in public again,” Izuku whispered, holding the food tray in both hands, but not taking any for himself. He couldn’t look at Katsuki, his blush moving from exertion to embarrassment.

“Yeah, well, I was just tired of being inside,” Katsuki muttered, but even as he spoke, his scent told another story. It would take some time before he learned to control his scent enough that his emotions didn’t scream out through his scent.

For now though, it was nice to know exactly what he was really feeling, what he would refuse to say. Izuku smiled. “Thank you anyway.”

…..

"Deku, you should just talk to him," Ochako told him sternly.

Izuku pointedly did not look at her, focussing on his breathing as they jogged along somewhere in the middle of the team. Ochako wasn't a slow runner, but she wasn't as fast as Katsuki. Since their argument three days ago though, Izuku hadn't even looked at Katsuki with the insurmountable guilt he was harboring. He shouldn’t have let Katsuki’s pre-rut get the better of him, but his body seemed bound and determined to no longer be his friend. The same went for his omega who had been sulking the entire time.

Neither of them had even showed up to practice the past two days and yesterday's practice had been the most strained it had ever been, much to Aizawa's irritation and Toshinori's disappointment. Both Izuku and Katsuki had separately refused to touch the ice with the other on it, and had been relegated to floor work in separate studios. Toshinori had apologized to Izuki for making things worse which had only served to inflate his guilt.

The anger had eventually evaporated, and now the rational part of Izuku's brain had come back online. That didn't keep every other part of him from moaning that he'd royally fucked everything up. There was no way Katsuki would ever forgive him for what he’d said.

"Ignoring me isn't going to stop me from talking about this," Ochako warned, still keeping stride beside him even as her breath started to falter and grow heavier, "You two are being absolutely ridiculous."

"You have to admit, this is par the course for them," Todoroki murmured on Izuku's other side.

Izuku sighed. "Not you too, Todoroki."

Todorki somehow managed to shrug while still swinging his arms. "I agree with her. You should just talk."

Again, Izuku sighed, but heavier this time. Heavy enough to interrupt his breathing and force him to adjust his breath again. "You didn't see or hear how he reacted. It'll be a miracle if he ever even looks at me again."

"Well then, you have a fairy godmother because it's going to happen sooner than you think," Uraraka huffed, "Especially if you just. Talk. To. Him."

Finally, Izuku snapped his eyes to her, frustrated and feeling like garbage and she was just making it worse. "You don't get it, Chako! You don't know our history! It's not that simple!"

"Because you don't talk to us about it!" she shouted back, glaring at him fiercely. Far ahead of them, Iida turned a glance over his shoulder and began to slow.

"Because it hurts to talk about!"

Uraraka grabbed his arm, jerking him to a stop and pulling him away towards the side of the trail. Ahead of them, Todoroki kept running and grabbed Iida’s bicep to keep him moving. For several long moments, both of them caught their breath and stared at their feet. Only when the last of their teammates had passed did they speak.

"I'm sorry," Izuku whispered, eyes downcast and tear filled, "I didn't mean to yell at you."

"Well, you did," Uraraka said, voice still sharp around the edges, but normal volume now, "We're friends, Deku, but no one gets a pass for yelling at me. Not even you."

The tears spilled over, dripping off the tip of his nose. He shielded his face from view with a hand and scrubbed at his tears with the other. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. Please don't hate me. I can't have another friend hating me," he gasped.

Uraraka's sigh ruffled his hair. "I don't hate you and neither does Bakugou, but you were yelling at me when I'm trying to help you. Not only that, but you're holding stuff against me that I don't know about because you've never talked to us about it. I'm going to be blunt here, both you and Bakugou clearly have a lot of unresolved trauma from when you were younger that's still fucking up a lot of stuff for the two of you. You would be so much better without all this extra baggage. You two are terrible at communicating, and whether you talk to me or not, you need to talk it out with him. That time on the podcast doesn't count as talking it out. That was just Bakugou being vulnerable with you for once, but there's way more than just that going on. And you know it."

Izuku was crying harder, using the tail of his scarf to mop up his tears. "I know, it's just so hard. I caused so many problems for Kacchan when we were younger. I was just so thankful to be able to skate with him again, but now… now… Now he won't even look at me because I threw everything back in his face. I'm a terrible person, and Kacchan deserves a better omega. An omega who can cook and clean and doesn't have to rely on suppressants to get him through life. Who didn't ruin two years of his life when we were kids."

Uraraka gripped his shoulder tightly, waiting until he raised his eyes to her to begin. "Talk to him. I truly believe the two of you think more alike than you realize. I'm sure he wants to talk to you too."

"What if he tells me to go away."

"He won’t."

"But what if-"

"He won't, Deku, trust me."

With a shaky nod, Izuku accepted the hug Uraraka offered him before they started back towards the rink. They walked the trail instead of running, allowing Izuku to get his tears under control. When they exited the trail, the rest of the team had already disappeared into the rink to change for their day.

Only Katsuki and Kirishima remained standing near the rink entrance. Kirishima was whispering to Katsuki, but stopped when Katsuki's eyes snapped to Izuku.

They stared at each other, Katsuki's eyes trailing over him before scrutinizing his face. After several long moments, Katsuki turned and disappeared into the rink.

Kirishima waited for them to draw closer before speaking. "I think I managed to convince him, but I'm not sure what he's planning," he said, speaking directly to Uraraka instead of Izuku.

Sighing, she nodded. "Good. The same goes for me." Looking to Izuku, she smiled and said, "Talk to him. I'm going to get changed and head to work."

…..

"Bro, Katsuki, just talk to him. Watching you mope is making me sad. Like, come on now. You're better than this." Kirishima jogged beside Katsuki, the only one managing to keep up with him out of his group of friends. Mina and Kaminari loped along behind them, their panting desperate breath loud on the quiet trail. Only Sero was further ahead of them, his long legs carrying him easily. The only reason he was ahead was because Katsuki wasn't putting any effort into the run. He was just too tired.

"No." His reply was flat, almost monotonous. After the fight with Izuku, all of his pre-rut anger had ebbed into something aching. All day, every day, his chest hurt with the sheer level of pining he was allowing himself to engage in. He’d even allowed his alpha to start constructing the nest for the omega that he’d been fighting against. Not that any omega needed an alpha to create a shitty version of something they had the instinct to build well, but it put Katsuki at ease knowing it was there if Izuku so-ever needed it. So, he wallowed and pined and didn’t cave to the desire to go knock on the omega’s apartment door just down the hallway from him.

"Man-"

"No. You didn't hear what he said to me. He doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm not going to force him to talk to me."

Kirishima sighed, turning his eyes towards the sky. "You don't know if he does or doesn't if you don't talk to him. He was angry. People say stuff they don't mean all the time when they're angry."

Katsuki glared at him out of the corner of his eye. "Everything he said was true."

"That doesn't mean he meant it."

"It does for Deku."

"You're being ridiculous," Kirishima said sternly, eyebrows furrowing, "You don't know if he regrets what he said or not. Sometimes I think you don't know Midoriya at all." He turned his eyes forward again, and Katsuki got the distinct feeling that his best friend was disappointed in him.

"I've known him way longer than any of you extras!"

"Which makes you biased. From the little you told me, a lot happened when you were preteens, and I wouldn't be surprised to learn that your perspectives on each other are seriously skewed," Kirishima told him honestly, and Katsuki knew his best friend was frustrated with him because he hadn't looked at him. Not only that, but his ever present smile was missing. “It’s like you two hold each other on some insurmountable pedastals, but don’t realize that you’re just people.”

Katsuki didn't reply, seething under the truth of his words. But the thought of rejection made him nauseous. If he talked to Deku and the omega told him to fuck off, he wasn't sure what he'd do. Probably find another team all together.

He didn't want to do that though. He wanted to stay with Izuku even if the omega never looked at him ever again.

"How do I even start a conversation like that?" Katsuki muttered.

"Apologizing would be a good start." At the look on Katsuki's face, Kirishima sighed again. "You need to verbally talk to him, hash out everything between the two of you, but I guess you could start by getting on the ice with him. Maybe take him to do something that he'll really enjoy that he hasn't gotten a chance to do yet."

Several things popped into his head at once, but still he asked, "Like what?"

"I don’t know. You two have been seriously busy. Maybe take him to Downtown and go Christmas shopping and to see the lights. The Christmas tree is up, and they've opened the outdoor rink. He always gets excited during the holiday season."

Several distinct memories of making a day out of going to the outdoor rink on the first day of opening flitted through Katsuki’s mind. He scowled. "I hate all that gross Christmas shit. People are always way too loud and happy."

Kirishima laughed. "I know that, but this isn't about you. It's about him."

‘Fair point.’ Letting out a noncommittal grunt, Katsuki lengthened his stride and Kirishima whined as he started to fall behind. When they finally made it to the end of the trail, Katsuki waited for Kirishima, but also kept an eye out for Izuku to make sure the omega made it back.

Slowly, their teammates exited the path and started towards the rink. Izuku didn’t appear.

Kirishima shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing between Katsuki and the path. After ten more minutes, he started talking, chattering without stopping.

Crossing his arms, Katsuki clenched his fists against his sides to keep his growing panic known. Kirishima’s neverending chatter was doing nothing to help him. Mostly, it just pissed him off.

Long minutes pass, and it was only when Katsuki was seconds away from plunging back into the forest and Kirishima was saying, “I’m sure he’s alright, man, this trail is really safe. All the trails are. And it’s Midoriya. I think we would have heard something by now if he was in trouble,” that there was movement at the trail mouth.

Izuku and Uraraka stopped as they spotted Katsuki and Kirishima.

He dragged his eyes over Izuku, looking for any signs that he’d been hurt and allowing his panic to subside, before looking over the omega’s face. His nose, lips and eyes were red, and there were clear signs that he’d been crying.

‘Omega sad. Comfort omega. Omega should not have to cry,’ his alpha said, and while Katsuki agreed, he couldn’t just go up to Izuku and hold him.

Instead, he met Izuku’s eyes pointedly again before turning and heading into the rink. From there, he turned towards the ice instead of the locker rooms where the rest of the team was. It had been three days since he last set foot on the ice, and he hadn’t realized just how much a deviation from his usual schedule would affect him. Sleep had been scarce, and frustration had been high. Not frustration at Izuku, but at himself. Because after everything, he was still somehow managing to fuck things up. Not to say he hadn’t been upset with Izuku, but it hadn’t lasted. Everything he’d said had been the truth.

Katsuki pulled on his skates with purposeful, quick jerks. By the time the three stragglers made it in, he was already taking off his guards to step onto the ice. He paused, glancing over his shoulder to catch Izuku’s gaze before stepping out. He found his way to center ice before coming to a stop and turning to wait for Izuku to join him. If he was going to join him.

He hoped the invitation was obvious. He wasn’t good with words. Never had been and had the sneaking suspicion never would be.

Uraraka and Kirishima were smirking, and together, pushed Izuku towards the rink. He glanced back at them, but they just waved him forward again. Only when he stepped away did they scurry away themselves, heads bent close together.

Katsuki waited patiently as Izuku slowly pulled out his skates. Every few seconds as he pulled them on, he glanced up as if to make sure Katsuki hadn’t gone anywhere.

Finally, standing at the entrance to the rink, he simply stared at Katsuki with trepidation written all across his face.

Instead of opening his mouth, worried something nasty and venomous was just going to come tumbling out as it so often did, he held out his hand.

Izuku’s face opened with relief, and he scrubbed at his eyes before hurrying out to meet Katsuki. They didn’t stay on the ice long, silently gliding around the rink a few times without any purpose, just contenting each other with the others presence.

As if following an unspoken signal, they stepped off the ice together, gathered up their belongings and went outside.

Izuku waited beside Katsuki, bouncing from foot to foot and breathing into his cupped hands as he locked the doors to the rink. When Katsuki turned, Izuku handed over Katsuki’s bag, a small cautious smile evident over the top edge of his scarf. The scarf Katsuki had given him.

For the first time in days, Katsuki spoke to Izuku. “Put on your fucking gloves, dumbass, that’s what you’ve got ‘em for. Fuck.” He stepped in close to Izuku, rummaging around his coat pockets despite the omega’s sudden stiffness and stammering and red cheeks. Pulling out the gloves, he pulled them onto Izuku’s hands with quick efficiency. He clasped Izuku’s hands between his own. “Where’s your hat? I swear, you’d be dead without me.” He reached around Izuku, and this time easily found his beanie in the outside pocket of his bag.

All the gifts he’d given Izuku on his person all at the same time. Katsuki smirked, self-satisfied, after he jerked the hat down over Izuku’s ears, flipping the bunny ears out of the omega’s face and over the top of his head. “Better. Let’s go.” He turned, striding away before Izuku could answer.

“What? Where are we going? Our building is the other way.” Izuku scrambled to catch up, falling into step beside Katsuki and stepping close as the sidewalk began to fill with bodies. The closer they got to Downtown, the more crowded it became. The signs of life grew exponentially, and it wasn’t long before the streets were filled with lights and holiday music and the sound of people living and loving together.

Katsuki glanced over at him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close so they took up less space on the sidewalk. Izuku didn’t react to the sudden proximity like Katsuki had expected him to, eyes darting from one store front to the next. His eyes were wide, colored lights reflecting brightly off his corneas.

Glancing away as heat built along his collar, he said, “We’re not going home just yet.”

“What are we doing then?” Izuku asked, and he caught the glance the omega sent him.

He also caught the bright red of Izuku’s cheeks. ‘It’s just the cold. It’s just the cold. It’s just the cold,’ he chanted to himself.

‘Omega still responds to us. Hope!’ his alpha retorted.

On a whim, Katsuki steered them into a store front so frilly and lit up that his eyeballs actually throbbed in his head. The store was familiar, one of his few haunting grounds that made coffee exactly to his standards. Warmth and the heavy scent of coffee greeted them, and he unwound himself from Izuku to usher him through the double doors. “We’re getting hot chocolate to start off.”

As soon as Izuku had a chance to scan the coffee shop, his arm shot into the air. Jovially, he called, “Hagakure! Ojirou! I didn’t know you worked here!”

Neither did Katsuki, and he silently cursed.

The woman with her pale skin, pale blue eyes and the palest blonde hair on the planet waved back from behind the counter. “Midoriya! And Bakugou! What are you doing here?” She rounded the counter with a quick whisper to Ojirou who was sporting a baby blue apron. “Wow! It’s so weird seeing your guys off the ice.”

Izuku laughed. “It is, isn’t it? It’s nice though.”

“Yeah,” she cooed before stacking her gloved hands on her hips and smiling widely. “What can I do for you guys? Looking for a late night pick-me-up?”

“Kacchan said something about hot chocolate?” Izuku turned to Katsuki who would have been happier being ignored.

He hadn’t been expecting -realistically- to see any of their teammates that night. Had banked on it. He should have planned for the eventuality. It was the holiday season. Everyone was doing their Christmas shopping and enjoying the lights and shit.

He should have planned for it. Instead, Hagakure had a knowing smile playing across her mouth. Heat bloomed along his collar to crawl up his neck. Gruffly, he said, “Yeah. The Aztec spice for me and whichever the nerd wants.”

“You have multiples?” Izuku whispered reverentially as he whipped back around to look at Hagakure.

“Sure do! There’s a whole list for the holidays over there by Ojirou if you want to take a look.”

Izuku all but bounced over to the counter, greeting their other teammate with a bright chipper smile.

Hagakure and Katsuki didn’t move. “So…” she stared.

“Stop.”

She laughed, throwing her head back. “What? I haven’t said anything!”

Katsuki could feel his pulse in his cheeks, and he glared at her. “I know what you’re about to say. So, stop.”

“I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you. Just don’t fuck it up again, you know? And maybe get him something nicer than clothes and blankets? Just a suggestion.”

Katsuki didn’t even want to know how she knew about all of that, especially the blanket. He wanted to slam his head into a wall. Who was this beta trying to give him advice? They barely ever spoke, and he’d only ever thought of her as a teammate, even all these years later. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he ground out. But he allowed his eyes to remain glued on Izuku and for the warmth in his cheeks to fill his chest.

Hagakure pursed her lips. “You know, the one thing about basically being invisible is that people forget to check when they’re doing sketchy shit.” When he didn’t react, she simply said, “You’re courting him. I’ve seen you put a couple of those gifts in his bags. And don’t get me started on the lunches and snacks that I’ve seen you share. Just because he’s a dummy, doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

Except that Izuku wasn’t actually a dummy, not in this sense. He’d known Katsuki’s intentions for a bit, eventually figured them out at least. It was just that he kept fucking shit up before actually getting the balls to properly ask Izuku to formally court him. Well, publicly at least. Katsuki hated that tradition dictated they go public. While he didn’t mind the idea of people knowing, the way he actually felt for the nerd was his and Izuku’s alone. If Izuku didn’t care about being public, he felt like that should have been good enough. Still, he knew how both of their parents would feel if they didn’t.

Working his jaw, Katsuki tried to find the words to reply that weren’t ‘fuck off’. If he really wanted to court Izuku, he couldn’t go alienating the nerd’s friends even if he wanted the omega all to himself. In the end, he muttered, “He wouldn’t like expensive shit. He’s not that kind of omega. The only non-functional things he owns are his skating memorabilia.” Before he was forced to endure whatever else she had to say in response, Izuku hopped back over with two takeaway cups and a smile cutting from ear to ear.

“Here you go, Kacchan!”

Katsuki took the cup with a grunt before grabbing Izuku’s hand and tugging him towards the door. “Let’s fucking go before more meddling happens.”

“Okay, bye, Hagakure, Ojirou!” Izuku called back, unperturbed by the frozen air just outside the door.

“Bye, sweetie! Have a good time! Make good choices!” Hagakure waved back enthusiastically before rounding the counter again.

Izuku waved for a few moments longer before bringing the cup in his hand to his lip. He hadn’t pulled his other from Katsuki’s, and instead used it to drag Katsuki into his side as they started to walk again. “So, what are we doing?”

“You haven’t gotten a chance to come down here this season, right?” Katsuki asked, keeping his eyes forward as he steered Izuku around a group of merry carolers. He felt more than saw Izuku shake his head, his curls sending up a cloud of sweet smelling mint and rain. “So, whatever you want.”

Izuku jerked them to a stop just as Katsuki was lifting his cup to his mouth. Hot liquid sprayed across his mouth, and he suppressed a curse. He thought the omega was about to really give it to him. Instead, when he looked at Izuku, he was met with wide sparkling green eyes and astonishment. Maybe the tongue lashing would have hurt less, but he knew he deserved every little twinge that spiked through his chest.

“What’s that look for?” he grumbled, glancing away from Izuku.

“Are you being serious?”

Katsuki snapped his eyes back around, indignation rising. “Why would I have said it if I weren’t being serious?”

Still, the astonishment stayed. “It’s just… it’s not like you, and after what happened at the beginning of the week…” Izuku dropped his eyes and then his hand, curling into himself. “It’s unexpected. I know you let me back on the ice, but I haven’t apologized. I don’t deserve your kindness.”

Considering what course of action to take, Katsuki eventually chose to reach around Izuku and pull his ponytail forward. He kept his fingers tangled in the supernaturally soft curls as Izuku shyly lifted his eyes to look at him.

“I haven’t apologized either. You’re not the only one at fault here. We’re both idiots.” Izuku’s eyes grew impossibly wide, but he didn’t speak. “So, what do you want to do?”

A smile grew quickly on Izuku’s face, and he pushed in close, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s waist tightly. His cup was warm against Katsuki’s spine even through all of the layers he was wearing. “You’re going to regret asking me that,” he said, voice muffled in Katsuki’s jacket.

He sighed heavily. “I already knew that.”

Izuku pulled away, but not completely. Instead, he resumed their earlier position pressed shoulder to shoulder. “We have so much to do tonight,” he chirruped.

Katsuki grimaced, but went along without complaint.

For several hours, they peaked into packed stores strung from end to end with brightly colored lights and lengths of tinsel. Ate samples that said stores were handing out. Izuku did some actual Christmas shopping, picking up gifts for his mother, Katsuki’s parents, Uraraka and the rest of his friends. The entire time, he kept up a constant stream of chatter and singing.

And he never pulled his hand from Katsuki’s.

“The outdoor rink is open!” Izuku cried as they found themselves right in the middle of Downtown, the rink acting as the epicenter of the festivities.

The Christmas tree towered on the opposite end of the square as music played over the mass of bodies. There were so many lights strung around that there was no need for the usual street lamps or floodlights, and all stood dark beneath the Christmas lights. There weren’t actually that many people on the ice at the moment as Katsuki thought there would be, just a couple of kids and couples sticking close to the walls. Only a few brave souls had ventured out towards center ice, feet braced awkwardly and hands held out for balance.

“Let’s skate!” Izuku said emphatically, turning to completely face Katsuki, “Please, Kacchan! It’ll be closed for the season before I get to!”

“We skate every day, dumbass, what makes this rink different from ours?” Katsuki grumbled, beginning to feel the weight of his bag and the dragging of the day. It was well passed his usual bedtime, and he felt like an old man. An old man who needed a nap. “If you want to skate, we can just go back. At least there’s no people at our rink.”

“But that’s why I want to skate here.” Izuku was pulling him gently towards the booth renting out lockers and skates as if he moved slow enough that Katsuki wouldn’t notice what he was doing or something. “I love being on ice with so many people, all the excitement and energy they give off. I love being around people enjoying something I love just for the pleasure of enjoying it.”

Izuku’s words sounded extremely close to the reason Katsuki coached his students, and that more than anything unstuck his feet. He followed along behind Izuku, and waited by the wooden benches set up for the skaters to change into the skates while he got them skates and a locker to shove their things in. When he came back, he grinned and held up two pairs of ratty, ugly, abused skates.

“Why don’t we just use our own skate?” Katsuki asked, lip curled up in disgust as he stared at the sorry excuse for skates the omega was offering him. He hadn’t worn a pair of those skates since he was ten-years-old, but he was 99.9% sure they had never once been replaced in those twelve years. He didn’t even want to think of whose disease ridden feet may have been in them prior. “I’m not putting those on.”

Izuku pushed them towards him more insistently. “Come on, Kacchan, it’s part of the experience. Also-” His eyes darted towards the ice, completely ruined by hundreds of other people and the poor condition of the blades they were skating on. “I don’t really want to have to sharpen my blades after being on this ice. My current blades are probably still the most expensive things I’ve ever owned.”

Following his gaze and grimacing, Katsuki muttered, “Fine,” before taking the skates and sitting down heavily. He laced them up just like he would his own, and his grimace deepened when he stood and realized just how wrong wearing someone else’s skates felt. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling, for sure, but Izuku looked pleased as punch when he stood up beside Katsuki.

He toddered over to the lockers with their belongings and shoes, unceremoniously shoving everything into the locker’s depths before forcing it closed. When he turned, he was still grinning both a little smuggly and proudly. “Come on, Kacchan! Let’s skate!”

It took them several long minutes of trying to find a space between people to dart out to center ice, but once they were there, Izuku held out a hand. He smiled cheekily. “May I have this dance?”

“Gross,” Katsuki spat, but he was fighting back a smile as he grabbed the omega’s hand and dragged him in against his body.

Instead of following the routine for their programme, they just let their bodies move with the music. Still, they were in perfect sync. Laughter stayed on Izuku’s lips and a smile eventually broke out on Katsuki’s as they moved. It had been twelve years since they’d allowed themselves to be silly with each other, to just enjoy skating for the sake of skating, to forget about skill and technique and just skate.

They were planets orbiting a star where the other was the sun and they were the hapless, helpless planet caught in the sun’s gravity. Time became a distant construct as they spun and jumped and crashed together and flew apart.

At some point while holding Izuku’s hand above his head to spin him around and around and around, Katsuki realized that people were watching them more than skating. There were phones pointed in their direction and the holiday music had gotten louder, but nothing could really secure his attention like the sound of Izuku’s raucous laugh and teeth as he smiled helplessly.

Tackling Izuku around the waist and lifting him off his feet, he spun them around until the world was a blur of colors and Izuku’s face was the only thing in focus.

“Kacchan!” Izuku screeched, clutching onto his shoulder. His grip was for balance rather than out of fear, and after a moment, he flung his arms out to the sides and allowed Katsuki to hold him steady. Through his laughter, he called, “I’m getting dizzy!”

‘Me too. Dizzy on you,’ Katsuki thought nonsensically as he slowed to a stop. He let Izuku slide back to the ground, and together, they stumbled towards the wall while the assembled crowd clapped and crowed.

Katsuki leaned back against the wall, working to catch his breath even as it continued to escape in little puffs of laughter. Beside him, Izuku was still giggling, clutching onto the wall as if for dear life.

“Kacchan?”

Lifting his head from where it hung between his shoulders, Katsuki turned to look at Izuku. There were fingers there on the back of his neck, soft material warm against his skin, and before he could wonder what they were doing there, Izuku pressed his lips to Katsuki’s.

Katsuki went stalk still, brain struggling to connect the dots of what was happening to how he’d imagined kissing Izuku.

“Sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku was whispering as he pulled away, cheeks rose red and smile small, “I just couldn’t hold back anymore. I-”

Bracketing Izuku’s face between his palms, Katsuki pulled him back in, unable to handle even the short distance he’d put between them. He kissed him again, hungry and wanting and desperate, sliding his hands back into those perfect curls and holding on tight.

Izuku hummed against his lips, opening to him easily.

They melted into each other, and only virtue of being in public kept them from following their desires further.

When they parted, putting only enough space between each other to allow for panting breaths, Izuku whispered, “Why didn’t we do that sooner?”

Katsuki huffed out a breathless laugh. “Because I’m an idiot.”

[memoriesofyccjungrk]

▫︎ ▪︎  ━ sᴘʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛᴢ ᴄᴀsᴛɪɴɢ

if the new sphere announcement reading girl crush wasn’t enough to tempt gahyeon into auditioning, then it was her talk with yena that put gahyeon over the edge. they both saw it – and they were roommates, so of course they’d end up talking about it. they’d waited until they were actually home to talk about it – no use getting their company-mates upset or bothered if they decided otherwise, but it felt inevitable when they’d stepped into their apartment for the night and sat down to talk. because it’s not that gahyeon’s ungrateful for everything that royal has given her, but she’s just so tired of waiting.

so, what was taking one chance ? 

regardless of whether or not gahyeon was put on the heartz schedule or not, part of her felt like she needed to stop relying so much on that company loyalty and do what was best for her. she can almost hear chungha’s voice in her head as she thinks it – because quite honestly, although it’d only been about two years, gahyeon was antsy. she grinded for two years with no response on her progress, nothing to really show for it except blood, sweat, and tears.

if anything, she just wanted to feel like she was progressing again.

in the end, it was no different than being a part of royal. not knowing whether or not you’d debut, still working alongside the other girls to make the best picture – but not knowing how that picture will be framed. gahyeon just wanted to take a chance, because she was tired. sometimes she feels like maybe, she shouldn’t be – in the end, two years isn’t so long compared to some of the other trainees she knew. but for the chance to debut, gahyeon thinks she’d take it. even if it’s not with the girls she’d trained with, she still had the chance to debut with yena. that alone was enough for her.

over the time they’d spend together, gahyeon and yena had turned into a team. for one reason or another, gahyeon had latched onto the other girl, and yena had taken it in stride. if they were doing this, then they were doing it together regardless of the reservations she had about leaving royal. with the other by her side, gahyeon felt like maybe this was something she could do. alone, gahyeon was sure she’d have shied away from such an opportunity, and would never find herself working toward a feasible goal until royal stopped focusing so much on the luxe girls and finally did something with their remaining trainees. but that even seemed eons away. gahyeon was willing to take this chance, as long as she had yena by her side.

when it came to recording the video, it didn’t take much to commandeer a dance studio for herself in royal.

gahyeon started the camera, set up on a tripod like she does for her choreography videos, and steps back. she smiles at the camera, and bows. “ hello, i am royal entertainment’s lee gahyeon. ” she introduces once she straightens back up, waving gently at the camera in greeting – much like she would if she were in front of a panel of judges. “ thank you for taking time out of your day to consider me for your debut project. i will be performing kkpp by miso. ”she introduces before the track starts.

gahyeon always practiced meticulously, worked hard to maintain her own personal standards of excellence which she found were typically on-par with her coach’s standards. since arriving at royal after the mgas, gahyeon’s goal was to always be better. she could get a little bit better every single day. when she had started, she was certainly no master rapper or vocalist, but now she could much better hold a tune and would consider herself royal’s star rapper. not to mention, she was hard to miss onstage – but that was never a problem. overtime, she’d learned confidence and had become a better performer, a more sure performer – even if that confidence was sometimes feigned. 

but this – no, gahyeon knew she was ready for this.

perhaps whoever the judges were for the project remembered that meek girl that stood onstage at the mgas – because regardless of how she looks at it, gahyeon knows she wasn’t nearly as confident as she pretended she was. and the ceos themselves probably saw through that confident facade. if baek jiyoung herself ever saw the video, maybe she’d remember that girl she’d told couldn’t sing years ago – and granted, gahyeon wasn’t a stellar vocalist, but she can hold a tune now.

this song was confident and fun, a little teasing and cheeky as she talked about how pretty and confident she was – and gahyeon doesn’t think those are quite faked anymore. gahyeon wasn’t self-centered or self-obsessed, but over the years she’d spent maturing she’d learned something about herself – she actually didn’t hate herself as much as she used to. actually, it probably boiled down to gentle displeasure with occasional mess-ups, never the full-blown self-hatred she used to have for herself. if anything had become apparent, it was that gahyeon was much more comfortable in her skin and more aware of her own skillset. years ago, gahyeon wouldn’t even have considered herself a decent dancer, even if she had been a stellar one even back then. but it showed it every movement, every step, every shake – she was confident now. she believed in herself a whole lot more than she ever had. 

to gahyeon, this song was very gahyeon of her to be performing.

every movement had purpose. every step was precise. everything about the performance was very gahyeon, and orchestrated to perfection during gahyeon’s practices, she didn’t once have to worry while recording that she would step out of line, out of place – that something wrong would happen, because gahyeon trusted herself. she trusted that she could do it because she’d shown bright time and time again during every performance she’d done thus far. she’d proven to herself that she was ready and that she was talented. she had so much to show – and she would put it out on that stage every single time, even if that stage was just the practice room.

gahyeon takes a strong center stance when the song comes to an end, standing tall despite her short stature. because everything gahyeon has done has been an aim for debut, and she doesn’t want to pass up this chance a second time. admittedly, girl crush is gahyeon’s ideal and although she’s aware they were also searching for a pure concept last time, gahyeon gets the feeling the group isn’t the cutesy one she was imagining. regardless of concept, gahyeon was determined to show that she could showcase what sphere wanted, and look good doing it too. by the end, she’s sure she’s achieved that. 

once the song ends and gahyeon’s left standing, with the only thing to be heard being her even breathing ( she thanks the stars that she worked so hard on performing live ), gahyeon knows that she’s put herself out there. that she’s shown them what she has and hopes to the heavens that they want it. after a moment, she breaks and bows down respectfully at the camera again. “ thank you for your time. i hope you enjoyed my performance, and consider me for your project. i promise to work hard if given the chance, and i know you wouldn’t regret your decision in choosing me. ” gahyeon says, before bowing again, then moving to shut off the camera.

[lgcmanager]

it’s APRIL 2 when contestants are brought back to the studio, just hours before the broadcast of the finale. tension runs high and bae siwoo has traded his usual grin for a more serious face. he waits for all the trainees to take their spots in rows, girls on the right, boys on the left. they are arranged so that members of the same team are standing next to each other.

“the public, the coaches and i all watched your performances. for us who have watched you since the beginning, we have been impressed by your growth and are proud of what was presented to the public.” he announced. “without further ado, let’s get to announcing the winning team.” he takes a brief pause so that cameras can capture the atmosphere in the room.

‘after judging the overall charisma, performance, dancing, singing and rapping of each team, the coaches decision is; in third position, team uh-oh, in second position, team simon says, in first position, team awkward silence.” there’s another pause. “however, you weren’t only tasked to impress the judges, but above all, the audience. they has voted in third place, team you calling my name, in second place, team awkward silence...” he stretches the announcement of the first place, knowing that two teams are awaiting their fate while the others might be hoping to be called. “in first place... team simon says.” the last team announced draws a clear picture that the battle is now between team awkward silence, the choices of the coaches, and team simon says, the choice of the public. “and the winner is....” while some might already be disappointed,  the tension is high with the two teams. “team SIMON SAYS!” the host announces, a proud grin finally appearing on his lips. staff waits for the team’s reaction before handing them microphone and asking them for their commentaries. once all 5 members of the team have expressed their feelings, bae siwoo speaks again. “i’m proud of all the work done by all 6 teams. do not be sad because you have not been announced the winners.remember that there are people rooting for you and this is just the beginning for each and everyone of you.” his gaze embraces all the trainees before it goes straight to the camera in front of him. “until then, this has been the second season of FUTURE DREAMS. thank you for watching us, please wait for us until we come back again!” the host and trainees are instructed to bow to the camera and finally the director yells “CUT!”

just like that, the second season of future dreams come to an end. the silence is quickly replaced by talks and people moving around as some staff member are turning their cameras off. “EXCUSE ME.” bae siwoo suddenly yells. “CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?” he waves his hands in the air, as if to catch their attention. the silence returns. “i have a few announcements to make before we part.” he explains. he’s handed a paper from his managed that he begins reading “first, team simon says, you are expected 5th floor conference room on monday april 6th, 9am sharp. don’t be late. second, every trainee present here, this includes JUNG MISO, LEE RACHEL and PARK SEOJIN, are expected in the same conference room on monday april 6th at 2pm! until then, you are given the next few days off.”

[coffeloverau]

Bloom, a Stunning New Indoor-Outdoor Eatery From the Peter Rabbit Crew, Opens in Time for Spring

Remember the ill-fated gum tree at Burnside Village? The team at Bloom, a new eatery and function space from the Peter Rabbit crew which opened today in Thebarton, hopes the tree they’ve brought inside won’t meet the same fate.

“Well, touch wood, [ours has] only been here for about a week,” says co-owner Jack Nelligan, who runs Bloom along with James McIntyre, Jackson Bennett and James Lambert. “Let’s hope it survives. It’s nowhere near as big.”

As for touching wood – there’s a lot of it around. The Sans-Arc Studio fit-out (complete with signature arches) is full of natural colour tones and textures: think timbers, stucco walls, stone floors and leather seats. It’s clear the space was designed with the local landscape in mind. The ceiling has been painted a eucalyptus-like shade of green, and the back of the building – which was once a tram barn – opens to a pavilion with views of the River Torrens and surrounding gum trees. The outdoor function space has already been booked for a few weddings.

Last time Broadsheet checked in on the project – located right next to West End Brewery – the team had just stripped the venue and were gunning for an April opening paired with sturdy hotel furniture. Then Covid-19 arrived and the build was delayed. “So, we struggled to finish the venue in time,” says Nelligan. “But we’re opening in spring, so it’s probably for the best.” When we revisit, on a sunny afternoon before opening day, the team are doing final menu tests and putting finishing touches on the venue.

Nelligan and co. have secured a site in Woodville four kilometres away for an urban garden to be used exclusively for Bloom’s produce. They’re already growing plenty of fruits, vegetables and herbs for use at the cafe. “It’s really cool. It’s four old houses that are basically abandoned and run-down, and we’ve been able to join all the blocks together,” says Nelligan. “We’ve built raised garden beds, and it’s got some cool old fig trees and peppercorn trees.”

For Nelligan and the team, sourcing food locally is as much about self-sufficiency as it is sustainability. “We all grew up on farms regionally, so I guess that’s always been part of our lives – being able to produce our own food,” he says. “When I was younger, having massive veggie patches on a farm was a part of life. You couldn’t just go to the supermarket and buy what you needed, you really had to be able to support yourself.”

The all-day menu draws from a wide range of influences, from Japanese (a chicken-and-miso ramen with house-made wholemeal noodles, spicy beef mince, poached – rather than boiled – egg, corn, spring onion, daikon kimchi, nori and black garlic oil) to Thai (charcoal chicken with basmati, yellow curry yoghurt and garden herbs) to Italian (house-made pasta with slow-braised beef-cheek).

A large, dome-shaped hearth isn’t just for show. The menu’s been designed with fire in mind: there’s woodfired halloumi with pine nuts, honey, sumac and thyme; fire-roasted strawberries with a macadamia and dark chocolate granola, house-made almond milk and sweet almond meal; and wood-roasted pumpkin with spelt, shiitake, almond ricotta, radish salsa verde and smoked almond.

Even the drinks will get a lick of fire: think wood-roasted banana or grilled peaches and cream smoothies, smoked-plum gin sours and smoked mulberry with Japanese liquor.

The menu, says Nelligan, is perfect for large groups to come together and share. “Grab a whole heap of dishes – mains and sides – and chuck them in the middle and share.”

Bloom, like Peter Rabbit, will source their coffee from 1645 Coffee Roasters. For a daytime venue, there’s also a fairly extensive wine list (from Alpha Box & Dice to Shaw & Smith), as well as beer and cider. Characterized by artistic timber chairs.

[lgcmedia]

FUTURE DREAMS S2 EPISODE 005

March 5, episode recap.

The episode begins with a reminder of this season’s mission, as announced by Bae Siwoo and recap footage of the past episodes.

The episode begins straight away in the recording studio where all the trainees are sitting on one side. On the opposite side, six placards are hung on the wall, each with the name of one unit song. Right in the middle, facing a camera, stands Bae Siwoo. “For the past two weeks, our trainees have each learned 4 songs. Following the coaches’ and i’s evaluation, we have decided which song each trainee will perform.” The idol explains. He’s then seen talking to the contestants: “once your name is called, please stand up and move to the placard of your assigned song.” He takes another pause. “For Team Awkward Silence…”

However, before he announces the first name, the scene cuts to footage for the 6 coaches and Bae Siwoo on the day they’ve reviewed evaluations. The coaches and Siwoo are shown gathered around a conference table, with each trainee’s evaluation footage playing on a monitor. Not much is said the first time the clips play, and only the sound of pens scratching paper is heard. Some clips seem to stir more reaction than others, with the coaches talking over the video with each other about who suits each concept best based on performance. There are a few disapprovals for each coach, and even Siwoo, but after what appears to be hours of footage, they are done.

The show returns to the studio, where all the trainees are still waiting for the first name to be called. “Ahn Jaesun… Center.” Jaesun is the first to walk to the placard labelled “Awkward Silence.” The camera focuses on his reaction and the other boys’. One by one, Bae Siwoo announces the members and their positions. He does the same for the other two songs.

AWKWARD SILENCE

AHN JAESUN (Center)

IM HYUNJIN (Leader & Rapper)

KANG JUN (Main Rapper)

LEE JIHO (Sub-vocal)

YOON DOWON (Main Vocal)

SIMON SAYS

JEON HANSOL (Sub-vocal & Sub-rapper)

JI HANEUL (Main Vocal)

PARK VIGGO (Rapper)

TSAI KING (Center & Leader)

PARK DOHYUN (Sub-vocal)

YOU CALLING MY NAME

AHN DOHWAN (Sub-vocal)

HWANG JUNHO (Rapper)

JEON HARU (Sub-vocal)

KANG YONGHWA (Center)

PARK SEOJIN (Main Vocal & Leader)

Once all the boys are sorted out, it’s obviously time for the girls to know their fate. Viewers are taken back to the day of their evaluations. Once again, the coaches and Bae Siwoo are serious as they review each girl’s footage. Just like with the boys some clips seem to stir more reaction than others, with the coaches talking over the video with each other about who suits each concept best based on performance. Here again, there are certain disapprovals, but after what appears to be hours of footage, they are done reviewing everything.

The show returns to the studio, where the girls are still sitting. “For Team Crush…” Bae Siwoo announces. “Im Hana… Leader and sub-vocal” Hana is the first girl to walk to the placard labelled “Crush.” The camera focuses on her reaction and the other girls’. One by one, Bae Siwoo announces the members and their positions. He does the same for the other two songs.

CRUSH

IM HANA (Leader & Sub-vocal)

KANG JINA (Main Vocal)

LEE RACHEL (Center)

PARK SARANG (Rapper)

SONG AHYEON (Sub-vocal)

UH OH

AHN JAEHWA (Main Vocal)

HAN JEONGHA (Sub-vocal & Leader)

HEO JANE (Sub-vocal)

JUNG MISO (Center)

SAETANG SAMEE (Main Rapper)

YOON MINAH (Rapper)

VIOLETA

GEUM DANBI (Rapper & Leader)

MIN SOYOUN (Center)

NAM JUEUN (Sub-vocal)

ONG JOLIE (Sub-vocal)

SON JIEUN (Main Vocal)

RYU JINHEE (Sub-vocal)

Finally, everybody has their unit songs. The camera pans to each team one by one before going back to the show’s host. “Now that everybody has been sorted, this leaves only positions for FLASH and FAVORITE.” He explains. Obviously, big announcements aren’t over yet. “Both AHN JAESUN and GEUM DANBI will retain their positions of overall leaders.” He explains. The two leaders’ reactions are shown. “GEUM DANBI will also serve as center for FAVORITE.” Once again, the camera focuses on Danbi. Bae Siwoo continues: “LEE JIHO will be in that position for FLASH.” It’s Jiho’s turn to become the focus. “Main vocal positions will be held by ONG JOLIE and IM HYUNJIN.” 

While it seems more than enough for one episode, Bae Siwoo has one more announcement to surprise the views and the trainees: “you will be performing each unit song in front of an audience of 1000 people... they will then vote for the unit they think did best.” This announcement brings a lot of reaction from the trainees. Most of them are surprised, and many worried expressions are shown. The camera then focuses on Bae Siwoo, who is smiling smugly: “The winning team will be announced on the final broadcast.”

[aikenlao]

Unleash The Holiday Cheer!

Happy holidays folks! Time to post my first holiday art of the year. I’ve restrained myself from playing holiday music in November this year, so I think I did pretty well.

My studio mate Leah, Annie, and I just wrapped up our latest project for Telus Storyhive! With the help of Leah’s excellent creative ideas, Annie and I created 2 designs each to add a bit of colour to the Storyhive team’s Zoom meetings and phone screens.

The second illustration features our office puppers (Miso, Sammy, Sunny) and another good boy from the Storyhive team.

Thanks again Leah for bringing us on board with fun projects as always. This one definitely put a smile on my face 🥰

[tripcabinet]

Believe It! A Deep Dive into Naruto: The Gallery Singapore

Attention all fellow Uzumaki Naruto lovers! Be aware! You are starting to surf a wave of nostalgia! Celebrating two decades of the beloved anime, Naruto: The Gallery opens the door to the public at Universal Studios Singapore, which serves as its first official international nameplate. Unlike the usual exhibition, this one gives you the true nature of the Leaf that you’ve never seen before.

A Walk Through Memory Lane: Relive the Shinobi Saga

When you step into Naruto: The Gallery, watch closely how this lonely young boy, who wants to achieve the impossible and become the leader of all the villages. Will accomplish his bold dreams. The exhibition is beautifully planned and developed so that you experience traveling the series in the Naruto universe. Relive the epic sequence of events in the series, proving to be a true sensory pleasure, equally as affecting as when Naruto painted his first poster for the Ichiraku Ramen shop. How about those fierce fights against Zabuza Momochi, Hidden Mist leader, and Orochimaru a notorious Sannin?

But Naruto: The Gallery is more than reliving the moment again. Dedicate particular sections for world-building by showcasing meticulously drawn storyboards that picture the storyline. Such an approach is a great opportunity to think more deeply about how important every detail of production is.

A Celebration of Artistic Brilliance: Character Art and Beyond

The exhibition does not just stop there. Look at the exhibition of masterful character artworks. Come through the history of the young ninjas as they grow from Team 7 beginners to their ultimate ninja years when they begin as a team.

And for a truly special treat, Naruto: The Animation Gallery brings all together – they are original animations by the selective five up-and-coming animators. These resilient artists re-create the nostalgic moments of the anime, using a distinct approach and sparking up the fading passion for Naruto you had in the past.

Fuel Your Chakra at Naruto: The Gallery Café

So, the moment you have come to terms with how Naruto saved the world and amazed yourself with the realm of art that made the series possible is that you need to energize your ninja tendency! Head over to the Naruto: The Gallery Café, a themed café that will illuminate your taste senses by offering a cuisine menu, where the ingredients are inspired by the anime.

Yeah, this is where the playtime will manifest itself to you. Attacking with your teeth a steamy between-your-hands bowl of Ichiraku Ramen isn’t enough for you. Such a dish deserves the best place in history! For those who want something hotter, there is nothing for it. Let yourself be inspired by Uchiha Sasuke and his Miso Glazed Meatballs – similar to his Raging Bull Jutsu, which delivers a clean and hurting punch.

The café just doesnít on there. From refreshing beverages inspired by characters like Sakura and Kakashi to delectable desserts that pay homage to iconic locations like the Land of Waves, the Naruto: All ninjas, whether amateurs or experts have something tempting to discover in the Gallery Café which is our place to borrow masterpieces.

Dates to Remember and Essential Information

Save the calendar, fans of Naruto! Naruto: The exhibition will run from March 27th to June 30th, 2024.The best part? Entry is free with your Universal Studios Singapore ticket hence you are covered with no extra costs required to access a bit of the Naruto world.

Embrace Your Inner Ninja: Why You Shouldn’t Miss This Exhibition

Whether you’re a die-hard fan who can recite every jutsu or a curious newcomer just discovering the world of Naruto. Naruto: The Gallery Singapore is an experience you cannot afford to overlook. It represents a platform to commemorate the heritage of a show that the world fell in love with. A chance to revive fond memories, and a way to form new ones. In this regard, build up your team of ninjas, invite your friends and relatives, and get ready to travel to the colorful land of Konohagakure. It’s a chance to truly Make These Happen.

For those coming from Visakhapatnam, don’t miss Trip Cabinet’s Singapore tour package from Visakhapatnam to make your Naruto experience even more memorable!

[elegiesforshiva]

Ghosts X: Tesseract

Masterpost

Previous | Next

“Your breasts are shrinking.”

Sakura exhales, lungs constricting so deep and forceful it carries a satisfying pain.  She stares at the menu in front of her, pretending to read.  “Thanks, Sai.”

“It is not a compliment.” Sai says, staring at her face now.  Sakura tilts her head enough for the coral of her hair to shield her expression.  It doesn’t work.    “You’re upset. What’s wrong?”

Sakura considers lying, shrugging it off and handing him something aside from honesty.  But she can remember Yuuto’s cries that morning, how it synchronized to the tune of rodent screeches in her head. “My patient is going to die,” Sakura says, body stiff against her even stiffer seat.

“The one from Kiri?” Sai asks.  Sakura barely nods, feeling shitty about dumping this on Sai, who’s probably scouring his brain for material he’s read on consolation in friendships.  She only agreed to coming to this meet up because she can’t bear to stand her too quiet studio with her too loud thoughts.

Then his arms pulls her close, until her head falls into place in the notch between his shoulder and neck.  The gesture is stiff and automated.  But then Sai rests his chin on her head, and she feels the slight tremor of his fingers against her back and it’s so refreshingly human.  “I’m sorry,” Sai says.  

Sakura doesn’t think, she just grips him fiercely and buries herself in his chest.  She feels his breath hitch in surprise and she holds him tighter for it.

“Uhh...am I interrupting something?”

Sakura and Sai abruptly swing their heads to the right to see Naruto, who seats himself across from them.

“Ugly’s patient is dying,” Sai explains.  Sakura regretfully pulls away from his warmth.

Naruto looks at him, incredulous.  “Huh?”  He turns to Sakura and studies her only for a moment before deciding to take Sai’s words at face value.  “Sakura-chan, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you kind of work in a hospital.”  He gives her a sympathetic look and proceeds gently, as if explaining the concept of mortality to a child.  “People pretty much go there to die.”

Sakura’s not even angry at how belittling the statement is.  She thinks even if she was stupid enough to not understand death by now, Naruto is handling it all with a clumsy superficiality.  Because people don’t go there to die, they go there to live.  

Sakura sighs and she’s so exhausted her breath comes out in a shudder.  “It’s not an ordinary patient, Naruto.”  She palms her throbbing head.  “This is a really important case.  A clan from Kiri is about to go extinct.”  And it’s my fault.  She doesn’t say this part aloud, but feels it all the same.

“Wait, what?” He asks, voice raspy and high pitched at once.  “Like the massacre?”

“No,” Sakura hisses, biting back the wrench of her gut.  She feels Sai wince beside her, and she quietly scolds herself for the mini-outburst.  “No.  Not like the massacre,” she says, voice softer.  Nothing was like the massacre.  The sole event was so fucked up that Sakura likes to think that it had been a rare lapse in fate’s judgement and there would not be a repeat.  She hates Konoha for it.

“Beautiful told me about the case.  A clan has been poisoned and Sakura and the Godaime are leading the case to find an antidote,” Sai says then.  “I imagine it’s a large concern for Konoha.  Perhaps the shinobi world in general, if there’s truly a poison that has no cure.”

Naruto places his arms on the table, boldly leaning in as he meets Sakura’s eyes.  “Sakura-chan, don’t give up.  As long as they’re still breathing, there’s hope.”

“He’s been intubated,” Sakura deadpans.  

Sai makes a choking sound and Naruto’s face wrinkles in confusion.  “Huh?”  

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” Sakura says, turning to look out the window. “You’re right.”  He’s not, but she’s not very keen on debating the legitimacy of her despondence.

It’s then that a server approaches their table, a handsome man with neat brown hair and dark eyes. “Ah, Uzumaki-sama,” he greets, gaze locked on Naruto in a manner that reeked of contained excitement.  “We are very pleased to have you here in our establishment.  Are you and your friends ready to order?”  Sakura would have scoffed at the obvious dismissal of her and Sai in favor of Naruto, if she wasn’t already used to it.

“Uhh…” Naruto looks down at the table, eyes meeting the menu he hadn’t realized was present until now.

“Well, I know what I want,”  She says, voice snarky and demanding of attention.  “Oolong-hai with an extra shot of shochu.”

Naruto makes a face at her then, half unimpressed, half annoyed.  He turns to the waiter.  “I’ll have the same but no extra shot.  And I’d like an order of gyudon too.”

“Just a miso soup for me.  Thank you,”  Sai says.  The waiter politely nods, and says he’ll be back with their orders shortly.  Then Sai eyes his teammates.  “I didn’t realize day drinking was so popular in our squad.”

“Guess you missed the memo.”  Sakura shrugs.

“Sakura, why aren’t you eating?” Naruto asks, crossing his arms and giving her a stern, reprimanding look.  She could cut the expression off his face and paste it onto a picture of her okaasan’s and the image would still be seamless.  She hopes he doesn’t give that look to his kid.

“I ate earlier.”  Sakura doesn’t bat a lash at the lie, and she suspects it’s because she’s not thinking of Naruto as himself right now.

“This lunch was planned,” Sai says.  Sakura pointedly ignores it.

“Why are you drinking?” Naruto doesn’t miss a beat.  

Sakura burns in heated anger.  At him.  At herself.  

She waltzed right into this interrogation with a head too muddled to properly engage it, and if she doesn’t hold sternly onto her rage, she’s sure she’ll double over in tears.  A whole clan—a family—is about to drop dead because of her.  And Naruto never lets up.

“Why are you?” Sakura spits, defiant.  It’s just then that their water comes back, placing their drinks before them, and informs them their meals would be ready soon.  Sakura shamelessly gulps her liquor down.  It feels like fire in her throat and acid in her empty stomach.

“Because I can only handle so much of the two of you,” Naruto grumbles, sipping his own drink.  Sakura knows he isn’t talking about Sai.

“What’s wrong?  Meds aren’t working?”  Sakura cruelly jabs, and Naruto looks away, grimacing from either the alcohol or her words.  Probably both.  She’s so angry and disappointed in herself already that she doesn’t even care.  “Who’s career are you jeopardizing for him, huh?  Neither you or Hinata work in the hospital.”

Naruto doesn’t say anything, but she sees his lips twitch.  Sai’s fist clenches too and Sakura doesn’t fail to notice it.  “Really?”  She asks, far angrier than anyone should be in a public restaurant.  “You’re making Ino do it?  What the fuck, Naruto!”  

Naruto looks painfully guilty and Sakura thinks he deserves every bit of it.  “They’re working,” he says.  “He’s a lot better.”

“He’s not.  They’re just covering it up,” Sakura says.  She can see Sai’s fingers tapping against the counter restlessly.  She has to take another gulp, so she can try to forget her best friend might lose her job because Naruto is a reckless fucking idiot when it comes to Sasuke.    “Numbing the mania.  They can’t fix him.  He needs to see someone.”

“You of all people should know why he can’t do that,” Naruto snaps.  There’s truth to that, but she doesn’t choose to acknowledge it.  

“You’re not doing him any favors by enabling him, Naruto,” Sakura says.  “I hate how you do this—you baby him.  He’s not a kid anymore.”

Naruto looks at her then, his expression resembling something like pity.  “Needing help doesn’t have an age limit, Sakura-chan.”

Sakura laughs cynically, and it’s an ugly sound even to her ears.  “Your version of help is the most distorted shit I’ve ever seen.”  She glares back at him.   “When Ino’s upset and acting like a delusional harpy, I hold her.  Not beat her into submission, take her fucking arm off, then feed her drugs until she thinks how I want her to.”

Naruto looks purely disgusted with her, and even high strung and inebriated, she absolutely agrees with that sentiment.  “That’s not even comparable!” He growls low.  “And don’t forget in the Land of Iron, you went after him alone to ‘save him from himself’ in your messed up version of helping too, so who’s version is better?”  He hisses.  

Instantly, Sakura is burning holes through his head with the fervor of her glare.  She’d been taken by her panic, her need to choose.  Between her everything, her Sasuke-kun, or Konoha.  Between her Sasuke-kun or Naruto.  

Sakura’s red in the face, cheeks puffed and fists shaking and barely repressing the urge to vault one of them out the window.  She hates Naruto for bringing that up, but she also knows it’s nothing less than what she deserves.  

“Fine!” Sakura exclaims, loud enough for the patrons around them to stare, if they weren’t already.  “We’re all fucking psychotic!  Team 7—the most elite and prestigious squad in Konoha’s recent history—is rooted in masochism and complete dysfunction!  Is that what you want to hear!?”  

Naruto’s eyes looks downright pained but his brows furrow in a defiant anger.  She can’t blame him for it.  She’s being a snarky bitch and she knows it.  These jabs aren’t getting them anywhere, just piling onto the mountains of resentment.  She feels sick.

“For the record,” Sai begins, after a pause. “I think there is some truth to that statement.”  Sakura rolls her eyes.

The food comes then.  Sakura can’t tell if the timing is a ploy to deescalate the squabble or if the staff are simply done enjoying show.  The smell is pungent and it takes everything she has to cover her mouth with her hand and avoid retching on the table.

When the waiter leaves, Naruto sighs.  It’s long and heavy, and so tired.  “I get why you’re angry, Sakura-chan,” he says.  “I do.”  Naruto sits back and looks at his food the way she often looks at her paperwork.  “But sometimes you feel further from me than Sasuke ever did.”  He looks back at her, impossibly miserable.  “And I hate it.”

She looks out the window and bites back her tears.  She palms her glass with her free hand, but doesn’t drink more.  It’s only once Naruto takes his first bite and her pulse is steady she speaks.  “I’m sorry.”  It’s almost a whisper.  “I don’t mean to fight with you.  It’s just the hospital.”

Naruto doesn’t say anything and she supposes that’s a good thing.

“If Naruto were to wean him off the medications,” Sai says then, and his voice is soft, hopeful.  She can hear his concern for Ino in it.  “What would you recommend as an alternative?”

Sakura hesitates, before looking over at Naruto, who’s watching her intently.  She looks back at her nearly empty glass and thinks she’s never been so hypocritical in her life.  She has no convincing answers—no cure for life’s unjust cruelties.  “I guess, if he can’t see a psychiatrist,” she begins.  “Maybe what Ino and I use to do, when we were hurting.”  She stares at the glass and into the spread of her reflection. The face that stares back is a stranger’s.

“And that is?” Sai prompts.

Sakura turns her head and says, “Talk to headstones.”

Sakura and Ino wake to a sky eclipsed in grey.  The sun has yet to rise and they are silent as they move about, careful not to disturb the world’s sleep.  

Six years, Sakura thinks, is a long time to spend missing oneself.

She takes a bouquet of flowers out of Ino’s fridge, and they move in silence outside of the apartment. They walk along the village streets with their chilled hands intertwined.  

This is a yearly tradition for the two of them—visiting the cemetery on the anniversary of the Fourth Shinobi War.  Almost all of Konoha's nin are present in the afternoon, so Ino and Sakura go in the mornings for privacy.  Then they attend again with their friends later in the day.

It isn’t completely empty in the mornings, with a few other nins having the same idea.  Kakashi is always there too, though Sakura suspects he visits every day, not just on the anniversary.  Still, it’s reclusive enough to satisfy the two of them.  

When they arrive, there’s a white mist coming into fruition, opaquing the scene.  It’s beautifully surreal, and Sakura wonders if she’s wandered into a place not yet meant for her.  She half expects Kizashi to stride out of the fog, arms open wide to welcome her home.

They stop a little before Inoichi’s headstone before Sakura places the softest of kisses on Ino’s hand and lets it go.  Ino’s smile is tender, and she moves closer to her father’s grave with graceful steps.  Sakura busies herself in watching.  Her eyes glide over headstones and lonely figures in the distance.  She knows the white-haired one by Rin’s grave is Kakashi.  Sakura sees another, huddled on the ground beside Neji’s stone.  She thinks it might be Tenten, but she’s never seen Tenten visit before.  Sakura can only hope that it might be a sign that she’s doing better.  

There’s several other figures she can’t quite make out standing by graves she doesn’t know the names to.  Soon her eyes fall on a figure standing several meters in front of them.  It’s cloaked in a stark black and standing by—

Itachi’s grave.

Sakura inhales sharply, her arms spasming against her side and instantly, she feels his familiar chakra flare to life.  She mutters a curse because he’s only responding to the jolt of hers.  Ino looks over at her, and Sakura has to conjure a cheap smile and a dismissive wave of her hand.  She’d rather die than take this away from Ino.

Sakura retreats a few feet, her back hitting the crisp bark of a dead and lonely tree.  Her toes curl in her shoes and she stares forward, through the mist of her hard breaths.  Chakra pulsing, she quietly lists off anatomy of the ear and wills her calm closer.  She’s almost thankful for the frigid weather in the heat of her panic.  

He isn’t moving, she thinks, her eyes suctioned to his ink and aura.  None of them are.

They stand like that for a long time, and Sakura can start to feel her heart settle comfortably beneath her ribs.  Then there’s nothing grasping at her but the cold.  She shrinks into herself, arms crossed and knees rubbing, she tucks her chin in.  Her eyes never leave Sasuke.

He’s taller than she remembers him being.  His hair looks longer, and slightly more kempt too.  If he wasn’t standing by that notorious Uchiha grave, or had that so deeply melancholic chakra, she wonders if she would have been able to tell it was him at all.  Something wet falls against her forehead and trickles down to her nose, a light drizzle joining the morning dew.

He won’t hurt her here, her heart seems to know.  He’s too sad to.

Droplets become torrents, and a few figures in the dusk finally begin to move.  But most remain rooted to the ground, one with the graves they’ve come to.  

Sakura never takes her eyes off Sasuke, and though it’s not fear propelling her attentions, she can’t remove them.  Some part of her needs this moment of him.  She wonders if it’s a nostalgic pity she feels for him right then.  Or curiosity.  And she terribly hopes it is.  Because the alternative is that this part of her simply misses him too damn much.

The leafless tree does little to protect her, water drenching her through and mud rimming around her sandals.  Sakura circulates her chakra to keep herself warm, but it doesn’t help her much.  She can freeze to death here, in this cemetery of greys and blues and phantoms.  She wonders if she will be buried here, with the other shinobi.  

Watching rain sodden Sasuke’s hair, his proud shoulders, No. she decides.  She doesn’t deserve to be buried in the same place as the Uchiha.  She belongs with civilian graves, and her civilian parents.  Even if she isn’t as innocent as them.

Suddenly, he steps forward, leaning down to level with the headstone before him.  His hand drags from beneath the cape, and rises to touch his lips.  They are still against his mouth for a moment, before moving to touch center of the stone in front of him.  

His movements hold a quiet confidence, unperturbed by the rain, and Sakura is taken by that aristocratic grace.  His fingers linger for several beats, digits sensually fanning out before the slicken hand slides back into his cloak.  Then he stands, turns around and suddenly she can see him.  

He looks right at her, not sparing a glance in any other direction, not even Kakashi’s.  She feels her heart beat slightly faster and it hurts her lungs to breathe.  He moves down a pebbled path and towards the graveyard entrance.  It’s a wet tap of sandal on cobblestone, so gentle that Sakura is sure she wouldn’t even hear it if she hadn’t been so acutely honed in on his presence.  It slowly increases in volume, and it looks like he’s going to pass right by before he swivels on his foot, stepping onto moss and towards her and Ino.

Sakura tries to control the way her teeth chatter and loosens the rigid curve in her spine.  There’s a soggy feeling of bubbles coiling in her stomach and they threaten to burst.  Still, her eyes study him unabashedly and she watches him do the same.  

He is taller, she sees.  So much taller than she remembers.  His hair is running ink along his face and shoulders, nearly cloaking his Rinnegan if not for its ominous glow.  His jaw is more defined, shoulders broader.  He looks devilishly handsome, and damn right intimidating, which she supposes is nothing less than she expected.  His gaze is fervent and suffocating, and somehow hypnotic with its maddening edge.  

Sakura is smart, she thinks, to fear this man.  And yet, in that moment, she doesn’t.  

She can hear the whistling of the wind against the rain, whipping up her pink locks.  His smouldering eyes finally leave her, and Sakura exhales a restrained breath.  

He walks past her, stops just shy of Ino’s shoulder.  He towers over her, and dignified as Ino’s shoulders hold, she still looks small next to him.  He places his hand on her shoulder, and Sakura can see the slight wrinkle of her clothes when he squeezes it.  Ino never looks back at him, but her hand moves over his in a silent consideration.  

There’s something between them, Sakura realizes.  Not terribly heavy, like the anvils threaded through Team 7, but some sort of acknowledgement is present.  Sasuke wouldn’t have bothered with such a reverent gesture for just anyone.  Sakura doesn’t wonder why Ino never mentioned it.  She wouldn’t have either.  

Sasuke removes his hand and turns towards Sakura then.  He stalks towards her with haunting grace, eyes so intense she has to fight her knees from buckling beneath the weight.  The gales ring in her ears like the highest key of a piano.  And it cries for her.

She thinks something isn’t right.  Or perhaps something is finally right.  Soft, she thinks, looking to those haunting red-rimmed eyes.  His gaze is soft.  Like a loosening clay in her hands, she feels as if she can mold him with incrementally less resistance than the cement he once was.  It empowers her, and despite being sickly pale and shaking, Sakura feels absolute—rippling with every version of herself.  She knows this Sasuke.  He is both foreign and familiar, but intuitively she knows.  And she thinks that he must know her too.  It’s because of this place, this cemetery—the ghosts.  They see.  And sometimes they show.

Sasuke stops just in front of her, and if he is tall beside Ino, he’s a monolith by her.  Sakura has to tilt her head up to maintain eye contact, even as raindrops fall onto her cheeks.  His rinnegan glows faintly against the white of his skin and the black of his hair.  It almost compliments the purpling skin beneath his eyes, deep and heavy.  Insomnia, she remembers Naruto saying.  The charcoal in his right eye feels like an obsidian vacuum of dimensions as much as his left.  Sakura stands, quiet and admiring this—him—after so many years.  She finds it fitting to meet him here, in this graveyard, with rain coating them and the world fast asleep.  It must be destined.  She knows that she couldn’t turn away here if she tried.

His lone arm rises from out of his thick cloak, and he finally turns that stifling gaze away to finger the fastening by his collar.  She watches, transfixed as he slides it off his shoulders with long, lean fingers.  Then she feels herself suddenly blanketed by hefty weight, comforting warmth, and the very familiar scent of sage.  

It smacks her head right around, completely enveloping her senses in nostalgia.  She knows that scent.  It’s husky, soothing, and purely Sasuke.  It was her absolute favorite fragrance at age 12 and she hasn’t had a trace of it since that night that changed everything—when he had her falling against his chest, when her senses left her and Sasuke left her right along with them.

Sakura watches him fumble, securing his thick cloak on her much smaller shoulders with a single hand, before he pulls the hood over her head with a tenderness that makes her shiver.  Sasuke makes a few more adjustments, his pale hand tucking a small lock of pink into the hood.  There’s a fleeting moment where she feels the warm touch of his fingers grazing her jaw as he pulls back.  Sakura sees his hand twitch, and she’s glad she’s already shaking because it has her fighting a fit of convulsions.  She watches his eyes tracing his own movements, before they find hers again.

There’s a deep weight in those dilating pupils, and her chest constricts with uncanny warmth.  It makes her lungs flare, and her stomach protests so violently at the liveliness in the air, she’s practically waiting to puke out her entire skeleton.  But then he breaks the eye contact, turning away.  Instantly, she remembers how to breathe again.

Sakura waits until she hears his feet on the walkway before she turns to watch him leave.  In precious moments he’s nothing but a blot in the mist.

Sluggish, with a quivering breath, she moves to look ahead of her.  Ino is still staring at Sasuke’s receding figure.  But far beyond her best friend, she can see Kakashi’s looking right at her.

The next day, Sakura has breakfast.  

It’s small—a red apple that is all crisp and smooth against her teeth.  She needs to take breaks between bites to fight waves of nausea, but it’s enough.

Sakura looks out her bedroom window and watches snow fall.  She feels an odd pang for a conversation, a raw one with too little words that run too deep.  But Ino is preparing for a long mission and Sai has just come back from his own last night.  She craves Ino’s voice, soft and bold in one.   They didn’t get a chance to talk much yesterday, the air too somber for words.  And it will be too long before she hears from her again.   

Sakura thinks to see Naruto, but Naruto inevitably means Sasuke, and Sakura isn’t ready.  She can’t decipher what happened that ghastly morning, between the raw permanence in his eyes and the melody of her pulse.  She’s taken by sudden amusia and finds she doesn’t mind.  It doesn’t need to make sense.  Nothing concerning him ever seemed to anyway.  Just let it be.

So she scrapes her mouth against the apple and her mind dazes in the softness of white outside her window.  She breathes in the peace as much as she can, savors it like one does a love that is destined to die.  It’s only another hour before she’ll be in the hospital, having what will undoubtedly be her hardest day of work yet.  

It’s curious weather to rain one day and then snow the next.  Sakura wonders how long winter will last this year.

[ryohaice-blog]

Eye Candy

Muishiki no Iro Ameblog 2018-01-12 20:52:42

I'm SKE48 Team S Leader Kitagawa Ryouha, 19 years old, who loves ice cream very much.

After the mini live concert at Zepp Nagoya commemorating the release of "Muishiki no Iro" single on January 10th, I appeared for the first time at All Night Nippon radio programme.

The SKE48 members appeared in the programme were Takayanagi Akane-san, Suda Akari-san, Kitagawa Ryoha, and Kamata Natsuki-chan.

As for Nogizaka46 were Higuchi Hina-san, Terada Ranze-san, Kawago Hina-san and Yamazaki Rena-san.

I was extremely shy from the beginning of the show until the end. I couldn't even look into their eyes. I want to fix my shyness.

I'm sorry if I was acting cold and distant.

Nogizaka46 members are so cute and look elegant. I'm so happy by just looking at them.💗

Eye candy for me 👀💗

At the end of the programme, me and Higuchi Hina-san became loving each other 🐻💗🐻

I wonder if we did got closer?

I want to meet them somewhere someday again and talk to them. I want to get closer to them~!!

My precious 2shots 📷✨

Chima-san. She's so cute 💗

==========================

Today, I participated in the "Muishiki no Iro" Single hand out event at Tower Records Nagoya Parco branch.

The annoucement was very last minute, so for those who came to the event, thanks for making time.

Please listen to it as many times as you can!!

=======================

▷▷Announcement◁◁

▷▷Magazines◁◁

▶︎▶︎ B.L.T. released on December,20th 2017.

▶︎▶︎ BOMB released on January, 9th 2018.

▶︎▶ Top Yell Neo 2017-2018 released on December, 28th 2017

▶︎▶︎ ENTAME year 2018, Vol.2 that released on December, 28th 2017

▷▷TV Shows◁◁

▶︎▶︎Zero Poji New Year Special 120 Minutes will be broadcasted on January, 14th 2018, at 10.30pm. Me and Minarun-san (Oba Mina) had a very serious talk. You will see a different side of me

▶︎▶︎On January, 15th 2017, and January, 22th 2017. I will be appearing in Tokai TV? ?usubi no Ichiban?? We got the opportunity to perform ?uishiki no Iro??and ?anshateki Through?? on that TV programme. The studio setup was very cute and got me more excited.

▷▷Radio Programmes◁◁

▶︎▶︎K'z Station - Oshaberi Yattemasu Dai 48 Housou 6th http://www.kzstation.com/program/detail.html?id=78,2 http://www.kzstation.com/program/detail.html?id=78,3 You will be able to see a different side of each member. I will do my best and make the show more interesting with Saito Makiko-san

On January 15th, we will be welcoming Nojima Kano-chan and Kitagawa Yoshino-chan as our guests. It's going to be great.

▶︎▶︎On January 14th, 2017, I will be appear in NHK's "Rajira Sunday!" It's from 9.05pm - 11.00pm. Please listen it.

▷▷📢◁◁

SKE48 Sticker https://line.me/S/sticker/10290

SKE48 22nd Single Sticker is available in the market now~~~ Mine are the "No worry!" sticker with me wearing the Oki Doki! costume, and also "Yay" sticker with me wearing the 12gatsu no Kangaroo costume.

Please buy it!

On March 11th, 2017, Me , Takagi Yumana-san and Kamata Natsuki-chan are given the opportunity to challenge the "Nagoya Women Marathon" This is my first time for full marathon. Although I'm worried about it, but I will do my best to complete it.

=======================

Things that are good for a sore throat

Thanks for all your comments.

Honey lemon, daikon, ginger, kumquat, and welsh onion.

Among the comments, I saw many of you wrote welsh onion. I added a lot of welsh onion into my miso soup and drank it.

I added way too much welsh onion and the miso soup end up became welsh onion soup instead (LOL)

I like welsh onion very much so I happily drank it.

The weather is cold so be careful not to catch a cold.

SKE48 Team S Leader AKB48 Team 4 Kitagawa Ryouha

P.S. How do you relieve your stress?

[lgcmanager]

SEASON 002, PART 002

                                                    PART 1  && PARTICIPANTS LIST

** please note that if anyone drops from here on, they will not be removed from the show, simply considered npc **

On FEBRUARY 17, contestants are brought back in the studio for the first time since january. this time, all the chairs are on one side of the studio, while placards with names of each songs are hung on the opposite wall. they are instructed to sit as they please for the time being. shortly after everybody is seated, bae siwoo makes his entrance. just like last time, he takes the time to converse with the trainees a bit before cameras officially start rolling. shortly after the coaches who have been teaching and monitoring the progress of the trainees during the past weeks enter, cameras begin rolling.

after a short introduction for the camera, siwoo moves on to the reason why everybody is gathered here; songs assignments and positions. “i will announce the members of each units and their position. once your name is called, please stand up and move to the placard of your assigned song.”

AWKWARD SILENCE

AHN JAESUN (Center)

IM HYUNJIN (Leader & Rapper)

KANG JUN (Main Rapper)

LEE JIHO (Sub-vocal)

YOON DOWON (Main Vocal)

CRUSH

IM HANA (Leader & Sub-vocal)

KANG JINA (Main Vocal)

LEE RACHEL (Center)

PARK SARANG (Rapper)

SONG AHYEON (Sub-vocal)

SIMON SAYS

JEON HANSOL (Sub-vocal & Sub-rapper)

JI HANEUL (Main Vocal)

PARK VIGGO (Rapper)

TSAI KING (Center & Leader)

PARK DOHYUN (Sub-vocal)

UH OH

AHN JAEHWA (Main Vocal)

HAN JEONGHA (Sub-vocal & Leader)

HEO JANE (Sub-vocal)

JUNG MISO (Center)

SAETANG SAMEE (Main Rapper)

YOON MINAH (Rapper)

VIOLETA

GEUM DANBI (Rapper & Leader)

MIN SOYOUN (Center)

NAM JUEUN (Sub-vocal)

ONG JOLIE (Sub-vocal)

SON JIEUN (Main Vocal)

RYU JINHEE (Sub-vocal)

YOU CALLING MY NAME

AHN DOHWAN (Sub-vocal)

HWANG JUNHO (Rapper)

JEON HARU (Sub-vocal)

KANG YONGHWA (Center)

PARK SEOJIN (Main Vocal & Leader)

“now that everybody has been sorted, this leaves only positions for FLASH and FAVORITE. both AHN JAESUN and GEUM DANBI will retain their positions of overall leaders. GEUM DANBI will also serve as center for FAVORITE, while LEE JIHO will be in that position for FLASH. main vocals position will be held by ONG JOLIE and IM HYUNJIN.” he quickly brushes on the topic of full groups songs since the focus point is on units this season. “on MARCH 22, you will be performing each unit song in front of an audience of 1000 people. they will then vote for the unit they think did best. you will also each given 45 seconds of appeal time to the crowd. your coaches and i will also be present and be grading your performances. to avoid leaks and spoilers, winners will be announced on the morning of APRIL 2, hours before the final broadcast.”

LINE DISTRIBUTION

Boys

Girls

SCHEDULE

WEEK 1 (February 17): PRACTICE

WEEK 2 (February 24): SONGS RECORDING [ **by units, recording both unit song and group song** Awkward Silence (Monday), Simon Says (Tuesday), YCMN (Wednesday), Crush (Thursday), Uh Oh (Friday), Violeta (Saturday) ] & PRACTICE

WEEK 3 (March 2): PRACTICE

WEEK 4 (March 9):  MV Filming [ FAVORITE on the 9 ] & OFF for the rest of the week [ boys will be practicing & performing PRETTY GIRL, girls are given free practice time ] 

WEEK 5 (March 16): MV FILMING [ one mv per day following this order; Crush (Monday), Uh Oh (Tuesday), Violeta (Wednesday), Awkward Silence (Thursday), Simon Says (Friday), YCMN (Monday, 23) & Flash (Tuesday, 24) ] & FINAL REHARSALS

MARCH 22: PERFORMANCES starting from 1PM

PERFORMANCE SETLIST

** click on link to see outfits **

Intro MC (Bae Siwoo)

Appeal time (Bae Siwoo with Unit Violeta)

Violeta

Appeal time (Bae Siwoo with Unit Awkward Silence)

Awkward Silence

Appeal time (Bae Siwoo with Unit Crush)

Crush

Appeal time (Bae Siwoo with Unit Simon Says)

Simon Says

Appeal time (Bae Siwoo with Unit Uh Oh)

Uh Oh

Appeal time (Bae Siwoo with Unit YCMN)

You Calling My Name

Closing MC (Bae Siwoo & All Future Dreams S2 Trainees)

REQUIREMENTS

make sure to use the hashtag lgc:futuredreams for everything related to this event. you have until march 22 to complete the following requirements :

APPEAL TIME: Write a 150+ words solo about your muse’s appeal time on march 22. REWARD: +5 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE, +4 NOTORIETY !

PERFORMANCE: Write a 300+ words solo or a 4 replies (minimum 8 lines) thread with another same gender trainee about a moment that could’ve been caught on camera during the performance or backstage of it. REWARD: +5 POINTS TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE, +5 NOTORIETY !

GAIN POINTS

to determine the winner, we won’t only be using points, but also activity of members of each groups. the process is simple; ANY REPLY (no solos or text thread accepted) written from today’s activity check until march 22nd can be used to gain points. each reply equals 2 points, for up to 10 replies (20 points). we know each units do not have the same number of members, so we will bring the numbers to a common denominator.

for a reply to be eligible, it needs to have a minimum of 8 lines. on top of making the team gain points, each reply will reward +1 POINT TO DISTRIBUTE ANYWHERE, + 1 NOTORIETY !

to validate your skill points and collect your notoriety points, please submit the following form ONCE on the points blog before MARCH 23, 11:59EST.

TITLE: MUSE NAME ∙ FUTURE DREAMS 002 PART 2

- APPEAL TIME: +5 ( skill points distribution ) + 4 notoriety [ LINK ] - CONCERT: +5 ( skill points distribution ) + 5 notoriety [ LINK ] - POINTS: + x ( number of points) + x ( skill points distribution ) + x ( notoriety ) [ LINKS ]

[deantheofficial]

(Facebook Update: 190917)

11.11 bangkok 🙏🏻

Translation:  Meet the artist, songwriter, hip-hop music, R & B Rising Star, the most hot Dean with the works of a lot of awards, and also the author of the song to Keith APE, EXO, block b, vixx and Dean has accepted the entire ability in the country and Including outside the country with the concert tour around the world. This time dean comes with a team artist, friends to make everyone get an impression with the most special show at this time with miso one artist in group club Eskimo and Saay Artist R & b the most watched one. The show of Dean and the crew will be the show to impress everyone. WITH THE CONCERT AT THE MOON STAR STUDIO 8th day. Purchase tickets since September 29, this time at 10.00 pm. The Thai jacket major every branch 02 262 3456 www.thaiticketmajor.com Card Price 2,500 baht and VIP card meet and greet 5,000 baht only. Meet Hip-hop/R&B singer-song writer and record producer, DEAN. Since receiving international recognition, including several awards, he is a Korean R&B sensation both in Korea and worldwide, especially after having already sold-out toured around the world. He also has a proven track record, writing top hits for Exo, Block B, Lee Hi, VIXX and more. This time, arranged especially for Thailand, DEAN has teamed with his renowned friends, MISO, a member of Club Eskimo, and SAAY, Universal Music Korea's newest and most promising R&B artist. Be ready for the first time show in BKK at moonstar studio hall 8 on 11/11/17. Tickets will be on sale 29 September 2017 10.00am at www.thaiticketmajor.com +66 2 262 3456. Tickets price 2,500baht and VIP Meet & Greet tickets 5,000 baht (50 tickets only)