#thankfully i like. base my ocs on music already so they have my tastes... except one where i had to branch out

[lovlorne]

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐔𝐑𝐋 𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐈𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒.

LUVORATORRRRRY!

Overclocked

Vs. SAYU

Lost in Thoughts, All Alone

Off with Her Head

R. I. P.

No Mercy

Echo

tagged: @bloodxhound!! finding x mustve been fun. gives u kissy tagging: hi im back @tempist @goatfated @cutdeepshiver @quillheel @fantocciio @hexellent @lightdash @lionfanged @pizzatrocious @inkantation

[destiny-smasher]

Kingdom Hearts 3 impressions

So, uh, I will ONLY be talking about stuff up until the very start of the second World, and only AFTER the break. Kingdom Hearts 1 was an incredibly important and influential piece of media when I was growing up. I was writing fic based on Smash Bros. just before KH rolled onto the scene was like, “Yo, Disney and Final Fantasy, BAM, fuckin’ random? fucking RADDDD” and I was all about it. You had FF characters remixed with OCs remixed with Disney characters, and the villains were all crossing over to form the League of Bad Cartoons, it was a great time. And then Nomura realized his gamble was a win and decided to waste the next 15 years of everyone’s time shoving in every trope he liked, every IDEA that felt “cool” together into a mish mash of whatever the hell this “narrative” has become. Suffice it to say, I’ve got beef with Kingdom Hearts as a “story.” It just occurred to me today that a big part of this is thematic/tonal.

But it’s also VERY rare, maybe even unprecedented, for a piece of media like Kingdom Hearts 3 to come around. For years, then months, then weeks, then days, I told myself, “It’s not real, that game doesn’t exist, I won’t believe it until I’m literally playing it” and just could not be bothered to be hype or interested, if only because Nomura’s “vision”, from my perspective, warped something I admired in my youth into a fucking train wreck, leaving me very little to feel emotionally invested in outside of Aqua and by proxy the two lads she is trying to protect. (also I GUESS I’m slightly invested in Axel/Xion/Roxas.../Namine? for similar reasons now that I think about it?) Well, guess what? Kingdom Hearts VERY WELL might be real, and I very well might be about three hours into it. And for all of the beef I have with the plot, I am fucking relieved that those three hours have felt/sounded good, as a video game. NOW we’re gonna talk about the first World. --

When I first heard that Olympus was gonna be the first World in KH3 I was disappointed and BAFFLED. We’re visiting that place a THIRD time? And why THAT World? Turns out, there’s actually some substantial thematic relevance and that’s actually A-OK, not to mention that starting with a familiar world after ALL OF THIS TIME is not such a bad way to kick things off. First off, structurally, I actually really enjoyed the way this world played out. Two of my biggest problems with KH as a video game series have been that worlds feel like empty, vacant, haunted houses, and that said worlds are usually small and linear with a lot of pointless backtracking. Olympus fixes all of this. There are NPCs. Actual fucking PEOPLE in this world. Sure, they’re just people in danger, calling for help, but they’re THERE for once! And they have vocies! EVERY line of dialogue (except for like one “plot” moment) has actually been voiced so far! About time. Also. This World is not as linear as most KH Worlds. In fact, it help more open and dynamic than ANY World in any KH game so far, not to mention it featured three, THREE (wtf) unique and distinct types of settings. The city, the mountain, and Olympus. Nice. ALSO also. The music. We’ve been here before. We KNOW that Olympus theme from earlier games. And as you traverse the city, up the mountain, you hear this more sweeping, movie-like version, and it’s like “oh whoa nice” aaaaand then you get TO Olympus and it KICKS in, the old song, up to modern snuff. That was great. That was a thing that really helped convey “Kingdom Hearts is back, baby.” The World was big, compared to typical KH worlds. It had multiple nooks and crannies to explore, side-paths to go down, treasure to find hidden away. There is a LOT of verticality. Running up walls and seamlessly hopping over things in the environment makes traversal more enjoyable than it ever has been. Even though a lot of the World is technically a linear path it’s not structured like a path. Going off and exploring rewards you with items and the like, and the World is big enough to actually feel like you have places to poke around in. Having said this, WHY is there no...map? Like. You literally COLLECT Maps from Chests like you used to. But near as I can tell, there’s no way to pull up an actual MAP, to seer where the main path is, to see where the side paths are. It’s boggling. Maybe the game has the option hidden away somewhere but if so, that’s just silly. And if there’s just no actual map option at ALL that’s just...baffling. There were barely any load times for how much SPACE there was to navigate, and things looked very shiny and pretty, and ran at a smooth 60 fps MOST of the time. Tech specs aren’t everything, but when your brand is built on “looking pretty” it sure af helps when you bring scale AND a smooth framerate to match. It’s weird, and a bit jarring, sometimes in a good way, to see all of this stuff rendered in modern tech. Stuff looks...a little too plasticy a lot of the time, (which actually ought to pay off when we get to Toy Story?) but the environments so far feel rich and vast and detailed all at once in a way we just have never seen the series, because we’re basically jumping from PS2-level tech to PS4. So that difference in production is more noticeable for the wait -- I just wish things looked a bit more...I guess cel-shaded? Like the original trailer. Things (specifically, characters) look a little too flat/plasticy at times, for how pretty things are. Combat seems to be as flashy as ever and I’m sure I’ll feel differently as I get further in and unlock more options but it’s still too easy, simple, and mashy for my tastes. I am HOPING we get more moments that require quick reflexes and specific tactics like the harder moments of older KH games. The amusement rides mechanic is...weird. It’s given NO context in universe. And they last a little too long/feel too overpowered for how easy they are to utilize. Similarly, there are frequently seemingly random party-member tag-team attacks that...just seem like “press triangle to win” moves. I wish they entailed more interaction, and/or felt less common/random. I like the IDEA of these kinds of moves, especially ones that change your controls/method of attack for a few seconds (like Hercules’ team attack) but the execution makes them feel too cheap and easy to abuse, with combat that’s ALREADY skewing on the “too easy” side for the genre. I like the “form change” for keyblades, and that you can swap keyblades in the middle of a fight. Really hoping this allows for some good tactical stuff later -- buuuuut that would also require the game to ASK OF ME to do more than “mash X,” which KH as a brand typically does not do... Characters SPEAK in reaction to gameplay moments, when you initiate things in the environment, etc. It’s a nice touch that makes them feel more like characters in an RPG. Donald and Goofy are ALWAYS in the party, alongside the Disney member(s). NICE. Maybe KH3 is putting its best foot forward, but overall, I was pleasantly surprised with Olympus. It single-handedly corrected MOST of the issues I’ve ever had with Kingdom Hearts level design. I only hope the momentum keeps going. Moving on, Gummi Ships. What little I played is easily the best they have every been. I love having an open world with optional places/fights to explore, while still giving me those shmup-like bursts of action. The Gummi Phone seems like a fun mechanic, and taking selfies/photos makes SENSE for this game because of how visually detailed it is -- but the pleasant surprise was how I took selfies with Donald and Goofy and they REACTED to it, starting to pose and commenting on it. On the other hand, the loading screen being nonsensical “social media” posts from KH characters...I don’t like it thanks go away. x’D I’ve spent only a few minutes in Twilight Town and INSTANTLY I am so much more enamored than I ever was in previous games. Not just due to the bump up in visual fidelity, but also because -- GASP -- NPCs??? Are you trying to tell me this is an actual TOWN that people LIVE IN?? Holy shit, Kingdom Hearts, I never knew! For all of this stuff I liked, though, KH3 is still...a KH game. Which means after you get through the intro, after you gear up to land in Olympus, the game flashes the title: “Kingdom Hearts II.9″ ...no. Just no. Fuck. Stop doing this shit. Whenever an Organization 13 member (or EX member) shows up and starts speaking all cocky in riddles like the flamboyant anime jackass they are, whenever Mickey starts dead-ass blathering about weird nonsense whenever the plot HAS to acknowledge “oh right Sora golly gawrsh ya FURRGOT this random bullshit a-FYUCK better shove this expository throwaway dialogue right in here before we go n’ furrget again!” whenever Kairi continues to be irrelevant and invisible after ALL THIS TIME whenever Rikku has to say some obligatory thing about his darkness or his copy of himself or Ansem or whatever whenever the plot informs Sorta/Dornold/Goffy about another convoluted ridiculous THING that we already know about and they MAYBE already know about because it is OBLIGATED to because this game’s entire purpose has become to “wrap things up already Nomura” I am reminded of the freshly opened scar on my heart from how much SHIT this series has dragged itself through for...what? Nothing worth all of this, IMO. Thankfully, these moments feel less and less pressing in KH3′s opening hours than they certainly could be, though I’m sure the closing hours of the game -- once they’ve tidily gotten all of that silly, inconsequential DISNEY CONTENT out of the way (even though that’s the BULK of the game environments and HALF of the series’ identity/purpose) -- those closing hours will surely be packed to the gills with all of this crazy crap. Maybe by then I might finally care enough to finally get the catharsis I’ve waited over a decade for. I dunno. I’m just relieved the game looks, plays, sounds, and feels as good as it does so far. EDIT: almost forgot to mention this since it hasn’t actually come up yet BUT I picked up a BUNCH of “ingredients”??? Like. FOR COOKING??? Which is one of my all-time favorite mechanics in a video game?? (thanks Paper Mario) So I’m at LEAST excited to see what THAT is all about.

[myspookysunshine]

Convergence, pt. 1 : The Show Must Go On

Summary : Summer, 1984. Hawkins, Indiana.Steve and Nancy are breaking up. Jonathan is breaking down. Will is breaking away. Hopper and Joyce are breaking shower curtains. The new girl in town is breaking laws of scientific convention.And there is something waiting on the horizon that threatens to break them all.

Pairings : Jonathan Byers/OFC, Joyce Byers/Jim Hopper, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, probable future Jonathan Byers/Steve Harrington/OFC.

Rating : NC17

Warnings : Sexual content, oral sex, alternate universe, oc, break up, mention of past murder and violence, language.

A/N : This takes place the summer after the events of season one. Everything in season one is canonical in this story. After that, things diverge. Wildly. (One exception to canon : for the purposes of the story, I've made it so all of the older kids are headed into their senior year of high school. I needed them together, for reasons that will become clear later.) Quick note about OCs - As a rule, I usually avoid them like the plague, and certainly understand that there are many who dislike reading about them. But this one demanded that I played it as it lay. I hope some of you can find it enjoyable even with the addition.There will undoubtedly be more pairings in the future of this, and Eleven will definitely be a factor. I just haven't quite figured out where to work her in yet. 

Inside my heart is breaking My makeup may be flaking but my smile still stays on.

~ Queen

Jonathan glanced over as he drove. Will was quiet and thoughtful in the seat beside him.

Exactly the opposite of what he should be on a day like this.

"So, what are you guys planning to do?"

Will smiled; same old sweet smile, but with a hint of shadow. "Just hang out, I guess."

Jonathan nodded and silence took over again.

Will broke it with a sigh. "I feel bad about Mom, you know? I mean, I want to go, but. It won't be easy for her."

"Mom'll be fine," Jonathan said softly.

They both realized the absurdity of the statement. After all, they both knew what it had taken to get them in this car.

The extended get-together was something the boys had done every summer for years. Three days of going from house to house sleepovers, playing, eating themselves sick. Just being kids. The Byers' home had always been one of the stops. Joyce had welcomed them with smiles and snacks, often joining in the play herself.

Up until this summer.

This summer Joyce had, to put it mildly, flipped her shit. She had refused to let Will take part, refused even to discuss the matter with him.

Jonathan had - surprising even himself - challenged her.

There had been tears (not all of them Joyce's), pleas, and yelling.

Far too much yelling.

Will had retreated to his room, softly closing the door behind him. Music had kicked on and Jonathan had experienced a sick moment of disconnect.

The raised, furious voices were all too familiar, only now his voice had replaced Lonnie's. Jonathan had spent that moment terrified that he was becoming exactly what he had been raging against for most of his life.

He was finally able to convince himself that it was different; he wasn't fighting for himself. He was fighting for Will. Will, who needed to feel, if only for a couple of days, that there wasn't a guillotine hanging over his head.

Joyce had finally given in. Jonathan seriously doubted his arguments had had much to do with it. He suspected, that as scared as she was, the tough, awesome mom part of Joyce Byers had stood up and demanded her little boy back.

She had given in, yes, but she had nearly lost herself in doing it. There had been too many sleepless nights, too many useless doctor's visits, too many memories for it to be any other way.

She had grabbed onto Jonathan as he was heading out the door, hugging him so tightly it hurt, repeating his name like a plea. A few seconds in, her legs had given way and she had sunk to her knees. Jonathan had gone with her, rocking her while she sobbed against his shoulder.

Thank god, Will had already been waiting in the car at that point.

Jonathan had splashed his face with water and made sure Joyce was settled at the kitchen table, cigarette held between jittery fingers, before he tried to leave again.

As he had turned to go, she had reached up and given him one last hug around his waist. Thankfully, that one was something approaching normal. If it had still been that same, desperate clutch, Jonathan probably would have broken down and called everything off himself.

He stopped now in front of the Wheeler's. Will started gathering his stuff.

Jonathan debated running into the house and saying hi to Nancy, but nixed the idea quickly. He was exhausted and out of sorts and had to work in less than thirty minutes. All of these things were true, but, he had to admit, Steve Harrington's car parked right in front of his was the real deciding factor.

Jonathan nodded towards the back seat. "Don't forget your sleeping bag."

Will grabbed it and got out, headed for his three friends waiting in the yard.

"Hey, Will," Jonathan called, then paused.

There were so many things he wanted to say, but he couldn't think of one that wouldn't make him sound like the worried, overprotective dad he pretty much was.

"Have fun."

****

Hopper found Joyce in the bathroom on her hands and knees, violently scrubbing the floor around the base of the toilet.

If she was surprised by his presence in the doorway she showed no sign. She spoke without turning.

"Seriously, is it a guy thing, Hopper? Some macho caveman marking territory bullshit?"

He could tell by those couple of sentences that she was tense, angry and frightened - maybe even more than normal.

Hopper was having a bit of an abnormal reaction himself, looking at her crouched there in her old tattered jeans and button-down mom shirt.

He couldn't begin to explain it, but he was sure as hell having it.

"Well?" she demanded.

"I didn't piss on your floor, Joyce," he said, calmly enough.

Other parts of Hopper were currently anything but calm. He shifted uncomfortably.

It was nothing short of ludicrous, but the yellow rubber cleaning gloves covering her hands were somehow getting to him the most. Freud would have a fucking field day.

"Unzip, aim, pee. How hard can it possibly be?", Joyce snapped.

The mild arousal turned to desire flooding through Hopper, sudden and ferocious enough to make him a little insane with it.

"Hard as a rock."

Real goddamn smooth, Hop. Beautiful.

Joyce finally looked back over her shoulder, perplexed. "Hopper? Are you coming on to me?"

Now came the choice that Hopper had so long struggled with. Either retreat out of an abundance of caution - which was what he had been convincing himself was best for months now - or finally go with his gut.

One more glance at the soft swell of Joyce's backside and Hopper decided caution could go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut.

"What would you say if I was?"

Joyce snorted. "That your timing is ridiculous." She shot him another look and turned back to her task.

"Yeah? Somehow, it doesn't feel so ridiculous."

He moved from the doorway and crouched behind her, running the backs of his hands slowly along her sides. She let out a shaky, need-filled sigh. He then swooped down and closed his teeth on a denim-covered ass cheek.

The scrub brush clattered to the tiles.

Joyce was definitely on board. If she hadn't been, the brush would have sailed for his skull instead.

He nuzzled her neck, unable to keep himself from grinding softly against her, pushing her perilously close to the open toilet.

"Jesus, Hopper, I'm a mess," she protested, but her fingers scrabbled at his hips to encourage the movement.

"If that's the best excuse you have," he grated out "then I'm gonna go ahead and assume this is happening."

He turned her and gently took her hands, placing them on the edge of the bathtub before reclaiming his place behind her. He cupped her still-clothed breasts, tracing his tongue down her spine.

"Can I at least lose the gloves?" Definite arousal, but now also the slightest hint of amusement.

"I'll have to get back to you on that one. That's the sexiest part."

He caressed her for a few more minutes, nibbling at her earlobe, teasing her nipples through the shirt.

He didn't drag it out too long. They'd had enough waiting.

"Rubber?"

"Pill."

"Kids?"

"Out."

Hopper took her bent over the tub.

There was nothing graceful about it; his gun tossed carelessly into a corner, uniform nearly ripped off, rubber gloves flying to land halfway into the hall.

He left his mark on her neck as she reached back to press encouraging bruises into his thighs.

It didn't last long. Both of them were way too pent up for that.

Hopper came hard, on a chest-deep groan. Joyce was almost eerily quiet except for the softest of cries as she fluttered around him.

Catching his breath, Hopper turned her head to look into her eyes. He saw pleasure, and maybe a bit of contentment. But, behind that, there was still the other shit lurking, waiting to bubble back to the surface.

He was determined to see it gone, that haunted, scared look, if only for a few minutes. And if he had to fuck it away, so be it. He had done far worse for far less important reasons.

Joyce seemed to read his intent and her eyes took on the hint of a challenge.

He leaned up and growled into her ear. "You're nowhere near done, are you?"

She took his hand. He reached into the tub with the other and kicked the shower on, then stood and tugged her in.

He watched the spray rain down on her for a moment then dropped to his knees and brought her to his mouth.

He lapped eagerly, tasting her, tasting himself. Finally, finally tasting the mix of them.

And Joyce was silent no more.

She moaned with every swipe of tongue, keened with every light scraping of teeth.

Her hips thrust wildly, shamelessly grinding against Hopper, using his mouth, his chin, even his beard, anything she could to chase her pleasure.

She raised a leg and hooked a foot around his back, trying for an even better angle. He shifted, tugged the other leg, and then he was somehow balancing her full weight on his upper arms and shoulders while she rode his face.

It was hot as all hell, but Hopper honestly had no idea how he wasn't dropping her.

Her cries took on a pleading tone and he reached a hand carefully up, using his thumb to rub firm circles against her clit while his other fingers teased back along her crack.

She began to shake, her thighs clamping around his head. She flailed out blindly, desperate for something to anchor her as she convulsed, and found only the shower curtain.

There was a ripping sound and one of the rings went zinging off, squarely pegging a rubber duck sitting atop the toilet tank and knocking it into the bowl with a splash.

Hopper barked out a laugh even as Joyce was screaming and coming against his tongue.

He lowered her with shaking arms and propped her against the tiles to recover while he plopped gracelessly onto his ass, water beating down on his head.

Joyce lay back, dazed and gasping for air. Hopper reached out and twined his fingers with hers.

"I'm taking you to the carnival tonight and setting you loose on the milk bottles. They won't know what hit 'em."

She kissed him first.

It was the one thing Hopper had avoided, not sure he could take having to share that level of intimacy with shadow worlds and faceless monsters.

He needn't have worried.

The fear was still in Joyce's eyes, but not in her kiss.

The kiss was all for him.

He pulled her to his chest, where she mumbled against his skin.

"God, I need this to be over. I need my kids back. I can't breathe. I can't breathe anymore, Hop."

He closed his eyes and held on.

"Baby, I can't remember the last time I breathed."

**********

There was a bird tweeting merrily in the Wheeler's tree.

Steve Harrington had a - mercifully brief - urge to peg the largest rock he could find in its direction.

Instead, he sighed and got into his car, shutting the door numbly behind him.

He glanced in the rearview.

Same eyes, same nose - hair a tad windblown, but otherwise normal. He had just been through hell; how could none of it show on his face?

Steve had gone into the Wheeler house content and secure in his role as Nancy's boyfriend and had come out a confused and very single man.

He was still trying to process exactly how the fuck it had happened.

He guessed it had started with him handing over the concert ticket, although for the life of him, he couldn't make the connection.

Nancy had stared at it, almost in horror. 'God, Steve, just stop putting all this pressure on me! You're asking too much!'

It was a Stevie Nicks ticket.

Not a subscription to Modern Bride. Not a list of possible baby names.

It was a ticket for The Wild Heart Tour, which Steve had absolutely no desire to attend, (because, seriously) but was prepared to do so without complaint because Nancy would love it.

Or so Steve had stridently thought, right up until about forty-five minutes previously.

He hadn't been hoping for anything, except maybe a smile. What he had gotten was tears and pleas and bullshit.

So much bullshit.

He had loved Nancy a little going into the relationship; he loved her even more now coming out of it.

But somewhere along the way he had lost the will to fight.

What it all came down to, and what Steve couldn't believe he hadn't realized before that very moment, was that he had no hope of competing with the dead. Nancy couldn't forgive him for being there when she had so desperately needed to be somewhere else.

Also, she seemed to be under the impression that Steve was 'subconsciously using her as a buffer against reality'.

The worst part was, Steve couldn't even definitively say she was wrong.

He sighed again, turned the ignition, rolled down the window, let the breeze take the crumpled paper from his hand and floored it.

******

Something had gone seriously fucking wrong with Hawkins, Indiana.

Cory Dakota brought the truck to a stop in the overgrown yard and shut off the ignition, silencing Warren Zevon mid-howl.

She hadn't been here for several years, but she remembered it as a happy, laid-back little town. A quiet place with spindly garden plots and trees and friendly, if slightly nosy, neighbors.

All of that was still there, but there was now something dark beneath the normal.

She closed her eyes, trying to get a better read on it. She caught brief flashes of a strange red sky, children's frightened voices, and a bizarre chattering sound that, even though she couldn't begin to identify it, sent a shiver down her spine.

As always, only a glimpse. Not enough to tell what was going on, but just enough to know she didn't want the full view.

No matter what else Hawkins was, it was now also home.

She turned and glanced out the window behind her. Her entire life took up less than half the bed of a Chevy pickup. Seven or eight tattered boxes, filled with what she could salvage from the house and what she had managed to accumulate at various thrift stores along her rambling journey between Iowa and here.

It was all she owned in the world; that and this place, her grandmother's final gift.

Cory snatched up her pack of Marlboros from the dash and the boombox from the passenger seat. Gran may have been dead for going on two months, but her coffee stores would last well into the next millennium.

The rest could wait.

After a moment of deliberation, Cory also left the shotgun where it was, tucked behind the seat. Gran had been a gentle soul, and would forgive Cory everything else. But bringing a symbol of war into what Doreen Sanders had lovingly dubbed 'Woodstock, With Less Mud' would be tantamount to high treason.

As Cory hopped out of the truck she caught a faint whiff of smoke and wasn't sure if it had permeated into the boxes or was only the ghost of a memory.

The hell of it was, the killer hadn't set the fire.

Instead, it had been courtesy of history's most ironically-timed furnace explosion, some kind of cosmic middle finger, destroying what few clues had been left in his wake.

The police had summoned the full arson squad. They sifted through the debris, backs bent, searching for traces of accelerants.

Cory had known it was pointless, even while running barefoot down the street in her Ramones nightshirt, making a mad dash back to the life that was now nothing but blood and ashes.

In her mind's eye she had seen the shape of him leaving. She had seen the furnace ready to blow. She had seen her parents' abused, smoldering bodies.

As usual, she had seen none of it when it would have made a difference.

[lovethesoftkpopbabies]

Fanfic Trade: Part 2

This is the fanfic Roebling made for me in return! This is a fanfic of Himchan from B.A.P with my OC, Su-Siyong so if you don't like OC x Character fics, this one probably isn't for you. ^^ 

 Also please check out roebling's work! The writing is exceptional and I read it on quite a regular basis: 

http://archiveofourown.org/users/roebling/pseuds/roebling 

 Second Helpings and Second Chances 

 by: Roebling 

 Category: F/M 

 Fandom: B.A.P 

 Relationship: Kim Himchan/Original Female Character(s) Su Siyong 

Characters: B.A.P, Original Female Character (Su Siyong) Words: 9187 

Chapters: 1/1 

Summary: Himchan's always had to be careful about his diet, lest he put on weight. After a bad breakup that's entirely his fault, he finds himself comfort eating and getting soft again. As the number on the scale climbs, the way he looks at his body -- and his happiness -- starts to change. 

Notes: For KatsGGM. This is my half of a little exchange I did with KatsGGM, based on her request and featuring her OC Su Siyong :) I really enjoyed writing this, although I know it turned out a bit different than her prompt! This story does not contain sexually explicit material, but it is weight gain fetish fiction. If that is not something that is appealing to you, please hit the back button in your browser! It also features a character who initially has a very unhealthy relationship with his body and weight, and mentions past disordered eating. If anything related to eating, food, or weight is triggering for you, please proceed with caution. If you'd like more information about contents, message me. 

The breakup hits Himchan harder than he expects, considering it's entirely his fault. He knows it, too. Deep down inside, he knows he acted like a selfish, inconsiderate asshole. He’s scum. He isn’t worthy of being ground under Siyong’s shoe. Not to put too fine a point on it.

He realizes right away what a terrible mistake he's made, and what a miserable excuse for a boyfriend he's been. Siyong is amazing, beautiful, talented: too good for him really. He’d been too ashamed to admit they were dating just because he was concerned what some lowlife netizens would say. He misses her, is the thing. He really misses her. He sinks as low as messaging Siyong and asking if they can meet and talk, but she doesn't even reply.

He’s not surprised. She’s right not to respond. He messed up bigtime.

It's understandable he's feeling a little down about himself. It's understandable that he would console himself with nights out with Yongguk (who is always willing to listen to him whine, and doesn't judge him too harshly) and with weekends at his parents' house. It's expected that, newly single, he'd want to have a little bit of fun and take it easy.

What's not expected is when, a month or so after the breakup, he goes to pull on his favorite pair of jeans and realizes he can't do up the button. There's a few centimeters of plush pale belly in the way.

The thing is, Himchan has always gained weight easily. The slightest lapse of diligence puts him at risk of pudging up. When he was an idol, he subsisted on a meager diet of coffee and chicken and got enough exercise that he managed to stay fairly slim. During his army service, he actually gotten into pretty good shape -- even kinda almost had abs -- but he's been out of the army for eighteen months and BAP is on hiatus while the Daehyun and Youngjae do their service, and Himchan is getting soft again.

The scale reveals the scope of the damage. He's back up to 75 kg, which means he's gained a solid five kilos in the last month. That's a lot in such a short period. Standing in his bathroom in only boxer shorts, he is amazed he didn't realize it sooner because it's really obvious. His belly is soft again. His thighs look big. His cheeks are round.

Shit.

It stings all the worse because he knows, deep down, he would have gone public with his relationship with Siyong if she's just you know, been a little bit thinner. A little closer to what society says a beautiful woman should look like. She was beautiful and smart and talented, and he'd been too much of a weasel to stand by her because she was a few kilos heavier than most actresses.

He’d been scared to have his name linked to the ‘chubby actress’ and now he's on the way to being a fatass himself again.

Staring at his puffy-faced reflection in the mirror, he scowls. "You're a hypocrite, Kim Himchan. And you don't deserve her."

The thing is Himchan has always hated dieting. He endured it because he had to during his B.A.P days, but now? He's got a few variety show appearances lined up, a semi-steady gig as the host of a weekly entertainment news program, but he's not an idol anymore, and nobody expects him to go on stage and sing and dance in leather pants.

Thank god. He’s too old for that shit anyway.

So he just ... doesn't diet. It seems like too much work when he’s already feeling so tired. Eating what he likes is a hell of a lot easier than dieting would be. When his sister invites him out for brunch with her family on Saturday morning, he gets fried chicken and biscuits. The chicken is moist and the batter is crispy with a hint of spice. The plate is covered in a generous puddle of greasy, rich gravy. He sops up every drop of it with the buttery biscuits, and then finishes off his little niece's waffle. His sister gives him a look, but she doesn’t say anything. He gets sweet, extravagant drinks at Starbucks in the morning instead of his standard iced coffee with no milk because they just taste better. When out for barbecue with friends, he stops worrying about how many servings he’s had, stops worrying about how much beer he’s drunk. He eats and drinks his fill, until his belly is swollen and aching.

He knows he's overdoing it, but he's spent the last ten years worrying about every calorie that passed his lips. It's really fucking nice to just not worry for a little while. He’ll get back on his diet one of these days.

He's at the KBS building preparing to film a guest spot on a variety program about traditional Korean music. The clothes the stylist picked out for him today are a little snug. The pants are tight around his waist, and the shirt pulls over his round belly. Luckily, he's got a sweater to wear over top that will disguise the most of the damage.

He's got a long time before his segment films. The waiting room is cold and boring. He only had a bagel for breakfast, and he's feeling a little peaky.

"Hey," he says to the PA, "I'm going to run out for a sec. I'll be back, okay?"

She narrows her eyes. "Your call time is at three. You need to be back here by then."

"I know," he says. "I got it! I'm a professional."

She rolls her eyes, like she's heard that line before, and she probably has.

Himchan takes the elevator down and walks out through the big lobby into a cold early spring day. Himchan sticks his hands in the pocket of his coat. He has a destination in mind, and thankfully it's not too far. There's a Burger King just a few blocks away across the park. He walks quickly. The streets are crowded with people on their lunch, and he knows if he's not back at the station by three it's his neck on the line. It's not like he's destitute, by any means, but the extra money he pulls in with these variety gigs helps an awful lot.

The line at the Burger King isn't bad. Himchan is overheated and a little sweaty by the time he gets there. He's never been the most physically fit guy and whatever endurance he built up during his military service has been eroded by months of the easy life. His arm brushes the bulge of his belly ... Well, that can't help either.

He's pretty hungry now, he realizes. He shouldn't have rushed so much this morning. Of course a bagel isn't going to tide him over all day. He stares at the menu as the queue shuffles along. He can't make up his mind between the Creamy Shrimp Whopper and the Garlic Steak burger.

In the end, he orders both.

"Will that be all?" the cashier asks in a bored tone.

"Uh," Himchan says, hurriedly. "Let me get a sweet potato fry, a large regular fry, a 10 piece nugget, and a large soda."

Her eyes widen in shock, but she's professional enough not to comment on his order. It's still a little embarrassing, but he's not going to be home until late and filming always makes him hungry.

Still, when his order comes up, he's kind of surprised at how much food it is. He hefts his tray and heads to a table in the back of the restaurant -- he doesn't need anyone gawking at him while he eats. He glances at his phone. It's 2:00, which means he needs to eat pretty quickly. Luckily, he's good at that.

He tackles the Creamy Shrimp Whopper first. This is a new menu item, and he's been wanting to try it ever since he first saw the commercials. It's ... interesting. The burger is typical mediocre Burger King fare, but the shrimp are sweet and firm. The cream sauce is greasy, leaving an oily aftertaste in his mouth. He finishes it off in five or six big bites, washing it down with big gulps of soda. He helps himself to a few nuggets, dipping them in sweet barbecue sauce. It's fast food, so of course they're not that good, but he likes the salty crispy texture. He dips the sweet potato fries in the barbecue sauce as well. They're a little dry, but not bad really.

The thing about food is that Himchan really doesn't care if it's good. Greasy, disgusting fast food burgers are fine by him. He likes it all. He just likes eating, and rushed as he is now, he gets a little sloppy. He stuffs fries in five at a time. He opens his mouth as wide as he can to take a big bite of his second burger. He swallows down the painfully sweet Pepsi and hides a discreet belch behind his hand.

As he's finishing off the Garlic Steak Burger one slippery caramelized onion slides out of the little triangle of bun that's left and lands right on the bulge of Himchan's belly. Shit! The grease soaks into the white fabric instantly, even though he's quick to pick off the errant onion and pop it in his mouth.

Shit. Shit. At least he’s got the sweater to cover it up. He can’t go on television with a grease stain on his shirt. He’s already going to catch hell from the stylist about this.

He sadly pops a few last fries in his mouth, a last nugget or two, and then all that’s left is a wasteland of greasy wrappers.

He leans back Oh boy. He overdid it a little bit, maybe. His belly aches from how much he’s eaten. He finish the last of his soda, hoping that will cut through the heavy glutted feeling, but it doesn’t help.

Himchan piles up the wrappers on his tray. It certainly looks like a lot, all heaped up like that. A lot of garbage, just like all the garbage he just stuffed his face with. He shuffles his chair back, and he's surprised to look down and see how round and huge his belly looks.

He can't go on air like this. He's so full that there are little peeks of white soft belly visible between the gaping buttons of his shirt. He looks like a fat pig.

Shit.

It's twenty to three, and he needs to get back. There's no time to try to find something new to wear. All he can hope is the sweater is generous enough to hide his belly.

He groans as he gets to his feet. His gut feels sloshy and massive, absolutely packed full of food. He dumps his garbage and pulls his coat as tightly around himself as he can.

It's an agonizing slog back to the KBS building. He feels like everyone he passes is staring at him, even though he knows that can’t be true. He's not in the most rational state of mind. All he can think about his how full and sleepy he feels, and how appearing alert and awake and charming on camera is the last thing in the world he wants to do right now.

Thankfully, the lobby is empty, and he gets his own elevator back up to the fifteenth floor. He thinks he's home free, but then the elevator stops on the third floor. Himchan tries to button his coat. He sucks in his belly, and slips one button into the hole but he feels like a sausage squeezed into a much too tight casing. That's not going to work. He unbuttons the coat and hopes nobody important is getting on.

He is staring at his feet, so he doesn't realize who his elevator companion is at first. He sees a pair of expensive heels, strong looking ankles, beautifully curved calves, a pink pencil skirt over thighs just a bit wider than most would find attractive.

Oh no. He knows those thighs.

It's Su Siyong.

He folds his arms over his chest, and looks up. "Hello, Su-su." He coughs. "Uh, it's good to see you."

Her eyes narrow in confusion. "Himchan?"

He smiles in what he hopes is a charming way. "Come on, Su-su. It hasn't been that long."

Her cheeks color a little. It looks good on her. "I didn't recognize you," she says. There's a note of bitterness in her voice that makes him nervous. "You've put on some weight."

He frowns. He knows he's been a little lax with his diet, but he hasn't put on that much. Has he?

"Uh. I had ramen last night. I'm just swollen."

She stares pointedly at his belly.“Must have been a lot of ramen."

He swallows, and tries to pull his coat over his belly. "I've put on a couple of pounds, maybe. I ... uh. I was trying to be like you, actually. You know. Stop worrying about my diet. Enjoying my food a bit."

Her face, so soft and pretty, takes on a dangerous cast as she narrows her eyes. "You are so stupid," she says in an icy voice. "'Enjoying my food?' Is that what you really think of me?" She gestures at herself -- at her generous bosom, at the slight curve of her belly. "You think I'm like this because I 'enjoy my food'?"

Himchan doesn't get it. He knows she does enjoy her food. Why is she acting like he said something awful? "I just ... I always admired that you let yourself eat like a normal person in spite of being...."

"A normal person?" Her voice is dangerously cold now. "Himchan, I am a normal person. I'm a normal person who is fat." He's not sure what his face looks like, but it must be something else. "Yeah, that's right. I can say it. I'm fat and I'm not ashamed of it. I don't have to lie about eating ramen and being swollen." She pokes him right in the belly, hard. Her finger sinks into his soft gut.

He's surprised at the sudden, intense rush of pleasure he feels.

"Would you believe I was almost thinking of returning your call?" She shakes her head. "I'm such an idiot. Listen, Himchan, you're a sweet guy, but why don't you get a clue and figure out how to stop hating yourself? I think you'd be a lot happier."

The elevator slides to a halt on floor fourteen. Siyong gives him one last, disgusted look and gets off.

Himchan sags back against the cold elevator wall, finally relaxing his belly. It sags forward, testing the strength of his buttons.

The stylist shoves a navy sweater at him as he walks to through the door. It's dark enough to disguise the worst of his overindulgence, but it's also so tight he can see the imprint of his buttons through the fabric. He glances at himself in the mirror -- he looks like he's swallowed a bowling ball. He still feels so full and swollen, all achey with how much he's eaten.

He brings his hand to his mouth and lets out a long suppressed belch.

He is tired and distracted during filming, unable to stop thinking about Siyong and sure that everyone is whispering about how fat he's gotten, even though he's sitting behind a desk (he's not sure who to thank for that, but he wants to thank someone).

It's not his finest moment. He's so grateful to finally get back into the dressing room where he can change out of the restrictive dress shirt and pants and into his slightly more comfortable jeans and tee shirt. He's surprised at how tight the jeans feel, biting into his belly.

Siyong is right. He really has gotten fat.

He feels so awful that he stops at the grocery store on the way home and picks up a carton of ice cream. He's not an idiot -- he knows that eating ice cream when you're worried about your weight doesn't exactly make sense -- but he doesn't honestly have the energy to care. It's sweet and delicious and it makes him feel better, one spoonful at a time.

The next few months are not good. They're among the most not good Himchan's ever had. Probably the only other time in his life he remembers being as depressed is when he broke his wrist during the One Shot promotions. It had been so hard to sit at home and watch the others perform, but at least then he'd known that he'd heal soon and be able to rejoin them. At least he'd had daily updates from the kids about everything that was going on.

Now, he feels old and lonely and useless.

To add insult to injury, his hosting gig is cancelled. Through no fault of his own, the network assures him, and he thinks it's probably true. They're just revamping a lot of their programing, and the entertainment news program he hosted is being replaced by a baking competition show. He gets a few offers for variety appearances, but for the most part he turns them down. He's not feeling up to being cheerful and jovial on television.

He doesn’t totally give up, at least not at first. The week after he sees Siyong at the studio he pulls on a pair of old sweatpants and his baggiest tee shirt and laces up his old trainers. He doesn't want to show his face at the gym in his current condition so he just heads down to Hangang Park, figuring he’ll go for a run.

It's a lot harder than he remembers. He jogs slowly for a few hundred meters. He can feel his belly jiggle. He can feel the extra weight in his thighs and his ass. His sweatpants slide down the curve of his gutand he keeps tugging them back up. It's a hot day, and he gets sweaty and red-faced. The park is full of beautiful athletic people running and cycling, and Himchan feels conspicuously old and fat and slow.

Still, he keeps it up for a few days and tries to watch what he eats (only one hamburger for lunch, a small butter pecan Frappucino instead of a large). It's crushing when he steps on the scale at the end of that week and it reads 79.8.

He hasn't lost anything. He's put on a half a kilo, even while depriving himself and torturing himself with daily runs. In the mirror, he looks rounder and pudgier than ever. His belly looks big and soft even when it's not full of food, and even his chest is starting to soften up a little bit too. His cheeks are fuller. His thighs are huge.

For a wild moment, he considers going on a starvation diet. This was his old ace in the hole back in his idol days. Need to drop a few pounds fast? Well, just stop eating. That always did the trick. But he's older now, and the thought of living on a sweet potato a day is enough to make him almost want to cry.

It's no use. He's destined to be a fat ass. He might as well just give up.

He tosses his sneakers in the back of his closet and orders a few pairs of larger sweatpants off of the internet.

He spends the next few weeks indulging his sorrows like never before. He sleeps late and ignores messages from his manager. It’s perverse, he knows, but the worse he feels the hungrier he feels. He spends most of the day on the couch, reading and watching dramas and working his way through bags of chips, boxes of cookies, and packages of candy.

At night, he places big orders of fast food, crossing his fingers that the patient food service workers taking his order think he’s got several very hungry house guests. He turns the volume up on the television when the delivery person arrives, and opens the door only a crack. After he’s alone, he sets his haul out on the coffee table and eats until he’s full and almost ready to burst. Slice after slice of pizza. Giant bowls of jjajangmyeon. Box after box of greasy fried chicken. It’s never too much. There’s something wonderful and awful about the heavy achy feeling of being truly stuffed. His belly is so big and round and demands so much of his attention that he can’t even worry about all the other stuff in his life that he’s messed up so badly. And sometimes when he’s rubbing the heel of his palm into the most aching swollen part of his gut, it hurts so much it feels almost like pleasure.

He’s not sure what to make of that.

He is lying in bed at ten o’clock one morning a few months after his ill-fated encounter with Siyong when he gets a message from Yongguk.

I know you’re not ignoring me Kim Himchan. You’re coming out with us tonight, aren’t you?

Himchan throws his head back against the pillow and groans. He has been ignoring Yongguk, and he doesn’t feel good about it. He just keeps telling himself he needs a little more time before he can face his best friend. But tonight … he’s not sure if Yongguk’s going to let him blow off tonight. Tonight they’re going out -- the six of them. Daehyun and Youngjae by some miracle are both on leave for the weekend, and they have plans to go out for barbecue and beer before they head back to their respective posts.

It was, Himchan remembers with some chagrin, his idea. Months ago, before he’d even broken up with Siyong, when life has seemed so much brighter, he’d proposed this B.A.P reunion.

Idiot. He’s an idiot. He buries his head under a pillow.

The phone buzzes again.

I can tell you read the message, you know

Yongguk is too fucking smug for his own good sometimes.

I’m not an idiot, Bbang. I’ll be there tonight. Don’t worry.

Himchan closes his eyes and groans. He really really doesn’t want to do this, but if he’s going to he needs to get up and try to make himself semi-presentable.

His fingers, flung across the bed in frustration, brush something cool and smooth. Oh. It’s the box of Chocopies he’d been munching on before Yongguk’s text derailed his morning. Still halfway full.He pops one of the little chocolate pucks out of the package and into his mouth. No point in letting them go to waste. He needs some cheering up, anyway.

An hour later Himchan is standing in the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. Freshly showered, his hair is dripping down his back. It’s longer than he’s ever worn it. He really needs a cut. There’s a carpet of patchy stubble on his chin and cheeks. He’s been lazy about shaving. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t go out, right? He’s pale, even for him, and there are dark circles under his eyes. And, of course, he’s fat.

He’s the heaviest he’s ever been as an adult -- he hasn’t stepped on the scale yet, but that will just be confirmation of an obvious truth.He’s big. A few months of guilty sloth and gluttony have added a thick layer of pudge to his already generous form. His features are softer, and he’s got a permanent double chin. He’s got actual man boobs now, plump and round. They lead down to soft bumpers of fat under each arm. His arms, speaking of, are really thick. He lifts one, and gives it an experimental shimmy. A little flabby wing of flesh under his bicep jiggles. Ugh. His belly has taken the brunt of the damage. It’s big, hanging soft and wobbly over his waistband. He can grab a whole handful of jiggly belly fat now. There are stretch marks on his love handles, and around his belly button. His thighs are dimpled. His ass, from what little he can glimpse in the mirror, is huge. Even his knees look fat.

He hadn’t even realized knees could look fat.

He closes his eyes and takes a step forward onto the scale.

He opens one eye, and then the other. He has to lean forward a little to see over the curve of his belly.

92.4 kilograms.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

He’s not just the biggest he’s ever been as an adult. He’s barely 5 kilos from the biggest he’s ever been. He’d sworn he’d never let himself get that fat again, but here he is. He digs his fingers into his pudgy overhang. He’s made a big, fat pig of himself and he’s going to have to go out and see the guys. He’s going to have to see Daehyun and Youngjae. Shit. They’re never going to let him hear the end of this.

Nothing to do but make the best of a bad situation.

He feels a little better once he shaved and brushes his hair. He’s still a handsome guy, and even the twenty kilos he’s put on can’t totally disguise that. He smiles, and it’s the same charming smile he remembers. Almost. Except for the double chin. Opening his closet crushes any hint of self-confidence he’s been able to muster. Oh god. Nothing is going to fit. He pulls out a pair of black pants he remembers being a little bit looser than his others, maybe. They get stuck around his big pale thighs. He tries his luck with a pair of baggy, unfashionable jeans he’s had for years, and he can pull those up at least. They’re tight around his calves, though, and the seams are going to be imprinted into his thighs. The zipper doesn’t even come close to doing up. He lies on his back on his bed and tries to pack as much belly fat as he can under the flaps, but nope. Not happening. Not even close

He settles, finally, on a pair of black athletic pants that he can just pull on and an XXL black sweatshirt. The clothes are forgiving and he doesn’t look like a total fat ass. He pulls on a baseball cap and some sunglasses and heads out.

He gets a haircut first. That’s safer. He just goes to some hole in the wall place, not his usual salon. He doesn’t want to explain his absence or his gut. The ajusshi who does his hair is old fashioned and gruff and doesn’t seem to care at all what Himchan looks like. That’s just fine with him. Short on the sides and with a smart part, it really doesn’t look bad. Himchan is pleased when he inspects the man’s work in the mirror. It’s not awful. It makes him feel a little bit better.

He’s much less enthusiastic about trying to find a pair of pants that fit. He remembers this from when he was a kid. Shopping isn’t much fun when you don’t fit in even the largest size in the store. The only difference now is that he has a little more money.

He goes to the Gentleman’s section of a very nice department store and wanders around aimlessly for a while. He’s not even sure what size he is, and he’s not sure he wants to find out. He fingers a beautiful soft double-breasted wool jacket and a pair of fine cotton slacks with pleats. Fat guy clothes, but these aren’t ugly and sloppy. He’s almost worked up the nerve to take a pair of pants into the dressing room when someone clears their throat behind him.

“Can I help you?”

The speaker is an older woman, about his mother’s age, expensively dressed. Only her tasteful nametag reveals that she’s a clerk.

“Uh,” he says. “Um. No. I was just going to …” He makes a vague motion with the pants. “I’m trying to find something to wear to a party tonight.”

She smiles, kind but firm. “I don’t think you want to wear those,” she says. “You want something younger, a bit trendier. A handsome young guy like yourself shouldn’t dress like a grandfather, right?”

Himchan knows she’s just flattering a customer to make a purchase, but still, it’s nice to hear. “Um. Yeah. I …” He swallows. “I’ve put on a bit of weight lately, and I seem to have outgrown all of my favorite stores.” He smiles, hoping she’ll do him the favor of laughing at his joke.

She tuts. “Don’t worry about that,” she says, kindly. “Let’s figure out your size and we’ll a few nice things picked out for you.”

Himchan, cheeks red, follows her into a dressing room. He strips down to his boxers as she asks, and oh god. He looks even more enormous with mirrors on all sides. He’s a big, flabby pale blob.

The clerk is the picture of professionalism, though. She takes out a cloth measuring tape and for one awful moment he’s afraid it won’t be big enough to span his massive girth … But it is. More than large enough.This is a fat guy store, and they’re prepared.

“101 centimeters,” she mutters under her breath.

There was a time when he fit into a 75 cm waist. Now he’s 100 centimeters around. That’s a lot bigger. She keeps measuring him and all the numbers are so much bigger than they used to be. They’d been measured all the time for stage outfits and other clothes, and Himchan always knew his numbers. An increase of a centimeter or two was a warning bell. Now, he’s blown past all those warnings, and the numbers are almost obscene.

“Let me bring you a few things,” the clerk says, when she’s done measuring him.“I know what you kids find fashionable.” She pats him affectionately on the shoulder.

He waits in the dressing room, under the unforgiving glare of the bright lights, confronted with his reflection on all sides. There’s a whole army of fat Himchans.They exhale in unison, setting off a wobbly avalanche of belly flesh. He puts a hand on his belly. It is really soft. It’s not like Himchan’s never known any other fat guys, of course, but a lot of them are the big, thick, solid type of fat guy – beer guts and disproportionately skinny legs. Himchan’s all soft, pliable pudge. He’s almost a little pear shaped, with the way his hips flare out and then curve back in. He would be, anyway, if his love handles weren’t so huge. He’s just big all over.

But, maybe … just maybe … it’s not quite as bad as he’d imagined? There was something about hearing that number that flipped some switch in his brain. He isn’t just fat. He’s big – a really big guy. He has mass and girth and substance. He’s still not wild about being a fat pig, of course, but there’s something about being being that big that he kind of likes.

The clerk comes back with armfuls of clothing. She hands them in to Himchan one at a time, and makes him show her each outfit.

He looks a lot better wearing clothes that actually fit. The first outfit he tries on consists of a pair of soft grey trousers that are big enough that he can do them up over his stomach, and a sweater that doesn’t cling to every lump and roll on his body. It looks … not bad. The kind clerk thinks so too, but she doesn’t let him off the hook that easily. He’s barely back in the dressing room before she’s handing in another outfit.

He leaves an hour later with two shopping bags brimming full. He has new pants and tee shirts, a new jacket and several nice sweaters, all in large enough sizes that he can wear them without feeling like he’s being squeezed half to death.

He doesn’t go totally overboard, of course, because he will lose the weight. Eventually. One day.

Right?

Later that night, he’s standing in front of the door where he’s supposed to meet the guys and his nerves are acting up again. He’s wearing a pair of new jeans and a tee shirt with a sweater over it. In his apartment when he’d admired himself in the mirror, he’d actually thought he looked pretty good. Big and solid. Manly, almost, which wasn’t something Himchan was used to feeling.

Now, though, he’s thinking about the last time he saw Yongguk, and how he’d been ten kilos lighter. He’s thinking about the last time he saw Youngjae and Daehyun. It had been right after he’d gotten out of the army and he’d been in the best shape of his life. He’d been so proud that he’d almost had abs for a little while.

Now he’s got a shelf, he thinks, patting the jut of his belly.

Oh well. Nothing he can do but grin and bear it. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.

They’re all gathered in the back room – everyone is here. They’re sitting around a table laden with food and soju and beer, laughing and talking so that they don’t notice him at first.

“Oh sure,” he says, a little loudly. “Ignore poor old Himchan hyung.”

Everyone looks at him, and there’s a moment of silence, an awful moment where HImchan almost wonders if they don’t recognize him (so fat his best friends don’t even recognize him!) but then the moment passes and they’re all on their feet, patting him on the back and pulling him into hugs. He rubs a hand on Youngjae and Daehyun’s short cropped hair.

“Nice ears,” he says to Daehyun.

Daehyun groans. “My squad calls me Dumbo.”

Himchan slides into his place next to Yongguk. It’s a little bit harder now, a little bit of a tighter fit, but he manages okay. Yongguk smiles at him and Himchan feels a lot better.

Youngjae and Daehyun get caught up trying to get Junhong to tell them who he’s dating, and when their attention is elsewhere, Yongguk leans over and says, “Are you okay?”

Himchan frowns. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Yongguk’s expression is deadpan. “You didn’t return any of my calls for weeks.”

Himchan frowns. “Um. I was kind of depressed, I guess.”

It’s true, he realizes, although he hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself.

“But you’re okay?”

Other than putting on fifteen kilos and turning into a fatso? “I’m fine,” he says. “Really. I’m sorry, Bbang. I won’t ignore you any more.”

Yongguk grins. “Good,” he says quietly.

His weight, surprisingly, doesn’t come up until much later in the evening. They’re all a little tipsy by now, having moved on from the restaurant to a noraebang, and Himchan is getting slowly to his feet to do a duet with Jongup. Daehyung, who is pretty drunk, takes a bad step, and falls right into Himchan. He almost knocks HImchan off his feet. Himchan grunts and barely manages to stay upright. Daehyun clings, one hand resting low on Himchan’s belly, on the softest, jiggliest roll of fat.

“Damn hyung,” Daehyun says. He gives Himchan’s belly an affectionate squeeze. “You really have given up on the idol life, haven’t you? You’re huge.”

Himchan’s cheeks go scarlet. “I’m going to leave the singing and dancing to you whippersnappers,” he says calmly, even though he feels like he could crumple up and disappear from embarrassment. “I’m taking on pursuits more appropriate to a man approaching middle years.”

“Daehyun,” Youngjae says, sharply. He’s always been a little too observant for Himchan’s tastes. “Get over here. You said you were going to sing ‘Gee’ and do the choreo. There’s no way you still remember the dance.”

This time, though, Himchan is glad for the out. He closes his eyes and reaches for his glass.

Much later still, so late it’s nearly morning, they are out on the streets. Jongup and Yongguk are gone. They left early, because they’re the smartest ones. Daehyun is throwing up in a gutter, leaning on Junhong for support. Himchan has his hands shoved in his pocket. Youngjae is watching him quietly. There’s another sounds of explosive vomiting, and Himchan takes a step away. He really likes these shoes.

“Sorry about Daehyun before,” Youngjae says quietly, without looking up. It’s funny, but he still looks just as young as ever, even with the shaved head.

“Huh?” Himchan asks. He’s not really that drunk, but he feels a little muddled.

“Daehyun,” Youngjae says. “He shouldn’t have said anything about your weight. He doesn’t … he doesn’t get it though.” He smiles, a little sadly. “He’s always been kind of a dick about that stuff, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Himchan says slowly. There were moments, over the years, when Daehyun said something about his weight that stung, sharp and cruel. Himchan had laughed those comments off, because what choice did he have?

“He doesn’t know how much work it is, how exhausting it gets,” Youngjae says, tiredly, and Himchan remembers Youngjae at eighteen, when they’d just debuted and he’d been just a little bit soft with baby fat. He remembers how embarrassed Youngjae had been when the press had snapped a few pictures of his barely soft stomach, and how diligently he’d worked to lose weight. Youngjae, Himchan thinks, knows exactly how exhausting it is to count every calorie you put into your mouth. He is suddenly intensely sad, for both of them.

“Anyway,” Youngjae says. “I’m glad you’re taking it a bit easier now. You look good.”

Himchan rolls his eyes, “I look …”

“You look good, seriously,” Youngjae says. He brushes his hand over his hair, over the patch on top where it’s getting a little thin. “Are you happy?”

Himchan shrugs. “I’m working on it,” he says, slowly. “I’m trying.”

Youngjae smiles at him, and he’s about to say something else, but there’s a howl behind them as Junhong steps back quickly from Daehyun. There’s vomit splattering his shoes. Daehyun goes down heavy onto his knees.

“Oh god,” Youngjae says. “You go get Junhong and keep him from killing Daehyun. I’ll try to get Daehyun home.”

And for a little while, the fact that Himchan’s carrying twenty extra kilos doesn’t matter at all. It’s almost like the good old days. It’s almost like nothing has changed – nothing important, anyway.

He wakes up early the next morning with a terrible hangover. He hauls himself out of bed, takes two aspirin, and lies down on the couch. When he wakes again it’s two in the afternoon and he feels much better. He feels better, in fact, than he has in months. It was really, really good to see the guys. His heart feels whole again.

He’s also starving. He makes himself three fried eggs and heats up some frozen hash browns. He makes a nice little pile of buttery toast while the eggs cook. He makes a cup of instant coffee and sits down to eat his breakfast at his kitchen table. He takes his time, wanting to make sure he doesn’t overdo it, but this is nothing he can’t handle. When his plate is clean, he sits back with one hand resting on his belly, feeling totally, utterly content.

After he showers and dresses in some of the nice new clothes he’s bought, he actually works up the nerve to call his manager and beg forgiveness. After a well deserved reaming out, his manager tells him that he’s had a few offers come in for new projects.

Himchan clears his throat. “Hyung,” he says. “Listen … I’ve um. I’ve put on a little more weight.”

His manager makes a tired sound. “Okay,” he says. “We can get you a personal trainer again. We can …”

“No,” Himchan says. “I don’t want to do that. I’m … I’m okay with it. I’m just letting you know.”

“Oh,” his manager says, seemingly at a loss.

HImchan clears his throat. “Tell me about these new opportunities.”

Four weeks later, Himchan is signing a contract to be a member of a new MBC variety show focusing on the traditional arts. He’s also, reluctantly, agreed to start going to the gym, but the joke’s on his company. He goes three times a week like they ask but he mostly does strength exercises, capped off by a leisurely walk in the treadmill. Getting a little exercise is a good thing, he thinks, but this routine isn’t going to slim him back down anytime soon. Not with the way he’s been eating.

He’s put on a few more kilos, in fact. He’s tried to cut out the worst of his binging. He’s not eating two pizzas a night any more, and isn’t pigging out on fried chicken, but he’s Kim Himchan and he’s still got a very healthy appetite and a real weakness for sweets. At the development meetings for the new show, there’s always a table of pastries and fruit, and Himchan makes sure to fix himself a nice plate before he sits down. He hasn't switched back to iced coffee -- his default Starbucks order is still a Venti Mocha with full fat milk and extra whipped cream. It just tastes better. He's not going back to those salad days of boiled chicken breast and soybean paste soup. He's just not going to do it.

All the nice new clothes he got start to get a little tight, though. The pants start pulling around the waist. The sleeves of the shirts start to squeeze his pillowy upper arms. Even the sweaters start to get a little tight, clinging to the curve of his belly, not doing nearly so much to disguise it.

He's not sure it can be disguised, at this point. He's getting big. His scale is shoved under the counter in the bathroom -- out of sight, out of mind. He's trying to stop worrying about the numbers, but he can tell from the way his belly looks so huge that he's passing definitively out of the realm of chubby and into the kingdom of fat.

Kim Himchan is a fat man.

It's funny, but those words don't burn quite the way they once would have.

It's even funnier that nobody else seems to care quite as much as he thought they would.

Strangest of all, he's actually had a few people flirt with him. He's not sure, because Himchan's never been the best at noticing that kind of thing. He can turn on the charm when he wants, but he assumes all attention directed his way is mocking. Still, he'd gone out with some of the staff of the variety show to a bar a few weeks back and there had been a woman there -- his age, attractive, very well dressed -- who had talked to him all night. She'd been friendly and engaging and coy, and he'd been nearly convinced she'd been flirting with him.

He hadn't been positive, though, so he hadn't asked for her number. He almost regrets that, except every time he thinks of dating someone his thoughts inevitably drift back to Siyong.

He hadn't realized in their brief time together how much he'd come to care for her. She's the second lead in a new drama, and every time he sees an ad for it he's struck at how beautiful she is. Her beauty is barely the smallest part of what he misses though. It had been so easy to be with her, once he'd gotten past her initial shy demeanor. She was easygoing and kind, and she had a great sense of humor. He'd love just sitting in her kitchen chatting while she whipped up something delicious and sweet.

He regrets now how unwillingly he'd always sampled her baking. It's just one of so many regrets he has when he thinks about Su Siyong.

But, like Himchan's thirty-inch waist, some things are gone and won't ever come back.

In the fall of that year, after the first season of the variety show has ended to general acclaim, Himchan is invited to the wedding of an acquaintance-- it's not someone he knows well, just one of those people he'd run into here and there over the years. The wedding invitation is a generous gesture, and although he has a pang about the +1 on the invitation, he decides to go.

The day he mails in his response, he steps on the scale for the first time in almost half a year. He’s going to need to buy a new suit. He's pretty sure that the nice navy suit he bought in the summer isn't going to fit any more. He knows he's put on more weight. He's big enough now that he can't find anything at all that will fit him in a standard size store. Even XLs are comically small. He goes to specialty shops catering to larger men -- fat guy stores.

It doesn't bother him as much as it should.

There have been a few articles about his weight gain, and he's read them, but all the sting has gone out of it. He feels good. He feels better now than he has in years. He's even gotten more serious about strength training at the gym, so at least a little of his new bulk is probably muscle. He knows people whisper when he eats as much as the other, skinnier cast members, but why shouldn't he?

He realizes now, finally, what Su-su had meant about not hating himself.

There's a strange, residual moment of terror when he stands in front of his old nemesis the scale. He's spent so many years terrified of what it would reveal: every kilo gained was a personal failing, every kilo lost was just a temporary victory against an overwhelming tide.

He thinks he's over that, but twenty odd years of self-loathing aren't all that easy to shrug off.

He takes a step forward onto the scale, eyes closed. He waits, almost trembling with nerves, while it registers his weight. He opens an eye and looks down but all he can see is the pale hemisphere of his belly. He leans forward.

114.2 kilos.

He feels hot and cold all at once. 114.2 kilos. The number sounds so big. Huge, honestly.

The realization that he's not upset is even more shocking than the number itself.

He can't quite define how he feels, honestly, but that awful icky shame feeling in the pit of his stomach is absent. He knows that one well; he lived with it long enough. He feels surprised, definitely. Even though he knew he'd been gaining weight, 114.2 kilos is still a lot. Even more shocking is the thought that in the last year he's put on almost 50 kilos in the last year.

When he thinks about that, he doesn't feel bad at all. Instead he feels almost ... proud?

Yes, proud is the right word, although it still sits a little uneasily. There is something kind of impressive about the enormous bulge of his belly, maybe. If you look at it in the right light. There's definitely something impressive about how much he can eat. It's not like everyone can toss back a pizza like it's nothing. There's something wonderful, certainly, about how much he enjoys eating.

A month or so later, just before Christmas, Himchan shows up at the Shilla Hotel feeling pretty good about himself. He's wearing a new suit, custom-made, that fits him like a glove. (The tailor he works with had thoughtfully added a few centimeters to his initial measurements, allowing for some extra indulgence leading up to the holidays. Himchan hasn't weighed himself recently, but he's more than filling out the 120cm waist pants.) He gets out of his car and hands his keys to the valet. In the glossy plate glass exterior of the hotel, he takes stock of what he sees: a large man, certainly, but well dressed, and with a charming smile. He straightens his lapels, and brushes a stray hair back into place.

It's a lovely evening. Himchan has a great time. The couple is deeply in love, and their joy is infectious. The food is excellent, and provided in such ample quantities that even Himchan eats his fill (or comes close, at least). There's an excellent band playing good music. Opulent displays of flowers cover every horizontal surface, and many of the vertical ones. He catches up with some old friends he hasn't seen in years. Not one of them mentions his weight.

Still, by the end of the evening, Himchan is feeling melancholy. Not sad, exactly, but just a little sorrowful to think that in the midst of all this happiness he's alone, and there are no prospects of that changing anytime soon. He drains his glass of cabernet and gets up to get another. Rather than return to the table he takes a seat at the bar. It's more of an effort than it used to be to haul himself onto the bar stool, but there's a lot more of him to haul.

He's nursing his wine when someone sits down beside him. The bar is pretty full, so it's not surprising. He glances over. It's a woman, looking away from him down the bar, towards the front of the room. Her generous curves are poured into a sleeveless pink dress, and her blonde hair is tucked up into an elegant knot. There's something familiar about the way she's sitting, with one leg curled around the other. He's seen that before. It's so familiar. It's ...

"Su-su?"

She turns around, surprised, and he can see the confusion in her eyes. If it had taken her a moment to recognize him the last time they met, now the reaction is even more delayed. He understands why. He looks much different. Much fatter.

"Himchan?" Her eyes are wide.

"Hello," he says, and he smiles.

"Himchan. Hi.” She turns towards him, eyes wide with suprise.

"You look lovely," he says, because it's truth. She looks more beautiful than he's ever seen her.

"Thank you," she says, smiling. "You look ..."

He forces the smile to stay on his face. "Fat," he says. "I know. You can say it."

She narrows her eyes. "I was going to say happy," she says.

He thinks about that for a moment. "I am happy," he says. "Happier than I've been in a long time. Fat, too, though." He smiles wryly.

Su-su sits back. She looks confused. "What happened? Are you okay? Are you..."

"I'm fine," Himchan says. "Really. It was rough going for a little while there, but I'm in a much better place now."

"I'm glad," she says cautiously. “You do look like you’ve

He is struck suddenly at how badly he must have hurt her. He knew it, but he can feel it now. He'd been ashamed of her and more ashamed of himself, and all that shame had been a twisted, evil thing that had ruined any chance they had of being happy together. He’d been so unhappy with himself, he doesn’t think he could have been happy with anyone.

The bartender comes with Siyong’s drink, and she moves as if to stand up. Himchan realizes that if she does, this is it. They'll never be anything to each other again. And maybe that would be what he deserves, but he wants to apologize before she goes in case he doesn't get another chance.

"Hey," he says, resting a hand on her arm to pause her.

She turns back towards him, eyes hard.

"I just want to apologize again," he says. "Su-su, I'm so sorry."

He can see in her face all the years of effort she's spent fighting against a society and a world that told her she's wrong just for being her.

"It's fine, Himchan," she says. "I appreciate it, honestly, but I've ..."

"No," he says. "It's not fine. I didn't realize." He shakes his head. "I didn't realize how much I hated myself. I spent such a long time worrying that someone might call me fat I never stopped to wonder why I was scared of it to begin with. I didn't realize how brave you were for just deciding to be you, and not ashamed of it." He clears his throat. "So, I'm sorry, Su-su. I know there's nothing I can do to make up for it, but I want you to know."

Something in her face crumples, and she sits back down. "Oh, Himchan," she says. "It's okay. Really." She sighs. "I know it's hard. I mean ..." She closes her eyes. "I try so hard, but you know what they told me when I got the part in 'Moonlight Girl'?

This was the drama she'd just completed. It had been a relatively big hit, and Himchan had been glad for her.

"They said they wanted a chubby girl, but they told me not to gain any more weight. 'Chubby, but not really chubby.' That's what they said."

Himchan frowns. "What did you tell them?"

She shrugs. "Nothing," she says. "I needed the work."

He nods, slowly. He gets it. He really gets it. It's taken him until his thirties to even think of defying conventional stick-thin wisdom, and he knows it must be ten time as bad for her as a woman. Sometimes, the fight isn’t worth the cost. Sometimes, though, it is.

Himchan feels his cheeks growing red. "I knew I was an idiot for losing you, but I didn't realize how amazing you were, Su-su. You're a hundred times braver than I am."

Siyong stares down at her hands folded in her lap. She takes a deep breath, and then looks up. Her eyes are bright. "Maybe ... Maybe we could get dinner sometime? Start over?"

He smiles so wide he feels like his cheeks are going to split, and he doesn't even worry about how chubby it makes his face look. "You still want to? In spite of ... all this?" He pats his fat gut. He’s not the guy she started dating almost a year ago -- he doesn’t look like that guy, at least.

She flushes even redder. "I think you look good," she says. "Really. It suits you."

He laughs, a little embarrassed, but also so happy. Happier than he can remember being in forever. "I kind of like it," he says. "It's a lot easier, eating what I want."

She giggles and nods. "I'm glad I'm done with the drama." She pats her own soft belly. "It's so nice not to worry. I've actually been thinking of getting another slice of that cake."

Himchan nods. It had been excellent cake -- soft and spongy, with a thick layer of custard in between and sugared fruit on top.

"I think that sounds like an excellent idea," he says. He gets to his feet, and offers her his hand. "Shall we?"

She takes it. Hand in hand, they set off to find their cake.