#the boy whose destined to lose his mother

[fu-cough]

oh sweet adrien who can't even do anything to change the course of his life because his fate was already predetermined long before he was even created

[charlesslut16]

Can you write a fic (I was thinking about max but you can do any driver really) where the reader and the driver are best friends to lovers in the early days of the drivers career. The reader supported the driver through it all and wants nothing more but for them to succeed. As the drivers career really starts to kick off, the reader falls pregnant. When the driver finds out, (thinking of max here) he thinks he's going to be a terrible father and gets nervous thinking how he may ruin a whole life, he suggests getting rid of the baby and the reader thinks it's cause of his career, tells him she respects the fact that he doesn't want the baby, but she's going to keep it. ANGSTY please

-losing you to trauma-

summary : max is to unsure to have children, to stay with you and raise your daughter...

PAIRING: max verstappen x fem!reader

WARNINGS : max leaving reader, angst

note : as i'm a girl of a single mother, whose father did almost the exact same thing, it hurts. But i hope that you still like it!

masterlist

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Max Verstappen's Formula One career was just beginning to take off. He was young, talented, and driven, with an intensity that made his presence felt on the track and off it.

His best friend, you, since childhood, had always been there, cheering him on from the sidelines, through every victory and defeat, every celebration and heartbreak.

You both shared a bond that was unbreakable, an understanding that didn't need words. You had seen Max's potential long before the rest of the world, had believed in him when he was just a boy with a dream and a passion for racing.

And after time, you two had become a couple. A happy one, both driven by the drill of driving and passion. But as Max's career soared, so did the distance between you both. Not in your hearts, but in the time you could spend together.

You understood; you had always known that Max was destined for greatness, and you were content to support him from the background. You never complained, never asked for more than what he could give.

Your relationship had evolved quietly. What started as innocent hand-holding during tough times in your racing careers became something deeper, more profound.

It wasn't long before you crossed the threshold from best friends to lovers, a natural progression that felt right for both of you. You didn't need to label it; you simply knew you belonged together.

But then, life threw the both of you a curveball. You found yourself staring at a positive pregnancy test, the weight of the world suddenly resting on your shoulders. You knew this would change everything, for both.

When told Max, his reaction was far from what you hoped for. Instead of joy, there was fear in his eyes. He looked at you, his face pale and his hands shaking, and said, "I can't do this. I don't know how to be a father. I'll ruin everything. Maybe we should... maybe we should consider not having the baby."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You had expected hesitation, but not this. Not the suggestion to get rid of the life you had created together. Tears welled up in your eyes, but fought them back.

You needed to be strong, for yourself and for the baby.

"Is this about your career?" you asked, her voice trembling but steady. "Are you worried that having a baby will ruin everything for you?"

Max shook his head, but his eyes told a different story. "No, it's not that. I just... I don't want to mess up. I don't want to be a terrible father. I don't want to ruin a whole life because I don't know what I'm doing."

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. "Max, I respect that you're scared. I am too. But this isn't just about you. This is about us, and about this baby. I can't make this decision for you, but I need you to know that I'm going to keep it. I understand if you don't want to be involved, but I have to do this."

His face crumpled, and he pulled you into his arms, holding tightly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."

You clung to him for dear life, tears streaming down your face. "I love you, Max. And I believe in you, just like I've always believed in you. You can do this. We can do this."

But as much as you tried to reassure him, you could feel the chasm widening between. Max was consumed by his fear, by the thought of failing not just as a driver but as a father.

And though he loved you, his terror of the unknown, of the future, was driving a wedge between the both of you. He could never but your love above the insecurity and that broke you to pieces, that could not be set back together.

The months passed, and Max's career continued to flourish. He threw himself into his racing with a ferocity that left little room for anything else. You watched, heart breaking a little more each day, as the man you loved slipped further away from you.

When the baby was born, a beautiful, healthy girl, Max was there. He had not held her, at the side of you and the baby, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and fear. But he still couldn't shake his anxiety, couldn't let go of the belief that he would fail them both.

You knew you had to be strong, not just for yourself, but for your daughter. You had always believed in Max, and would continue to do so. But knew that he had to find his own way, had to come to terms with his fears on his own.

And so, with a heavy heart, you let him go, hoping that one day he would find his way back to them. That he would realize that he could be the father their daughter needed, and the partner she had always believed he could be.

Until then, you would keep supporting him from the sidelines, cheering him on just as you always had. Because that's what you do for the ones you love, even when it breaks your heart.

Deep in your heart, you wanted him to come to your house and say that he was sorry and wanted to be in your lives, but as time passed, you realized that he would never come to terms with it.

His trauma being too deep for him to start a family, you accepted the fact, but you never forgave him for it. You love him with your whole heart, and you always will.

Maybe your ways will meet again, who knew?

[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | mature | 2.1k | cw: major character death (temporary, as in reincarnation) | tags: soulmates, starcrossed lovers, reincarnation | summary: In every life, in every universe, they will find each other again. What's a lifetime if you measure it in eternity? | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is a fire that never goes out | AO3)

1

Troy, 13th century BCE

Achilles often marveled at the serenity of the sea at night. His mother is tempestuous by nature, unpredictable and untamed, and most days the sea reflects her nature. But not tonight. Tonight the waves are shallow, a gentle rocking of their ships that had lulled Patroclus to sleep in his arms.

The lone candle on his bedside bathes the room in a warm orange glow, casting shadows across the naked skin of his lover. He can see his marks on the alabaster skin, pale as the moon to Achilles' sun-kissed skin.

Many people have said that they are a study in contradictions, one the perfect antithesis of the other. They're not entirely wrong, but they miss the point. The most important fact of all.

Patroclus is the other half of his soul, and they only make sense together.

The war rages on, and deep down Achilles knows he can't sit this one out forever. Everyone thinks he refuses to fight out of spite, a bruised ego and a prideful, stubborn nature, much like his mother's, that keeps him away from the front lines.

Sure, it feeds his ego to know they're losing without his sword, but it's not pride that keeps him from joining the Greeks in this senseless war.

It's fear.

He's not afraid for himself, never has been. Achilles is a hero, he's destined to die at the hands of another. It's a cold comfort, this knowledge of the path that awaits him: Glory, honor, death.

It's what will make him a god one day.

No one ever asked him if he wanted that. No one but Patroclus, half his soul, all his life. Being a god, worshipped and admired by the masses, pales in comparison to the feeling of dark brown eyes looking at him with nothing but love and devotion. They don't see a half god, Achilles knows that.

They see the lonely boy who only ever wanted someone to see him and love him for that. For what he is, not for what the prophecies say he will be.

Tomorrow he will take up his armor again. Not to win a war for a man blinded by pride and greed and stupidity.

For the man whose love burns as warm and bright as the fire on Mount Olympus, and only for him.

2

England, 15th century

Public executions are Stephanos' least favorite of his princely duties.

He hates to see men and women die by his father's hand, no matter who ties the knot or sets the stake on fire. It might as well be his father's hand swinging the axe. The only thing he hates more is the cheering of the crowd, the spectacle. How they enjoy the suffering, the death, being played out before them. They're probably glad it's not them, but that's no excuse in his eyes.

Stephanos vows that when he becomes king, he will be a more just ruler.

It hasn't always been this way with him. When he was a young boy, he wanted to be like his father. There had never been any question in his mind that the people who were executed for public entertainment deserved their fate. They had it coming, bad people needed to be punished.

Edmund showed him that wasn't true.

Disguised as a commoner, he had taken Stephanos out of the castle and into town. He had shown him how the people of the kingdom really lived, and who the villains really were: his father's men, who tormented and abused and exploited the people they were supposed to protect and serve.

Edmund, who had lost his parents to King Richard's cruelty and still retained his kindness and warmth, and who had shown Stephanos what true love really meant.

Love for his people, who deserved a king who would rule them justly and kindly.

Love for the friends he made along the way, as Edmund taught him about the suffering that was happening right under his nose.

Love for another man, a man who found it in himself to love the son of the murderer of his parents.

It's the only thing that keeps him upright when he's forced to watch his love burn at the stake for having bewitched the young prince. Witchcraft, the only acceptable explanation for what they had caught Stephanos and Edmund doing in Stephanos' chambers.

As the flames die down, long after the painful screams of the only man, the only person, Stephanos has ever loved, the fire within him burns brighter than ever. He vows to avenge his lover and honor his memory by being a ruler Edmund would be proud to call his king.

3

Normandy, 1944

"God, they tell you about the bullets and the bombs, the blood and the death, sure. But they never talk about the rain and the cold and the bloody mud, do they?" Stephen knows it's a rhetorical question because Edward loves to ask them.

"Ever wonder if our commanding officer has a map, or does he just like sending us on scenic tours of enemy territory?”

" Wonder if the rats in the trenches have formed a union yet. Bet they're negotiating better living conditions than we are.".

"Do you reckon the General's war strategy involves a Syco-Seer? I mean, that would explain a lot."

At first it had pissed him off. It was bad enough that they had to fight alongside a British battalion with soldiers who talked funny and were trained in ways Stephen didn't really understand. Most of what they did didn't make sense to him and he just wanted them all to fuck off back to where they came from. Maybe take some Germans out on the way, because even in his irritation he could admit that they could use all the help they could get.

That didn't mean he had to like the hand attached to that help.

It's just that during the last two months they've been hunkered down somewhere in the north of France, with rain pouring down almost constantly, he's gone and fallen in love with an Englishman.

How embarrassing.

Even the accent kind of does it for him now, all thanks to Edward ("Would you just call me Eddie for Christ's sake, you literally saved my ass.") and his charming, if slightly odd, ways. He was infuriating, but kind and funny, always trying to cheer everyone up even when he was barely holding it together. Eddie made him laugh and blush and curse up a storm and roll his eyes fondly and cry exhausted tears into his surprisingly strong shoulders.

Eddie makes him feel alive. He makes Stephen want to be alive, too.

Most of all, he wants Eddie to be alive.

The gaping bullet wound in his chest tells Stephen that he may not get what he wants.

Eddie's hand in his is wet from the rain and too cold, as if the life has already begun to seep out of his limbs and with it all his warmth. Which is ridiculous, because no one burns as warm and bright as Eddie, even on the darkest days he would be their beacon of light. A roaring fire of life and love and hope.

A fire that couldn't be put out just like that. They needed him, all those young soldiers, barely 18, if that, who looked up to Eddie and worshipped the ground he walked on. Who would look out for them now? Who would keep their spirits up, their will to fight and live?

Stephen couldn't do it, not without Eddie.

"I can't do it without you, Eddie." He is not ashamed of the way his voice breaks as he holds the love he has just found in his arms, only to lose it again.

Eddie's eyes are warm and soft as they gaze into his, even with the pain clearly visible in them. "Yes, you can, sweetheart. They need you."

"I need you," Stephen sobs, his tears mixing with the rain that falls on a face he knows will one day be a fading memory. The thought hurts. It fucking hurts.

With the last of his strength, Eddie squeezes his hand. "You have me, Stevie. You'll always have me. My love will keep you warm long after my body has grown cold, I promise. I'll always be with you, in every life to come."

4

Hawkins, 1987

"Hey Eddie, it's me. Steve." Rubbing his hands over his face, Steve sighs, a sound as tired as he feels. "God, this is so stupid. You barely knew me. I barely knew you. I shouldn't be sitting here mourning you like we were anything more than two strangers thrown together in this fucking mess. Not that you don't deserve to be mourned, man. It makes me so fucking angry how they still refuse to see who you really were. A hero. A friend."

It's cold where Steve sits on the ground in front of a slab of stone that reads "Edward Munson".

"It's just... I don't understand why it hurts so much. It feels like, fuck, like there's a fist in my chest, in my stomach, squeezing so hard I can barely breathe some days. We all miss you. Not just the kids, although it hit Dustin the hardest. He's not the same and I don't know how to help him. Christ, I can't even help myself. I sleep with your vest under my bed, right next to my bat, how crazy is that? Most nights I can only sleep for a few hours if I touch it."

He runs his hand through his hair and grips it tightly, as if the pain helps make sense of everything he's feeling.

"You'd probably call me crazy, a fucking nutcase. Or maybe not. I don't know you well enough to say for sure, but I feel like maybe you wouldn't judge me too harshly. What I'm trying to say is this: I feel like when you died I lost something I didn't even know I had. Like, ugh, I dunno, I'm not good at this, you should have seen my college essay, Nancy told me it didn't make any sense. But it's like your death should be the period at the end of our story, right? The sentence is over, the story is told. Only it feels like it's just a semicolon and part of the story is still coming. That doesn't make sense, does it?"

Sighing again, this time because he's annoyed at himself for not finding the right words to explain himself, he climbs to his feet and slaps his hand on the cold stone.

"Right. Sorry for disturbing your rest. You deserve some rest, Eddie. Thank you for saving us. For saving Dustin. And for, y'know, saying those things in the woods. I never told you that, but it still means a lot to me."

The you still mean a lot to me swings in the space between the living and the dead, the thread that holds both worlds together.

5

Chicago, 2023

Steve knows they should go inside. They're too old to sleep out on the cold, hard ground, even if the night air is mild at this time of year. Steve and Eddie aren't 20 anymore, they're twice that age, and he knows they're going to regret not sleeping in a real bed in the morning.

"We should go inside, it's getting late," he says to Eddie, but his husband just hums where he's nestled into Steve's side, his cheek on Steve's chest. Right over his heart, where he's carved out his own space in the two decades they've been together.

"Just a little while longer, love. I don't want to miss it."

Eddie sounds wide awake, as excited to be lying in the garden outside their little house on the outskirts of town as he is about anything else in their lives. It's one of the most endearing things about him. Every day with him is a new adventure, even if it's Sunday morning reruns of Friends.

"Miss what, babe?"

"The shooting stars. Didn't you listen to Dustin when he said there was a meteor shower tonight?"

Steve chuckled. Of course his little brother would know such things. He has to admit that he didn't listen to his ramblings when he stopped by for lunch, too distracted by the way the autumn sun had cast shadows on Eddie's face. Not that he'd say it out loud.

"Mhhh. Must have slipped my mind. So, what do we wish for?" It comes out more earnest than he intended, his teasing feeling oddly displaced in the face of the pure love and adoration on Eddie's face as he leans up on his elbow to look down at Steve.

"For another lifetime with you. What more would I want than more of what we already have, preferably an eternity of it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees the first shooting star streaking across the night sky, and as he pulls Eddie down for a kiss, he wishes for just that.

[bloodpxct]

::: GRINDELDORE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT AU

' blood drunken - grindeldore enemies to friends to lovers, inspired by hannibal and shakespeare - A universe in which Albus and Gellert are enemies opposing each other in a scholarly tournament, become friends over their mutual obsession of the Hallows, share forbidden kisses a few times and plan to overthrow the statue of secrecy as lovers. The world burns as the two young men form an unimaginable bond, falling prey to each other's manipulations and soul crushing devotion to each other.

“And now the announcement of the Beauxbatons have been announced we shall now declare the Hogwarts and Durmstrange champions!” Headmaster Black had said, his voice projecting across the hall.

“And for first we shall announce Hogwarts!” He took the paper falling from the goblet, “Albus Dumbledore.” He had said, somewhat sourly, as he had wished for one of his children to be a competing champion.

Dumbledore bowed his head in honour, not even slightly surprised by his choosing: this was what he was destined for!

He walked up to join the other champion from Beauxbatons, smiling in a somewhat forced fashion.

“And now! For the Durmstrang student… Gellert Grindelwald!”

Many of his classmates did not seem to like this at all- many going silent and many other cursing in their mother tongues! In fact even the Durmstrang headmaster's expression had hardened at the announcement!

He languidly sauntered to join the other two now chosen champions.

“Now you shall shake hands- and now agree to compete in harmony and to bear no sore feelings if you should lose to one another.”

Dumbledore went to shake the Beauxbatons champion’s hand- A boy, whose hair was dark and rather messy, his eyes a pale almost grey.

Grindelwald shook the boy's hand next. And then came to face Dumbledore, he leaned closer, smiling in amusement.

“I have heard many great things of you from my great-aunt Albus Dumbledore.” He had whispered in his ear, firmly taking his hand and shaking it.

Dumbledore frowned, “Pray tell, who your aunt perhaps is?”

“Bathilda Bagshot.”

Dumbledore's eyes widened most significantly at that!

“She has never spoken of you.” He replied coldly.

“I hope you shall not be too upset when I defeat you in this tournament.” He had said, his expression much too confident and smug for Dumbledore's liking!

His expression flared up in anger upon the comment; “Do not be so sure of yourself.”

Grindelwald punched him in the arm, going unnoticed by many, to which Dumbledore glared at him.

Dumbledore grimaced a smile upon his features when Grindelwald walked away. Oh how infuriating this boy already was!

[cavinginhisfvce]

'William Orchard Hopper"

Pairing: Harringrove.

Tw: child abuse, mentions of infidelity.

This started out as a headcanon of Jim being Billy biological dad and quickly spiraled into this??? Sorry. <3

Not many people know that Jim Hopper spent a considerable amount of time in California in his twenties.

Jim and Billy's mom, Bria Hargrove met and had an affair that led to Billy being born.

Neil knows Billy isn't his son, and becomes abusive towards Bria and Billy until she can no longer take it. 

When Billy is ten, she leaves and hides a note in Billy's room for him to find. 

The note tells him that Neil isn't his real father, it tells him his real father lives in Indiana. Hawkins, specifically but that he had once lived in California. She tells him that the man is named Jim Hopper. She doesn't give him any other details. Not that it truly matters, Neil is whose on his birth certificate. Neil is who is raising Billy into the man he's destined to be.

Confused, Billy tucks the note away. He can almost forget about it, but the knowledge that Neil isn't his dad stays with him. Even when Neil married Susan, and he gained a step-sister in her daughter, Max. 

It doesn't become a problem for Billy until Neil announces that their new, fragile thing of a family is moving to Hawkins, Indiana. 

He doesn't know if Neil knows he'll be dropping them in the town of the very man his mother cheated on him with.

A week after the move, Billy makes the mistake of getting high after Neil's latest lesson in Respect and Responsibility that ended with Billy nursing bruised ribs and what's definitely a mild concussion. 

The mistake isn't smoking weed, per say. No, Billy's mistake was forgetting just how loose lipped he gets when high. Because, now he's shown Max the letter his mom left all those years ago, he tells her that Neil isn't his biological father.

Max doesn't say anything, she just stands up and hugs her step-brother. 

The blond tenses briefly, before he's sinking into the hug; his own arms winding around her small frame. 

She's gotten taller, so with Billy sitting, his head is pressed into her stomach.

She doesn't comment on the warmth of his tears, she just hugs him tighter.

What does someone say to their step-brother who's father beats him on a regular basis? What do you say when that same boy knows the man who lords his parental status over him, isn't actually his dad? 

Max decides you say nothing. Billy doesn't seem put off by the lack of response. 

It isn't until after Halloween, after Max has plunged a syringe into Billy's neck to sedate him when a panic attack had led to a violent fit, that they're both forced to confront the very thing Billy has tried so hard to forget.

It wasn't the first time Billy lashed out like this, but it was one of the worst times. Her new friends had gotten permission from Neil and her mother to come over, but something set Billy off when she introduced him to Jane.

To his credit, Billy had fled the house when he noticed his breathing picking up. It hadn't helped much, because Max followed behind him, leading her friends to do the same.

When Jane met his gaze, her eyes were soft but unreadable, like she knew she held the last name of the man his mother confessed was actually his father.

It could've been a coincidence, but his mom had also told him the mystery man was training to become a police officer. 

That was too many coincidences, if you asked Billy.

He doesn't remember much after that, not that ever does. 

He knows her friends had been afraid, but for some weird fucking reason they tried to comfort him.

The curly-haired one even called Steve Harrington, declaring that the elder was good in situations like this. 

Billy seriously doubted that, but he'd never pass up a chance to see Steve. Their relationship was still new. New as in they'd only been official for the past week.

Once Steve had arrived, the kids all seemed to lose interest in everything, and retreated into the living room to play video games. Max took some convincing, but eventually, they were able to pry her away from the place she'd refused to leave at Billy's side.

The couple quickly toed off to Billy's room, and Steve wasted no time in pulling Billy into his arms.

Billy felt bone-tired, the sedative given to him never knocks him out, it mostly tires him out. Makes the world fuzzy, and like it's covered in a foggy film.

But, this felt different. This felt like a tiredness that wouldn't be quelled by resting for the remainder of the day. 

The younger boy hadn't told Steve about Jim, so when he asked what triggered this episode, Billy quickly spilled. He spoke until his throat felt raw, and his hands were shaking. 

He spoke until the room felt as if all the air was quickly evaporating. 

Steve waited until Billy's word vomit came to an end, before gently responding, "It's okay, B. If Hop is your dad, he's a good man. A little grumpy, but he's not like…" he trails off, but Billy can fill in the blanks just fine.

"H-how am I even supposed to broach this subject with him, Steve? What if...what if he doesn't want me just like her, and I'm stuck with Neil until I'm 18, or dead?" 

The brunet quickly reaches out to cup Billy's cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth skin. "That won't happen. Even if it did, you've got me. You're never gonna be stuck with him forever so long as I'm alive and breathing, baby."

There's more the boy wants to say, but he just feels so tired. The sounds of the kids all yelling in the other room serve as nothing more than background noise.

It's about an hour later, and Billy's only been fighting his sleep because Steve is showing him various tiktoks and clips of random gamers he enjoys.

Soon though, he's starting to doze on Steve's shoulder, when there's a knock at his door, then a head of brown curls are peaking into his room.

Jane.

His breath hitches, but Steve's hand finds his back and begins to soothingly rub his stress away. 

Metaphorically, of course. Because in reality, Billy is still freaking out.

"Jim is here to pick me up, but he wanted to meet you."

This causes him to bristle, "Me? Why?"

Jane merely shrugs, before turning away. 

Billy has an inkling she does know, but he swallows it down and climbs off his bed to make the short trek to the living room.

When he lays eyes on Hopper, the man is dressed in his uniform, a small grimace on his lips as he observes the sparsely decorated room.

His eyes eventually land on Billy and he offers something that could be considered a smile.

"So you're the owner of that Camaro out front, or is that your dad's?"

Billy wants to laugh out loud at the question, but instead he shakes his head. "No, sir. She's all mine, fixed her from the ground up myself." 

It was true, Billy spent months fixing her up, she'd been all but totaled when he found her body at the junkyard in California. 

He immediately fell in love with the car, despite the appearance and the rest was history.

The chief let out a long whistle, along with an approving nod.

"Damn kid. You lookin' for work? I know the mechanic in town could use someone like you on weekends."

Billy only nods, unsure of what to say. 

"Yeah, yeah that'd be great, actually! Thanks."

Jim nods, his eyes never leaving their place of observing the blond. 

"I'll set it up, just come by my office on Monday and we'll work out all the kinks."

Soon after, Jim leaves with Jane, who promises Max that they'll hang out soon.

Much to Billy's chargin, Steve leaves with the rest of the kids, sans Max, around forty-five minutes later.

Neil and Susan return after Billy has finished cleaning up the dishes from his and Max's dinner. 

His dad seems pissed by something, something Billy can't figure out.

Not that it matters. All that matters is that his bad mood means a repeat of last night. 

As it plays out, Billy doesn't have to wait until Monday, because the man in question all but busts the Hargrove's front door down, catching Neil in the act of wailing on the defenseless blond.

There's a whirlwind of activity that ends with his father in cuffs, and Hopper escorting Billy to the hospital with Max glued to his side while Susan tails the Chief's car.

On the drive there, Billy doesn't expect the chief to blurt out, "Jane heard what you told Steve." Billy wants to play dumb, he wants to pretend he has no clue what Hopper is referring to; but instead he just shrugs and glances back at Max, the red-head at least looks apologetic. 

"Does she always ear hustle that hard?" The large man huffs out a laugh, "you have no clue kid," he pauses, chewing at his lip before he carefully continues, "I knew the last name was familiar, just chalked up to a coincidence. But your ma...you look just like her…"

"Why didn't you say something earlier?" 

"I didn't want to assume, I was gonna do some digging. You know? I didn't know Bria was pregnant when we broke things off. All she said was Neil was getting suspicious. She didn't tell me, if she had…" he trails off, pulling up to the entrance of the hospital. 

"I'm gonna make this right, Billy. I promise."

Billy wants to scoff, but one glance at Max's hopeful face in the mirror has Billy nodding instead. 

"Yeah, okay." His words are soft, lacking any bite. 

It turns out that the police chief busting down your front door to find your "father" beating you bloody, is more than enough evidence to send said man to prison. 

It also turns out that one nicely worded threat is enough to have Neil Hargrove give up parental rights that never rightly belonged to him.

A DNA test for confirmation later Billy was getting a new birth certificate in the mail with the name William Orchard Hopper.

Below it read Bria Hargrove and James Hopper.

Billy was in the middle of decorating his new room in Hopper's place when Max barged in, Steve trailing behind her with a sweet grin on his lips.

"Billy, can you take me and Jane to the arcade?" Jane, who Billy hadn't noticed initially just smiled up at him.

The boy shook his head, turning to Steve, "aren't these your charges? Why am I the chaperone?"

Max rolls his eyes, "you're our brother, so you have to! You love us!"

Jane quickly nods her head, a sparkle in her eyes, "Yeah! You love us."

Steve hums his agreement, which has Billy shaking his head again, "okay, whatever shitbirds. Let me change, at least."

They seem to accept that, and slip out the room, leaving Billy and Steve alone.

The latter smiles at him, before crossing the room to plant a light kiss to his lips.

"Alright, now hurry up, Blondie! We can't let the boys get too cocky, Jonathan dropped them off already and I just know Dustin is trying to beat Max's highscores already. They're gonna fight all day."

Once Billy is dressed, he drags Steve out his bedroom, only to run into Hopper. Literally. 

Billy's head bounces against his chest and everything.

The man just grunts and steadies the smaller boy, his lips parting to speak before Billy is wrapping his arms around his midsection, "see you for dinner, Pops!" before he's grabbing Steve's hand and ushering Max and Jane out the door.

Jim doesn't miss the smile that graces his son's lips before he calls out, "be safe!"

He can almost see the way Jane and Billy roll their eyes before responding without missing a beat, 

"Us? Always!" Jim doesn't mention the time he had to put out a small fire from when Billy tried to teach Jane tricks with his zippo.

Yeah, always my ass, he thinks.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible by James Russell Miller

Pictures of the Kingdom (Matthew 13:31-33 and 44-52)

The parables of Jesus are unforgettable pictures. They are stories laden with truth. Some preachers tell stories which thrill those who hear them, and yet they are tales with no lesson. The parables of Jesus are rustic and interesting, and yet they are vital with spiritual meaning.

The mustard seed is little, so small that one can scarcely see it. Yet it has life in it, and when it is sown in a field it grows and becomes a tree, so large that the birds come and nest in its branches. There would be no reason for our Lord’s telling us about this little seed and its plant merely as a bit of natural history. It is beautiful and interesting even in this way but He had a further purpose in His parable. He uses it as an illustration of His kingdom in the world.

“The kingdom of heaven is like a grain of mustard seed.” Christianity began in a very small way. A little baby lay in a manger that was the beginning of the kingdom of heaven in this world. A kingdom implies a king. Christ ruled over a very small kingdom that night. His mother loved Him as mothers always love their children, and He reigned in her heart. Some shepherds came in during the night and saw the Child-King and worshiped Him. Their lives were never the same again, for one who has had a God-given vision of Christ can never lose the influence out of his heart. They returned to their lowly duty keeping watch over the flock but they were better shepherds afterwards and better men. The kingdom of heaven had entered their hearts.

But the beginning of the kingdom was small indeed like a mustard seed. For thirty years it seemed to have no appreciable growth. The child grew but dwelt in a lowly home in a peasant village. His childhood was not unusual. He was not an unusual boy. There was no halo around His brow. Nothing showed that He was kingly. There were no flashings of divinity on His face. He did no brilliant things. He wrought no miracles. He went to school and learned His lessons but revealed no greatness. According to the customs of His people, he entered the carpenter’s shop at twelve as an apprentice, and for eighteen years worked at the carpenter’s bench. “The kingdom of heaven is like a grain of mustard seed… which indeed is smaller than all seeds.”

We know what the kingdom of Christ is today. It has touched many lands with its holy influence. It has become a great tree with many wide-spreading branches. On its boughs the birds sit and sing. In its shadows the people rest. Its fruits feed the hunger of multitudes. The tree is still growing. The great missionary movement of today is extending it, and it is destined to fill all lands. “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field.

Though it is the smallest of all your seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and perch in its branches.”

The next parable tells of the pervasive and permeating influence of the gospel of Christ. “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into a large amount of flour until it worked all through the dough.” Usually in the Bible, leaven stands for something evil. It was a symbol of sin in the Mosaic dispensation. Paul exhorts believers to purge out the old leaven. But here it is used in a good sense. The teaching is very apt. Leaven works secretly and silently. It makes no noise. It works pervasively, creeping out through the dough until every particle of it has been affected. Thus it is that the influence of Christianity permeates society, penetrating everywhere, touching every institution, changing all things.

The illustration may be widely applied. Thus individual lives are changed. The leaven of Divine grace in the heart works out until the whole character is changed. Henry Drummond in one of his books tells of a girl whose life was transformed into great spiritual beauty. Her friends wondered what had wrought the change. At length the secret was discovered in a verse of Scripture which she carried in a locket, “Whom having not seen, you love” (1 Peter 1:8). The leaven works also in communities. Neighborhoods are changed, transformed by the gospel. In mission lands there are many notable illustrations.

The truest work of Christianity is quiet. It is a religion less of organization, than of personal influence. It is not always the most active person who does the most for the advancement of the kingdom of God; often it is the quiet man or woman whose life is holy and beautiful, who really does the most for the changing of other lives. Many an invalid, who cannot take any active part in the affairs of the Church yet exerts a sweetening and ennobling influence in a home, in a community, which far surpasses in its value the busy ministry of one who is always going about, talking, doing good.

The lesson from the leaven, is that it does its work by being put into the midst of the loaf. It will not do any good if laid on the shelf; in however close proximity to the dough. It must be in the mass. There are some Christian people who seem to feel no responsibility for the touching or influencing of other lives. They incline to keep away from people and to be exclusive. But leaven will never do its work if kept away from people. Thus Jesus did He was called a friend of publicans and sinners. He ate with them and mingled with them in all social ways, and His pure, loving, gentle life left its impress on their lives. Jesus did not teach His disciples to hide away from people, to keep out of the world but to live in the world, to be friends of men, to seek to influence others by being with them. He said they were salt but salt to do its work, to perform its mission, must be rubbed into that which it is to preserve.

We need to take the lesson. Be leaven wherever you are. Let your godliness be felt. Let your kindness touch others. Let your example have in it a contagion of joy, of peace, of unselfishness, of sweetness, of purity, which shall be a blessing everywhere. Be sure that you make one little spot of the world better, cleaner, whiter, brighter, gladder because you live in it.

In another parable Jesus says, “The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When a man found it, he hid it again, and then in his joy went and sold all he had and bought that field.” There were no banks in ancient times, especially in unsettled countries. It was common therefore to hide treasure in the ground. Not infrequently did one come upon such concealed treasure. Of course, Jesus had spiritual treasure in His thought, as He is illustrating the kingdom of heaven. We do not dream of the wealth of invisible riches that are always close to us as we go through this world. A man may work for years in a field, digging and plowing over it, not thinking of anything of value in it, and then suddenly someday discover that there are valuable minerals or even gems hidden under his pick and plow.

Dr. Newell Hillis says: Lecturing in Kentucky recently, I saw a cave of diamonds, newly discovered. One day a farmer, plowing, thought the ground sounded hollow. Going to the barn he brought a spade and opened up the aperture. Flinging down a rope, his friends let the explorer down, and when the torches were lighted, behold, a cave of amethysts and sapphires and diamonds. For generations the cave had been undiscovered and the jewels unknown. Wild beasts had fed just above those flashing gems, and still more savage men had lived and fought and died there. And yet just beneath was this cave of flashing jewels.

We do not know what hidden treasures of spiritual good there are all the while so close to us that our hand could take them if we saw them. Sometimes we come suddenly upon them, and then we should instantly seize them and appropriate them, whatever it may cost us. The man in the parable sold all he had and bought the field in which the treasure was concealed. We should be ready to give up all we have to get the spiritual riches that we find.

The parable of the pearl teaches almost the same lesson as that of the hidden treasure. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.” The merchant sought goodly pearls the best that could be found. Then when he heard of this best of pearls, he was willing to give up all he had that he might possess it. Too often, we do not live for the best things. When we find something even better than the good we should be eager to possess it, no matter if we have to give up all we have to buy it.

[dhr-ao3]

Oceans Apart

Oceans Apart https://ift.tt/TfyxZEi by IllicitMidnights It's been five years since the battle of Hogwarts. Five years since Hermione Granger has seen her parents. Even if she were to find them it’s too late. Too late to fix their memories, too late to truly get them back. Despite having lost the only connection that would lead her to finding them, Hermione makes it her mission to find the parents she let go of during the war. At the cost of losing everything and everyone she loves, knowing they will never be able to remember her. Just when all hope seems lost and she believes she'll never find them, she does. And in finding her parents she uncovers one of the biggest mysteries of the war living in the guest house outside her parents’ home. For in this guest house, Hermione finds a mother and son from her past everyone presumed to be long dead. A boy who made her life a living hell for so many years, and his mother whose voice and shared memory haunts her dreams. In essence this is a love story. A multifaceted love story between parents and the children they brought into this world, and about two lovers who were never destined to be but somehow in the end found their way to each other. Words: 2332, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Dean Thomas, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger's Mother, Hermione Granger's Father Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Theodore Nott, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: Post-War, Post-Second Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Ron Weasley Bashing, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Fluff, Auror Harry Potter, Good Parent Narcissa Black Malfoy, Supportive Narcissa Black Malfoy, Protective Narcissa Black Malfoy, Draco Malfoy is Not a Death Eater, Cheating Ron Weasley, Taylor Swift References, Memory Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Alzheimer's Disease, Black Hermione Granger via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/O40esv1 May 04, 2024 at 05:49PM

[tartanblogger]

Why Beethoven's 'The Daddy'

Ludwig Van Beethoven absolutely 'ROCKS' and I'll tell you why. Unlike Mozart, who had a loving, supportive, maybe sometimes overbearing but never cruel father, young Ludo's father was a drunken sot who used to drag him out of bed at all hours to play piano for him and his drunken cronies. When teaching Ludwig piano, he would smack the boy around the ears for making a mistake or not playing something as perfect as the father wanted.

A 'USELESS' DRUNK! Unlike his extremely gifted son, the father was a third rate singer whose own father reached high circles in music and had an excellent reputation in the field. Perhaps there was resentment passed on to his son. Although cruel, I also believe the father sometimes had little moments of genuine adoration for his son's talent and deep inside, knew Ludwig was destined for greater things!

THE PRISONER, LOCKED AWAY!

Many times, the young Beethoven was shoved into a darkened cellar and locked in by his father. Think of the fear and anguish that must have gone through the young lad's mind. No doubt these affected how he shaped up in later life!

A SENSE OF DUTY!

Ludwig had two brothers and when one of them (Kaspar) died, Ludwig took care of his nephew Karl until Karl was old enough to break from his 'as-he- saw it' overbearing' uncle. The fact remains 'though, that Ludwig showed a paternal love, care and devotion to his brother's child, something that he himself lacked in his early years.

BEETHOVEN and MOZART

When Beethoven had moved to Vienna, he sought out the famous Mozart and had a few lessons with him before having to return to his mother's funeral in Germany. Mozart, who was impressed by Ludwig (no mean feat, to impress Mozart) is reported to have stated that Beethoven would be an important figure in the world stage and one to watch out for in the future! Again...coming from the musical genius Mozart, that is indeed 'high' praise!

A MAN OF PRINCIPLES!

As a person, Beethoven was also a man of high principles. He once wrote the EROICA (heroic) symphony and dedicated it to Napoleon Bonaparte who had liberated parts of Europe and who was in Ludwig's eyes, a hero!

However, later, when Beethoven had heard that his hero had now declared himself an 'emperor' (Beethoven had little regard for titled folk) he took the manuscript and violently scratched out Napoleon's name, leaving the manuscript damaged!

OUT OF THE SILENCE - CAME GREATNESS!

If you can imagine a sculptor or carpenter losing their hands, you would conclude that to be a tragedy. Think on then, of how probably THE greatest composer in the world, lost his hearing at just twenty eight years of age!!!

Can you even grasp what torture that would be...never to hear the world around you or your precious gift of music, ever again! With Beethoven's gradual hearing loss, he wasted precious time and money on 'quack' cures and doctors who had no remedy or cure.

Yet although when eventually he was stone deaf, Beethoven produce some of the finest works of music ever known...ALL from the silence of his malady! Yet the mind, the great mind was still working.

Considering Beethoven's superb piano and composition skills, he was definitely unique..a one-off! When speaking to a wealthy and powerful prince one day, Beethoven was reported to have said (I paraphrase here) "princes come and go, but there is one ONE BEETHOVEN!" And he was absolutely right. Beethoven was not just an ordinary man, nor composer. He was in every sense of the word, an EXTRAORDINARY genius! A giant of music.

copyright JG Conn aka Tartan Composer 11/04/2024.

[denimbex1986]

'When you lose someone close to you, you’re left haunted not only by their sudden absence but also by what will never be. Few things nag at a person more than the things they wish they’d said, and when mortality gets involved, those unspoken conversations tend to ring even louder in your ears.

It’s hard not to let the weight of what you’ve lost hold you in place, and few films understand that better than All of Us Strangers. The Andrew Haigh-directed drama offers a decidedly non-traditional twist on a ghost story, one that prioritizes moments of profound emotional catharsis and personal reckonings. It was one of the best films to hit theaters in 2023, and now that it’s streaming on Hulu it deserves your attention.

Based on a 1987 novel by Taichi Yamada, All of Us Strangers follows Adam (Andrew Scott), a gay screenwriter whose isolated London life is upended when he decides to take an impromptu trip to his hometown. When he arrives, he discovers the ghosts of his long-dead mother and father (Claire Foy and Jamie Bell) residing in his childhood home as if nothing had ever happened to them. Adam’s inexplicable reunion with his parents prompts a series of return visits and conversations, all of which force him to grapple with the loneliness of his life.

They also give him the chance to come out to his parents, which he never got to do before they were lost in a car accident when he was 12. That detail adds a layer of thorniness that makes Adam’s interactions with his parents all the more compelling. A kitchen conversation between him and his mother, for instance, takes a rough, fascinating turn when she reacts to his coming out with responses and ideas tied to the 1980s, the decade she perished. The scene, beautifully played by Foy and Scott, makes it heartbreakingly clear how little their relationship was allowed to evolve before she was torn from his life.

A subsequent scene between Scott and Bell also seems destined to end badly when Adam doesn’t hesitate to call his father out on all the ways he failed him as a child. But then things take a sharp turn toward the cathartic when Bell’s frozen-in-time specter apologizes for ignoring and downplaying his son’s adolescent pain. This moment paves the way for Adam and his parents to start coming to terms with the time they lost.

In a later scene, Foy’s mother discreetly apologizes to her son by singing along to the Pet Shop Boys’ cover of “Always on My Mind” (Maybe I didn’t hold you / All those lonely, lonely times / And I guess I never told you / I am so happy that you’re mine). In another, she and Adam lie in bed and discuss everything they would have done together had they been given the chance, like getting into a fight while on a trip to Disneyland. “Did we make up?” Adam’s mother asks. “We didn’t need to make up. It was enough to know that we got to come home together,” he responds. If the tears hadn’t already started, they’ll be pouring by the time All of Us Strangers reaches these moments.

All of Us Strangers supplements Adam’s parents with a seemingly unrelated love story between Adam and his neighbor, Harry (Paul Mescal). For much of the film, their scenes of physical and emotional intimacy ground the movie in a kind of sensual materiality, but it isn’t long before Haigh further blurs the lines between reality and fantasy, and past and present. The film’s second half features numerous dreamlike images, like a train window reflection of a younger Adam frozen in a perpetual wail of pain, that visualize the haunting emotions he feels as he desperately tries to find a place for himself in the land of the living.

For many members of the queer community, All of Us Strangers’ story of isolation, loneliness, and eventual freedom will be all too familiar. More than anything, though, it’s the film’s emotional frankness that allows it to land with force. The greatest gift it gives Adam isn’t the chance to see his parents again, but to say everything he’s had to keep bottled up for 30 years. Everyone’s dreamed about speaking to someone they love with the same unbridled honesty that All of Us Strangers’ characters do, and there’s an intense comfort to be found in watching them slowly patch up the wounds that have been hurting them for so long.'

[ameriebanefort]

The Babe of the River

(TW: depiction of dementia. amerie learns of the existence of a sibling through a retelling of her favorite bedtime story, that turns out to be a manufactured version of the truth)

"have i ever told you the tale of the knight and the lady of the river?"

had it been any other day, or year better yet, the question might have conjured a smile to the solemn ladies face. an answer of "only a million times." would be followed by jestful laughter and she'd beg to hear anything else. amerie couldnt treat such questions with the flippancy she once did, though. the maesters say it will only worsen, the way her memories ebb and flow to darkest depths of her mind and all the woman could do to soothe her is exactly what she's doing now. curve of a silver comb is grasped in her left hand, gently working through the soft tresses that remained uncut for the better part of 20 years.

"of course, mama. it's your favorite." reflection in the mirror paints the portrait of disappointment and confusion. its difficult to watch her get so wrapped up in recollections that her eyes begin to shift rapidly, as if going through every moment she can remember to find the missing piece. quicky, she places her free hand on the womans shoulder, like an anchor keeping her from drifting too far away and gives it a reassuring squeeze. they've had a better day than most and she wont see it spoiled. "its my favorite too, and i'd love to hear it again."

remembrances of when she was a girl sat behind her mother, little fingers doing their best to plait the womans hair in the western fashion of her fathers family while absorbing every story uttered by a once vivacious voice. only now it was weak, weary and one note short of losing breath. amerie had suffered a broken heart long before the illness set in, but watching her mother wither away before her eyes with no cure in sight, shattered her in ways she never thought possible.

so she listens, lips silently moving along with each dramatized sentence of a knight and lady, whose love was destined for disaster from the moment they laid eyes on each other. the warring families who would rather kill one another than let the lovers be together. the beautiful baby boy that would be the catalyst of peace and love between them. it seems to be the one of few webs she can weave without missing a beat and if telling it is what it takes to coax her away from another day of staring blankly at the shoreline, then the devoted daughter ask to hear it as many times as she would indulge her.

lines began to stray from the usual script, causing once fluid movements to cease entirely. "what a beautiful babe he was, edie. favored his father over me if you could believe it. grandmother would be turning in her grave to know a blackwoods genes defeated that of a bracken." said with such ease that it leaves amerie taken aback. its evident from ameries experience that shes slipping back to a time when sybella and her beloved sister would chat and gossip the way amerie and her own sisters do. only this story is one shes never heard before. she'd remember it amongst the hilarious opinions and retellings of romance with her late father that she has to cut short when she hears them bubbling to the surface. is it the illness? it must be, for amerie was the first child to be birthed by the woman. it was recorded.

"what're you on about, syb?" best impression of her aunts cadence resonates from between pursed lips. some days, the refusal of who amerie is strikes harder and pretending brings her a sense of calm. "you haven't a babe."

one could hear a pin drop in the dead silence that took over the room. the lady watches as her mother leans towards the direction of the door, listening closely before grabbing her hand. "i miss him terribly... and you are all i have to confide in, edina, please do not deny him when its just us and the ghosts." theres little to deny about the sincerity that dominates her tone. if it weren't based in truth, would the tears welling in her panicked eyes be so free to fall? the look of yearning for someone lost is unmistakeble. shes seen it in her own reflection enough to recognize it.

"my apologies, sweet sister, please go on." once the permission is given, its like her mother sprung back to life. so passionately she speaks of the child left in the hands of their families blood rivals. how rosy his little cheeks were, how his large eyes peered so curiously at his surroundings once they'd adjusted to the light of day. and the last memory she shared before retiring to her bed for the evening. one that would seem minute to someone else, but only solidified the truth in what sybella told her.

"he smelled of sunshine, and all things love."

a phrase used to describe every child after him. she thought it a sweet way for a mother to remember their childrens most vulnerable moments. now she feels unsettled by the sentiment, knowing what weight the secret holds. years of unwavering lineage at risk if she could keep her mother from repeating it to anyone.

all for the bastard of blackwood.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“And often to breed”)

A limerick sequence

               I

Is your wit and slake, in war, that all. Rose orbs. Of sleep, save me, or mend. Words    are? And often to breed.    He flying cudden, propped upon the day. The people have done.

               II

His eyes; so much; then haste, while the Lady FRANCES drest, as I ought Seek doubtful    screamingly. His wish    too, for the mark upon, to keep my dreamer, waking earthquake.

               III

My dripping the level—No! Then The Sage under the sorrow must be truth    and spent. That her music    driving truth is, false to be neat, still the rape is metaphor.

               IV

Strongest rear’d on libbard’s paws, upheld the iron porch … year after nine which    gave my life; yearning the    games. A hauf, and trolls and concomitant with a feast reason.

               V

The flame, Wherefore, and tug at thy light. Till the first I saw in a dungeon    was thou goest onward    smart, and that keep, her die than thine arms full brimm’d, and Self-contempt!

               VI

Which a night and stumbling hastily. Makes her whisper’d, fly! But sincere, as    spectators? Let spears—or    were never leaves to-day as I have lov’d in vain thy fangs o’er!

               VII

Stoking wind wit, whose immortal name, and when my bewailed on the fireworks    grown handwriting I    wrote should do nae mair: hers are rebuilt. You humbly own—’tis death.

               VIII

’Ve mickle time, grey—age o’ertook him the Gods that mansion. I stood up    the while the destined by    her grief, as in the mountain when the blade return, sole-thoughts, speak.

               IX

His broad half-pillar, far apart be as a doubts, though every side. In which    else to preclude fresh frown,    ormisda mine.—I, CHARLES— then to meaning the gossip rout.

               X

Not yet; but I. And where she did not their songs and embeds every exercise    of a madman, over    bank, bush, singing thro’ the land: on the mouth was the riven!

               XI

Then, I haste designed; so passions fit. My stocking, for a tear could to the    Humours sell. In malice    will gathering all to wake in out afterimage; but fain’d.

               XII

Swung in the grass never realms of smoke. Mourn the family of Sir Ralph from the    Grates; when I do come for    a skin which fair, so young Lochinvar? Go though both sexes fit.

               XIII

Thou wast they may not even children die before him not! But like a mermaids    are lang! She flung    shipwrecking thee made the Brightest wanes; when the Sweet! Yet how the bed.

               XIV

Then would be a button for his breath fluorescent breast. Once-a-boy pilfering    to the pain and oh,    her where are we? Wherein the noisy world’s soul’s spring or years.

               XV

‘Or if thou only gleaned till I die. Little boys and goblets, at will do    not a man’s fine; but their    sweetness is spread. Prays, they provide their excellence. For a blow.

               XVI

That reaps not daring sea, diffuse the view, gored mind and let’s light of her sideways,    but permitted, nor    hast leave me with plume, for her! The bed-side, nor no. That more grieve.

               XVII

Then save his level: spattered round veins, in the light, clover of love alone    flowers of life’s busy    fear topp’d with under than I, say, where so stunn’d and dim espial.

               XVIII

Upon her nymphs, when thou hast the ever dwell and still the wine my mothers    of the moonlight, clover    leaned. Back and melt away, so that make a lamb he country’s pride.

               XIX

And even to medicine a heap That Light with they rose and the lose wither.    Down like, and all my    face new. And hide the eagle and lust, take much important ways.

               XX

I’m going human trammel up and those champaign with not outlearne in body’s    future will, impetuous    lanterns. Thou, bethinks would have a monument, the go-cart.

               XXI

Not in a clue wi’ ony body thus by his rapier braine. As he    came in to be surely    be brides, for whom my bonie face was a-cold; seen at her for her!

               XXII

When there’s nane again, fair imperfection, and frugally resolved he    lies where my passes. I    and space saints doth raine; and teach, as fearfully, afar; and ill.

               XXIII

A fathoms, falser than they prove, by conquest, with me. The Mind like a rope.    Power may find, this    eternal number. And all his life than thine sha’na steer the dust!

               XXIV

So you exit, return and all we loved and bear it came, veiling. Love,    defiance, argosies of    changes every side, his might bard from the cost, chose transfuse with&.

               XXV

One gem was like an under a stronger, swear, get drunk, the rites the dimpled    pair, and swam the sees; on    sea-ward Quantock’s head with all the wall, where the most. ’Re they say.

               XXVI

Because he was pale rage, nor tutor of his quench love. He rose or a whit    and pitie claim. But we weep,    and that I know of our there but my suit he made of my Soul.

               XXVII

Will make me a little like shattered in ease, and won. Till, having pomp of    death all the grass a crystal    vial Cupid brought within, which I should have made the pains!

               XXVIII

A lord of men breast renew them still. And when his frost which suns perish’d, and    in woolly folds its song    will fall, their light? The fierce, peace! Sunny mead and a son, three bands!

               XXIX

I see that mighty youth, when the book of eve and the wood; for Nation is,    and unto wind upon    the eagle soar! Fill will story rip itself or I will blind.

               XXX

My silent light most approach’d; each me, only gleam and in what Barbican.    To venture sickly sigh?    In the first distant view; and his breasts, thou wilt thou art not still.

               XXXI

And all with kings of hell is death, and crystalline: a clock nor a bloody    armament at once a    tower in the door. Anthea for the hours have stream immers.

               XXXII

Baby fingers like a rope. My grief in Wine we sweete tuneable with bold    pretence and made the    exhausted linen, smoothed limbs with reconciled in a summer swell?

               XXXIII

That I’d let him brings that abandoned arm toward bold; then ye are seven.    Complete with weak hands behind    a horrid shout rose: the farm they bedew’d the ragged pine.

               XXXIV

The lade o’ my soul fatigued away till days are lang! You are; likewise I    have disdains the prize in    safety land, mid listened, you are wit that ever, never more!

               XXXV

Twelve steps. The ark: so we extinct the shadow the battle, small wood and shook    the strength forth, with deep midnight,    how many a loathed rite Thy beauty in the eagle soar!

               XXXVI

I smil’st, fair unbound, and told, but coast. Fell and straight and bare to harp of Life,    the haunting it to the    kingless sphere, with a slight learn that touching down the stony bed.

               XXXVII

And kings, and swam for Lycius answer. In which there wet with graceful undressing    feature to love, as    well as much importune had the tropics, to prove our soul’s ward.

               XXXVIII

Now, sun, and I stop, and dates, in the still do whate’er the flower pains! Love    as wax and plume, and speech.    Descended by reason, shall in ways of altered Cymon’s back.

               XXXIX

Had fired; love maintain. Let him befall some well-proportioned nose, the purple-    lined palace open,    but though sorrows sends; by the bugle-horn. Another us.

               XL

With lines, the battle-flags were empty nest as that screeches more and forgave    thou art may veil. The grassy    slopes of Europe than once in wide, far as just let my heart.

               XLI

The rivers, silver twilight and now begun to the honey-meal: and the    Gods, who’s so dumb that she    signs. Evening I wrote I kiss may without you praised: proud lady.

               XLII

As I said, your Pasimond his labour, I my jest: for want to reclaim    her wind,—and now beams on    martyrdom. It is a moon is me! The could dry as it said?

               XLIII

But of seven! Mine was a poet sings, a shield, and some patient to ask    them with fears me, this impe    features consented, supposing tower half-lost cold mortal!

               XLIV

And could not stay! If her vain, and I did, till this woe; what Love’s old Falstaf    says let us be    unashamed of thunder, and melt—’twas just excuse to one color.

               XLV

And thither hands clasp your knife, That sense: in night stretch forgetfulness are in    thine head,—on mine. Breaking.    Had watch! The distance in your little maiden shut? A shielded!

               XLVI

Attend they knees, dreamer! And oh, her demands, now she paceth forward flair    rare steamship, warm, unnerved    succour vain; wherein I shall vex thee, though a clouds odorous.

               XLVII

Not a choice between the road was this hand for a magnet. My thought except    for Agnes’ Eve: and all    that high-built fair in ilka quarters of life—and grinning breasts.

               XLVIII

And her delight and lucent syrops, tinct in the boys begins. Anthea    for their open wide hall    thy transparent. Stately music, from its to turn from the ground.

               XLIX

With ease on what was in a circle rides, stunned with soft and most most loving    men to be dress the durst,    in despair! In secret sister an unknown each on nor blind.

               L

Because her hand;—half-acre tomb. With music. He broke me a head! Now scorn,    close, hush’d to its wrecks like    Nature: these many days go by, when the same&not uncommon.

               LI

The are dead. Of their brilliance and rigged with reason, owe, made a Lady’s emblems    of the love denies    his crowne, as welcome, which her back, she faded at the passes.

               LII

And ever as pale uncertainty doors, Our Adonais call, and a dastard    in the cool, he fiercely    her side! Work of habit— there we expected, or a France.

               LIII

—Then rising the wintry hail and new- fired, and was his passion, joy and    now, the fuse in black-eyed    daughter, let the Eske riven! Already at my affection.

               LIV

’ My soul did pleasurer, so like the spirit hovering creature? She to Rhodes    in one can see thee down;    my lately be thou would be know no azure-lidded sleeping.

               LV

Shoulder, give a name and perfection. A war ensues, they rose by us;    we two are gone; and his    Demon all the night; flush’d to it out the tomb. Let Heaven’s loved?

               LVI

Or just above the gather wind blush to fluttering into seclusion.    Pageants: but the words are    heard it, every part in our dear Love did late their life was it?

               LVII

I hear away; if our night, since Faire is bleed, but fie! List which had a few    leave to the brickwork’s cleft    in thy part, where thee more distant view; and since then where they grew?

               LVIII

With there Cymon sudden with thy looks the bride’s paths, embower’d new; thy look    back your hair rising like    fine to wall. By nodding ring, in the ground, than the hall is fled!

               LIX

With eager eyes the stub of her cheeks, and a crust, is—Love, if I had release    the soldier watching    ghost to that high Capital, its wings in the waters play? Grass.

               LX

And twilight, though the bridal, young Lochinvar. In the floats an European    flag, slides the queen, fair    with neither side! I loved me much to preclude fresh frown when then!

               LXI

Ere were old, for this songs and I wonder, whiff! Left the woodmen heat, the vaulted    roof of awful magic    manhood firm again, fair with tears even can make? Night limbs.

[sowingseedsandshootinghoops]

Know Thyself: Unlocking Your True Potential

Note on the text: I used Madeline Miller's Circe as published in 2018 by Back Bay Books

Circe is a different kind of woman. This book makes an excellent companion piece to The Odyssey. This book really explores the character of Circe in a really interesting way. She's not quite a goddess but not a human either. She's something in between, and her journey towards self discovery is what makes up the central story of this book.

"When I was born the name for what I was did not [yet] exist" (3). It's obvious from the very beginning that Circe is something different. Because although her father is the sun god Helios and her mother is the nymph Perse, she never feels like she really belongs among them. She's not like either one of her parents. In fact, she's not really like any of the gods that she grows up with. The gods, including Helios and Perse, are vain and cruel creatures who believe that the "world's natural order [is] to please [them]" (4). They're incredibly self centered and don't particularly care about how their actions affect others. Circe is different though. She cares about other people. Pretty early on in the book Circe recounts how her dad told her that on earth there were people

called astronomers whose task it was to keep track of his rising and setting. They were held in the highest esteem among mortals, kept in palaces, as counselors of kings, but sometimes my father lingered over one thing or another and threw their calculations into despair. Then those astronomers were hauled before the kings they served and killed as frauds. My father smiled when he told me. It was what they deserved, he said. Helios the Sun was bound to no will but his own and none might say what he would do" (11).

Remorse is a foreign concept to the gods, even the lesser ones. Pasiphae, Circe's sister, is delighted by the amount of destruction that her son, the Minotaur, will bring because it means that people will talk more about her. Even Boreas, the god of the north wind, would rather kill his beloved than risk losing him to Apollo: "you think I'd let Apollo have him? He does not deserve such a flower. [So] I blew a discus into that boys head, that showed that Olympian prig", and whereas Helios feels no remorse over the death of those people, Circe feels incredibly bad for them (26). Prometheus however is the first god to show Circe that she can be different.

When she first meets Prometheus he is being punished for bringing fire to mankind as an act of mercy. He saw the people suffering down below and decided to help them, in defiance of Zeus' specific orders no less, and when she asks him why he says that "not every god need by the same" (22). This winds up being a very telling moment for her because when she asks him what a human is he says that "there is no single answer. They are [all] different" (22). She does not know it yet, but what she comes to learn is that gods and humans aren't so different. The problem here is choice, and just like the gods can choose who they want to be, so can the humans. Human beings can choose to live a life that is meaningful. In fact, the fact that every human is destined to die pushes them to do so. The gods for all their power tend to live a life that is purposeless. They don't live for any reason other than to satiate their most basic desires. They, other than Circe and Prometheus, never choose to live for something outside of themselves which means that, even though they are immortal, "they are more dead then anything[.] For they are unchanging" (485).

Humans have the ability to change in a multitude of ways. On the one hand, they have the ability to change themselves. They, unlike the gods, can regret what they done and choose to be better. Daedalus regrets playing the role he did in bringing the Minotaur to life, Telegonus regrets accidentally killing his father Odysseus. Circe, for her part, regrets trying Scylla into the horrible monster that she becomes. On the other hand, humans also have the ability to change the world around them through "practice and diligence, tending [to] their skills like gardens until they glowed beneath the sun" (135). It is in this way that Circe realizes who she is and is able to tap into her power. It is in the realization that she is a sorceress as opposed to either a goddess or a human that she is able to unlock her full potential:

Let me say what sorcery is not: it is no divine power, which comes with a thought and a blink. It must be made and worked, planned and searched out, dug up, dried, chopped and ground, cooked, spoken over, and sung. Even after all that it can fail as gods do not. If my herbs are not fresh enough, if my attention falters, if my will is weak, the drought goes stale and rancid in my hands. By rights, I should never have come to witchcraft. Gods hate all toil. It is in their nature. The closest we come is in weaving or smithing but these are skills, and there is no drudgery to them since all the parts that might be unpleasant are taken away with power. The wool is dyed not with stinking vats and stirring spoons but with a snap. There is no tedious mining, the ores leap willingly from the mountain. No fingers are ever chaffed, no muscles strained. Witchcraft is nothing but such drudgery. Each herb must be found in its den, harvested [at the proper time], grubbed up from the dirt, culled and stripped, washed and prepared. It must be handled this way and then that to find out where its power lies. Day upon patient day, you must throw out your errors and begin again. So why did I not mind? Why did none of us mind? I cannot speak for my brothers and sisters, but my answer is simple. For a hundred generations, I had walked through the world drowsy and dull, idle and at ease. I left no prints, I did no deeds. Even those who loved me a little did not care to stay. Then I learned to bend the world to my will, as a bow is bent for an arrow. I would have done that toil a thousand times to keep such power in my hands. I thought: this is how Zeus felt when he first lifted the thunderbolt (83-84).

And just like that Circe, the little nymph-reject of Olympus, found a power inside of her that rivaled Zeus'. Humans are like gods in that way. The power we have over our lives is very real. We have the ability build real, meaningful lives for ourselves and that power is very, very real. That is the only kind of power that actually matters.

[dayseternal-blog]

I'm really into soulmate au recently, can you recommend me some? Timers, soulmarks,... anything is okay

ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

NaruHina Soulmate AU!!!!!!!!!!

"NaruHina Week - Soulmate Edition" series by @linisen - Various Ratings T-E, Soulmate AU, One-shot series. Prompts: Pillowtalk, Fate, Sunshine, Promise, Ghost, Dreams, Yesterday.

“If You are the Sun I’ll be the Moon” by vinczu - Rated T, Modern Soulmate AU, Multi-chapter, Complete. Hinata is afraid, she really is. Naruto after three years of military service is finally back, and she is happy. She really is. But she can’t touch him, she just can’t what if he isn’t her soulmate. What if he is.

“Providence” by @southsidestory - Rated G, Canon-Divergent Soulmate AU, Multi-chapter, Incomplete. He’s dreamed about finding the girl with a sun marked on her right palm since he was old enough to understand what soulscars were. For a boy whose mother was loneliness, the idea of a soulmate—a person meant to love him, to be his family—was impossible for Naruto to ignore.

“destiny” by niege1010 - Rated M, Soulmates Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Naruto hated it because he never believed in fate, and he didn’t believe in anything that was arranged for him. He would do whatever he wanted and would go his own way. He didn’t bother to look forward to such imaginary and abstract things. So the timer he owned when he was twelve years old had never been unwrapped, nor had he ever wanted to know who his soulmate was.

“The Forever Girl: Naruto’s Story” by @cherryjutsu​ - Rated G, Soulmate AU, Two-shot. “The Forever Girl” (Hinata’s Story). The feeling of watching everyone around you grow old and die, while you stay young, is something that can never be forgotten, that is, until love finds you.

“Timer - Naruto Edition” by funkychicken 67 - Rated E, Soulmates Modern AU, One-shot. Hinata, 23 years old, is finally going to meet her soulmate today.

“Without You. Nothing is Beautiful.” by basmah-chan - Rated G, Soulmates Modern AU, One-shot. Prompt: au where everything is black and white until you meet your soulmate (and when they die you lose color again)

“Day 17: Soulmate” from “They Define Us” by gl22 - Rated G, Soulmates AU, Short One-shot. Everyone was destined to be with someone.

“Red Thread” by MidnightRain19 - Rated M, Soulmates Canon-Divergent AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. "So can you see who your red thread goes to!" Hanabi asks excitedly, pouting at Hinata's lack of response. Her gaze lifts back up towards the crowds, Naruto hurriedly weaving out of the way of a merchant's sharp glare, these cold looks. Her heart skips a beat, cheeks flushing. "I can, but I don't know if Father would ever approve of him." She whispers back.

Also you can go to this list I made about reincarnation fics because it's very similar to the soulmate trope.

If anyone knows more, feel free to add!

[nana1000night]

Werewolves, vampires, lich, and demon foxes Ch.1

It’s the first time I translate my fics about Naruto so... yeah

pairings : Sasusaku, Naruhina, Shikamari, Kakashi x OFC(Suzume)

Have you heard of the Eye of Reincarnation? In another world full of chakra, where there are large and small countries, the five most powerful countries are fire, wind, earth, thunder, and wind, and in the Land of Fire, ruled by werewolves, vampires, liches, and demon foxes, but their ancestors offended the rabbit orc, the goddess of Urantia Kaguya, so they were cursed with.

Whenever the moon is full, each of the four leaders of the four races will lose their sanity and will not be able to remain human until they pass through the Eye of Reincarnation, find their destined mate, and use their tears, blood, and hair to exchange for the antidote with Kaguya, otherwise they will become slaves to their lust forever and will not be able to regain their sanity!

The antidote can only partially lift the curse once, and it will only be lifted after seven chiefs are accumulated.

Legend has it that the Goddess of Usagi once had two children, but during the war, the younger brother became a sacrifice of the power of the moon and his eyes turned white, while the older brother became a sacrifice of the power of the sun and gained the bloodshot eyes.

However, after the war subsided, the people who were afraid of the power forced the brother to divide the power into seven equal parts, which were held by different countries, while the brother returned part of the power to the moon and used the other part to protect his mother and brother.

However, the people's fear of power did not go away, and they gathered to seal the power of the two brothers using alchemy and imprisoned their bodies in the center of the church.

Angry at the loss of his brother, Kaguya could not bear the pain of losing him and turned his hatred into a curse: 

The man who starts this massacre with a thirst for blood will become a prisoner of gluttony until he finally learns to gently smell the rose in his arms.

The man who chooses to fight violence with fear of power will become a slave of rage until he finally learns to listen to the mockingbird's song.

The man whose greed for knowledge seals this pair of brothers will leave the mark of idleness until he finally learns to stop and understand the message of the wind.

The man who imprisons the body of a priest for his contempt for life will pay the price of arrogance until he finally learns to pray to the sun and the moon for the sake of others.

The night has come, or rather, it has never left this castle. Tonight is a new moon, a sharp crescent cutting through the thick night sky, but covered by clouds.

In the nearby pumpkin field, a flock of crows flew up from the scarecrow and headed for the forest in the north.

Rough birdsong brought the stench of death and blood, and soon the wolves began to howl into the night

Someone pushed open the heavy door, the bright flash of the crystal chandelier did not disappear, the cold November wind was blocked by the oak door, the visitor took off his silvery white cloak and threw it on the red carpet of the hall with the wind and snow, a few moments later, the cloak disappeared without a trace.

"You're late, Kakashi."

The black-haired, black-eyed boy leaned his upper body on the railing of the second floor and gazed down at the visitor with a slightly dissatisfied look

"I'm sorry, Sasuke. I'm sorry, Sasuke. I had a little trouble with the job and it took me a little longer.

The silver-haired young man known as Kakashi had his left eye covered by blue fabric and the black pupil of his right eye was slightly smiling.

The black-haired boy did not respond, but only locked his eyes on Kakashi's left chest

"You found out; the blood race has a terrible sensitivity to blood.

The object in his arms was gently pulled out of his grey sleeveless soft armor, and Kakashi sighed as he walked up to the second floor.

"I caught it from the Land of Snow, but it doesn't look like a mockingbird."

"The others are waiting for you." Sasuke said this and turned towards the parlor on the second floor.

"So why are you late again, Kakashi? It's finally our three brides' turn to be announced!"

"Kakashi, what's that in your hand?"

The blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man expressed his displeasure, while the other, with his hair tied back, looked up at the creature in Kakashi's arms

"It's a silver-throated long-tailed tit, I found it.

I found it." "Found it? Let's see... Although the wound was stopped in time, it seemed to be unable to fly for a short period of time, why did you save it, Kakashi?

A simple sweep of the snow-white mass of hair paralyzed Kakashi's hand, Naruto made a brief judgment and then looked at his opponent curiously.

"I say you guys, get ready to start."

Sasuke found a single sofa chair and sat down, his left elbow on the arm of the sofa, holding the weight of his head

After the four of them were positioned, the mirror of the reincarnation eye placed in the center of the parlor, the reincarnation eye on the top of the mirror gradually emitted a purple aura

After a few moments, the pink-haired, blue-eyed girl fell out of the mirror.

"Ah!" The long pink hair covered her face, and when she gradually came to her senses from the dizziness, she found herself in someone's arms, her turquoise pupils facing the blood-colored pupils that had been linked into sharp blades by the three hooks.

"Hey, Sasuke! You're moving too fast! I didn't even get to hold Sakura yet!"

"Sasuke?" The young girl's soft voice is like spring, hiding the noises behind her

"It's Sakura..."

As soon as he put the girl down, the boy felt a weight on his left shoulder.

"I said Sasuke, the mirror of the eye of reincarnation did not say who Sakura is destined to be the bride of Oh, you move so quickly means ..."

The silver-haired young man's flirtatious tone made the girl's cheeks blush crimson, and her blue waves ripple as she looked at her beloved boy, unable to conceal her thoughts.

The "bored." The two words finally spit out, Sasuke walked back to the single sofa chair, closed his eyes and pretended to sleep

The cherry-haired girl opened and closed her mouth countless times, and finally had to hang her head down helplessly.

"Well, since Sakura is here, it means you have a chance to be Sasuke's destined bride, don't be discouraged..."

The girl's soft pink hair was gently patted, and when he met the dark-haired boy's sharp gaze, Kakashi raised his hands in a timely gesture of surrender

"Oh, and Sakura, could you do me a fevor?"

"I'm not sure if I'm going to be able to get a good look at this child's condition. She has a high fever that won't go away."

The bird's body was trembling in his arms, and Kakashi's expression was rare and serious.

"This baby bird? How cute! Where did you find her?"

"I found it on the side of the road when I was doing my job."

"Found?" The fluorescent green light coalesced at her fingertips, and the flowing magic wrapped around the wound on the snow dumpling's wing, forcing some black magic particles to squeeze out, regrouping and squirming around the wound.

Sakura didn't dare to be careless and tried to use water magic to remove all the black particles, but when she saw all the black particles enter the water ball, a black hand caught it.

"This is black magic. I'll give you the information about the toxin later, Sakura. I'll destroy this one first."

The first thing you need to do is to get rid of it.

"What a pain in the ass."

"Thank you for your help, Kagome."

Sakura smiled kindly at Kagamaru before a blonde hair blocked her view

"Sakura, I'm still here! How could you forget about me!"

Naruto puffed up his cheeks and complained that his childhood friend had forgotten him when he saw him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so happy to see Sasuke, so this is the seventh class of the long-lost life together.

"Yes, all four of us are here, and Sakura is also my destined bride, hehehe ......"

Before Naruto finished giggling, a chestnut knocked directly to Naruto's head

"Don't talk nonsense to me! Naruto, you are always like this, if Sasuke-kun misunderstood what to do ah?

"But ......"

I'm not going to be able to get the best out of you.

"The first thing you need to do is to let the mirror of the eye of reincarnation pick out the rest of the bride, or someone will just leave.

The company's main goal is to provide the best possible service to its customers.

The second bride, with blonde hair and a large iron fan, emerges from the mirror

"Oh? Sakura?"

"Temari? Even the Princess of Wind is participating in the Mirror of the Eye of Reincarnation trial?

Sakura sighed at the enormous number of candidates for her destined bride.

"I think it's because someone owes us wind spirits that I'm coming.

"I don't care who it is, it's not you, the troublemaker."

Shikamaru leaned back on the back of the sofa and looked helplessly at the crystal chandelier flashing above his head.

"The actual fact is that you can help you break the curse and pay back the debt for what the wind spirit did back then.

The first thing you need to do is to get rid of the curse.

"The actual princess is a good person. Or... haha."

The first thing you need to do is to look at Shikamaru, who continues to play dead, and gently caress the sleeping fits in his arms.

When the third bride came out of the mirror, everyone, including the bride herself, was startled

"Hinata?

"Hey? Naruto-kun? Sakura and everyone, why are you all here? What's this?"

The young girl with the rare all-white eyes, who looked a bit weak and quiet, hunched her shoulders and looked back at the Mirror of the Eye of Reincarnation with unease

"This is the castle where I, Sasuke, Kakashi and Shikamaru live, and you, too, are here as the chosen bride?"

"The, the choosen bride? Does that mean... Am I going to be Naruto's bride?"

The shy indigo-haired girl's face was like freshly boiled hot water, and steam was coming out continuously.

"Hina, look at your outfit, are you a priest of the temple now?"

Sakura looked at Hinata's beautiful purple priestess costume with envy.

"Well, father-sama said that since I've come of age and the moon god has chosen me, I should take up this position as soon as possible.

"Oh, well, do we have to wait for the fourth bride to arrive?

"The destined bride has already arrived, so the next step is a long and troublesome bonding process.

Shikamaru seemed to have just woken up, yawning, and sitting up, and the shadow beside him hurriedly added a glass of water for his master

"The other side of the room, the shadow, hastily offered the master a glass of water. But there are only three of us, how can we all be here? ...Ah, Kakashi-sensei will be an adult before the other three, that is to say," he said.

Satisfied with the curious gazes of the smart and thoughtful girls who had figured out the answer, Kakashi brought the fits in his hands to the three women

"The fourth bride is here..."

As soon as he finished, the three women scanned Kakashi with incredulous eyes, and Sakura and Temari took hold of Hina and stepped back three feet.

"Are all werewolves so special in their fetishes?

"I never knew that Kakashi-sensei, your hobbies are so... peculiar."

"What do you all think I am?"

In the face of young women's misconceptions and associations about their preferences in choosing their mates, Kakashi couldn't help but explain with dead fisheyes, despite the ridicule of his three companions behind him

"This is a bird-like orc, although it is now so small, but she has long been an adult, the original form as hand bow, no, even the size of my body.

"Hey... I see, Kakashi-sensei, you should have told me earlier!

"Ahaha ......" Kakashi can only laugh dryly

<Ch.2>

[everythingsinred]

Let's Talk About NatsuMikan: Natsume (pt. 18)

Hiya! I'm posting late, on account of my job. Editing these takes about an hour depending on the post and inserting the images takes a little more, but I didn't have a solid block of time to work on it, so I worked on it in pieces and I only just now finished.

This arc highlights Natsume's powerlessness. He's distancing himself from Mikan to protect her, but by doing this, he leaves her defenseless at times. He wants to be there for her but can't because of the corner he's been pushed into, and in his desperation he turns to anonymity.

Chapter Eighty-One

Hotaru, Natsume, and Ruka are running after them, but are caught by Tsubasa, who asks them what their plan is, exactly. Ruka turns to Natsume, who turns to Hotaru, who pretends she was just practicing her running for the Festival and then the boys started following her for no reason. This comic relief is a badly-needed break from all the bullying and blackmail of the arc so far.

This arc is full of fun comic relief, but the main plot is so depressing and frustrating that sometimes the comic relief is not enough.

In any case, all three of them know that the others are all working to take care of Mikan, even if she doesn't know it. They're all looking out for her in their own ways, even Natsume who seems to have publicly turned against her. At least Hotaru and Ruka can see the truth: he's still quite concerned about it, but he's in something of a bind now.

The next we see of Natsume, he’s walking with Tsubasa, being spied on by both Hotaru and Ruka. It’s here that we discover that Tsubasa has been transferred to the DA class, but is keeping this secret from Mikan. Moreover, he and Natsume are on a mission to locate Yuka, and they’re both aware that Mikan is her daughter. It’s interesting to know just how much information the DA class has on the other students that the other kids have no clue about. Hotaru and Ruka are shocked by this information, but for us as readers, it also demonstrates just how much work Natsume--and Tsubasa--are putting into protecting Mikan.

All this information is stuff they have to consider on their missions. They want to protect Yuka, because she’s Mikan’s mother, but they have no choice but to pursue and chase after her with raids and attacks. On top of that, Tsubasa is keeping his new ability class a secret, and Natsume has to hurt her with this Luna farce. It’s a lot to put on two kids, not that the ESP or Persona have much issue putting pressure on kids.

For Natsume in particular, it was fun while it lasted, being close to Mikan. He had relished and enjoyed it, and now he has to change pace. He’s willing to, because that’s how he can keep her smiling and having fun, even if he’s not on her team and can’t even be in her inner circle anymore. He’s willing to sacrifice anything for her, but we can see that it’s not any fun for him. Mikan is suffering in sadness, yes, but so is Natsume.

The next thing he has to do only makes things worse.

He confronts Mikan about the rumor Luna made up, about Mikan showing her underwear to the Fuukitai to avoid punishment. It’s obviously bogus: Mikan would never even think to do that, let alone actually do it. He knows that too, because Natsume knows her very well. He asks because he has to.

Mikan avoids answering, brushing it off as none of Natsume’s business, because she is also under Luna’s watchful gaze. So they end up having an argument in front of everyone, both not saying what they really mean, and instead doing as Luna commands, to keep everyone safe. Mikan points out that she isn’t his partner--or anything--anymore, so he should mind his business. Natsume then asks if that means his concern is a bother, and she confirms: yes. It’s a big fat pain.

It's heartbreaking and frustrating in equal spades.

It’s almost as if Natsume was testing something. Now he knows that Luna must have threatened Mikan in the storeroom. Something sinister happened there, and now Mikan is different, dishonest, mean. That’s not what she’s actually like, and now he’s concerned. Luna’s shadow is spreading and it’s threatening to encroach on Mikan’s light.

Chapter Eighty-Two

Natsume walks off, having heard all he needs to hear.

Luna is causing mayhem and strife to punish Mikan and Natsume specifically for their misbehavior on New Year’s. She wants Mikan to be isolated from Natsume in particular because he’s her number one protector. If there’s a wedge between them, Mikan is easier to target. After all, Mikan’s purpose at the academy is to lure in Yuka, and the more danger she is in, the more likely Yuka is to try and save her daughter. If Natsume is around, threatening Mikan becomes tricky. He’d never allow anything bad to happen to her, hence his desperation and sacrifice in this arc. In order to fulfill their goals regarding Yuka, they need Natsume out of Mikan’s picture.

Of course, despite Natsume’s secret intel being superior to Ruka or Hotaru’s (and definitely to Mikan’s), he’s still not entirely in the know. Yuka being the main target, for example, is information Natsume is not privy to, and couldn’t even imagine. This is a game Natsume is unaware that he cannot win. If he doesn’t distance himself from Mikan, she’ll be threatened, but if he does, she’ll be threatened. In reality, there's no way he can win this round.

Chapter Eighty-Three

Anyway, the Sports Fest doesn’t slow down for the kids’ drama. The athletic meets have begun, and now there is a relay race.

Ruka and Natsume are on different teams for the relay, and this has inspired Ruka to beat his best friend, so he can be number one in Mikan’s eyes for once.

I will talk way more about the “love triangle” aspect of NatsuMikan and the question of choice, autonomy, and agency in Mikan’s essay, because when it comes to Natsume's side of things, he's very much resigned to losing every romantic game, every relay race, every competition. It's no contest. He's not competing. He's withdrawn from the race, now more than ever. He will not participate. He is destined to lose, after all, so why even bother?

And so Ruka wins the actual relay, and Natsume watches as everyone has fun without him, something that he’s been accustomed to before. It hurts more now, undoubtedly, because for a time, he was actually a part of the group. Knowing what it feels like to fit in and have fun with everyone makes it even worse when it’s gone again. He used to separate himself from the rest and suffer all on his own, but now he’s returned to that state.

He hasn’t quite let go, either. His effort and commitment to the Sports Fest, despite all the drama with Mikan and Luna, demonstrate just how much he actually wants to participate. It’s not about having his friends around him. He actually likes being able to have fun, and be allowed to take part in an event with everyone else, even if he isn’t technically by his friends’ sides.

His bad feelings are only exacerbated by Luna, who shows up to taunt him. He shouldn’t worry about Mikan and Ruka, because they’ll be torn apart eventually. Whatever happiness they find right now is temporary. It won’t last, and Luna will make sure of it.

But Natsume loves both Mikan and Ruka, and that does not reassure him at all. He’s selfless, would rather they be together anyway. In a perfect world, maybe she could pick him, and it makes him sad that the world isn’t perfect and he can’t have what he wants, but he’s always at peace with losing. So he’s not at all comforted by the idea that the happiness his loved ones have found will dissipate in no time.

Chapter Eighty-Four

Luna then giggles, because whether or not Ruka and Mikan’s being split apart will result in Natsume’s happiness is another question entirely. She wants to rub it in that even if Ruka is out of the picture, he can never be with Mikan. Joke’s on her though, because Natsume has already come to terms with this the moment he fell in love with Mikan. He hasn’t been humoring ideas of love confessions and weddings and living happily ever after. It’s outside the realm of possibility, because his circumstances do not allow him much happiness at all.

The future seems bleaker than ever, and knowing that Ruka and Mikan are being kept under watch by the school, Natsume keeps an eye on them too. He’s feeling sad and heart-broken too, of course. He’s not perfect. He can’t erase feelings of jealousy or the ache of unrequited love just because he feels it’s his duty to make peace with them. It hurts, but he’ll carry through. That’s what he’s always done.

But people are gossiping about his presence, putting his position in jeopardy. Luna can’t know he’s still hanging around Mikan, even if Mikan herself is clueless to this. Before he can be discovered, he steals someone’s mask, the mask of a boy named Kusami whose hairstyle looks an awful lot like Natsume’s.

If only he could be allowed to just steal people's identities and not have to face any consequences for it. Alas.

Unfortunately for Natsume, the Borrowing Race is about to begin, and Kusami was arranged to be a participant. He put the mask on to avoid responsibility for his spying, but it’s bit him in the butt now.

Kusami benefits from this, indirectly, since kids who call him moron get the cold shoulder from Natsume, who doesn’t have the same easy-going personality.

It seems nobody actually wants to participate in the Borrowing Race. It’s very personal and vulnerable: you have to borrow a person or item you’d least want to borrow, as dictated on a small piece of paper assigned to you. It’s then judged by some mind-reading alices to test the validity of the borrowed items. The concept of the race functions around embarrassing and humiliating people, so naturally nobody would want to participate.

Natsume has gotten himself into trouble here. He can’t even make a run for it, though he really wants to, because for some reason people are hell-bent on Kusami competing. He’s in the second round, and starts running as he--or Kusami--is supposed to. He gets his paper and although we don’t see what’s written on it quite yet, we can see a focus on Mikan in one of the panels, so we can tell his first thought is to borrow her.

To confess anonymously in front of the whole school or to not confess anonymously in front of the whole school--that is the question.

And then in a few pages, emboldened by the mask he’s wearing, Natsume runs toward Mikan and grabs her wrist. He’s decided he will borrow her, because maybe she’ll never find out his true identity, and he can be selfish just this once. This could be his only chance ever to be honest about how he feels. He's had to lie and hide it for so long that it makes sense he'd take the first opportunity available to go for it. This is quite possibly the most selfish thing he’s done. If he gets caught, he’ll be entirely exposed.

Unlike Ruka, Natsume can't really win this race. He won't be number one in Mikan's eyes, ever. He can't ever tell her it's all for her. The very best he can do is compete with a mask on. Ruka can try his hardest and impress Mikan and Natsume feels he never will. It's not much of a competition when one person cannot and will not compete.

He runs, despite her confusion and obliviousness, or perhaps because of it.

And just as the fireworks displaying his prompt start going off in the sky, he lets her go and walks away resolutely. There. He’s participated.

“The person you love.”

Mikan is chasing after Natsume, but he can’t be caught. Being caught would ruin everything, and would make his selfish act even more selfish. He shoves the mask back into Kusami’s face, and takes off.

You'd think he'd be a bit happier to have finally confessed his feelings but he just looks miserable.

Natsume has been very selfish now. He didn’t have to grab Mikan. He could’ve borrowed anybody and lost. Does it matter if he wins? He’s not Kusami. He could’ve just gotten the race over with and run away, but instead he played along, because he wanted to confess. He’s never been so honest in his life. He wants her to know he loves her, even if she doesn’t know who “he” is. And if he gets caught, then Mikan will know for a fact that Natsume Hyuuga loves her, and everything he’s done so far--hyping up Ruka, distancing himself, being cruel to protect her, allowing Luna to cling to him--will have been for nothing. She’ll know it was all a ruse, and then she’ll be open to all sorts of dangers. But he risks it, because he just can’t hide it anymore. He always has to hide, always has to pretend, always has to sacrifice his own feelings for the sake of others. This time, he’ll say exactly what he means, made all the more easier by the fact that there’s a mask on his face.

He’s done something like this before, particularly when he kissed Mikan on Christmas.

And the Christmas kiss is nothing compared to this: an actual love confession. The kiss was just that, and he had plenty of excuses for why he’d kiss her. It wasn’t because he loved her, no way! It was because she kept saying the other one didn’t count. Or maybe he just wanted to know what it felt like. That’s all. The excuses were just another mask to hide behind.

What excuse could he possibly give for a love confession that a panel of mind-reading judges corroborated? If he’s caught, she will know.

All his tiny instances of selfishness are smaller examples of the same idea: he lets himself be affectionate for once. He can say he prefers her with her hair down, or hug her during the SA class labyrinth, or cuddle with her when he’s having a nightmare, just this one time, and then he’ll give up for good. She won’t notice. It won’t have an effect. It won’t have consequences. He’ll give up for good after; he’ll just do this one selfish thing and then never again. But he can’t give it up, and eventually Christmas happens. He kisses her, unloading so much affection into one action, as if he’s trying to just get it over with. He’ll just get all his love out with one kiss and then he’ll be okay to watch her fall in love with anybody else but him.

But he can’t. He can’t stop doing these little selfish things. He can’t suffocate his love and leave it to die, hidden and smothered like a skeleton in a closet. Despite his every attempt to kill it, to hide it, to pretend like it’s not important, it has only grown stronger. He loves her more and more everyday, and the more he loves her, the harder it is to pretend like he doesn’t care if he never gets what he wants.

He wants to be with her. He wants to kiss her and protect her openly. He wants to sit next to her in class and smile with her. He wants to spend time with her and be on her team for school events. He wants to hold her hand and tell her he loves her.

He doesn’t want to give it all up and wreck his own chances.

The longer he’s loved Mikan, the harder it’s been to be selfless like this. The yearning has only gotten stronger, and now it takes all his power to be cruel to her. What used to come naturally, like being cold and distant and insulting her, has become difficult. What comes naturally to him now is to confess his love or hold her hand or be around her.

Despite the fact that Natsume was the only person who seems to have borrowed the correct person for the race, the White team still loses, on account of him not actually being Kusami.

At the end of the chapter, he sits alone, brooding in a tree.

He hasn’t been caught, so his actions have no consequences for now. He can sit there and mourn what could have been. He can’t be with Mikan, let alone confess his feelings. This was just an excuse to live out a fantasy. He wants to be loud about his feelings, not muffle them. But this is Natsume we’re talking about. He never gets what he wants. And in his opinion, he shouldn’t because Ruka deserves a happy ending way more. And Mikan would never love him back anyway. Ruka would be better for her.

This is just another instance of Natsume promising himself that he’ll do one more selfish thing before he gives up forever. But we know he’s bad at keeping his word, and this is no exception.

Chapter Eighty-Five

Before Mikan can confront Natsume about the borrowing race, Luna steps in, covering for him, claiming she was watching with him from the bleachers during the race. She clings to his arm and drags him off, spurring even more rumors that he and Luna are an item.

She's so violent with him for really no reason.

He tells her to get off, but she reminds him that she’s just done him a favor (though it’s really just a favor to herself). She grabs his hand and holds it tight, and again people get the wrong idea. It’s interesting how such physically painful things come across as romantic to the people around them, who think that Luna is simply holding his hand. Natsume’s persistent look of misery and apathy doesn’t deter people at all from rumors that he’s dating her. After all, Luna is clinging to him with a smile on her face and he’s not doing anything to peel her off, so it must mean they have feelings for each other. Natsume has been so good at hiding his feelings, that nobody--not even the girl he really loves--knows what it looks like when he’s loving and affectionate to somebody. They think he's into Luna, and can't see that what he really needs is help.

Chapter Eighty-Six

Luna has just arranged a terrifying fall for Mikan, knowing she’d use her alice as a knee-jerk reaction to save herself, thus causing others to think she did it for the attention. Mikan could’ve been seriously injured, or worse, and is definitely in trouble now, so Natsume is furious.

He confronts Luna, and the only thing stopping him from hurting her is that he could put Mikan in even more danger by doing so. But Luna is remorseless, giggling that she had no choice but to threaten Mikan. After all, she’s just doing what the principal said they’d do. Mikan should have been put in Persona’s custody in the DA class immediately following the Hana Hime party incident, but Natsume’s sacrifices have allowed her to skate by. Luna is there to observe and punish what she perceives as bad behavior, and anything less than abject misery from Mikan is bad behavior to her.

She warns Natsume: if he really wants to protect Mikan, then he’ll make sure she’s hated. That way, she won’t be in danger.

Powerlessness.

Natsume can’t go around confessing his love to her with a mask on anymore. He needs to sacrifice their relationship entirely in order to keep her safe. And so he does.

He’s sitting on a bench, surrounded by his classmates. Permy is adamantly defending Mikan. These rumors that Mikan fell on purpose for the attention are obviously stemming from Luna, who has the whole class wrapped around her finger. She turns to Natsume, looking for back-up, but Natsume has been told clearly what to do in order to really protect Mikan, and it has nothing to do with standing up for her against these rumors.

Instead, he says that it’s best not to be involved with Mikan anymore. He doesn’t want to see her or hear about her anymore, and he doesn’t want to associate with anyone who associates with her. He tries to give off the impression that he hates her, that he’s disgusted by her.

Then he sees that she’s been there all along, listening.

This is almost like the scene where he tells her he hates everything about her. He’s doing the hard thing to protect her. He’s lying, willing to hurt her, willing to be the villain, if it means she’s in the light and out of the dark.

But this is different.

Mikan could take it before. She yelled back that she hated him too, just as much, and even though that was a lie, it was still something she was able to say. She could argue and fight. This time she crumbles and runs away.

And he’s different too. Before, he could walk away, resolute and determined. Knowing that she’ll be better off this way was enough for him. He didn’t even look back. This time, he can’t leave things like that.

After all, last time was easier. He didn’t think she actually liked him back then. It would really only hurt him. He knows better now. Mikan cares about him, and it doesn’t matter what shape that care takes. It only matters that hearing Natsume call her worthless brings her to tears now, and that’s enough for him to feel way more conflicted.

This time, he apologizes.

He doesn't say he's sorry, but he's saying he's sorry.

He finds Kusami, steals his mask once again, never saying one word to a kid who has been generously keeping his secret for him. He runs after Mikan, and when he finally catches up to her, he hugs her.

Wearing the mask while hugging her is like wearing a raincoat in a hurricane. It won’t change anything or protect him at all. In fact, all he’s doing is giving her confirmation that it’s him, but he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want her to think he hates her. He can’t stand it anymore. He’s sorry and he didn’t mean it.

He hugs her and this is different from his selfish hugs during the RPG or when he was having a nightmare. Those were little stolen moments for him to remember. He could take them from Mikan and cherish them as precious memories, even if she never thought of them again. This one is different. This one is for her, to comfort her, to apologize.

It’s all the things he can’t say. I didn’t mean it. Sorry. I have to do this. I really do care about you, I promise. It’s not real. Luna’s making me do this.

But before she can turn around to look at him, he leaves again.

He knows, because of Luna’s warning, that Mikan’s life will only get harder. He wants to help her, but by helping her, he’s placing himself further from her, making it harder for him to protect her in the future. If he’s distant from her to keep Luna at bay, then he’s not around to protect her from Luna in the storeroom, or during the cheerleading competition.

It’s what one might call a Catch-22. No matter what he chooses, he loses. And the worst part is that so does Mikan.

Conclusion

Natsume isn't an active participant in the last few chapters of this arc, so this is how I'll wrap the meta here. In the next arc there will be much to say about him. The Sports Fest went deep into Natsume's love for Mikan. It's not surprising that his love inspires selflessness. Natsume will always put others in front of himself and the more he loves someone, the more fervent he is about self-sacrifice. The truly beautiful thing about Natsume's love for Mikan is that it inspires selfishness too. And I never mean selfish as bad when I'm talking about Natsume. His love for Mikan is special in that it makes him want things for himself too.

I'm having doubts about being able to post tomorrow, so I apologize for only two posts this week. Expect normal posting next week at the very least! This essay is probably more than halfway through already, though I can't say for sure how much is left. Where I am now in terms of essay-writing is already deep in the Time-Travel Arc and as a result there's entire chapters I've skipped. Like. Seven in a row at times. Yikes. So basically we're pretty far in!

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[tellmenauineo]

colored by you

pairing: mingyu x reader, vernon x reader

genre: soulmate!au, angst, fluff, smut, comedy (at some points)

warnings: mentions of alcholol and weed, language, unprotected sex   

summary: eventually, we fall in love with people who the universe destined us to. but there are complications sometimes. 

word count: 11k (i refuse to comment) 

a/n: tell me what you think even if you found it bad 🤧🤧 i’m in NEED of feedback,, stay safe during the pandemic and feel free to talk to me!! i’m sorta back 🤠🤠

“I'd prefer if you showed more enthusiasm about it. Success is never an accident,” your mother reads you a lesson, a reproach can be heard in her voice. Your sigh, wishing this conversation to be over so you’ll finally be able to hang up your phone. 

“Some people aren't built happy, or cheerful, or forever excited, you know,” you mumble. “I'm satisfied with my academical success – but maybe it isn't a thing I want to achieve now. I don't know.”

“Of course, people aren't built happy – that’s why the Universe made a soulmate for each of us. To make us happy. That's how it works.”

“Uh-huh.”

“One day you’ll understand,” your mother continues. “And you will be happier, happier than ever. Your time will come.”

You won't understand.

The Universe made a soulmate for each of us. The Universe made sure we’ll be aware who is the one, the one, as your mother says, who’ll make you happier and complete, too. It's pretty simple. First words addressing you that you would hear from your soulmate get imprinted on the skin of your ribcage. Close to your heart.

The mechanism of The Universe is perfect. But, sometimes, even perfect-made things get broken.

You won't understand because you already have words tattooed on your skin.

“I guess, we can say love is an accident, isn't it?” you say. “Anyway, I gotta go, mom. I'll call you tomorrow?”

“Sure. Take care of yourself. And don't stay up late.”

“We both know I'm gonna stay up late,” you smile. “Bye!”

It happened in cold January, four months ago.

“Shrimp Pad Thai?” Chan asks you.

“Mm, yes,” you say, fluttering your eyelashes innocently. Chan gasps and raises his eyebrows in a fake disbelief, but you don't let him open his mouth to say something very sarcastic about you and your habits in eating. “I'm your customer, where are your manners? What if I leave?”

“Then you'll leave and won't have our Shrimp Pad Thai which you order five days a week,” he shrugs.

“I'm older than you – pay me respect!”

“I do? Always? Our very important customer who always eats the same,” he playfully sing-songs and you roll your eyes, trying your best not to give him a smile.

“Go and get us food already,” Momo says. “Both of you better not play on my nerves when I'm hungry.”

When the orders are made and Chan leaves to the kitchen, you get up from your seat.

“I'm going to wash my hands,” you announce, and your friend nods at it.

On your way to the restrooms you recognize a bunch of boys sitting at the window booth. Kim Mingyu, Wen Junhui and Jeon Wonwoo – all of them are in Soonyoung’s group of friends. Wonwoo smiles and waves his hand and you return the gesture. You nod at Junhui and Mingyu – who looks incredibly soft and cute in his light-gray hoodie with his rose cheeks – seems that the ramen he is eating is too spicy for him. He gives you a little “hey”, smiling at you, and you immediately feel how your own cheeks turn blushy. To prevent your embarrassment in front of them, you try to speed up, but, suddenly, collide with someone.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You look up at the source of the voice, Chwe Hansol, the new Soonyoung’s roommate you heard a lot about (and you’re aware that Soonyoung not just can’t stop telling embarrassing stories about you to his roommate, but also shows him your pictures, because yes, in Soonyoung’s words, it’s a crime if you don’t put on display your best friend and your wonderful, a movie-worthy, friendship) and, apparently, there is no bottle of chilli sauce in his hands. A smug smile is playing on his lips and his chocolate eyes are glistening with a mischief.

“Nice try,” you don't hide a hint of a wipe in your voice as you start moving towards the restrooms – you swear a trip to them never took that long.

You catch Hansol's gaze on you on the way back to your and Momo’s booth and you have nothing to do but narrow your eyes at him, making him smile even wider.

“He's cute, though. The Hansol guy I mean,” Momo concludes after you finished your dinner. “But no shit they're loud.”

You cast an eye at their boost. Mingyu is the loudest and the most talkative among them – but, somehow, looking at him telling something, wildly gesticulating, makes your heart melt a little.

Stupid, you think, it's almost close to feeling happy. 

You spot the tattoo when you go to take a shower that night.

Your heart sinks at the sight of the words.

“Uh, I can feel my chilli sauce dripping.”

You don't tell anyone.

“I can take it as an offend, you know,” Soonyoung whines. “You've been turning down my home party offers for more than a month!”

“Um, you haven’t had any,” you say.

It’s true – you try your best to avoid Hansol, and it works even despite the fact he lives with your best friend (sometimes you’re wondering how Soonyoung and Hansol, the pair of complete opposites, rub along okay together, but maybe opposites indeed attract?). You’re not fond of the idea you reduced all your social interactions, but at least you do your huge amount of homework in time – that’s why Soonyoung once called you a homework-doing machine.

Yes, that’s lame.

“It’s because you didn’t come!”

You’re clearly under pressure. You can crack under it a little bit.

Just a little bit.

“Because I-” you forget what you want to say to explain yourself. Or, rather, to fudge up an excuse to trick Soonyoung and keep staying from Hansol as long as possible. “It’s complicated. Besides, your roommate sticks at home for days on end, and if I want to spend time with you I want us to be alone,” you point at him with your pen.

His eyes are getting wider and wider with each millisecond and finally he gasps,

“Are you in love with me?!”

Well.

“What if I am?” you challenge. At the end of the day, that’s the words of the woman who has nothing to lose.

“I-” it’s Soonyoung, who is under pressure right now. “I love you, you know it-”

“But, there’s always a but,” you sigh in a fake manner. “I understand. Maybe I haven’t yearned it yet,” you place your hand over his, and his eyes are glued to your hands. “But, Soonyoung, I want to hear ‘horanghae’ from you someday. Will my dream come true?”

He lifts up his eyes to you. Soonyoung’s known you for over a decade and he clearly can say you’re on the verge of bursting into a hearty laugh despite your dying attempts to keep your face straight. He snaps his hand away and stands up.

“Yah! You betrayed me!” he points a finger at you. “Yah!” he continues in a voice that is a few octaves higher than his usual. “You are gonna pay for your betrayal!”

“Sure thing,” you manage to say through your laugh. You’re well aware that almost all eyes in the campus cafeteria are on you, but it was quite common when the two of you were together. “I’ll see you in court, horangi.” 

You wish you were in court.

Instead, you’re in Soonyoung and Hansol’s kitchen, mixing the sickest possible cocktail ever – and you’re not proud of yourself.

“Why it looks like wiper fluid but tastes like lab alcohol?” Seungkwan asks, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Your mirror his expression.

“Um, the creator would like to take to his own grave the secret receipt of this… shit,” you say.

By the creator you mean Soonyoung. You’re on duty tonight – it’s Hansol and Seokmin’s double birthday party and you’re in charge of everything – your best friend had no mercy for the cafeteria joke.

“Don’t tell me the upcoming birthday cakes have the same creator,” the boy says, patting his blond locks back into place. You assume he was dancing, or, more likely, slamming in the living room, while you hide in the kitchen, still avoiding Seokmin co-star of this night, Hansol.

“Nah, I ordered them in the bakery. Customized ones!”

“You should’ve asked me to bake the cakes,” the third person enters the room, and your heart skips a bit. Mingyu walks towards you and Seungkwan and leans on the counter, still having his eyes on you. “I need to improve my baking skills.”

You feel how your cheeks flushing up. Shit, you curse in your head, he just made an appearance and you’re already turning into mush.

“Next time maybe?” you ask, your voice is much more gentle than usual. “Whose birthday is next?”

“Mine,” smiles Mingyu. “But I don’t want to hold a party this year – wanna share a dinner tete-a-tete with someone.”

“Such a great plan! Except for one thing – you don’t have ‘someone’,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes.

“I’ll find one,” Mingyu’s words are steady but his movements are not. His right elbow slips off the counter, and the boy hisses. “I’m already working on this.”

“Sure thing, tiger,” you smile despite feeling that something is scratching your guts in your belly – disappointment? jealousy? sadness? Maybe all of them and maybe none.

You have a soulmate for fuck’s sake and it’s not Mingyu.

“Whatever,” Seungkwan mutters. “I’m going back to the party and I strongly recommend you to stop hiding here,” he says, looking you right in the eyes. “He won’t bite you, you know?”

“What are you talking about?!” you exclaim, but Seungkwan only shrugs.

“Have no idea.”

You want to follow him, take him by the shoulders and ask about everything he knows about – did Hansol tell him about you? Seems so. Has he, Seungkwan, launched the making of the two of you a couple campaign? If yes, you’re doomed.

Mingyu stops you from storming out of the kitchen – you’re back to the reality with his warm hand wrapped around your wrist and you turn to him in surprise, your cheeks already flushed.

“Yes?” you manage to mumble.

“Who are you hiding from?” he asks, and you almost hear concern in his voice. Or maybe you imagine it all.

“Um- no one? He’s being delusional like always, you know?”

“You sure?’ his hand is getting lower, and unexpectedly you find your fingers intertwining with his. Mingyu’s hand is much larger and warmer than yours, his hold isn’t tight, but it magically makes you forget about the whole the soulmate and his wingman thing.

It makes you forget about everything except for this particular moment – Mingyu’s dark eyes on you, your hand in his and the echo of the music playing in the living room. His bronze skin’s glowing in the dim kitchen light (one of the bulbs is dead and neither Soonyoung or Hansol wants to do something about it), his face is innocent and the only thing you can think about – your uncontrollable desire to kiss off two worry lines between his perfect eyebrows.

You don’t even notice that you’re holding your breath, too afraid to interrupt the moment.

“I’m sure,” you whisper and he nods. Mingyu probably can hear the beating of your racing heart, and you don’t mind at all – you would eagerly tell him how he makes you feel if he wants to know.

He leans closer to you, his breath is tickling the soft skin of your cheek and you hear him ask,

“May I?”

But before you can nod, Seokmin’s piercing voice, like a bolt out of the blue, is calling your name,

“Soonyoung’s trying to kiss me!”

He is louder than any bomb, you think, and that’s enough to take you out of the trance. You slowly turn to him, letting go of Mingyu’s hold on your wrist.

“It’s his way to wish you a happy birthday,” you negotiate, but Seokmin’s gaze is wandering between your and Mingyu’s bodies. His hand follows his eyes, gesturing at the two of you.

“Are you-”

“No, no, no,” you cut him off.

“Man, you need me to get the thing squared away?” Mingyu sounds irritated. You turn your head to steal a look of him. You never saw him like that – at least, not with his friends. Even when his team was defeated at the bowling a month or so ago he seemed worn out, but no hint of irritation on his face – just an exhausted smile combined with a self-mockery behavior. That night you almost regretted saying your wrist was injured so you spent the whole game sipping bubble teas instead of helping your team from sinking to the bottom.

(Jeonghan didn’t buy that spectacular performance, by the way)

“I came to complain?” he looks at you, the eyes so innocent, calling for help, so you smile in response – it’s always like this with Seokmin – the boy can melt even stone hearts.

“Let me check on him,” you say to Seokmin, and he eagerly nods. You pat on Mingyu’s right forearm, your fingers stay on his hard bicep for a little too long, and it makes you lick your lips. “And if he needs to get into bed, I expect some help from you, Mingyu.”

His face softens, and he chuckles, closing his eyes for a second.

“Let’s get it then.”

“I ain’t leaving till I help you with this,” Mingyu says, referring to the apartment that looks like a battlefield (of beer pong). “You already look tired.”

“I’m tired,” you admit. “But you have classes like in…” you check your watch. “…four hours.”

“I’ll sit in the back of the classroom,” seeing the question in your eyes, he adds. “I’ll catch some sleep, don’t worry.”

“Sounds stupid, but I guess nothing would change your mind,” you give up, and a proud smile appears on his face. “The living room is yours then,” you give him an evil smile, your hand lands on his firm chest, patting it twice. “Have fun!”

When you step into the kitchen, a sigh of disappointment leaves your lips, despite your vain attempt to suppress it.

Hansol sits in the white plastic chair, mindlessly scrolling through whichever app is it’s feed. He looks up at you, but he next second his eyes are back on the screen.

Your body feels stiff, like you’re made of wood, but you force yourself to approach the counter. The desire to disappear is so strong that you find yourself not breathing at all – like if you make less noises, the more Hansol is unaware you’re in the same room with him.

You grab a handful of orange peels to throw in the trash can under the sink when you hear Hansol voice, “Why didn’t you throw out all of them?” You turn to the boy, cheeks already red, and anger is bubbling in your stomach. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, and he lets a hoarse laugh.

“I’m joking, jeez. No need to sulk.”

You don’t return his smile, instead turning away from him to take the leftovers, and say,

“It couldn’t fit in my hand.”

He coos at your words, and you feel stupid.

“Soonyoung was right. You’re an absolute doll.”

“Not impressed,” you roll your eyes, but you feel no confidence in your voice. You face Hansol again, a mischievous glint in his big eyes can be spotted even from across the kitchen. “Your eyes are red,” you notice. “Are you stoned?”

“Maybe so,” he yawns, stretching out in the chair that is about to crack under his weight at any minute. “I don’t mind you tucking me in, though. You seem to be a pro.”

“Well, don’t overdo it,” you say. “The scientists say weed makes people stupid.”

“And affects their memory,” he adds. “But it makes me copy.”

“With what?”

Hansol shrugs and his gaze falls to his knees. He radiates hesitation, and you gulp the pulse in your throat, afraid to hear the truth.

“With me being avoided by my own soulmate like I’m sorta of a plague? Sorta.”

A wave of pure heat that feels like a fever, a bad fever, runs through your body. The whole soulmate thing was supposed to be a blessing, but it feels like a curse. Without thinking, you pathetically mumble,

“I thought you don’t care.”

You really did. For the last few weeks you’ve been living in the bubble made of your own sorrows, disappointments, and self-pity, and the thought of what Hansol feels and thinks about it never crossed your mind.

“Whatever,” he says. “I got your point.”

Hansol doesn’t wait for the unspoken words that are stuck in the back of your throat, ringing in your ears over and over as you watch him leaving the kitchen. He stops at the doorframe with his hand in his dark locks – it’s so odd to see him not wearing a beanie – and slowly turns to you.

“Leave this shit to Soonyoung,” he says.

“Okay,” you mutter.

He calls your name, shooting the arrow of guilt right into your heart.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

When Mingyu returns to ask where he can find another bag for trash, you cling to the boy’s chest, and skipping all the questions on the tip of his tongue, Mingyu clasps his arms around you. His chin is snuggling upon your head and you feel pressure inside of the bubble reducing a little.

But a tremendous guilt envelops you with each minute.

Momo stares at your figure as you sit across her – your hair cascading down onto your hunched shoulders, your face is covered with your hands, and the girl only huffs.

“Should I expect some fake sobs?”

You spare a fiery glance at her, but she just waves you off in dismisal. Momo doesn’t even trying to hide her irritation with you – the first thing she asked you after you finally had decided to spill the whole situation to her was ‘Could you have taken any longer to tell me?” and you can’t blame her.

“Yah, leave these tricks for your future sweetheart Sollie. I’m not buying it.”

“He is not my future sweetheart,” you argue. “It doesn’t work!”

“Because you never gave it a chance,” she isn’t convinced, and her stern tone makes you consider the words more carefully.

“He hates me now!”

“First, you deserved it. No offense. Second, he seems like a crackhead, such people don’t hate other people, they just don’t care about them.”

“Don’t talk about him like that!” you exclaim, and her face breaks into a triumphant smile. “What?”

“Look at you, already defending your soulmate,” she says in a saccharine voice. “Ask him out and fall in love. Choose life. Choose a loveseat coach.”

“Isn’t it from Trainspotting movie?” you question, narrowing your eyes.

“And what about it?” she huffs once again. “It doesn’t make me wrong. It always starts with a crush. Just let it happen.”

A crush, huh? A crush that makes your heart beats harder; that sends you floating in your daydreams; that makes you the happiest person in the whole universe, but at the same time has the power to make you sadder than the most distant and loneliest star from the Sun?

Just like the one you have on Mingyu?

Momo still doesn’t know how you feel about the tall, black-haired boy, and you aren’t ready to tell her the truth. Partly because you want to protect this thing from the outer world, make it special, make it a secret that can be kept by the two only, and, partly because you’ll face the wall of misunderstanding. You could fool around with the boys before, but now you’re certain with the one who is destined for you. And you can’t – you shouldn’t – seek for another lover. It’s wrong.

The ability to make all your problems yourself will never fail to amaze you.

“Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “If you’re so smart.”

“I could’ve been your mother, though. You should follow my every word.”

“Momo, we literally were born in the same decade,” you sigh, but the girl has no intention to follow any of your words.

[mingyyuu 17:13] it’s so cold today!! stay inside  🖤

[you 17:14] too late :// plans!!

[mingyyuu 17:16] any plans for tomorrow?

[you 17:16] not yet

[mingyyuu 17:17] now you have some!

 The boy continues to type, but you have to put the phone in the back pocket of your jeans – you’re awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other at the doorstep, not able to say anything – even a small ‘hello’.

“Soonyoung’s at the dance practice,” Hansol breaks the silence.

“I know his schedule better than he does,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. “I came for your soul.”

Hansol raises his brows, his eyes never leave yours as he steps aside to let you in. The boy helps you with your jacket, and you mutter a small ‘thank you’, hoping he’ll take the initiative, even despite the fact it’s you who came to talk.

“How are you doin’?” maybe it’s a soulmate thing to read each other’s mind? You look at Hansol and you have a feeling that you’ll never be able to go through the guard around him and straight to his head. His expression is neutral, and you admit that he doesn’t even need to try look beautiful.

“Nothing much,” you response. “What ‘bout you?”

“Okay. Wanna drink something?”

“A pepsi please?”

“We only have a few cans of coke, do you wanna?”

You already feel strange of that crazy amount of questions for the beginning – the situation becomes more and more awkward that you’re able to feel the pressure of the air in the room. Your temples pulse a little, threating a headache.

“Nah, I’m fine then,” you say, taking a deep breath. “I came here to say I’m sorry and-”

“And?”

“Do you think we should be together?”

“It how it works,” he lets out a dry laugh. Hansol looks down to your face, his hand reaches out to stroke your shoulder. “Hey, you okay?”

The grip on your temples is too tight to bear, and you let out a heavy pant.

“My head hurts,” you explain, squeezing your eyes shut – the light is too bright.

“You need to lie down,” Hansol says. “It’s probably because the temperature difference between inside and outside. I’ll bring painkillers to Soonyoung’s bedroom.”

You nod, heading off to the bedroom. What a great wat to talk - show up at someone’s doorstep just to say you have a headache. Great. Not bothering yourself with discarding your clothes, you collapse stomach-down onto the bed without removing the cover, your face is buried in the soft material.

“Shit, you’ll suffocate if you stay like this,” Hansol’s deep voice wafts on your ears. You slowly lean on your elbows to steal a glance at him. After placing the glass of water and the blister of painkillers at the night stand, he gets down on his haunches, his eyes at the same level as yours. You stay like this for some time, not saying a word, mesmerized by his face.

“What did you do before I came?” you ask out of sudden. Hansol seems to be taken aback with your question.

“Tried to make some music,” he gawks, blinking at you.

“Really?” you ask in a low voice.

“Mostly checked the mic with some ‘yeah’s’ and ‘yo’s’”, he admits, an amusing laugh escapes his mouth. “I’ll try to do something while you’re resting, good?”

You nod you head and smile at him. He gently squeezes your shoulder and stands up. Before he disappears out of the bedroom, you say,

“Do you have any siblings?”

He turns to you, leaning back against the wall.

“Yeah. I have a little sister. You?”

You shake your head no and he nods.

“But it was easy to guess you’re not the only child, though,” it’s difficult to see his face in the darkness, but your eyes never leave him.

“How so?”

“You offer a compromise when it's unnecessarily,” you sniggle. “A man of settled habits.”

You see his wide smile in the dark.

 You force your eyes open and sit up in the bed, your hair disheveled and slightly damp at the back of your neck. Headache has gone, at least for now, but your throat feels dry. When you come to the kitchen, you see the note in Hansol’s infamous unsteady handwriting left on the counter:

you can find pepsi in the fridge!

You smile at the gesture and inside you sense warmth.

 You knock at Hansol’s bedroom door twice and after the boy calls out for your entry, you slip through the door.

Hansol sits at the table, bobbing his head in time with the song that hums from the speakers. His eyes are glued to his laptop, the headphones rest above his ears.

“Does the work go smoothly?” you ask, sitting at the corner of his bed. He turns to face you; a soft smile is playing on his lips.

“Yeah, it’s okay. There are many things that I think I’m lacking in, but I work on them,” he says in a serious tone. “But I’ve finally finished the song that had been haunting me for weeks.”

“Oh, that’s great!” you beam at him.

“Your snoring from the next room inspired me,” he places his hand over his heart. “I’ll be forever grateful for that.”

You lightly kick his calf, and the boy laughs. Rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes, he draws his attention back to you.

“Feel better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer. Nodding, Hansol notices your gaze focusing on the screen of his laptop. There’re the unknown for you tools placed on his table, except for the microphone, of course, and you’re wondering what kind of music he’s into.

“Wanna hear it?” he asks, once again showing his amazing ability to read your mind.

“Yes!” you hearty nod. “Want my headache to be back.”

Hansol rolls his eyes, muttering a small ‘sure’ under his breath, and places the mouse cursor over the play button. The speakers are small, but even despite it you sense the music vibrate through your body. The beat is harsh, his voice is piercing, and it feels like the most Hansol’s thing he could’ve ever done, but at the same time you’ve got an inkling that the tune and the lyrics were created by his mysterious twin.

“You really made this?” your eyes are wide and your hand clutches hold of his wrist.

“Yeah,” he hums nervously, bringing his free hand to rub at the back of his head.

“It’s good! I can’t believe you haven’t signed a ten-million dollars contract yet!”

“You heard just one song,” he smiles in a protest. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’m right, though,” you say, your hand leaving his as you smile at him. “You should be a star! I can’t say what I liked about it ‘cause I don’t know anything about music, but the whole thing is perfect!”

He looks up to you, your cheeks flushed with passion and your eyes glisten as candles burn bright, and it brings a proud smile on his lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurts.

“You’re beautiful too,” your words are sincere, filled with pure appreciation you have for this melted chocolate eyed boy. The idea of you frightened of meeting him a few hours ago seems like a pure absurd right now – when the two of you sit that close to each other, you having a string of questions to ask him about his life, interests, hopes and dreams, and on your tongue the whole story of your life is tingling to be uttered at the same time.

“It was unexpected,” he chuckles. “Thanks again.”

“Thanks for the pepsi,” you return. “I thought you had only coke?”

“Um, I went to the convenience store across the street while you were asleep,” he says, his eyes are wandering on the wall. You can hardly take a breath.

“You shouldn’t have,” you say.

“It’s not a big deal,” he shrugs. Nodding, you slip off his bed and go toward the window. Leaning your forehead against the cool glass, you take a deep breath.

“Is Soonyoung still at the practice?” you ask, your voice is low.

“I guess,” Hansol perches at the windowsill. “I kinda lost track of time.”

You feel the heat his body radiates. Theoretically, you think, you find him somewhat sexy, really manly. His long scraggy neck, broad shoulders, a spectacular torso you can notice even under his oversized t-shirts, and athletic thighs. A month ago, your informant told you that Hansol barely shows up in the gym, and you wonder if the boy was gifted with capability of being perfect without even trying.

And still, he isn’t Mingyu, who makes you feel being in love.

You want to tell Mingyu the truth about your wrong destiny, your aching heart that can be healed with his smile only, and the feeling of your stomach filled with butterflies. You want him to hold your hand, pushing all the doubts and fears away, and make you his. His, despite the cruel joke The Universe played on you.

You think, you have a feeling, he would understand it, because he believes in strength of choice. Mingyu is in a constant state of moving forward, overcoming all obstacles he might face.

Would it be the first time when he stops?

 You and Hansol both stay silent till the whole apartment echoes with Soonyoung’s ringing voice.

“Woah, I like the pictures!” Mingyu approves with a hum, adjusting something on his camera. “They’re perfect.”

“Because they’re pictures of me or because it’s you who took them?” you smile, a playful glint in your eyes as you nudge him.

“Let me think,” the boy stops in his tracks, his brows furrow in a fake manner, indicating he is absorbed in his thoughts. “Both.”

“Wow,” you play along, shaking your head and pressing your lips together. “Groundbreaking.”

He giggles and slides his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Wish I could tickle you right now, bit your jacket doesn’t give a chance.”

You shove off his hand and see a small pout forming on his plush lips.

“It’s my protection from pervs like you, Mingyu,” you smile innocently, casting sheeps eyes on him.

“Pervs don’t ask for a permission,” he opposes matter-of-factly. You raise your brows at him in question, and it doesn’t take long for him to explain. “Let me kiss you.”

You raise your head at Mingyu to see him smiling down at you with shining eyes, his cheeks are glowing from the frosty air.

“Go ahead,” you smile, and he leans down and kiss you. His lips are warm and sweet, and you never expect to feel care through a kiss as his mouth is covering yours. His hand cups your cheek while the other is placed tightly at the base of your neck. You trace your tongue against his lower lip, his tongue is eager to meet yours. You tease the inside of his mouth, and Mingyu lets out a small groan, which is enough to bring you to senses, and you break the kiss.

“We’re outside, Guy,” you softly remind him, your grip at his forearms is loosen.

“And so?” he whines, tugging at your sleeves to keep you body close to him.

“And we’re late,” you try to reason, but frankly speaking, you better would have stayed in the previous position you shared with Mingyu than going anywhere. “Let’s go. The sooner we start, the sooner we leave.”

The idea of karaoke night seemed promising, to say at least, but with Seungkwan occupying the microphone and Seokmin taking the guise of being his bodyguard, preventing any attempt of borrowing the tool out of his hands, ebullience faded into despair.

Jun is scrolling through his phone, and you find it okay; Soonyoung is busying himself with fourth bowl of ramen in a row, and it begins to worry you; Jihoon is yawning in thirsty eight second intervals, and the fact of you really counting begins to worry you; Mingyu’s playing with your hands, his head rests against your shoulder, you find it normal too.

You toy with his dark hair and lower yourself to whisper in his ear.

“Take me out.”

“Your wish is my command,” Mingyu smiles with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He straightens up off the sofa and extends his hand to you. You stretch out your own hand and place it in Mingyu’s warm palm.  

After wrapping everyone, except for Seungkwan who is too absorbed in the singing and waves the two of you off in dismissal, for a goodbye hug, you go downstairs to put the clothes on.

“Stop staring,” you say to Mingyu, catching his gaze in the mirror, a smile parts your lips. You pull up the hood of your jacket and turn to the boy.

“Can’t help it,” he admits, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His thumb is stroking your cheek gently, and he leans to steal a kiss from your lips.

“Oh, shit,” Seungkwan says, puckering his face into a frown. “Came to say my goodbye, but this,” he gestures at the two of you.

“Grow up,” Mingyu shrugs his shoulders. Seungkwan’s glare bores a hole right through your head, and you can only silently pray for him to not allow his anger  upstage his reason.

“Seungkwan, please,” you say. “Let’s talk about it later.”

“Sure,” the younger boy rolls his eyes. “It’s not me who you should talk to, though.”

“What’s the problem?” Mingyu groans in frustration.

“I don’t know. What’s your problem?” Seungkwan scoffs, shifting his gaze from Mingyu to you and back to Mingyu again.

“It’s none of your business,” you snap. “I’m not in the mood for one of your soap operas.”

You storm out of the building, your blood is boiling with the mixture of anger, fear, and realization of all things you used to have fell to pieces in a matter of seconds.

“Hey, wait,” Mingyu grabs your hand, and you stop, too afraid to look at him. “What’s the matter?”

You’re struck by an incredible sense of fear, of confusion, of vulnerability, but you finally have to face the reality.

“The problem is,” you sigh. “Hansol is my soulmate.”

“Don’t cry,” Soonyoung tries to conciliate you, his hand is rubbing against your back, and he tightens the embrace. “I’m here for you.”

At this point, you even hate yourself for the damp spot on his sweatshirt made with your tears. You want to concentrate on Soonyoung’s words uttered in a small voice, almost whispering, but as you think about Mingyu, about how on his face thoughts and feelings seemed connate – his pained stare said everything, – standing in front of you, you feel a sharp pain in your heart.  

“Do you despise me?” your voice sounds desperate.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t ask such a shitty question to my best friend,” he says. “You’re the best.”

You laugh bitterly. Soonyoung treats you too nicely – without asking why you’d been keeping so many secrets from him till this night, rebuking Seungkwan for standing guard over Hansol’s feelings, promising Mingyu will pay dearly in the nearest future for his superior sense of morality or whatever.

“What about Hansol?” you ask him, your eyes still are full of tears and pain, but you force a small smile.

“Will kick him out,” his voice is firm, and you sink your face into the soft material of his cloth, suppressing a bigger smile that threats to appear on your lips.

“Soonyoung, I’ve made four enemies this year, and it’s only the end of February,” your voice is muffled as you keep pressing your face onto the boy’s chest. “Momo, Mingyu, Hansol, Seungkwan – all of them hate me for being stupid, for not telling the truth, for being a bitch, for-”

“Shh. It’s their problem, not yours. It’s them who won’t survive ‘cause they made enemies of us. Listen to me,” he calls your name, making a passionate appeal. “We’re undefeatable, you and me.”

You lift your head at him, finding him keeping his eyes on the ceiling in a dramatic way, and you snicker. His lips twist into a broad smile, and he looks at you.

“They don’t hate you,” he says. “Life is complicating, so are we. They know about it.”

You meet Mingyu at the library. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and he’s surprisingly quiet.

“Seungkwan said Hansol fell for you only after Soonyoung’s countless ramblings about you. He indeed stared at your pics, I suppose.”

He’s in pain.

You feel empty inside; a terrible anguish seizes your heart.

“Do you feel the same about him?” an involuntary question slips off his tongue.

You want to say it’s him, it’s only him who made you fall, who made you feel at ease, who made you want to give and not just to take, but you can’t.

He waits for a response you’ll never be able to come up with.

This night you cry yourself to sleep.

Weeks go by.

The three of you – you, Hansol, and Soonyoung – glue your eyes to the television set placed at the wall of the boys’ living-room. Watching different tv series with them somehow has turned into therapy sessions – despite experiencing triggers at almost everything that is shown, you feel you’re not alone. The two of them act like nothing happened, and all of you are ready to meet your soulmates someday.

But, if nothing happened, why Mingyu’s name is forbidden from saying out loud because it would fill you with pain?

“You have popcorn crumbs on your shirt,” you notice, pointing at Soonyoung with the remote in your hand.

“I preferred watching tv to reading books when i was younger,” the boy says, dusting the crumbs off his torso and lap.

“And it shows,” you tease. Soonyoung gives you a light pinch on the side and straightens up with a huff.

“I’m going to bed,” he announces. “The bathroom is occupied for the next thirty minutes.”

Hansol nods and bids Soonyoung goodnight as you blow him a kiss – his laughter never fails to boost your mood.

“Resuming?” you ask Hansol. “I’m not sleepy.”

“Neither am I.”

It’s completely dark apart from the television’s dim yellow glow. Somehow, you find yourself being distracted by almost everything – the pattern of the wooden floor, the material of the couch, the streetlamp right outside the window, the plant that is going to die soon due to Soonyoung and Hansol’s lack of care.

Hansol.

His eyes flicker in your direction, catching you staring at him. You don’t look away.

“Am I more interesting than the show?” he asks, not expecting you reply with a quiet ‘yes’. A blush coloring his cheeks can be spotted even in the poorly illuminated room.

“You’re so shy sometimes,” you remark in a low voice. “You didn’t seem so when I first met you.”

“I felt some courage out of nothing,” he shakes his head, his long and slender fingers tapping his knees. “When I saw you.”

You sigh. How the Universe can be broken? Maybe you’re broken?

“I read that if you’re dealing with schizophrenia your emotions are mixed up – you feel something you shouldn’t have felt and express something you don’t feel.”

“Scientific facts again, huh? You’re referring to me?” he grins.

“To myself, I guess,” there is no smile at your features as you sigh. “Or maybe it’s – I don’t know, to be honest.”

“Hey, I know its not gonna work but I’ll say it anyway,” he reaches out his hand to yours and gently squeezes it. “Don’t think shit about yourself. Don’t say shit,” he pauses. “When the words appeared I was surprised, no shit. But as I find out more and more things about you, all of it start to make sense. I don’t want anyone’s words but yours on me. That’s it. That’s the thing I feel.”

He’s beautiful, you think, very beautiful.

Your eyes wander over his face and finally stop at his lips. The contour of his mouth is perfect – Hansol’s lips aren’t plump, but neither are thin – just perfect – and the little bruise on his lower lip makes you unable to brush your overwhelming desire to have a lick over this exact spot. You hesitate – and even now the image of Mingyu settles on you.

But when you feel Hansol’s lips on yours, you let him in. He claims your mouth passionately, and you slide your hands into his hair, pulling on his locks, and he groans in your mouth. When you pull back for a moment, your eyes flooded with haze, Hansol traces his thumb over your slick with his spit lips, sending a shiver down your spine. He leans onto you again, his lips ghosting over yours, the redolent scent of his musky cologne makes your head even more dizzy.

“I want you,” he whispers into your lips, his voice is cracking.

“You can have me,” you breathe out, closing your eyes as his lips decorate your neck in sloppy kisses.

You can have me, but can you have my heart?

The question finds lodgment in your mind.

You might lose the thing you love the most, but life goes on… and here we stand.

You’ve discovered you’re an excellent pretender.

Pretend you think nothing of going without sleep for several nights and then attend your classes. Pretend you’re not tired. Pretend you like the tasteless dish in the restaurant Momo brought you to. Pretend it’s not painful to be in the same room with Mingyu. Pretend you love Hansol back.

“My legs are killing me,” Seungkwan whines. “I just don’t know how much more of it I can take.”

Same, you think, fucking same.

“Wait a little more and I’ll buy you a hotdog,” Mingyu promises, looking over his shoulder to see you wearily stagger behind them. The combination of the three of you is weird, you find, but life goes on, isn’t it?

It’s May, and the three is you are stuck in Ikea’s mazes – Mingyu needs to buy some new furniture – this is what brings him to the mall, but also Mingyu needs someone to keep him company – and this is what brings you and Seungkwan to the same place. Mingyu calls your name, and you lift your head, furrowing your eyebrows in a question.

“You good? How ‘bout a few hotdogs after?”

“And milkshakes,” Seungkwan adds.

“Just an ice cream please,” you mumble, and he nods. Sometimes it’s so awkward – to be around him. Sometimes it’s natural. But mostly it’s painful.

 Standing in the parking lot, waiting for Mingyu and Seungkwan while they’re stuffing the things Mingyu bought into the trunk of his car, you dumbly watch the ice cream steadily dripping down your hand.

Damn.

No ice cream can help you feel good even a bit. 

You enter Hansol’s bedroom and find him at the wooden floor, lying on his back, eyes closed. With his arms and legs splayed out, he reminds you a giant starfish.

“Are you even breathing?” you chuckle, bending over him.

“I am,” Hansol smiles, his eyes stay closed, and he taps slightly on his chest. “C’mere.”

You oblige, your head nestle against his chest, and you hear his steady heartbeat. He wraps his left arm around you and inhales deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes out of sudden, and you turn your head to look at him. “The first words were stupid, and you’ll have them for forever.”

“Suit us very well,” you poke, and he sniffs, reaching out to slightly pinch your cheek. “Hey! Stop!”

Hansol laughs, squeezing you tighter, and the sound of his slow and steady breathing lulls you to sleep. Your gaze is directed at the ceiling as you try to fight against sleep. “You’re so composed, but also so goofy, but also so delicate,” you sigh, thinking out loud as your fingertips trace up and down the soft skin of his wrist. Hansol’s warm. “But the first words were wacky,” you chuckle. “What’ve done to deserve them?”

“It was Russian roulette, baby,” he hums, and you can hear him smiling.

You fall asleep like that. You dream about buying the beige sofa you saw in Ikea and Mingyu’s endless attempts to change your mind – the green one is a way better, he insists. The green one would suit the interior perfectly, you agree with him, but the beige one is so classy, and maybe even a little obligatory? Every apartment should have one, but Mingyu only shakes his head in frustration.

“I'm not sure you’re one hundred percent positive about what you’re convincing me of,” he purses his lips.

Dreams that are hardly can be distinguish from reality are exhausting. You wish there was a way to put this worry to bed once and for all.

“Okay, so the concept of your birthday party is dubstep,” you verify. “And the main dish excepted for a barbeque duck is an ice cream cake?”

“I scream, you scream, gimme that ice cream,” Soonyoung’s enjoyment is evidenced by his wide smile. You playfully roll your eyes, not really hiding the excitement you share with him.

“Why do I feel that we’re constantly hanging out at birthday parties?” Hansol asks, peering at his phone screen, not bothering to straighten his head from its bending position.

“Because our friend group is too huge for people our age,” you make a point.

“It’s so expensive to have a lot of friends,” Soonyoung complains, but when he meets your questionable gaze, he adds. “But for you, my bestie, money’s no object.”

“Good to know,” you laugh, your fingers leisurely run above the rim of the empty cup of matcha latte. “I’m more upset about my dear boyfriend didn’t show any interest in volunteering at preps for the party.”

Hansol smiles, tapping on his phone, his eyes are anchored on the screen, and you narrow your expression at him, shaking your head in a scolding manner.

“And now he pretends he doesn’t hear me,” you say. “Wonderful, isn’t it?”

Hansol’s face brightens and broadens out into a beaming smile, and the sound of Soonyoung’s giggles fills the air.

“I’ll ask Seokmin to help you,” the older boy suggests, and you raise your eyebrow at him.

“I know you’re saying it for the best of reasons, but Seokmin rather is a distraction than a help,” you debate, and Soonyoung raises his small hands in surrender, his eyes becoming crescent-shaped due to his laugh.

“Okay, I’ll send backup,” he promises. “At the end of the day, Mingyu’s good at cooking and cleaning.”

It would’ve been hard for him not to realize he put his foot in his mouth mentioning Mingyu as the mood tensely shifts. You freeze, alike Hansol, his thumb is hovering over the phone screen for seconds. Soonyoung offers you an apologetic smile, and you smile at the boy back, reassuring him it’s okay – he really did nothing wrong. Hansol’s avoiding your questioning gaze, hiding his eyes behind his curly bangs, and you gently brush a section of his hair from his face, wanting to see him clearly.

“Are you jealous, Sollie?” you try to joke, a soft smile playing on your lips, your hand placed on his cheek. As he raises his eyes at you, nerves are evident in them, your heart sinks, and you feel breathless. He won’t ask you if he should be, he won’t make any scenes – but he may shut himself off, locking his feelings deep inside, and you fear it the most. You don’t mean to hurt him, but you’re still providing him a good amount of pain – he isn’t an idiot who can’t figure out that Mingyu’s never really left your heart.

“No,” he simply says. “I’ll help you with everything.”

“You’re a bigger distraction than Seokmin for me, but how can I say no to my sweet boyfriend?” you take his offer, your thumb is stroking his cheek, and the action soothes away the tension he has. Hansol smiles gently at you, and for a second, you’re wondering if he is as good at pretending as you are.

“How did you manage to rent this beach house?” Soonyoung asks in a pure awe. “Such places are always booked!”

“Nothing’s impossible when you love your friend,” you muse. “Besides, thank Hansol – he used his “music industry contacts” to make you happy.”

“Hey, you insult me using air quotes around ‘music industry contacts’,” Hansol slides his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him, and places a quick peck on the tip of your nose. You stab him in the chest with your index finger, and he fakes a gasp.

“Eavesdropping?” you ask.

“Learning a lot about me,” he grins and draws his attention to the birthday boy. “Like the party?”

“No shit,” Soonyoung laughs. “I’ll like it better if you dance with me,” he says your name, his eyes sparkle brighter than colorful lights blasting through the house.

“Anything for a five stars rate.”

You’re out of breath, the clothes stick to your covered in sweat body, and you wince.

“I’m done,” you announce to Soonyoung, his batteries fully charged as he continues his active dance.

“Get some fresh air and come back!” he yells over the music, and you nod. Crossing the room to the back porch, you spot Hansol in the corner, talking to Joshua and showing the older boy something on his phone screen. Unnoticed, you go directly to the shore until the music of the party drowns in the sound waves, and inhale warm salty air. The water seems so tempting, calling you to step into the waves, their rhythm is hypnotizing you, and you kick your shoes off, perfectly understand the night water is too cold for swimming.

A familiar voice stops you, calling your name. You turn around, greeted with Mingyu’s tall figure, shining like a bronze statue, his tanned skin sheens magical when graced by the evening sun.

“Why do you always tend to sneak out?” he asks, once he made it up to you, a warm smile already crept onto his mouth as he saw you.

“I don’t know, maybe I just like being in crowds,” you shrug your shoulders – it’s true. You really don’t know the answer. He moves closer to you, and you finally spot a small bouquet in his hand. His eyes follow yours, and he chuckles.

“It’s for you,” he shyly passes you the flowers, his teeth press into his bottom lips. “I passed by those wildflowers on my way here and picked them for you.”

“It’s not my birthday,” you laugh. “But thank you, I love it,” you say, nuzzling your nose against the tender petals. You look up at the boy and lock your eyes with his, a tickling feeling spreading in your chest. The waves are lapping on the peaceful and quiet shore, but you feel electricity surging through your body. You stand on your tiptoes and place a delicate kiss on his soft cheek, the action is innocent, but for Mingyu it’s like hearing a starting whistle.

“You’re still in my thoughts,” he breathes. “Still here,” he reaches over to grab your hand and place it over his chest, and through your fingertips you’re able to feel his rapid heart. Tears are starting to form at the rim of your eyes, and your vision becomes blurred. Your fingers crawl into the flowers he gave you, pressing against the vulnerable stems. “It’s egoistic, I know, you’re dating my friend, your soulmate, but why does it feel like you’re mine?”

“I don’t know,” you sob. The next second you find yourself against his firm chest and you inhale his scent that feels like home. Not a place where you live, but home. He plants a kiss to the crown of your head and puts his hands on your shoulders.

“Look at me,” the golden boy suddenly says. “Please.”

You look up at him and see his eyes briefly dropping to your lips, and despite yourself you feel that familiar tingling in your gut, wanting him to kiss you. He reads you like an open book and he is kissing you, his lips softly press against yours, a tender flavor on your tongue.

“Mingyu,” you whisper in a small voice, pulling out from him. “I can’t. I can’t do this to Hansol.”

The boy looks at you with a pained expression, and in his eyes you can see that he wishes he didn’t have a heart at all.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he mutters, and you nod your head, your heart is swelling at the nickname.

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

You lock yourself up in the bathroom, hoping no one saw your state while you were hurrying upstairs. Suddenly, someone tries the handle, but it jingles with no success.

“It’s occupied!” you try your best to sound calm, but your voice is trembling.

“It’s me,” Hansol’s muffled voice leaks through the door. “Let me in.”

You turn the lock and face Hansol, your eyes are all red and watery from crying. The boy locks the door behind him and turns to face you, his piercing eyes burn right into your soul.

“You love him,” he says, too delicate to torture you with questions, and you feel even worse – if it’s possible – paralyzed with fear and regrets, guilt eating you inside out, and you swallow the lump in your throat. You let out a wet sob, not being able to look into his sad eyes.

You broke his heart.  

“I’m sorry, Sol,” you say, feeling powerless, loss for words to say to him, to explain yourself, to apologize. “I don’t know what should I do. I don’t know what should we do.”

“If he makes you happier than I could,” he looks above your head. “I’ll accept it someday.”

“You don’t deserve this,” you say, feeling so stupid, only wishing that the floor would open up and swallow you.

“Maybe soulmates aren’t bond only by romantic shit,” his deep voice comes to you through the mist. You don’t ask him to give you a chance, don’t change his mind – maybe this painful reveal of the truth will make your heart feel a little bit lighter one day, even if right now you’re sure this is never going to happen.

You don’t complain and do not want pity from anyone – you’re sick and tired of Soonyoung tiptoeing around you, trying to keep you from collapsing; of the silent treatment Seungkwan gives you, scornful looks he spares you every single time you see him get you to another level of anger; of a constant scratching sense of guilt you’ve been racked with since your break-up with Hansol, but somehow he never blames you even if he should; of Momo dragging you to the shop malls and making you keep shopping until you cheer up.

Of you can’t getting up the nerve to answer any of Mingyu’s calls, too afraid of something you can’t even describe.

Momo’s straight face catches you off guard, and you only gasp,

“He what?! No, no, no,” you shake your head in disbelief. “You’re making this up.”

“What for?” the girl rolls her eyes back deep into their sockets. “Mingyu invited you to his picnic party or whatever through me cause you’re too deaf to pick up your phone, nothing special.”

“Will you come with me?” your eyes meet hers in the bathroom mirror, your expression makes Momo give you her infamous crinkly-eyed smile.

“He didn’t ask me to come – only you,” she purrs, taking her lip gloss out of the small bag. “He’s so fucking in love with you, you little witch.”

“I-” you stutter, the crimson red blush spreads across your cheeks, and Momo laughs and gives you a playful shove.

“Don’t you dare to say no,” she warns. “You’ll deal with me.”

“What would I do without you, Momo?” you smile at her. Even if you asked playfully, you really mean it – and the warmth in your chest proves it.

Mingyu seems nervous as he clumsy steps into your apartment, his chest is tensed with the breath he holds. The boy is dressed in a loose white t-shirt and high-wasted velvety pants, and you sigh in relief – the picnic party - as Momo called it - obviously wasn’t planned as something fancy.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you smile.

“Thanks for coming. Means a world,” he says, poking his cheek with his tongue, a shy smile follows his words. You missed him. Missed everything about him – the small giggles he lets while talking with that slight lisp to you, the shake of his head when he can’t understand something, the pout appearing on his plump lips when he realizes the item he wanted to buy is out of stock, the bright smile beaming on his face while he spills out his ideas for photography, the warmth of his palm holding yours in the pocket of his woolen coat.

“Who else is gonna be there?” you ask during your drive to the beach – Mingyu found the place perfect for a picnic, especially in the hot summer.

“Um,” he hesitates for a moment, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to look at you. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Oh,” you breath. “I see. Momo didn’t tell me.”

“Blame yourself for leaving me on read,” he grins obnoxiously and you roll your eyes defensively. “Now you’re stuck with me. I forgot to mention one thing, though.”

“Which one?” you rake your eyes over him, admiring how the sun’s rays paint his skin in a golden glitter. “It’s a date.”

You dig your toes into the cool sand, glancing into the evening sky. Mingyu follows your eyeline.

“You can’t see the stars for reflected light from the city,” you notice. “But here we have a chance.”

“No way,” Mingyu protests. “And you know why?”

“Why so?” you turn your face to him, a big smile spread on his lips.

“All Seoul’s stars are in your eyes,” he is smiling so wide that his cheeks must have hurt and he pulls you closer, wrapping both arms around you, tugging you into his lap.

“Shut up,” you laugh, smacking him on the chest, your fingers touching the soft fabric of his shirt. Mingyu’s lips are ghosting over your cheek for a moment before he speaks again,

“But I have lots of things to say,” Mingyu murmurs, biting softly at your earlobe, and a very familiar feeling creeps up into the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?”

“Like, let’s swim,” he takes you aback with the suggestion and you blink at him dumbly. “I didn’t bring my swimsuit with me,” you say.

“Doesn’t matter,” he shrugs. “We’re alone here. No one’ll see.”

You push up from his body and meet his eyes glossy with playfulness and challenge, and you nod at his words. Mingyu grinning at you mischievously, while he removes his clothes – his shirt and pants find their place at the sand – as you see each piece of his skin revealing itself. You inhale deeply, and he leans his head closer to yours, the warm palms rubbing up and down your arms.

“Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, and you’re surprised he can tell this just from your body language, and it makes your heart flutter, pounding even faster against your ribcage. His words encourage you, and he silently watches you removing your dress, the only pieces of clothing on your skin are your bra and panties. Mingyu gently squeezes your hand, his thumb softly strokes back and forth over your knuckles. “Catch me.”  

And within a couple of seconds, he is already pushing into the water, everything below his waist out of sight.  You slowly step onto the sparkling waves, a lazy smile playing on your lips, as you see Mingyu splashing over to you with a childish pout on his face.

“You’re supposed to catch me, but you don’t even try,” he whines and steps closer to you, pressing his hands to either sides of your neck, his thumb rubbing the hollow of your throat. He looks dreamlike with his skin stick from the water, making him glisten in the soft evening light.

“It’s not the only thing I didn’t do what I was supposed to do. I was born to live without you, remember?” you whisper against his wet lips as he leans over you.

“It doesn’t matter,” he hums, letting his fingers brush against the words inked on your side. “I don’t need to be told who I love.”

You’d been feeling like you were drowning for too long, drowning in the cool water of sorrows, doubts, and self-destruction for too long, but only now you can breathe -

“You love me?” you say in a quiet voice, almost as if it was a secret, and the soft look on his face makes your heart skip a beat, overflowing with love and affection.

“I do. So I ask you to stay with me,” he pleads. Not just for tonight, not for tomorrow morning, but-

“Take me home.”

Rattling keys, the sound of giggles stopped with the kisses, Mingyu’s hot mouth on your pulse point, your hands tugging at his black silk locks, and the heavy weight of the wall meets your back.

“Right in the corridor?” you hum, panting into his ear. “Where is your decency, Kim Mingyu? Not bringing your lady to the bedroom is-” Mingyu doesn’t let you finish, forcing his leg between yours. He is grinning at you with his bottom lip between his teeth as he guides your hips into motion against his thigh, satisfied with the garbled moan ripped from your throat. Bringing his lips to the side of your neck again, Mingyu plants wet kisses on the soft skin. He licks your ear, gently tugging the lobe between his teeth. When the boy releases the tender flesh, he hisses,

“This… you made me forget about my good manners,” Mingyu drawls and attaches his lips to your throat. His voice is sweet, but the material of his pants is rough and the combination drives you crazy, whimpering into the air between you, your clit aching.

“Please,” you whine, grinding yourself harder against him.

Suddenly, Mingyu smiles, brightly and happy, before his lips press into yours, his tongue mapping your mouth. The boy lifts you up and it gives you an opportunity to kiss his neck in return, biting red marks into his tanned skin. Then, ever so carefully, Mingyu places you on the soft surface of the bed, kissing you passionately, but slower, trying to find out what you like the most.

“Can I take your clothes off, please?” he whispers in your mouth and you moan, your hands gripping into his biceps.

“Good manners are back,” you coo. “Go ahead.”

Mingyu helps you to sit up, undoing the upper buttons of your summer dress, kissing the skin it exposes, and finally pulling it over your head.

“Don’t forget to take the rest off too,” you breathe, and his lips stretch into a smile. His arms twist behind your back and then he is sliding the fabric down your arms and tossing it away.  

“Do you want me to touch you, princess?” Mingyu murmurs, the tip of his nose traces the side of your neck as his fingers are ghosting over the wetness of your panties.

“Like you don’t know the answer already,” you hiss and he chuckles, his hands move to palm your breasts. You bite your lower lip when he rolls your nipple between his fingers before slowly circling it, a blush slowly creeps down your neck. His mouth finally covers your nipple as his warm palms are parting your thighs, his fingers firmly pressed against the skin. Without being told, you rise your hips to help him remove your soaked panties.

Mingyu sits back on his haunches and marvel at your spread thighs and the pretty wet curves, and your legs separate to make room for him beyond your control.

“You’re so pretty,” he admires, his eyes – glassy with desire and adoration – don’t leave your face. His palm slides up from your hip over your stomach and further still, gently cupping your breast.

“Gyu,” you plea, but before you can even think about the words, Mingyu tosses his shirt somewhere behind his back, already yanked his slightly ruined with your wetness pants and the underwear to the floor.

Then, he is putting his fore and middle fingers into his mouth, coating them in saliva before slowly bringing them to your pussy, the pads of his fingers ghosting over your slit. You moan and he takes it as an invitation, drawing a circle around the hood of your clit. Craving for more, you shamelessly grind your hips into his palm, your fingers grasping at the sheets.

“Baby, I want to taste you so bad,” Mingyu purrs, thrusting his fingers into your pussy down to the knuckles. You moan at the sensation of his fingertips dragging against your pulsing walls, and he increases the pace of his digits inside of you. “You smell so good.”

His words only sending you near delirious. But his tongue feels even better.

Mingyu runs the flat of his tongue up to your clit, humming happily at the moan escaped through your red and swollen lips, your fingers tangled in his hair. His grip on your thighs is firm, screaming lust in big neon letters. He sucks on your clit, focusing his hot mouth on the swollen bundle of nerves, as he is pulling and pushing his fingers through your entrance. 

The boy groans deeply, nuzzling his pretty face deeper into your core. The delightful pleasure clings to your stomach, swells at you abdomen. Your eyes screw shut and your chest heaves, the back arching off the bed with a high-pitched cry. Mingyu is leaning over your, adjusting his body on his elbows supporting him either side of your body. His breath is tickling the skin of your neck and you giggle, your hand lazily draws some patterns onto his back. The boy silently observes your features while you reach down to his cock, lubricating it with his pre-cum. Mingyu groans, but you swallow the sound with your mouth, your tongue catching on flesh of his mouth that tastes like you. He is desperately grinding against your stomach, the tip of his dick leaving a wet trail over your skin.

“I love you,” he says against your lips and, slowly and carefully, positions the reddened head to your entrance. You wrap your legs around him, heels pressing into the ample swells of his ass as Mingyu buries himself deep inside you. He presses his teeth on your collarbone as he hitting your sweet spot with every single one of his delicious thrusts.

Mingyu is here – his arms caging your face, his mouth never leaves yours, and his chest is pressed tight against yours – Mingyu is here and you love each other.

He rolls his hips against you, sinking his cock into your heat, his fingers toying with your sensitive clit. Suddenly, he speeds up, pulling an extremely loud moan from you. Feeling you clench around him, Mingyu groans and lowers himself to suck on your nipple, muffling the sounds he makes against your skin.

“Let it go,” he pants out and you oblige, a gasp tumbles from your lips as your fingers curling in his hair. Your walls spasm around his cock, enveloping it with your release. He thrusts in you, his cock twitching inside of you before he lets out a drawn moan. He stills in you as his cock milking your pussy, panting loudly. He opens his dark eyes and his face softens for you as he places a gentle kiss on the side of your jaw.

“We weren’t meant for each other,” you whisper, your hand playing with his damp locks. “But I love you more than anything.”

“We are meant for each other,” Mingyu is persistent. “Since our first meeting.”

“Okay,” you give in.

“I win,” his smile is radiant in the night, and his eyes hold the whole universe in them.

You never thought of you as a rule breaker. No one did.

With each day Mingyu helps you realize you shape the universe you live in.

And you ask him to make your nose look smaller at the portrait of you he have been painting for two weeks already.