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honeymoonjin · 5 years ago

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𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 namjoon x reader ~ 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 18k

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 fluff, thriller ~ 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦 crime!au, detective!reader, candle shop owner!knj

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 with a serial killer on the loose that uses artisan scented candles as inspiration for murders, now is not the time to be falling in love with the man who made them.

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 non-explicit descriptions of murders. one incident of injury, and mentions of blood. cursing. while this involves a serial killer and the causes of death are mentioned, there’s no scenes involving actual murders taking place, or crime scenes. extremely long discussions of scented candles because i can’t help myself. make-out scene but no smut.

𝘈/𝘕 dedicated to the darling @mind-of-a-hardstan. it’s been a pleasure being your secret santa, and from the bottom of my heart i hope you enjoy <3 thank you to my dedicated team of supporters: my beta reader @honey-boyyoongi, my partner in crime @hobisgorgeousass, my resident namjoon stan @jamaisjoons and finally the first person to read it in all its entirety and my amazing friend @but-kimnamjoonpersona. you’re all magnificent and i love you.

Kim Namjoon looks guilty.

That much is immediately clear to you, but it’s not the type of guilt from someone who’s done something wrong. More so, it’s the type of guilt you hold for something out of control, the empathy you feel for others. You can see that it tears him up inside that someone this evil and twisted has drawn inspiration from his store.

The police force didn’t know it was a serial killer. At least, not at first. At the beginning, the murders were so far apart that nobody ever thought to connect them. Almost seasonal, there was one in April, another in late August, one in September and, most recently, the middle of November, last weekend.

You were the one who initially noticed something strange. Perhaps it was your bad habit of lumping all your unsolved cases into one pile of failure, but the more you thought about them together, the more you realised something was odd about them.

In each location, there was a single candle, sometimes melted down to the base, sometimes still burning, and the different causes of death seemed to relate pretty directly to the scent or name of the candle.

And all those candles came from one store. Moni’s Candle Shop, the boutique store that exclusively sold handmade candles. The store owned by one Kim Namjoon.

“It’s so awful that all of these are connected, I… I don’t understand why my candles have anything to do with this.”

You smile softly, though your eyes are dancing around the store. “Nobody blames you, Mister Kim. All serial killers like to have a calling card. At the end of the day, they want credit and attention for their crimes, they want to show off what they’ve done. Deep down, they want to get caught, and it’s my job to use these candles as my path to the killer. To make him face justice for what he’s done.”

Namjoon tips his head, dark locks shifting across his brow. “You’re referring to the serial killer as a he. Do you have a suspect?”

Your eyes dart back to him, ducking your head with a rueful smile. “Force of habit, I’m afraid. Statistically, it probably is a male due to the brutality of the murders, though we’re definitely not ruling out a female yet. We...still don’t have any leads, really.” We have jack shit, you think to yourself, no fucking clue. Coughing lightly to clear your throat, you scratch at your collarbone where the freshly cut lanyard of your ID rests. “If you have any in stock, I’d love to get a closer look at those candles, Mister Kim. The ones from the scenes have been taken into the forensics lab for re-inspection so I’m unable to get my hands on them.”

He seems mildly surprised, eyebrows lifting behind thick black frames. “Oh! Of course,” he sits up and sucks in his stomach to wiggle around the edge of the desk, only pausing once he reaches the doorway to the store floor. “Wait. I don’t actually know what scents they were. I think they might have told me, but I don’t recall…”

You nod shortly and lean back in your chair to free your front jeans pocket, reaching in for your small notepad, flicking a few pages back. Standing up, you join him. “Ah, let’s see… Spring Day, Blue Side, Autumn Outside the Post Office, and Winter Bear. Are they still in stock?”

He hums in consideration, ducking through the low doorway to peruse the aisles. It’s a narrow store, narrow but relatively deep, with two long aisles running down the centre, rows upon rows of candles on every available surface. Towards the front, there are small, tiered tables with layers of gift boxes, and he beelines towards them, sifting through. “Now,” he murmurs under his breath, “those are seasonal candles, so our best bet would be…. Here!” He draws out a squarish cream box with gold detailing. Behind a layer of clear plastic are four mini glass candles, and he lifts up a leg to balance the box on as he delicately pulls off the sticky round tab at one end, pulling out the sleeve inside. “The Four Seasons gift box. I don’t know if your killer used the full size or gift size candles, but these are all I have left. We have a full range every season, and on holidays too, but these are the big sellers so I put them together for our combo deals.” He passes them over to you, using the back of a finger to push his glasses back up his nose. “He has good taste; they’re great candles.”

You glance at him sharply. “He murdered four people. That we know of.”

He cringes at himself. “Sorry, I… I just meant I, uh, I recommend these a lot, sell them a lot. If he bought them off me, I wouldn’t be able to pick him apart in a crowd. It’s hard to keep crack of faces, especially before special holidays. That’s all.”

You drop your gaze to the cardboard sleeve, heavy with the four glass jars. “This is only three of them,” you reply. “Spring Day, Blue Side, the autumn one… this has Serendipity as the winter scent.”

He pouts in surprise. “Oh! Sorry about that. Serendipity is a nice one too. Smells like Christmas cookies.”

“I need Winter Bear,” you remind firmly, though not unkindly. You see the faraway look in his eyes, like he’s recalling the scent, smelling it in his mind, and you understand just how much this craft means to him.

“Of course,” he laughs sheepishly, “come with me. You’re in luck; we only just last week released our full winter range. It’s to the front.”

“That’s interesting,” you muse, mind whirring as you follow him. “So that means our guy must have been in here recently.”

Namjoon stops short, almost causing you to walk into his back. He continues after a shocked pause. “That’s a really good point, I didn’t think of that.” He sends you a dazzling smile, eyes soft. “You’re really good.”

You try to stay professional and neutral, but you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face with a breathy laugh. “Thank you. But maybe save the praise until after I got the guy. You got security cameras?”

“Oh, of course, can’t be too careful!” He deftly plucks a full-size, heavy hulk of a jar from the main display, holding it in his wide palms. His smile freezes, falters, falls. “Well, that is, uh… I have a camera in the office out back and a camera over the front door. So we could pull the records and see everyone that’s come of left, but we wouldn’t be able to see what they got inside the bag.”

You suppress the bubbling of irritation in your chest with a strained smile. “Can’t be too careful,” you repeat with a sour undertone of sarcasm lacing your voice.

He looks put out for a moment, staring silently down at the large glass jar, a milk chocolate-shade of wax poured inside with a thin layer of christmassy red on top. His thumb swipes slowly over the paper label pasted across the front, and shakes his head like he’s breaking a fog. Smiling again, his eyes crinkle warmly behind his glasses. “Winter Bear,” he announces, “here; smell it.”

You wait patiently for him to open the lid, tugging against the friction of the rubber seal, before he holds the wide opening up to your face. You raise an eyebrow, and delicately edge your nose closer to take a sniff. Immediately, your mouth drops open and your eyes widen.

The smell comes in stages, every sniff a brand new experience. First is a hit of cocoa, rich and lush, with a slight complexity that you can’t put your finger on. The smell warms, richens, and finally as you exhale the final hit of tartness lights your senses. You have the sudden urge to reach out and grab his hand as he begins to pull away, the want to hold it closer so you could inhale further, but he lowers his hand and presses the glass lid back into place. Your nostrils flare when they return to the vague honeyed scent of the store, which seems still comforting but so dull compared to that candle.

“That’s incredible,” you admit, “what is that, chocolate and raspberry?”

“Cranberry,” he corrects, a fingertip dragging along the outside of the thick glass, outlining the red layer on the surface. “It’s chocolate, brown sugar, a bit of spiced vanilla, and then that cranberry to round it out a bit, something to cut through the richer scents.”

“And you make these yourself?” you question, eyeing up the sleeve of four smaller jars you were still holding, wondering at what point would be a good time to open them.

He cracks a crooked smile, a dimple poking out of one cheek. “I certainly do! If you’d like to, sometime I could show you my little workshop where I make all these.”

You return the smile, although your eyebrows are knitted in confusion as you turn to look around the store. “I thought it was just the store floor and your office in this building.”

“It is,” he clarifies, delicately removing one of the candles from the box you’re holding, looking over the label as he speaks. “My workshop is at my house. I live about twenty minutes outside of town, a little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. Seemed a shame to use all that space just on me, so I repurposed some rooms so that I could store more ingredients and melt more wax at a time.”

“Ah,” you say lamely as he cracks open the Blue Side candle, lifting it to his own nose. Your eyes, slightly lidded, stare deeply at the bright ocean blue candle wax. You squint at the label, though it’s behind his tanned fingers and you can’t get a good read. You wait, almost in a trance, for him to stop sniffing and offer it to you.

When he sees you staring, he laughs quietly, a soft puff of air in the otherwise-silent room, and hands it over. Instead of taking it, you rest your hand on his lightly and pull it closer, leaning in. This one’s refreshing, like a summer day on some island, fruity, floral and bright. Your fingers tighten around his unconsciously as your eyes flutter shut for just a moment, inhaling deeply. He coughs, interrupting your refreshing sniff of the candle, and you remove your hand from his hastily, standing back upright with a light pink stain high on your cheeks.

“What scents are in there? It’s very, um, light,” you stutter, cursing the divine scents for scrambling your thoughts.

Namjoon corks it up again and takes the sleeve off of you to replace it. “Some aloe vera and lily of the valley, but mainly its lotus blossom and melon. You like it?”

That’s an understatement. “How do you even come up with these combinations?” Without giving him a chance to answer, you reach out and pop out the spring fragrance, pressing the open jar right up to your nose as he speaks.

His eyes dance at your enthusiasm, and his tongue slips out the corner of his mouth to swipe across and wet his lips. “Half of it is experimenting,” he shrugs, waiting patiently for you to finish huffing Spring Day.

You reluctantly pause your sniffing to look up at him. “And the other half?”

“Trawling through the entire Yankee Candle website.”

You snort, hand jerking in surprise and causing the lip of the glass to bang against your top teeth, pinching your lip painfully. You squeak and pull it away frantically, pushing the little glass lid back on like it’s personally offended you, handing it to Namjoon to put away.

The owner sends you a bemused smirk and returns it to its rightful place in front of the summer fragrance. “I know they smell good enough to eat, but you’re not actually supposed to,” he jibes. “Spring Day is especially delicious though, I must admit. Peach, white tea, freesia and some rosewood for that darker note baseline.”

You nurse your sore lip with your tongue, hoping it doesn’t look too flirty. Or perhaps secretly hoping it does. “I might as well complete the set, then,” you remark, dropping eye contact to take a try of the autumn scent.

“This one’s a heavier scent,” he explains, “Autumn Outside the Post Office is all about those fall fruits and trees. Pomegranate, maple leaf, some juniper berry and orange blossom. This was one of the first seasonal scents I attempted, a good four-ish years ago when I opened, and it’s still going strong.”

A weird, invisible curtain falls, or a coin drops, or a string is cut. Whatever it is, that heady entrancement in the scents vanishes the moment you put that last one back. You feel your face muscles drooping, eyes turning gloomy. “Did the DI tell you what actually happened to those people?”

Namjoon doesn’t need to ask what you mean by ‘those people’. His smile falls, and he sets the sleeve of four candles down on the winter display, pushing aside some white, candy-stripe, and festive red candles to the side as he does so. Morosely, he shakes his head. “All I know is that my candles were found near the scenes. Does the guy just, I don’t know, have a sensitive nose?”

Your eyes are distant, unseeing. You shake your head. “The-” Your voice fails you; unsteady. No matter how many years you have been in this line of work, the sheer grimness of it all never left you. “The murders were very clearly inspired by the scents. That last one, Autumn Outside the Post Office?” You take a deep breath, reaching into your satchel, pulling out a manila folder with several glossy photographs. Handing them over, you watch the disgust, shock, and misery play out on his face. “A postal worker. Clocked out forty minutes before he should’ve. Poor timing, I guess. He was knocked out via a blow to the head with some unclear blunt weapon, probably metal, and maple leaves were shoved down his throat. He suffocated to death just metres away from the staff exit out back.”

The candle shop owner’s voice is soft, almost inaudible. “Oh my god.”

You barrel forth. “That was the third one. The very first murder was originally written off as an accident. A banker who often spent his work breaks in the peach orchard down the street from his workplace was poisoned by the cyanide found in peach stones. One of his colleagues noted it was odd that he didn’t come back to his office after lunch even though he left a candle burning on his desk.”

“Spring Day,” he murmurs, flicking over to the following photo.

“Spring Day,” you confirm. “The next wasn’t for another three months. A lifeguard drowned in the community pool after hours-”

“The lifeguard drowned?”

“He had been let go from his job for arriving to multiple shifts under the influence of alcohol, and that night when he went to collect his belongings after closing, he fell in the pool and drowned. Reports showed a slow-acting tranquilizers in his system. That same drug was found in his apartment, injected into the cut up melons and pineapple slices in his fridge. He must’ve eaten before he left or something, cameras showed him stumbling around too close to the edge of the pool when he got to work, and… well. Authorities were alerted when a smoke alarm went off in the early hours of the morning. A candle from your store was found burning next to a small fire that had been lit inside a metal trash can.”

“Jesus. All three had my candles there?”

“All four,” you correct, “I noticed the connection after the fourth murder.” He’s reached the bottom of the pile of photographs now, his face washed out. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him, but he needed to know that there were real consequences at play here. You see a flash of red in the picture just below the one he’s currently looking at, and hastily take the stack back off him. There were some things he shouldn’t have to see. “The Winter Bear candle. We’ve managed to keep the gory details from the public, but I’m sure you’ve heard about the head of Gingco Corporate.”

“The business mogul? I thought she passed away at home?”

“She was found slashed up in the bear enclosure at the zoo just outside the main town centre.”

He narrows his brows, black frames slipping down his nose again. “Wasn’t Gingco buying that zoo? It was all over the news.”

“They wanted to demolish it and build a mall, yes. It seems our killer didn’t like that so much. She died from bleeding out. Multiple cuts, in rows to look like bear claws although forensics tell us it was actually a switchblade. Dropped in the bear enclosure post-mortem.”

Namjoon wavers on his feet slightly. “And the candle?”

“On one of the picnic tables facing the enclosure. Burnt down to the wick, so it had been there for a while. Longer than she had been dead, actually. That’s when I started to think it was premeditated. That’s when I began to connect the dots.”

He lets out a shuddering exhale, hand on his sternum, rubbing in a self-soothing pattern. “I don’t understand what my candles have to do with any of this. I just give them interesting names, I don’t…”

“This isn’t your fault, Mister Kim,” you assure, slipping the manila folder back in your bag. “It’s good news, actually. It means that all we need to do is keep an eye on your customers and see if any suspicion people frequent the store. Which is where I come in. My higher-ups suspect the killer might get spooked if you install security cameras inside the store, so we want to avoid chasing him or her away from our one lead. I’ve offered to pose as an employee to keep an eye on things myself.”

“Y- what? I usually work here alone…”

“And now you won’t be.” You reach out your right hand for a handshake. “I’m looking forward to working with you, Mister Kim. I’m confident that we’ll catch this son of a bitch in no time.”

His eyebrows lift at your curse word, but he finds himself nodding instinctively. “Okay, yeah, I can- we can do that. I just need to make you a name tag. Let’s go to my office.”

“This is gonna be easy,” you promise, bottom lip resting on the edge of a takeaway paper cup, inhaling the steam that rises through the thinning layer of foam. “You have so few customers that statistically the next one is probably the murderer.”

Namjoon doesn’t seem to be suffering the same boredom as you. “Oh, it’s not that bad! It’s always slow on a Thursday morning.”

“It’s been slow every morning.”

“Well.” Namjoon sips at his water, eyebrow twitching. “It’s not slow in the afternoons.”

You place your cup down with a thud. “You close in the afternoons.”

He stares at you blankly. “...yes, but that’s just because I’m so busy back home in the workshop making more candles. Anyway, we get more customers on the weekend, just wait and see.”

You can’t keep a stern face, softening at the way his eyes glimmer behind thick glasses. “You still haven’t shown me your workshop.”

“Seems a little forward to already be asking my beautiful coworker to come home with me.”

Blushing, you shake your head and pull up a hand to cover the cheek closest to him. “Very funny,” you deflect, “I bet you just don’t want any girl cooties in your mancave.”

He lets out a loud peal of laughter, one that’s harmonised with the jingle of the overhead doorbell as a customer enters, slipping in and cutting Namjoon short. You curse the timing, wishing you could hear that joyful sound again.

“Hi there, you need any help today, or just browsing?”

Instead of replying, the elder lady simply nods at him and shuffles slowly down the room, going to the ‘florals’ section on the left wall, birdlike posture hunched under several layered cardigans.

Namjoon lets out a breathy laugh. “That’s old Mrs. Chin, she wouldn’t hear a gun if it was shot beside her ear.” His face falls, furrowing his brows. “Poor choice of metaphor. She’s deaf as a bat; anyway, she always comes in to buy a new set of tealights each week.”

“Tealights?” you question in a considering tone, finger lazily running up and down the metal hoops of your spiral bound notepad.

He spots this, and gently rests his palm over your hand, halting your absentminded movement. “If anything tells you she’s not a suspect, it shouldn’t be the tealights, it should be the fact that she’s in her nineties.”

You scoff at yourself, staring at the way his hand dwarfs yours, your wrist peeking out past his thumb. “Case closed!” you announce, putting on a TV-news producer voice. “The Wickerman has been taken into custody, and you won’t believe who it is!”

He chuckles warmly, eyes crinkling, and squeezes your hand once before removing it. As Mrs. Chin comes up with a set of six frangipani and gardenia tealights (Jamais Vu, the eggshell-white packaging says), Namjoon rings it through, chatting away to her like they’re old friends, like she can hear him. Even as she fails to hear what he’s saying, she beams, thanking him profusely as she accepts a receipt and her purchase with slightly shaky, age spotted hands.

She turns, slowly making her way down towards the exit. You reluctantly take your hand off the table, the top of it cold after being let go. “You’re really good with people, you know?”

He shrugs. “She’s a very kind person. Treats me like a grandson even though she sees me once a week at most.” Once she leaves, the door jingling again behind her, Namjoon checks the time. “Just about 1pm; that’s us done for the day. Do you mind getting the door? I’ll go take the cash till out back.”

As you stand to go lock the door and switch the hanging sign to CLOSED like you’d done every day this week with Namjoon, you feel fingers wrap around your wrist.

He looks up at you, still sitting. His eyes search your face, hand tightening on you subconsciously. “Today,” he says softly, reverentially.

You furrow your brows. “Today...?”

He swallows. “Come over to my house. I can show you the workshop. I’m in the last stages of planning a new scent, and I want you to try it.”

You fight the urge to pull back your arm slightly, just enough to that his fingers slip between yours instead of on your wrist. You smile softly and nod. “Today.”

Instead of driving your car behind him, you end up taking him in your passenger seat, him pointing out directions at the last second as every last detail of his surroundings distracted him. As it turned out, he didn’t have a licence, and would simply bike back and forth most days, hiring a moving truck to transport candles to the store once weekly.

It worked out well, the two of you enjoying amiable silence for the most part, the drive only about twenty minutes up a slight incline, becoming gravel roads in the last couple of minutes, winding around sectioned farmland and wind turbine plants, before pulling up a long driveway, wheels crunching the loose stone and coming to a stop in front of a rustic but sturdy-looking farmhouse, complete with a swing seat on the porch, and sills of yellow and pink flowers underneath the windows.

“This way,” he guides the moment you turn the key to switch the car off. Following him as he hops out and scuffles energetically down the side of the house, you hastily lock your car and race to catch up.

Instead of the front door, he takes you to the back, unlocking it with an old-fashioned heavy iron key. It’s equally cosy inside as it looks from the driveway, though the carpet is worn thin and the light he switches on is a little wan. As he takes you down through a small laundry and into what you expect to be a garage, you marvel as he shows you inside.

Clearly all his money has gone into his business. While the rest of the house is homely and humble, his workshop looks like a romanticist version of a mad scientist’s lab. Custom-made shelves that reach the wall display mason jars of every type of ground spice, flower, essential oil and concentrate that you could imagine. From vibrant red freeze-dried raspberry to warm brown nutmeg to the deep purple of pressed violet petals, he had it all. Two full walls were taken up this way; a third was for boxes of finished product, as well as stacks of the empty glasses he poured them in, bundles and bundles of wicks in wooden cases, and rolls of black paper stickers, ready to be stamped with the newest creation.

Directly beside the doorway you came in was a desk teeming with papers and plans, above which a corkboard is hammered into the wall, countless scraps of paper and scrawled phone numbers and dates. It’s chaos, but beautiful chaos.

“Wow…” you breathe, unable to put into words just how magical it is. Even the smell is like nothing you’ve experienced before. Not overpowering, but certainly full-bodied, it’s based in the rich, slightly caramel scent of soy and beeswax, but every sniff, every inhale, is a different shade made up from all the components. Some moments it’s fruity, from a tiny leftover beaker on his desk that has dried wax caked onto a glass stirrer and a delicate wafting of sweet lemon and the tartness of raspberries. As he leads you towards a wide bench of scattered bowls, measuring cups and portable stovetops, you uncover lighter floral scents, heady wood tones, and sensual spices, a harmony that’s addictive the longer you smell it.

“I apologise for the mess,” you hear his soft voice cut in, his hands filling your vision as they group together tools and open mason jars in some semblance of tidiness. “I don’t usually have guests.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, still overcome with the entrancing nature of the room. “It’s amazing, honestly. Which one of these is the one you said you were almost finished with?”

His face lights up, pulling his glasses off and resting them on a spare spot on the bench, blinking as his eyes adjust. He reaches for a somewhat smaller bowl, about as tall as a coffee mug and a little wider, and wiggles it back and forth in his hand with a flick of his wrist, disturbing the viscous, deep purple syrup inside. “Here,” he offers up, “tell me what you think.”

Taking a hold of the glass bowl but preventing yourself from sniffing at it just yet, you gesture at his face. “Ditching the glasses?”

“Hm?” He pats his face dumbly for a moment before his eyes glimmer in recognition. You can see them a lot better without the frames’ obstruction, and you want to melt at the rich brown of them, slightly slanted but widened with enthusiasm as his cheeks pinken. “Oh! No, I just… I read on the internet that if you take away one of your senses the others get better. So I thought- I thought maybe if I couldn’t see so well, I’d be able to smell better. It’s stupid, really, but I think it’s helped so far. I’ve always been a little prone to placebo, maybe.”

You grin. “It’s cute.” He laughs shyly, ducking his head to rub at his heated cheeks. You take mercy on him (and give in to your own temptation), bringing the glass mixing bowl to your nose and breathing in deeply, stopping short when the relaxing, nostalgic scent of lavender fills your nose. Not just lavender, though. There’s plenty of comforting notes that you can’t quite put your finger on, ones that give complexity to this concoction. You hold it with both hands, sniffing audibly. “Namjoon, this is incredible!”

The conversation moving back to something he’s confident discussing, he looks back up at you with a broad smile. “Isn’t it? I’ve been trying to get a lavender scent ever since I opened, and I just couldn’t find the right balance. Everything was too sickly sweet, or smelt like soap or my grandparents’ house. But just in the last couple of days, I was struck with inspiration. Instead of going for more florals or light scents, I used ylang ylang oil and tonka absolute to darken and round out the smell. Makes it less like hospital disinfectant and more like comfort. You like it?”

You smile softly, voice bouncing weirdly as you keep your face directed towards the purple syrup. “Mm, comfort. That’s totally it. It reminds me of like, in the holidays when you have nothing to do so you have a bubble bath at 4 o’clock in the afternoon and it just feels like life is peaceful and perfect and you have all the time in the world.” You let out a deep breath. “What are you gonna call it?”

He has an unreadable look in his eyes. The tiniest quirk to his lips, the softest smile. “4 O’clock,” he answers.

The friendly, dimpled customer-service smile stays on Namjoon’s face long after the door jingles, the group of high school girls tittering away down the street. While he’s distracted tidying up the supplies for gift-wrapping, you let your eyes wander over him shamelessly.

Most of the time, when you spoke to him or thought about him, he was this soft, gentle man with a goofy smile and glimmering eyes. And while that was true, it was only in moments like these that you realised just how large he was. His tender demeanour often had you forgetting his tall frame, broad shoulders and strong hands. It was a juxtaposition that endeared you to know end; the corded body that rested under unassuming sweater vests and plain trousers. But at the same time, all that strength was channeled into his craft; the ease at which he’d lift crates of glass candles wasn’t lost on you, but he’d just sheepishly smile and say you get used to it.

Surely he didn’t have the thickest chest you’ve ever seen just by stocking a candle shop? There was so much you still didn’t know about him, and while your job was focussing on the serial killer, not your temporary coworker, you can’t help that weird bothered feeling in your chest.

Your eyes wander around the inside of the checkout desk. It’s organised chaos, with printed receipts mixed with fresh rolls mixed with notepaper on one end, haphazard piles of business cards and loyalty cards in the middle tucked behind the cash register, and three drawers filled with samples, returns, and stationery to the right.

Hearing him come back and place two fresh cups of tea on the countertop, you reach out to pluck a business card from the top pile. It’s classic off-white with warm bronze lettering embossed on it. You note with humour at the long list of roles between Namjoon’s name and contact details. Owner, creator, manufacturer, manager, storeperson. On the flip side is the friendly, manuscript letting, same as the sign above the door. Moni’s Candle Shop.

“What is Moni?” you question absentmindedly, only half-aware you’re speaking aloud.

“Moni,” Namjoon murmurs from behind you, correcting your pronunciation on the first vowel. “It’s nothing.”

You turn to him with a doubtful smile, eyes teasing. “Oh, come on, it’s your entire brand! It can’t be nothing.”

“Yes, it can,” he defends with a pout, blowing away the steam that emanates from his cup. “Just like FILA is a random word.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “FILA is an acronym. It’s like, the name of the company in French or something.”

He sets his tea down delicately, without having taken a single sip. “Yeah, well, maybe Moni is an acronym.”

“What does it stand for then?”

He turns up his nose petulantly. “I don’t want to tell you.”

You raise your eyebrows dubiously. “Because you don’t have one.”

“I do,” he counters, eyes darting upwards. “It stands for...Mmmmany Objects N-need...Interest.”

You can’t hold your unimpressed stare for more than a few seconds, breaking into a bout of laughter, reaching out to punch him lightly on the arm. “You’re such a dork,” you make out, though your grin certainly removes any bite from your words.

He lets you shove him, smiling down at you fondly. Your laughter slowly fades as he waits for you to finish, eyes crinkling and dimples showing.

“What?” you murmur, cursing how quiet your voice has become, a strange fluttering in your chest making your breath weak.

Namjoon rubs the base of his neck self-consciously. “Moni was my childhood dog. I didn’t have a lot of friends, so he really meant a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh, Namjoon…” Now that you think about it, even though he’s charming and charismatic to his customers, you’d never seen or even heard him mention any friends or family. Plus he was the only worker in the whole business, if the impressive resume on his business card was anything to go by.

He laughs, eyes shining. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m not a charity case,” he teases warmly. “I’m happy. I’m happy now.”

You curse your overactive heart for reading too much into his words. This is a job. Stay professional. Forcing a stabilising breath into your lungs, you nod. “That’s good.”

His smile turns strained, but you only see it for a moment before his attention is caught by the jingling of a bell, a middle-aged gentleman in a business suit, rushing towards the counter even as he loudly chatters away on his phone.

“I’m happy now too,” you admit softly, letting your words be swallowed up. Namjoon’s eyes dart to you with an unreadable look, but he turns back. You don’t think he heard you.

After three days of working beside Kim Namjoon, he names a candle after you. After a week and a half, you begin to realise you have a crush on him.

After two weeks and one day, there’s a fifth murder.

It twists your heart, to see the red and blue flashing lights flooding the windows to Moni’s Candle Shop, illuminating Namjoon’s face and reflecting off his glasses as he squints and holds up a hand to protect his eyes.

You’re the first to get out of the car, rushing over. The sign is twisted to CLOSED as Namjoon exits; with a coat on and a shoulder bag, he looks like he was on his way out. Good timing, you suppose.

He’s too frazzled to greet you, hair already disheveled from running his hands through it nervously. “What’s going on, Y/n?”

“Silver Spoon,” you rush out, “who bought Silver Spoon?”

“Huh?”

You sigh and push past him, opening the front door and cringing at the ring of the overhead bell, once for you and a second time as he follows closely behind. “There’s been another one,” you explain bitterly, “I need you to write down a list of all the customers you can remember that bought Silver Spoon.”

Namjoon lets out a shuddering breath. “God, okay, um…” You watch impatiently as he searches behind the desk for a scrap of paper, settling on the back of a receipt as he scribbles, eyes lifting skywards every time he has to try and think.

“Is there anyone that you remember that’s bought the other candles too?”

“I- I don’t know, just let me write th-”

“Well, think, Namjoon, people are getting murdered!” You’re too heated to pay attention to the crack in your voice, though he pauses and looks up with furrowed brows.

He hands over the receipt with eyes, dark with hurt. “You think I don’t know that? You were the one that was here this whole time to try and find the guy. So tell me, Y/n; did you notice anyone strange buying Silver Spoon?”

Your eyes prickle. Maybe that’s why your blood is boiling now, as you stare at the shop owner across from you. No, you didn’t. You were too busy enjoying your time with him, too busy marveling at the warmth he exuded with his customers and his craft, too busy falling for him. You swallow the rising lump of self-hatred at the back of your throat. “Thank you for the names, Mister Kim. I’ll be in touch.”

His face changes, wounded puppy-like eyes replaced with concern in a fraction of a second. “Y/n, are you-?”

“Have a nice day.” You’re out of the door and back in your car before tears of frustration slip down your cheeks.

Namjoon fidgets in the corner of your vision. It would irritate you, only you’re determined to ignore him completely as much as possible for the sake of your job. You keep your head low, focussed on your work, trying to find links between the locations, the motives, the choice of candles, anything.

“So, you won’t even look at me now? All because I couldn’t write down all the names.”

You exhale, staying silent for a moment as you finish your scrawl, refusing to look up even as you reply. “I’m not looking at you because I’m trying to do my job.”

“You were doing your job earlier. You looked at me then.”

You feel your spine stiffen. “And then somebody got stabbed to death by a tree branch.”

He baulks, visibly flinching even out of the corner of your eye. “Cypress or birch?”

You sit up slowly, narrowing your eyes at him. “That’s your fucking question? Silver birch. It was a snapped-off branch of silver birch. She was found in the forest about 20 k north of here.”

“She?”

You throw your pen down and sit back in your chair. “Im Jee-hwa,” you spit out. “I trust you to keep your mouth shout because the Im family certainly don’t want it getting out, but she was the fifth victim.”

Namjoon frowns. “The chaebol? Last I heard, she was in jail.”

You shrug. “Last night, she got bailed out by her father and spent the night at their family residence. According to various witnesses of relatives and staff, she left before ten in the morning and was discovered less than two hours later by a hiker. Stabbed to death with a broken off branch - no prints, of course - and a silver spoon lodged in her throat, deep enough to damage her vocal chords.”

Namjoon’s hand rises up to his neck, wincing in sympathetic ache. “God, and she was only in her early twenties.”

“Twenty-two,” you specify glumly. “God, the poor girl. Who knew being in jail for tax evasion wasn’t the worst part of her week?” You lean forward, rubbing your face tiredly. “Nobody apart from the residence staff, some of the Im Corporation partners and Im’s family knew about her release the night before. Silver lining is that we can narrow our suspect down to that pool of individuals. Bad news is that her mother estimates it at around eighty to one hundred people because of the likelihood of the news spreading amongst more of the Im Corporation’s workers overnight. Miss Jee-hwa was quite the hot topic, it seems.”

“Jesus.” Namjoon pauses for a bit, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Still, I don’t see why this means you need to ignore me completely. Wouldn’t it be better if we worked together?”

You turn your head again, breaking away from his hopeful eyes. Even just seeing his hand resting on the table beside yours, fingers flexing slightly like he wants to reach out, makes your heart tug in ways you just can’t afford to indulge in. “We’re going to have to create a promotion. Something irresistible that inspires all the customers coming through that door to sign up their name and contact details.”

His voice is lost. “Y/n?”

“While I try and find the connection, and the tech team start pulling background checks on everyone at the house and the Corporation headquarters that night, we’re going to keep track officially of every single person who purchases a candle. Hopefully we can track somebody down before another incident, but if not… There’s no way we won’t be able to find our guy if we compare your list, the people that knew about Jee-hwa, and the customers from now on. There’s no way,” you reiterate, unsure whether it’s you or him you’re trying to convince.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Namjoon agrees. “I usually run a Christmas competition anyway. I’ll whip up a sign-up sheet. Let’s hope they use their real na… Y/n?”

The use of your name brings you back, and you turn to him, eyes wide. “Tax evasion,” you profess in a hush.

“Sorry?”

“Tax evasion. Im Jee-hwa had all the money in the world, and she was still selfish. Our killer put a silver spoon her throat, just like that old insult about rich people born with a silver spoon on their tongues. Yes, it’s like the candle, but it’s some sort of… of sick irony that relates to the victim.”

His eyes are wide, brows poking over the top of his thick frames. “He’s playing god.”

“He’s playing the judge and jury,” you correct. “Fuck, I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now.”

Namjoon hunches over your shoulder as you begin to flip through the pages of your file, going through the details of the previous murders. “Do the others fit?”

You squint. “Some. The drunk lifeguard being drowned, for instance. But I bet if we went digging in their personal lives a little more, we’d find links. The candles aren’t just the method, they’re the motive. Give me a second, I need to call my superior and get the investigators on this."

"O-Okay, I'll sort out the Christmas stuff," Namjoon hurries out, standing as you do.

You're already dialling when his hand comes into your line of vision, gently wrapping around your forearm and squeezing reassuringly.

"We'll get him, Y/n," Namjoon promises, "you're an amazing detective."

You soften, flicking him an appreciative smile as you raise the phone to your ear, but your heart sinks. Maybe that's not enough.

Things return to the way they are, for a while. With every name you write down, every candle you sell (far more than the previous weeks as Christmas grows nearer day by day), and every suspect your investigation team crosses off the list, you loosen up, feeling more positive.

Nothing stops the dread you feel checking your phone every morning, and there's nothing better than the overwhelming relief you feel when there hasn't been news. It's illogical, you know; if there was another murder, your superiors wouldn't hesitate to wake you. Part of the gig. But still, it was nice to clear your notifications and breathe easy for a few moments.

Namjoon was doing good on his end of the deal, persuading all the customers to sign up for the Christmas prize pack, no matter how reluctant, and you siphoned photocopies off to the investigators, adding to the backlog more background checks to run and alibis to clear.

"God," you groan, stretching out your limbs with a guttural noise that morphs into a wide yawn. "So busy yesterday, and suddenly it's dead quiet. How can it be this slow on a Saturday?"

"It's a Sunday."

"Is it?" You consult your phone with another groan. "Fuck, I'm reaching the drop-off point."

"The what?"

You let out a tired smile at Namjoon's comical look of confusion. "The drop-off point," you repeat. "It's something my friends and I came up with in school. Apparently, most cases go cold right when the police or detectives or whoever get compliant and lazy, thinking they have a perfect net placed out. They're convinced that they'll catch the sucker, so they sit back and wait, only for a hole to form right under their noses and the suspect to get away. That's the drop-off point. Aren't you bored?"

"Hm?"

"Bored. We think, 'oh, we just need to keep writing down names and we'll get 'em.' But maybe we're so focussed on writing names that we're missing something really obvious that we'll regret for years to come. Don't you think?"

Namjoon raises his eyebrows, letting it sink in for a moment. "I think you're worrying yourself over nothing. This whole time our first major in was that the person is a customer. They can't have bought all the candles at once; not only would I probably remember someone coming in and ordering five or so specific candles, but some of the later candles weren't even released when the first murder happened. So we know for a fact they're coming back to get candles multiple times. And nobody has left here with a candle without writing their full name and contact details down, so we're fine. You're fine."

You stare at Namjoon for a few moments, eyes roaming over his face. The dimple that's emerged with his soft smile, the warmth of his eyes and the earnestness in his expression. Your heart aches at the sight, mouth filling with a million things you wish you could say to him. "Thank you," you settle on. "I needed that."

His smile widens, and his mouth opens to reply, but instead of his caramel voice, you're greeted with the metallic buzz of your phone vibrating on the desk.

"Fuck," you interrupt, snatching it off the counter and feeling your good mood sour with dread at the ID. You answer it with a worried frown, gnawing at your bottom lip. "Please don't tell me there's been another," you ask of your superior.

The line is silent for a moment. "We need you down here, Y/n. Bring any names you have so far. The gap between has shortened yet again; he's getting impatient. Or addicted. Desperate, perhaps, if he thinks we're onto him. Either way, you better have something. I'll see you at the station."

Your stomach turns when the line goes dead.

Namjoon's hand rests on your shoulder, but you have to shake it off to stand and reach for your coat. He takes it back, flexing it awkwardly. "There's been another," he says, more of a statement than a question.

"The drop-off point," you confirm bitterly, "he's slipped through the net yet again. I was careful this time; not a single person that seemed out of place, or with odd behavior. Nothing."

"Hey," Namjoon soothes, eyebrows knitting in worry as a customer enters, a young child in a school uniform and backpack, preventing him from saying any details. "It's okay. You have the names now, it's time to compare them and like you said last week, there's no way we won't be able to narrow it down. You've got this."

A headache forming between your temples, you grab the clipboard of Christmas prize signups, and leave out the back, glancing behind you at Namjoon's tensed form as he puts on a smile for the young customer.

"It's him, it's fucking him, I know it," you rush out as you hustle down the corridor, your boss pacing to keep up.

"Are you one hundred percent certain?" Kim Seokjin, the man you'd been reporting to on this case, halts you with an arm across your chest. "We haven't finished going through the other suspects. There could be others that match better. We don't even know that he knew all of the victims."

"It's him," you promise, eyes bright with conviction. "Cha Giho. In-house chef at the Im residence. So he knew Jee-hwa was out. And he frequented the shop, I sent Namjoon a text of his ID photo and Namjoon recognised him as a regular."

Seokjin's face twists in disapproval. "Jesus Christ, Y/n, you can't do that, it's private information. Besides; you said you remember speaking with him. You didn't get any serial killer vibes?"

"I didn't speak with him; Namjoon did. I was just with him at the desk. He wanted Namjoon to recommend a candle for a forest getaway, Jin, it's fucking him!"

Seokjin sighs out slowly, eyes closing for a moment to maintain composure. "Okay. I'll go with your gut on this one, Y/n, but only because I trust you. We'll go to his place tonight and take him in for questioning on suspicion of multiple murders. If you're wrong on this, Y/n-"

"I'm not wrong," you promise, "I'm not." Your face softens, staring up at the man that you had developed a close working relationship with over the past few years. The man you had begun to see as a personal hero, or an older brother. "Jin. Thank you for trusting me on this. Keep me posted."

"Of course." He pulls you into a brief but tight hug, pressing a kiss to your hairline, and pulling you back by your shoulders to hold you at arm's length, staring intensely. "Now listen to me. You go home and you stay home. Lock the doors, bolt them, everything. On the odd chance that he's not at home or that he finds out we've singled him out, I don't want him to freak out and go against his own sick brand of justice and seek out revenge instead. The last thing we want is a dangerous man like him becoming spontaneous. Understood?"

You nod. "Understood."

He doesn't let go. "And don't be stupid and go track down Mister Candlestick Maker either. We've given him a call to lock up and go home, he's safe. Please; be selfish for me and stay home and stay safe."

You pout playfully for a moment, but sober up when his expression doesn't changes. "You too, Jin. Send the SWAT team. I need you alive to bother me."

He scoffs, but his eyes twinkle with fondness, and maybe a little teary sentiment. "Okay, kid, off you go, I have a suspect to detain."

"Aye aye, Captain."

"What are you doing here?" "Being stupid," you answer through the crack in the door, "now let me in."

Namjoon sighs, shutting the door to remove the chain and opens it back up again, ushering you inside with a cautious look outside after you. Closing it securely behind him, he turns to you. "Why are you here?"

You push past him, grabbing his woolly sweater by the sleeve to pull him after you. "I saw you burn yourself with your own candle wax last week because you wanted to read the label on the base right after you poured it. There's a serial killer on the loose, I don't trust you to keep yourself safe." "Thanks," he says flatly as you sit him down on his plushy couch, standing beside, knees almost touching his. "To be fair, there's been a serial killer on the loose this whole time."

"All going well, he gets detained and know we found him out. All going poorly, he manages to evade the authorities and goes on the run, knowing we found him out. I don't like those odds."

"Don't you have faith in your own colleagues?"

You whirl around with a glare, arms crossed tightly. "Aren't I allowed to be scared for you?" you ask in a small yet biting voice, hating the way it trembles. "Can't you just let me take care of you? Keep you safe?"

He nods slowly. "Sit down," he instructs gently. He waits until you do as he says. "Now," he begins, "what's really bothering you? There's something else going on here and both you and I know it."

You purse your lips, tucking your legs up, resting your chin on your knees and wrapping your arm around them. "Crystal Snow."

"Sorry?"

"I never told you," you answer, though deep inside you know full well this isn't what he meant, "I never told you what candle the last murder was based off. It was Crystal Snow."

He clears his throat lightly, eyes dull as you dodge his true question. "That's Christmas release candle just like Silver Spoon. Another woody one, too. Pine needles, fir, white musk, rosemary and cedar. Hard to get it totally white with those ingredients, but... That's beside the point. Was it in a forest again? I know we have pine trees in the area."

You shake your head numbly, only just noticing the warm fireplace to the left of the couch when it crackles. Somehow, you hadn't felt any of its warmth since arriving. "Father of two young children. Found by the older one that morning when he went outside to play in the snow. His father was buried in it, frozen. His head and shoulders were stuffed into a kennel."

"A kennel?"

"It's from their dog. Wife says it wasn't used anymore. The victim used to always make the dog sleep outside in the kennel, but it wasn't properly insulated. Just got back from the vets after getting pneumonia last week."

He lets out a heavy sigh. "At least we've got him now, Y/n. It's over." He stands up suddenly, and you look up at him. "Do you want a cup of tea or something?" he offers. "Now that you're here, I'd rather you not go back outside, so we might as well get comfortable."

You try to push your worries from your mind, simply giving him a soft smile. "Tea sounds nice, thank you."

As you listen to him tinker away in the kitchen, you shuffle further across the couch in the direction of the fireplace, occupying the space he left warm. There's a window to the left, and you rub your forearms through the fabric of your long-sleeved top, looking outside as flakes of snow pile against the sill, partially blocking your view of the white abyss beyond, vaguely hilly like the terrain of Namjoon's backyard. If nothing else, it's much more peaceful here than at your place. More quiet.

You straighten up suddenly, a shiver running up your spine. Too quiet.

You jump up, rushing into the kitchen and feeling dread shock your system like a splash of cold water when it's empty. Surely he didn't leave a door unlocked... "Namjoon?"

"Yeah?"

You jump at the voice behind you. "Fuck, Namjoon, where were you?"

He stands in a now-open doorway, one hand behind his back as the other grips the doorknob. "In the workshop," he answers, jerking his chin back to gesture the room itself behind him, adjoining to the kitchen.

You sag in relief, but frown a little. "I don't remember coming through the kitchen last time."

"Two entrances," he explains. "This actually used to be a walk-in pantry but I knocked down the doors so there was some extra space." He shakes his head as if he's clearing it, then coughs lightly, eyes focussing in on yours intensely. "Y/n, I have something I want to give you-"

"A heart attack," you interrupt, smacking his chest. "Seriously, Namjoon, you disappeared and I thought something had happened!"

He smiles widely, and you fight to stop from instinctively returning it. "You really do, huh?"

Your face crumples in confusion. "I do what?"

"Care for me," he finishes in a touched voice, brown eyes soft like butter. "I...I thought so for a while, but I never..." He clears his throat again, and whips his hand out from behind his back so quickly you jump, brandishing a glass jar. "Here," he declares, "I made this for you."

You look down in wonder, seeing a familiar shade of purple fill the glass. "Namjoon..."

"4 O'Clock. The lavender candle. Years, and I couldn't perfect it. And then you came along and I found myself thinking about you every minute of every day and it just... it just came to me thanks to you. Everything just makes sense now. I finally mixed the scent with the wax, and I want you to have the first one."

You let him place it in your hands, and you look down at it, stunned. Your thumb runs over the paper sticker, pressed with a stamp. Just three lines, in varyingly sized font.

"So?" Namjoon takes a deep breath, eyes brimming with emotion, with affection and hope. "I kept telling myself I was being delusional, or just convincing myself and seeing what wasn't really there, but after today... You really care for me. And I care for you too, so much, Y/n. I've totally fallen for you."

You swallow thickly, delicately setting the unlit candle down on the kitchen counter beside you.

Namjoon's face falls, his whole body deflates, brows knitted in confusion. "Y/n?"

You can't bear to hear the hurt in his voice. "Namjoon..." you breathe, chanting it like a prayer. Perhaps in some ways, it is. A plea for salvation. Namjoon. "I came to you for my work. And... now that we know who it is, I'm going to have to leave tomorrow now that my work is done. For the integrity of the case, I have to remain professional. Whatever my feelings are-" you break off, heart breaking at the way he looks up in renewed hope. "Whatever my feelings may be, I can't act on them."

Namjoon nods slowly, trying to keep his face neutral as he looks down at the candle sitting abandoned on the kitchen bench, but also at the way your hand hovers, fingers resting on the edge like they can't bear to leave it completely. Finally, he lifts his eyes to your face, searching for an emotional vulnerability that you can't help but imagine is clear to see.

Silently, with only the blanketed hush of the snow outside to surround you in this moment, Namjoon takes one step forward, so that you would have to crane your neck to keep his gaze. So that your bodies almost touch. So that he can rest his palms on your cheeks, cupping them gently and tipping your face up to meet his. "Then please," he begs, voice barely more than a low whisper, "let me act on mine."

The lightest gasp leaves your lips before he bends down and kisses the sound away, warm and sweet and desperate, cradling you like he's scared you'll turn to dust beneath his fingers if he's not perfectly gentle. A murmur comes from his throat, something you think may be your name, and a wall inside you breaks, a cord snaps.

Reaching up, you wrap one hand around his wrist and the other in the fabric of his collar, pulling at it to deepen the kiss, and he melts, taking short steps forward as you shuffle back, until the small of your back presses against the kitchen counter and you arch over it a little with the deepness of his kisses, growing more fevered after receiving a positive response.

You shouldn't be doing this. But god, it feels too good to stop, your heart beating so fast that you feel it where your chests press together, senses going haywire until you feel drunk on him, like the only oxygen in the world is inside Kim Namjoon's mouth, the swipe of his tongue against your lower lip like a burst of euphoria, a gasp of fresh air that saves you from drowning.

One of his hands slips back further, winding into your hair and cupping the back of your head, and you tremble as he presses you so fully against him, even his leg slipping between your thighs so that not a single millimeter of space keeps you apart.

His skin is so hot where it touches yours that you feel on fire, and you have the sudden urge to rip off your top so that you can bare yourself to him, even simple layers of fabric too much separation to handle.

He pulls away reluctantly to pant, lips pink and swollen, pupils blown wide, and you follow suit to catch your breath.

"Y/n," he finally makes out through gasps, thumb rubbing mindlessly at your cheekbone, "if you're going to regret this in the morning, please stop. I can't- you can't give me everything only to take it away again. I'm willing to wait. Until they arrest Cha Giho, until they convict him, until you hand in your final report, I don't care, I'll wait for you. When we do this it can't be a mistake." He stares at you earnestly, openly, hopelessly.

Your eyes widen, taking in his words. "Namjoon, I... Are you sure? I promise I want you, but... if they call you up as a witness and we've been sleeping together, it could totally invali-"

"I know, I know, it's okay," he reassures. "I understand." He gives you a fond smile. "Just knowing you feel the same is enough for me."

You nod, a strange blend of relief and regret mingling inside you. "Thank you, Namjoon. I'm sorry."

He lets you stay entangled like this for a few more bittersweet moments, before gently slipping his hand out of your hair and letting his other fall from your face, stepping away. "Don't apologise, there's no need. Now; I think we've both had enough excitement for one night. I might skip the tea and get straight to bed."

You stand up straight again on slightly shaky legs. "I can take the couch."

"You could," he jibes with a grin, "or you could just sleep in the spare bedroom."

You laugh, poking his rumpled sweater. "What a gentleman."

He shrugs with a warm smile, turning to lead the way. "And just because we aren't sharing the same bed," he calls out over his shoulder, "doesn't mean you can leave without saying goodbye."

"I would never," you promise.

The call comes in the early hours of the morning. Enough for you to be unceremoniously ripped from unconsciousness, the deepest sleep you ever remember having. You’ve purposely set your boss’ ringtone to be the most annoying, whiny preset tune you could find so that it would wake you when needed, and you regret that decision now as the sharp blue light causes you to wince.

“What is it?” you croak, forgoing pleasantries.

“Can you contact Kim Namjoon? He’s not answering his phone.”

You frown, mind feeling two steps behind as you struggle to process his words. “Answering his pho- What’s going on, Jin?”

“He left a note,” your boss explains. “At his house, Cha Giho left a note. I need to speak with Mister Kim.”

You sit up like a bolt. “He what? It’s him, then, it’s definitely him? What did it say?”

Jin lets out a little breath of forced patience. “Can you pass on a message to Mister Kim?”

The Mister Kim that was currently sleeping just down the hall. “I could probably work something out,” you answer. “What did the note say, Jin? Is Namjoon in danger?”

“Namjoon,” Jin repeats blankly. He goes silent for a moment. “...You didn’t go straight home when I asked, did you?”

You huff, jaw tensing. “Now’s not the time, okay? If Cha Giho is still out there, then I need to know what he said in that note, Jin. We don’t need another body.”

Even through the phone connection, you hear the reluctant clicking of his tongue. Jin clears his throat and begins to read. “‘All these months I had hoped you would recognise me. You were always happy to recommend me a candle every time but yet you never asked me my name or how I was doing. I’m sick of taking justice out on them, treating your word like God. I want this to end tonight. I’m going to take my justice out on you.’ That’s it, that’s all he wrote. So wake up Mister Kim or don’t, but whatever you do, make sure the house is safe and that you two stay there. Got it?”

“Of course,” you reply, but your mind is already whirring, getting up and tugging on your shoes with one hand. “Listen, Jin, I’ve gotta go, I want to wake up Namjoon so he knows what’s going on. Better to stay alert and aware. Thanks for the call.” You hang up before he can respond, and break into a hasty jog the moment the call ends.

You didn’t know if Cha knew where Namjoon lived. You didn’t know how or when or where he was planning to strike. But you knew the one thing that could tell you.

You write a note for Namjoon in rushed but legible handwriting, instructing him to stay inside and stay safe, that you just needed to visit the store quickly to check up on something. After making sure all the curtains in the house were drawn, the windows were firmly shut and the doors locked, you leave, the front door clicking and locking with a finality that steels you.

You drive in tense silence, eyes flitting all over the road in front of you, at the milky pools of yellow your headlights cast onto the gravel. Part of you is expecting the middle-aged man to be crouched behind a bush with an old-timey revolver, or screaming down the road with a bloody butcher knife. Years you’ve been working this job, and still these fantasies have a tendency to overtake you. The entire drive, only a few cars go past you, none looking particularly unusual.

You realise your mistake the moment you pull up across the road from the silent row of stores that house Moni’s Candle Shop. You also know it’s too late to go back.

Each one of those stores are dead quiet, totally black. In a town this small, there weren’t even any neon lights that would illuminate the streets all night. You can barely see by the wan glow of the streetlamps, few and far between, but even if they weren’t there, your eyes would be drawn to Moni’s anyway.

Easily visible through the glass of the door, sitting on the front display, is a single candle with a warm flickering flame.

You flick your engine off, and slump backwards in your seat, kicking out with a cry of frustration. He wasn’t going to Namjoon. He was going to let Namjoon come to him.

And now that you’re here - and there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s watching out - even if you turn around and leave, there’s nothing to say he won’t follow you back.

Not for the first time in your career, directly disobeying and lying to your boss hadn’t worked out as well as you had intended. You had thought that checking out the list of customers’ names and their purchases would aid you, that perhaps if you looked up the latest candle Cha Giho had bought that somehow you could predict what move he’d make, but it seems it’s too late for that.

You stay like that, in your car in the dark, for about twenty minutes, trying to figure out a game plan. You didn’t fancy calling your boss and having him chew you out and suspend you, but at the same time it wasn’t like you could wake Namjoon and get him to bike all the way down at four in the morning. If Cha saw police sirens, he’d definitely split and then you’d be no better off. And the longer you waited, doing nothing, the more vulnerable you were, just a sitting duck in your car.

With a steeling breath, you throw open the car door, stumbling out into the frosty air, cursing as a cutting breeze saps the heat from your body. As you cross the road, you keep an ear out, ducking your head to send a text to Jin anyway, just a GPS location marker, immediately putting your phone on Do Not Disturb afterwards. As much as he knew how to bite your head off when you fucked up, you’d rather be on his grumpy side than six feet under. You were reckless, not stupid.

The front door is unlocked. It shouldn’t be, but you suppose Cha was courteous enough to make the way easy enough. The bell jingling is noisy enough to make you jump, and you warily hold up your arm in a protective stance, eyeing the shadows.

Luckily, you aren’t immediately assaulted by an attacker, and the door closes behind you, still unlocked. The moment you take a breath, a rich scent fills your nose; caramelised with a warm spice to it. Even as you need to stay alert, it begins to relax your tense muscles. As you breathe it in, you take a moment to let your eyes adjust to the dim inside of the store. Orange plays across your eyes from the warm flame of the candle, but it doesn’t reach far, and you can’t see very deep in the store. There’s no one immediately in your vicinity, but that doesn’t mean Cha isn’t somewhere in the store.

“Come out,” you call, relying on your experience in the field to keep your voice stable. “I know you’re there. Let’s do this the easy way; we already have your written confession, so you might as well cooperate with me now.”

You wait for a moment, but you can’t hear anything, not even a rustle of fabric or a breath. He was going to do this the hard way.

Sighing, you move forward with cautious steps, approaching the display table that houses the candle on one of its upper tiers, right at easy arm’s reach. Taking care not to disturb the melted wax inside, you lift it, trying to make out the paper label. With light coming from within, its shadowed in black, and you huff, reaching in your pocket to pull out your phone, using the light to see.

You suck in a breath. So he had planned on killing Namjoon here, then.

“Very funny,” you announce flatly, “Magic Shop, huh? Did you pick this one yourself?”

Still, the room stays silent, and you frown. Normally by now the killer would have either grown defensive, smug, or aggressive. You weren’t prepared for the total lack of response. A niggling thread of doubt begins to knot itself inside your chest. You glance down at the candle one more time. The wax itself is a glossy tan, but almost the entire top third, if not half, is molten, tipping around the sides. This candle has been burning for hours.

With the cold splash of realization running down your spine, you slam the candle back on the display table, cursing when the wax spills out, pouring over your hand. You recoil like you’ve been stung, rubbing at the burning over your knuckles, an angry red welt already rising on the skin.

Doing your best to ignore it, you turn your phone flashlight to the rest of the store, forcing yourself to investigate the whole interior just to confirm Cha isn’t still there, or hasn’t left anything behind. Even though your heart is screaming at you to leave, you dutifully look in every human-sized nook and cranny, taking just enough time to confirm what you already know.

Cha isn’t here.

Magic Shop was never Moni’s, it was Namjoon’s workshop.

And you’d left Namjoon alone there.

It’s a good thing it’s the middle of the night and there aren’t many cars around. You floored it like never before, very nearly careening off the road on several turns on the windy road back to Namjoon’s house, and you just about crashed into his house with the speed at which you approached it, not even bothering to fully turn off your car as you rush to the front door, banging on it wildly.

As you whack your fists against the solid door, numb to the sharp pain of your burned skin impacting on it, you scream Namjoon’s name, loud enough for your throat to go raw. After a minute with no reply, you push back tears and begin to run around the perimeter, swearing in terrified frustration as all the windows and doors are as securely shut as when you’d left them.

Cha was long gone when you arrived at Moni’s Candle Shop; there was no way you had beat him here, no way he wasn’t already inside. Barely aware of the tears blurring your vision, you reach into your pocket for your phone, shakily dialing the one person you knew would pick up without delay.

“Jin,” you sob out the second the other line picks up, cringing at the loud noises of police sirens that floods his end, “I was wrong, he’s not at the store, he’s here, he’s-”

“Y/n, where the fuck are you?”

You freeze your frantic pacing around the back of Namjoon’s house at the harrowed tone in your boss’ voice. Even as you threw around the f-word like crazy at work, Jin had never once sworn, not at you, not at anyone. “I’m- I’m at Namjoon’s house, Jin, I just got back here after-”

“You went to the store right after I told you to stay put, you reckless fucking girl, do you have any idea how terrified I was when I got here and couldn’t find you anywhere?”

“Got here? You went to the shop?”

The piercing noise of sirens fades away slowly, like Seokjin’s walking further away, and you can hear him puffing into the phone, shallow breaths. “Of course I went to the shop, Y/n, because I knew how stupid you can be and I was fucking right! You’re just lucky you didn’t get hurt.”

Your eyes widen. “No! Jin, no, Cha hasn’t disappeared completely, he’s here, at Namjoon’s house, I know it! I’m stuck outside, Namjoon isn’t responding, I’m-” you break off, voice cracking violently as a sob bubbles to the surface. You let fresh tears run hot tracks down your face. “God, what if he’s dead already, Jin? I can’t-”

“We’re going to come down there, Y/n, I’ve already sent out the rest of the squad cars that stayed at the station, they should get there first. Just stay safe, okay? This isn’t what you want to hear but if Cha and Namjoon are both in there, then he’s probably already dead, Y/n. You know that, it’s what your training tells you, so it would be foolish of you to break in without backup…” He trails off with a sigh. “But you’re not going to listen to any of this. I don’t know why I bother.”

You hiccup, using the light of the moon to try and spot some rocks that would be of use in breaking a window. “I can’t wait outside, Jin. I can’t.”

Jin goes silent for a moment, the only sound a muted thud of a car door opening and then closing again. “...The profiling team have kept researching Cha. The pulled medical history shows he had surgery on his right knee in March of this year.”

You use your other arm to chuck a heavy rock at one of the back bedroom windows, ducking and turning away to protect your face from any stray shards. You hear Jin sigh at the noise. “Thank you, Jin. I’ll keep it in mind. I have to go.”

“Don’t get yourself killed, kid,” Jin jokes, but his voice falls flat, unconvincing. “Please don’t,” he adds weakly, the line going dead right after.

You straighten back up, shaking off the few pieces of glass that had landed on your back and in your hair, and take off your coat, hissing at the cold air as you lay it over the jagged edges of the smashed window.

Climbing in is easy enough, and you emerge in an unfamiliar room, one that, even just by the pale glow of the moon, is visibly lived in. Namjoon’s bedroom.

Giving an apologetic wince as you crunch over the broken glass littered all over his carpet, you quickly pick up the nearest thing you could possibly use as a weapon, which happens to be a massive hardback book on his nightstand, an intricate and heavy edition of The Odyssey. Even as your heart races enough to bang against your ribs, you spare a fond smile at the man’s reading choices, holding the hulking thing in front of you like a barricade.

It feels strange, slinking down the carpeted hallway towards the kitchen. Every second of silence you’re expecting to be filled by a guttural scream or a thud of impact or a gunshot. Every shadow seems to shift and move, more dark in the house than light to see by. It feels like wading through shark infested waters with nothing but a pair of floaties as protection.

You pause, just for a moment, when you enter the kitchen, squinting at the light pooling out of a crack in the door to the workshop. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids in vibrant yellows and neon pinks, split seconds of colour with every blink. Once you think you can see without wincing, you take a quiet breath, tiptoeing closer and closer, cringing at the barely audible tap-squeak of your boots on the linoleum floor.

When you gingerly peek around the corner, into the room, you have to clap a hand over your mouth to prevent your gasp from being heard.

The first thing you see is Namjoon.

Arms and torso bound to a chair with the thick industrial packing tape he used for his online orders, Namjoon has his eyes squeezed shut, not in pain but in fear, and his glasses are askew, one lens cracked. He’s rendered mute with more tape, but the edges are lifting from where his tears have slipped between.

That’s not what causes a dark bolt of fear to run through you, though.

Namjoon’s drenched. Absolutely soaked through his clothes, his dark blonde hair sopping. His nose flares at the stench, and you can smell it from here.

Lighter fluid.

For his final masterpiece, Cha had drawn inspiration not from the ingredients, but from the candle itself. You jerk as a wave of bile rises in your throat, managing to swallow it down.

You crane your head more, looking through the tiny gap to make sure Cha isn’t already lighting a match. You spy his silhouette browsing the shelves of ingredients, a few steps away from Namjoon. His hands are empty, and that’s enough for you.

You kick in the door, receiving a gratifying jump from Cha as he whirls around with widened eyes, before they lower again into a lazy grin. You glare at him, eyes darting over to Namjoon, calculating if you’d have enough time to run to him without Cha intercepting. With a tense jaw, you remain in the doorway.

The serial killer laughs, an off-kilter, grating noise. He’s quite handsome, dark hair and sculpted face, but there’s an unsettling gleam in his eyes that revolts you. “I’ve been expecting you,” he announces in a sing-song voice. “Though you took so long. Namjoon and I have been growing bored, quite frankly.”

You let your eyes return to Namjoon, who shakes like a leaf, chest rising and falling in little pants, unable to get enough air through his nose. Rage wells inside you at the sight, but deeper than that, true fear. You almost feel like falling to your knees in tears, begging to exchange your life for his. Anything to get him out of the hot seat, quite literally.

“It’s over, Cha,” you say instead, “the cops are on their way, it’s only a matter of time before they storm the place. Even if you somehow slip away, every police station in the country has a picture of your face on their Wanted board. Every airport, train station and bus terminal won’t let you through. And in the morning, the Wickerman’s true identity will be blasted all over the news. No matter what you do, it’s over. Don’t make any rash decisions.”

His face curls up angrily at this, marring his fine features. “Rash decisions? Tell me, Detective, has there been anything I’ve done so far that has struck you as a rash decision? You wound me.”

You refrain from rolling your eyes, the irritation at his blase behavior welling inside you with no outlet. Keep him talking, you think to yourself. If he won’t give up, just distract him long enough for backup to arrive. “Well, I can only imagine this whole crackpot scheme of yours was borne from a rash decision. Scented candles? It’s a joke.”

He recoils visibly, eye twitching. “It’s inspired,” he spits back venomously, “something nobody appreciates these days. It’s not your average pointless slasher, it’s hard work and it’s art and it’s for the greater good. Those people I killed, all of them, were monsters.”

“They were only human,” you disagree firmly, “just like you.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes wavering. “I’m not human. I’m a god.”

“I thought Namjoon was the god,” you retort drily, forcing yourself to ignore Namjoon’s brows furrowing in confusion. “Or was that note of yours bullshit too?”

“You read it?” Cha blinks suddenly, nose flaring as he collects himself. “I was wrong. I thought I was acting on his behalf, fulfilling the prophecy of each candle. Carrying out justice. Killing bad people.” Cha turns to where Namjoon’s sitting with a glare. “He recommended every single one of those candles to me personally. They meant something.”

A strange, wounded gurgle sounds from behind the tape over Namjoon’s lips. It sounds like a denial. Or maybe an apology.

“He recommended them because they smelt good, Giho,” you explain through gritted teeth. “But those murders? The children without a father now? The zoo that has to close down because of its shot reputation? That is all on you.”

The skinny man buries his face in his hands for a moment, roughly rubbing at his eyes with a confused moan. “No, I- I was doing it for the betterment of society, these people were leeches, they were abusers, they were lazy, they were selfish.”

“And you’re a murderer,” you reply simply. “Who’s worse off?”

That seems to shut him up. Opening and closing his mouth like a fish, he takes a shuddering breath and turns to the shelf of ingredients, keeping you in his peripheral, but focusing on the rows and rows of jarred powders and liquids and other items.

You slowly edge closer to Namjoon, aware that Cha is much closer than you, and you can’t imagine you’d be able to get to him in time without Cha freaking out and pulling out a lighter or a match. There’s a bulge in his pants pocket that gives you pause.

“It’s over,” Cha mumbles slowly, picking up a half-empty jar of ground nutmeg, watching the layers shift as he turned it. “Only, it’s not. Not yet. Not quite over.”

He holds the jar in one large palm, but you spy his other hand sinking lower, slowly like he doesn’t want you to notice. With a rising heart rate, you turn your head to Namjoon, widening your eyes at him to catch his attention. Knee, you mouth, as widely as you dare. Cha doesn’t catch it, too busy trying to be subtle himself.

Namjoon’s eyes frown at you behind cracked glasses, before he straightens up slightly in realization. His eyes flick over to Cha’s legs, and back at you, raising his brows in question. Your head lifts in the tiniest nod. Then, you tap your right leg twice. Namjoon breathes in deeply through his nostrils, hands flexing on the arms of the chair.

Not wasting another moment, as Cha’s fingers begin to dip below the edge of his pocket, you rush forward, quickly enough to get his attention but slowly enough that he easily overtakes you, lifting out his hand again to hold them both up in front of you defensively.

Your eyes dart behind him, to Namjoon. He’s still too far away for Namjoon to be able to kick out and reach him, so you take a bold step forward, internally cheering when Cha frowns and reflexively backs up in response.

“There’s no need for this nonsense,” you declare, barely aware of what you’re saying, your mouth on autopilot as you take a step closer. “I don’t want to take you down with force, but I will if it comes to that. Resisting will get you nowhere.” You step forward again.

Cha keeps shuffling backwards, eyeing you with a warning in his eyes. “I’m going to prison anyway, then,” he reasons, “it’s only right that my work is completed before I do.” His hand lowers again, and your heart races, body bringing you two steps forward in quick succession without thought.

The man stumbles back in shock, recoiling like you had jumped him, but frowns when his clear footsteps change sound, a tiny wet slap echoing in the workshop instead. He looks down dumbly, to where the excessive puddle of lighter fluid has splashed up his pant legs and soaked his shoes.

His eyes widen, and he looks up again at you in something akin to betrayal.

You wish you could signal to Namjoon that now was the time, but for some reason Namjoon’s foot ekes forward gingerly, like he’s testing out if he could reach. Instead, you keep your focus on the murderer. “Now you see, Giho? If you set the fire, you burn too.”

A second after it comes out of your mouth, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

His face curls up in a snarl, and he shoves his hand in his pocket, pulling out not a lighter or a box of matches, but a switchblade. You gasp and jump back reflexively at the glint of the blade, but he raises it with a growl, bringing it down faster than you can move out of his range for.

A line of fire runs across your forearm as you throw it up to defend you, and you let out a cry through gritted teeth at the deep cut. Cha lifts the dripping blade to charge at you again, but suddenly his hand goes lax and his mouth opens with a pained howl, sinking suddenly to the floor as his knee gives out from underneath him.

Once he hits the puddle of lighter fluid, sending drops all over your clothes, you look past his writhing body to Namjoon, whose leg is still held out in front of him, panting with worried eyes.

Frantically, you pick up the dropped knife, slippery in your grasp from your own blood, and you rush to Namjoon’s chair, slicing through the thick layers of tape, keeping one eye behind you at the man sobbing on the floor in agony, yelling intelligible insults and guttural curses.

The moment his hands are free, Namjoon rips away the tape over his mouth with a pained hiss, massaging the stinging skin. “Y/n, you-”

“Not now,” you interrupt brusquely, finally freeing him from the chair and grabbing his hand, tugging him away as fast as you can go.

Once the two of you leave into the kitchen, you shut the door to the workshop, dashing into the dining room to find a chair to slot under the doorknob, jamming it closed. In less than a minute, you’re out of the house and collapsing onto the frozen grass, cradling your injured arm and doing your best to maintain pressure on it, Namjoon ripping off his shirt and tearing it at the seams to form rough strips, which he binds and ties around the wound, apologising breathlessly when you scrunch up your face at the pain.

“Goodness, I’m so sorry, I have to, you’re bleeding so much, oh Jesus…”

Perhaps it’s the blood loss or the adrenaline that’s making you a little loopy, but you giggle hopelessly at the frightened look on his face.

Namjoon, with lips looking raw from the ripped tape, huffs down at you. “This is serious, Y/n, you could die, don’t laugh at me when I’m helping you!”

This strikes you as even funnier in your hazy mindset, and you keep giggling, hiccuping on dried tears, shivering violently under his gentle touch as the cold air wraps around you more tightly than the bandages on your arm.

“God, I… That was fucking wild in there, I can’t even...process it right now. But I- Are you with me? Y/n?”

You smile dopily at Namjoon, nodding. The rest of the scenery around him is swirling and your stomach lurches with a sickening voracity, but it’s okay when you look deep into his kind eyes and his open face. It’s okay when you have Namjoon beside you, because no matter how cold you are, your heart is burning like a furnace when you look at him and feel him.

He lets out a slow exhale, sitting down beside you with a strong palm on your back to stabilise your wobbling. “I’ve never been that scared in my life, I really thought I was going to die. And when I did, all I could think of was how much I hoped you’d still be okay. Because there is nothing I wouldn’t do to have you stay safe, to keep you safe. That guy pulled a knife on you, Y/n, he stabbed you, and all I could think of was how I wished it was me instead who got hurt. I don’t ever want to see you get hurt, I don’t think my heart can take it again. I- When I was in there, and he was waiting for you, and all I could smell was gasoline… I thought I was going to die, and it gave me a certain type of clarity, I guess. I could think clearly for the first time in a long time. And all I could think about was you. I’m in love with you, Y/n, hopelessly in love with you, and I know I said I’d wait until the case was fully closed and done with, and I will, of course I will, but I just couldn’t wait that long to tell you how deep my feelings go, I- God, am I even making sense right now? It must be the adrenaline, I feel- Y/n?”

You lean forward unsteadily, balancing yourself with a hand on his knee. He stares at you with wide eyes, caught off-guard by your sudden movement. Your grin has disappeared, replaced by a look of wonder. “Case closed,” you announce warmly.

He cocks his head. “What?”

“Case closed,” you repeat insistently, “just for now, case closed. So quick; kiss me before I pass out again.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and with no further persuasion needed, he dips his head forward, joining your lips in a tender kiss, foul-tasting from the lighter fluid but still so sweet. You feel yourself melt into him, pressing your upper body against him, and your eyes slip closed so that all of your other senses come to life with Namjoon, only Namjoon, everything Namjoon.

His hand rises to cup your face softly, and you grip his forearm like it’s an anchor, his lips moving against yours like the tides; constant fluidity with a calm power just beneath the surface, and you’re lost to it, caught in his riptide with no hope or desire to ever get out.

Colours swim behind your eyes, and your arm begins to go numb, fingers falling slack and dropping off his forearm. As an enveloping nothingness creeps into the corners of your mind, slowly pulling you from Namjoon, the last thing you’re aware of is the worried call of your name, before you fall into that black ocean.

TWO MONTHS LATER

Jin glances up at you with a start as you drop the heavy manila folder on his desk. His widened eyes drop to it, the fresh red ink stamped across the top, a thick rubber band holding countless slips of paper, photographs, typewritten transcripts and photocopies, all the written evidence and reporting of the case.

Your boss straightens up, like in the presence of someone important. “This it?” he questions simply, though his tone belies the significance of the item on his desk. You give a short nod, tamping down the smirk that threatens to tug at your lips. “And the online report?”

“Submitted,” you answer, unable to control the smug warmth in your voice.

Jin pats the top of the thick file fondly, eyes darting back up to you. “The families?”

“Notified,” you respond dutifully, though something keeps you slightly fidgety, absentmindedly massaging your forearm, feeling the raised line of the scar you were left with.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by the man swaying side to side on his office chair. His face softens, a tender smile emerging. “And young Mister Kim?”

Your hand goes still as you break his knowing gaze. “I- Well, I figured it would be best if I did a courtesy visit, just to, you know, talk it through properl-”

“It’s okay,” Jin cuts in, “I’m not going to lecture you. I really appreciate that you put this case first and kept...that on standby, but your obligation is over. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s a good one.”

You smirk, tilting your head playfully. “Is that your way of giving me permission, Kim Seokjin?”

A light blush tints the tips of his ears red as he splutters defensively. “God, no,” he scoffs, “if it were up to me, you’d stay pure and innocent forever.”

He breaks off to send you a salacious wink to let you know he’s joking around, and you laugh, turning to leave. Your hand rests on the doorknob of his office door before he speaks up again. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?” you reply without looking, opening the door and letting yourself hover half-inside, half-out.

Jin’s voice is warm, full of tender fondness that could only be cultivated by years of working side by side. “You’re my best girl, you know that?”

You flick him one last grin. “Right back atcha.”

He beams happily, and you’re already out of the office before you hear the offended cry of him processing your words.

Namjoon’s front door is open when you pull up, gravel crunching below your feet. Your first instinct is alarm, especially considering what went down the last time you were here, but it doesn't seem like anything ominous.

In fact, as you approach, you realise it's quite the opposite. A rich smell wafts out the open door, somewhat familiar yet unique scent that you can't quite put your finger on. You take a step inside, calling out his name, but recoil when, instead of the glossy wood of the entryway, your shoe lands on something soft and springy. You look down, eyes widening in bewilderment at the sight that greets you.

Piled at the front door and winding down and around the hallway are countless fresh rose petals, the same dusky pink shade that you recognise from his flower garden outside. Did he have someone over?

You call his name out again, but instead of a response, you strain your ear to hear a faint melodic hum, a honeyed tune that invites you in.

Leaving your coat and shoes at the door, you follow the trail of petals, careful not to step on any more. You find yourself smiling as you notice some of them with rips and tears at the base, others squished or bent, like he was in a hurry when deflowering the rose bushes.

Both the enticing smell and the dreamy humming crescendo the further along you follow the path of rose petals. They're leading you towards the workshop, through the living room and kitchen, but part of you knew that the moment you walked in the door. It was the heart and soul of the house, and it didn't surprise you that he was in there.

In fact, as your socked feet slip slightly on the smooth tiles of the kitchen, you pinpoint one of the delicate fragrances that fill the air. It's the scent of roses.

"Namjoon?" This time, as you call his name a third time, you open the door to the workshop further, and step inside, eyes searching. Although it's a strange mirror of the last time you were here, your heart is beating out of your chest for a different reason.

When you see him, it's like you're falling in love for the first time, though you've long since accepted over that long two months apart that you had been totally head over heels with him for a lot longer. But still, your heart swells, and you can't help but beam warmly at the sight that greets you.

Namjoon's so entirely engrossed in what he's doing that you don't think he even heard you, still lost in his own melody, something you begin to recall is from a romance movie or a ballet, classical and moving.

His tall figure is bent over the central island bench, using a massive tub with a spout to pour a dusky pink wax into several glass jars, the long, uncut wicks held upright with little metal rods that lie across the top of the jar. His biceps strain under his messy green t-shirt, and the hulking tub is almost the size of his torso, yet his hands don't shake the slightest, and he manages to fill each jar to the same height, about a couple centimetres below the rim, without pouring any over those metal rods. He works quickly, but even if it took him an hour you're convinced you would've happily stood there in awed silence the whole time, unwilling to disturb him.

His hummed tune stops, and he pours a single sample candle in focussed silence, before picking up a new train of notes, a composition you recognise as a Chopin tune, Nocturne-something, but a much lower version, coming from the resonance of his throat. As you watch him closely, his eyebrows move with the music, knitting together and lifting on the higher notes, a subconscious smile tugging at his closed mouth.

As he reaches the end of the rows of empty glasses, the molten wax in the tub running low, he loses track of the rhythm, diverting into his own stream of haphazard runs and melodies, something that's even more endearing to you. Fuck, you're smitten.

Finally, as he puts down the heavy tub on the concrete floor with a sigh, rolling his shoulders back and wiggling his fingers to relax the muscles, you clear your throat loudly, making him jump in his spot and whirl around, eyes widening at your presence.

"Y/n? You got here fast!"

Your smile falters, replaced by a look of confusion. "I... what?"

Namjoon seems to realise belatedly what he said, wincing at himself with a sheepish laugh. "Uh, maybe I got a call from a certain someone...saying to expect you..."

Jin. You nod. "Figures." But then, a thought strikes you, and you glance back the way you came, at the path of rose petals that leads away behind you like the tail of a comet. "So this is all for me?"

Namjoon's eyes are bright, no glasses to obstruct them. You tamp down a grin at the fond memory of his theory about not wearing his glasses while in the workshop, that his sense of smell was better with poor vision. It is so clear to you that every atom in him, every moment and every thought, was filled with nothing but love for his craft.

You want that love yourself, even just a fraction of it. To see if his hands would take as much care with you as with the production of those candles. To know if the sounds that left his throat then would be as melodic as his absent-minded humming.

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment to return your mind to the present moment, where Namjoon's tender gaze is on you, eyes searching your face with an open vulnerability.

"Of course it's all for you," he says simply, and the casual intimacy of his comment runs shivers down your spine. "It's done, isn't it?" he questions. "It's over."

Your eyes crinkle with the warmth of your smile. You nod, not trusting your voice.

"Come here," he instructs gently, tilting his head down at the slowly cooling candles. As you approach the bench, he darts away, returning with a paper sticker stuck to his pointer finger. Picking a candle at random, he holds it level so as not to disrupt the wax, and wraps the sticker around the side of the glass, ensuring the corners are flat and snug against the curve. "Here, smell this. It's what I've been working on while the store was closed for the trial."

You're sure to handle the glass jar with as much care as he does when he gives it to you. You couldn't deny the hours you had spent at your desk, or in court, wondering what Namjoon was doing. Your higher-ups, the men Jin reported to, had deemed it necessary to temporarily shut down Moni's Candle Shop over the period of the trial, knowing the unsavoury publicity it might receive, and while increased footfall and news coverage proved them right, you knew it must have bothered Namjoon immensely to be separated from it for so long. It seemed at least he had been productive.

Without reading the label, you lift the opening to your nose, recoiling slightly when the overpowering scent hits your nostrils.

Namjoon laughs, placing a warm hand over your much smaller one, pressing down so that your face was at a safe enough distance from the candle. "Wax smells a lot stronger when heated," he explains with a laugh in his tone, "so maybe don't dip your nose in it."

You flick him a dry look, though you can't keep serious for longer than a moment, too focussed on the heavy weight in your hands. Sniffing, more delicately this time, your eyes slip shut in bliss as you breathe in the enveloping scent. Just one inhale eases your muscles, relaxes your brow, and brings a soft smile to your face.

The first thing you recognise is that perfumed sweetness of the rose, but it's deepened with hints of something incredibly familiar, something you just can't put your finger on, even as it makes your heart swell in your chest.

"What is that?" you question with a confused lilt to your voice, tentatively raising it higher inch by inch in the hopes that you'll finally get it.

Namjoon's eyes glitter; like he's forgotten until now, his hand suddenly shifts from resting on top of yours to cupped below, as he pulls your hand further away from your face, stretching your arm out and up. "Read the label," he replies instead, turning the glass jar around within your grasp, until the paper faces you. You feel his eyes on you as your expression changes with the carefully handwritten words.

"Namjoon..." you breathe, feeling yourself tear up a little, overwhelmed with the emotions that flooded your senses.

His fingers cover the corners, but you can still easily make out what it says.

He’s pulling the candle out of your hand gently, placing it back on the counter top, but you don’t look away from his face for a second. He’s avoiding your gaze like he’s shy, fiddling with a patch of dried wax on the hem of his shirt, but he looks up in surprise when you take a large step forward, enough for his hands to be trapped between you. He wiggles them out, where they awkwardly hover at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He looks so unsure of himself, yet his eyes are so earnest, that it melts you.

“Namjoon,” you repeat softly, “can I ask you a question too?”

He blinks once, taken off-guard. He nods silently, a tense, jerky movement.

A warm smile breaks across your face as you look up at him, at the man you’ve irrevocably fallen in love with. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, but it doesn’t matter when you stand so close. “Will you kiss me?”

There’s a single moment that separates the two of you. A single moment where all the tension floods from his body. Where his mouth drops slightly open and his eyebrows lift in surprise. Where an involuntary sigh of relief leaves his parted lips.

And then those lips are on yours, and you’re apart no longer.

Namjoon kisses you like you’re more delicate than the glass of those jars, like you’re more precious than all the ingredients that line his shelves, like you mean the world to him, and it takes your breath away.

He kisses slow, every sliver of contact cherished and savoured, your face cupped between his palms, thumbs rubbing soothingly at your cheekbones as he tips your face up higher towards him, so he can breathe you in. With languid yet fevered movements, Namjoon deepens the kiss until your nerves are on fire, his body heat against you only adding to the blaze, the occasional slip of tongue sending jolts of electricity down your spine. You feel alive, more now than you have for years, and his scent and his taste and the murmur in his throat are the anchors that tie you to him, to this feeling.

Desperate to be closer, you reach up and fist handfuls of his shirt in your hands, the fabric warmed by his body, and tug him more securely against you. He reflexively drops a hand from your face to wrap his arm around your back, and tilts his head to the side slightly to intensify the kiss even further, raw need quickening the pace even as his lips stay soft and sensual against yours.

When he eventually pulls away to take a breath, the two of you are panting, and you can see his eyes are blown wide with desire, nothing but a narrow ring of rich brown around his dilated pupils.

You heart leaps at the way he keeps you pressed to him, cupping your face with a tender smile playing at his lips. “Yes,” you announce warmly.

His head tilts to the side. “Yes…? Yes what?”

Your grin stretches. “It’s the answer to your question.” You gesture with a tip of your chin to the slowly-solidifying candles. “Yes, I’ll be yours. So; will you be mine too?”

You think you could stay in this moment forever; snug in his warm embrace, lips still tingling from where he’s kissed you, cheek hot where his large palm rests. From the way he looks down at you, you imagine he feels quite the same.

“Oh, my love,” he assures softly, “I’ve been yours all along.”

#btswriterscollective #secretsanta2019 #btswritingcafe #thekimlinenet #bts fic #namjoon x reader #ficswithluv #bts x reader #bts oneshot #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #namjoon fic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #knj fic #knj x reader

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stardew-imagines-me · 5 years ago

Note

Hello! Can I get Harvey, Shane and Elliot with a very bubbly and happy s/o? Like, not to an annoying point, but it’s definitely noticeable! Thank you so much!! I absolutely love your writing! 💕

Awwe, thank you so much!! 💙💙🥺

Shane

• Shane had a few expectations for his future; 1. Work until he died 2. Drink until he died 3. Die. What he hadn’t really planned was to fall in love with someone the complete opposite of him

- every time you would prounce into town, too early in the morning with some freshly made apple cider and some fruit so he could eat later, it never ceased to blow him away

• it was alarming at first; having someone so close see the world in such a different like from himself, ignoring the struggles of the world and focusing on what was in front of themselves with a hopeful smile

- sometimes, he wondered if he could smile so genuinely like that someday too. With you though, he knew that day was bound to come

• “do you always wake up like a cracked out squirrel?” He asked one day, watching your face drop for a split second and sending you barreling over, laughing ungodly hard

- “what’s that supposed to mean?” You respond, desperately wiping a tear away from your eye. He only shook his head, cracking something of a smirk before biting into the crisp apple you had given him

- “it’s just, you make me happy,”

Harvey

• Harvey often wondered how it was possible for someone to be the embodiment of sunshine, but when he watched you light up a room with just a smile, it suddenly all made sense

- when Harvey was with you, he didn’t worry, he didn’t feel nervous or shaky, he felt stable. You were his happy pill, the only medicine he needed, and for once in his life, he could relax

• “good morning,” you murmur in Harvey’s ear, placing the cup of coffee you made especially for him onto his desk, kissing behind his ear gently

- “you’re an angel,” Harvey hummed, lovestruck as he brought the hot liquid up to his mouth and taking a long sip

- “how is it?” You ask, brushing your hands in his hair as he finishes the gulp. He rests his head back into your hold, enjoying the way you combed with your fingers

- “amazing as always,” ducking down, you kiss his forehead, smiling as he reaches up to meet your hands, “but you know I don’t need it when you’re around,”

Elliott

• Elliott had always written about selfless heroes without capes; a person with no regrets when sacrificing anything for their love, their family or another’s happiness

- of course, these were always stories he knew. In real life, no one was truly as kind hearted and pure as the tales would tell, and it saddened him to no extent

• as time passed though, he found that his writings gradually grew lighter, softer, happier. He found inspiration in blooming flowers and flourishing crops - beauty in straw hats and muddy boots, in hands that could both work tirelessly in plucking weeds and hand feeding young farm animals just as gently

- he could only write about sunshine and loud laughter, bubbly personalities and genuine souls. And when he looked at you, he could feel the blood in his veins rush at the sight of a modern angel without any wings, in exchange for a watering bucket and some pocket change

• “Elliotttttttt,” you whined, pushing away the ink bottle so you could sit on top of his desk, watching the young author immersed in his work

- “what’re you writing about?” You asked, curiously pointing out a few words that seemed a little too familiar. Love, contentment, serendipity

- “I’m writing about you,”

#sdv shane #sdv harvey #sdv elliott #sdv imagines #sdv imagine #sdv #sdv headcanons

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randombtsprincessa · 5 years ago

Text

Bells and Roses

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 4.4k

Genre: Smut

Summary: You pay your muse a visit. Or alternatively; you and Jimin haven’t defined a relationship but does it stop you from turning it wild? Lol no.

Warning: Jimin dancing, no real relationship defined, pink! Jimin, a lot of handsy behaviour, fingering, oral (female receiving), riding, sub! Jimin, unprotected sex (be safe kiddos)!

A/N: Happy Birthday, my love, my life, my beautiful Park Jimin! I was inspired for this fic from Cake Waltz! You can listen to it while reading this!

I love feedback!

An idle glance was cast at the delicate chain watch circling your wrist, eyes flickering over the glittery digits before returning to the front of the hall. A hush fell over the murmuring crowds surrounding you, the well-dressed masses shifting and straightening in their plush seats with their eyes drawing to the front as well where the spotlights had been directed.

You waited keenly, the rest of the ambient lights dimming till darkness hid you in its embrace, masking away the slight change in your face, if any occurred.

You, of course, knew it was inevitable. You were an expressive person, some might say a little highly strung, but it was all in a day’s work. You were here to have fun, let loose. Maybe even get another stroke of inspiration but you weren’t going to be specific about it.

This wasn’t about you, not really.

The curtains rose and colors exploded in your vision.

A dusky shade of pink was first, circling spotlights forming a halo upon the wooden stage where stood perfectly posed, curled ballerinas in glittering costumes of the same pink. The pink light dimmed, the ballerinas sinking to the floor with their feet curled behind them, a bow of sorts.

Another light burned, a blinding silver this time, hitting just the edge of the curtains and unbidden, your body lurched forward in anticipation.

The light flickered, building tension as a brush of strings echoed, followed by a deep thrum of beats that pulsed in your blood. It was an unusual combination, mellow, sweet tinkles that contrasted against the sultry bass, sending chills down your back.

The spotlight was back and from it – just as the beat dropped – emerged the reason why you were here, sitting among people who held no delight for you.

The figure threw itself into a spin that had you gasping in concern, feet flying over where a head should be, before landing squarely in the centre of the second spotlight, this time a raging purple. Loose, white shirt that hung around the torso and black tights caught the light, glinting and winking at the audience with its sequins.

No, your delight lay in this, watching the figure unfurl, standing straight and proud, a tilt to his head that had him eyeing the crowd, a particular trance in those orbs that made you bite into the glossed surface of your lip.

The ballerinas moved in synchrony, as they reached up on their toes, a perfect throw arabesque pointing towards the figure of your interest but he still didn’t move, taking his time to study the audience that watched. You sent a silent thanks to the darkness that shielded you because when he was done, he turned his back to the stage before opening the dance with a pirouette, a brush of his fingers trailed onto each dancer that had been turned to him.

You slumped in your seat, chin stuck to your chest as headiness clouded your mind. Your eyes never strayed, fixed on the man that pranced, settled and then took flight (almost literally) on the stage. The bass never seemed to reduce his pace, his feet, encased in white, following the faerie precision of the composition.

The dance was a mix of his contemporary and ballet, the ballerinas more an accessory on the stage, paling next to his vitality but of course you could be biased. It wasn’t like you even saw what the girls and boys in the tutus were doing. Your eyes were fixed on the man who with a roll of his neck, turned a seducer and then as innocent with big glimmering eyes and a too familiar pout.

The music went on, and your delight soared with him.

It was almost too short but it was more than enough for you, overwhelmed as you got to your feet with the rest of the audience when they rose for a standing ovation.

He finished off the dance with an over exaggerated flourish, a mischief that he loved when he knew that he had rendered a mind blowing performance. His head was tilted again, eyes roving.

You could’ve sworn there was a hint of a smirk brewing on his face but there was no way it could’ve been aimed at you. You had shrouded yourself from him exquisitely. He had no business having that smirk on his face.

Park Jimin

The name lay as exquisitely upon your tongue as the finest wine, the sweetest delicacy. Meeting him had been the rarest coincidences, but knowing him now felt like serendipity. You had been a fresh out of college artist, eager with your skill and your degree.

Everything had been lovely until you were prompted to hold your own exhibition in one of your friend’s galleries and you were struck without inspiration. Landscapes…cityscapes…abstract…nothing seemed to fit. Canvases were discarded, paints tossed around, palettes and brushes broken in frustration and quite a few tears shed before an impromptu walk through the city landed you standing dubiously in front of the Theatre.

Slumped in one the same chairs as you had been, you’d laid eyes first on the lead dancer for Calico Dance Academy, the rising star. You had both been much younger back then but even then he had been graceful, sleek like a striking cobra and just as entrancing.

He had basically pried your third eye open with his beauty. So, when you learned that his doors were open for admirers, you knew you had to take your chance.

You gazed at the bouquet in your hand, clasped loosely within your fingers as you studied the flowers.

“How may I help you?”

You flinched at the customary questioned posed to you by the cheerful florist, soft cheeks lifting as she welcomed you to the counter.

“Yes, hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat. “I would like some flowers, please.”

“You’ve come to the right place.” The girl laughed softly, but not deprecatingly, moving to the side so you could see the arrangements behind her. “How would you like them?”

You studied the shelves, moving from the simple collection of a few stems tied neatly together to an extravagant affair of lilies and daffodils, too big for you to carry.

You thought back to the night before and the lapels of the man’s costume.

“Can I customize a bouquet, with sunflowers and roses? And could you add those small bells to it?”

It was relatively easier, finding Jimin’s delivery address and dropping the flowers off. The studio was not too big, considering the academy was still finding itself but Jimin was certainly quick to find you, following you out one day when you were done leaving the flowers at the front desk.

“Hey, you’re the secret admirer.”

You turned to see the beaming man taking quick steps towards you, still in a tight black shirt and leggings that enhanced his thighs. You were surprised to say he was much shorter up front and that much more beautiful.

He smiled at the startled look on your face and you could’ve sworn flowers blossomed from the cracks of the concrete sidewalk.

“You leave me flowers,” he prompted.

You nodded, more for your sake than his as he stuck out his hand. “It’s not much of a point being a secret admirer. Let’s make friends.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Some people would like a secret admirer.” You told him, catching his hand in yours nevertheless.

“Some people would also be creeped out by it but you seem nice. I’m Jimin, and you are…?”

You stared at the expectant look on his face, a part of you itching with some indescribable emotion.

“Y/N,” you managed at last. “I’m Y/N.”

Park Jimin proved to be a great friend. With the most charming disposition, he was also equally brainy. As clichéd as it seemed, he helped you see things that you didn’t in your not so humble artistic perspective. He was a storm, bubbling with gossamer energy and you had never been so grateful to have your life thrown in the path of so impressive a storm.

So, after a soft afternoon spent in the park with ice cream after his practice you popped your question.

“So…you know, I am a painter right?” you asked lightly.

Jimin slurped at his strawberry scoop delicately. “Yup,”

“I was, just thinking, you know, that – if you don’t mind awfully – I could paint…you, I guess.”

Jimin stopped with his tongue still gracing the side of his scoop, his eyes flickering to yours in amazement. “You want to…paint me?” He asked.

You shook yourself a little, ready to save face. “It was just a thought. I mean, you don’t have to even consider it. I know most people get freaked by the thought of getting painted and it’s a whole lot of hassle.”

Jimin cut you off, laughing as he streaked an ice cream soaked finger across your cheek. You squealed in turn, sliding away from him on the seat.

“Stop trying to put me off, Y/N. Of course, I’d model for you. I’d be honored. We can go now; I have all the time in the world.” Jimin leaned in and before you could even register the motion, he’d kissed the line of pink sugar from your skin, popping his lips as he did so, careless and ignorant of the way your eyes lingered on his mouth.

Four hours later, your masterpiece was ready of sorts. Jimin held still the way you told him to, hair fluffed as he stared out your window in one of his somber stage expressions.

“God, Y/N,” Jimin grinned, peering over your shoulder, watching you apply the small shades and contours to his neck and collarbones. You’d yanked his sweater down a little, much to Jimin’s amusement to reveal the sharp bones beforehand. You thanked your insight now; they looked beautiful in the fading evening sunlight.

“Is that a good god or a bad god?” You halted your hand, staring at the picture in trepidation before Jimin laid a warm hand on your shoulder.

“Good, Y/N, I can’t wait to see myself up on your friend’s wall.”

You invited Jimin with your customary selection of flowers, delivered to his house this time, the invitation to the exhibition tucked within the stems.

It seemed Jimin was much more excited about the exhibition because he showed up an hour before you; seeking his picture while you ignorantly mingled, clueless until you spotted a familiar figure, studying the one picture you were responsible for.

“Jimin,” You called the man, his head tilted to the side as he stared at his likeness against the lavender wall.

“Y/N,” he greeted, not looking at you, thankfully because you were blatantly staring at your friend.

You had never had occasion to see Park Jimin in a suit but by god, it was a sight.

Tight black satin clung to his figure, stretching over his shoulders and hugging his waist. “I see you found your picture.” You had to smile.

Jimin turned to you with a smirk. “I don’t know if it’s the lighting or the finishing touches but I do look mighty fine. You picked a fantastic model.”

You shoved at him. “That’s just your ego talking. I have it on good authority that the painting is just fine.”

He pouted at that. “What have I said about the self depreciation, Y/N?” He didn’t wait for an answer, aiming a hopeful look at his own self. “So, when do you need another painting of a hunk?”

It was during the third painting that you and Jimin ended up on your too messy bed. Fast, rough and brilliant, Jimin rolled off of you in a daze, eye glimmering in the shadows.

“If I’d known you felt that good, I’d have jumped on you sooner.” You managed in a huff, causing Jimin to break out in a guffaw that lasted well into the minutes that you took to clean up and slip into a nightgown.

He stayed on his back, gloriously naked with no signs of wanting to pull the comforter up across his body. You stepped cautious when you saw that the light in his eyes had changed, something deeper and serious flickering in them now.

“What’s wrong?” you’d asked.

Jimin was mum for a while before speaking, “I don’t want you to think of this the wrong way.” He said slowly before wincing, realizing the start had been wrong itself.

He sat up, finally tugging on the covers to recover some dignity. “I meant, I don’t want you to think that I’m just into the whole wham-bam-thank you ma’am thing.”

You continued to frown, silence prodding him into further speech.

“I want this, I really do but I don’t know how much time I can devote to you.” He said finally.

You broke out laughing. “Jimin, you know we don’t have to define a relationship just because we slept together one time. We can still be friends.”

“I don’t want to just be friends though. I want to define something, just in case you go and find some other muse.”

It had taken a few days to discuss out terms to define a relationship between you and Jimin. Both of you were busy people, what with your exhibits picking up and needing you to focus on extensive travel while he toured for his own shows.

You didn’t want to look it to face but you knew Jimin was a very attractive man with a healthy amount of libido that needed to go around along his charisma. That was one of the first things you’d brought up; exclusivity. However, your friend turned potential lover had quickly shot the idea down, vehemently stating he would very much appreciate some form of stability, something solid to come back to.

Did that answer any of your questions? No, neither did you manage to put a finger to what exactly it was that Jimin and you were.

However, it did not stop either of you from falling into bed with each other whenever Jimin and you happened to be in the same city.

You were at your florist again; much more upright and sure of your order this time as you smiled at the long term girl friend behind the counter.

“Y/N! It’s been a while.” She greeted, straightening the uniform cap perched on her bleached hair.

“Hey Solji, yes it has.” You agreed, your eyes screening the assortment of flowers.

“I take it the special receiver of the flower is back in town then?” She asked, moving to the usual selection of sunflowers, fresh and dewy, high near the sun.

“How do you know?” you gasped, looking around as Solji smirked, wrapped a pretty blue paper around the roses and sunflowers.

“I’ve been wrapping flowers for a good many years, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of flower givers. You’re timed and only get one particular customization. Of course, he or she is special.” She plucked out a tiny string of small bells before tying the package off.

“Pretty observant, I’ll have to be more careful.”

“Or one day you can just introduce us,” she teased back, cashing you out. The soft giggles followed you a good way as you carried the bouquet towards Jimin’s building.

It had been a few months since Jimin had moved out of the small apartment that he’d had to share with roommates. With the success and acclaim that followed his dancing troupe, he had purchased an apartment of his own, making it easier for you to show up whenever you wanted to.

You deigned to be sneaky about your approach, leaving a small painting of his last performance, on cheap canvas first at his doorstep, sliding it in and ringing the doorbell, quickly concealing yourself in the alcove of the stairs. You watched the door swing open quickly before a head peeked around, looking slyly around before shutting the door again.

You let out a giggle, flitting down again to place the bouquet in front of the door when the door flew open again, nearly scaring you into heart palpitations as you were met by the crinkle eyed grin of none other than Park Jimin.

Clad in baggy grey pants and a pale blue shirt, stood the man who’d been your muse ever since you’d laid eyes on him. As your eyes drifted over his features you fixated on one change that had you gaping.

“Jimin,” you gasped out, “…your hair is pink!”

On his part, he looked sheepish, raising a hand to pat at his head before opening the door wider to let you slide in, swiping the bouquet from your hand and taking a whiff.

“Ah, my favorite,” he sighed, complacent as you looked down the apartment you hadn’t stepped into for months now.

The deep, woody scent of new furniture still lingered, clearly from having been locked ever since he got it and you wondered if you should’ve gotten a bigger bouquet so he could smell something better than varnish.

The sweet bliss of his arms wrapping around you diverted your attention, turning to look up at him.

“I saw your name in the audience listing.” He mumbled, lowering his head to nuzzle within the crook of your neck.

“And hence the smirk,” you realized, placing both hands on his chest. “You knew I was there. And here I thought, I’d surprise you,”

“I always check audience listings in case some company is scouting.” He shrugged before smiling slyly. “So, did someone miss me?”

“Nope,” you shrugged away, walking off to remove your coat, knowing that Jimin was sporting a spectacular pout by now. Such a spoilt baby…

“Ugh, come on, I missed you, you know…pay attention!” He whined, catching you near the couch, back to wrapping his arms around you.

Spinning you around he caught your lips in a nostalgic kiss, scorching in the way his plump petals caressed yours, trying to find a break in your armor.

You let him find it, wrapping your arms around his neck as he tugged you closer, a satisfied hum escaping the pair of you, his hand drifting over your waist and back before pulling away.

“I wanted to come back ever since I got on the plane you know,” he told you.

You smiled, remembering the pained expression with which he had dropped your hand, disappearing through security with his eyes returning to you every few seconds.

“I know, I could tell.” You brushed kisses over his jaw line.

He tilted his head back before looking down at you, amber eyes glinting in the afternoon sun beaming into his living room. “Stay with me.” He whispered, a lull of command in his voice that made the dull ache in your stomach sharpen, keening you towards him.

He raised his eyebrows in a way that told you he knew his effect on you and you allowed him to bask in the knowledge. “I already planned to.” You let him know.

“Good, because I’m taking you to bed and not letting you up until we’re hungry and gross.” He said, not waiting for a reply as he tugged on your hand, leading you further into his home.

You barely had time to glance around the space before Jimin was locking the bedroom door, pressing your bodies up against it and leaning over you. Warm breath wafted over your bottom lip when he brushed his against your tingling skin.

Your hands crept up his back, moving to pink fleece on his head. It must’ve been hard to maintain it without getting it fried completely but the strands felt silky enough with your eyes closed.

Jimin walked backwards, hands drifting down to his shirt and pulling it off and moving to his windows, drawing the shades and casting the room in gloomy lighting.

“Come on then,” he grinned and you followed, pulling at your clothes until they decorated your steps towards him where he sat on his bed, watching you with his lip caught between his teeth. The strip tease probably wasn’t as sexy as you wanted it to be but at least you tried and by the looks of it, it was enough.

Jimin’s hands wrapped around your waist, squeezing with abandon. “I missed your skin, your warmth.” His eyes drifted to you lazily, his fingers moving to the band of your simple underwear. You placed your hands on his shoulders, balancing yourself as he began to tug the garment down your legs, the action even more erotic when he groaned; catching sight of your glistening slit.

Jimin’s thick fingers landed first at your knees, slipping around the back and sliding upwards, his eyes still glued to yours, minutely examining each expression or change that passed over your face. The way you tilted your head back before down again to look at his actions, the small pants; they were only making Jimin harder, wanting to rip into you with wild, wicked intentions. He held control, of course, no need to rush.

His breath hitched when his thumb finally made contact with the apex of your thighs, eyes flashing to the point of contact before up at you again. Was that a hint of apprehension?

“You’re already wet.” He mumbled, your eyes fluttering and cheeks reddening but you held fast to him.

Jimin had clearly been working out. His shoulders were broader; muscles more pronounced at you latched yourself on them while he attended to you in his gentle yet teasing ways.

And then he lowered his mouth…

You were glad that you had had the foresight of grabbing Jimin before because even before those luscious lips touched your skin, you were buckling, a rampant moan escaping you when he carefully parted your slick flesh, exposing your clit to his punishing tongue. Jimin pulled away, his tongue swirling before retreating back.

“I missed your heat.” He said before diving back in.

There were few things in your life that compared to Jimin giving head. Maybe the first time you had seen him naked, his skin glowing but still full, nothing chiseled about him as of then. Now he was harder, his planes more defined but you loved him just as much, the rake of your fingernails still shone the same and your kisses worn with as much pride as he used to.

Jimin was far into you for you to think much ahead. The way his hand migrated to hitch your leg up, placing it on the bed next to him to give him more access before dipping his fingers into you, curving the way he knew he reached your sweet spot, waiting for the groan to be satisfied before he returned to sucking your clit into his mouth, tongue pushing forward so he could collect more of your juices on his tongue.

He barely took a breath, finally pulling away and retracting his fingers from you gently, feeling the tightness of you close on his hand, trying to keep him there.

“Fuck, don’t be greedy, babe. You’ll get what you want.” He chuckled, deep and throaty. His eyes were nearly black now, pupils blown out.

You’d loved that, how he could be so fucked out even when he barely received any pleasure himself.

You removed your hands from his shoulders, studying him carefully. His cheeks were sunk in, a little more angular than you remembered. His biceps bulged where he leant on them, his thighs were thicker. You made a mental note to feed him while you had him here and another to ride his delicious legs while you were at it.

Jimin smiled a little at your scrutiny, “Y/N, what are you thinking?”

You didn’t answer immediately, instead reaching up to undo your bra, letting it drop at his feet. “I’m thinking…I want to ride you.”

Jimin’s mouth dropped, you could see him clearly swallow before he was nodding. “Yeah, okay, we can make that happen.”

He began to back further onto the bed but you stopped him, placing a hand on his knees to bunch the material of his sweats and tugging at them.

Your lover gave you a wide eyed stare. “Like this?”

Your eyes ran up the newly acquired abs, placing a kiss directly on them. He clenched at the contact. “Like this,” you whispered.

Jimin was quick to lose the sweats at that, eyeing you for further instruction as you flicked your hair behind you, placing a knee on the bed beside his hip and the other on his chest, anchoring yourself as he held himself at the base, angling the tip to brush against your entrance. You sighed, the thrum of his groan as you sat down on him bracing you.

The stretch burned you deliciously, the girth of him sliding against the right spots as you tried to get him in as deep as you could.

Jimin’s back arched, the tips of his fingers digging into the skin of your hips as he mumbled unknown, unheard words. His eyes opened to see you kneeling over him.

“Fuck me, please.” He begged, a hint of desperation plaguing him that you couldn’t ignore.

Raising yourself, still using your hands for support, you dropped back down, using his pants of breath as a metronome, your hips gyrating and thrusting in time with him.

Jimin lay obediently still below you, letting you fuck the both of you into a pleasurable oblivion. His skin was starting to collect sheen.

You bent over him, feeling him whimper before bracing himself against the floor and thrust up into your warmth. His hands moved up your back, digging into certain special spots before wrapping into your hair, trapping you against him as you sunk your teeth in his shoulder, hiding cries of pleasure that he could hear anyway.

“Are you close?” He asked, yanking on your hair to look at your face, contorted a little.

“So close,” You arched your back, further pushing your body into his skillful hands.

“Good, me too, I want you to come with me.” Jimin let his hand cup a breast, while the other fell where your bodies connected. His thumbs set to work, rubbing sparks of extra pleasure into your peaking nipple and clit.

You whined, back tilting as your nails dug into his thighs as you exploded on top of him, a similar groan sounding below you as Jimin let go as well.

You felt his seed flood you as you convulsed on him and you probably would’ve toppled over if Jimin hadn’t sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you close while he kept thrusting, slowly letting you both come back down to earth.

By the way his hand moved back to your ass, a light squeeze placed on it, you knew you were far from done.

#smutcentralnet #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin #park jimin #bts #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts jimin #jimin scenario #bts scenarios #happy birthday jimin #bells and roses

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chicagoindiecritics · 5 years ago

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New from Every Movie Has a Lesson by Don Shanahan: EDITORIAL: Movies and the 9/11 effect

(Image: pathtoparadise.com)

EIGHTH EDITION: UPDATED SEPTEMBER 11, 2019– In an update to my annual editorial (after the original post on the 10th anniversary in 2011), I’ve got new movie inclusions in several sections, including the most recent section of faded and relaxed sensitivity in films. I plan to make this an annual post and study for at least until the 20th anniversary in 2021. (All poster images are courtesy of IMPAwards.com)

Never forget. There’s no doubt that every American over the age of 25 won’t soon forget where they were 18 years ago at 8:46AM on September 11, 2001. The world and our American lifestyle changed forever that day in more ways that we can measure. I know movies and cinema are trivial pieces of entertainment compared to the more important things in life, but movies have always been two-hour vacations and therapy sessions from life, even in the face of immense tragedy. Sometimes, we need movies to inspire us and help us remember the good in things, while still being entertained. In seventeen years, they too have changed.

I’m here for an editorial research piece on the anniversary of 9/11 to showcase a few movies, both serious and not-so-serious, that speak to that day whether as a tribute, remembrance, or example of how life has changed since that fateful day. Enjoy!

MOVIES THAT WERE OPENING THAT FRIDAY EIGHTEEN YEARS AGO

Call this a time capsule, but these were the notable movies that opened Friday, September 7, 2001 and Friday, September 14, 2001, the two Fridays surrounding 9/11. Such a different time, huh? Needless to say, few people were in the mood for a movie in those first weeks and the fall 2001 box office took quite a hit until the Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone showed up in November 2001, followed by Ocean’s Eleven and The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring that December.

The Musketeer (September 7th)

Soul Survivors (September 7th)

Rock Star (September 7th)

Hardball (September 14th)

The Glass House (September 14th)

All were box office bombs at the time. The Musketeer garnered a good bit of overseas earnings and Hardball got some of the best reviews of Keanu Reeves’s post-Matrix career and grew to be a DVD hit. Still, talk about bad timing.

EXAMPLES OF 2001-2002 MOVIES CHANGED BECAUSE OF 9/11

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Spider-Man— Many of you may remember seeing this teaser for the big comic book blockbuster before it was pulled post-9/11. (New remastered video in 2019)

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Donnie Darko— Suggested by Feelin’ Film Facebook Discussion Group contributor Josh Powers. Released months before 9/11, few remember how much this film was somewhat buried and forced to become an underground cult favorite due to a pivotal moment involving a horrific plane crash.

Lilo and Stitch— See a side-by-side video clip of differences in Imgur. The trivia notes behind it are explained on IMDb.

Collateral Damage— The Arnold Schwarzenegger terrorism movie had its release date bumped and terrorist overtones mellowed down. (trailer)

City by the Sea— The production on this Robert DeNiro/James Franco thriller was moved from New York to Los Angeles in July 2001, dodging the terrorism attacks that would have threatened their home Tribeca studios. (trailer)

Sidewalks of New York–– Edward Burns intermingled love story movie was bumped to November and had to have its posters changed. See right here on the left for an example. (trailer)

Men in Black II— The original scripted ending of the movie was scripted to have the World Trade Center towers open up to release a barrage of UFOs. (trailer)

Serendipity and Zoolander— Both movies had shots of the WTC digitally removed from the skylines of their finished films before they hit theaters that fall.

The Time Machine— Had its December 2001 release bumped to March because of a potentially sensitive scene of meteor shower over New York (which it cut). (trailer)

Big Trouble— It too had its nuclear bomb-centered plot cause a release delay well into 2002. The delay didn’t help this already awful movie. (trailer)

MOVIES ABOUT 9/11 ITSELF

September 11 (2002)– International directors from around the world, including Ken Loach, Mira Nair, and future Oscar winner Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, made a two-hour anthology of short films showing creative expressions of other cultures and their reactions to the tragedy.

United 93 (2006)– Bourne Supremacy and Bourne Ultimatum director Paul Greengrass took an unknown cast and directed a harrowing real-time account of the flight that fought back. Hard to watch, but undeniably powerful without exploiting the tragedy. (trailer)

World Trade Center (2006)– Conspiracy specialist Oliver Stone turns off the urge to dig into his usual musings and delivers an incredibly humble, respectful, and understated (words that hardly ever describe an Oliver Stone movie) true story of the last two men (Nicolas Cage and Michael Pena) rescued alive at Ground Zero. Worth every moment to see and a great tribute to the first responders and their families. (trailer)

9/11 (2017)– I think we all knew a day would come where some hack film was going to come around and exploit the tragedy that is the 2001 terrorist attacks. That award goes to Charlie Sheen, Whoopi Goldberg, and director Martin Guigui’s straight-to-VOD trash heap. Sheen, a noted conspiracy theorist on 9/11, took it upon himself to make a glamour project stepping on history. Do not waste your time with this film.

MOVIES WITH PROMINENT 9/11 CONNECTIONS

The Guys (2002)– One of the first reactionary films to 9/11 came from Focus Features in 2002 and starred Anthony LaPaglia and Sigourney Weaver. Based on Anne Nelson’s heartfelt play, LaPaglia plays a fire captain who lost eight men on 9/11 and Weaver plays the editor who helps him write eulogies for the fallen. The film is only available on disc from Amazon. (trailer)

WTC View (2005)– Gallows humor bubbles to the surface in this off-kilter indie romance from Brian Sloan about a SoHo man who placed an ad to find a new roommate and September 10th and now lives through a more difficult and trying landscape. (trailer)

Reign Over Me (2007)– In a rare dramatic turn, Adam Sandler plays a fictional wayward man who lost his wife and daughters on 9/11 and tailspins through life fiver years later when an old college friend (Don Cheadle) tries to help keep him from being committed to a psychiatric care. (trailer)

Remember Me (2010)– Billed as a coming-of-age film starring Twilight star Robert Pattinson, it features a fictitious family affected by the tragedy, including the fall of the WTC. Most critics found the 9/11 connections exploitative and offensive. (trailer)

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Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (2011)– Speaking of exploitative, the Tom Hanks/Sandra Bullock Oscar nominee from this past year definitely rubbed more than a few audiences the wrong way in using 9/11 as a backdrop to a fictional family tragedy. Critics (including this one) clamored that if you’re going to bring 9/11 to the big screen, use a real story. (trailer) (my full review)

September Morning (2017)– Independent writer/director Ryan Frost crafted a small drama about five college freshman staying up all night after 9/11 weighing the impact it will have on their present and future. The film won a youth jury award at the Rhode Island International Film Festival. (trailer)

MOVIES ABOUT THE WAR ON TERROR

In the decade since September 11, 2011, our largest response as a nation to the terrorism of that day has been a pair of wars overseas in the countries of Iraq and Afghanistan. The “war on terror” has quickly grown into a ripe orchard for possible movie storylines.

Home of the Brave (2006)–Rocky producer Irwin Winkler earns the credit for the first mainstream Hollywood movie depicting the Iraqi War and the initial soldiers returning home to re-acclimate to society. Starring Samuel L. Jackson, Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson, and Jessica Biel. (trailer)

The Hurt Locker (2008)– Of course, the best-of-the-best is the 2009 Best Picture winner from Kathryn Bigelow starring Jeremy Renner as a driven, yet dark Iraqi bomb specialist. Its quality needs no introduction. (trailer)

Grace is Gone (2007)– In the Audience Award winner of the 2007 Sundance Film Festival, typical gender roles are reversed when John Cusack plays a homefront father (in my opinion, the best he’s ever acted) who has to find the best way to tell his two daughters that their soldier mother was killed in Iraq. This movie is “guy-cry” level brilliant. (trailer)

Rendition (2007)– Jake Gyllenhaal, Reese Witherspoon, and Meryl Streep get together for a movie calling out the wrongs of detainment, interrogation, and torture. (trailer)

The Kingdom (2007)– Jamie Foxx, Jennifer Garner, Chris Cooper, and Jason Bateman investigate a bombing and throw down in the streets of Riyadh. (trailer)

Lions for Lambs (2007)– Robert Redford delivers a three point-of-view discourse on U.S. war affairs before home and abroad with the help of Tom Cruise and Meryl Streep. (trailer)

In the Valley of Elah (2007)– Crash director Paul Haggis leads Tommy Lee Jones (in an amazing Oscar-nominated performance) and Susan Sarandon as parents investigating with a local detective (Charlize Theron) the disappearance of their AWOL son returning home from Iraq. (trailer)

Body of Lies (2008)– Ridley Scott’s fictional take on the CIA’s involvement in preventing Jordanian terrorism starring Leonardo DiCaprio and Russell Crowe. (trailer)

Stop-Loss (2008)– Ryan Phillippe, Channing Tatum, and Joseph Gordon-Levitt play three young Texas schoolmates who are finally home from overseas but are forced back via the stop-loss clause. (trailer)

The Messenger (2009)– Woody Harrelson was nominated for an Oscar for his role as a U.S. Army Casualty Notification Team officer mentoring recent veteran (Ben Foster) on the uniquely difficult job of informing families the bad news. (trailer)

Taking Chance (2009)– Along the same bringing-bad-news-home lines is this gem of a HBO film starring Kevin Bacon (like Cusack earlier, in arguably his best performance as an actor) as a desk officer who never saw combat but takes on the duty of escorting a young fallen soldier’s body back to his old hometown. Even though this wasn’t in theaters, it is outstanding and worth your time on DVD. (trailer)

Brothers (2009)– Jake Gyllenhaal takes care of his older brother’s wife (Natalie Portman) while he (Tobey Maguire) is declared MIA in Afghanistan, from director Jim Sheridan. (trailer)

Dear John and The Lucky One (2010 and 2012)– These two adaptations of Nicholas Sparks romance novels briefly touches on the War on Terror through Channing Tatum and Zac Efron’s lead characters’ return home to romance. (trailer and trailer)

Green Zone (2010)–Director Paul Greengrass followed United 93 with his Bourne series star Matt Damon in this taut and marginally-dramatized account of the early unsuccessful searches and the possible cover-up of Baghdad’s supposed stores of weapons of mass destruction. (trailer)

Restrepo (2010)– The highly acclaimed National Geographic documentary film follows a one-year look at the real men of the platoon embattled in the deadliest fortified valley of Afghanistan. (trailer)

Act of Valor (2012)– Disney pumped up the military with this fictional anti-terrorism film using active duty Navy SEALs. Coming out after the death of Osama bin Laden, this was a welcome and well-promoted hero picture and recruitment reel. (trailer)

Zero Dark Thirty (2012)– The Hurt Locker director Kathryn Bigelow made a film about the SEAL Team 6 men and their story of taking down Osama bin Laden. The film was my #1 movie on my “10 Best” list for 2012. (trailer) (my full review)

Lone Survivor (2013)– Peter Berg (Friday Night Lights) directed an outstanding and patriotic film based on the Afghanistan saga of Marcus Luttrell starring Mark Wahlberg, Taylor Kitsch, Ben Foster, and Emile Hirsch that echoes another true-life story from the ongoing War on Terror. Very good movie! (trailer) (my full review)

A Most Wanted Man (2014)– Spy novelist John LeCarre’s multi-layered 2008 novel about the world of inter-agency espionage happening in Hamburg, Germany, the same city where the 9/11 conspirators hatched their plans, is an excellent and different post-9/11 film with an international flair and flavor. It will also be remembered as one of the last performances of Philip Seymour Hoffman, who was phenomenal in the film. (trailer) (my full review)

Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit (2014)– This modern reboot or update of the famed Tom Clancy character, now played by Chris Pine, roots his pre-spy origins in the aftermath of 9/11 and the War on Terror that followed. (trailer)

American Sniper (2014)– Clint Eastwood’s Best Picture nominee war drama about the real-life story of the late Navy SEAL Chris Kyle (played by Oscar nominee Bradley Cooper) went on to become the highest grossing film of 2014 (north of $350 million). Kyle’s journey from the heartland to the front lines was spurred by a sense of duty and patriotism that started from the attacks of 9/11. This is, by far, the most high profile movie to date to feature the War on Terror directly correlating 9/11. (trailer) (my full review)

Good Kill (2015)– On the smaller side, but just as solid with warfare and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is this under-seen film which had a limited theatrical release during the summer of 2015. Andrew Niccol (Lord of War, Gattaca, The Truman Show) shifted his focus to the War on Terror by showcasing a Las Vegas base of drone pilots dealing with the ramification of their actions and the war being waged on their screens and with their joystick controls. (trailer) (my full review)

13 Hours: The Secret Soldiers of Benghazi (2016)– Director Michael Bay’s slanted look at the September 11, 2012 embassy attacks that have become a political firebrand since certainly qualifies to make this list. (trailer) (my full review)

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot (2016)– Tina Fey shed her comedic image for a heavyish war drama loosely based the true story of Afghanistan/Pakistan television journalist Kim Barker. (trailer)

Snowden (2016)– Renowned politicized filmmaker Oliver Stone brought his brush of dramatic license to the story of whistleblowing former spy Edward Snowden, played by Joseph Gordon-Levitt. The paranoia of the post-9/11 digital age was the mission field for Snowden and many other young men and women who sought the security and counterterrorism industries. (trailer) (full review)

Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk (2016)– A company of soldiers who lost their commanding officer in Iraq are making a victory tour of press dates and public appearances when the reflections of the title character (newcomer Joe Alwyn) fill the day. Ang Lee’s film felt ten years too late and was not well received. (trailer) (my full review)

Thank You For Your Service (2015) and Thank You For Your Service (2017)– This popular conversation sentence was the title of two different works. In 2015, Tom Donahue’s documentary opened eyes to the shoddy mental health governance for modern veterans and made waves that changed actual policies. The 2017 feature film borrows inspiration from David Finkel’s 2013 nonfiction bestseller dealing with the PTSD topic of returning Iraqi tour soldiers adjusting to civilian life. Miles Teller is the headliner and is joined by Haley Bennett, Beulah Koale, Joe Cole, and Amy Schumer. (trailer) (trailer)

Megan Leavey (2017)– 2017 was a busy year for War on Terror-connected films with five new entries. Taglined “based on the true story about a Marine’s best friend,” Megan Leavey stars Kate Mara as the soldier leader of a bomb-searching pooch on deployment in Iraq. Touching film! (trailer)

The Wall (2017)– Nocturnal Animals Golden Globe nominee Aaron Taylor-Johnson and emerging WWE movie star John Cena play two soldiers pinned down by an Iraqi sniper in a single-setting thriller from action specialist Doug Liman (Edge of Tomorrow). (trailer)

War Machine (2017)– Enough time has passed now in 2017 where the War on Terror has reached a point of being a target of satire. Animal Kingdom and The Rover director David Michod puts a witty spin on things creating a fictionalized account of U.S. General Stanley McChrystal with Brad Pitt in the lead. Netflix is the exclusive carrier of this one. (trailer)

Last Flag Flying (2017)– The last and best of the 2017 bunch is Richard Linklater’s dramedy about three old Vietnam veterans (Steve Carell, Bryan Cranston, and Laurence Fishburne) who come together when one of their sons is killed in Iraq and coming home for burial. The excellent acting trio and Linklater’s writing (adapted from Darryl Ponicsan’s novel, a spiritual sequel to his The Last Detail) deliver touching brevity and sharp commentary on the echoes of war across generations. (trailer) (my full review)

A Private War (2018)— Documentary filmmaker Matthew Heineman made his feature film debut with a biopic on British photojournalist Marie Colvin, who made her stops through the hellfire of Iraq and Afghanistan in her storied career. Rosamund Pike was snubbed for an Oscar nomination that year. (trailer) (my full review)

Vice (2018)— Speaking of biopics, writer/director Adam McKay brought his machete for satire to the life of former Vice President Dick Cheney. The film dove deep into the manipulated machinations from Cheney that engineered the War on Terror during the Bush administration. While not as good as The Big Short, Vice did earn eight Oscar nominations (winning one for makeup), including Best Picture and Best Actor for Christian Bale in the leading role. (trailer) (my full review)

Official Secrets (2019)— When invading Iraq was on the table to push the war to the ground, the United Kingdom and Prime Minister Tony Blair were lockstep next to the U.S. on seeking United Nations approval. The true story of whistleblower Katharine Gun unearthed secrets that led to questioning the war’s legality before it even began. This is a nice step-up for Keira Knightley. (trailer) (my full review)

The Report (2019)— Not yet widely released in 2019 after huge buzz at the Sundance Film Festival, frequent Steven Soderbergh screenwriting collaborator Scott Z. Burns made his directorial debut with this searing docudrama of the use of torture by American agencies during the War on Terror. Check out the film’s trailer:

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MOVIES ABOUT THE CHANGES IN AMERICAN LIFE (BOTH SERIOUS AND NOT-SO-SERIOUS)

25th Hour (2002)– New Yorker Spike Lee was quick to not shy away from the post-9/11 pulse of New York City following Edward Norton’s character’s last night of debauchery and unfinished business before going to prison. Filled with scathing social commentary and visual reminders of 9/11 and Ground Zero, its amazing opening credits sequence alone set the tone as only Spike can. (trailer)

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Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004)– Documentary maverick Michael Moore’s slam at the handling of 9/11 and the war on terror became one of the most successful box office documentaries of all-time. (trailer)

Sorry, Haters (2005)– Robin Wright played a professional woman who receives conversation and unexpected interaction with an Arab New York cab driver in this IFC production. (foreign trailer)

An Inconvenient Truth (2006)– By contrast, in a small snippet and computer graphic on melting glaciers in this Oscar-winning documentary, Al Gore lets us know that half of Greenland or Antarctica’s melted ice would put New York, including Ground Zero, underwater within the next 50 years. (trailer)

The Terminal (2004)– Airports are now covered in bureaucratic red tape. Heaven forbids, you’re not from America. (trailer)

Anger Management (2003)– Showed us that you can get kicked off a plane now for just about anything. (trailer)

Soul Plane (2004)– Then again, come on, guys. Air travel can still be cool, even with the new security rules. (trailer)

Snakes on a Plane (2006)– OK, maybe not so much… (trailer)

Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay (2008)– You’ve got to hate racial profiling as much as you equally love a good parody. (trailer)

Iron Man (2008)– Marvel’s steely hero had his Vietnam origin story conveniently and modernly flopped for an Afghanistan-connected one. (trailer)

Bridesmaids (2011)– Now, that’s how an Air Marshall gets down! (trailer)

Source Code (2011)– Our fear of catastrophes on planes can easily be translated to trains as well. (trailer) (my full review)

The Reluctant Fundamentalist (2013)– For a serious look at the warped view of Muslim citizens post-9/11, take a look at Mira Nair’s dramatic thriller about a young Pakistani man (newcomer Riz Ahmed) who is successful on Wall Street but viewed differently through profiling after 9/11. (trailer)

The Fifth Estate (2013)– The film story of the WikiLeaks of Julian Assange carry a loose connection to the changed post-9/11 landscape of security and more. (trailer)

Boyhood (2014)– Richard Linklater’s huge biographical opus was filmed over the course of 12 years with the same cast growing up and aging to tell their family story. The film starts in 2002, where the incidents of 2001 are fresh on the minds of the characters and discussed openly during the first year sequence of the journey. Later on, political mentions of Bush, Obama, and the War on Terror make it into a reflective conversation as well. (trailer) (my full review)

Won’t You Be My Neighbor (2018)– A key moment in the extraordinary Fred Rogers documentary chronicled when a retired Rogers was brought back for a special televised message to young viewers about reacting to the 9/11 tragedy that played on-screen for so many viewers. It’s a touching historical moment. (trailer) (my full review)

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MEMORABLE PAST IMAGES OF THE WORLD TRADE CENTER IN MOVIES

Sometimes, all it takes is the camera making a fleeting, yet memorable, glance at those beautiful and now-gone skyscrapers to immediately remind us of a different time. The WTC towers have been shown in innumerable establishing shots. We’ll highlight some great ones. Beginning with the closing credits to New Yorker Martin Scorsese’s 2002 film Gangs of New York, here’s a great montage of cinematic views of the WTC from various pre-2001 movies.

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Superman (1978)– Even a passing fly-by over “Metropolis” feels different.

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Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992)– Tell me this clip didn’t just go from cute to eerie to sad. Wonderful then, but different now.

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Godspell (1973)— Submitted by friend-of-the-page and larger-fan-of-musicals-than-me Josh Powers, enjoy this dance number from the summery musical filmed and completed before the skyscraper’s ribbon-cutting.

King Kong (1976)– While it may not match the iconic 1933 image of the original ape towering on top of the Empire State Building, the World Trade Center plays a big role in the 1976 remake starring Jeff Bridges and Jessica Lange. (trailer)

Independence Day (1996), Deep Impact (1998), Armageddon (1998), and The Day After Tomorrow (2004)– These all constitute the prominent disaster movies that leave New York (and, in three cases, the WTC) in destructive shambles.

HONORABLE MENTIONS: Godzilla (1998), Cloverfield (2004), War of the Worlds (2005), and Watchmen (2009). Kind of not so entertaining for few seconds anymore, huh? See for yourself. Here’s a montage of NYC movie destruction:

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MOVIES THAT FEEL DIFFERENT IN THE POST-9/11 WORLD

I don’t know about you but a lot of movies just don’t resonate or feel the same as they did before September 11th. We’ve changed and the perception has changed. For some movies, their message and impact is only made stronger (in good ways and bad) since 9/11. In other cases, what was entertaining then doesn’t feel so right anymore.

Airplane! (1980)– Farce or not (and still funny to this day), we could never get away with anything that happens on an airplane from that movie now. (trailer)

Passenger 57 (1992)–Let alone this movie… (trailer)

Executive Decision (1996)– …and this movie… (trailer)

Turbulence (1997)– …and this movie… (trailer)

Pushing Tin (1999)– …and probably this movie too… (trailer)

True Lies (1994)– Slammed even then for its depiction of Arab terrorists, it likely has picked up a little more egg on its face. Adding to its burial, the movie hasn’t been released on any physical media format since 1999, which includes zero Blu-ray editions in its history (factoid from Josh Powers). Do you think 20th Century Fox wants that movie to go away or what? (trailer)

The Siege (1998)– This frightening martial law thriller with Denzel Washington, Annette Bening, and Bruce Willis makes True Lies look like G.I. Joe starring Ken from the Barbie dolls toy line. Scary and eerily prophetic in its over-the-top terrorism and bombing scenarios. (trailer)

The Dark Knight Rises (2012)– Though fictional with Pittsburgh standing in as Gotham City, the New York imagery and parallels occurring during its terrorist takeover led by Tom Hardy’s Bane have eerie 9/11-inspired ramifications. (trailer) (my full review)

Syriana (2005)– George Clooney won an Oscar, but the touchy subjects of torture, terrorism, and the oil industry evoke a little dose of fear. (trailer)

Munich (2005)– The Black September assassination of Israeli athletes at the 1972 Munich Olympics and the Mossad’s reaction was probably the last time before 9/11 that terrorism made worldwide live media headlines. (trailer)

Arlington Road (1999)– While this resonates more as a comparison to Oklahoma City-style domestic terrorism, the Jeff Bridges/Tim Robbins underappreciated thriller is no less scary now than then. (trailer)

Fight Club (1999)– Watching Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt/Edward Norton) destroy New York’s credit district is another example of domestic terrorism and destruction that rings a little louder post-9/11.

The Sum of All Fears (2002)– Many people found the Super Bowl bomb plot far too soon to see those images just a year removed from 9/11. (trailer)

V for Vendetta (2006)– Urban terrorism in London via a Guy Fawkes fan resonates a little different for a public scare on our side of the Atlantic. (trailer)

Courage Under Fire (1995)– Our first trip to Iraq foreshadows a lot of the equal futility, bravery, and loss experienced in our second trip… (trailer)

Jarhead (2005)– …especially when told from the true account of a disillusioned soldier who was there. (trailer)

Charlie Wilson’s War (2007)– The same foreshadowing can be made out of our 1980’s Cold War involvement on the side of Afghanistan versus the Soviet Union as outlined by a gem of a Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, and Phillip Seymour Hoffman film. To think that we could have stuck around and cleaned the place up before they became our enemy. (trailer)

Rambo III (1988)– Speaking of an American fighting on the anti-communism side of the Afghans! (trailer)

Air Force One (1997)– Not that George W. Bush or Barack Obama ever channeled Harrison Ford here, but don’t you now root a little harder for a take charge President… (trailer)

The Patriot (2000)– … or a flag-carrying American hero from 230+ years ago… (trailer)

Pearl Harbor (2001)– …or the last great American tragedy that galvanized a nation and sent us to war. (trailer)

MOVIES SINCE 2001 THAT RENEW THE AMERICAN SPIRIT

These examples (as well as the aforementioned World Trade Center) will get your patriotic heartstrings going and boost your down spirit.

The Last Castle (2001)– Opening just over a month after the tragedy, the military and flag-waving patriotism of Robert Redford’s underrated drama undeniably stirs you. (trailer)

Behind Enemy Lines (2001)– Leave it to Gene Hackman and Owen Wilson (of all people) to win macho patriotic points for loosely re-enacting the famous pilot Scott O’Grady Bosnian prisoner escape story. (trailer)

Black Hawk Down (2001)– Released during the 2001-2002 awards season, Ridley Scott’s powerful depiction of the 1993 Battle of Mogadishu showed the uncompromising courage of U.S. Army Ranger and Delta Force soldiers at a time when our current soldiers were likely preparing for going overseas to similar urban warfare. (trailer)

We Were Soldiers (2002)– Mel Gibson may be embroiled in unpopular headlines now, but his 2002 action-drama from his Braveheart writer about America’s first official military action in Vietnam is as powerful and it is impressive. Like Black Hawk Down, it added to the heroic mystique of the American soldier, even if it was set in the past. If you don’t cry watching those wives deliver those first casualty letters, there’s something wrong with you. (trailer)

Spider-Man (2002) and Spider-Man 2 (2004)– New York’s #1 resident superhero always fights for a way for the citizen of the city to stand up together. I suppose you can throw in the pair from the reboot (The Amazing Spider-Man and The Amazing Spider-Man 2) for some of the same reasons. (trailer)

Gangs of New York (2002)– Martin Scorsese is a quintessential New Yorker and his mid-1800’s history piece (while definitely violent) was a love letter to the city’s great history. (trailer)

Elf (2003)– Will Ferrell put the Big Apple back in the Christmas cheer. (trailer)

Ladder 49 (2004)– Though it wasn’t set in New York, you can’t help but think of the 343 NYFD men and women that lost their lives on September 11th and ardent first-responders when you watch Joaquin Phoenix and John Travolta as macho Baltimore firemen. (trailer)

Million Dollar Baby (2004)– America loves a good underdog story and Clint Eastwood gave the public a heck of a good one that went on to win the Oscar for Best Picture. (trailer)

Miracle (2004)– What better way to boost American spirit than to relive our greatest Olympic triumph. (trailer)

National Treasure (2004)– How about a history lesson to make you feel good about our great country? Why not? (trailer)

Hitch (2005)– Will Smith brought popular romance back to the City That Never Sleeps. (trailer) He would capture hearts for a different reason the next year with The Pursuit of Happyness. (trailer)

We Are Marshall (2006)– Another real-life airplane tragedy sets the stage for an amazing story of athletic and community rebirth. One of the most underrated football movies out there. (trailer)

Live Free or Die Hard (2007)– Why not give NY’s best bad-ass cop a chance to save the nation’s capital? (trailer)

Captain America: The First Avenger (2011)– Last but not least, you can’t get more patriotic and underdog than this skinny guy from Brooklyn transformed into a red-white-and-blue super soldier. He followed it up this past summer saving New York in The Avengers. (trailer and trailer) (full review and my full review)

American Sniper (2014)– The tremendous reception Clint Eastwood’s film had to become the highest grossing movie of the year made Chris Kyle a household name and heavily amplified a previously dormant red-blooded (and “red state-d”) surge of patriotism and soldier appreciation. (trailer) (my full review)

Sully (2016)– Both the incredible true story of Flight 1549 from 2009 and Clint Eastwood’s respectful retelling featuring Tom Hanks as Capt. Chelsea “Sully” Sullenberger remind audiences of the strength of New York City. There’s a great line in the movie where someone is trying to thank Sullenberger and says that it’s been a long time since the city has had good news about anything like the “Miracle on the Hudson,” especially about a plane. (trailer) (my full review)

Patriots Day (2016) and Stronger (2018)– The way the city of Boston rallied from another terrorist attack on American soil during its marathon has key inspirational value. It’s too bad the film was the Mark Wahlberg show rather than a well-rounded ensemble approach. (trailer) (my full Patriots Day review) (trailer) (my full Stronger review)

Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017) and Avengers: Infinity War (2018)– Much like the Tobey Maguire and Andrew Garfield web-slinger movies that came before, Tom Holland’s take on Peter Parker is a born-and-raised New York kid that supports and protects his neighborhood and city from dangers foreign and domestic. His protection, joined by fellow New Yorker Doctor Strange, expands with the united effort with The Avengers when Thanos shows up in Avengers: Infinity War. One part down on that with one to go in the summer of 2019. (trailer) (my full Spider-Man: Homecoming review) (trailer) (my Avengers: Infinity War review)

Only the Brave (2017)– Just as with Ladder 49 thirteen years before it, you can’t beat the sympathy generated by the hard work, dedication, and sacrifice of firefighters. Forest fires aren’t terrorists, but the feels are all there. (trailer)

The 15:17 to Paris (2018)– Four years after American Sniper, Clint Eastwood dipped his filmmaking brush in the hero worship paint again to tell another true story. The wrinkle of this one is that Eastwood called upon the actual heroes that thwarted the 2015 Thayls train attack to star in their own movie recreation. Results were mixed, but the Eastwood prestige is there. (trailer) (my full review)

THE UP-AND-DOWN PULSE OF CONTINUED SENSITIVITY AND/OR CENSORSHIP TO 9/11 SIMILARITIES

For 2014 and going forward, this is a new section I’m adding to this study. Now that enough time has passed since 2001, I’m beginning to notice that movies are starting to go back to some of the images and themes of violence, destruction, and terrorism that were hands off for so many years after 9/11. Like all history, even 9/11 will fade. What we were offended by after the horrific incidents have returned, in some cases, to be more tolerated and even acceptable and celebrated again. Sure enough, there are plenty who vividly remember 2001’s events and images and are quick to point out when something is in possible poor taste. That shaky barometer has led to some allusions and reminders to 9/11 and some flat-out censorship changes and corrections. Some get flak and slaps on the wrist while some don’t. Here are some examples in recent years.

Olympus Has Fallen and White House Down (2013)– Both competing White House takeover films from 2013, one from Antoine Fuqua (Training Day) and one from Roland Emmerich (Independence Day) had a bit of split audience reaction to their violent and terrorist content. Some rooted and cheered as if it was the 80’s again and America is always going to win. Others were not so keen or ready to see the White House become a target and battleground, even if it was just a movie. Between the two, Olympus Has Fallen, the R-rated and more severe one of the two, was the bigger hit. In a way, no one batted an eye. (trailer and trailer) (my full Olympus Has Fallen review)

Man of Steel (2013)– Despite being one of the most all-American heroes around, Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel gave Superman a very serious tone that, in a way, can’t be included on the category before this one of movies that renew the American spirit. Also, many people were not very pleased with the immense city-wide destruction scenes of Metropolis during the film’s climax. Even though Chicago was the filming location of a fictitious comic book city, there were staunch critics who had a problem with huge office buildings and skyscrapers in very 9/11-esque rubble. Its 2016 sequel, Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice mildly addressed that a city can’t be destroyed without consequences, even on Superman’s watch in a colorful comic book setting. (my full review)

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Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011)– Much like Man of Steel, the third Michael Bay Transformers movie features a great deal of city-wide destruction (again, in Chicago) that rubbed a few people the wrong way. (trailer) (my full review)

Star Trek Into Darkness (2013)– Throw in the terrorist label for the villain and his bombings and the big San Francisco starship wreck during this film’s ending action that was clearly a larger scale to a passenger jet taking out buildings. (trailer) (my full review)

Godzilla (2014)– Add the King of the Monsters to the list of more city destruction that raised an eyebrow for some. (trailer) (my full review)

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)– Outside of this string of modern and accepted examples of urban attacks and destruction, is the minor amount of hot water the makers of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles got it for a promotional poster that had an exploding skyscraper that cut too close to 9/11 similarities. The study pulled the poster and had to apologize. Censorship and sensitivity won that argument and mistake. (trailer)

The Walk (2015)– A very big test to peoples’ memories of the World Trade Center will be coming in the Fall of 2015 with Robert Zemeckis’s film The Walk, the true story of the French high-wire artist Philippe Petit’s quest to tightrope walk between the twin towers of the World Trade Center in 1974 (previously featured in the Academy Award nominated 2008 documentary Man on Wire). Starring Joseph Gordon-Levitt, the film will prominently display, thanks to Zemeckis’s stunning use of CGI, a tremendous amount of imagery of the two lost skyscrapers. Even though it’s a period piece to a non-turbulent time, no film since 2001 has attempted to show this much of those building. Public reaction was mixed and the film was not a box office hit. (trailer) (full review)

Independence Day: Resurgence (2016)– I guess it’s OK for patriotic mass city destruction again. London gets it worse than New York, though. (trailer) (full review)

Ghostbusters (2016)– Well, New York was safe for at least a month anyway between Independence Day: Resurgence‘s release and the new reboot (which conveniently made sure its city destruction in Times Square and other places be easy to erase). Not far behind was the fictional Suicide Squad and its over-the-city halo of supposed death. (trailer) (my full review)

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Rampage (2018)– Larger in size than the old World Trade Centers used to be, Chicago’s Willis Tower, the former Sears Tower and tallest building in the world, was the targeted collapsed skyscraper spectacle of choice in the Brad Payton/Dwayne Johnson live-action video game adaptation. Monsters aren’t terrorists, but the imagery hits close as the Willis Tower was one of many skyscrapers across the country evacuated on 9/11 out of fear of becoming another target. See the collapse clip above. (my full review)

I hope everyone enjoyed this little (OK, large) retrospective about the impact of 9/11 in movies for the last 18 years and counting. Take some time this coming weekend to appreciate the freedoms we have the people fighting to keep them for us. Support your troops and first responders and, again, NEVER FORGET!

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insomniac-soup · 6 years ago

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TXT: Thoughts on Bighit’s new group, the future of BTS (and Bighit)

March 4 was the day Bighit Entertainment, the entertainment company that manages the worldwide famous Kpop group BTS, released the MV for their new group. I watched the teasers, curious what this new group would bring to the table; after watching the MV, I think it’s worth reviewing what the future may hold, since there’s a lot going on. This post is quite niche in its content so feel free to keep scrolling if this ain’t your cup of coffee. This is a fairly opinionated and extensive take on the topic of the groups mentioned (and Kpop as a whole), so read at your discretion.

[I do not own any of the images, gifs, or videos used in my posts; these visuals are used only for entertainment.]

[Rant #1: Group Comparisons]

PREFACE: to those unfamiliar with Kpop, it’s a genre of music originating in South Korea, placing great focus on the aesthetics of group members, music videos, music shows, and dancing. It originated in the 90′s, drew inspiration from North American music, and evolved to becomes its own genre. Groups or soloists are managed by entertainment companies (as opposed to record labels), so many (but not all) lack autonomy and/or control over their music, general say in the group’s plans, wardrobe, etc. Some groups are more experimental than others, but the industry and genre is quite eye-catching and unique.

So I’ve been keeping up with BTS almost from the moment they debuted, and it’s been great seeing them grow as a group, produce great music (solo mixtapes from the rappers; absolute fire), and get the recognition they deserve. They’re all talented, unique, and have great personalities; that isn’t to say other groups don’t share these traits, but it’s no question that BTS is the most notable for such traits at moment (internationally speaking). The fans supporting them have sparked more debates as the fans increase in numbers, and it can really go either way depending on the fan you meet. Either way, I like BTS, and understand those who don’t. The reason I bring up BTS is because I can’t talk about TXT without mentioning BTS, as BTS is now TXT’s senior group. Now, onto TXT.

TXT, the short-form for Tomorrow X Together, is the new group consisting of 5 members (Soobin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai), who just debuted with their EDM-esque EP The Dream Chapter: Star , with the title track ‘Crown’. My thoughts?

1: On the debut title track, I think it’s nice; I don’t think it’s revolutionary or an instant bop, but I do enjoy it. It’s perfect to walk to, the minimalist aesthetic is nice, and they all seem to have personalities. By that, I mean there’s energy from them. That seems pretty typical to expect from any Kpop group, and I’m sure other Kpop fans know that’s given. But there are many groups I’ve listened to whose tracks or debut tracks lacked a kind of ‘punch’. The simple and somewhat cute aesthetic of the MV may not have the actual punch, but I get the feeling the idols themselves are engaging. I appreciated that it was simple, because to be honest, if a debut track is too good, all succeeding tracks can seem underwhelming. With this track, as well as the other songs (Cat&Dog is really catchy not gonna lie), they can work their way up to more complex tracks. This is a quick edit, but after listening to the track a couple more times, it’s kinda catchy. Plus, the lyrics are actually nice, in that it’s not all that different from other songs describing someone’s love changing them for the better, but different because of the word choice.

2: about the group name, I think Bighit favours the acronym-style name, which I do like. This is just a random observation and less so a serious point. Everyone knows BTS are generally referred to just that name, but their other names, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, and their more recent meaning Beyond the Scene, have meaning. I think this can actually make TXT more memorable, because it’s more than just a name. BTS still refers to themselves in the abbreviated form of ‘Bangtan’ (recalling the group’s name in Korean) through songs like ‘Anpanman’, so it helps create an identity. Of course, they aren’t the only group to use acronyms (take AOA, or Ace of Angels), but I make a point of this because they’re not a group from the Big 3 (JYP, YG, SM). EXO and SNSD (although they do go by Girls Generation) are SM groups that both use acronyms (EXO more lucidly), but their name partly has that impact because they come from a notable entertainment company. In the same way that BTS made their name iconic, I can see this working as well for TXT (it also seems really wholesome). My personal interpretation is a theme of unification and obviously togetherness. For each new day, for the future that holds ‘tomorrow’, we can be together, and united in both senses. That might be a bit of a dive, but considering BTS’ naming had similar significance, it would be a nice, wholesome, message to project.

3: They have a really interesting motif with their Introduction Films and group concept, and the members are versatile (in a general sense of the word). Each member has a representative animal and flower associated with them, somewhat reminding me of the different songs sung by the vocalists of BTS (Euphoria, Serendipity, Singularity, and Epiphany). It also kind of reminded me of VIXX, another group that developed their niche as a concept group (meaning each album or EP has a particular theme and songs that match that theme; their latest album EAU DU VIXX has the perfume motif, which implies alluring and scent-related themes and lyrics). This motif, however, is really unique and engaging in its own right, aside from BTS or VIXX. The Introduction Films each dedicate short clips that showcase each member, and the general Intro Film shows them just having fun. Keep in mind that they’re all fairly young, the youngest member being born in 2002. The cute aesthetic may fool you into thinking they’re just another generic boy group (I was kind of tricked into that mentality at first), but like their senior group, this group is building a story with their representative animals and flower. The short story illustrating the boy with horns in their debut showcase was compelling and really interesting; many were quick to point out the wings motif tracing back to BTS’ 2016 album Wings. I see that as well, and I do hope that leads to a good relationship between the Bighit labelmates (I’ll go into detail on that). One of the members, Hueningkai, is the first mixed idol employed in the company (half-Korean, half-American with European and Brazilian ancestry). 2 other members are also good at English, which is really helpful in the market today; what’s helped Kpop groups connect with international audiences is bridging the language gap, so this also means TXT is a group people could understand more (and I wouldn’t say that everyone should speak English and their success is defined by that, but that is the reality in this market). As a brief side note, their dancing seems to be pretty good, which is clear in their dance practice video.

4: as a group on their own, they seem to have potential, but I worry about how they might be compared to BTS. I admit, I compared them at first, but having seen the MV with discarded preconceived notions, I can now say I appreciate TXT in their own right. I am excited to listen to more of their music and give them a chance like I would any other group, and like I mentioned before, they do seem interesting as personalities. I think the problem now is that because they are the brother group to BTS, they will likely seem underwhelming and lacking the ‘it’ quality. I think there are some comparisons worth making that aren’t inherently bad, as well as ones that can be problematic;

Take BTS’ debut MV ‘No More Dream’ compared to ‘Crown’. They are two very different collectives of personalities, and BTS is a lot more aggressive with their darker, b-boy aesthetic. TXT is bubbly and super cheery in comparison, but that’s not a bad thing. That means the groundwork is ultimately different.

As a continuation, TXT is at a different stage as a boy group than BTS when BTS debuted. Bighit was on the verge of bankruptcy, had some scandals (those do exist), and weren’t very rich. BTS’ success decided the survival of the company, but TXT isn’t a group that’s in jeopardy. The company isn’t make-or-break anymore, so considering the circumstances, it’s okay to compare them but not to a large extent. I think it’s okay to compare debut MVs, since that’s fairly harmless, as long as that’s being perceived without the idea that TXT needed to meet the standards of BTS’ debut (and let’s be honest, BTS didn’t have the most revolutionary, amazing tracks to start; some were okay, some are pretty notable for misheard lyrics, others potentially problematic, but they didn’t win awards with their debut songs).

TXT have less members than BTS, so that might have been a marketing strategy; 7 is fairly standard for the number of group members to have, but 5 allows audiences to know everyone faster ‘cause it’s still two less members.

If people can give BTS the benefit of the doubt, then TXT deserves the same courtesy if we are comparing the two. Like I said, BTS gradually progressed as a famous, best-selling group, so TXT should be compared only in the sense that they’re a new boy group under the same entertainment company.

Once I listened to the debut track ‘Crown’, the rapping style greatly differed from BTS’ rap line. They’re more in-tune with melodic rapping over RM, J-Hope, and Suga’s fast-paced, hard-hitting rapping style. Even in ‘No More Dream’ (Jungkook when he still rapped), they’re much more intense compared to TXT’s rappers. You can compare them, but it’s not fair to say anything along the lines of TXT’s rappers being less than compared to BTS’ rap line, since the styles are almost polar opposites.

What it also boils down to is the fact that TXT is debuting in 2019 and not 2013. 2019 can be marked as a new era for Kpop, especially with all that happened in 2018, and doesn’t border on 2nd generation like BTS did. You could say 2010’s onward is 2nd generation Kpop, while 2013/4 (give or take? I’m a little rough with my years when it comes to Kpop generations and haven’t found a concrete chronology so my interpretation here is mostly speculative) is 3rd generation. This is an unpopular opinion of sorts, but 2nd generation Kpop groups innovated in dance/music styles, and deserve credit for such, helping to usher in popular styles and concepts that comprised 3rd generation groups. BTS is no exception in pioneering and creating unique music styles (they aren’t the standard or exception, but definitely stood out when it counted with notable hype tracks like Dope or Fire and impressive choreographies), but I digress. The point is TXT has a lot to live up to, and not just in comparison to their brother group, but also debuted in an era where Kpop is becoming more widespread, more intriguing to newer audiences, and will be very public (considering the advent of social media).

I will discuss TXT more generally now, as I would like to mention what I think this means for the company and BTS.

1: Hopefully, Bighit will finally let BTS take breaks. We know BTS have toured many times and released music often, and it’s also obvious (with proof) that they’re overworked. They’re so professional, even when they are tired and exhausted (notably Jungkook), which shows how much they care about their fans. Granted, when the company needed revenue, that would be a little easier to judge, but Bighit is no longer in dire straits. Every member of the group is just as human as the next person, and they need to relax; RM himself has stated that they enjoy doing what they do, but still get exhausted. That’s just normal human behaviour. In ‘Burn the Stage’, you see more raw moments that normally happen off-camera, including arguments between members and moments of physical exhaustion. If we are to take these developments as they are and believe every word of it, then it’s fair to say they’re really tired. With that said, I hope TXT is managed well, promoted well, treated well, and given attention as the new group. It means TXT can be maintained and have presence in the industry’s foreground, while also allowing BTS to take time off. I say that without knowing all the technicalities about idol management, but my hope is TXT didn’t debut for no reason and BTS is overworked all the same. I know BTS is releasing a new album in April, which I am excited for, but do worry they just aren’t getting the rest they deserve.

2: BTS will remain popular as TXT breaks in, so I’m not concerned whether BTS will lose relevancy or not. With the hope that Bighit will let BTS get some rest from promotions and touring, I think BTS is comfortable where they stand. There is no doubt about their fame as I mentioned before, and maybe their name might help boost interest for people considering TXT’s music (having a company name that people know is fairly effective, and how I learned about groups like (g)-idle, who are labelmates of CLC, who were labelmates to the former group 4Minute and successor girl group). I mentioned how I was worried TXT would be compared too much to BTS, but I think there are still positives in that relationship. What I would love to see is whether BTS members mentor the new group, like RM or Suga helping with music producing and such (hearing RM’s demos shows how talented he is). A closeness between the two groups would be ideal, which brings me to my next point specifically on the company.

3: Bighit entertainment has a problem, and could potentially become a part of a greater one if it becomes a big entertainment company like the Big 3. This is where I diverge from solely talking about TXT and BTS to run down what this means for Bighit. As I’ve grown up with Kpop, I’ve learned about the good, the bad, the sad, and the ugly. I personally think having that kind of journey is both unique and the kind you need to experience organically; it’s okay to start off as a casual listener in the process of becoming a fan, but it’s still important to recognize at a certain point that the industry isn’t exactly perfect, or that groups can be good without validation or comparison. Some of my favourite groups are managed mostly by the Big 3, all three companies that have their own controversies and problematic programs. JYP overworks his best selling girl group (and best selling group for that matter) TWICE in the same way Bighit does to BTS, but that’s just one of the layers on this problem cake. I won’t go into the details of the scandal, but once upon a time Bighit had a girl group. After such scandals (one member a saesang, another an actual felon) happened, it became a thing of the past and something most people don’t know about. Bighit doesn’t take female trainees, and even in the time BTS trained, they couldn’t interact with the female trainees that were once there. The reason I point this out is because there is no female group in the company, Bighit cannot enter the league of the Big 3. All three have (or had) groups like SNSD, Red Velvet, f(x), Blackpink, 2NE1, Twice, Wonder Girls, the list goes on. The way these groups have and are being treated have its pros and cons, but nonetheless are being managed. This lack of female idols in Bighit is a huge gap in revenue; sure, they might have more money than c. 2012 Bighit, but one group cannot help a company become as influential as SM or JYP. To summarize, the first problem Bighit has is the fact that there are no female idols or groups, which chops down any potential influence in the industry and diversity in music (since girl groups are endorsed differently and allow for concepts that boy groups can’t necessarily try). TXT isn’t bad for being a boy group, but the reason I hope for a good relationship between BTS and TXT is because they will be allowed to interact (that sounds so dumb, why isn’t this a given). Not having a girl group lacks diversity in the sounds, and that could be to Bighit’s detriment.

Next, I wanted to go over what could happen to Bighit now that they have another group to manage. I’ll save a lot of these topics for future posts, but as I said, the Big 3 have had controversies over the years, and even smaller companies have had their problems. Considering the weight loss programs many companies enforce on their groups and general abuse of power (lawsuits from EXO’s former members Tao, Luhan, Kris related to overworking), as well as dating scandals (former CUBE artists Hyuna and E’dawn), being a big entertainment company also generally has connections to problematic incidents. What the concern here is is whether Bighit is inclined to do what other companies tend to do to their artists when they have multiple artists to juggle. Take PLEDIS entertainment as an example; they’re not among the Big 3, but they manage groups like SEVENTEEN, Pristin, the subunit Pristin V, and SF9. Pristin debuted in 2016, and haven’t had any comebacks since ‘We Like’ in 2017. They were given lots of dance practice teasers like Blackpink before they officially debuted as Pristin (some members came from Produce 101 and the one-year group I.O.I), but they’ve basically disappeared as a collective. SEVENTEEN, on the other hand, just had a comeback in January, garnering lots of sales, and continue to promote and write their own music. Granted, SEVENTEEN is slightly senior to Pristin, but it’s easy to see they’re being managed a lot better than their sister group. That’s the sad part, because SEVENTEEN members would even do dance practices with them, and the members of Pristin are quite talented. Problems like this are much easier to find in smaller entertainment companies, and Bighit, with the debut of TXT, are finally entering that ring. That means that they might continue to let their artists have autonomy (ex. RM and Suga), or end up potentially mistreating their idols. I am not saying they will, but only that the concern is now more warranted.

4: The success of TXT will ultimately determine what kind of company Bighit truly is. Here’s the thing. The quality of many entertainment companies are determined by the way they manage, promote, and support their idols. JYP is considered the best among the Big 3 because the idols seem to be close with their labelmates, they micromanage to almost program success, groups are unique in concepts and member diversity (DAY6 compared to GOT7, where both groups have strong English speakers, TWICE compared to older group Wonder Girls and newer group ITZY), etc., but that’s also up for debate. BTS has had a couple problems in terms of lyrics, outfits, comments made in interviews, but have addressed many if not all of these issues. What’s good is that both Bighit and RM will issue apology statements, which means we get both sides of the story and that there is at least a level of respect between the group and CEO. That alone doesn’t reveal enough about the CEO or company though. I’m not saying this to be hypercritical, nor believe everyone should think about this kind of thing when listening to music by a Kpop group; the point is, at least for me, knowing the state the idols are in, because often idols don’t get much control over what they do and could be overworked behind the scenes. They have to pay back the companies for the training and other privileges granted, and even those conditions may not be the best; well-known companies are more transparent nowadays because we see how everyone else is managed, but that’s not the case for BTS or Bighit.

If TXT succeeds in a similar fashion that BTS did, that may open up the playing field for Bighit. Maybe they’ll bring back female trainees, and possibly expand the number of groups they manage if revenue begins to come in steadily. The reason Bighit hasn’t been able to enter the stratum where the Big 3 sit is because they only had one avenue for revenue (BTS), until now. Bighit borders on young as an entertainment company (established in early 2000s), so the company not only lacks the number of years the other ones had to experiment (like SM), alongside the problem of no diversity as a company. To conclude, TXT’s promotions and journey as Bighit’s new group will determine whether Bighit is a problematic company or not, because we will now have another group to see being managed and promoted. We have the precedent of BTS, and I personally hope TXT isn’t mistreated.

Conclusion? This took way too long to write, but I think when I’m considering the prospect of TXT, I’ve considered what it means on grander scales too. The reason it’s worth noting TXT’s debut is for all reasons mentioned; what it means for Bighit, BTS, and TXT themselves. All in all, I’m going to listen to more of TXT’s music and see what the future holds for them, since I see potential in the group’s success and potential for them to be engaging as idols.

#TXT #review #rant #analysis #kpop #kpop industry #music #BTS #RM #Suga #J-hope #Jimin #Jin #Jungkook #V #discussion #thoughts #soobin #yeonjun #beomgyu #hueningkai #taehyun

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sugatsby · 6 years ago

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2018/10/14

But like, I’m not fully aware of what I experienced last night. It was amazing and everything I expected and more. I mean, I could write an entire essay about how much last night meant to me, and I kinda expect this to be it... so yeah. My thoughts and feelings on the BTS concert in Amsterdam are under the cut! (Not that you asked for this extensive review...)

After all this time of listening to their music, of looking at the boys’ performances online, I finally got to see them live last night. The realisation still hasn’t really set in. It was a weird experience overall.

That I enjoyed myself is an absolute understatement, but just once in a while when I really thought about what exactly was happening around and in front of me, I got a weird sense of ‘what the actual f*ck... is happening right now’. With so many hours of looking at these boys through a screen, you almost subconsciously assume that they are just that: boys who only exist on that screen. Even with the type of connection I felt to them beforehand, just seeing them right there, right there on stage, you realise that they’re actually real and that they are right in front of you, tangible and real people. Especially with Jungkook having hurt himself in London and with Jimin coping with muscle pains a few days prior, seeing them irl really put things into perspective.

Last night, I was able to witness for myself that all of the claims made in relation to BTS are true. They are amazing, funny, hardworking, kind, passionate, charismatic, handsome, talented, and caring boys, and I felt so honoured to see them perform.

With all the health concerns surrounding the boys, it felt great to still have them show such spirit. I felt inspired. Jungkook wanted to join the choreo so badly, he was dancing as much as he was able to on his little chair. Sometimes he would walk around, unable to sit still. Character traits. Despite all that, I didn’t once see him stop smiling, and I hope that he was able to enjoy it all nonetheless. Jungkook has the voice of an angel. We all knew. But it’s so wonderful to hear it live. And even though he wasn’t joining in on the choreo, Euphoria was still so gorgeous. With everyone in the crowd singing along... Chills.

And then... the birthday boy. Jimin. As the birthday card appearing on the big screen said, he’s an angel. He deserves the entire world. He radiated so much joy, it was really infectious. Love was all around and there was plenty. And god, he was so funny. I hope he enjoyed spending his birthday with us. And also, Serendipity... Wow. Vocals. Incredible. Outfit. On point. Dancing. Unbelievable. And bubbles!

My husband, Yoongles, was also present last night, of course. This man. This young man came for me, okay. His stage presence was no joke. He was so at ease, doing his thing, having fun and spitting fire. He was incredible. He went all in every single chance he got. It was great to see his inner performer come out during Seesaw. And also, hype man no.1, nuf said.

King of visuals, and now also a king of vocals in my book. Seokjin blew me away, both during Epiphany and the other songs. Like, I knew he was good. I was already convinced. But wow, he was ridiculous! Ridiculously good. He is as funny as they come and I hope he keeps daring to be his extra, goofy and fun-loving self. I hope he never feels any pressure to change. Seokjin is a precious human being that must be protected at all cost!

And speaking of precious, goofy people... Nams glowed. That’s just the only way I can describe him. Joon is just one of those people that are so attractive both inside and out. He’s just so caring and lovely. (And then those dimples!!) He oozed confidence, allure and at the same time so much kindness. I guess the words I can find to best describe him is absolutely charming. (Also, the vibe during Love was stunning and I totally digged his bathrobe.) Philosopher Joon came out for a bit too. I loved it.

If there was one solo performance that I really looked forward to, it was Tae’s Singularity. And boy, did my expectations come true and then some. I don’t know how else to describe it except for perfect. That’s just what it was. Taehyung’s voice has always been so soulful, but last night it genuinely moved me. It was such a gorgeous performance. He’s beautiful, his voice is beautiful and he’s a cutie. The duality of this man is no joke.

Hoseok. I don’t even know where to start with Hobi. He is known for being a ray of sunshine, but that just doesn’t cut it. He was so radiant and in his element. He was smiling all around and was having fun. Also, his Dutch was flawless. Just Dance was a joy to see and join in with. Just for once, let me just make this clear. Hoseok is the embodiment of a world class performer. He just oozed so much confidence, energy and charisma, he deserves that title.

Some parts of the show that didn’t pass by me completely in the stream of overwhelming feels I got taken over by that night were their amazing live vocals and stage presence, their attempt at speaking Dutch which was adorable, their unbreakable enthusiasm and spirit, the medley (I felt those hipthrusts in Baepsae. I’m looking at you, Namjoon and Hoseok!), Yoongi’s uh-huh uh-huh’s, them goofing around during the encore, and their dazzling smiles.

This show really had everything. The vibe was amazing. There was confetti, fireworks and literal fire. The boys were incredible, awe-inspiring and breathtakingly wonderful. Last night was a night that I will never forget. It was worth every penny, every drop of fuel, and every nerveracking second of doubt in between trying to get tickets and walking into the venue. No regrets! 10/10, recommend!

Thank you @caffeinatedslytherinstudent for selling your extra tickets to me months ago. I’m so grateful! I hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did! Ontzettend bedankt!

8 notes · View notes

floralseokjin · 7 years ago

Text

;lit me up (m)

you find yourself becoming captivated by a mysterious, handsome author, but you may have bitten off more than you can chew…

pairing | kim namjoon x reader genre/warnings | author! namjoon, smut, slight angst, romance words | 9,222

note | extracts taken from the bts highlight reels, found here and the serendipity lyrics, found here. Inspired by the song found here.

The first time you meet Kim Namjoon—or maybe a more fitting description is see… The first time you see Kim Namjoon, you’re late for class. It wouldn’t matter on a usual Wednesday afternoon, but today it’s different. Where as usually at the fluorescent overhead lights are beaming down on the students, continuous rolls of murmurs and hushed whispers taking up a good ten to fifteen minutes of the lecture as your blithering idiot of a professor, who’s surely too old for the job by now, tries to find his glasses, which are more often than not perched at home on his head—(no one bothers to inform him that sadly, happy for philosophy class to be delayed as much as possible)—there is never a need for the rest to notice your tardiness.

But today’s different. You have a guest speaker. A local author ready to talk about his new novel. You have almost forgotten in your haste to make class. Who would have blamed you, guest speakers were always equally as boring, if not more, than Professor Choi, and that is saying something. Indeed, when a guest graced you with their presence, you and the rest of your classmates took it as a sign to take forty winks. Rest up time right before a mid-week drunken celebration for making it half way to Friday. But like you said, today is different…

For a start, the hall is silent as you enter, fifteen minutes late this time around. Not a sound goes amiss as the only voice that fills the room is that of the guest speaker. It’s dark too. All lights turned off, just the white glow of the wall projector that Professor. Choi is trying to set up. Today everyone notices how late you are. The guest pauses as he notices your arrival, large oak doors creaking open interrupting his train of thought.

Whatever he is saying catches on his tongue, “oh,” he lets out instead, looking up in your direction and suddenly the whole class is following suit—of course they would. Your cheeks heat up, no doubt a dark rosé appearing on the apples, hopefully hidden by the dim lighting of the room. It’s not like you get embarrassed easily, but when multiple human attention is on you at the same time, it’s hard not to feel a little humiliated. You bow lightly in apology, a soft “sorry” leaving your mouth that no one can probably hear at all and you begin to make it as quickly as you can down the middle aisle. Just your luck the only free seats in this dingy hall are in the front.

You pause by the second row, choosing that over the front any day of the week. You make sure to sit on the edge or the row, but you inwardly groan, because there is no way you can go undetected today. There are only a few people sat in front of you and you aren’t shielded by any. You quietly get your things out your bag, painfully aware the guest is waiting for you to be done, eyes on you, which means the rest of the class’ are too. You ignore it and when you’re done you causally lean your chin in the palm of your hand, eyes glazing over the tall stranger. Now you’re waiting for him. You are the queen of pretending, and you will not be fazed by this embarrassment.

He coughs awkwardly, clearing his throat as he rocks on his feet and then he begins to speak again. You wonder if you can master the art of falling asleep with your eyes open in five minutes flat. It’s nothing to do with him. This class is just plain boring. You wind in and out of concentration as he introduces himself, wondering what you’re going to wear out tonight. Clubbing is the only thing on your mind, needing to let your hair down, it’s been over a week since you went out last and that ended disastrously. Maybe you’ll wear that black spaghetti strapped dress you bought on Saturday…

“Okay, so let me repeat for those who missed it,” the stranger spoke, although you are in your own little world to notice him take another glance at you. “I’m Kim Namjoon. A philosopher turned author… I’m here to talk about my new novel ‘Love Yourself’… fiction, but influenced by real life events… the process of finding your inner self… accepting your faults and learning to truly love yourself…”

You sigh quietly. It’s no use trying to zone out or drop off down here at the front, his voice is too loud and it keeps interrupting your daydreams. You’ll just have to be forced to listen. Your eyes travel back to the man in front of you, giving him your full attention for the first time since you stepped in. He’s tall and broad, chocolate brown locks styled gracefully, strands framing his face. He’s handsome too, features alluring in a way that’s so discrete you really have to pay attention to realise. And then you can’t look away. His skins is smooth, but features rugged. He looks like he’s graduated a few years before you. The way he holds himself is graceful and light, his lips part and you blink, realising you’ve spaced out again, but for totally different reasons this time.

He’s talking again, something about his novel, and suddenly you perk up. You’ve never been so interested in a class—especially this one. You suddenly want to listen to what he has to say, even if it’s just to pay him more attention. You concentrate on the sound of his voice, letting it lull through your ears and fight the urge to close your eyes, because you want to watch the way his lips move with each word.

“I shall read you an extract,” he begins, leaning forward on the desk to pick up his book.

You follow his movement, watching eagerly as his hand outstretched and long fingers wrap around the spine of the hardback. You swallow loudly, the sound echoing in your mind. What is up with you? He grips the novel hard, skin around his fingernails (neatly cut, you might add,) turning white. Maybe he’s nervous, you don’t know, but you manage to take your eyes off his hands for a moment to glance back up at his face and balk in shock when you see him looking right back at you. The shock on your face must equal that on his and he jolts, shaking his head slightly as he busies himself with finding the page he needs.

A flash of something runs through your body—what? Excitement, adrenaline, nervousness? You can’t place it, but one thing’s for sure, now you’re even more intrigued… Maybe he’d caught you starting at his hands and was questing your problem? Did he realise you were checking him out? Are you checking him out? You’re unsure of what is going on… Maybe he’s annoyed you interrupted his talk, but why would he look so panicked when you caught him looking…? Nothing makes sense, but curiosity swirls inside your abdomen, just as your heart stops when he looks up again…

You haven’t looked away yet, and this time you can’t miss the way his eyes magnetise to yours, as if he can’t help it. He’s slower to look away too, although his orbs are still wide with shock. A surge of confidence washes over, watching him clear his throat and pause before he starts to read, his actions delayed, as if his mind is elsewhere. Excitement bubbles inside you as you take a look at his fingers again, they’re playing absentmindedly with the cream pages, as if he’s affected by something….by you, dare you think?

He begins reading a passage and you find yourself being even more captivated by his voice. It’s deep, it flows. It’s pleasant to listen to; soothing you, relaxing you, but most of all, despite the attraction you feel to the physical things about him, his words stir something within you, enchanting you in a different way.

"Some moments become more vivid with the passage of time. Yesterday's many encounters and goodbyes existed for this moment. Every alley and crossroad I walked through were all meant to lead me to this very place. That kind of moment is what I mean."

His voice is crystal clear, projecting all the way to the back of the hall, and your eyes stay glued to him, taking in each movement of his perfect rose-tinted lips. You urge him on, because for some reason you’re hooked, hanging off each word, which is like poetry falling off his tongue. His eyes reach yours again, for just a split second, but you notice it and the room is starting to become stuffy, some kind of tension clouds your being, and you can’t place what it is. There’s the inklings of something happening between the two of you here, and you’re unsure what it is…. You’re surprised no one in the room has noticed because it’s all you can feel, but then again, you realise, as you take a few cautious glances around you, no one is paying any attention to this class. It may as well just be he and you…

"The sound of cicadas that chirred like showers end in an instant. In the abrupt silence, I realise life's immense beauty...Even if this were a dream, this is where I choose to be. However, why is it that the happiest moments usher in such fear?"

You frown, finding yourself deeply into this story. There’s something about his voice that makes this story intense, you could listen to it forever. He could read you the whole novel right now and you would not care. You could sit here for hours—days even and you wouldn’t bat an eyelid. You’d welcome it. You’d beg for it. You shake your head at the thought, fidgeting in your seat. What is going on? You need to snap out of it, a good-looking man shouldn’t affect you this much…but he is… You find yourself leaning further out of your seat as he carries on, wanting more of the story, almost as if you wanted to jump straight inside it…

"Looking back, I had known all along that underneath the glittering world before my eyes lay my deception. That everything was to collapse with a breath of wind…"

You jumped in your seat as he slammed the book shut with one of his large hands, gulping loudly as the noise rings in your ears and you let yourself fall back against your seat, disappointment washing through you as you realise you aren’t getting more of the story. You glance up to see him watching you again and this time he doesn’t look away. In fact, he looks amused somehow, maybe by your reaction? Whatever it was, you feel embarrassment wash over you and it is your turn to look away, a fresh blush emerging on the apples of your cheeks. You feel relief flood over you as he begins speaking again, finding it easier to concentrate when he’s distracting you like this. You listen eagerly, mouth slightly parted, gaze intense as he begins to talk about his work.

You hang off every word that afternoon as he speaks about the meaning of love and every emotion that comes with it. He insists it’s all his personal opinion of course. He tells you love is what you make it. It can feel different for every person, some people can’t even experience love. Some people don’t even deserve love… You wonder if he’s in love right now? You find yourself searching his left hand for a wedding band, but to your unexplainable glee, there isn’t one. Your eyes catch for what seems like the hundredth time this afternoon, and exhilaration fills your every vein. You don’t understand what’s wrong with you, you’re never usually like this…

Love isn’t even something your interested in. You admit you’re a hopeless romantic in the fiction world. You love reading and watching anything related with the emotion; the joys, the hopes…the torments especially. Love is a wonderful thing, but it’s the one feeling that can hurt you the most in life. That’s why you’re not interested with it. You’ve never even let anyone come close to breaking your heart because you can’t let them in. Dating is as far as love has ever gotten you… and even that’s something you’ve given up on…

However, for some reason this author—Kim Namjoon, has you hooked. You can’t tell if it’s because of his looks, his work…or worse, the underlying attraction you feel radiating between you both, as if tied together by an invisible thread. It’s only heightened by each fleeting look you send each other within the two-hour time period.

You should feel relieved when it’s time to leave, but all your body feels is bitter disappointment.

Is that it?

The next time you see Kim Namjoon—or this time, a more fitting description is meet… The next time you meet Kim Namjoon is the very same night.

You’d ended up forcing yourself to go out tonight in the end. After the lecture you’d found yourself not being able to stop thinking about the tall, handsome stranger. It’s as if you needed to know more about him, as if you had some sort of unfinished business. In a maddened attempt to get to know him better, you had rushed to the library half way home and had searched high and low for a copy of his novel. Once you’d found it, you had stared hard at the midnight blue cover, as if you were searching for answers as to why you were so curious about this man.

You had been half sure you were going to cancel your plans of getting drunk tonight to stay at home and read, but you had shaken yourself out of it at the last minute, wondering what the hell was wrong with you! So, back at home on your bed lay Kim Namjoon’s novel, and here you are trying to forget about him and have some fun. It isn’t working out…

For what must have been the tenth time, you are sat in a side booth (where you had been all night, you may add), thinking about the mysterious author. You have even concocted a plan as how to contact him. You’ll read his book, binging it over the weekend and then you’ll email him telling him how much you enjoyed his work. It’s a silly plan but your mind is clouded of only thoughts of him…and that’s when you look across at the bar and see just who your heart desires.

You can’t blame it on the alcohol—you’ve been nursing the same glass of wine since you got here. So, you just presume it;s fate. Something you don’t believe in but it seems the universe is working in your favour tonight. It’s meant to be. There was a reason you were so mesmerised today in a class you usually fall asleep in. Your heart skips a beat as you watch him sat at the bar, a whisky in his hand as he swigs at it every now and then. There’s something about the way his shoulders are slumped and how he’s all alone that piques your interest even more. There’s an aura too him, almost melancholy, and you’ve never been more curious of a human being before in your life.

You need to go up to him. You need to talk to him. This is a sign and against your better judgement—the way more rational side of your brain—the irrational side wins. After all, you’re certain you weren’t imagining what happened today in that hall. There was something between you two and now this was the gods working things in your favour. Kim Namjoon is an itch that needs to be scratched. And you would do anything to numb the irritation.

The few steps that separate you both seem to go on for eternity as you walk towards him, heels clanking on the wooden floor, nothing like your heartbeat which is rapidly beating inside your rib cage. You’re nervous. You don’t understand why. Approaching men is no big deal for you, but you guess all those are nothing compared to him. He’s older for a start, definitely more mature, and he’s mysterious. He’s no college kid looking for a quick hook up, no strings attached. You’re not even sure you want him just for sex. Of course there’s an underlying sexual attraction that you feel vibrating in your bones but deeper than that, you want to get to know him, to unpick his brain and find out what’s inside. He seems interesting and this is the second time today you’ve ran into him.

You finally reach him, although he’s yet to notice and you take a deep breath before sitting on the stool next to him, acting as casual as can be while you lean forward, acting as spontaneous as this whole thing is. You don’t think before you speak, otherwise you’ll just wimp out. What’s the worst that could happen? He ignores you? Doesn’t matter, you don’t have to see him again…hopefully…

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You force your voice to sound light, waiting for his reply with bated breath. His head’s down, seemingly lost in his own little world and it takes him a few seconds to realise the voice is talking to him. When he finally looks up after a beated pause, his eyes widen in surprise. You try to give him your best sultry smirk, you don’t understand why you’re trying so hard, but you hope it works, even as the following seconds stretch by in silence.

“Or not,” you ramble on, shrugging, “it’s a small town after all.”

Panic fills you for a second. What if he has no clue who you are? What if you had imagined all those looks he’d been sending your way? You’re about to give up and run away, when he grins at you; it’s less cheerful and more like a smirk, his pearly whites making your heart flutter. If you’re not imagining it, there’s intent behind the small action, and you look down at the bar immediately, willing shades of crimson to stay away from your cheeks. To distract yourself, you begin to drum your nails on the wooden bar.

“You were in the class today, right?” He finally asks.

His voice is deeper than you remember from a few hours ago and you find yourself lost for words, physically forcing yourself to look him in the eye as you nod in reply. Your eyebrows knit together as you survey him for a moment. There’s something different about him. For one, he’s not looking away from you, unlike earlier on in the day. There’s something in his dark eyes as he watches you—almost eagerly. He seems more confident. Your eyes fall to his drink, empty, ice cubes melting. He’s well oiled—not drunk, because you don’t notice him swaying about the place. It’s just enough to give him some dutch courage and you feel elated as you look back at him to realise he hasn’t taken his eyes off you this whole time.

“What a coincidence,” he comments, his tone amused by something.

You lean further towards him, an elbow resting on the bar as you rest your cheek in the palm of your hand and you raise an eyebrow, “fate, right? You philosophers believe in garbage like that?”

He chuckles at that, shaking his head slightly and he looks away for the first time, eyes falling to the bottom of his glass. He hesitates for a second, as if he’s contemplating getting another drink. He decides against it and raises an eyebrow back at you. You’re blown away by how striking his face is close up like this; eyebrows and eyes dark, lips plump, chocolate locks more tousled tonight, as if he’s been pulling at the roots…it’s sexy, and excitement is swirling around in the pit of your stomach.

“We do—well, I do,” he replies finally. “Don’t you? You seemed very interested today, you couldn’t keep your eyes off me…”

This guy, you thought, your heart skipping a beat. The whiskey must have worked tonight, the confidence is radiating off him and effecting you greatly. Dare you say, you’re feeling giddy. There’s something between you both, you can feel it in the air, like an electric current.

“You piqued my interest,” you shrugged, desperate to keep your cool.

“Did I now,” he nods, voice an octave deeper, but he’s not looking at you any more.

“Did I not pique yours?”

He looks back again, dark orbs meeting your mischievous ones. There’s no point denying it. He knows you’d caught him looking a plethora of times.

“You did,” is all he replies and you feel jubilant, trying to hide your obnoxious grin.

“So, is drinking alone on a Wednesday night a habit of yours?” You ask, your free hand landing on the bar to drag your nails along the wood. He watches with great curiosity.

“Is it not a habit of yours too?”

“It’s not,” you shake your head, halting your movements. “I came with friends.”

He looks behind him for a moment, eyeing the bar as if to search for friends he didn’t even know the faces of. Your breath hitches when he leans back in, face dangerously close to yours, and it’s not like you to become so nervous, but you guess this man isn’t a normal conquest.

“Where did they go?” He asks, voice so deep now you feel it rumble through your core.

You swallow loudly, words failing you and he chuckles, sitting up straight again.

“Want a drink—hm, what’s your name?”

Your sit up straighter too, needing to clear your mind. This never happens to you. You’re never affected by a man like this, but then again, usually they’re childish college idiots that don’t know their way around life, let alone a vagina….you bet Namjoon does…. Jesus, what is wrong with you? But now you can’t get the mental images out of your head. Your gaze falls down to his fingers, still wrapped around the empty glass; they’re so long and bony and your mind goes straight to the gutter. You stumble with your words, feeling like an idiot as you mess up your own damn name!

“Er, it’s ____,” you finally get out.

He takes it in, as if he’s mentally letting the syllables embed in his brain and suddenly they’re falling off his tongue, silky and smooth and once again, causing an inferno between your thighs.

“____, so, do you want that drink?”

You shake your head immediately. Another drink will only cloud your head more and you need to keep your wits about you. The upper hand is something you need, and even though the new, freshly confident author is appealing, you liked it better when he was the one affected by your presence.

“I’ve had enough for tonight,” you hum.

“I agree,” he nods, pushing his empty glass away, as if to show he’s had his fill tonight too.

You take a deep breath. You can do this. Glancing down at his hands again to check for a wedding band, needing to make sure and desperate to not make a fool of yourself. Relief floods over you when you see there’s just a ring on his right hand, and that’s when you go in for the kill. There’s something between you, you can feel it. He can too. You know it. There’s an amorous tension in the dingy bar and you could cut it with a knife. You’re about to.

“I got your book out the library today,” you tell him. “I can’t wait to read it.”

“You’ll probably find it boring,” he shrugs, after a moment of looking surprised by your revelation.

You pray this isn’t ruining the moment, but you need to him to see the deeper meaning. It’s not just his book you’re interested in, that had just been a step in the doorway when he wasn’t sat in front of you, eyeing you up like he wants to eat you.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” you insist, taking a deep breath as you pluck up the courage to place a hand on his knee. “Even now.”

When your palm makes contact with his covered flesh he jumps slightly. He doesn’t relax, his muscle tense under your touch and you go in for the jugular.

“Maybe you could read it to me sometime?”

Your voice is as luscious as you can make it, maybe you’re pasting it on a bit too thick, but it seems to do the trick. You watch Namjoon gulp, eyes flickering back and forth between yours, when he speaks it’s a croak, as if his words are stuck in his throat.

“Read it to you?”

“It would be much more interesting if you’re there with me,” you nod, squeezing his knee as you begin to trail your fingers up his thigh. His breathing stutters as you travel further and he looks between his legs and your face repeatedly. An eyebrow is arched seductively (you hope,) on your face, telling him this is exactly what he thinks it is.

He swallows once. Twice. A third time, and then he finally speaks.

“Are you sure all you’re interested in is the book?”

He’s making it black and white. He needs to know if what you’re implying is true. Of course it is.

“Oops,” you grin, leaning in, “you got me.”

Your hand is dangerously close to his crotch. You’ve never felt for invigorated, your blood is pulsing dangerously loudly in your ears and you’re not stopping. He does nothing to stop you either. In fact, he’s watching all the while, eyes trained on your hand, no blinking; like if he did, you’d disappear.

“What do you say? How about it?” You purr against the shell of his ear, and you finally hit your destination, palm pressing against the length in his slacks.

He’s half hard already.

❁❁❁❁

Next thing you know, you’re in the back of his car, your dress bunched up to your hips, panties hanging off one foot and his head between your thighs, his flush lips wrapped around your clit as you chew down on the inside of your cheek, trying to stifle the moans that are leaving your mouth periodically.

It is when he adds two of his fingers, the cold metal of his ring pressing against your sensitive flesh you just about lose it. Your whole body is on fire, skin clammy and hot as you try to make sense of what is happening. Today is a shocker, that is for sure.

You tug at his chocolate locks, desperate to stop him in fear of coming too soon. All the blood is rushing to your head and you can’t think straight. He growls against your core and that’s enough for you fidget under his hold, eager to get free and take a few deep breaths. He pulls back and watches your reaction, pleasantly curious, in his next action blowing cold air against your slick mound. It tickles and you squirm, a squeal leaving you as he pulls his fingers out of you and clamps both hands around your hips, disabling your movements.

You’re panting as you watch him, sure that you could come from him just staring at you, eyes blown out black, mouth and nose covered in your arousal. What a pretty sight. You absentmindedly smooth down his fringe and smile meekly, glad of the reprieve. It doesn’t last long and you groan when he pushed his two fingers back inside you, feeling around your sensitive walls.

“You cum too quickly,” he comments, and you giggle weakly, amused at the frown on his face.

You reach forward to iron out the crease between his eyebrows, “I haven’t yet.”

“You’re close though,” he insists, and to prove his point he pumps his fingers inside of you once, an action that has your ass lifting off the clammy leather seating as a yelp leaves your throat.

You whine slightly, fingers latching around his wrist to halt any more movement he may feel like adding. Your eyes lock and your heart jumps. This is weird. This shouldn’t feel so natural, but here you are with a stranger’s face millimetres away from your vagina. The stranger part isn’t what’s weird; you’ve hooked up with many strangers in your time, but none have felt like this. Usually they’re a one off, a distant memory come the next morning when you leave their bed and stumble home.

As if on cue, Namjoon removes his hand from between your legs again and cocks an eyebrow, “wanna ride to my place?”

Your heart thunders in your chest and you nod quickly, biting down on your bottom lip as you visualise what’s in store for the night. In the back of your head, you feel it strongly—tonight won’t just be a one off…

And you’re right. Over the weeks that follow, Namjoon and you continue to meet up. He doesn’t live too far away from your apartment and you find yourself there quite a few nights a week. His place his small and cluttered, décor dark and mismatched but it suits him, you guess. It’s definitely got character and so has he. You’re surprised how drawn you are to him, interest unwavering as you get to know each other better. You could spend hours listening to him; his views, his opinions, his stories. He’s unlike any person you’ve ever met before. He listens too, and he gives you advice. You form a bond, and it becomes addictive.

The sex is amazing too. When you aren’t talking, you’re fucking each other’s brains out. You’ve never had so much sex. You’ve never had so much sex with just one person. There’s an unmistakable sexual tension between you that can’t seem to be quenched. Like your bodies were made for each other. Nothing makes you feel more alive than when he’s inside you, pleasuring you, making you come…

The sexual attraction is there, but it runs deeper, you’re positive. You joked about fate when you first saw him at that bar, but now a part of you may start to believe it. Namjoon says he was supposed to find you that day. The universe brought him to you and he isn’t letting you go. Your heart flutters when he says that, even more so when he calls you his muse. For the first time in months he says he can write again, his latest release having drained him dry of every drop of creative juice inside his body. You ignite something inside of him again and you joke it’s the power of a woman’s young, hot body. He laughs, but tells you your greatest turn on is your brain. That’s a new one, and from anybody else you wouldn’t believe them; it sounds like a foolproof way to get inside a gullible girl’s pants, but for some reason you believe every word Namjoon says. Which is lucky for him after you unravel a secret he’s been keeping from you…

It begins because he won’t let you see inside his notebook. You know he’s writing poetry in there and the curiosity is killing you. Is he writing about you? If so, what kind of things is he penning down? Whatever it is, he’s adamant not to let you see and you pout. The next best thing is for him to read you extracts from his book, he still hasn’t taken you up on the request, despite weeks passing by since he ate you out in his car.

You’re laying on his bed when you find the discriminating evidence. He’s at his desk, as per usual, scribbling away. You’re bored and you want him to pay attention to you, so you reach for his copy of the hardback that’s on his nightstand. He’s too distracted to hear, even when you ask him to read to you. You flick through pages and pages, trying to find something and that’s when a polaroid falls out. It’s him and a woman, smiling up at the camera. Namjoon’s arm is around her waist and your first thought is, they look so in love.

Your first instinct is to think he’s cheating. It would explain his dingy flat. Maybe it’s a guise for work, a place where he can write, but in reality, it’s where he brings back women. You. How stupid have you been?! You jump to that conclusion and let him know it; shouting and threatening to leave if he doesn’t tell you the truth. He seems unwilling to, but when you begin to storm out, he grabs your wrist, desperate to make you stay. He’ll tell you, he promises.

What he confesses, isn’t a confession at all. More like a very sad reality. One he’s been living for the past year. He’s divorced—freshly as of five months ago, although it’s been over for a year. His ex-wife cheated on him, an affair for four long months behind his back. It left him heartbroken and lost and he’s only just got his life back together, with the help of writing; his novel, which holds all his secrets, hidden behind the word fiction…

You’re filled with a sense of pity. You’ve never been cheated on, never letting someone in deep enough for that, but you can guess how it feels. And you also know Namjoon didn’t deserve it. He’s sweet and conscientious, always thinking of others and you’re mad that someone could treat him like that. Romance in real life isn’t for you, but marriage is the biggest step someone can take. If they aren’t going to stick to their vows, then what’s the point?

He’s still hurt by it all, you can tell; tormented and scarred and somewhere deep down jealously stirs in your stomach. Something you’ve never experienced before. Why would you need to be jealous of anyone? Especially of someone who you don’t know…. You shake your head and push those thoughts away, needing a distraction. You’re sitting next to him on his bed, your hand on his shoulder as you comfort him. He looks sad and you want to make him happy again. You want to distract him too…

One of his eyebrows cocks up when you sink to the floor, kneeling in front of his seated form as you pry apart his legs. He lets you of course, a hungry look flashing in his eyes as you run your hands up and down his thighs, his muscles flexing at every feather light touch. He stays silent but his breath hitches in his throat when you reach for his belt buckle. A couple of your fingers graze against his crotch and you feel it—he’s half hard already and you hide your glee. Knowing you have this effect on him makes you jubilant, you feel the power coursing through your veins and settling inside your heart, which hums happily inside its cage.

You pull down his pants with haste, his cock bobbing out, coming to life with the hit of cold air. You take him in your hand instantly, dipping your head so the flat of your tongue presses against the engorged tip. He lets out a shaky breath, but his eyes never close, he keeps his pupils trained on your face. You don’t look away either, lapping at the hot flesh as you glide your fist over him, back and fore; he grows harder and harder, until you feel the strongest vein pulse in your palm. You take him deeper into your mouth and he moans throatily, head falling back. You come up for air and he entangles his fingers in your hair, the smallest of pants leaving him as he watches you swirl your wet muscle against him, brushing against the red slit. You smirk when his body jerks into you, taking him fully back in your mouth, feeling alive from the burn that travels down your throat.

“I’m so glad I found you,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter.

You close your eyes at that. Letting the words sink into your mind, more warmth fills you and suddenly you’re living to pleasure him. His gaze is soft now, features relaxed and your steel has won. You want him to forget about her and this is the only way you know how. You choose to believe his words. It’s fine. It’s sex. But as you continue, you realise the determination inside of you may run deeper, especially when he releases, hand caressing strands of hair and your face as you pull away.

It’s at that point, you feel the cold metal of his ring. The shock hits you like a bullet, and you watch with wide eyes as his right hand falls to his thigh. The metal band across his ring finger is gold and simple; akin to a wedding ring...just on the wrong hand…

A foreign feeling swarms your whole being but he’s unaware. How silly you are… It’s been staring you in the face all this time, just in the wrong place. He wears his wedding ring on the wrong hand, a permanent reminder of the vows he made and the ones she broke. Her face flashes through your mind as you close your eyes, trying to rationalise your thoughts. What is wrong with you? But you know you’ve realised something and you don’t know how to feel…

Namjoon isn’t over her. And with that the jealously consumes you; your heart squeezing tight, a physical pain searing through your stomach, like a knife cutting away at your insides.

Life returns back to normal after that, or so you tell yourself. You learn to ignore the jealous niggles that try to confuse you and Namjoon doesn’t bring up his ex-wife again. The only reminder you have that she exists, is the ring on his wrong hand and the polaroid that stays hidden in his work. It’s just sex, you repeat to yourself; a perk to the friendship you and he have formed. So what if he’s using you to get over her. You’re using him for pleasure.

You tell yourself that but every time you find yourself under him, there’s a ferocious heat that threatens to burn all your beliefs to the ground.

Tonight is no different. It starts off the same as always, he at his desk scribbling away while you’re on his bed. You’ve carefully peeled off what little clothing you had on to reveal black silk underwear. You distract with sex the best and you use it on him well tonight, dainty hand travelling between your legs as you rub and prod at yourself, vocals melodramatic, but it has to be that or nothing. You put on a show as your writhe around on the bed, legs stretched wide open, panties soaked through. Namjoon doesn’t move nor does he look behind him, he continues working diligently, but you don’t give up. There’s something about the way his back is unnaturally poker straight that tells you everything you need to carry on—he’s listening, and he’s enjoying.

When you come hard against your fingers with a silky moan, no sooner have you slid your hand back up your body, panties falling back in place, he’s up from his chair, standing at the foot of the bed wordlessly. He’s already shirtless and the sound of his belt buckle unclasping sends shoots of excitement through your body. You’re close to ceasing up when he’s finally naked and hovering above you, stripping you bare too, and then your body is on fire when he enters you, caressing your body like you’re fine china; delicate and pretty.

Sometimes you think your body was made for him. You’ve never thought such a thing before, but when you’re with him like this you’ve never felt so alive. He lights up your whole body, nerve endings tingling and you never want him to leave you. You cling to him, hoping if you hug him tight enough he’ll realise what words can’t say. This is all new to you…feelings…and you don’t know what to do with them, let alone how to express them. You wonder if he cares at all? What are you to him? He says so many words but to you they feel empty…because you’re always reminded of whose shadow your in. Are you good enough for him? Do you make him feel the same? Do you make him feel better?

You wonder if this is God playing a trick on you… Feelings and emotions you can’t explain taking a hold of your body, and you can’t do a damn thing about them. Why must the first person you fall for not be ready to do the same? You don’t know if he ever will… You wonder how this happened to you...and you wonder how you can stop it…

Stress comes in the form of dreams. You spend your days hiding from your feelings, pushing away all your anxieties, but that just means they’re there to torment you in your sleep. You don’t even realise it until you explain it to Namjoon one night. He can tell something is gnawing at your brain so you let him. You want to talk to him. You tell him about the same recurring nightmare you’ve had for days now; it always starts off the same… You’re leaving class to begin to walk home, as time passes you start to walk faster, your heart thudding in your chest as if something bad is about to happen. It’s not until your running for your life that you realise you’re being chased. When you turn around there’s no one there and then you wake you with a start, doused in a cold sweat, your heart beating ferociously in your chest.

“You’re running away from something,” he tells you immediately and you frown, trying to think.

The realisation hits you hard when he kisses you on the forehead and your heart flutters… An act so sweet and intimate you can’t breathe for a second.

It’s you.

You’re running away from yourself. That’s why there’s no figure behind you in the dream.

You’re running away from your own feelings.

Like a bad omen, not a week later and it’s over. There’s nothing to run away from anymore. It caught up with you.

You blame your morbid curiosity and your self-doubt. He’s always writing in his notebook and you wonder what an earth it could be? You bet it’s about her. It has to be. Why else wouldn’t he let you see inside?

You read it one night when he’s in the shower, shaky fingers riffling through the pages as you try to find something condemning. You frown as you come across pages and pages of scribbles, small phrases here and there, definitions of words…

Serendipity.

An occurrence and development of events by chance, or so it’s written down here. A happy accident… You read on with bated breath, trying to find an explanation to his mind, but you only get more confused…

I watch you from behind, only because now is not the time.

The whole universe is different from yesterday, just from your happiness.

When you call me, I become your flower. As if we were waiting, we bloom until we ache.

The cosmos aligned for us...

You are me and I am you...

Let me love you.

You read the last line over and over again, your heart dropping. No matter how many times you read it the sting doesn’t go away. You’re even still staring at the page in disbelief when Namjoon comes out the shower, dread filling his face. You see red immediately.

“This is about her, isn’t it?”

His look of uncertainty soon turns to shock and all he can do is splutter as you hurl more accusations at him. Finally, silence falls across his bedroom as he cuts you off, words leaving his mouth that make no sense.

“It’s about you,” he tells you. “It’s all about you, every page.”

You don’t believe him. You can’t believe him. He’s playing a cruel trick on you and you explode. This is not how it’s supposed to be. Life doesn’t play out that simply for you. He’s using you as an excuse for getting caught. He’s using you as an excuse, period. Because he’s still in love with her…

He rubbishes your claims straight away. Telling you he’s been over her months ago, long before he met you. He tells you he wants to be with you and that it’s meant to be. Fate. That word again that you hate. You hate it with all you have because it mocks you. It’s not fate. It’s a curse. You’ve fallen for someone you can’t have and the pain inside your chest hurts like crazy, your heart heavy.

“Listen to yourself,” he admonishes. “I don’t love her anymore.”

He speaks slowly and clearly but it’s no use. You won’t believe him, not when the evidence is staring you right in the face.

“How can you say that when you still wear your ring?”

He looks shocked for a moment, as if the fact has only just dawned on him. He looks at his hand as if he’s seeing it for the first time and you scoff. You’re not that stupid, you fail to believe he’s just been wearing it all this time out of habit.

“I-It doesn’t mean anything,” he stutters, as if he’s desperate for you to believe him and he tries to reach out for you, but you push him away. “I’m sentimental, it’s hard just to drop something that once meant everything to me.”

You shake your head. Bullshit. “She still means everything to you,” you yell.

“She doesn’t,” he insists and that’s when he tears the ring off his finger, holding it up in the air, making sure you’re watching before he throws it in the trash can.

“____, I love you.”

Your heart blooms for a second. Words you’ve never heard directed at you before. The feeling is foreign and your head feels dizzy, but as soon as you take another breath you come back to your senses. You can’t believe him. He’s confused. He doesn’t mean it. You can’t live up to her. He doesn’t want you like that…

You shake your head more frantically. You need to leave. You need to get away from him.

“Being with me won’t help you get over her,” you tell him, positive it’s what he’s trying to do. You push past him, stopping at his door when he calls you back for a second. His words conflicting you, but you are certain you’re correct—he’s still in love with his ex-wife.

“If you read my book you’d realise there’s nothing to get over any anymore.”

You just dismiss him angrily and walk out.

The weeks that follow are some of the loneliest you’ve ever had. You can’t stop thinking about Namjoon. Everything you do reminds you of him. He’s even in your dreams. He gives up calling you after a few days, telling you, you know where he is if you want to talk. It takes everything you have to ignore him, but you do it because you know it’s for the best. You know best.

His novel haunts you too. You can’t bring yourself to hand it back to the library, constantly checking it back out over and over again online, like you’ve been doing for the past few weeks you’ve known him. You’d wanted to read it from the very first time you’d seen him, but the damning development had scared you into taking the plunge—you knew you’d read something you didn’t like, something that would make you sick with envy.

And now his words are haunting you. What does he mean ‘there was nothing to get over anymore?’

His book stays on your nightstand for the next couple of weeks, a constant reminder of what you had and what you’ve lost. Every time you pick it up to read, the smell of the pages takes you right back to his bedroom and you’re so filled with emotion you can’t catch your breath. His words swirling around you head… I love you…. He loves you. You so very much want it to be true, but despite maybe the answers hiding inside his book, you can’t do it. You continue to run away from your feelings…

Trying to get over Namjoon proves difficult, especially because you can’t stand to have another’s hands on you. Sex used to be pleasure, now it just reminds you of him… Tonight isn’t any different, making a total fool out of yourself when some guy tries it on with you. You kiss him, shutting you eyes tight as you try to block out images of Namjoon. You try to concentrate on the guy’s hands against your body, but it’s to no avail. He isn’t Namjoon. It isn’t Namjoon’s hands on your body and it isn’t Namjoon’s mouth against your own.

That’s what the problem is. Nobody is him…

That’s how you find yourself back at home after pushing the guy away from you, creating a scene that wasn’t even his fault. You want to sleep but your brain is still awake and it’s when you toss and turn for what feels like the hundredth time, that the midnight blue binding catches your eye. His novel. Your heart sinks inside your chest. You know it’s the only way to get over him… So, you reach out with shaky hands, turning on your lamp as you sit up, propping your back up with pillows.

You read it to let your heart be put to rest. You read it to be proven right. To finally see that your suspicions were correct, that Namjoon’s still in love with his ex-wife… You read it to try and get over him.

However, instead, you realise that you’ve been wrong all along…

You can’t put the book down from the first page. His writing captivates you immediately, poetic and intense, just like his personality and you find yourself reading all through the night and early next morning. You smile, you laugh and you cry, the world of fiction invoking something deep inside of you, because only you understand the truth behind his words… It’s not make believe for him; it’s real and it’s raw, and he’s been through it…

He’s lived it.

The truth dawns on your slowly and you suddenly feel very stupid… It’s true. Everything he said. He doesn’t love her anymore. He was already over her before he met you. He wasn’t a broken man. He was just someone who met a person and fell for them… You… He really had thought it was fate and you had chucked it all back in his face. There was no competition, no second best, just you and him… He wasn’t using you to try and make everything better. It was already better and it became something more when you appeared in his life.

He loves you and you’d just walked away…

A couple of weeks pass again, and you continue to check out his book, if not to have it as a constant reminder of what you’ve lost. The easy thing to do would be to meet him and apologise, to tell him that you want him and that you love him too, but you can’t bring yourself to do so. You wonder if he hates you now. You would hate you. You’d practically told him how to feel—what was real and what wasn’t. You’d disregarded him and you didn’t deserve his forgiveness…

So instead you just went about your every day life; classes, work, home. Life becomes mundane again, no excitement without Namjoon and each day you are reminded of how much you miss him and how much of an effect he had on your life and on you in general. You wonder what he’s doing at stupid moments in the day, like at 7am he’d be having his first coffee of the morning or at 4pm on a Tuesday he’d take his weekly walk down to the railway station, watching different kinds of trains pull in as he’d try to gain inspiration to write.

Tonight, you are thinking of him once again. Your friends have noticed there’s something down about you and you’ve let them drag you out finally, to their glee. You don’t realise until you see the décor of the dingy bar, memories flooding back to you like a tsunami…this is the place where you first met Namjoon properly. The nostalgia hits you hard, and you’re glad you’re sitting down, sadness mixed with a tinge of joy, remembering back to the good times. That’s why you can’t bring yourself to leave. You want to live for a moment in past memories.

It’s when you’re lost in thought that you feel the creeping sensation up your spine; as if someone’s watching you. Like a sixth sense you know already and you look up to see him, sat at the bar; akin to the first time. Your heart skips a beat as he smiles at you, dimples forming and then your heart is swelling inside your chest, twice it’s size. Everything makes sense again. He’s there. He’s real.

Fate.

That word again. And you finally believe in it.

Because you love him.

You’re in love with him.

The feeling is new and you didn’t realise it would be so obvious, so definite. You feel it everywhere, in each muscle, in each bone and in each pore.

Before you know it, you’re standing up and you’re walking over to him. He looks back at the bar as you take a seat next to him, a coy smile on his face as he swirls his whisky around the glass, ice cube clinking. You take a deep breath, feeling at ease now you’re finally in the same vicinity as him. You take a curious glance at him to find he looks just as pleased.

“I read it,” you finally say after a few moments, and he dips his head, trying hard to fight his grin.

“What took you so long?” He questions, voice light as he teases you.

You smile to yourself, “I thought I was right.”

“Stubborn,” he dismisses, nudging you with his shoulder and you giggle. “Want a drink?”

You nod lightly, and shuffle your stool closer to his, thighs touching before you stretch out your hand to clasp his fist in yours.

“Is this fate?” You ask and he pauses to look down at you, happiness flashing in his eyes.

“Only if you want it to be,” he murmurs.

You’ve never wanted something more.

You squeeze his hand in reply. He’s warm and you sigh in delight, you’re home.