#the timeline is all over the place but its FINE

[lymansims]

unfortunately, Austin's comfort thrift shop isn't just his. it's a good thing he's really mature and can have a grown up conversation about what happened and-- oh, he walked away.

okay, bye Austin.

[ganondoodle]

as cool as their design is im really starting to dislike the sonau in general, aside from their stuff suddendly being everywhere and everything being about them and how cool(tm) they are now with the mystery stone turning people into dragons and the similarities between the sonau and the three dragons (naydra, eldra, farodra) its actually not an impossibility that they used to be sonaus as alot of people have been theorizing about ..but ...... idk that would very much ruin their otherwordly yet ethereal mystery to me

i probably sound like some hater whos trying to find something more to dislike about totk all the time but i promise im not!!

the three dragons being some unexplained mystery, beings that are there yet few can see them, timeless, nigh untouchable, they dont act on anything, they dont talk, something about them has always made me look at them in awe; if it turned out they were just yet another cool(tm) sonau guy that ate a stone ... :/

not a fan of that one lads, but dont worry, i will keep my thoughts to myself from now on, i dont want to ruin other peoples fun nor seem like i just hate everything ... the three dragons are just really important to me so i had to say something

[imflyingfish]

i gotta start editing videos so that i can be as pretentious about it as i feel i am.

[ckret2]

The second dimension has burned, all its neighbors are burning, Bill's mutated Dimension Zero into some sort of non-euclidean horror land where he's setting up a ghoulish undead kingdom and pretending that he's fine, and every five minutes the Axolotl sees something new he's gonna have nightmares about for the next billion years.

Naturally, the gods of the multiverse have got to do something:

Make sure the non-euclidean horror land complies with local construction codes.

Here, have a fic. 

This is part 4 of a series about the Axolotl—and various local gods—trying to figure out how to deal with the aftermath of what will one day be called the Euclidean Massacre. Here are parts one, two, and three.

####

As the Time Giant inspected Dimension Zero, she took a dizzying array of measurements and performed several tests on the unstable cosmic foam that seemingly made up the dimension. To the Axolotl's untrained eye, the tests looked more like alchemy than engineering. She even momentarily popped out to a point in her timeline when she was in her office to pick up some more specialized equipment.

Dimension Zero operated like an omnidirectional treadmill, the Axolotl discovered; if you flew far enough to the left, you ended up looping around to the right, far enough up and you ended up down, far enough forward and you ended up in the back. The distances were vast, certainly, but finite. Which meant that finding the "edge" of Dimension Zero to escape it was near impossible—it had no edges. The Axolotl was amazed at his luck in having successfully found an exit the last time he was in here. Locating the border of this impossible dimension was like navigating a four-dimensional labyrinth.

But apparently the Time Giant was very good at navigating labyrinths, because again and again she effortlessly located Dimension Zero's border. It was like a thin layer of incorporeal cellophane you could move straight through without leaving Dimension Zero; but if you looked at it just right, from just the right time and place, it became real, and you saw through it into the neighboring dimensions. She spent a long time grimly examining the burning first and second dimensions "above" Dimension Zero—and a long time inspecting the places where the neighboring dimensions had already been incinerated completely, and Dimension Zero bloated out toward the third dimensions like an overfilled trash bag. 

And meanwhile, the "Magister Mentium," de facto ruler of this grotesque domain, decided that while he was waiting for news, the most magisterial thing he could do was returned to his party.

To the Axolotl's amazement, the triangle did actually seem to be dancing with his people. There was still some intelligence in some of the living and the dying-but-never-dead shapes.

Some of them knew a dance that involve interlacing their fingers, right hands to right hands, and whirling together around their joined grip, then switching to lace their left hands together and twirl the other way; and the triangle couldn't be puppeting them—not all of them, not all the time—because sometimes his dance partners were the ones who got the steps right while he fumbled the timing. The Axolotl watched as he missed grabbing a line's hand because he'd somehow gotten slightly skewed into the third dimension and his hand went over hers instead; she teasingly jabbed him in the side with her point, and in retaliation he knocked into her with one of his lower corners and snapped her in half; with a wave of his hand she was repaired and bewildered. In his shock, the Axolotl hadn't seen it the last time he'd been here—but the triangle's eternal dance party was both the horror of a root system digging deep into rotting flesh, and the hope of a flower blooming from an unmarked grave. How many of the dancers were voluntarily dancing forever? 

He didn't have an opportunity to find out. When the Time Giant had finished her inspection, she waved over the triangle again. (Not that she needed to; in spite of being back at the party, he'd also somehow remained at the Time Giant's elbow the whole time, watching what she did without blinking.) "All right, I've got the verdict on your dimension. Do you wanna start with the bad news, the worse news, or the ugly news?"

"Ease me into it," the triangle said. "So what's the matter with my dream realm?"

"The matter."

"That's what I'm asking."

"The matter's what's the matter with it."

"What?"

"Every reading I've taken indicates there's a dimension's worth of matter in here. The mass is here for it, all right. I'm picking it up no problem. I just can't find your matter." She gestured out at the infinite dance party, the swirling colors, the twinkling faraway lights, "Everything visible adds up to so little matter that I didn't even bring any tools sensitive enough to register it. It doesn't account for all the mass I'm measuring."

He surveyed the view warily. "So you're saying my place's mass is... what, invisible?"

"Invisible, stuck in pocket dimensions...  Y'all said any rubble left over from Dimension 2 Delta would've fallen in here, right? You got it hidden away somewhere?"

His eye lit up. "Oh! Are you looking for this?" He pulled a tall black hat out from seemingly nowhere and reached his arm all the way down into it to pull out a speck of dust: radiating blinding light in every direction, but so dark that staring into it made the Axolotl feel like his eyes were being sucked out of his skull into a black hole. "This is 2Δ's matter."

"Is that all that's left?"

"The whole shebang!"

"Then nah, that's not it. If that had all the matter of a dimension, and it was that small. it'd be the nuke of nukes. The seed of a Big Bang. All it'd take is a dimension's worth of energy to thaw that turkey, and pfft! You've got a baby dimension on your hands." She gestured dismissively at the speck, "No way a mortal could handle an object like that without its gravity crushing you—never mind have the energy to move it."

The triangle stared down at his little pearl of matter. "Huh." It was an oddly intense stare for just a fleck of dust.

"If you don't know where all the hidden matter is, then ten to one odds, you've got a dark matter problem," the Time Giant said. "Nasty stuff. It'll exponentially speed up the heat death of your dimension. You'll have to get a specialist in here to see if there's anything you can do about that dark matter. You want referrals?"

He was silent for a moment, still not looking up; then he said, "No, no—I don't need them." He stuffed the speck back into his hat, tossed aside the party hat he'd been wearing, and put on the black one. "I'm a DIY kind of triangle! I'll figure out what dark matter is."

The Time Giant snorted. "Suit yourself. Problem two: this dimension's a singularity. A really big, spread out singularity, which by the definition of a singularity is impossible—"

"We like impossible around here!"

"Uh huh, I can tell. But it means things that should be separate things are crushed together into one thing—including the landscape and the mindscape. Dreams and reality are occurring on the same level of existence. There's no clear distinction between facts and fiction."

"Okay," he said. "So, is that a problem, or...?"

"For starters," she jerked a thumb toward the distant-and-yet-somehow-ever-present dance party, "it means that the dead and the living are on the same plane. Can't separate life from an afterlife here. And it means anything could happen just by imagining it too hard. Some traumatized vet gets war flashbacks? The war's actually happening again. Have a nightmare about your wife dying? Your wife's dead. If everyone stops thinking about a building for a moment, it could stop existing. Contracts are useless—what you think you remembered them saying becomes what they actually said."

"So, is that a problem, orrr...?"

She paused. "Shoot, it's your universe. If you're fine with it, whatever."

"I call it the dream realm for a reason!"

"Issue three's the ugly one: this dimension's completely unstable," the Time Giant said.

"Yeah, I know," the triangle sighed. "The electromagnetism..."

"The electromagnetism ain't the half of it. I mean it is really unstable. I don't know how it's lasted as long as it has. I can see half a dozen ways the dimension could completely collapse on itself in the next ten minutes."

"What! Where?!"

She pointed. "For one thing, a whole pillar of spacetime right there is about to implode and form a wormhole."

He zoomed over to the pillar, multiplying into a dozen copies to examine it from every angle. (He looked the same small size as always, but the Axolotl realized that with the distance the pillar was at, he must be lightyears across to be visible from here—either that, or somehow he hadn't gotten any further away. The triangle shouldn't even visible when the light from his position shouldn't reach them for thousands of years. A realm that operated on dream logic.)

While he inspected the unstable structure, the Time Giant said, "Nothing about the structure of this place is self-sustaining. It should've collapsed back into a singularity as soon as 2Δ fell in. I got no idea how it just keeps propping itself back up..."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm working on it," the triangle snapped.

The Time Giant paused. "What?"

"I'm working on it! I'd be working on it right now if you hadn't dragged me away from the party!" The nearest iteration of the triangle groaned, dragging his eyelid down with his hands. "I've been spending ages trying to keep this stupid leaky balloon inflated, and now look at this!" He gestured in exasperation at the pillar preparing to wormhole itself. "I have to start again! Do you know how many times I've tried to fold the... the dumb... the plane?" He tried to pantomime the act of folding something with his hands; as he did, apparently without noticing what he was doing, he folded himself up, like a triangular origami paper. "Fold it in a way that'll get it to stay put? And it just won't! It keeps flopping over! It's driving me nuts!"

"The 'plane'?" 

He unfolded himself with a sharp snap. "You know what I'm talking about! The plane! The plane that everything's made out of! The..." Frustrated, the triangle grabbed a wad of existence itself and shook it in the Time Giant's and Axolotl's faces. "This stuff!"

"The fabric of reality?" the Time Giant asked, flummoxed. "You can detect the fabric of reality? You can interactwith it?"

"Is that what it is?" He flung it down in disgust. "Well, it won't stay put when I fold it!"

"Yeah, fabric tends not to do that."

"Right. Right." Grimly, the triangle said, "I need the starch of reality."

"Don't starch reality."

He flung up his hands in defeat. "Well, I've tried everything else!"

Softly, the Time Giant said, "Huh." As if she'd just figured out the answer to a question she hadn't even had a chance to ask.

On the other hand, the Axolotl just had more questions. He may not know very much about the fabric of reality, but... well, that was just the thing. He didn't know much about the fabric of reality. Sure, if he ran into a fraying timeline he could tie up the loose ends and snip off the damaged threads; he could summon up his pocket afterlife at any time, opening a liminal space into his tank from anywhere in the multiverse; but that was the most complex thing he could manage by himself. He certainly didn't know enough to do anything as complicated as keep an unstable dimension from imploding on itself.

But he did know that he didn't know nearly enough for it to be safe for him to even try... and he at least knew what the fabric of reality was. For someone even more ignorant than him to try it...

The Time Giant asked, "Didn'cha... say you're a mortal?"

"Yeah?" the triangle said defensively. He didn't even waste time looking at them; his full focus was back on the pillar, which was beginning to twist around itself. "Last I checked? And?"

She held up her hands. "S'fine. Nothing wrong with that."

Just before the pillar could fully transform into a wormhole, the triangle muttered irritably to himself and snapped his fingers. The pillar inverted like a flower bud turning inside-out. There was an infinitely vast creaking groan—but nevertheless, this immediately solved the pending wormhole issue. And also promptly caused four more things to go catastrophically wrong.

The triangle let out a strangled scream of frustration as half the firmament inverted colors and the stars glowed black. "No no no no no—!" He skidded across existence to the reversed sky, a thousand hands trying to twist the stars back on before the damage spread; another copy of him was knitting closed a rapidly unraveling corner of reality with his own arms as the thread; and the Axolotl wasn't sure what the other dozen shining yellow triangles he saw whizzing by were doing, but a ringing sound he hadn't previously noticed suddenly stopped.

Throughout Dimension Zero, there was a grinding, rumbling noise that filled all of existence. The Axolotl and Time Giant both flinched at a couple of great, splintering cracking noises, so deep that they were felt rather than heard. From every direction, the Axolotl could see soot and souls rain into the dimension. The Time Giant watched the grisly rain, jaw slack in amazement.

The Axolotl saw black hands catch the souls as they fell.

In a moment the triangle was back, looking a little worse for the wear: twitchy, dazed, eye dilated too wide, clearly even more distracted than he'd been a minute ago. He didn't look exhausted, per se—the Axolotl thought he should look exhausted—but it uncomfortably dawned on him that, if the triangle was powerful enough to knit the fabric of reality back together despite not even knowing what the fabric of reality was... maybe he was too powerful to get exhausted.

Where had a mortal gotten that power?

The triangle let out a heavy sigh. "Okay—"

And then a nearby star immediately collapsed into a black hole and started slurping down the raw fabric of reality rather than any of the regular matter hovering just outside its event horizon.

He froze a moment, eye squeezed shut in an expression of pure agony; and then he was zipping across the dimension again to fix one more crisis.

All this time, the Axolotl had thought the triangle was inebriated. He wasn't inebriated at all. It was pain. He had to be near delirious with pain, struggling to control everything without a moment's rest. Weaving back and forth and popping here and there across the dimension as he tweaked and fixed small crises before they became large ones, trying to convince himself that he was at a party as he danced frenziedly with his ever-dying people even as he simultaneously knit and taped and stapled existence back together with his own body. Every time they'd spoken to him, he'd been distracted. They were distracting him from keeping his entire reality from falling apart.

The Time Giant watched him zoom around with her thumbs hooked in her belt and a grin across her face. "Man. I wanna set you loose in an infinite hardware store and see what you do with it."

The triangle gave her an unamused, dead-eyed look. (And somewhere else, he was also picking up the black hole, eyeing it tiredly, and finally just punting it in a random direction. Existence rumbled again.)  "Hey, if you know a hardware store that's got whatever it'll take to keep this place from falling to pieces, and you think you can babysit the dream realm until I'm back...

Her smile faded. "Don't think that's gonna work."

He was immediately on his guard. "Oh?"

"That's what I was trying to explain: it's not just your dimension that's unstable; it's destabilizing all the dimensions around it, too."

He flung up his hands exasperatedly. Pale blue flames ignited around his hands. "Yeah, I know!" He hastily shook out the flames on his fingers as he said, "Tell the neighbors to keep their stupid pants on, I'm working on getting this place stable—" (The Axolotl stared at his hands long after the flames were gone.)

"No, you don't get it," she said. "Trying to stabilize it is what's destabilizing the other dimensions."

He paused. "What are you talking about."

"This 'dream realm' is supposed to be a singularity in an empty void at the bottom of everything. The dimensions above are designed to support the higher dimensions weighing down on them without collapsing. They're not structured to take pressure pushing up on them from below." The Time Giant gestured around at Dimension Zero, "And that's what we've got now! Your renovations have filled up the void. That's where that grinding when you 'move' is coming from: every time you try to prop up this dimension, it crashes against all the neighbors—and they push back and destabilize you again. Just based on what little I saw when I was checking the place out, the other second dimensions must be taking heavy damage. We're talking planes fracturing apart, physics destabilizing, wormholes, temperature fluctuations from absolute zero to near Big Bang-level heat—"

"And fires," the Axolotl said in realization, remembering the ashes he'd seen raining into Dimension Zero when the triangle had fixed the wormhole. "The dimensions that were around 2Δ are burning. Nobody could figure out why we couldn't get them under control. It was you."

All of Dimension Zero fell several degrees colder.

The music faltered. The distant dancers that could stop did, shaken out of their trances to look around for their magister. For a moment, the Axolotl could hear the dimension's hissing background radiation almost clearly enough to understand what it was saying—whispers, they were whispers, the Axolotl hadn't been imagining that they sounded like voices. They really were.

He thought he could hear screams in the whispers.

The triangle stared at them, eye wide and empty.

The Time Giant gave him a moment. "You good?"

"No, I— Yes, of course I'm good! I'm great!" He squeezed his eye shut and rubbed it harshly between his thumb and forefinger. He did not look great. "I'm not destroying any dimensions, that's insane! You're insane!" His voice was rising toward a shriek. "Nothing's on fire! I don't know what you're talking about! How would you know?! I heard you out there early, the rest of you are—what, what are you doing, arguing about whose district the ashes are in?! Trying to shift the blame to each other instead of doing anything? And meanwhile I've been here all this time! I'm the only one fixing anything! I'm the one who's been liberating my people from their stupid flat little dimensions before the apocalypse can reach them, so—what do you know about anything here!"

"'Liberating'?" the Time Giant said. "What in the multiverse are you talking about?" The Axolotl's stomach sank.

"You think I can't see out of this place?" He drew them closer and closer as Dimension Zero moved around them and grew larger and larger as he spoke, forcing them to look up at him. "You think I haven't noticed my people out there dying while you big shot so-called 'gods' stand around and watch?! I can see through all their eyes! I see everything! I feel it when they die! I've been the only one saving them!"

As clear as if it were real, the Axolotl saw his memory of Dimension 2 Epsilon burning. (The Time Giant sucked in a breath—the way the mindscape worked here, could she see his memory too? Could the triangle?) The shapes spontaneously combusting and plummeting into Dimension Zero. Reality seeming to twist around them, grasp them, crush them. He saw a frightened green triangle—except for the color, a triangle so like the Magister Mentium as he'd been on the day he met the "eclipse," young and small and terrified of the cosmic forces around him—crushed and burned in the folds of the fabric of reality. Only the shapes were taken—none of the creatures around them. The triangle's people. "You're not saving anyone! You're the one killing them!"

The triangle blazed red in rage.

Everything ignited. Searing, white-hot pain. The fire was on the Axolotl's skin, in his eyes, in his gills, inside his body. He felt the voices in the cosmic radiation screaming.

Everything unignited. The Axolotl was unharmed. (Was it a hallucination? A dream? Had it been too brief to leave damage?)

The Time Giant was holding the Axolotl in front of her chest like a big plushie shield.

The triangle was small and black and still. White light traced his edges like the halo around a black hole. He didn't say anything.

He was staring at the Axolotl's memory. And the Axolotl could see the triangle's memory: from above, the plane of Dimension 2 Epsilon melted and folded around a small frightened green triangle, crushing and burning it within the fabric of reality; from below the plane, a trembling black hand reached up, stretching into the fabric of 2Ε like it was a glove, trying so hard, so carefully to catch and cradle the other triangle before it fell, confused when the fingers opened and once again all that was left in the palm was ashes.

Both memories burned up and vanished.

The Axolotl shook himself free of the Time Giant's grip and cautiously swam closer to the triangle. "Magister...?"

The universe quietly moved, carrying the Axolotl and the Time Giant away and rotating around the triangle so they were placed behind him. Okay, fine. He'd wait.

When the triangle finally spoke again, his voice was hoarse and flat. "I can't just stop fixing the dream realm. It'll collapse on us." He turned slowly to face the Time Giant. His color was starting to come back. "You've got some kind of... divine home renovation crew that can repair everything?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. I still had some hope for this place when I thought it was banging against the neighbors when it was collapsing. But if fixing it is what's breaking everything... There's nothing we can do."

"Some god," the triangle muttered ruefully. "So... what are we supposed to do."

"Honestly? This void was never built to support a dimension. Best idea is to leave and set up your dancing hippie colony somewhere else," the Time Giant said. "The third dimension next to where 2Δ used to be is swarming with refugee services; if I were you, I'd talk to the guy with the planets to set you up somewhere until you can move into another dimension."

That snapped him out of his funk. "Are you kidding? I'd rather keep fixing this place for an eternity! We sacrificed everything to reach our paradise. We're not about to ditch it now!"

The Time Giant took in the wretched floating dance party huddled together in a lonely, landless, kaleidoscopic void, and silently mouthed, paradise. She shook her head and moved on. "Well, you can't keep this place even if you wanna. It's impossible to get this place up to cosmic construction code."

"Who cares about the code!" He zipped up to her face, hands outstretched to her beseechingly. "Can't you let it slide? I am willing to bribe you. Just tell me what it'll take!"

"Buddy." Her voice took on a steely edge. "The cosmic construction code defines how every dimension in the multiverse has to be built. It exists because any dimension that doesn't meet the code could destroy all of existence." (His eye widened.) "Your 'paradise' doesn't fit in the crawlspace beneath dimensions. One of two things will happen: eventually, you fail to stabilize it, it collapses in on itself, and everyone in here ceases to exist... or, you do stabilize it, and it destabilizes every dimension built above it, and the entire multiverse collapses in on itself—including your 'dream realm.' You like either of those options?"

The triangle's hands drooped helplessly. "I... But th... After all w... I can't..."

He fell silent. His light sank back toward black.

This triangle had made himself the leader of these people, he couldn't abandon them now. The Axolotl wasn't about to watch him lose himself in despair.

"Would you let your people die like that?" He circled behind the triangle, forcing him to turn to face the Axolotl—and face his people at the same time. "You said you liberated them." As misguided as he had been—and even if few of them, maybe none of them, were actually his people—it had to be an act of love, didn't it? He had to care about them, didn't he? "After everything you did to save them, do you want to lose them now?"

The triangle glanced at the shapes, and quickly looked away. "I..."

"Look at them," the Axolotl commanded. 

He looked at them.

Slowly, he floated over his eternal dance party. To the Axolotl's surprise, several of the clear-headed ones who had stopped dancing—the haggard, the ever-bleeding, the newer arrivals that were ever-burning—stretched their hands up toward him.

The triangle flinched, ever so slightly—just a twitch in his hands—and then he reached down to them in return. The line that the Axolotl had seen dancing with the triangle earlier brushed his fingertips; he stopped to squeeze her hand as he passed.

The Axolotl could see the guilt radiating out of the triangle.

He didn't know how he knew it was guilt. He didn't even know how he could see it—it had no color, no shape. Nevertheless, he saw it. The guilt spread out like ink in water, poisoning Dimension Zero, clinging to every surface. The Axolotl's skin was unusually sensitive to toxins; the guilt made him queasy.

One of the shapes asked the triangle something; the Axolotl couldn't hear the question, just the triangle's quiet answer: "Nah, don't worry about those losers. A few higher-dimensional beings got mad we liberated ourselves. They hate to see the second dimension winning. It's fine, I can kick their bases if they try to make any trouble."

(The Time Giant snorted. The Axolotl wasn't sure it was an empty threat.)

"Now why isn't everyone dancing! C'mon, chop chop, this is a celebration! I wanna see everyone shaking their sides! Talking to you, Graham!" The triangle raised a hand, threateningly preparing to snap his fingers; before he had to, all the shapes were dancing again, as enthusiastically/fearfully as ever.

He watched his people for a moment longer.

And then turned to the Time Giant and the Axolotl. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk to the guy with the planets."

####

(Thanks for reading!! If the art lured you in and this is the first chapter you read, this is part 4 of a 7-or-8 part fic that keeps getting more parts, about the Axolotl in the immediate aftermath of the Euclidean Massacre. I'll be posting one chapter a week, Fridays 5pm CST, so stick around if you wanna watch the Axolotl slowly discover just how much of a monster that silly triangle he likes really is.

It's ALSO chapter 61 Part Four of an ongoing post-canon post-TBOB very-reluctantly-human Bill fic. So if you wanna read more of me writing Bill, check it out. If you're not sold on the idea of a human Bill fic, I've also got a one-shot about normal triangle Bill escaping the Theraprism if you wanna read that.

If this is NOT your first time here and you already knew all of the above: the great thing about this plot is that almost every chapter has a new terrible reveal about what Bill's up to! Looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this latest bunch of revelations. Depending on how I split things up, next week might be another more low-key chapter to set up further horrors.

Nobody asked but the line Bill was dancing with is named Lynn Segment, and the Graham he spoke to is a quadrilateral with two older siblings: Perry, Lilo, & Graham. What's the point of making geometric shape characters if you aren't giving them pun names.)

[chocosvt]

HER | part one.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance

the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!

bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts

everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟

⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.

And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.

There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.

Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.

It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.

He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”

“Hm?”

“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”

“Up...? Why?”

 “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry… what’s this about?”

 “Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”

Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.

Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.

Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.

What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?

—MARCH 26TH.

Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.

Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?

Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.

“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.

But Wonwoo ignored him.

He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.

The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.

Ding!

A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.

He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.

Never in a million years.

It was funny, though.

Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.

Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.

He cracked his neck and walked in.

After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.

He gulped. Just suck it up.

She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.

Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.

“So, I’m not sure if you—”

“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”

He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.

“Woah. This is too pretty.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Me?” He found himself echoing.

“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”

“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."

It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity  due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.

“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”

“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”

He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.

“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”

“… Pardon?”

“Hold this, please.”

Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.

“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”

“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”

Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.

“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”

Finally, he spat out something coherent.

You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.

 He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”

You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.

“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”

There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.

“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”

“I know.”

He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.  

Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.

“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”

Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.

“Pardon?”

The man stopped and smiled.

“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.

“Be honest. How does this look?”

You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.

There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.

“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”

“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”

“Yeah, the frilly parts.”

God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.

“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”

 Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.

Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.

When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.

“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”

He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.

“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”

Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.

“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”

Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.

No. No, no, no, no way.

The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.

“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”

“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”

“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”

“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”

“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”

“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”

“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”

“Great, whatever. Do that.”

He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.

“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”

He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.

“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”

“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”

“Why can’t you just pu—”

“Thank you!”

Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.

However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.

He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.

The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.

You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.

“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.

“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”

“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”

“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.

He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.

Kim Mingyu.

It was your boyfriend’s.

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts

[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.

He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.

It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.

But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.

But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.

“I can pay for you.”

He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”

“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.

“What’s the limit on that thing?”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t burned through it already?”

“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”

“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.

“Pick something!”

“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”

He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.

That was all Wonwoo asked for.

You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.

Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.

None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.

“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”

“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.

“So we can have a conversation.”

At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.

“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”

“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”

“Because—you—ah, whatever.”

“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.

“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.

Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”

[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)

[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh

[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you 

[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??

[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.

—MARCH 29TH.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).

He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.

It was just that simple—you were gone.

In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.

He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.

Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.

Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.

Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.

When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.

Now, it was just him.

And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.

Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.

Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.

After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.

He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).

Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.

The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.

“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.

“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”

Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.

But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.

Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.

“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.

“Yeah, quarter ounce.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”

“Did you just say princess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s not princess?”

“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”

“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”

Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.

Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”

Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.

“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”

“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”

“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”

“Maybe?”

“She got any social media? An Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

“Ou, let me see.”

Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.

Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.

“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”

Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”

“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself,  just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”

Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.

“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.

“With who?”

“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”

“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”

“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”

“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”

“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”

“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”

“Later.”

Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.

Fresh air was heavenly.

“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.

He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]:  seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!

[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx

—APRIL 1ST.

It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.

You would be meeting him soon.

He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.

Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.

Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.

He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.

 “I’m going to kill myself.”

Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.

“Damn. Why is that?”

“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”

“Yeah?”

“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”

Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.

“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.

For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”

“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.

“Very, seriously frazzled.”

“I’m sorry about your day.”

Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.

“You’re actually such a good listener.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”

“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”

Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.

“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”

“Table’s yours.”

Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).

“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”

He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.

“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s why I want you to promise!”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”

You scoured at him from over your laptop.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”

“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”

You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.

“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”

What could he say? What was he supposed to say?

Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.

He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.

“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”

His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”

“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.

He truly hated this part of himself.

More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.

Especially people like you.

—APRIL 8TH.

Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.

After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.

When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.

He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.

Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.

However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.

He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.  

“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”

Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.

“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”

Mingyu.

It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.

Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.

“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”

“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.

“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”

 “Two aisles down, check the endcap.”

“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”

“Next aisle.”

“Got it.”

“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”

As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.

Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.

At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?

Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.

Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.

As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.

“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”

“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.

Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.

Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.

At least it was closing time.

Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.

Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.

A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.

In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.

Cute as buttons.

He fell in love.

And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.

Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.

It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.

And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.

He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.

Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.

Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.

The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.

It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.

An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.

He loved being alone.

Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.

But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.

He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.

Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.

He was a fucking mess.

It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.

 —APRIL 15TH.

Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.

Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.

Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?

It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.

‘Till death do us part.

 And then, something struck.

Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.

Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.

He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.

“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”

“Well, uh—”

“Great, thank you.”

You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.

“How are you?”

Gulp.

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”

You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.

“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re good.”

“What are you working on?”

“A paper.”

Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.

You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.

Wonwoo bit the bullet.

“Something you want from me, yeah?”

“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”

“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”

“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”

A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.

His mouth opened, and then closed.

Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.

You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.

“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”

You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.

“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”

Wonwoo scratched his nose.

“Uh, with the book?”

“Yes.”

“None.”

“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”

“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”

“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”

He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.

“What’s wrong with math?”

“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.

“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”

“So what is there space for then?”

“You're toeing a dangerous line.”

“Well, I like math and writing.”

"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"

Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”

“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”

He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.

“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”

Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”

“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”

“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.

“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.

Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”

“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue.

“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”

It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”

Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.

“If you think of anyone, please text me!”

Wonwoo nodded his head.

Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.

He didn’t know what kind of person you were.

But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.

—APRIL 18TH.

Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.

“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”

“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”

“We’re so close.”

Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”

Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”

“Yeah. Any ramen left?”

“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”

Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.

Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.

Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.

“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.

“Should be, yeah.”

“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”

Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.

“Go to what?

Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.

“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”

At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.

He sucked in a helpless breath.

“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”

“What—why?”

A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”

Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.

“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.

“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”

“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”

Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”

Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.

“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”

Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.

“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”

Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.

“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”

Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”

For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.

Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.

“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”

Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.

Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.

“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”

At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”

Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.

Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.

[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.

—APRIL 24TH.

Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.

Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.

It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.

After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.

What the fuck?

He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.

And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.

Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.

While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there

His chest fucking lurched.

Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?

God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?

[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.

He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.

“Well, hello.”

He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.

“Where should I take off my shoes?”

“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.

How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.

“Wow, you’re very clean.”

Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.

“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”

You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.

“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”

He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”

He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?

Manuka honey?

But it was just a trivial glance, really.

Nothing meaningful.

“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.

“It is.”

Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.

“Do you care if I go in?”

 “No.”

He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.

It was a sour, sour reminder.

“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.

“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”

Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.

“You definitely go up there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”

“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”

“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”

You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.

“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”

You flashed him a brief smile.

“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”

“… Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.

“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”

And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.

“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”

Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.

No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.

You would either be his trigger or his pulse.

But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.

“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”

“Like, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really have no questions?”

Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.

“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”

“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.

He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”

Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.

“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”

“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”

“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.

“It does, yes.”

“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”

He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”

“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.

Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”

Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”

You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.

“That’s okay.”

But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.

“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.

Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.

“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.

“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”

And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.

The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.

Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.

He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.

Who are you?

What are you doing in his meaningless life?

—APRIL 28TH.

Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.

Hopefully.

On one hand, Wonwoo knew he  should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.

Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.

“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”

And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.

That would never motivate him to do anything.

But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.

Jesus Christ. Finally.

“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.

Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.

“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”

“You have a good summer, alright?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.

And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.

Pulled out his laptop.

Opened the document he was at incessant war with.

The last scene he’d written was breakfast.

“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”

“Did you say orange juice?”

“I did.”

“So… chocolate milk?”

“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”

“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”

“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”

“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”

“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”

“That, you’ve got to work on.”

“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”

“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”

“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”

“I don’t know. Juicy?”

“Better juicy than anxious?”

“You could say that.”

Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.

Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.

The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.  

He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.

Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.

Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.

[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again

—APRIL 30TH.

For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.

You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.

“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.

You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”

Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.

The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.

“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”

“All good," Wonwoo answered.

“You know where we’re off to?”

“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”

He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”

“I drink coffee, you know.”

“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”

Wonwoo preferred not to comment.

The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.

His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.

And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.

After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.

The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.

You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.

Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.

“Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”

“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”

Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.

That was its own mechanism of disaster.

“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.

You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”

“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.

He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.

“So… what’s your plan, here?”

You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.

Next, you pulled out a pen.

“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”

You stabbed the paper again to make a period.

“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.

“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”

“Why do I have to film it?”

“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”

Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.

While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.

Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.

“So, where else should I film?”

You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go all the way over there?”

“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”

Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.

“Nobody likes a complainer.”

Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.

There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.

You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.

“All done?”

Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.

Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”

“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”

“Right.”

He tried giving back the camera.

“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”

“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?

“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”

Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.

“How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”

There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”

Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.

“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”

“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”

Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic. 

“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.

Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?

“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”

“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”

“Well, I know that.”

“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”

He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.

“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”

Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.

“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”

“Now you know,” you declared.

Wonwoo’s  upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.

“I don’t sashay, do I?”

At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”

“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”

For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t remember, huh?”

“No… but it sounds familiar.”

“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”

He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.

“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”

“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”

“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”

“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”

 Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”

“Psh. How do you even remember that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”

“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”

“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping. 

Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.

“… That’s a little better.”

He exhaled a soft breath of relief.

As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.

“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.

“Oh, the dinner party?”

“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”

“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”

Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.

“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.

“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”

“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”

“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”

At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.

“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”

You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”

—MAY 3RD.

Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.

It was all very typical.

He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.

Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.

“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”

The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.

“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”

“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”

“Mhm. I bet she was.”

“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”

“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “

“You know what the fuck I meant.”

“Not interested.”

Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.

“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.

Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.

“It’s going well.”

Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”

“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.

“And, what?”

“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”

Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”

“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.

“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”

“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."

“Aren’t you her friend?”

“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”

“Favours are from friends.”

“We’re. Not. Friends.”

“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”

His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”

“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”

Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.

“Can you just take me home? Please?”

Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.

“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”

—01:49

Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.

Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.

For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.

He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.

Or, maybe he did.

There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.

He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.

Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.

One minute spent staring at your smile.

The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.

Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.

The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.

He would switch back and forth.

But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.

And alone with his thoughts.

—END OF PART PART ONE.

NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!

the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!

again, thank u so much your ur patience :3

much luv!! 💕

[konigbabe]

PERISH

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.

event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."

"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.

It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.

That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.

"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."

"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."

His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.

"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.

32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.

"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."

Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.

As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.

Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.

"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."

Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.

Yet, the energy lingers.

Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —

A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.

As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.

The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.

— it was a decoy.

Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.

Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.

During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.

It all feels confusing.

"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.

October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM

"What’s the worst that can happen?"

Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.

The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.

"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.

"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.

Life is good.

You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.

Yeah. In the end, life was good.

2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing

For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.

Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.

A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.

The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.

He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.

Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.

Of you.

Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.

You’re gone.

And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.

Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.

One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.

Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.

"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.

Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.

"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.

"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."

[flamingpudding]

Son from a doomed timeline

A/N: Based on this idea I have written about once... I might add on more later on...

Chronus watched how this timeline moved more and more towards its own doom. One of the key reasons for the destruction of this timeline was one of its heroes falling deeper and deeper into his mental decline. He watched on how the boy continuously failed in his attempts of cloning his loved one.

He watched how the boy's mentality continued to destabilize just like all the failures he created. This time line was not looking good, it would soon become another one of the doomed ones. It would be one of many that would cease to exist soon enough. The Ancient of Time turned his attention to a different timeline, it was too bad he had had his hopes up for this timeline. That this one could be the one, but now it was just another doomed one.

His attention was now on a different timeline of the same dimension. This one looked more promising. Maybe this line would finally produce the Ancient of Balance they were still missing in their ranks. The window of the timeline he had just turned his back on flashed and Chronus turned towards it stunned, floating closer and looking at the doomed timeline once more.

The boy had created another clone but this time successfully. It was stable, there was a little clone baby, and it contained the DNA of the boy as well as the one he intended to clone. That boy had succeeded in creating a stabilized clone after hundreds of failed attempts. Chronus eyed the baby before his eyes widened.

There was the potential he had seen in this timeline.

That wasn't just a simple clone baby. Many different scenarios flashed before his inner eye. Possibilities that could happen and in one of them he saw it. The creation of a budding little Ancient of Balance. The one missing in their ranks needed to keep the fine line between all their dimensions in tackt. But he also saw possibilities that all resulted in this baby's death.

Well that was if Chronus left this child in this timeline.

He looked over his shoulder towards another time window, one he had started to favor. One where for the first time in a long while a young mage had attempted to make a contract with him. If it were the ancient times he would have laughed into that young mortal's face and stirred the timeline in the direction of doom out of pettiness.

But things had changed since then. He eyed the little baby once more before making a decision. Reaching into the timeline he removed the baby and erased all traces of it ever coming into existence in that place. Sure this meant that this timeline lost its last hope of continued existence but this was for the greater good. Even if this sped up the mental decline of the father of this clone child, but it wouldn't matter, the creation of an Ancient of Balance took more importance than this timeline.

The little boy looked up at him with big blue eyes and Chronus smiled. A human with one fourth kryptonian heritage. This would be perfect, the child's body would be tougher than a normal humans yet he had not inherited enough to gain anything more than a little bit of super strength and a sturdy body that could withstand death and revival several time. As he turned towards his currently favorite timeline he closed his eyes for a brief moment and let all possibilities for this child pass through his inner eye.

"The future of one that will die is now yours to take." He whispered as he opened his eyes just in time to notice the summon of the young mage. Well that young man would still not get a contract with him but he would offer the man a deal. This would ensure the creation of an Ancient of Balance as well as ensure the reassurance of the timelines safety the young mage was seeking. And in time, this child would even be able to reconnect with the one that gave him life in another timeline and heal wounds his family weren't aware existed.

He smiled one more time down at the baby before letting himself get summoned by the young man, with the baby in hand.

[physalian]

You don’t have to pay for that fancy worldbuilding program

As mentioned in this post about writing with executive dysfunction, if one of your reasons to keep procrastinating on starting your book is not being able to afford something like World Anvil or Campfire, I’m here to tell you those programs are a luxury, not a necessity: Enter Google Suite (not sponsored but gosh I wish).

MS Office offers more processing power and more fine-tuning, but Office is expensive and only autosaves to OneDrive, and I have a perfectly healthy grudge against OneDrive for failing to sync and losing 19k words of a WIP that I never got back.

Google’s sync has never failed me, and the Google apps (at least for iPhone) aren’t nearly as buggy and clunky as Microsoft’s. So today I’m outlining the system I used for my upcoming fantasy novel with all the helpful pictures and diagrams. Maybe this won’t work for you, maybe you have something else, and that’s okay! I refuse to pay for what I can get legally for free and sometimes Google’s simplicity is to its benefit.

The biggest downside is that you have to manually input and update your data, but as someone who loves organizing and made all these willingly and for fun, I don’t mind.

So. Let’s start with Google Sheets.

The Character Cheat Sheet:

I organized it this way for several reasons:

I can easily see which characters belong to which factions and how many I have named and have to keep up with for each faction

All names are in alphabetical order so when I have to come up with a new name, I can look at my list and pick a letter or a string of sounds I haven’t used as often (and then ignore it and start 8 names with A).

The strikethrough feature lets me keep track of which characters I kill off (yes, I changed it, so this remains spoiler-free)

It’s an easy place to go instead of scrolling up and down an entire manuscript for names I’ve forgotten, with every named character, however minor their role, all in one spot

Also on this page are spare names I’ll see randomly in other media (commercials, movie end credits, etc) and can add easily from my phone before I forget

Also on this page are my summary, my elevator pitch, and important character beats I could otherwise easily mess up, it helps stay consistent

*I also have on here not pictured an age timeline for all my vampires so I keep track of who’s older than who and how well I’ve staggered their ages relative to important events, but it’s made in Photoshop and too much of a pain to censor and add here

On other tabs, I keep track of location names, deities, made-up vocabulary and definitions, and my chapter word count.

The Word Count Guide:

*3/30 Edit to update this chart to its full glory. Column 3 is a cumulative count. Most of what I write breaks 100k and it's fun watching the word count rise until it boils over.

This is the most frustrating to update manually, especially if you don’t have separate docs for each chapter, but it really helps me stay consistent with chapter lengths and the formula for calculating the average and rising totals is super basic.

Not that all your chapters have to be uniform, but if you care about that, this little chart is a fantastic visualizer.

If you have multiple narrators, and this book does, you can also keep track of how many POVs each narrator has, and how spread out they are. I didn’t do that for this book since it’s not an ensemble team and matters less, but I did for my sci-fi WIP, pictured below.

As I was writing that one, I had “scripted” the chapters before going back and writing out all the glorious narrative, and updated the symbols from “scripted” to “finished” accordingly.

I also have a pie chart that I had to make manually on a convoluted iPhone app to color coordinate specifically the way I wanted to easily tell who narrates the most out of the cast, and who needs more representation.

—

Google Docs

Can’t show you much here unfortunately but I’d like to take an aside to talk about my “scene bits” docs.

It’s what it says on the tin, an entire doc all labeled with different heading styles with blurbs for each scene I want to include at some point in the book so I can hop around easily. Whether they make it into the manuscript or not, all practice is good practice and I like to keep old ideas because they might be useful in unsuspecting ways later.

Separate from that, I keep most of my deleted scenes and scene chunks for, again, possible use later in a “deleted scenes” doc, all labeled accordingly.

When I designed my alien language for the sci-fi series, I created a Word doc dictionary and my own "translation" matrix, for easy look-up or word generation whenever I needed it (do y'all want a breakdown for creating foreign languages? It's so fun).

Normally, as with my sci-fi series, I have an entire doc filled with character sheets and important details, I just… didn’t do that for this book. But the point is—you can still make those for free on any word processing software, you don’t need fancy gadgets.

—

I hope this helps anyone struggling! It doesn’t have to be fancy. It doesn’t have to be expensive. Everything I made here, minus the aforementioned timeline and pie chart, was done with basic excel skills and the paint bucket tool. I imagine this can be applicable to games, comics, what have you, it knows no bounds!

Now you have one less excuse to sit down and start writing.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

A soulmate AU: Steve Harrington x fem!reader [5.9K]

THE TIMELINE

"Oh no, you know you know I'd be lying if I said I wasn't dying, For someone I could die for, someone I could try for Fall apart and cry for, go 'head, risk my life for."

-Someone I Could Die For by Lewis Capaldi

II. ROME, ITALY: 49 BC

The roar that came from the bowels of the Colosseum never became easier to hear. 

The noise seemed to make the city shake, the streets empty, the market stalls abandoned in favour of bloodshed. The games took place in the summer, when the skies were an endless blue and there were no clouds to tamper down the climbing heat. The sun bore down on the sandy pit of the enormous Amphitheatre and the seats were filled, the doors that had already been closed still surrounded by regretful stragglers who were forced to listen to the chaos from outside of the walls. 

Fourteen men had died already, three from the jaws of the lions, two from the bears and eleven from the swords of other imprisoned slaves. The cheering from the crowd made your stomach curl. The floor of the stage was covered in red, the sand streaked with spilled blood and the animals that were bullied back into their cages had their jaws tinted pink. 

It wasn’t a joyous occasion, no matter how many people celebrated in the name of their emperor. The leader of Rome was sitting mere seats away from you, dressed in ruby robes that were slung like a cloak over his white toga and his laurel crown glinted with golden beads that sat tucked into the olive wreaths. He was drunk on wine and violence, and your father sat next to him in the royal box, ever eager to please as he clinked his chalice against his kings. 

Being the daughter of Rome’s most beloved senator certainly had its positives. You were dressed just as finely as the royalty around you, the fabric that was made to fit your frame swept to the floor and only yesterday, the emperor’s cousin had gifted you a necklace made of the finest gold, inset with glittering emeralds, pretty enough for a princess. 

The same cousin smiled at you from across the row, each seat in the royal box made from plush velvet, the high backs ornate and cushioned, unlike the stone carved benches the rest of the civilians were sitting on. You smile back, uneasy but polite, and your father nodded approvingly. 

You were expected to marry, you knew that much. You were already considered too old to be unwed and you knew the rest of the court whispered about how you would now struggle to bear a child. But the man that was expected to be your husband wasn’t who you loved. He wasn’t unkind, he wasn’t cruel - not like you’d heard men could be. The girls in the kitchen would tell you stories of how their husband made demands. Shouting each night for their meals, their baths, how their shirts weren’t stitched right, how their beds would lay cold because their wives were too tired. 

Some men visited the bath houses, you knew that much. Seeking out a lupa for the night, the ladies that were called she-wolves, with their painted lips and robes that showed so much skin. Some men decided that they didn’t need to listen to their wives at all, you were once told, horror etched on your face. Some men took what they thought they owned. 

So no, the emperor’s cousin seemed kind enough. But you weren’t in love with him. You weren’t sure who you were in love with. A dream, perhaps. One that kept returning to you from a young, young age. A dream about a different town, one you’d never been to before. But in your sleep, it felt like home. White buildings and green gardens with tall, tall trees and pretty, ornate gazebos made of stone on the edges of shallow ponds. You were by the sea there, a blue-green ocean that seemed so calm. 

Sometimes monsters came, the marble statues that guarded the city came to life and turned your dream into a nightmare. There was always fire and fury, storm clouds and too big waves and a man with skin the colour of death would try and take your hand. But even when the dream turned bad, there was  always someone else.  

A man, with a blurry face and a mess of almost too long hair. It hid his eyes from you and you could never make out too many details but you burned when you looked at him, you could weep when he touched you. Sometimes he led you through the burning town, his hand clasping your own as you both tried to run and run and run. 

Other times, you lay in a bed with him, skin bare and your head on his chest as he murmured the sweetest poetry to you, words that made your heart race. Your dream was encased in white linen sheets, a hazy, soft light that always made it look like early morning and when the man’s lips met yours, you always woke up. 

Him. You loved him. 

You hadn’t been in love before, but whenever you dreamed of the stranger, you were sure that must have been what love felt like. 

“Have some grapes, darling,” your thoughts were interrupted by your father as he thrust a plate of fruit and cheese under your nose. 

But the fifteenth gladiator was being dragged through the gates by the armpits, a clawed hammer still sticking out from his chest and your insides turned over at the idea of eating such sweet treats as blood poured from the men in front of you. The emperor’s box was almost nauseatingly close to the fights. 

You shook your head before you remembered your manners, smiling politely and murmuring, “I’m quite alright, thank you.” You blew out a breath, shaky and faint. 

From your other side, one of the young girls who had been gifted to you on your sixteenth birthday waved a giant fan. A large peacock feather, a huge plume of colours that merely wafted the too warm air back and forth but you smiled your thanks at your lady in waiting, a pretty girl who’d turned into a prettier young woman. She was small and lithe, angular in the face with curls that came to her sharp jawbone and she smiled back. 

Nancy, as she’d introduced herself to you a week after she’d arrived at your fathers house, from the Wheeler family of Liguria. She didn’t like the gladiator fights anymore than you did, always murmuring about the rights of the animals and how inhumane it was later in the night as she drew you your bath. 

“—from Verona,” your father was saying with a mouth full of provolone. “One of their best, so they say, His Majesty simply had to have him.”

You blinked, frowning in confusion at your fathers words. You hadn’t been paying attention in the slightest and nothing you’d caught made any sense. “Sorry?” You grimaced apologetically and took a few pomegranate seeds from the plate of food in apology for your rudeness. “Who is from Verona?”

Your father rolled his eyes, a sure sign that you’d be lectured in his study later for your lack of respect. “The next gladiator, child.” He gestured to the stage where the soldiers were locking the gates to the tigers, each big cat growling with menace when the men came too close to the bars. “They say he’s unbeatable. Our Highness offered a more than generous helping of coin for his papers but Verona’s general didn’t seem to want to part with him.”    

You frowned again. The crowd seemed to be aware of this man and his presence, murmuring and shifting in their seats in anticipation. “If that is the case,” you prodded. “Then how is he here? If the gladiators… owner—” the word left a terribly bitter taste in your mouth and you felt heavy with guilt when Nancy’s fan brushed your shoulder. “If his owner didn’t want to sell him?”

Your father snorted, an unattractive sound that made Nancy wince beside you. “No one tells the emperor of Rome ‘no’, dearest.” Your father shrugged. “The gladiator cannot be owned, if his owner is dead.”

Bloodshed. Always bloodshed. 

A man came from the east side gates with chains around his ankles and wrists. You couldn’t quite see him for your seat, not yet, but the crowd above and around you roared, eager for the final fight to begin. The man already looked beaten and tired as soldiers stepped forward to unlock his manacles and you sat forward in your seat for the first time since you entered the Colosseum that day. 

He had messy hair, dark brown and hanging just past his chin. It was already damp looking, matted and dirty from being kept god knows where as the emperor's new toy. He was shirtless, his body lean but corded with muscle. He had wide shoulders and a lithe waist, powerful thighs and skin that was tanned from the sun, a sure sign he spent too much time outside, training hard in the Italian heat. 

As he moved closer to the middle of the stage, you saw the marks on his body, leftover scars and new slices in his flesh that still looked viciously red. The crowd got louder as a sword was thrown at his feet, a large, heavy looking thing with a bronze handle. Some cheered for the new warrior, hoping for some excitement, while others jeered and booed, already too attached to their darling reigning champion. 

The gladiator picked up his sword and the crowd became wilder still, but he gave them no mind. He didn’t put on a show like some of the others, he didn’t flex his muscles or raise his weapon like it was already a prize. His leather loincloth was a deep wine colour, the tan leather pleats looking far from newly made and the material was already streaked with blood and dirt before his first opponent arrived. 

Your heart felt heavy for him, as it did for all the others who were forced into the Colosseum - prisoners, slaves and animals alike. You watched the gladiator flex his wrist, testing the weight of his weapon just as the gates in the west cranked open. 

Rome’s current champion strode out from the shadows and into the bright sun, his bare chest glinting with sweat and Hargrove held his hands aloft, grinning as the crowds went insane. He beat his chest, his long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail and when he was handed his own sword, he wasted no time in running towards the new fighter, the steel blade glinting. 

You gasped, moving closer still to the edge of your seat and you couldn’t find it in you to bear much mind to the looks your father and Nancy shot you. It wasn’t like you to take such an interest in the sport, never mind be so heavily invested. You didn’t like to watch the wounded, preferring to close your eyes when the screams began, hiding cowardly behind Nancy’s fan when the blood turned the sandy stage pink and red. 

But this new gladiator, he was fast. 

He dove at the last second, dodging the tip of Hargrove’s blade and he rolled towards the section where you sat. Dust kicked up from the move, his sword tearing into the wreaths and sashes that hung from the Emperor’s box. You grasped the edge of the wooden frame, peering over the side and down to the stage, hoping to not see blood already. 

Instead you found the gladiator looking back up at you, his sword still in his grasp and when his eyes met yours, they widened. Something like recognition hurtled through you, a feeling that sucked the breath from your lungs and you felt dizzy, like lightning itself had struck you from the sky. You thought the man perhaps felt the same, a frown on his face telling you that he felt just as confused as you did. 

But before you could consider where on earth you could have possibly seen his face before, Hargrove attacked again, bringing his blade down to where the gladiator's shoulder should have been, if he hadn’t rolled once again. 

You were on your feet now, the stares of your father be damned. Your eyes were wide, your heart beating far too fast, like you yourself were on the stage, being hunted for sport. Wood splintered into the space under your nails as you watched the man run, his muscles pumping, his eyes narrowed. 

“Darling, are you quite alright?” Your father placed a hand on your arm, more confused than concerned. 

“Yes, I just— yes.” You cleared your throat and sat down again, albeit back to the edge of your chair. You could feel the rest of the royal party staring at you. “Where did you say the man was brought from? The new gladiator?”

“Harrington?” One of the Emperor’s councilmen interjected. He pointed a pudgy finger at the brown haired gladiator, who was now swinging his sword with as much power as Hargrove. “Steven Harrington of Verona, best of his breed I heard. His general didn’t take too kindly to the King’s offering and well— you know what happens when his Highness is made to feel upset.”

The metallic clink of the swords filled the arena as everyone held their breaths. Not many had lasted this long against Hargrove before. 

“Rumour has it that he didn’t take too kindly to his general being beheaded. Took six men to get him into the back of the cart, even more to make him train. He’s been refusing food all week.”

The idea of it made you feel unwell, a sickly, creeping kind of pain curling around each of your ribs and suddenly you were starving, just as much as you were sure the man would be. But still, I didn’t seem to make him move any slower, it didn’t hinder him in bringing his sword down any harder. 

But strangely, every time the new gladiator was struck, every time his knees hit the raw sand, every time he got close enough for you to see him suck in a gasping breath— you felt it too. 

It was a battle like you’d never seen before, more vicious than the others from that day, a showdown under the blazing heat of the high sun. No tiger seemed as powerful as Steven Harrington of Verona did. There was something animalistic in the way he moved, all power and lean muscle, a steely glint in his brown eyes that you didn’t dare look away from. He moved too quickly for Hargrove’s blade, dodging and diving as he flung up sand, blinding his opponent and slicing at his legs. Each move was a blur, the stage bleeding with fresh red, the blonde gladiator on his knees. 

But Hargrove was ruthless, grappling with the newcomer until they were both wrestling in the dust cloud and the crowd went insane, people chanted and stomped their feet, the amphitheatre shaking down to its very bones. The imperial box quaked with the energy, but truly, you weren’t present enough to feel it. 

Your eyes never left Steven’s fighting figure. 

The swords seemed to be forgotten, the steel blades rusted with blood, both fresh and new, and they lay in the sand. Fists flew, knees pressed to chests to keep the other down and it was brutal, it was harsh, it was deadly. 

You wanted to vomit. You feared you might. 

You wondered what would happen if you leapt from your chair, if you let your skirts get torn and bloodied in the mess of the stage, if you threw yourself down onto the sand and begged for Hargrove to take his hands away from the new gladiator's throat. 

Would you be punished? Beaten? Locked away? Killed?

You weren’t sure but somehow, all the options felt worth it. You couldn’t watch this man die before you. Not when it felt like you’d already witnessed his death before. 

But Steven wrestled himself out of Hargrove’s hold, twisting and tumbling whilst he gasped, one hand clutching at his reddened neck and the other grappling for his blade. He swung it through the air, arching wide, his wounded shoulder ripping with effort it took but the sword landed where the warrior intended it to. 

Silence settled over the colosseum, the air still enough for you to hear the surviving champion heave out gasping, heavy breaths. There was blood on his hands, his chest, his face. 

His right eye was already bruising, red and lilac coming to the surface of his skin like fresh blooms in spring. His shoulder was a mess, his right leg causing him to buckle slightly as he rose to his feet.  

The man turned, jaw slack, his sword falling limply to the ground once more, his opponent still and at his feet. His eyes found yours and time stilled, at least, to you. The crowd erupted, an explosion in its own right, the entirety of Rome cheering for their new champion. 

A man you were sure you already loved. 

By the time the fight had ended, you felt beaten and bruised. There were no marks on your skin, no blood seeping through your gown, but something inside of you hurt all the same. It felt like something was clawing at your heart, a memory that was banging on the front of your skull, screaming at you to remember. 

When the guards dragged the gladiator from Hargrove’s limp figure, he dropped his sword to the sand and spat a mouthful of blood towards the ground at the royal pit. The Emperor merely chuckled as others around you gasped and before you could even hear your fathers protests, you were on your feet. 

Steven Harrington was shackled once more, the metal chains clinking around his hands and feet. And as he was led away back into the arches, the gears of gates making an awful protesting noise, his eyes found yours once more. 

A burning gaze, too intense to look away from and you could’ve sworn on the gods, on the stars above, that something inside of you tugged sharply. Like the pull of a string, tied in a bow between your ribcage, urging you forward. 

Telling you to go. 

So you did. 

You gathered your skirts in your hands and made your way to the exit of the box, too focused to hear your fathers objections until the guards at the doorway halted you with their spears. The wooden stalks crossed themselves over your chest and you froze, the string tied to your heart pulling tighter and tighter and tighter— 

The Emperor was staring at you, with cold eyes and a smile that wasn’t really a smile. He spoke to your father, not you. “Where, my dear senator, is your lovely daughter running off to?” The king turned back to you, brows raised. “Doesn’t she know that more wine will be served soon? My cousin is looking forward to her company.”

Your father stared at you, a stricken expression on his aged face because everyone in the royal box could read between the lines of the Emperor. 

You cleared your throat, eyes still trained on the sharp metal points of the spears that were very much in your face. “Forgive me, father - your highness - I was merely hoping to get some fresh air.”

“The sight of all that blood makes her rather delicate,” your father agreed and the crowd of councilmen, generals and their wives tittered in their jewels. “She isn’t one for conflict.”

The Emperor stared at the side of your face, something you could feel despite bowing your head in his presence. You stared at the floor and waited, heart racing. 

The royal tsked. “What a pity,” he declared but he waved a hand, each finger heavy with golden rings, and his soldiers stepped aside. “Be back in time for the parade, child, you have company to entertain.”

The Emperor’s cousin leered at you, his wine glass empty, his lips stained ruby but none of it mattered right now, not when you were taking off once more, skirts dragging across the dust and sand, your chest heaving as you tried to navigate your way through the crowd that was already dispersing. 

More guards, heavily armoured and with their swords drawn, were too preoccupied with a fight that had broken out between the arches, two lower class men arguing over a coin they found on the ground. Taking your chance, you moved with your head down, your face hidden as you slipped through a door that was normally carefully watched. 

The heavy wood slammed shut behind you, the sunlight swallowed whole. Burning torches lit the narrow corridor, a maze of them leading you underneath the Colosseum. The hypogeum was almost damp as you tried to navigate its many walkways, a gasp leaving your throat as you took a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the iron bars that separated you from the animals. 

A huge tiger growled at you, bloodied teeth bared in a snarl, the stench of raw meat and faeces hanging in the cool air. You backed away, eyes flickering from cage to cage, each one filled with another poor creature. Lions, bears, a rhinoceros and its offspring, and beyond them, an even larger cell holding prisoners. They all stared at you, men and animals alike, but nothing was spoken. 

You backed away, unable to breath, turning on your heel and walking quickly enough to spot the familiar grey robes of the healers used after the battles. You followed, your steps light, and watched him enter a small room. Between the door opening and closing, you spotted the gladiator perched on a wooden table, his head bent low and his face hidden behind his damp hair. 

You weren’t sure what possessed you, but before you barged into the room too, both men staring at you from the table where the healer held a ragged cloth to the gladiator’s shoulder. 

“Miss, you have no need here,” the healer announced, his voice strict and cold. He narrowed his eyes as he gestured to the door. “This is no place for—”

“My father sent me.” It was a lie, of course. A bold and bare faced one at that. But you stood a little taller and lifted your chin, the emerald necklace at your throat shining in the low light that came from the small fireplace in the corner. “The senate has questions I’ve been asked to deliver. I shall not leave without the appropriate answers.”

On the mantle, beside bottles of acids and other medicinal vials, sat a small statue of the goddess Veratis. Her marble eyes seemed to judge you and your lies and you swallowed down the bitter taste it left on your tongue. But looking at the man - this stranger from Verona - the need to speak to him, to be alone with him, was overwhelming you to the point of senselessness.  

The trouble you could be in if you were to be caught in your lie… or worse, down in the hypogeum. This was no place for a woman of your standing, never mind to be alone with a gladiator, both of you unspoken for. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat. 

“If we may have some time alone?” You added with more authority than you should have held. “Unless you’d prefer that my father leave the Emperor’s side to ensure his orders are fulfilled?”

The healer sighed but placed down his tools. He flashed you a smile that was all crooked teeth, more bite than kindness, but he made his way to the door. “That won’t be necessary, My Lady,” he told you and he left, closing the wooden door behind him. 

The silence was a deafening thing. The crackle of the fire was still there, the distant roar of some poor, wounded animal, but whatever was held between the two of you took on a life of its own. It seemed to suck the rest of the world into it until there was nothing left but you and this man. He was staring at you still, brown eyes wide and so familiar, looking as confused as you felt as you stared right back. 

It felt too easy to take a step forward, but the warrior flinched. Your next was slower, softer, more cautious. Your hand found the rag that the healer had once held, what little water it had been soaked in was cold, the material harsh. It didn’t take you long to find a new cloth in one of the drawers of the apothecary table and you took your time to warm some fresh water over the hearth. 

Honestly, you didn’t know too much about medicine, only the basics that your father’s head servant had taught you as a young child. You found the small bottle of alcohol with ease, plucking it from the shelf and adding it to the warm water before soaking the new rag. 

You held it up in offering to the man, still far enough from you that his dirty hair hid most of his face. His tanned chest was streaked with sweat and dust, marred with old cuts and fresher wounds from Hargrove’s weapon, but for the most part, he seemed okay. 

“Can I?”

The gladiator lifted his head then, his hair falling away from his cheeks and you took in a sharp breath at the sight of his face. He was handsome, painstakingly so, but over and above all else, he was someone you were sure you knew. 

The man nodded, just once, lips pressed together and as you came closer, his nostrils flared and his large hands gripped the edge of the table. His eyes raced across your features, recognition coming to the surface and before he could ask the questions that were clawing at his throat, you lifted the cloth and pressed it to the cut on his shoulder. 

He hissed, teeth bared and you frowned, hushing him softly, apologies murmured just as quiet. “I’m sorry,” you told him and gods, he knew you meant it. “I need the alcohol to soak the wound.”

Your heart stuttered when he let you, shoulders tight and back ramrod straight, but his eyes were on your face the entire time you worked. “You’re not a healer,” he said. It wasn’t a question. 

His voice rung through you, a deep timber that was hoarse and scratchy, no doubt from refusing to speak since his capture. You hoped he’d been drinking enough water. 

You shook your head as you pulled away, dipping the bloodied cloth back into the bucket. “No, I’m not,” you confirmed. 

Another swipe at his skin had him jerking in response but the blood and dirt was finally clear of the cut. It would need stitches, you were almost sure of it, but your skills started and finished at the basics. 

“Then why are you here?” The gladiator’s eyes were trained on your necklace, a sure fire way to recognise nobility and you were overcome with the urge to rip it from your throat. “Why did you follow me?” He spoke like he already knew the answer. 

You were hesitant about it, but you couldn’t stop your hand from lifting to his neck, fingertips brushing two beauty marks on his skin. They felt electric under your touch and you were impossibly warmer now, despite the old cell lacking the heat from the summer above. 

“I feel like I know you,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with an emotion you didn’t quite know the name of. “I feel like I’ve mourned you.”  

The gladiator looked back at you from behind his damp hair, the long strands matted with his and his enemies blood. He didn’t look as concerned as he should have been at your strange words. In fact, he leaned into your touch, lashes fluttering at the sensation. 

“What an odd thing to say to someone who hasn’t died,” he answered quietly. But his gaze roamed over your features and something about being so close to him felt cosmic, it felt like a catastrophe waiting to happen. “I think I’ve met you before,” the gladiator whispered. He sounded reverent now, his own hand shaking as he brought it to your face. 

He cupped your jaw, your chin, his rough fingertips trailing over your soft skin and when his thumb dragged across your bottom lip, you gasped and pressed closer. 

“I think I meet you when I sleep,” he said and he frowned at his own words, at how confusing he must’ve sounded. “Every night, when I close my eyes. You’re in a garden and then you’re in my arms.”

Flashes of a bed came to mind, white linen sheets and too much bare skin. A man’s chest, tanned and muscled from hard labour, your hands that roamed the expanse of his back. You remembered how he kissed you in your dreams, with a longing so intense it could waken the gods. 

Like he had enough love for you that he could end the world. 

You could only nod. His thumb was still pushed to your bottom lip, your mouth parted as if you were waiting and his stare was so intense you felt warmer than you had in the stadium above. 

Who was this stranger?

And why did it feel like something inside of you was being stitched back together by the sheer sight of him? His touch felt healing, it felt like home. Like it was only made for you to feel. Like he was made only for you. 

Above, something boomed. Loud enough to be heard underneath the hypogeum, over the roars of the unsettled animals. If you had been outside, you would’ve witnessed the blue sky turning grey, shades of moody lavender and navy, storm clouds rolling across Rome from seemingly nowhere. 

Thunder rumbled,  threatening noise, something that made you and the man move closer to each other, like you both knew you were in danger. 

That you knew something bad was coming. 

“I don’t understand,” you said, eyes blurring. You weren’t sure why you were crying but Steve didn’t seem to question it. He merely swiped away the tears that slipped down your cheeks. “You’re a stranger— we’ve never— we’ve never met.”

Despite your words, the gladiator moved closer, standing from his seat on the wooden table to lean his forehead against your own. Your eyes slipped closed, nose bumping his. He smelled like metal, like blood and dirt and sweat but underneath there was something like fire there, like molten iron, like lavender fields and fresh cotton. Like a daydream, like something you weren’t sure was real. 

His bottom lip touched your top one, only just, only barely. A whisper of a kiss, a small insight of something that could’ve been, of something that maybe once was. 

Thunder rolled again, louder than before, as if it was right above you both. Even over the din of the crowds above, you could hear the heavy patter of rain that was now flooding the colosseum, the stage soaked. Another warning, something you’d seen before in a dream just before it turned to a nightmare. 

“I was meant to find you,” Steve murmured. He had your face cradled in his hands, an overwhelmingly gentle touch despite the dried blood under his fingernails. His voice grew in urgency then, like he knew something was coming. Someone. “I was meant to come here. I can feel it. I understand now.”

“Someone once told me you’d come back,” you suddenly remembered, your voice eager, your eyes wide at the memory. “I don’t know— was it you? From before? From—”

From another life, you wanted to say. 

How ridiculous those words were, how silly, how stupid. But there wasn’t any other way to explain. Logic didn’t seem to exist when everything you felt from this touch of this stranger led you to believe that somehow, someway, you’d spend a lifetime together. 

Like you were supposed to spend this one with him too. And it didn’t seem long enough, decades wouldn’t make up for the time you’d lost searching for him, for this stranger who only came to you in your sleep. But he was very real now, solid flesh and bone underneath your own hands, brown eyes that seemed warmer than the Italian summer. 

You didn’t want to let him go. 

“In here, my King,” a voice interrupted. The door was open and the healer had returned, a cold look on his already stern face. The Emperor was behind him, ruby robes collecting dirt from the old floor. Four soldiers flanked him. “I have every reason to believe the Lady sold me lies, Your Highness.”  

It happened too quick. Too fast. 

The Emperor studied you, Steve’s hands still on your face as you stood too close, ready to kiss, ready to fulfil something neither of you were sure of. It felt catalytic. 

“Seize him,” was all the Emperor said, one lazy flick of his wrist sending all four guards at you both. 

There was too much movement in the tiny room, bottles of medicinal wares clattering to the ground and smashing at your feet. The table groaned as Steve was shoved into it, his own reactions too slow from his injuries. He grunted and reached for you too late, his hand slipping from your own, fingers barely touching, as he was shoved at from either side. 

One soldier shoved the butt of his sword into Steve’s wounded soldier, the other bringing his armoured knee into his bare stomach. The gladiator doubled over, a gasp leaving his chest before he fell to his knees on the stone floor. 

“Stop this!” You yelled, urging forward, trying your best to throw yourself into the mix of it all but someone’s arms - another soldier - caught your round the middle. “Unhand him! Your Highness - please - he hasn’t done any wrong, please—”

The Emperor just looked at you blankly before he picked at the jewels around your neck. He tutted, as if it were a shame, a waste. You could hear the shackles being placed back on the man, the low groan he gave as the metal was tightened around his sore wrists. 

“He won,” you whispered, your voice low and choked. You were ready to beg. “Please, he won. He doesn’t deserve this—”

“I don’t like anyone else playing with my toys,” the Emperor interrupted. He said it like he was discussing what to have for lunch. “And my dear cousin doesn’t like anyone playing with his.” He motioned to the guards once more. “Take her back to her seat, where you make sure she stays. This isn’t any place for a Lady,” he told you mournfully.

You didn’t get to see what happened to the gladiator as you were escorted out of the room. But you did hear his yells when the door slammed shut, the dull thuds of impact that you were sure were on his already bruised and broken body. You hadn’t even told him your name, or that you dreamt of him too. That during your worst night terrors, he was the one that saved you. 

When you reached the imperial box once more, your skirts dirtied from the sand, your face tear stricken, you felt broken. Like you’d been snapped in half, like someone had found that wound Steve had stitched up and pulled it apart again the seams. Like someone had ripped something important from you, half of your heart, perhaps. 

You didn’t even notice that it had stopped raining. The skies were blue once more, the sun shining, the only evidence of the sudden storm were the drops of rain that had soaked into the pillow on your chair. 

Steve was gone and the thunder was too. 

[kai-uh-arcadian]

Something you’ll never know

synopsis: you and aeri were inseparable while you were growing up. Is that connection still there?

word count: 15k (jeeez) (it could've been 3 parts but I love you all so much so here you are)

cw: angst, cussing, drinking, f reader, childhood best friends to...(?) idk if there's any i missed please lmk!

notes! So sorry if its a confusing read with the timelines and such. the italic paragraphs are flashbacks/memories! for clarification Aeri and reader are ages 12, 22, and then 30 in this. It's inspired by the movie Past Lives (one of my fav movies, I recommend it!) barely proofread again, I also tried to add extra space in between different scenes, I hope it flows okay!

This is my first angsty fic ever but I had a lot of fun writing it! I really hope you enjoy it and if you'd like to, lmk your thoughts!!

as always dms and asks are always open!

xoxo love youuu (: <3

20 years ago in Southern California,  SM Elementary School

Ever since you can remember, Aeri Uchinaga has been a constant presence in your life. You first met in preschool, where she quickly took a liking to you for reasons you couldn't quite understand. As a ‘slow-to-warm-up’ child, you were perfectly fine with doing quiet activities on your own while your classmates ran around, chatting amongst themselves. But Aeri must have seen you as a challenge or a game, maybe? She was determined to crack the ice and see what lay beneath your quiet exterior. She would always join you at the drawing table and start rambling about a variety of things that crossed her mind or even go as far as sharing her stuffed animals with you when she saw you playing ‘family’ alone with your own.

And before you knew it, she had you hooked. Aeri was more outspoken than you at the time, and she often took the reins in your friendship, but you were (more than) happy to follow her lead. You quickly learned that she had a habit of charging in head first, and it became your unspoken mission to keep her from getting into too much trouble.

You promised yourself that you'd always be there supporting her from behind.

You dribbled the soccer ball skillfully toward the goal, weaving through defenders with ease. Just as you were about to score, a loud yelp from the basketball court made you stop dead in your tracks. Your hesitation cost you as a player from the opposing team slid in, tackling you. Pain shot through your leg as your planted foot twisted in a way that it should NOT twist.

You got up from the ground and ignored the pain as you waved to a classmate on the sideline to take your place on the field. You limped as quickly as you could toward the court from the field, fighting back tears. The adrenaline kept you moving.

Eventually you made it to the basketball court where Aeri was.

“Are you okay?” you asked as you reached a hurt Aeri, who was hissing slightly at the sight of her skinned knee. Almost every ounce of pain washed away when you saw her.

She looked up, surprised, as your shadow blocked the sun. To her, you probably looked like an angel.

“Y/n,” she sniffled, “Where did you come from?”

“I was just playing soccer,” you replied, kneeling in front of her and offering your back. “Here, hop on. Let’s get you to the nurse.”

“Mm~ okay,” Aeri shyly mumbled as she climbed onto your back, resting her chin in the crook of your neck as you hobbled toward the infirmary.

“How did you know I was hurt?” she inquired softly.

“I dunno, my Aeri instincts must've kicked in... But you do have a pretty distinctive scream that I could hear all the way from the soccer field” You chuckled

“Ah~! What!? That’s so embarrassing!” She buried her face into your neck. “Why did you come over? You said you were playing soccer?”

“Well yeah I was, but remember when we were five and had our first sleepover?” you asked, chuckling. “Ya know, the one where you couldn’t stop crying because you missed your parents, especially your mom.”

“Hey! Why bring that up now?” she groaned, playfully hitting your back with her fists. “It wasn’t my choice! My parents were busy with work, okay!”

“Nono~ we made a pinky promise, remember? I told you, ‘I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.’ And I vaguely remember claiming I’d be your prince or somethin' like that.. I’m just keeping my word.” You smiled at the memory.

“That was like seven years ago…I can't believe you even remember that” she sighed contentedly. “Well, thank you, my prince.” she let out a teasing chuckle

“Of course, Lady Aeri,” you replied in a playful, formal tone, adjusting her higher on your back with a little hop.

There was a small break of silence before Aeri took notice of the cadence of your steps.

“...Wait, are you limping?” Her tone suddenly turned serious, like a mother about to scold her child.

“Uh…” You hesitated, “No…?” you chuckled nervously hoping she'd drop the topic (she didn't).

She peeked over your shoulder and saw your left ankle, red and beginning to swell.

“Ah~! What happened!? Let me down, I can walk! You idiot!” she exclaimed, trying to wriggle off your back.

“No way! We’re almost there anyways, and all this wiggling isn’t helping the pain either!” you bickered with the girl on your back before finally reaching the school entrance.

After school, your mom tended to your hurt ankle. It wasn’t anything serious, just a mild sprain. You worked silently on your assignment before she spoke up.

“Y/n, honey~” your mom cooed before sitting down next to you at the kitchen table while you were doing homework. “What do you think about Aeri? Do you like her?”

“Hmm,” You hummed while  placing your pencil down as memories of her flooded your mind.

One specific memory came to the forefront of your mind,

You and Aeri were laying in the lush grass together with your heads touching and holding hands.

“Aeri, look!” You pointed to the sky “I see a shark.. Or maybe a really  big tuna?” a playful giggle escaped your lips 

“Mhm~!” she agreed, “Look over there! Doesn’t that look like Haku from Spirited Away?” Aeri’s eyes widened in excitement as her favorite character appeared in the sky, her finger excitedly pointing 

“Yeah! I think it does!” You stole a glance of her. 

Her eyes were glued to the blue sky adorned with fluffy white clouds that looked like they felt like cotton candy. The sun reflected against her dark brown hair and made it look like a beautiful dark ocean rippling in the wind

It was a cool summer day. A gentle breeze wafted her scent of strawberry shampoo and a light rose scent from her deodorant. The sky stretched over both of you like a blue canvas with puffy cotton balls. The warmth of the sunshine wrapped the two of you into an embrace only you both could feel.

 You stared at her with so much… happiness? While she pointed out various shapes, her face lit up more and more each time she spotted one

“What is this feeling?” You thought “It feels like i’m going down a steep slope of a rollercoaster when I’m around her”

“Hm~ Y/n? Is there something on my face? Did you hear me?” She briefly stopped her tangent when she felt a soft gaze.

“Oh~! No sorry,” You giggled

“I- just” you began barely above a whisper

“Wow, look!” Aeri unknowingly cut you off “Those ones look like two hearts about to mash together” she exclaimed giddily

Your gaze went back to the clouds and you paused  for a few seconds causing Aeri to look at you

“Were you gonna say something?” She mumbled and you met her eyes

“I’m just.. Really happy right now!” you said, unable to verbalize the feelings you were having.

“I like her” you replied to your mom

“Ohh~”She nodded in response before genuinely inquiring “Why?” 

“Well… She said I’m like her prince” she responded to her mother so nonchalantly and innocently

“Her prince?”

“Mhm, I think i’ll marry her one day” You smiled before picking up your pencil again-- completely unphased.

“Mm~ I see, I see. Well Y/n, does she want to marry you, too?” 

“I don't know if she likes me too, but if she does I know she'll say when we’re ready!” She smiled brightly at her mom 

“Ah okay~ When did you grow up my sweet daughter?” Your mom lightly pinched your cheek which caused you to giggle. “Well, I was on the phone with her mom earlier... Do you want to go on a date with her?"

Of course you excitedly nodded your head in agreement

You and Aeri stepped into the park, nature wrapped around you two like a comforting hug. The trees swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves left a playful pattern of light and shadows on the ground below. While birds chirped happily overhead, their songs blending with the soft rustle of leaves, creating a soothing melody that seemed to dance through the air. Both of your mom’s made their way to a nearby spot to watch you both 

“Aeri! Let’s go” You said as you grabbed her free hand 

“Oh~ Ma, can you hold these?” Aeri swiftly passed the small bouquet of flowers you had bought her to her mother before being whisked away by your eager pull

“Oh!”  was all Mrs.Uchinaga could get out before the two of you ran off exploring the park. She couldn’t contain her laughter and began to take a digital camera out of her purse.

“They look good together, so happy huh?” Your mom glanced at Mrs.Uchinaga as she was snapping a picture of the two of you running hand in hand in the luscious green field. 

“Yeah~ Aeri talks about Y/n a lot. She says she wants to marry her one day” Her mom let out an astonished laugh “When did our girls grow up?

“That’s exactly what Y/n said! “ She laughed, “We can’t be too surprised right?

"Ah~ I guess not." Aeri's mom began, "Remember that time we kept Y/n overnight once and Aeri was crying uncontrollably and then suddenly stopped? My god, it was so scary! I thought something had happened to her but when I checked the baby monitor, Y/n snuck out of her own crib and into Aeri’s! And then they fell asleep like that!” She laughed with a tinge of nostalgic sadness 

“Ahh~ They were about two and a half years old huh? Oh~! Remember that time I told you when I put them in charge of her brother while I was making them lunch and when I walked back into the living room and found all of them asleep on the couch with Kosei in between them! It was so cute~!” Your mom smiled brightly “I have the photo somewhere still!” 

Both you parents sighed contentedly, reminiscing on you two. After a bit of comfortable silence, you mom spoke up

“My Y/n cares about Aeri a lot. I can see she does too, it puts my heart at ease to know my daughter has someone who cares so deeply about her.” Your mom’s eyes began to get a bit watery

Mrs. Uchinaga placed her hand reassuringly over hers, a warm smile gracing her lips. "She's a smart girl—you shouldn’t worry too much. I'm forever grateful she's been in my Aeri's life. Look at them," she pointed affectionately at the two of you, nestled under the low-hanging branches of the weeping willow tree.

"Aeri! This is where we can take our shoes off," you exclaimed, gently parting the "curtain" of leaves as if entering a secret world.

Your imagination ran wild, the simple weeping willow tree transformed into a spacious apartment in a bustling city.

"And here is where our dining room is," Aeri chimed in, moving to the large stones and pretending they were seats. "Here, sit. Let me get you a coffee, honey," she playfully immersed herself in the game of house.

Aeri returned with a hollowed out rock with a stick in it, “Here’s your coffee!”

You pretend slurped through the stick straw, “This is soo~ delicious” and you fake slurped more causing both of you to giggle

“Hey, Aeri” you placed the rock coffee cup down and Aeri joined you at the “dining table”

“Where do you wanna live when you grow up?” you met her gaze

“Mmm, definitely a city. I want my fashion business to be very popular!” She flashed a cheerful thumbs up “What about you?”

“Mm..” You looked down, shyly contemplating

“Are you getting shy?!” She gently nudged your shoulder teasing you

“Nono~!” You waved your hands in defense while a smile appeared on your face “Hm.. I guess wherever you go?”

While you and Aeri played house, imagining your future together, your parents sat nearby on the park bench in comfortable silence, smiling as they watched the two of you. A gentle breeze drifted through, rustling the leaves and carrying the scent of blooming flowers through the air, adding to the peaceful moment.

“We’re moving soon,” Aeri’s mom finally said, breaking the quiet. Which explained why she asked to take them on a 'date'

Your mom didn’t respond right away, her gaze still on you and Aeri. After a few more beats, she spoke, doing her best to mask her emotions. “Oh… where?”

“South Korea,” Aeri’s mom replied softly.

Your mom paused, her voice steady but tinged with sadness. “Why leave everything behind?”

“There are better opportunities ahead than the ones we’ll leave behind,” Aeri’s mom answered with a quiet sigh, as if trying to convince herself as much as anyone else.

Later, on the car ride home, you and Aeri had both fallen asleep in the backseat, your hands still clasped together, oblivious to the change that was coming. Your mom glanced back at the two of you and with a bittersweet smile, she snapped a quick photo.

Neither of you knew how much your lives would change in the next few weeks.

You sat at your desk, your gaze unfocused as you stared blankly ahead, lost in a haze of thoughts that swirled around you like fog. Aeri’s voice cut through the noise, her laughter ringing out as she animatedly chatted with her friends nearby. Her vibrant energy filled the room, lighting up the space, yet somehow, it made the gap between you two feel even wider. You were in the same room, but it felt like you were worlds apart—both of you in your own little world.

"You're leaving?" one of her friends exclaimed, disbelief in her voice.

"Yeah!" Aeri replied, her excitement unmistakable.

"Never coming back?" another girl pressed, curiosity laced her voice.

"I don’t think so!" Aeri laughed, her tone light, almost carefree.

"What?! Why not!?" the girl pushed further, as if she couldn’t fathom the idea.

"Well.. I could never become a fashion designer here!" Aeri giggled, like her answer was obvious… like she wasn’t about to leave behind everything you had known together.

After school, you found yourself walking past Aeri as she waved her friends goodbye. Her cheerful farewell echoed behind you as you caught a glimpse of her. Her smile was as bright as ever, but for the first time, it felt distant—like it no longer belonged to you.

"Oh, bye!" she called out to her friends, her voice cheerful before turning her attention to you. 

"Wait up!" she hurried to catch up with your steps.

You slowed down slightly, but something in you hesitated.

"Oh, sorry," you murmured.

She quickly caught up and the two of you began the familiar walk home, the silence between you felt heavier than ever. Aeri seemed comfortable, at ease with the quiet, but for you, the weight in your chest grew with every step. Even though she was right beside you, it felt like she was already slipping away—like an invisible wall was growing between you, expanding with each moment.

It was disorienting, jarring even, to think that after today, she wouldn’t be walking next to you every day like she had since kindergarten. Each footstep echoed what was coming, and despite the comfort of routine, the reality of her departure pressed down on you, suffocating the words you wanted to say but couldn’t find.

The world around continued its hustle and bustle, completely indifferent to the storm brewing in your heart. Cars rushed by, bikes whizzed past, and people hurried along the sidewalk, insensitive to the internal chaos you were grappling with.

Every emotion flooded through you, leaving you drowning in a mix of sadness and anger. Each step felt trudging through quicksand as if your feet had been stuck in concrete. Your body was subconsciously pulling you away from your house to prolong your inevitable separation– like a dog who doesn’t want their walk to be over yet.

As you reached the fork in the road that diverged toward your respective houses, a heavy cloud hung above your head, thick with everything you wanted to say.

"Bye, n/n," Aeri's voice carried a tinge of melancholy as she began to walk away, her figure receding into the distance.

You paused, unable to tear your gaze away from her retreating form.

Every memory you’ve shared with her played in your head like a movie montage.

“C’mon Aeri, don’t be scared! I’m right here with you!” You aggressively whispered while carrying a bag of snacks and a blanket, trying to convince Aeri onto the roof of your house

“What if we get in trouble? What if we get locked out and we’re stuck here forever!” Aeri said to you from inside through the opened window 

“My parents know I do this, it’s a flat surface so you have to be a real dummy to slip off! And don’t worry, it only locks from the inside and if you’re scared you can just hold onto me!” You reached out your hand to Aeri

She couldn't help but smile, your own reassuring grin reflecting back at her. She warmly accepted your hand, her breath hitched when your hands made contact.

“O-oh thanks, let’s place the blanket down!” Aeri was glad it was dark because she was sure her face was the same shade as a tomato!

"Not too shabby, huh?" You chuckled lightly, settling onto the soft surface and patting the spot beside you, inviting her to join you.

It was a warm summer night. A gentle breeze wafted your scent of shampoo and a cologne-y scent from your deodorant. The sky stretched over both of you like a dark blue canvas with twinkling stars. The warmth of the evening wrapped the two of you into an embrace only you both could feel.

You felt her staring at you while you pointed out various constellations, your face lit up more and more each time you spotted one

“Hm, Aeri? Did you hear me?” You briefly stopped your tangent when you felt a soft gaze on you

“Oh~! No sorry,” Aeri giggled “What did you say?”

You scooted closer so your head was touching hers, “See those stars over there? It’s kinda like a weird looking 7?” You extended your arm while pointing, trying your best to point out three out of the millions of stars in the sky

“Hm.. oh! Yes!”

“That’s me! And your birthday is October 30 making you a Scorpio! and hmm” You began to move your pointer finger to search in the sky

“Ah! There! You see that pattern that kind of looks like a snake with claws?”

“Yeah~ I actually do!” Aeri giggled as her imagination took over

“Well, Aeri if you ever feel sad or something and I’m not with you for some reason ” You chuckled sweetly. “I just want you to know that we’re always together in the sky!” You both turned to meet each other’s gaze at the same time 

“Well I don’t think we’ll ever get separated, I want to be with you forever!” She innocently beamed which caused you both to giggle 

“Me too Aeri!”

After a few hesitant moments, you found your voice, though it felt as if your heart might stop with the effort.

“Aeri,” you called out softly, the word heavy with all the feelings you had kept buried for so long.

“Mm?” She turned to face you, her expression softening when her eyes met yours, and the cheerful energy from earlier was nowhere to be found.

“I.. I like you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, but you held her gaze, resisting the urge to look away. You felt as though you might crumble, but you forced yourself to keep going. “I’m glad we spent our childhood.. together.”

Her smile faltered, shifting into something sadder, something that you couldn't understand. She didn’t respond immediately, as if the words you’d just said had stolen her breath, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. She was at a loss for words and the silence stretched endlessly between you.

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying desperately to maintain your composure. “Bye… Aeri,” you added softly, your voice cracking ever so slightly as you turned away towards your house, trying to put on a brave face.

You couldn’t bear to see the sadness in her eyes any longer. Tears threatened to spill, but you fought them back, willing yourself to hold on just a little longer.

“Bye..” she faintly whispered out

The moment you started walking toward your house, your chest tightened. Tears streamed down your face as the weight of the world as you knew it came crashing down.

What you'll never know and what you couldn’t see, was that Aeri began crying too.

About 10 years later, you sat at your desk in your cozy apartment room at UCLA, the late afternoon sun casting soft rays across the scattered textbooks and notes. With a sigh, you pushed some papers aside to rest your elbow on the desk, propping your chin on your hand.

“How the actual fuck do I even solve this?” you muttered to yourself, staring at the confusing statistics problem on your laptop. After a moment of frustration, you searched for a tutorial on YouTube, hoping for a miracle.

As you scrolled through the list of videos, you could hear your roommate Yunjin bustling around in the kitchen.

“Jennie-poo~!” you called out, leaning back in your chair. “Can you come here?”

A few seconds later, you heard your door creak open. "Huh?" came Yunjin's voice, her (dyed) red hair poking around the doorframe as she stepped inside.

“Do you have any idea how to solve this?” you asked, switching your browser back to the page filled with complex formulas. You pointed at the screen. “I seriously have no clue what they’re even fucking asking”

Yunjin leaned down, squinting at the problem for a moment before laughing. “Yeah, I’m gonna be honest with you—zero clue. You’re so fucked,” she said, still giggling.

Yunjin, aka Jennifer, was from upstate New York, and the two of you had been roommates for four years. It felt like fate sometimes—being assigned to live together your freshman year was totally random, but she was practically you in a different form.

“You’re absolutely no help,” you groaned, laughing a little despite yourself as you buried your face in your hands.

“You’re so welcome,” she said, patting your head playfully. “I’m gonna make some jjajangmyeon, do you want any?”

“Not right now. Maybe save some for me later? I gotta finish this shit” you replied, sitting back up and stretching.

“Yeah, of course. Good luck!” Yunjin said with a wink as she left your room.

You sighed deeply as you turned back to your YouTube tab, clicking on a video tutorial. As fucking expected, an ad began to play—one of those painfully long ones you couldn’t skip.

“Do you want to be a model? Do you think you have what it takes?”

The words faded into the background as your mind started to wander, pulled back by an unexpected memory.

Aeri.

It had been so long since you’d allowed yourself to think about her. Years, even. But something about the mention of fashion, pulled you back into the past. The past where she lived, where her dreams had once shone so brightly.

Aeri had always talked about becoming a fashion designer—about where she'd live and make a name for herself. You could still picture her so clearly, sitting beside you, messily sketching her ideas in her notebooks. Dresses, bags, runway looks… She used to tell you all about it, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“I could never become a designer here,” she’d said once, laughing. She was always so sure of her path. Always ready to go after her dreams, no matter the cost.

She may have been right

Suddenly, the thought of her became overwhelming. You couldn’t help but wonder what had become of that dream. Did she make it? Was she in South Korea, living the life she’d always wanted? Or had things turned out differently?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as your mind drifted back to the memory of her laughter and the way she’d talked about her plans with ABSOLUTE certainty.

Without thinking, you opened a new tab. You hesitated for a moment, a tightness in your chest returning. 

A memory flashed into your mind to when you were having a sleepover with her

“Y/n…” Aeri’s voice came softly from the left side of your bed, sadness creeping into her usual playful tone.

“Mm? What’s wrong?” you asked, glancing over at her.

“I wish you wanted to be a model,” she pouted. “Then you could try on the clothes I design.”

You laughed softly. “I mean, I still could... Why are you thinking about that now?”

“Well, obviously I want to be a designer! SO of course I want you to be the first person to wear the clothes I make,” she beamed, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

The video kept playing and the math tutorial began playing. 

Why the hell am I thinking about that now? It’s been like 10 years?

 Aeri Uchinaga…

You leaned back in your chair and positioned your head towards the ceiling

What are you up to…

With a sigh, you slingshotted forward and opened Facebook and began to search.

After an hour of searching, you finally found a lead—her father’s company page. It was a bit tedious to find her or her family, considering they lived in a completely different country.

“Hi, I’m looking for my childhood best friend, Aeri Uchinaga . Please let me know how I can contact her.”

And with that, you posted the message and, for the first time in hours, tried to return to your homework.

A few weeks later, on the complete opposite side of the world at 5:30 PM in Seoul...

Aeri sat in her dorm, the warm afternoon sunlight streaming through the window as she lounged on her bed, phone pressed to her ear, laptop resting in her lap.

“Ne~ umma, remember Xinyi? She plays basketball in college now!” Aeri said with a smile, scrolling through Facebook while chatting with her mother.

“Wow~! I’m not surprised,” Mrs. Uchinaga replied with a chuckle on the other end. “She was always knocking on our door, asking you to play.”

Aeri laughed lightly. “Yeah, even though I was pretty bad. She tried so hard to teach me, but I was just ass”

“It’s okay, darling. Sports weren’t really your thing,” her mother comforted warmly.

Aeri absentmindedly scrolled through her feed, clicking on old profiles and updates from people she hadn’t thought about in years.

“Who else should we look up?” She asked her mom.

Aeri paused, a small smile creeping onto her lips. “Who’s the one I had a huge crush on?”

“Y/n L/n” they both said at the same time, sharing a laugh.

Aeri’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, and she began typing your name, curiosity piqued as she searched for her old crush. As she clicked through posts, she suddenly froze.

“Umma! This is crazy!” Aeri exclaimed, her voice full of shock. “She posted on dad’s Facebook page a few weeks ago looking for me!”

“Oh wow really? Well~ I’m not too surprised, Aeri. She really liked you!” her mom replied, her voice filled with warmth.

“I’m looking for my childhood best friend, Aeri Uchinaga ...” Aeri read aloud to her mom as her eyes scanned the message.

Aeri’s heart raced as she scrolled through your profile. Even though your hair was longer and your features were more defined, the essence of you—the same joyful glint in your eyes—hadn’t changed at all. It was as if time hadn’t erased any part of the person she remembered so vividly.

“Umma, I’ll call you back,” Aeri said quickly, cutting her mom off as she reassured her with a chuckle, “Yes! I promise I’m eating well!”

She ended the call with a smile, but her pulse quickened as she stared at the screen. Her eyes scanned the message again and again, as if reading your name over and over would somehow make this more real.

“Ahh~” Aeri inhaled deeply, her fingers trembling slightly as she sent you a friend request and began typing a message to you.

“Y/n! It’s Aeri, you remember me?”

It was 1:30 AM in your on-campus apartment in LA when your phone buzzed, receiving the new message.

“Fuck her! She doesn’t deserve you! You’re like… sooo out of her league,” Yuna mumbled to your other friend, Ryujin, as she poured another shot for her.

“Right?” Ryujin sighed before pausing to take the shot. “I just don’t know why I miss her… so much,” she grimaced as the alcohol hit the back of her throat.

“Ryu, you should have some water,” you slurred, hiccuping as you passed her your water bottle.

“Y/nn~ how about you drink some water,” your roommate Yunjin chimed in, giggling as she slumped over on the couch.

The four of you sat in the living room, post-gaming the bar, waiting for your DoorDash to arrive. Ryujin rested her head in your lap, and without thinking, you rubbed her back to comfort her.

You took a long gulp of water with a satisfied “Ah~” before reaching for your beer.

“Wellll~ Beer is basically water. You should have some too Jennie-poo! It isn’t a post-game if we don’t drink till we die,” you exclaimed, taking a sip from the can.

“UGH~” Ryujin groaned, deadpanning, “I want to die~”

“Girl, she literally cheated on you and then wanted to be exclusive while she was fucking someone else—like, what?” Yuna added, deadpan.

That comment made all of you burst out laughing(she was right), even as Ryujin lightly punched Yuna in the arm.

“Hey~! Be niceeee~ Show some compassion!” Yunjin scolded, trying and failing to stifle her laughter.

You were still chuckling when your phone buzzed again in your pocket. Grabbing it, you blinked a couple of times, trying to focus your eyes on the notification.

Giselle?

Your vision was still a little too blurry to make sense of it.

"Hey!" Yunjin faked being cold

“You have a secret girlfriend or somethin'?” Yunjin teased, sounding just like a jealous girlfriend.

“Huh?” you responded, still distracted.

“Who’s messaging you at 1:30 in the morning? You have a sneaky link you’re not telling us about?” Yunjin continued, laughing.

Meanwhile, Ryujin was still moping in your lap. “Hey! Sensitive subject!” she groaned dramatically.

“Fuck if I know, I honestly have zero clue,” you mumbled, your words slurring as you stared at your phone before turning it off.

The next morning, you woke up in your bed with a slight headache. You groaned, rolling over to reach for your water bottle and chugged it like it was the last water on Earth.

The cold water worked its magic, refreshing you enough to (barely) function. You grabbed your phone from the charger and started scrolling through your notifications, still half-asleep. But then, one notification made you freeze—last night’s Facebook message.

You clicked on it, your grogginess instantly fading as your eyes widened in surprise. It was from none other than the girl who made you experience your first instance of love—Aeri Uchinaga.

“Giselle Uchinaga?” you muttered to yourself, reading her profile in disbelief.

That’s why you couldn’t find her!  It made complete sense now. Her features were more mature, but that familiar smile—the one that had always warmed your heart—was still there, lighting up her face in every picture. You couldn’t stop smiling as you scrolled through her photos.

Just then, Yunjin’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to reality.

“Y/n! Are you awake? I made avocado toast and eggs!” she announced from the other side of your door.

“Ahh~ okay, yeah, lemme pee and I’ll be out!” you called back, your voice still raspy from sleep.

You quickly splashed some water on your face and pulled on a pair of sweats and a hoodie before stepping out of your room.

“Good morning!” you chirped, only to be met with a synchronized groan from Yuna and Ryujin.

“How the fuck do you have this much energy? What puts you in such a good mood?” Yuna asked, holding an ice pack on her forehead.

“Hm?” you replied, walking over to your coffee cup on the table that Yunjin had filled for you. “Thank Jennie-poo! And nothing, I just don’t have a massive hangover like you two idiots—should’ve drank beer instead of taking shots”

As you sipped your coffee, your mind of course, drifted back to last night. That damn text from Aeri.

The two of you exchanged a few quick messages, exchanging numbers, and catching up briefly before settling on a time that worked best for both of you to video call. It felt surreal, reading Aeri’s replies after all these years—like time had somehow folded in on itself, bringing the past back into the present.

You found yourself staring at your phone, the FaceTime app open and ready, but your heart pounding in your chest. What if things had changed too much? What if she wasn’t the Aeri you remembered? What if you weren’t the person she expected? Your thoughts spiraled as you adjusted your hair for what felt like the tenth time.

It’s just a call, you reminded yourself. It’s just Aeri. You’ve known her before.

But even though you’d told yourself that a hundred times, the butterflies in your stomach wouldn’t settle. The phone buzzed in your hand as the screen lit up. Incoming FaceTime: Aeri Uchinaga.

You took a deep breath, your thumb hovering over the screen for a moment longer than it should have. Then, finally, you swiped to answer.

Aeri’s face appeared, pixelated for just a second before the connection stabilized. There she was. Her familiar eyes, her smile—the same, but different? You stared at each other for a beat, neither of you quite sure how to start.

Aeri broke the silence with a nervous laugh. “Wow.. it’s been so long. I almost forgot what you looked like!”

You smiled, feeling the same rush of emotions you hadn’t felt in years. “I know right? I wasn’t sure what to expect either. You look… different. In a good way, of course.” nervousness still present in your voice

“Same to you,” Aeri said, her voice softening as she studied your face. “It’s like, you’ve changed, but... not really, you know?”

You laughed, the tension beginning to ease. “Except now you’re Giselle, huh?”

Aeri grinned, rolling her eyes playfully. “Yeah, that’s a long story. But trust me, it’s still me. Aeri Uchinaga at heart.”

You both chuckled, the ice slowly breaking as the conversation started to feel more familiar. It was strange, seeing her face again like this after so many years—older, more mature, but still with that same smile.

“Soo.. You’re really out there becoming a designer, huh?” you teased, shaking your head with an incredulous smile. “It’s kind of wild thinking about you... you know, living in Korea and actually doing all the things you told me you would like years ago”

Aeri laughed, her tone warm but modest. “Don’t let social media fool you. I’m not as glamorous as it seems. I’m still the same girl who couldn’t shoot a basketball to save her life.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Oh god yeah! I remember! You were sooo bad. I thought for sure you were going to quit after that first fall.”

“Whatever! I literally was just trying to impress you,” she joked, her laugh lighting up the screen.

With each passing minute, the conversation felt easier. The laughter flowed naturally, memories of your childhood together resurfacing as if no time had passed at all.

“So... how have you been, really?” Aeri asked after a while, her tone more serious now. “I feel like I missed so much. of your life"

You nodded, the weight of the years between you sinking in. “Yeah, it feels strange, I feel the same too. I’ve been good, I guess. But seeing you like this… I dunno.. It feels like yesterday, you were just that little girl on the other side of the road from me.”

Aeri smiled, her expression softening. “Right? I don’t know, life is so weird sometimes.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And now, you’re the girl on my screen.”

As the night went on, you both talked about everything—your lives, your dreams, the things you had wanted to say but never got the chance to. It was like reconnecting with a part of yourself you thought you’d lost. By the end of the call, there was an unspoken understanding between you both. This wasn’t just a one-off conversation.

“So, let’s not wait another decade to do this again?” you said with a grin.

Aeri laughed. “Deal. Next time, I’ll tell you the full story behind ‘Giselle.’”

“I’m holding you to that, Aeri” you replied, your heart feeling lighter than it had in years.

And that’s how it was. For a few months, you both shared everything—your days, your worries, even the smallest details. You started waiting for her calls, looking forward to the time you’d spend talking. She was always there, her laughter filling your nights(and early mornings!), making you feel closer to her despite the distance.

It was almost as if you were in a relationship. The way she looked at you through the screen, the way your conversations lingered on hopes and what-ifs. You could almost imagine what it would be like to be with her again, for real.

You routinely called Aeri during your day. 

Hey,” you greeted with a smile as the screen connected.

“Hey,” Aeri chuckled softly on the other end.

“Is it 7:00 in the morning there? I thought you said you never wake up before 10:00,” you teased, noting how early it was for her.

“I don’t,” Aeri replied, a smile tugging at her lips. “But this was the only time that worked for you, right?”

“Well yeah but don’t you have class today?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeahh~” she admitted, “but it’s later~” sleepiness still evident in her voice

You couldn’t help but tease her. “Ya know Aeri, your english is pretty rusty”

“Hey!” Aeri chuckled in return and her eyes opened slightly. “I only speak English with you and my mom!”

You both laughed yet some silence strung between the two of you

“So, you said you were leaving California to be the world’s greatest designer... You still want that?”

Aeri paused for a moment while shifting in her bed, then smiled. “Hmm... I think maybe I’ll have a business like.. My own line of clothes”

“Ahh wow~” You sighed, “ You’re the same Aeri I remember. Wanting to do everything, have everything and also still so sassy.” you teased again

She laughed, feigning shock. “Sassy? Wow, can’t believe you think of me like that”

Aeri’s grin widened before continuing,  “Actually... I got invited to Japan this summer to design for this brand for a whole month. My professor helped me get into the program!”

“Wait, so you’ll be in Japan for a month?” you asked, surprised. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Aeri nodded, her excitement palpable. “It’s crazy. I can’t believe it’s happening.”

“So, how are your applications going?” she asked, her voice softening.

“Hmm, wellll~ they’re going,” you replied with a small smile. “I’m looking at Boston for grad school.”

Aeri sighed, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “Ah wow, look at us.. when did we grow up? It feels like we’re almost... truly adults.”

“Hmm, I know,” you agreed, a thoughtful pause hanging between you. “Too soon though.”

You hung up shortly after and went about your day. You studied with Yunjin, and later, the girls came over for dinner, followed by a late-night study session. By the time you showered and finally settled into bed, it was already 1 AM when your phone buzzed—Aeri was calling.

“Hello?” You mumbled out as you turned your lamp on

“Oh sorry, were you sleeping?” she asked, her face slightly blurry on the screen.

“Mm,” you sighed softly, rubbing your eyes. “No, I just got into bed, actually.”

“Long day?”

“Mhm, but that’s alright. What’s up?” you asked, shifting into a more comfortable position and reaching for your glasses.

“I’m just.. in Haebonchang right now,” she said, flipping the camera to show the view. “Look how beautiful the sunset is, Y/n.”

The sunset was breathtaking, shades of pink, orange, and purple blending into each other like a painting across the sky.

“Wow... it’s beautiful, Aeri,” you said in awe.

Aeri’s voice softened before she flipped the camera back to herself. “Yeah... I wish you were here,” she said quietly, her eyes flickering between the camera and the fading light.

There was a pause, her words lingering in the space between you.

“Maybe one day.. We could go there together,” you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah.. I’d really like that,” Aeri responded, her tone gentle but carrying the weight of something more.

There was a brief second of silence. As if both of you were hesitating to speak up.

“I miss you,” you whispered, barely audible, your voice filled with longing. Time zones didn’t matter, distance didn’t matter. You really just longed for Aeri. 

Those three words heavily hung in the air between you two.

“I miss you too,” Aeri quietly admitted, her voice soft but sincere, resistance evident in her confession. 

The day after that interaction, things started to feel different. The FaceTime calls slowly became more sparse, and her texts were less frequent. You tried not to overthink it, giving her the space you thought she might need. But as the days passed, the silence began to weigh on you. Eventually, you double texted  her, unable to ignore any longer.

“Aeri, is everything okay?”

For the first time in days, her response came instantly.

“Yeah sorry, I’m okay. I just have something on my mind. Can we call later?”

Her words did nothing to ease your nerves.

“Of course,” you typed back, keeping it simple, though your heart raced.

 The uncertainty gnawed at you, the anxiety tightening in your chest as you stared at the screen.

Finally, what felt like days but in reality was just a few hours, Aeri called you.

You hesitantly answered “Hey Aeri, you okay?”

There was a pause, and that’s when you knew it didn’t seem promising.

“Y/n,” she began softly, her face on the screen appearing hesitant, almost conflicted.

“..Aeri?” you prompted gently, your voice unsure now.

She sighed deeply, her gaze dropping for a second before meeting yours again. “Y/n… I need to talk to you about something.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Yeah I know, what’s going on? You okay?”

“When is it possible for you to visit me in Seoul?” she asked bluntly, though her tone remained soft.

You hesitated. “Well, maybe about a year or so? Just with grad schoo–”

She cut you off gently,  “I know.. You don’t have to explain yourself, I just– God,” She paused as if holding herself back from admitting something. “It’ll be over a year and a half until I can visit you”

Your eyes stayed glued to the screen, watching her struggle to compose herself. The pit in your stomach deepened

Aeri swallowed hard, clearly struggling with her next words. “I think we should stop talking for a while”

Your chest tightened.

 “Why?”

“I came here..” She began, “ No– I’ve had this goal since forever. I want to accomplish something here but.. I can’t stop myself from looking up flights to California every day. 

And I think… I think I need to focus on committing my life here”

You blinked, the realization slowly sinking in. She was leaving again.

“So you want.. to stop talking to me?” Your words trailed off, unsure of how to finish that thought or if there’s anything more you could possibly say.

“Just for now,” she said quietly, her eyes softening with what seemed like guilt. “And I really don’t want to lose you. But I know.. I have to give this my all.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep the lump in your throat from forming. “Aeri.. It took me 10 years to find you.” 

She looked down again, exhaling slowly trying to fight a sob from coming out. “I know Y/n, but I’ll be back before you know it.. It’s just a brief break”

Fuck

You nodded slowly, though your heart ached. “Alright then Aeri ”

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper now. “I’m so sorry” She began to cry.

“No need to be sorry,” You said as you choked back your own tears, clearing your throat to cover it.  “We weren’t dating or anything so don’t worry about it. Really.”

There was a long pause, the silence between you filled with all the things neither of you were ready to say.

“Take care of yourself and good luck, okay?” Aeri said, her voice soft but final.

“You too,” you replied, your throat tight, the words barely escaping. “I’ll be right here.”

The call ended, and for the first time in months, the silence felt unbearable.

Aeri never knew that this was the hardest you cried in years.

Whoever said times heals everything, is a straight up liar. Time doesn’t heal, it just lets you get used to how things are now.

It had been about eight years since you had last spoken to her and honestly, you didn’t think much of Aeri anymore. Life had moved on, as it does. Although, there were days when you’d think back on everything but those thoughts were extremely rare now, fleeting, like a distant memory and it didn’t sting the way it used to. You’d convinced yourself that was just how things went. People come and go, and life moves forward whether you’re ready or not.

Once you graduated and started your new job in Boston not long after. You settled into a routine that felt strange at first but eventually became your new normal

Somehow, you managed to entice Yunjin to move to Boston. She had moved into a place not too far from yours with her (now!) fiance. Her sister also lives in Boston too so the transition wasn’t too hard. Yuna and Ryujin had ended up in New York, so weekends/every other weekend often meant catching a train to visit them or planning get-togethers whenever everyone’s schedules aligned.

Your 9-to-5 job wasn’t glamorous, but it was steady—something you could rely on. You fell into the rhythm of it quickly enough. The crowded subway rides during rush hour, the packed streets of Boston, the distant hum of the city became part of your daily routine. You’d slip into your office, get your work done, and slip out at the end of the day. It wasn’t what you imagined back when you were chasing dreams in California, picturing something a little more exciting, maybe a little more daring. But it wasn’t bad either—it was.. just comfortable.

After work, you'd sometimes grab a drink with coworkers or meet up with the woman you’d met shortly after getting into grad school. There was nothing too serious between the two of you, just the occasional dinners or casual hangouts. She was fun to be around—easygoing, good company, someone you could relax with. You’d meet up after work at a bar downtown, sharing a drink and small talk about your days. Or sometimes, you’d catch a movie or grab takeout, sitting side by side on the couch in her small apartment, talking about work or random things that made you laugh.

It wasn’t the life-altering-head-over-heels kind of thing, but it felt normal, almost comforting. There was no pressure to be anything more than it was or used to be, and that was fine with you both. Life had settled into place without much fanfare, a quiet routine that you didn’t mind..

It wasn’t until one quiet evening, after a long day at work, that something finally disrupted your routine. You were sitting on the couch, nursing a beer, and scrolling through your phone without much thought, letting the noise of the day slowly fade away.

That was until a notification lit up your screen. You glanced at it out of habit, not expecting anything important. But the name made you pause.

Aeri Yizhuo.

Who?

Aeri…?

Your heart skipped a beat as recognition clicked into place.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

For a second, your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the message, the familiar feeling creeping back into your chest, one you hadn’t felt in ages. You hadn’t thought of her in so long, and yet, there she was. After all this time.

And then, the truth hit you like a punch to the gut.

Aeri was married now.

You felt the sting of it, sharp and unexpected, cutting deeper than you would’ve liked to admit. It shouldn’t have hurt this much. You hadn’t thought about her in so long as you knew she’d been building a life in Korea. You had moved on! Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But here she was, after all these years she still had the ability to make you feel something. A feeling couldn’t quite put your finger on.

After all this time, part of you had still hoped for something. For something more than this.

About a month or two after your surprise catch-up with Aeri, you finally decided it was time to visit her. The timing was perfect—it was the end of the fiscal year, and you had some extra days off to use. You figured, why not? It would be a good vacation right? The thought of seeing her after all this time felt surreal, but exciting in a way you couldn’t quite describe. You’d booked your flight, set to leave next weekend so you and your friends decided to meet this weekend.

"So," Yunjin piped up, setting down her shot glass with a grin, "Why are you going to Korea?" You, Yunjin, Yuna, and Ryujin were all seated in Yunjin and Kazuha's shared apartment, a half-empty bottle of vodka in the middle of the table while your beer cans scattered around your side.

"She's going to see that girl, rememberrr?" Ryujin teased, her tone playful.

"Who?" you replied, pretending not to know who she was talking about.

Ryujin rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it. "Don't play dumb, idiot. You know exactly who I'm talking about—your first love, right? I thought she lives there, doesn't she?"

"Oh, I see how it is," Yuna chimed in with a smirk. "You just broke up with your girlfriend so you could go see her, huh? You dog"

"What! I’m going for vacation," you exclaimed, shaking your head. "And plus, you guys are crazy. She's married now."

"WHAT? Seriously?" Yunjin blurted out, her voice incredulous.

"Mhm," you nodded, your tone more casual now though it stung to admit it. "For like five or six years now"

You couldn’t even  bring yourself to feel bad about it. After all, from your previous conversation with Aeri, it was clear how happy she was. She’d met her wife, Ning Yizhou, during her design trip in Japan. Aeri had described Ning as an absolutely beautiful soul, someone kind and supportive. They both work together now, running Aeri’s business, Giselle.

From the way Aeri spoke about Ning, you could hear the genuine love and admiration in her voice. There was no bitterness in your heart—how could there be? You were happy for her, happy that she had found someone who brought light into her life, someone who shared in her dreams.

In fact, you were proud of her. She really did accomplish everything she had set out to do. It was bittersweet, of course, but you were genuinely happy for her. 

That’s all that mattered.

Right?

You stood just outside of Incheon International Airport, the thick scent of rain mingling with the smoke from your cigarette as you waited for your Uber. The weather had suddenly turned gray the second you had landed, casting a quiet gloom over the city, the kind that sinks into your bones(What a great sign, huh?). Raindrops softly patterned on the sidewalk while you took another slow drag, the smoke curling up into the damp air.

The second you crushed the cigarette beneath your shoe and bent over to pick it up, a car pulled up in front of you, headlights cutting through the misty rain. You quickly threw it in the appropriate spot in the trash can and opened the back door, climbing in with a sigh.

“Annyeonghaseyo~,” you greeted the driver in your best (broken) Korean, trying to remember the phrases you had studied years ago for Aeri.

The driver smiled politely in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Ah, I also speak English. Are you going to the hotel?”

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, nodding as you let out a small, relieved laugh, “Yes, please!” lowering your head in a polite bow.

The car slipped into the rainy Seoul night, the city lights blurring through the raindrops on the windows. The sound of rain hitting the roof of the car was soothing. Your eyes traced the streets as you drove deeper into the heart of the city. The roads were wet and glistening, the neon signs reflecting off the slick pavement, painting the night in hues of red, blue, and green.

The drive felt longer than it was, the beautiful city of Seoul was a lot to take in. Finally, you pulled up to the front of your hotel, the bright lights of the entrance cutting through the rain. The driver helped you with your bags, and you handed him some Won with a shy bow and a “gamsahamnida,” before heading inside.

Checking in was a blur of polite smiles and hurried conversations with the hotel staff. Before you knew it, you were standing in your empty room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that made the space feel even bigger.

The rain had picked up, drumming harder against the window. You crossed the room slowly, setting your bag down by the bed before making your way to the large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the city. The lights of Seoul stretched out before you, and they were incredibly bright. 

A reflection of your younger self flickered in the glass, dim and blurred by the raindrops. It was as if your inner child was staring right back at you—smiling brightly in those stupid colorful shorts your Mom loved to dress you in with a big toothy grin stretching across your face. 

As quickly as she appeared, she vanished. Then reflected back was an almost unrecognizable adult. It was you. The light in your eyes was still prevalent, but it just wasn’t as bright as it used to be. Years must have dimmed that spark and softened the edges of the person you once were.

You leaned your forehead against the cool glass, watching as your breath fogged up the window. The city below pulsed with life, its bright lights and movement carrying on unaware of your inner turmoil.

In that moment, surrounded by the bright lights of a city that was so beautiful and full of life.

You had never felt more alone.

Some bridges in Korean folklore represent reunion and enduring love, like the Magpie Bridge, where separated lovers meet once a year to reaffirm their bond. Others, however, represent a fleeting reconnection—brief moments that can’t last, like this one.

The next morning, you got ready and made your way to Seonyudo Park Bridge, a location Aeri had sent you earlier. The sky wasn’t rainy (luckily) and the soft hum of the city seemed distant as you stood at the edge of the bridge, anxiously watching pedestrians and tourists bustle around. Snippets of Korean and bits of broken English floated past you as you nervously fidgeted with the strap of your tote bag.

You shifted your weight, glancing around, when a voice called out, one you hadn’t heard in person in years.

“Y/n!”

Your head instinctively turned.

Suddenly, in front of you stood a child. She wore jean shorts, a Hello Kitty shirt, and had medium length black hair. Her smile was bright, lighting up her entire face, and her eyes sparkled with a familiar excitement.

It was a smile you could recognize anywhere.

For a moment, you were transported back in time. There she was—Aeri, as you remembered her as a child, standing on the other side of the bridge. You froze, staring in disbelief as the vision of her younger self ran toward you, wide-eyed and full of life. It felt so real—the way she moved, the way her smile hadn't changed.

But then you blinked, and the vision vanished and adult, present time Aeri was just walking toward you. She looked different—grown up. Her hair had grown longer, her figure more filled in, and her features had sharpened with time. But that damn smile, the way her eyes crinkled in the corners when she smiled, was exactly the same as you remembered it from 20 years ago.

Without thinking, your body moved on its own, a shy yet goofy smile creeping across your face as you walked toward her. Your strides were longer, more eager, and you met her about three-quarters of the way across the bridge. You met her where she was.

Now standing just a foot apart, neither of you spoke at first. You both stood there, taking each other in, as if afraid to break the fragile moment. Aeri was still shorter than you by a couple of inches, and she was dressed in a sleek black leather jacket with gray slacks that made her look effortlessly beautiful.

You looked down at her, your heart racing, and for a few seconds, the world around you seemed to fade away. The silence between you wasn’t awkward—it was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the weight of everything left unsaid, everything that had built up over the years.

Finally, Aeri sighed softly, her eyes locked on yours, and a smile tugged at her lips. “Wow~,” she whispered, looking up at you with a mix of awe and warmth.

She surprisingly embraced you in an unexpected  hug. Your hands hovered, ghosting across her sides.

“I missed you” She muffled out on your shoulder

You didn’t respond.

You both pulled back from the hug, standing there, just staring at each other. There was something almost surreal about it—the way you both remembered each other so clearly, yet in this moment, you felt like strangers, familiar but somehow unrecognizable.

“You look amazing,” you croaked out, your voice betraying the flood of emotions. “You’ve changed but... you haven’t? If that makes sense.” A nervous laugh escaped your lips.

Aeri lowered her head, letting out a soft, breathy chuckle. “I could say the same to you... When did you get so tall?”

You shyly smirked “I think you’ve just always been short.”

“Ah~ so you haven’t changed at all. Still so~ annoying,” she teased, her laugh infectious.

The laughter faded, and a comfortable silence settled between you both as you took each other in again, the weight of time pressing gently on the moment.

“So...” Aeri smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “You wanna go? I’ve got a few places planned for us.”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s go,” you replied, and without another word, you followed Aeri much like a dog

The Han River has long been a symbol of flow, change, and life in Korea. Flowing water symbolizes the constant change in ones life.. they’re moving in different directions, but still connected in some way.

The walk wasn’t far, but neither of you spoke at first. Aeri led the way and you followed, both of you too shy to break the silence. Finally, she guided you to a quiet spot near the bank of the Han River, the water glistening under the dim light of the overcast sky.

“How’s here?” Aeri finally spoke, settling down near the water’s edge.

“Mmm,” you murmured, nodding as you sat beside her. The lush grass below you.

You both sat quietly, watching the water, the silence growing heavier with unsaid words.

“Was the last time we talked really eight years ago?” Aeri sighed, breaking the silence again.

“I think so? We’re 30 now... So, yeah, I guess it was,” you said, turning your head slightly toward her. “Feels weird huh?” You gave her a little half smile.

“Wow...” she whispered, her voice carrying the weight of those lost years.

After a brief pause, she added, “You know.. before I got married, I went to New York with my wife.”

“I know.”

“I sent you a message on Facebook, I didn’t know if you had changed your number” she continued, smiling softly but with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “But you didn’t respond”

There was another pause. It felt like she had more to say, so you stayed quiet, waiting.

“I wanted to see you,” she admitted quietly. “I was disappointed.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, your gaze fixed on the water, avoiding her eyes. There wasn’t much else you could say, something was hanging in the air between you.

Aeri shifted, her tone changing slightly. “Well, I also wanted to meet your girlfriend. How are you guys doing?”

“We’re not together right now,” you admitted.

“Oh, I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to— wait, did you break up?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Oh well no, I don't know, we’re just... in a weird spot right now. She wants to get married but...”

“But you don’t?” Aeri asked, cutting through your hesitation.

“Yeah it's just, I don’t know, it’s just... complicated,” you sighed, trying not to reveal too much, keeping your emotions in check.

“What’s complicated?” she pressed, her voice direct, almost matter-of-fact.

You chuckled lightly at her tone. “I’m still paying off my student loans. I just don’t want my wife to carry that burden, you know? Boston is expensive enough as it is...” It wasn’t entirely a lie. But deep down, you knew there was more to your hesitation than just the financial part.

“I just feel like she deserves someone better than me. We’ve been together but.. not really together for so long... She deserves someone who can give her what she wants. Someone... less ordinary and..”

“Ordinary?” Aeri interrupted softly, her voice filled with disbelief. “You’re far from ordinary, Y/n. You know you’re...” she trailed off, as if catching herself before saying too much.

You gave her a small smile, ignoring her hesitation. It was clear neither of you wanted to dig into old feelings, not yet, maybe even never. There was too much that both of you were avoiding.

“So, how’s work?” you asked, gently steering the conversation away from the tension that had built up. The question felt like a safe place to land, something casual and mundane.

Aeri smiled, seeming to relax a little. “Busy, as always. Giselle’s doing well, though. It’s everything I dreamed of... and more stressful than I imagined.”

“That sounds about right,” you chuckled, the heaviness between you starting to ease. “But, I knew you could do it. I’m really proud of you, Aeri.”

Slowly, the awkwardness began to dissipate. You found yourselves laughing about silly memories from when you were younger, filling in the gaps from the eight years you had missed.

Aeri told you about the ups and downs of her business, her wife, her travels, and the unexpected ways life had changed her. You shared stories of grad school, your friends, your job, and the quiet moments of your own life that had shaped you. It was easy to get lost in the rhythm of it, the back and forth, as though no time had passed at all.

Before you knew it, the sun had started to dip, casting soft shades of pink and orange across the sky. .

“Remember that one time when you fe–”

Your stomach grumbled loudly, cutting through Aeri’s story

“Oh my god, are you hungry?” Aeri’s eyes widened with concern. 

Oh, no I’m fine, really!” You tried to assuage but of course she did not relent

“No it’s okay, I could eat too. Let’s go get some food, there’s a great to-go spot nearby, and then I’ve got one more place I want to show you.”

She was already on her feet, tugging at your sleeve before you could even think to protest. Not that you would, of course.

You chuckled softly, offering a simple, “Alright,” as a smile crept onto your face. It just felt so natural. Aeri was still the same, always charging ahead, her excitement infectious, leading you from behind as she had so many times before. 

Some things really never change.

Soon, you both arrived at a cozy 24-hour convenience store, the kind that makes it fresh right there. It was small and tucked away, but the smell of freshly made meals greeted you the moment you stepped inside. You ordered an onigiri, feeling like that’s all your stomach could handle after such a day like this. 

You unwrapped it and took a bite, savoring the simple comfort of the food, but before you could settle in, Aeri was pulling you along again, her food in hand, excitement bubbling in her voice.

“Let’s go, the bus comes in three minutes!” she said, glancing at her phone with a grin.

You both made it onto the bus(after scarfing down your rice ball) barely just in time. With no seats available, you were left standing together, holding the same pole.

Strangers pressed in around you, the sounds of conversation and the hum of the city filling the space. But in that moment, it felt like it was only the two of you in the world.

Your fingers brushed against each other, but neither of you moved. The silence stretched between you, not awkward, just heavy with all the years missed. 

You met Aeri’s gaze, and for a brief second, it felt like time slowed. 

The bus glided (not) smoothly through the city streets, and yet the tension between you was almost tangible. Your mind raced with everything you wanted to say, but none of the words seemed right.

"Ae—" you started to say, but before the words could form, Aeri cut you off softly.

“Oh, we’re here,” she said, her voice gently pulling you both back into the present moment.

The bus came to a stop, and you followed her out, stepping into the cool evening air. The two of you walked side by side, the quiet comfort between you settling in again as you made your way toward Namsan Tower, known for its Love Lock Bridge.

“Do you want a picture?” Aeri asked, breaking the silence. “It is your vacation, right? I feel like you haven’t taken many pictures while you’ve been here. Probably my fault,” she laughed lightly, her tone warm.

“Oh yeah, sure!” you said, handing her your phone.

You posed in front of a scenic spot along the path, flashing your signature bright smile.

“Ah~ so cute,” she teased, snapping a few photos before handing your phone back to you.

“Thanks,” you said, quickly glancing at the picture before slipping the phone into your pocket.

The two of you continued walking, your shoulders brushing against each other now and then as the foot traffic toward the bridge picked up. Just before you reached the bridge, Aeri stopped in her tracks, turning to you with a serious look.

“Y/n,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

“Hmm?” you looked at her curiously.

“Why did you... search for me?” she asked quietly, her gaze lingering on you.

“Eight years ago?” you finished for her.

“Mhm,” she nodded.

“Do you really want to know?” you asked, meeting her eyes. She gave a small nod in response, waiting.

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “I wanted to see you again... I don’t know. You left so suddenly, and I guess I was a little pissed off, honestly.”

“I’m sorry,” Aeri said softly.

You let out a small huff of laughter. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I guess... you’re right. I don’t have anything to be sorry for,” she admitted, smiling faintly.

“You were just in my entire life, and then you left... and then, bam, I found you again,” you said, the words coming out more candidly than you expected.

“Why would you do that?” she asked, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability.

“I don’t know, honestly... You kept entering my mind when I was in college. I thought about you... a lot,” you admitted.

Aeri nodded, her expression softening. “I see.”

“We were babies back then, huh?” you chuckled, the tension easing. “And even eight years ago... we were still figuring things out.”

“Yeah,” Aeri smiled, a bittersweet glint in her eyes. “I can’t believe we’re not ‘babies’ anymore.”

You both finally arrived at the Love Lock Bridge, the sky now a deep shade of blue, illuminated by the city lights below. The bridge was alive with the soft hum of conversations you couldn’t quite understand  and the distant sounds of traffic, but you felt a quiet stillness between you and Aeri walked around.

“Ning  and I came here for our anniversary,” Aeri said, her voice almost wistful as she glanced around. “It was hard to find at first. We spent months looking for the perfect spot to place our lock.”

She started scanning the rows upon rows of locks, her fingers brushing over the cold metal as she looked for hers. But while she was focused on finding it, you couldn’t stop staring at her—the way her hair fell over her face as she leaned in, the subtle concentration etched on her features, the soft smile that tugged at her lips every now and then as she searched.

You knew you should probably  be at least trying to help her, but at this moment, it felt like she was a world away, even as she stood right next to you. She was talking about their anniversary, their love, and you couldn’t shake away the sinking feeling.

Then suddenly, She spotted it. A small, worn lock with their names etched in faded letters. Ning and Aeri. She pointed at it.

“There,” she said softly.

Your eyes followed your finger, and she smiled when she saw it.

“Wow... I didn’t think we’d be able to find it.”

You forced a smile, but the heaviness in your chest lingered. After a few moments of small talk about the lock, the conversation lulled, and Aeri checked the time. The soft glow of the city lights and the quiet hum of the evening reminded you both that this reunion, like everything, had to come to an end.

“I should probably head home,” Aeri said quietly, her voice carrying a hint of reluctance. She didn’t want to break the moment, but it was inevitable.

You nodded, your own smile fading. “Yeah, I should  get back too.”

Home. She was going home to someone—to a life that didn’t include you. And as much as you tried to push the thought aside, it stung.

She walked with you toward the bus stop, in silence. The conversation from earlier echoed in your mind—how you had found her again, only to realize that the distance between your lives was now undeniable.

When the bus pulled up, Aeri watched as you stepped inside. She gave you one last, soft smile, the kind that carried more meaning than any words could, just before the doors closed between you.

You said your quiet goodbye, instead of walking her home like you used to, you headed back to your own place. Alone.

The next day arrived with a clearer sky, though the weight of the previous night still lingered faintly in your chest. You weren’t sure how to feel, but Aeri’s early morning text had a way of pulling you out of your thoughts: “Let’s go to  Seoul Tower today! I feel like everyone who visits needs to see it.”

Of course you agreed, a few hours later when you had checked out of your hotel, you found yourself walking toward one of Seoul’s most famous places, N Seoul Tower, with Aeri by your side. The streets were alive with locals and tourists, bustling around market stalls and snapping photos.

There was a vibrant energy of the city surrounding you, but your focus was on Aeri, who was as animated as ever, pointing out landmarks and sharing random facts about the places you passed. It was cute.

“This place is sooo a must for anyone visiting Seoul,” Aeri said with a grin as you passed a shop offering hanbok rentals. “Wanna try one on?” She teased “Or are you more in the mood for food?”

You bantered back. “Let’s try food first. I don’t think I’m ready for a hanbok yet,” you playfully rolled your eyes

You stopped at a food stall, grabbing some hotteok, tteokbokki, and grilled meat skewers.

“You have to try this. It’s my favorite,” she said, handing you a cup of hotteok, her face lighting up as you took a bite of the warm treat “See?! I knew you’d like it.”

The day moved quickly as you wandered through the crowded streets, snapping photos, enjoying the ‘touristy’ vibe. It felt easier, lighter, as if you could both escape into the city, even if just for a while.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over the city, Aeri led you to the top of N Seoul Tower. From the observation deck, you could see all of Seoul stretched out before you. The view was breathtaking, the city bathed in the soft light of the sun.

“This city... it’s strange how much it’s become home,” Aeri said quietly, her voice softer now. She leaned against the railing, staring out at the skyline. “I never thought I’d feel that way when I first moved here.”

You stood beside her. “It’s beautiful,” you said, your own voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the delicate moment. You stared at her as she gazed out over the city, your mind was elsewhere.

For a while, you both stood in silence, taking in the view. In that moment, it didn’t matter where you had come from or where you were going. 

For now, this was enough.

After spending the day embodying a tourist and such, the sun had long set, and the once-bustling streets now felt quieter as you followed Aeri back to her apartment.

You were nervous of course,

“She knows I’m coming. right?” you asked, pausing mid-step.

“Of course,” Aeri replied, leading you up the steps to her apartment—the place she now called home.

As you entered, Aeri's wife, Ning, was already by the door. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but seeing her in the flesh felt surreal, like a final confirmation of the life Aeri had built without you. It felt like the gap between your past with Aeri and her present had suddenly become tangible.

After a brief moment of silence, you gave Ning a polite bow, offering your best attempt at broken Korean. “Annyeonghaseyo,” you said, smiling awkwardly.

Ning returned the gesture with a polite bow of her own. “Hello,” she responded in careful English.

For a second, both of you stood there, staring at each other incredulously, trying to find the right words, the weight of the moment hanging between you.

You nodded, your heart racing slightly. “It’s nice to meet you,” you added, this time in your most broken Korean.

Ning smiled kindly, understanding the effort you were making. “It’s nice to meet you too,” she said

Ning chuckled softly, the slight language barrier immediately apparent but not uncomfortable. “Aeri told me… a lot about you.” she responded in English

“Likewise”

Aeri came to your side, sensing the mix of emotions swirling in the air. “Ning, should we grab something to eat? She’s leaving later tonight, so I think we should eat,” Aeri said in Korean, but you didn’t quite catch the words.

Ning nodded and turned to you, switching back to English. “What do you like to eat?”

You pondered for a moment, thinking of something simple but satisfying. “Hmm… samgyupsal?”

Ning’s face immediately lit up at the mention of her favorite food. “Let’s go get samgyupsal!” she said, her excitement evident.

You three ended up at a cozy late-night bar and restaurant, the soft hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filling the space. Dinner had gone smoothly, the samgyupsal hitting the spot, and now you were all nursing drinks, passing time until your Uber was set to arrive.

“So, have you traveled out of the United States before?” Ning asked in Korean, her expression curious. Of course, you didn’t understand, but Aeri leaned in, her voice low as she translated.

“She’s asking if you’ve been out of the country before,” Aeri said with a small smile, eyes flicking between you and her wife.

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “I’ve been to Japan and Spain before, but I think Korea has been my favorite so far.”

Aeri translated the words, and Ning nodded with a smile.

“She says Seoul is a good place to start when visiting Korea, but if you come back, you should visit Jeju Island. It’s beautiful there,” Aeri translated again, while Ning added in her own bit in Korean, her face lighting up.

“I’ve heard great things about Jeju,” you said, returning the smile. “Maybe next time.”

The small talk flowed easily enough, but as the night wore on, Aeri slowly stopped translating, and Ning sat quietly, sipping her drink. It created an odd dynamic—one where it felt like Aeri was caught between two worlds, and Ning, though polite, was drifting further into her own thoughts.

You couldn’t help it. With the drinks loosening your tongue and emotions swirling inside you, the words began to spill out. Leaning in slightly, you lowered your voice, careful to keep your tone steady. “Aeri… thanks for introducing me to your wife.”

Aeri blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Mm,” she mumbled, her gaze flickering between you and her drink, unsure of where you were headed.

“I can tell she really loves you,” you added softly, the sincerity in your voice clear. "I didn't realize liking your wife would hurt this much."

Aeri’s eyes softened, her brow furrowing slightly. “Really?” she asked, her voice almost hesitant, as if she needed confirmation.

“Of course,” you replied, your words gentle, but heavy with the weight of what you weren’t saying.

A moment of silence passed, the sounds of the bar fading into the background as the two of you sat there, the space between you filled with things that had been left unsaid for too long.

You took a sip from your glass, gathering the courage to speak again. “… When we stopped talking back then… I really missed you. Did you miss me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and raw, as if you’d been holding it in for years.

Aeri’s gaze dropped for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. When she finally looked up at you, her voice was softer, almost vulnerable. “Of course I did, Y/n.”

A dry laugh escaped your lips. “But you met your wife then.” There was an edge to your voice, a bitterness that surprised even you.

Aeri responded instantly, almost defensively. “And you had a girlfriend.”

You scoffed softly. “Right,” you murmured, shaking your head with a small smile. “Sorry.”

Aeri fidgeted with the rim of her glass. “It’s okay.”

After a few quiet moments, you exhaled, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. The words slipped out before you had the chance to stop them. “Seeing you again… it’s made me have some strange thoughts.”

Aeri lifted her eyes to yours, her gaze gentle but curious. “What kind of thoughts?” she asked softly.

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as you searched for the right words. “I keep thinking… what if I had come here eight years ago? What if you never left California? If we’d just grown up together, stayed in each other’s lives…” 

You paused, the questions swirling in your mind before you continued, your voice growing softer. “Would I have still searched for you? Would we have dated? Broken up? Gotten married and had kids? Just.. you know, stuff like that.”

You glanced at Aeri, her expression unreadable as she absorbed everything you said.

“And what I’ve realized,” you continued, almost to yourself, “is that California… it was always too small for your ambition. You outgrew it before either of us realized. I’m happy you moved here, Aeri, I really am.

And the truth is, I liked you because you’re you. And who you are…” You trailed off for a moment, letting the words sink in before you finished quietly. “Who you are is someone who leaves.”

Aeri’s lips parted slightly, her breath catching. She looked away for a second, as if trying to gather her thoughts, before her voice came out in a whisper. “The Aeri Uchinaga you remember… she doesn’t exist anymore.”

Her words cracked slightly, as if admitting it to herself for the first time.

You felt a soft chuckle escape you, one tinged with understanding. “I know,” you replied. “I know.”

She nodded, but quickly added, “But… that doesn’t mean she never existed.” Her eyes met yours again, softer now. “I left that version of me behind 20 years ago. I left her with you.”

Her words, the honesty in them, tugged at something deep within you. “I know,” you repeated, meeting her gaze, a strange sense of peace settling over you. “I know we were only twelve… but I really did love her.”

Aeri’s lips curved into a small, sad smile, the kind that holds years of unspoken truths. “I know,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

You both let out a quiet laugh, the sound soft but comforting, a brief return to the simplicity of who you used to be.

“I think we must’ve been something together in our past lives,” she said after a while, her voice distant, thoughtful. “Otherwise, why would we be here together right now?”

You thought about her words, turning them over in your mind. “I agree,” you finally said. “But in this life… we obviously just aren’t those people to each other, are we? We’re finally in the same city for the first time in 20 years, and here we are, sitting together... with your wife.”

Your expression softened, as you quietly acknowledged the truth you both knew. “To Ning, you’re someone who stays,” you whispered.

A few moments of silence passed between you and Aeri.

“Who do you think we were to each other in our past lives?” Aeri asked suddenly, her voice soft, almost wistful.

You tilted your head, considering the question. “Hmm… I don’t know,” you said, your tone thoughtful. “Maybe we were forced into a political marriage to stop a war…Or maybe we were just two strangers on a bus who happened to sit next to each other. Or even.. maybe I was just a branch you decided to sit on as a bird on a cold morning.”

You and Aeri chuckled at that, though you could sense a sadness behind it.

You both sat in the quiet for a few more moments, the weight of those imagined lives lingering in the air, until Aeri excused herself to use the restroom, leaving you alone with Ning.

You turned toward her, feeling guilty for the past hour. “I’m sorry we spoke alone,” you said gently, your voice low. “It won’t happen again.”

Ning gave you a small, gentle smile, though there was something sad in her eyes. “Don’t worry,” she replied, her English hesitant but kind. “You two haven’t seen each other in a while. I’m glad I got to meet you Y/n.”

You nodded, her response easing some of the tension in your chest. “I’m glad too,” you said softly, offering her a smile in return

When Aeri returned, you paid the bill and the three of you made your way back to the apartment to grab your luggage. The atmosphere had shifted slightly—quiet, but not uncomfortable, just the natural stillness that follows the end of a long day.

“Hey, I’m gonna walk her to her Uber,” Aeri said to Ning, offering her a small, reassuring smile before turning toward you and the door.

You paused for a moment, glancing at Ning. Bowing slightly, you tried your best to piece together the Korean you’d practiced. “Nice to meet you. Come visit me in California.”

Ning’s eyes softened, and despite the awkwardness of the language barrier, her warmth was undeniable. She returned the bow, her own English just as halting but genuine. “Definitely,” she replied, her smile sincere. You offered her a small smile in return before following Aeri out the door.

As you and Aeri stepped out of the apartment, the cool night air hit you both. You walked side by side down the quiet street, neither of you saying much, both lost in your own thoughts.

The streets were dimly lit, the distant hum of the city lingering in the background. Every now and then, your shoulders brushed, but neither of you acknowledged it. 

As you neared the end of the street, where your Uber was set to pick you up, you both stopped, standing under a flickering streetlight. The quiet air felt thick, the weight of the goodbye neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Aeri shifted slightly, glancing at you before looking away, her hands fidgeting in her jacket pockets. “Will it be here soon?” she asked, her voice soft, trying to smooth over the tension between you.

You glanced at your phone, the screen glowing back at you. “Two minutes,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

Some more silence fell between you two as the night deepened, the distant sounds of the city humming softly around you. Neither of you made any effort to fill the quiet, as if both afraid that words would shatter whatever remained between you.

Finally, the low rumble of a car pulling up signaled that your time was almost up. You glanced at the Uber, then down at your bags. With a sigh, you began to pack them into the trunk, your movements slow, almost hesitant, as if trying to delay the inevitable.

Just as you were about to open the car door, something inside you stirred. You couldn’t let this moment end without saying it.

“Aeri,” you called out, your voice breaking the silence as you turned toward her, your hand resting on the handle of the door.

She looked up, her eyes lighting up just a little as she responded, “Mm?”

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure if you should say the words that had been circling in your mind. But the thought of leaving without voicing them felt unbearable. So you smiled, that bittersweet smile tugging at your lips as you spoke.

“What if this is a past life as well, and we are already something else to each other in our next life? Who do you think we are then?” You could feel a deep sadness in your voice as the words left your lips.

Aeri blinked, the question taking her by surprise. Her eyes searched for yours, as if trying to understand the depth of your meaning. She looked almost vulnerable at that moment, her lips parting slightly before she whispered, “I-I don’t know.” Careful with her words

There was something in the way she said it—like she wanted to know, like she wished she had an answer for you but couldn’t bring herself to find one. The distance between you two felt like more than just the physical space separating you—it was something neither of you could cross.

You had realized just then. At that moment. That she hasn’t been looking at you with any sort of love or longing. She’d just been looking at you with nostalgia. A life before the weight of the world crashed down on her.

You lowered your head with a sad laugh in response to her.

“Alright,” you began, “Goodbye, Aeri Uchinaga.. See you then.” you whispered finally parting ways with the girl you'd known 20 years ago.

A feeling of loss over you, almost suffocating. You still managed a genuine smile because you were happy Aeri was happy. 

Bittersweet. 

“See you.. then, Y/n L/n” she whispered. 

With that, you gave her a small nod, your heart heavy. The air between you felt thick with everything unsaid. Aeri looked back at you, her eyes holding a mix of emotions—nostalgia, sadness, maybe a little bit of both.

You opened the door and got into the backseat of the Uber. You glanced out the window one last time, catching a glimpse of Aeri standing there under the streetlight. She looked a little blurry in the dim light, but still the same Aeri you’ve always known.

For a second, your eyes met again. Neither of you waved, neither of you spoke. You both knew this was how it had to end.

You took a deep breath and nodded to the driver, and the car pulled away.

You silently stared out the window as the scenery of Seoul flashed by while tears streamed down your face. 

You’ll never know that she was crying too. Harder than she ever had before.

[hellodarling1357]

Tiny Toes: Part 7 - Cassian x Reader

Hello hello hello!! It's only been...five months... (sorry) but I am back and have some goodies lined up for you all.

To get us started, here's the next, long-awaited part of Tiny Toes - I did see everyone's messages and they all meant so, so much. You have no idea! So thank you for all your kind words and encouragement!

I've schooched away from the timeline a bit with this one and jumped ahead a little, I might be bouncing back and forth while I get back into the rhythm of things but everything will line up in the end.

Please let me know your thoughts, seeing all of your comments and messages truly make my day and inspire me to keep writing!

Enjoy 🥰

Word Count: 7k (oohh it's a long one!!)

You can read the previous part here

Recent news of disturbances throughout the Continent had sent the High Lords into a state of panicked caution – memories of Hybern and Amarantha still raw in the aftermath of the war. As a result, Rhysand and the rest of his inner circle had been staying in the Dawn Court at Thesan’s palace, alongside the other High Lords and their courts, as they debated what to do next and planned how best to stay on top of the situation to prevent further conflict from crossing into Prythian’s shores.

Unfortunately for both you and Ottie, this meant Cassian’s absence was now pushing into its fifth week. Selfishly, you wanted him home with you; had you had a say, you would have never wanted him to leave in the first place. Cassian had also been reluctant to go, memories of the teary farewell still made your heart throb, however, he would never be able to live with the guilt of abandoning his duties and responsibilities to both his High Lord and Court. Even though you knew it was for the best, that didn’t stop the longing ache that came from missing him so desperately. You hadn’t realised it was even possible to miss someone this much, yet this had been the longest the two of you had been apart since falling into each other’s lives, the longest Cassian had ever spent away from Ottie, and you found everything slightly off kilter and as though it was all at a standstill without him by your side.

In Cassian’s absence, Ottie had very quickly wormed her way into his side of the bed. Usually, the two of you discouraged her from doing so, cherishing the limited time you had to simply be together at the end of the day without the interruption of a small, yet demanding, child, as well as Cassian’s taxing duties as General and your own work. However, waking up that first morning without Cassian in cold, unrumpled sheets had you quickly agreeing when Ottie had asked if she could have a sleep over with you.

The goodbyes had been hard. You had all decided to make the most of the day that Cassian was set to leave as the inner circle weren't required to get to the Dawn Court until later that night. The three of you had woken up early to make pancakes and Cassian’s special hot chocolate before heading out into Velaris to walk along the Sidra and grabbing lunch at your favourite little café that overlooked the shimmering water.

Upon returning home, Ottie had announced that she needed exactly 23 minutes to prepare as she ushered you and Cassian into the kitchen, closing the doors firmly behind her. Neither of you said much in those 23 minutes, choosing instead to bask in the silence, only interrupted by a few bumps and Ottie’s hurried “everything’s fine”, and being in one another’s company. Cassian had leant against the kitchen counter, pulling you snuggly into his arms and enveloping the two of you even closer together as his wings draped around you. In return, you had wrapped your arms tightly around his waist, burying your face into his chest as he pressed kisses to the top of your head.

“I’m going to miss you,” your voice came out muffled as you pressed tighter against him, willing away the tears that had started to trek down your cheeks.

“I’d hope so.”

You looked up, ready to chastise him for not returning the sentiment but instead found yourself crumbling even further at the emotion you found on his face. There was too much happening for words, the unknown of when he would be home as well as the unknown of what may lay ahead if what was happening on the Continent turned into a bigger threat. So instead, you lifted your hands and gently wiped away his tears, heart fluttering as Cassian turned to press a chaste kiss to your palm that rested against his cheek, his eyes refusing to leave yours as he let out a shaky breath. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leant up on your toes, relishing in the feel of his arms tugging you even closer against him as he spun the two of you around and lifted you up onto the counter, your legs habitually wrapping around him as you pulled him closer so as to capture his lips with your own.

“Okay! I’m ready. You can come out now,”

Cassian made a disappointed noise at Ottie’s interruption, slumping against and leaning his forehead against your shoulder in defeat.

“Mum! Dad!”

Ottie’s singsong voice was laced with a threatening degree of impatience, making Cassian huff a sigh and quietly comment, “she’s too bossy for her own good.”

You laughed as you reached up to kiss him again before he helped you off the counter, one hand lingering between your shoulder blades as he led you into the living room, or what had once been the living room. In its place, a giant blanket fort had taken over the space with Ottie poking her head out of the opening, her face breaking into a wide grin as she ushered you both inside.

“Where did all these blankets and pillows even come from?” You asked, noting that most of them you had never seen before. Cassian just shrugged in response, eyes narrowing in on what lay in the centre of the rug.

“I’m not even going to ask where you got these, Otts.” Cassian promptly ignored the guilty look that graced Ottie’s face as he picked up one of the choc-chip cookies before making himself comfortable and pulling you down to sit snug against him. You smiled to yourself, realising the display of treats were more than likely from Elain and making note to yourself to ask your friend when she had dropped them off to figure out exactly how long Ottie had been storing them for.

“So, what’s the plan?” Cassian asked Ottie as he held out his half-eaten cookie for you to share. Ottie simply pointed to the large pile of games with a wicked grin on her face that had you both rolling your eyes, realising she expected you to play every single one.

*****

“You know,” Ottie started, as she slumped against Cassian’s chest from where she sat in his lap. “It would be a lot easier to play if there were more of us.”

“Hmm? How do you mean?” You absentmindedly asked, placing down your cards and smugly grinning across at Cassian and Ottie as you scored an extra 20 points, earning a groan in response.

“Well, just that if there were more of us, we wouldn’t always need to play two-against-one, or one-against-one-against-one.”

She had a point in that, the three of you had already circled through ‘boys against girls’, ‘wings against no wings’, ‘adults against kids’ multiple times throughout the afternoon.

“Maybe next time we have a games afternoon we can invite the others around?” you suggested, watching as Ottie placed down the cards Cassian silently handed her, completely missing the scrunched expression of frustration on Ottie’s face and the way Cassian had tensed up and remained silent throughout the whole conversation.

“Or,” Ottie stretched the word out causing you to look up in curiosity as you tried to catch Cassian’s eye who busily looked through his remaining cards in an attempt to avoid your gaze, “you could just have a baby.”

Cassian let out a sigh and it was now your turn to freeze in place as the words lingered in the space between. Sure, you had spoken about having kids together and you definitely wanted them with Cassian, but you didn’t feel ready yet. Joining their family had already been such a detour from the life you had imagined yourself living at this point in time, and while you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world, you still wanted the time to enjoy your life as it currently was.

You knew Cassian wanted another child and that he would jump at the chance as soon as you agreed, yet, despite feeling guilty as you noted his disappointment when you first told him not yet, the sense of relief that had washed over you when he quickly changed the conversation was telling enough in itself to prove that you weren’t ready yet.

Tuning back into the conversation as Ottie listed all the reasons why she thought she should have a baby brother or sister, your eyes landed on Cassian, finding him already looking back at you with a tentative expression. He didn’t seem shocked or caught off guard so Ottie must have already brought this up with him.

You opened your mouth, to say what you weren’t quite sure, but Cassian saved you from having to fumble for words as he abruptly clapped his hands together, “how about we start on dinner, that way, Ottie, you can have your surprise treat before bedtime.” At the mention of the words surprise and treat, all thoughts of a sibling appeared to immediately vanish as she scrambled out of Cassian’s lap and towards the blanket ford entrance.

“Nuh-uh, Ottie, you know the rules; if you make a blanket fort you need to pack it up, alright? You get to cleaning and Mum and I will start making dinner.”

The bubble of amusement at Ottie’s groan of annoyance as she stomped up the stairs, laden with pillows, was quick to pop once you realised you and Cassian were now alone. You turned towards him, already feeling his eyes on you, and were met with a soft and knowing expression.

“Cass…”

“Y/N, its fine.” His tone was comforting yet you couldn’t help but feel as though you were disappointing him.

“No, you know that it’s not that I don’t want to. I just…”

“Not yet, I know and its fine. We have Ottie and once you’re ready…once we’re ready, then we can talk about it.” He held out a hand which you took, letting him pull you up off the floor, a small smile gracing your lips when he didn’t pull his hand away and, instead, squeezed yours and soothingly rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand.

You let out another sigh, “Cass…” you tried again but were abruptly silenced as he pressed his lips against yours.

“Stop,” He pulled away but held your gaze, “I love you and we have all the time in the world. Even if you decide that just Ottie is enough, it won’t change anything between us, alright?”

Noting that the hesitant look on your face remained, he kissed you again, putting everything into it until he felt your tension ebb away. “Now enough of this, I don’t want to spend my last few hours here having you feeling like this. Come on, let’s start on dinner. Ottie won’t be happy if it gets too late and she misses out on her treat.” Cassian nipped at your ear, his own concern leaving him after hearing the small giggle you let out. Finally satisfied, he slung his arm over your shoulders and headed towards the kitchen.

“You know she won’t be going to bed while you’re still here, treat or not, she’s going to want to stay up until you need to leave.”

“Well, we can’t have that, she’ll be a nightmare for you tomorrow and then you’ll never want to have another one…” He let out a playful yelp as you smacked his stomach, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Besides, I want at least a few uninterrupted hours alone with you before I have to leave...”

Rolling your eyes you move to pull away, but Cassian was faster as he spun you back around to face him, leaning down to kiss your lips once more and then the tip of your nose before brushing the hair away from your face and giving you a lovesick smile that you couldn’t help but return.

*****

The three of you slumped against the plush, green couch, Cassian in the middle with you and Ottie tucked in either side of him as you finished off the final few crumbs of the slice of chocolate cake Ottie had wanted to share. The young Illyrian let out a loud yawn that she quickly tried to cover up, “that’s so weird, because I’m not even tired.” You raised your brows and shared a look with Cassian who was shaking his head, an amused smirk lighting up his face.

“Hey, Otts? I know it’s not your bedtime yet, but can you do me a favour?” Ottie sat up and gave her dad a suspicious look as she waited for him to continue. “I was hoping you would let me tuck you in early tonight and read you a few stories? I’m going to miss you while I’m away and I’m going to miss bedtimes so was hoping for one more before I have to go?”

Ottie looked back and forth between the two of you before letting out a dramatic sigh, “Fine.” With that, she slid off the couch and grabbed both yours and Cassian’s hands as she began walking towards the stairs and up to her room.

“Very smooth,” you murmured into Cassian’s ear, he just gave you a wink before leaning down to scoop Ottie up, causing her to let out a squeal as he bounded up the remaining steps.

*****

After taking in turns to read Ottie eight different books, she was now tucked into bed with the two of you lying either side of her, tightly gripping your hands as she began to slowly succumb to sleep. Cassian was still as he played with her hair, silently watching her and taking in every little movement and feature. You stayed just as still, just as silent, as you took in the scene before you, knowing that the minutes were ticking by too fast in the count down to Cassian leaving.

“I love you, Ottie.” Cassian whispered the words as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

A sleepy smile spread over Ottie’s face, “I love you too, Dad.” Soon enough her breathing evened out and soft snores filled the room.

Looking past Ottie’s small frame, your eyes met Cassian’s and the tears you found there had the ones you had been fighting so hard to keep back finally escape down your cheeks. Cautiously, Cassian slowly moved, testing just how deeply Ottie was asleep before nodding his head towards the door. You both carefully got up, Cassian leaning back down to fuss over Ottie as he tucked her in further and brushed her hair away from her face before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Moving around the bed to stand beside Cassian, you put a hand on his back and rubbed soothing circles across it, waiting for him to make the move to leave.

“Alright,” Cassian whispered, taking your hand and leading you out of the room, “now I want to properly say goodbye to you.”

You had just managed to silently close Ottie’s bedroom door before letting out a yelp as Cassian suddenly picked you and threw you over his shoulder before determinedly walking towards your own bedroom door.

*****

“Stop,” you laughed, a half exasperated, half amused expression on your face, “you’re being ridiculous.”

Cassian just winked up at you from where he rested between your legs, “I’m just making sure you won’t forget about me while I’m away.” He looked back down, a devilish grin spreading as he admired his work, you just groaned as you finally saw the marks he worked so hard to leave already appearing across your hip bones, trailing further and further down.

Pulling himself back up your body, Cassian sprawled himself out over the top of you, trapping you beneath him as your legs intertwined once more, his face burrowed in the crook of your neck as you let your fingers run through his hair. You let the silence envelop you, knowing your time was up but neither of you wanting to acknowledge it.

After what felt like both seconds and years, Cassian shifted, now leaning on his elbows as he looked down at you. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. You felt the sting behind your eyes return and knew you wouldn’t be able to speak, so instead you leant up to kiss him. “I have to go…” Cassian said, eventually pulling away just fair enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes still shut tightly as he held you close.

“I know,” you murmured back, kissing him softly once more before you both reluctantly started to pull apart.

Throwing on the shirt Cassian had been wearing, you watched from where you sat on the edge of your bed as Cassian got dressed.

“Do you know where my –”

“In the corner of the wardrobe.” Knowing he was asking about the boots you had been reminding him to get out all week. Cassian gave you a sheepish look as he ducked into the dressing room, causing you to huff out a laugh as you laid back down and stared up at the ceiling.

“Oh!” Cassian’s voice echoed out to you, “look what I just found.”

You sat back up just in time to catch the small woollen jumper that Ottie would have worn at just a few months old.

“It’s so tiny,” you held the small item up as Cassian sat beside you, leaning down to tie up his laces, “where was this?”

“It must’ve fallen down the back, it was poking out from underneath the drawers. Can you believe she was ever this small?” Cassian sat back up and reached for the jumper, trailing the small cut out sections in the back that once would have fit her wings. A pang of guilt coursed through you at the look on Cassian’s face, knowing what he was thinking about. You weren’t sure if it was the heightened emotions brought on by such an overwhelming day or the images of Cassian holding a small baby that raced to the front of your mind that had you wanting to say something.

“About before, what Ottie brought up –”

“Y/N, we don’t need to do this now, it’s –”

“No, Cass, I was just going to say that maybe… maybe, once you get back, we should talk about it again. Properly this time. I was caught off guard when Ottie mentioned it but…” you trailed off, not quite sure where to go next.

Cassian released a breath, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulled you against his side and kissed your temple.

“When I’m back, we’ll talk.” You could tell he was trying to keep a neutral expression for your sake, but there was no missing the sparkle that ignited in his eyes and the way the corner of his lips twitched as though holding back a grin. “Fuck, Rhys is going to kill me. I’m going to be so late…”

Your heart dropped as Cassian stood, taking your hand to pull you up off the bed before guiding you to the door. He stopped outside of Ottie’s door, quietly opening it to peek inside and, seeing that she was still fast asleep, let out another shaky breath before whispering “I love you, Ottie” as he closed the door once more. You squeezed his hand in reassurance, “we’re going to be fine, Cass. We’ll miss you, so much, but we will be fine.” Cassian just grimly nodded in response as you made your way down the stairs.

All you could do was stare at one another, your hands were grasped firmly in his calloused ones, as you stood by the front door.

“You’ve got to go,” you whispered, tears freely falling now as you realised this was the last time you would be seeing him for weeks or, Cauldron forbid, months.

A pained expression crossed his face as he softly wiped the tears away before leaning down to kiss you. You quickly moved again him, the two of you melding together before a soft cough that indicated another person’s presence had you pulling apart.

“I figured you would need a little longer to say goodbye. Thought I would winnow us both over, save you the hassle of flying and experiencing Rhys’ telling off for being late,” Azriel’s low voice broke through the silence as you both turned to face him.

“Hi, Az.” You said, voice shakier than you intended it to be. Cassian simply nodded at his brother as his hand tightly squeezed yours.

“Y/N.” He greeted back with a smile that did nothing to hide the sombre expression that had been becoming a more permanent fix as the going-ons of the Continent continued to surface.

Cassian turned back to you; brows pinched as his eyes scanned your face. You offered him a small smile, not knowing how to make the goodbye any easier.

“I love you,” he said, repeating the words over and over again in a whisper between the hurried kisses he gave you.

“I love you.” No other words were needed as Cassian grimly nodded, leaning down to kiss you once more before taking a step towards where Azriel stood.

“Stay safe,” you called out, doing your best to stop yourself from racing after him, “both of you.”

Cassian’s turned back to face you as soon as he was beside Azriel, every emotion conveyed in a single look.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll keep him out of trouble,” Azriel replied in an attempt to lighten the weight of what they were about to head into and the significance in the changes that could come about over the following weeks.

*****

Five weeks and three days later

You and Ottie had just gotten home after spending the evening with Elain and Nyx, who she was looking after whilst Feyre and Rhys were in the Dawn Court.

“Mum?” Ottie asked as you slid into bed beside her, “Can I please have two stories tonight?”

“Two? Otts, you look like you could barely stay awake for one. Are you sure? You’ve had a pretty big day.” You had gone into work, so Ottie had spent the day with her friend, Ciela, and, after picking her up, the two of you had then headed straight to the River House.

“Please…”

“Okay, fine. What do you want tonight?”

Whilst you read aloud, Ottie had snuggled up against you, but you could tell by her fidgeting that she was far from sleep.

“…the end.” You finished, placing the book on the bedside table and looking down at your daughter who was staring vacantly at the ceiling, only moving once you had settled back beside her so that she could hold onto you once more.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Yep.” But the deflation in her voice didn’t ebb your concern. Instead of pushing her to answer, you wrapped your arms around her and stroked her hair, hoping to offer some form of comfort as she muddled over her thoughts.

You had almost thought she had drifted to sleep and had begun to doze off yourself when Ottie suddenly sat up and looked at you with a determined expression.

“Mum?” You sat up as well, giving her a soft smile to encourage her to continue. “You know how before Dad left, I said I wanted a baby brother or sister? Well, I’ve changed my mind, I like that it’s just the three of us. Maybe we can get a dog? Dad’s always saying he wants a dog and that it would be really fun. And then the dog can keep you company when we’re flying and you’re on the ground, and it will also be able to…”

Ottie continued to list all the reasons why you should get a dog, yet you were waiting for her to drop the reason for her sudden change of heart in regard to a sibling. In Cassian’s absence, your mind had run amuck with imaged scenarios and that promised conversation you were to have upon his return.

“Well,” you interrupted Ottie’s rambles, noting the way she almost frantically avoided eye contact. “We can definitely talk about getting a dog once Dad is back. But how come you no longer want a little brother or sister?”

“I just don’t…” her voice was muffled as she slumped back against the pillows, pulling the blankets over her head.

Letting out a sigh, you racked your brain for what could’ve caused the sudden change but came up blank. Just this morning she had been telling you that if she had a sibling she wouldn’t need to have gone to Ciela’s because she would have someone at home to play with – completely missing the fact that it was the child caring factor that was the concern at hand. With Ottie yet to lift the blankets away from her face, you tried for another tactic and laid back down beside her, pulling the other half of the blanket over your own head.

“Does Ciela have any siblings?”

“Yes, three”

“What are they like?” You asked, maybe it had something to do with one of them picking on the girls…

“They’re alright,” Ottie shifted closer to you, and you were quick to pull her into a hug that she immediately melted into. “One of them is too little to play, the other one was at the big kids’ school today, and the other one is a grown up.”

“Did you tell Ciela you wanted to be a big sister?”

“Yes…” her voice trailed off into a whisper and she took in a shaky breath, burring her face tighter against you.

“Oh? What did she have to say about that?”

“Nothing really…,” Ottie squirmed a bit before continuing, “but she said she had heard her mum talking about you and daddy to Niamh’s mum.” You let out a sigh, knowing you were close and not liking where this could be heading. You knew people talked about you and Cassian and the cliché of you being his nanny before getting together, you only hoped they had the common decency not to bring a four-year-old into the mix.

“Did Ciela tell you what they said?”

There was a beat of silence before her quiet “…yes.”

You could only just make out Ottie’s response before she was sniffling and curling in on herself. Pulling the blankets away you scooped Ottie into your arms and held her tightly against you, one hand rubbing up and down her back while the other soothed her hair as she quietly sobbed into the crook of your neck.

“Sweetheart,” you started after a few moments, pressing a kiss to the top of her head once her sobbing turned into quiet sniffles. “I need you to tell me what happened, please? Otherwise I won’t know what to do to fix this and make you feel better.”

“They said… They said that when you and daddy have a baby,” her shaky intake of breath had your heart breaking even further at the inner turmoil she must have been hiding from you all afternoon. “That you will send me away to live in the Autumn Court because… because I’m not…”

You pulled back to look her in the eye, blood thrumming in your ears as you waited with bated breath for her to finish saying those dreaded few words, doing your best to quell your anger and focus on the girl in front of you.

“Because you’re not what, Ottie?”

“Because I’m not your real daughter. And when you have your own baby, you won’t want me anymore.”

The few beats in which Ottie’s eyes welled with tears as she hid her face against you gave you all but a moment to compose yourself and decide how you wanted to navigate the situation.

“Well,” you started, keeping your tone light, “that is just the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, and you’ve heard some of the things your dad says...” Ottie pulled back and looked up at you with wide eyes, lower lip still trembling as she processed your words. “Of course you’re my daughter, I mean, sure I didn’t give birth to you, but that’s hardly the point. Ottie, I have been in your life since before you could crawl, besides, how else would I know how to make your favourite meal, or how to do your hair just the way you like, or the fact that you only like chocolate brownies if half the chocolate is melted and the other half is in chunks, it if I wasn’t your mum?”

You let out a sigh of relief as Ottie wiped away the few remaining tears, a small tug of a smile beginning to appear. “And why would we ever send you away to the Autumn Court? That’s just silly, your home is here, with us. The only time we would ever send you away is if you got to, like, 187 and still lived at home with us, although even then we might still keep you here, we just love you that much.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You are my whole world, Ottie. Everything changed for the better when you and your dad came into my life, and I wouldn’t change it for anything. And if we do have another child, we’re going to need you around to help us out and to teach them how to be just as amazing as you are.”

“I love you, mummy.” You pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and then to her cheeks.

“I love you so, so much, sweetheart.”

You blinked away your tears as Ottie wrapped her arms around you, holding her tightly until she was ready to pull away.

“So, do you think you’re up for the job of being a big sister?” You asked, tickling Ottie’s sides and relishing in the sound of her melodic giggles.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ottie looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing, “please can it be a girl? I don’t want another boy here, daddy is enough.”

You let out a laugh, “I agree, leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Wow, I’ve been gone all of five weeks and the two of you have already kicked me out of my bed and decided that it’s a girls-only house. Maybe I should leave and stay with Uncle Rhys and Auntie Feyre, at least Nyx appreciates me.”

Your heart froze at the sudden voice, not having heard anyone approach, and then it completely melted at the sight of Cassian before you.

Ottie froze from where she was beginning to settle herself back against the pillow, looking between you and Cassian with wide eyes and a stunned expression that slowly broke into a look of pure joy.

“Daddy!” She all but jumped across the bed and launched herself towards where Cassian had been leaning against the doorframe, her small wings carrying her the rest of the distance. Cassian was quick to catch her in a tight embrace, spinning her around and around as he peppered kisses all over her face, sending her into a fit of giggles and happy squeals.

Completely caught off guard and feeling overwhelmed at the heartwarming reunion before you, you slowly pulled yourself out of bed and took a few steps towards the pair, grinning as you caught Cassian’s eye from over Ottie’s shoulder.

“Well,” Cassian started as he set Ottie back down on the ground and knelt down to her level, “now that I’m home, I think you should go back to your room–”

“But dad–”

“–to get your own pillow then come right back. What? The least you can do is give me back my pillow seeing that you’ve taken over my side of the bed.”

Ottie grinned at him then jumped forward to give him another tight hug before racing out of the room. With a soft chuckle, Cassian watched her leave before stiffly getting to his feet and turning to face you, the exhaustion so clearly evident you marvelled at how he had managed to hide it so well in those first few moments.

“Hey, you.” Your voice was quiet and came out hoarser than you would have liked but Cassian simply let out an incoherent noise as he stepped closer, all but falling against you as he pulled you into the warmth and comfort of his arms that you had so sorely missed.

“You,” he mumbled into your hair, “are the most amazing and incredible female to ever live. Let me know if I ever stop telling you that, yeah?”

“Cass…?”

“Hi, sorry, I’ve just missed you, so much. And I’m–”

“Exhausted?” you offered, taking in the dark circles under his eyes as you grasped his hand and led him to the side of the bed.

“That too. But I was going to say that just I’m so in love with you that these past few weeks have been absolute torture.”

“I love you too.” You laughed at his jumbled words, shaking your head as you took in his face before pushing the stray pieces of hair away from his eyes, your heart stuttered at the way Cassian moved into your touch.

“Y/N…,” he stared at you for a beat before his own hand came up to cup your face, gently pulling you closer in such a way that had your heart skipping a beat as your eyes flickered shut in anticipation of finally, finally having his lips on yours again.

“Gods, I’ve missed you.” Cassian murmured against you as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer so that he could deepen the kiss. You responded just as enthusiastically, hands landing on the base of his neck as your fingers tugged on his hair, causing him to let out a small moan that had you grinning.

“Hi,” you whispered as you pulled away.

“Hi,” Cassian’s voice was just as soft as his eyes skittered across your face, leaning in once more until the patter of footsteps had him pulling away.

“I’m in the middle!” Ottie announced as she reappeared in the doorway, bounding over to the bed and making space for her pillow before looking at you both expectantly.

You watched Cassian with a worried expression as he turned to look at Ottie in bemusement. There hadn’t been much news from anyone regarding what had been happening, likely for security reasons, just the occasional hurried notes from Rhys and Feyre checking in and letting you and Elain know that everyone was okay and would hopefully be home soon.

“Do you want some food or a shower or anything…?”

Cassian pressed a kiss to your cheek, before trailing his fingers down your face, eyes lighting up just at the sight of you before him. “If I smell that bad, I’ll go and shower, but right now I just want to be with my girls.”

Shaking your head, you pushed Cassian towards the dressing room, “at least get changed before getting into bed, you’re still in your leathers.”

“I thought you liked me in my leathers.” He called back, making you roll your eyes as you climbed back into bed beside Ottie.

“You were right,” she mused with a thoughtful nod of her head, “Daddy does say some silly things.”

*****

After filling Cassian in on every little detail he had missed, Ottie was quick to fall asleep, complete exhaustion from her activity-filled and emotional roller coaster of a day knocking her out as soon as the initial shock and excitement of Cassian’s return ebbed away.

Once Ottie’s soft snoring filled the room, Cassian gave you a look before silently scooping her up and carrying her to her own bedroom. You knew she would be mad about the fact that she had been moved when she woke up in the morning but after a month of not seeing Cassian, you were more than happy to deal with the consequences of that later on.

“Is she alright?” Cassian asked after closing your bedroom door and sliding back into bed, immediately wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face against your neck.

“Yeah, she’s alright. How much did you hear?” You let your fingers trail through his hair, a month’s worth of stress and tension easing away simply by having Cassian beside you again.

“Enough,” the darkening of his voice told you that he knew exactly what had happened. “Ciela’s mum?”

“And Niamh’s.” You added, tone bitter as images of Ottie’s distraught face returned to the front of your mind.

“For fucks sake… can’t they just mind their own business.”

“She’s alright.” You reassured, knowing there would be plenty of time to get into it over your daughter’s friends’ mums, but not wanting to waste the time you currently had together doing so.

“I know…” he trailed off, letting out a sigh before pressing small kisses along your neck.

“Are you alright though? What’s happening on the Continent, will it –” Cassian cut you off with a kiss that you immediately returned.

“I’m fine. And that will all be fine. Tomorrow, alright? I’ll tell you everything but right now I just…” he trailed off and looked down at you, a soft yet longing smile on his face that you returned before tangling your fingers in his hair once more and pulling him closer.

*****

For someone who appeared to be completely exhausted, Cassian still had plenty of energy when it came to you in those few hours that followed his return home. You knew you would both feel the brunt of getting next to no sleep once the sun had fully risen, but as you lay in the calm silence of your candle-lit bathroom, your back against Cassian’s chest, both of you submerged in the warmth of the lavender-scented bathwater, you couldn’t find yourself caring.

Cassian had begged you to fill him in on every single detail of every day that he had been away for, no matter how boring and uneventful it seemed, he wanted to hear it all. He also managed to easily skirt away from any questions you directed at him regarding his time away and what had happened in the Dawn Court and on the Continent. Knowing he needed time to decompress, you playfully flicked water at him in response before jumping into a recount of Ottie trying to outfly Nyx and winning.

When you felt Cassian’s breathing begin to even out, the strokes of his fingers through your hair growing lazier and slower, you finally made a move to get to bed.

“Cass?” All you got was a grunt in return as Cassian pulled you back into the water and nestled his face against your bare back. “My love, you are exhausted and need to sleep. Come on, bed time.”

Reluctantly, Cassian let you help him out of the bath, his exhaustion clearly taking over as he slumped against the bathroom counter, eyes shut as you wrapped the large towel around him. Once you were both dry, you took Cassian’s hands and led him back into your bedroom, helping him onto the edge of the bed before pulling out some loose-fitting sleepwear for him to change into. As he collapsed against the pillows, you were surprised you didn’t hear the immediate onset of his snores, instead finding him watching you get ready for bed, a sleepy yet adoring expression flickering across his face.

You were about to climb in beside him when the sudden appearance of a small, folded sheet of paper caught your eye:

Please tell me he got back in one piece? We were all planning on coming home tomorrow but Az said he insisted on flying straight home as soon as the final meeting finished up.

- Rhys

“Cass, why do I have a note from Rhys saying you flew all the way home instead of waiting just one more night to winnow back with the others?

“Shh,” Cassian murmured as he reached for you and pulled you against him, “wanted to see my girls. I missed you.” The words were muffled against your skin, heavy breathing quick to follow.

The soft thud of a pen landing on your bedside table where the note had appeared only moments before had you rolling your eyes.

Yes, he made it home, missed telling me the part where he flew hours across Prythian without taking a break... No wonder he’s so exhausted, head hit the pillow less than a minute ago and he’s already snoring! See you all soon

- Y/N x

Mere seconds passed before another sheet of paper appeared on your bedside table.

Clearly not that exhausted if he’s only just asleep, he would’ve made it home hours ago according to when Az said he left ;)

- Rhys

You scoffed and scrunched the piece of paper up, not deigning to reply to your High Lord’s cheek, before settling back against your pillow. Cassian immediately reached for you, pulling you tight against him, even whilst being fast asleep. You let yourself relax against him, quickly finding sleep now that Cassian was back home and where he was meant to be.

*****

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[whetstonefires]

Man sometimes I still think about Alfred's Bandit Anecdote in The Dark Knight (2008).

So, the most straightforward reading of this sequence seems to have been the one Nolan intended, because he is not actually a subtle filmmaker, and the further we got into the series the more heavily he committed to making Alfred a mouthpiece. Old man provides words of wisdom that frame the correct understanding of the situation; you can tell it's meant to be correct because subsequent Joker appearances reinforce its thesis statement.

Intended takeaway: some men (like the Joker) don't have rational motivations, they just 'want to watch the world burn,' and you have to account for that when trying to counter them. Chaos agents, basically unstoppable by reasonable means.

But the thing is. This is not a story that stands up to even mild interrogation. The number of assumptions Nolan wants us to swallow without blinking is kind of stunning.

First of all the obvious timeline questions that arise: the Anglo-Burmese Wars and periods between and leading up to them where this kind of white man's burden 'delivering jewels to local elites In The Burmese Jungle to sway them toward British interests, but getting waylaid by bandits' scenario makes any sense all, happened in the 19th century.

The Burmese resistance in the 1930s was centered on university student protests and that sort of thing; it was reasonably successful in moving Myanmar toward independence by increments, though who knows what would have happened without WWII. But it did not provide anyone with reasons to be hand-carrying huge gemstones through forests.

Even if we assume this was somehow a 20th century event, it has to have been before WWII unless we want to postulate a complete alt-history setting, and since The Dark Knight leans heavily into being a modern 21st century story with like, cell phone networking as a major plot point, this still makes Alfred old as balls. Born no later than 1920, and probably earlier.

But that's whatever; comics time. Batman Begins did some fun stuff (possibly in imitation of Batman (1980)) with making it ambiguous what decade it was supposed to be set in, though the sequels dropped that conceit. And anyway, people can be 90 years old.

So that's basically fine, although good god Wayne hire some more servants, this man should be fully retired already.

More problematic is the unfettered colonialism of it all, the confident proclamation that since this guy's motive wasn't profit, since he didn't keep the jewels, he had no motive. Because 'inconveniencing the Raj and weakening their control over the locality' isn't a Real Person Motive that a real person could have had. During or soon after failed wars to resist colonial subjugation.

Like. Come on??

The place where this story utterly shoots itself in the foot, though, is the clever bit at the end, where Bruce asks how Alfred's military unit solved the 'bandit stealing jewels he didn't even want' problem and Alfred's like: 'we burned the forest to the ground.'

Because this is so punchy! In screenwriting technical terms, it's quite well done. It's useless advice that loops the story back to its themes; obviously Batman can't burn Gotham down to get the Joker. Even in a Batman movie that doesn't like Batman very much, this is still obvious.

But at the same time this totally takes the legs out from under Alfred's words of wisdom about human nature. Because if that bandit 'wanted' to 'watch the world burn' then what his unit did wasn't so bad, right; he was basically asking for it. Burning a forest down with all the inevitable collateral damage and economic and ecological cost, all for the sake of horribly killing a group of people in the name of government revenues was totally okay guys!

It transforms the whole thing into a pretty obvious post facto rationalization of colonial violence. Which makes the Insights Into Human Nature bit real questionable!

But the movie gives absolutely no sign of having noticed this.

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Wade's Adhd and rejection sensitivity. Getting upset about inconveniences he can't control even when not mentally small, just becoming irationally overly upset over things that don't really affect much.

How he's been talking about a certain sandwitch all day long. Since noon, throughout the entire mission, and now he's yapping about it again on the 6 block walk to said sandwitch joint ran by a small immigrant family.

He keeps talking about how great it is. Logan didn't have this place in his timeline, so Wade is ampled excited to show him. Logan jokes with him how he sounds more excited to eat this sub then he is to suck dick.

Wade, with the most serious face, goes, "I can get dick anytime. They're only open 4 days a week and only from 1 to 5."

Logan notes this in the back of his mind for the future.

Just as they get there, Wade is telling Logan that they used to be open 10-5 but their daughter went to college, so now they are on their own. How these people have been so kind to him and told him that they started this shop for their daughter specifically. To give her a good life, they've been working hard to send her to college since day one.

As they roll up to the door, Wade's face drops. All of the glee and joy from his body evaporates and immediately he's just staring at the sign.

"Sorry, we're closed. Come back -" and then a small plastic clock that shown when they opened again tomorrow at 1 pm.

They're too late.

"Oh... well, that sucks." Logan mutters, hands in his pockets as he watches Wade look so utterly disappointed that even he begins to feel bad for him.

He puts a hand on his shoulder. "We can always come again tomorrow."

"B-but I...i wanted.." He starts to tear up, quickly moving to wipe his eyes, sniffling and shaking his head. "It's fine... okay.. tomarrow." He whispers, not only feeling pathetic for being so upset over a sandwitch store being closed, but now they had to walk all the way back home.

"...are you okay?"

"Yeah.. it's fine.." But it's clearly not fine. He fully understands that they were late, and thats why they were closed. He's not angry at them. He's not angry at logan either. Not even himself, really. He must have miscalculated the time. A pure mistake.

But on the way home, it's very obvious that this is a big deal. He's quiet. Staring at the ground as he walks, biting his nails, wiping a tear once inawhile.

It makes Logan frown, uncomfortable with the silence, knowing his mind was no where near silent at the moment. He knew it was turmoil in there, a loud and pouting mess.

"....do you want to get something else?"

"...no..." He whispers.

Logan observes his body language, watching how his eyes kept flickering and filling with a tear every now and again. How distant he becomes and almost... hugs himself... at one point. He knows that this is a much different response from when small him throws a tantrum or sulks. He looks as if he genuienly didn't want to be upset but just... is. As if he couldn't stop his overwhelming emotions from flooding his mind.

He takes his hand. "...is it because you wanted to show me?"

"No.. I mean.. kinda? But I just... I really wanted it."

"We can get it tomarrow?"

"I know. I can't... its hard to explain."

Logan gives his hand a squeeze, talking quietly.

"... is it a safe food?"

Wade nods, wiping another tear on his sleeve. It was one of the few things he could eat without puking. But that still wasn't why he was upset.

"Do you want me to make you a sub?"

He shakes his head. "It won't be the same."

"Im sure I can make it the sa-"

"No.. I mean... yes?? Im sorry, Peanut. It's... It's an experience thing.. I've had it in my head all day to go and get a sub from them. And now I can't check it off until tomorrow."

Oooh.. that makes sense. He had a checklist in his head. Something he needed to finish before he could go to bed. And now that this wasn't finished? He would have a hard time moving forward.

When they arrive home, Wade goes to hide in the corner of their bedroom, quiet and trying to think of something else he could do to distract his mean brain from yelling at him.

'What are you doing? You were supposed to go to the shop! Stop being lazy and just go! Come on! We've been waiting all day for this! ... Logan said he would eat a sub with us...But we were so good today...' They said.

"I know.." he muttered, putting on his headphones, hoping to drown them out.

It doesn't work. Now hes just laying in bed, rotting and staring at the ceiling while tears travel down the sides of his face. He's breathing a bit shakily.

'Why are we crying? Its just a sandwitch. It has nothing to do with the sandwich dipshit!! Are we bad..? Did we misbehave? Is that why Logan dosn't want to eat with us? Hey! Hello?? Were kind of starving here. Haven't even had anything today since breakfast. Im not hungry anymore. You're really pathetic you know that? Almost 50 years old crying over a fucking sandwitch.'

They were so loud that even with the volume up so high, he didn't hear Logan come in.

"Wade?" He waves a hand in front of him, watching as he jumps, looking up with such puffy red eyes.

"W-what?"

He puts down a plate. It's a sub.

Looking at it, he glances between him and the food multiple times, watching as Logan takes it, taking a bite and sitting next to him.

He doesn't say a word.

Now, Wade is crying for a different reason, his eyes softening as he smiles, gently leaning into him. "... Can I have a bite?"

"Of my dick or my sub?" He asks, glancing to him with a teasing look painted on his raised brow.

Wade giggles, nuzzling into his shoulder as he takes a big breath, sighing. Glancing at the door, he mutters. "Do you see this shit? And you all call me the nasty one."

Logan only smirks, a bit too proudly. "Says the guy who once-"

"Woah woah woah peanut! That's enough. This episode is rated pg. Sorry about that. God, such a potty mouth." He snickers, sitting up as Logan lets him take a bite from the end of the sub, Lady and the Tramp style.

[jakesduskwood]

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Pairing: Jake x Fem!MC

Genre: Post-Episode 10 Duskwood, Post-Episode 1 Moonvale

Words: 8,916

Summary: It's been three months since the explosion in the mine. Three months since Hannah was found. And MC's accepted that Jake is never coming back. When she gets roped into another missing person's case, it makes for the perfect distraction. Jake is dead. It's fine. That is, until she finds herself on the phone with Alan Bloomgate who says he has something to show her. But it's fine. Jake is dead.

Until he's not.

EPISODE-1 MOONVALE SPOILERS AHEAD (MAYBE)!

[ A/N: Hello! :)

I know it's been a while since I've done this, but I finished Moonvale Episode 1 and if you've seen the ending (and used its Duskwood code), you know what happened and how excited I was to receive that bit of Duskwood. So, I took it and ran with it, and out came this extremely long fic. I did not proofread this as it took me literally almost 12 hours to write so it is completely and 100% me and my love for Jake and I hope you love it.

Side note: I suck with anything related to timelines, so I made one up on my own. I know Episode 1 of Moonvale takes place over the course of a day or two, but for the purpose of this fic, it made sense to make it longer, so it's not a typo, or me losing my mind, it's just the way my brain processed this.

Enjoy! :) ]

It’s been three months since the explosion in the mine.

Three months since Richy had been killed. Three months since Hannah was rescued. Three months since I had last spoken to Thomas or Cleo or Lilly or…or Jessy. I didn’t blame her then and I don’t blame her now. Any of them, really. I didn’t share the bond they had with each other. I wasn’t from Duskwood. It didn’t matter that we’d experienced a tragedy together—and yes, perhaps them more than me, but I loved Richy too. I had lost Richy too. And Jake—

But mostly, I think they just wanted to forget. To move on. They didn’t want to remember that their friend had been capable of…of that. And I was a constant reminder of that to them. So I understood why we didn’t necessarily talk anymore.

The one person I did keep in contact with from Duskwood, oddly enough, other than the occasional update from Alan Bloomgate, was Dan. We weren’t best friends or anything, but he allowed me to check in on our friends in a way that I didn’t know how to do with anyone else. Maybe because I thought he was the least affected among them. I knew he cared about Hannah, but he wasn’t to her what Thomas or Cleo or Lilly were. And he wasn’t to Richy what Jessy had been.

I’d learned from him that Thomas and Hannah had broken up. There was no bad blood, but Thomas hadn’t quite figured out how to accept the things he’d learned about his girlfriend when she’d been gone, and Hannah hadn’t quite figured out how to re-trust someone after Richy. Even if that person was Thomas. But I’d hoped they would find their way back to each other in the end.

I thought about reaching out to Jessy every once in a while—even just as an apology for everything that had happened. I’m sorry that Hannah was found at the expense of Richy. I’m sorry that he did this to you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. We should have. We should have. We should have. I miss you. But I never send it. I’m not all that sure she’d respond anyway.

Cleo and I were never all that close. She has her best friend back, so I think she’s probably as okay as she can be. Helping Hannah find a new kind of normal in a time where her childhood friend had kidnapped her in order to prove a point. I don’t know how you come back from that—I don’t know how you come back from knowing that you killed somebody at all.

I hadn’t found the courage to ask if somebody had told Hannah about Jake.

Not that I think it would matter anyway. I hadn’t heard from him since before the explosion in the mine, which was, like I said—three months ago. I waited the appropriate amount of time—twenty-five days—before I broke down and concluded that maybe he hadn’t survived. Which just piled a shit-ton of guilt onto my shoulders because it was supposed to be me in that mine. He had gone in place of me and now he was dead.

It was the only explanation that made sense. I was used to Jake disappearing for days at a time, but never as long as he had been now. And he didn’t seem like the type to tell me he loved me and then leave without a single explanation. Not unless he had to. But it had been three months and as much as I missed him, as much as my chest ached with the thought that we would never eat Chinese food out of shitty motels and have that on-the-run ending we talked about, I had accepted that he wasn’t coming back.

I wonder if he had known about Richy or if he had died still thinking Michael Hanson was the one who had kidnapped Hannah. I wonder if his last thoughts were of me. Maybe it’s selfish, but I kind of hope they were, because I’m pretty sure I’ll think about him for the rest of my life.

I wonder what it would have felt like to run my hands through his hair. To kiss him. To spend every waking moment with him and know it was because I loved him. Because I would have. Talking to Jake became about more than just finding Hannah. It became a part of my day I looked forward to more than anything else. He confided in me in a way that told me he never had with anyone, maybe not even Hannah, and I needed that from somebody. I needed somebody to trust in me the way that Jake did. I needed somebody to love me the way that Jake did.

It was strange—and maybe a little ironic—the thought that something so beautiful could come out of something so tragic.

Anyway, my point is: it’s been a long couple of months. Of thinking about my friends. Of thinking about Jake. Of wondering if I should have done things differently. I should have gone to Duskwood to help. Not even with the mine, but sooner. I could have. I could’ve gone when Jessy was attacked on the way home. I could’ve gone when the group made plans to cut out of town and hide away in the house Richy had found. Selfishly, I should have. In that moment, when they were settled around the fire and Lilly called me, I had never remembered wanting anything more. I should have grabbed Jake—metaphorically, maybe even literally—and rode it out with them to the end.

I don’t stop missing them after three months. Of wishing things could have been different. Wishing I could have done more. But exactly ninety-five days after the explosion in the mine, seventy days since I had accepted that Jake was never coming back, twenty-two days since I had last heard from anybody from Duskwood (Dan included), my phone dings with a new message.

And the cycle starts all over again.

It’s somebody named Eric, who claims he needs my help to find his friend Adam, who disappeared while he was waiting for a ride in someplace called Redlog Pines. And much like with Duskwood, I have never heard of Redlog, and the case reminds me way too much of Thomas’ first message to me, so much that it makes my chest ache, but I can’t say no because there’s somebody missing, and if I’d say no the first time, God knows where Hannah would be.

So, I say yes, and I help out where I can, and Eric decides he needs to bring about four more friends in on his little plan and I try my best to stay emotionally unattached because I remember everything that happened the last time and I can’t go through that again. I offer up information when I can and keep my words short and careful because I’m not ready to get attached to somebody else I know I might never meet.

I know how this ends.

Two days in, Ash, one of Eric’s friends, brings up my Duskwood past and the unhealed wound I’ve been trying to mend breaks open again. She asks about Richy, and about the mine, and then because I’m me and I can’t help myself, I tell her about Jake. She tells me the news never mentioned another body and I shove that thought to the back of my head because hoping for something that will never come true will kill me.

Four days into Adam’s disappearance, and the police not giving a shit—as Charlie, somebody who reminds me far too much of Richy for comfort, points out—my phone beeps with an incoming call from somebody I haven’t spoken to in a while.

“Go for [MC].” I answer my phone.

Ever since Hannah had been found in the mine and Jake had…you know, my phone had been more silent than I’d gotten used to. Until this new case. But even that—it was only a few days old and I didn’t want to go down the same path with them that I did with my friends in Duskwood. We didn’t really know each other that long, sure—even though sometimes it’d felt like it—but it felt like I’d finally been a part of something. Like, I had found these people who had chosen me for me.

And originally, maybe they had. Maybe they’d had every intention of keeping me around, but then Richy was the Man Without A Face and Alan Bloomgate had rescued Hannah and nothing was the same as it had been when we’d met each other. We knew too many secrets about each other by the time the town settled. Secrets we would have to take to the grave.

Or maybe I’m losing my mind a bit and I had really only been a means to an end.

Either way.

“Alan?” I raise my voice when there’s nothing but breathing on the other end of the line. “Did you mean to call me?”

His tone is clipped. “I found something.”

“You found something.” I repeat.

My heart clenches. For all I know, it might fall into my stomach. As far I know, from watching the news, from what Ash told me, Jake’s body was never found. Richy’s was. Or what was left of him to find, anyway. I had assumed that there just hadn’t been enough of Jake left. The thought left me nauseous, but it was better than hoping for something I knew I could never have.

“I’m sending it to your phone now.” He responds. “Let me know what you think of this.”

And then he hangs up.

That was a riveting conversation, I think as my phone dings with a message. I do my best to ignore my other messages—contacts from Duskwood I’m still not ready to acknowledge—and click Alan Bloomgate. He sent me a video that looks like—oh God.

Immediately, I’m overcome with emotion as an all-too-familiar forest pops up on my phone. It’s a video of Alan’s bodycam footage. He’s searching the Duskwood forest. A forest I’ve seen too many times in the background of other video calls.

I watch as he stumbles upon an object that’s too dark to make out at first. When he gets closer, it’s clear that it’s a backpack. It’s simple. Black. Nothing about it that screams this is mine and I left it here about anybody in particular. You stupid, stupid idiot, I tell my heart when it rattles against my chest in hope. He’s dead.

Alan stands and treks away from the backpack—I want to scream at him to go back, to open it and look through it and tell me if it’s what my heart aches to believe, but I can’t, because this is a video and I’m simply watching with wide eyes, waiting for…for something. But then. But then, he moves further into the forest and I watch as he stumbles upon an object that makes my knees tremble and tears rush to my eyes and my hands shake. A black hoodie. It looks like it’s been through hell, with holes scattered up the sleeves and dirt cakes into the hood, but it’s unmistakably his.

And then—Alan lifts the hood and picks up something that makes me sink to my knees with a sob that wracks my entire frame. Because I’m staring at Jake’s mask. The mask he doesn’t go anywhere without. The mask that protects him. And so my relief is short-lived, because I realize that even if he’s alive—which seems like a very big possibility at this point—he’s alive without the things that he needs to survive.

And then the anger kicks in. Because if he’s been alive, on his own, for three months—why has he not contacted me? Unless he survived the mine but he didn’t survive the after. But that didn’t make any sense. So, okay, he wasn’t dead. But that didn’t make any sense either. He told me he wouldn’t let them catch him. Because catching that meant he would be apart from me. Did something happen that prevented him from being able to reach out and tell me he was at least okay? A quick text that said didn’t die in the explosion in the mine, you don’t need to mourn me, by the way, going off radar for another year. Did he think I would have given up on him?

I wipe my eyes and shoot a message to Alan.

ME: Recently?? Did nobody search the forests before?      

ALAN: Searched the forests for what, [MC]? The logical assumption seemed to be that if anybody was inside the mine when Richy set the fire, they would have perished alongside him. Officers were stationed outside every known entrance and exit. Besides, after the story you and your friends spun around this town, do you think anybody would have gone back into its forests?

ME: But it’s possible?

ALAN: I would say these items had been there for some time. But I would say it is likely he ditched them when he fled the mine, yes.

Another sob tears through my throat. Jake is alive. I don’t know quite what that means for us as of now, but I know it’s the best news I’ve heard since Hannah was found. Jake is alive. He’s out there somewhere. And even if it’s been three months, and even if I’m a little bit mad at him right now, I know that if he was here, I would throw my arms around his neck and hold on to him until someone dragged me off, and even then—I would fight kicking and screaming.

I close out of my messages with Alan and pull up a conversation I haven’t had the heart to look at in quite some time.

ME: Jake’s alive.

LILLY: …

LILLY: Have you spoken to him?

ME: Alan called. He found some of Jake’s things in Duskwood. I don’t know a lot of details. But I know he made it out of the mine.

Lilly types for a long while, but she doesn’t respond. I don’t take it personally. I think it’s probably hard for her to be happy that her brother’s okay while also trying to accept that her sister may never be okay again. Her sister, who had once-upon-a-time been kind-of-sort-of in love with their brother she didn’t know she had. I think that would probably mess with any family’s heads. And on top of all that, you throw in manslaughter and a kidnapping. I wouldn’t wish anybody, not even my worst enemy, to have had to go through what the Donforts had.

When it becomes adamant that Lilly isn’t going to respond, I start scrolling through messages with the rest of the group in Duskwood. I click on Jessy. I’m here if you need me. That had been the last thing I sent to her, a couple of days after Richy’s death. She hadn’t responded. I click out of Jessy’s contact and click on Thomas’ instead. Thank you for everything. That had been his last message to me after we found Hannah. I’d liked it. I hadn’t expected at the time it would be the last thing we’d ever say to each other. I click out of Thomas’ and click on Richy. So, you want to turn yourself in? I’d asked. That was before he called me. Before he lit a match and burned himself and the mine to the ground. Some people would call that heroic. I mostly call him a coward.

I click on Jake’s name. It’s been a while since I read messages between the two of us. Maybe before I had accepted—thought—he was dead. In that twenty-five-day period when I’d hoped with all I’d had that he would come back. I love you. That was the last message he sent me. I’d responded with I love you too, Jake. Then, four days later: Are you okay? A week later: Jake, please, you’re starting to scare me. I know you said you would contact when you could, but it’s been a week. After twenty-five days, when I had finally accepted our fate, I’d sent one final message: I hope you know that I love you, and I will always care about you, but I think it’s time for me to move on. I’m so sorry that I sent you into the mine. It should have been me. And I will probably feel the guilt from that for the rest of my life. Thank you for everything. Take care of yourself, wherever you are.

After that, I had closed out of our messages and hadn’t looked back. Partly because I couldn’t bear the pain of it. It felt like I had given up on him. I hadn’t—if I had thought for a second that he was alive, if I knew then what I know now, I would have never sent that message. But holding out hope for somebody who I thought was a ghost at the time? That was slowly killing me.

It’s only then that I notice the screen flickering. Much like the way it used to whenever Jake would hack into my phone. I don’t think he’s much in the mood to be hacking right now, but somehow, I know it’s him. When had he done this? Recently? If I had opened our messages, would I have seen this ten—twenty—even fifty days ago? It hadn’t looked like this the last time I texted him. Did he see my last message about needing to move on? Was that why he hadn’t reached out to tell me that he was okay? Because he thought I was moving on happily without him?

No, my brain supplies. He wouldn’t. He would reach out anyway, because he knows how much the thought of him not being okay would have destroyed you.

The screen flickers once more and then a message pops up, bright and blue-tinted and clear as day on my phone.

[MC]

I WILL FIND YOU

And the world around me shifts.

--------------------------------------------------

Maybe it sounds crazy, considering I’ve never seen his face before, but I always thought that if I’d ran into Jake one day, maybe on the street or at one of those motels he stayed at or maybe even in Duskwood, surrounded by all our friends, I would know it was him. I would, because it’s him, and it’s me, and we’re the only two people who understand each other quite the way we do.

I still believe that.

I believe it when I book my flight to Duskwood (or rather, twenty miles outside of town, which is the closest airport). I believe it when I board the airplane and find a seat next to a mother with her screaming child and when I shoot off a quick text to Eric to let him know I’ll be MIA for the next few hours, but to message me if he needs anything—and I think about how much easier this case would probably be to solve if we had Jake.

Maybe it would have been harder to find Hannah without me, but I know damn well they would’ve never found her without Jake.

Dan picks me up from the airport. I haven’t told the others yet. Something about it felt off—like I shouldn’t message them and say hey, I know we haven’t spoken in a while, but I’m booking a flight to look into why my maybe-slash-not-really boyfriend left his belongings in a forest we really wish we could forget about, and by the way, can I crash at your place?

It’s quiet on the car ride back into town. I’m looking through my messages from Eric and the group from Redlog Pines and thinking about how I’m Duskwood with this group and I want so badly to laugh because it’s ironic, but Dan wouldn’t understand. He might just call me crazy. Better yet, he would ask how I manage to get myself into these situations, and really, I don’t have an answer for him.

“How have you been?” I ask, just to break the tension, as Charlie, in my messages, tries to persuade his friends to head back into that creepy cave in the middle of the forest. He’s going to get someone killed, I think.

Dan looks over at me. “Are you still with Hackerman?”

My chest squeezes. “His name is Jake, Dan. And we were never really together.”

“Hm.” He nods like he doesn’t quite believe me. “You already know mostly everything that’s been happening here. Thomas and Hannah called it quits. They say it was some mutual decision, but it’s hard to find them in the same room together. Jessy hasn’t been out with us since. I think we remind her too much of Richy. The group’s all changed.”

“And you?” I ask.

He gives me a cheshire-like grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “I’m always the same.”

We make it to Duskwood just as the sun’s going down. Much too late for me to try and trek through the forest and retrace the steps Jake might have taken that night. Not that I think it would help give me any clues as to where he might have gone, but mostly because I wonder if it will make me feel closer to him. We’ve never been in the same place before, and even if he’s not there now—he once was.

“Can you drop me at the police station?”

Dan blinks. “The police station.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“We answered their questions for weeks, [MC]. I don’t think anything you have to tell them at this point is going to help. The investigation’s closed. Everybody knows Richy did it. He died with the fire in the mine. Everybody’s trying to move on from that.” He works his jaw. “Did you come here to open old wounds after all this time?”

I try not to show the hurt look on my face. “This isn’t about Richy. Look, Alan called me. He asked if I could look at some things. I figured it was better for me to do it in person. That’s it. Nothing to do with Richy. Nothing to do with Jessy. Nothing to do with you.”

He sighs, and I’m not entirely sure he’s going to abide by my wishes until we pull in front of a tiny building—tinier than most—that says Duskwood Police on the sign. Duskwood must not have that much crime. Well, not until this, I suppose.

“Thank you.” I tell him as I reach over to undo my seatbelt and climb out of the car. “This is a nice ride, by the way.”

He raises a hand in some mock-salute. “Need me to pick you up?”

“Nah.” I shake my head. “Think I’ll explore the town for a little bit.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs and then he’s off.

I square my shoulders and take a deep breath before opening the door to the police station. It wasn’t like Alan asked me to come down here. He hadn’t. Even during the investigation into Richy’s death and Hannah’s kidnapping, when he questioned us, he never asked me to come to Duskwood. We’d done way too many video calls and phone calls and at one point, I had asked if he thought it would be easier for me to come to Duskwood, to which he responded back, are you ready for that?

No, I hadn’t been. I’m not even so sure I was now. But knowing that Jake was alive, that here was the last place was, I had to try.

“Can I help you?” The woman at the front desk asks.

I clear my throat. “I was wondering if I could speak to Alan Bloomgate. I’m one of—I was involved in the Hannah Donfort case. My name is [MC].”

Her eyes widen. “Give me a moment.” She stands and heads to some back office—which looks to me more like a closet—and then returns with a clipped smile. “He’ll be right out.”

Apparently, she isn’t lying, because not two minutes later, Alan is stepping out from the same door and staring me down. I hold his gaze and hope it says that I’m not here to argue. I will tell him my truth, but only my truth, not Hannah’s, not Jake’s, not anybody else’s.

“I was wondering when I would see you.” He says.

I shrug one shoulder. “Isn’t a few months later better than never?”

“Let’s go into my office.” He says, and leads me around the desk and back into the closet space he had come out of. He sits behind the desk and motions for me to take a seat opposite him. “I’m just going to guess you’re not here to talk about Miss Donfort.”

“I want to see them.” I tell him. “His things. I want to see them for myself. And whatever you want from me in return, I’ll give to you.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, [MC].”

“He isn’t a game to me.” I snap back and then sit back and try to relax. “I appreciate that you called me. It’s—I helped you find Hannah. I would do it again. Even with knowing the things that we do now, I would do it all again. That’s how much that group means to me. That’s how much he means to me. I’m not asking you to break any rules or to lie for him or to—to let him hide in your basement for the next five years. I’m just asking you to show me what you found.”

He stares me down for a moment. Then, he sighs, says “wait here for a minute” and disappears to another room. When he comes back, it’s with an evidence bag in his hand filled with the objects I saw on his bodycam footage. My breath hitches in my throat.

“I can’t let you touch them.” He says as he lays them in front of me.

I stare into the eyes of the mask. “Did you tell anybody that he’s alive?”

“I don’t know that he’s alive,” is all the answer he gives, which is an answer to my question. I slide my gaze down to the black hoodie, to the dirtied sleeves and muddy hood, and think about the fact that Jake wore this. I’m so close to him.

And yet I’ve never been further away from him.

“Thank you.” I tell him. “For—for this. And for listening to me about Hannah. If you hadn’t, I—I don’t know what would have happened. How much longer he would have gone on for. If he would have ever stopped.”

Alan’s silent for a minute. Then, he clears his throat. “You know, it was strange to me. Both Hannah and yourself swore to me that neither of you knew the other.”

“I don’t.” I swear.

It was one of the (albeit many) things that didn’t make sense to me. How Hannah got a hold of my number. How she sent it to Thomas. She’d told Alan she hadn’t really remembered texting him my number at all.

“I believe you.” He reassures. “I just think it’s strange. One mistake, if you can call it that, and you throw yourself into a missing persons case to help a stranger.”

“They’re not strangers.” Even though Hannah is kind of still a stranger.

“But they were.” Alan reasons. “You had no reason to say yes to helping Thomas. I doubt anybody would have held it against you if you turned the other way. But you decided to follow this until the end. To make sure they found Hannah. And you care about them. Maybe that’s why I find that I’m more lenient with you than maybe I should be. Why you’re sitting across from me right now calling the shots. Why I’m not asking you about the hacker.”

“I wouldn’t tell you if you did.” I look him in the eye so he knows I’m telling the truth.

He returns my gaze. “Maybe that’s the other reason.”

“Hm.” I acknowledge before I turn my gaze away—from him, from the objects that I know belong to Jake and it takes everything in me not to snatch them up and run. “Well. Thank you for allowing me to steal some of your time. For letting me—” I cut myself off before I say something that makes me break down in a fit of tears in front of him. “—just thank you.”

Leaving the station is easier than coming in. I’m still not any closer to knowing where Jake is than I was when I arrived here, but there’s a comfort in knowing he walked these streets. I wonder what he would think if he knew I was here. He hadn’t wanted me to come to Duskwood when everything was happening…but now that it was over, would he be happy that I was here? That I had come to Duskwood to piece together where he might have gone? Would he track my location and come to find me and…or was I grasping at straws?

It felt like I had just gotten him back. Not really, not entirely…but knowing that he was alive, that he was out there somewhere, maybe thinking of me and looking for ways to come back, to live the life we talked about when he asked me if I was sure…that was worth it. The thought that we could maybe someday have that—even if it was a twenty percent chance.

I check my phone again to see a new message from Ash. She’s asking me if I’ve heard from Charlie in the last few hours. Apparently, he’s AWOL, and I want to help, really, but…it doesn’t really feel like that’s where I am at the moment. Not just physically—obviously—but mentally. We got lucky with Hannah. And that was really only because we had Jake. Adam didn’t have a Jake. Or…maybe he did and I just hadn’t met him yet. But I already had a Jake and I didn’t want another one.

Maybe—if I found him, I could convince him to help. That was a big maybe. Not because I thought Jake would say no. He would say yes to anything I asked of him. The maybe was whether or not I could find him. More likely, the maybe was whether or not he would find me.

Three months ago, I would have been able to come to Duskwood and have no shortage of things I wanted to do and people I wanted to see. Now, as I stand outside Duskwood’s police station, I feel nothing but loneliness. Nobody knows I’m here. I could pass Thomas on the street and he wouldn’t even know it. I could run into Jessy at the library and she would walk by me without even a second thought. Why would they? I hadn’t told them I was here.

So, with nothing left to do, I walked. Toward the town center. Toward the library that Jessy showed me on our walk through Duskwood. Toward the Rainbow Café where I knew that Cleo and Hannah had spent a lot of their time. Toward the Black Swan. Toward—

Ah, what the hell.

I had nothing better to do and The Aurora seemed like a great place to drown my sorrows. To think about my next steps. To figure out—now that I was in Duskwood—what I planned to do. The thing about Jake being so secretive (and on the run) was that I couldn’t retrace his steps. I wasn’t able to ask if anyone had seen him. One, because he would make sure nobody had. And two, because three months was a long time to forget somebody’s face if you didn’t know who you were looking for.

I pull open the door to the bar and step inside. Immediately, I’m hit with the stench of whiskey and a handful of chatter. Duskwood’s a small town. And The Aurora definitely proves it. The bartenders move melodically around each other, serving patrons on the other side of the bar. If you walk down further, there’s a handful of tables.

And dead in the center is a table with my friends. Or, some of them. Dan and Cleo and Lilly. Could I still call them my friends? Ex-friends, maybe? Acquaintances? I didn’t know what they were. Or how to address them. It wasn’t like we had gotten into a fight. We didn’t stop talking for any reason other than that we did. We stopped talking.

I make a beeline for the bar to avoid a confrontation and plant myself on one of the stools. One of the bartenders—a girl cute with bleach blonde hair and brown Bambi eyes—asks what I want and I channel my inner Dan to order a whiskey—neat.

Looking over my shoulder, I focus on the table of them. On Lilly, who’s smiling at something Cleo said. On Dan, who’s the only one of them who actually knows I’m here. But even he’s focused on the conversation they’re having. It’s strange—to see Dan a part of something I’m not sure he would have been before. It’s nice.

“[MC]?”

I turn my head away from the table of my friends and focus my attention across the bar on someone I should’ve expected to see. “Phil.”

“I thought I recognized your voice from when we talked.” He smiles. “I wasn’t sure, but I saw you staring longingly at them—” He nods towards Dan and Cleo and Lilly. “—and I knew. What brings you around here? I expected you to show up maybe a few months ago, but by now, I thought you’d moved on without us.”

I was tired of the words move on. Like I’d had a choice. Like the people from this town might open their arms and welcome me back into their lives. So I’d been part of the group who’d saved Hannah Donfort. So had a lot of people. It didn’t make me special and everyone here knew it.

I offer him a smile in return. “I’m looking for somebody.”

“Anybody I know?” He asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. At least nobody you would recognize.” I pause. “How’s Jessy?”

“She’s—Jessy.” He answers, like that is an answer. “I don’t know if she’ll ever really be okay with the way things happened with Richy. I wouldn’t expect her to. Obviously. But I don’t know. I think I just thought she would have gone back to her normal life by now. And then I remember that most of her life revolved around him. He was her best friend. She worked for him. And I’m trying to be patient about that. But—” He shakes his head. “Maybe you should talk to her.”

“She doesn’t know I’m in town.”

“Okay.” He hums. “So, you’re not in town for my sister. And you’re not in town for your group of friends because they’re over there and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else. There’s always Hannah, but I don’t think you knew her that well. Or at all. Would I be right to assume this is about a certain hacker who helped to find Hannah?”

“He didn’t help find Hannah.” I defend. “He was the entire reason we found Hannah. I would have never been able to do it on my own. Even with the others’ help. He’s the only reason we found out about—” I pause before I say something I maybe shouldn’t. “It doesn’t matter. He’s the only reason we found her. Everything I did was just dumb luck.”

“That wasn’t what the news said.” A voice cuts in and I turn my attention from Phil to focus on the stranger that slides into the seat beside me. Not too close—a couple inches away. I don’t recognize him. I don’t know him. But I don’t know every person in Duskwood. Maybe a total of like nine or ten. “I’m sorry to interrupt. But I heard you had a lot to do with finding Hannah Donfort. The news said you were some kind of hero.”

I offer him a tight smile. “That’s nice of them. But…if they knew my—friend—knew what he did to find her, I don’t think I would be as much of a hero as everybody says.”

“That’s noble.” He says, eyes meeting mine, and it strikes me at once how handsome he is. He has dark hair. Bright green eyes. Focus, [MC]. I scold. You have a…a someone.

My phone buzzes.

ERIC SENT A PHOTO.

ERIC: What do you make of this?

I sigh and click on the photo. It’s of—some object. Much like the one that was addressed to me on the envelope in Adam’s glove compartment. The image is a bit different—but I don’t know enough about what it means to have an answer as to why.

ME: Was this one addressed to me?

ERIC: Nope. Ash.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks.

I clear my throat. “I’m a popular person—apparently.” A thought strikes. “Have you ever heard of a place called Redlog Pines?”

Phil frowns. “No.”

I turn to look at the stranger. “You?”

“Redlog Pines is a small town about two hundred miles north of Duskwood.” He answers. “Known for their wooded forests, much like Duskwood.”

“Why are you looking into a place with forests as creepy as ours?” Phil asks, incredulously. “Didn’t you get enough of that with Hannah’s case?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “You would think.”

“Hey, [MC]!”

I wince at the sound of Dan’s voice. Shooting Phil a look that screams please help me to which he shakes his head amusedly, I turn and plaster on a fake smile as I take in the shocked looks on Cleo and Lilly’s faces. I should have known better than to come to The Aurora and talk to Phil when the three of them were having a conversation across the room. I should have known they would sooner or later see me. I just hoped it was later.

“Hey.” I hop off my stool and make my way across the bar to them. “It’s, uh, fancy seeing the three of you here.”

“What are you doing here?” Cleo asks.

“I haven’t really figured that out.” My eyes meet Lilly’s. “It sounds crazy to say it out loud. But I was hoping that—I’m not sure if Lilly told you—”

“That Jake’s alive.” Cleo nods. “None of us ever really thought he wasn’t.”

I don’t think she means it as a dig—but it still feels like one. Like she’s saying you gave up on him you gave up on him you gave up on him even though she’s not and she didn’t really know him and the only person I can talk to at this table who even might understand is Lilly and even—Jake didn’t confide in her the way he did me.

“Right.” I acknowledge. “So I thought that maybe if I came here, I could trace his steps from when he was here and—I haven’t really thought that far ahead. It’s not like I thought he left me any clues in the forest or anything like that. I don’t think he expected me to be here. He hadn’t wanted me to be the last time we talked. But that was before everything happened.”

Lilly’s eyes track behind me. “Does Jake still have Nymos on your phone?”

“Uh.” I furrow my brows. “I think so. I hadn’t heard from him in a while, but I went back and read through our messages after I talked to Alan and…my phone glitched, like it used to when Jake had hacked it. And then this message appeared on my screen.”

“And by chance, can Nymos track your location?”

“What—” I shake my head. “Maybe. I don’t think I ever really asked him. It didn’t seem necessary at the time.”

“Uh huh.” She focuses on me once more. “Let’s say, for one minute, that Jake has access to Nymos who has access to your location.”

Cleo must catch onto something I’m not sure of. “Jake didn’t want you here.”

“Uh, thank you?”

“You know that’s not what I mean.” She waves me off. “He didn’t want you in Duskwood. He had been adamant about that when we were talking about the mine. That’s why he went. If you showed up in Duskwood—”

“Nymos would have alerted him.” Dan finishes.

“Okay…” I’m not entirely sure I’m on the same page as them. “So—you think that Jake found out when I came to Duskwood.”

“Correct.” Lilly beams like she just solved life’s greatest mystery.

“And you think he would—come find me?”

She smiles sympathetically at me—like I’m the world’s biggest idiot for not realizing what she has been trying to say sooner. “I think he already has.”

“You think Jake’s in Duskwood.” I deadpan.

“[MC].” Cleo grabs my shoulders and turns me around. “We think he’s in this bar.”

Stranger, as I had nicknamed him—AKA the guy sitting beside me at the bar, with Phil and Redlog Pines (which he probably only knew about because of me) and the whole Hannah being kidnapped and not taking any of the credit thing—was looking back at me. So was Phil. Like they thought I was the crazy one. Like it would’ve been so hard for him to look and me and say it’s me or anything that might have clued me into the fact that—

“Jake?” I whisper, because I’ve lost quite a bit of sleep over the past couple of months and I’m not one hundred percent sure what—or who—I’m seeing is real. “Are you here?”

He tilts his head and smiles at me. Actually smiles. A bit shyly, like it’s something he’s not used to doing, but maybe like it’s something he could get used to. And I think about how terrible I probably look right now because I’m not wearing makeup and my hair is tousled from constantly pulling at it and my clothes are wrinkled from the plane and the police station and I look like a mess. But our relationship has never been about looks. Clearly. I didn’t even know the person I’d been talking to until Lilly and Cleo and even Dan pointed out the obvious.

“If I—” I close my eyes and open them again. Nope. Still there. “I need you to still be there by the time I reach you because it’s been a—” I sniffle. “—it’s been a rough few months and I don’t think I could handle you disappearing again.”

He stands from the stool he was sitting on and shuffles his feet. Like he’s not quite sure where he’s supposed to stand. If he thinks about moving, I’ll tackle him onto the floor of The Aurora and then apologize to Phil later. It feels like everything I wanted is right here in front of me. And I’m scared to death that it’s not real.

“What’s one thing you would take with you if you were stranded on an island?”

His smile stretches. “My computer.”

And that—that’s what breaks me. I think I might start blubbering like an idiot but I don’t remember the time it takes for me to cross the measly twenty feet between us. All I remember is grabbing his black hoodie—because of course—and dragging him to me. I don’t kiss him, despite how much I want to, because I don’t want our first kiss to be tainted with my snot and tears. Instead, I bury my face in his collarbone and wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life.

Because I can. Because he isn’t dead.

“Y—You’re here.” I pull back and cup his face with my hands. “How are you here?”

“You came to Duskwood.” He responds, and then—hesitantly—he presses his lips to my forehead in a kiss. “Alan called you.”

“He found your things in the forest.” I whisper back. “He said they’d been there a while. The police hadn’t searched the forest because they assume you died in the mine.”

“They aren’t looking for me here.” He confirms. “I didn’t expect it to take so long for them to find my belongings, but I anticipated that you would find out. At the time, it wasn’t safe for me to reach out and contact you. They kept on my trail for a while before they assumed I died in the mine with Richy.”

“Why didn’t you contact me then?” I ask. “Is it because of what I last messaged you? I didn’t mean it—I swear, I thought you were dead. If I had known you were alive, I would have waited, however long it took. I wasn’t trying to give up on you.”

“Hey.” He places both hands on either side of my face. “I know. I know that, [MC]. That was never why I didn’t reach out to you. I know you said you wanted this life with me. But I didn’t want that for you. But I was selfish. I couldn’t let you go. So I was trying to find a way to make both of those things true. But I was always coming back to you.”

“And did you?”

“Come back to you?” He asks.

I sniffle. “Find a way to make both of those things true.”

“Not entirely.” He admits. “Nymos alerted me you had boarded a plane headed in the direction of Duskwood and I—” He shook his head. “I knew I would find you here.”

“You could have found me sooner.”

He lets go of my face and he feels like he takes my skin with him. “It wasn’t that easy.”

“It could have been.” I demand.

I’m angry again. Now that I know he’s alive and okay and that he could have found me, I’m angry that he didn’t. I told him I would choose that life with him. Over and over and over. He didn’t need to make the decision for me. He didn’t need to try and protect me. And yes, maybe the fact that he did makes my heart flutter a tiny little bit, but that’s besides the point.

“I told you before you left me.” I tell him and I’m aware it sounds like we’ve been in a relationship for five years and I’m aware that everybody in here is watching and listening in on our conversation and they probably all know we’re who we are, two people involved in helping to find the kidnapped Hannah Donfort, and maybe that’s all we’ll ever be in this town. But I would rather be the girl who found Hannah Donfort in Duskwood with him than be me anywhere else. “You told me you would let me go with you.”

“That was before I told you I loved you.”

My heart skips a beat. It screams I love you I love you I love you back, but I say— “What does that have to do with anything?”

He looks somewhat amused. Like he knows I would never hold it against him. It’s clear to both of us that I wouldn’t because even though I’m glaring up at him with my furrowed eyebrows and my lips pouted, I’m still pressed tightly against him. His hands—even though they’ve moved from my face—are now resting on my hips. Pulling my tighter to him. There’s no space in between us. If it was up to me, I’m pretty sure there never would be again.

“[MC].” He says, and oh god I wish he would say my name every day for the rest of his life. “Have I—in the short time we have known each other—ever struck you as the type of person who says I love you? But with you…” His words are a whisper against my lips. “It’s easy to fall back into old emotions with you.”

“I want to be angry with you.” I tell him.

He shakes his head. “No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” I agree. “But I might be if you don’t kiss me.”

He brought one finger underneath my chin and tilted it up until our lips were separated by a fraction of an inch. My eyelids fluttered. I didn’t care that everyone in here was about to see just how much Jake meant to be. I didn’t care because I had waited too long for this. And then—just as I’m leaning toward him to press our lips together, he whispers— “[MC]?”

“Hm.” I acknowledge.

“Who’s Eric?”

My eyelids crack open and I shove at his chest. “That’s what you’re worried about right now? Here I am, in front of you, covered in snot and tears and who-knows-what-else because you’re here right now, and you’re worried about some guy I don’t even know?”

“Who’s Eric?” He repeats.

“Ugh.” I run my hands through my hair and take a step back. “I don’t know. He’s the other side of Thomas or whatever you want to call him. If we lived in a different town.” I glare back at him and try not to admit that I think his jealous side is a little cute. “He messaged me. Thought I picked up his friend from some parking lot and I didn’t, but his friend sent him my number, and it was Hannah all over again. I’m trying to help them.”

“This Adam has been sending you a lot of videos.”

“You know I hate when you hack my phone.” I complain, even though I really don’t. Even though I had prayed for him to help me with this case. “I really don’t know Adam. Like—even less than I know Eric.

“But you know Eric.”

“For like a week.” I reassure. “He added me to this group chat with him and like three other friends of his. They’re desperate to find Adam who has apparently dropped off the face of the earth and I don’t know what to do. I had you with Hannah’s case. And you knew her. And they—” I look over my shoulder at Cleo and Dan and Lilly, who are pretending like they’re not listening in even though I know and Jake knows they are. “—they knew her. And obviously Adam’s friends must know him but I don’t and you don’t and there is no Jake in Redlog Pines.”

“I don’t trust him.” He shakes his head. “Any of them.”

I laugh. “Jake, you didn’t trust half the people in this bar when we first started talking.” I look over at Phil and then Dan. “It doesn’t mean they committed a crime. If I had backed off when you asked me to help you find Hannah, we may never have.”

“I thought that was all thanks to me.” He sounds smug, like that little smiley face he loved to annoy me with (AKA make me fall in love with him). “Did he flirt with you?”

“No.” I deadpan. “I think he was focused on his missing friend.”

“I was focused on my missing sister.” He shoots back.

I close my mouth. Alright. He has a point. But I wasn’t flirting with Eric. He was focused on finding Adam and I was focused on mourning—and then finding—Jake. Maybe it felt like Eric and I were two sides of the same coin. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help him. Because I didn’t want to happen to him what I thought had happened to Jake—to me.

“You’re being ridiculous.” I say instead. “How do you think I could ever entertain the idea of being with somebody else when for the past three months—more than that if you count the time we have actually had together—I’ve been focused on you? On discussing Hannah with you and then talking to you about anything and everything and then worrying about you and then hating you a little for convincing me you should me the one to go into the mine and then mourning you when it was hard to even think about you and then finding you?”

His eyes are wide. I think I’ve rendered him speechless. Which—serves him right. I know he’s not somebody who serves their feelings up on a silver platter. I know that. Obviously, I knew that from the first time I spoke to him. Back when he was nothing more than ??? and I was almost convinced that Dan was right and he was the Man Without A Face—a thought that I now hate with everything in me. But I need him to trust me. Jealousy streak and FBI and the missing persons cases aside, he needs to trust me.

“Trust me.” I cup the sides of his face again. “He’s nothing like you.”

He swallows. “Some people might consider that to be a perk.”

“I don’t.” I say.

And then I’m kissing him and it feels like coming home.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: August 2024

This time last year, the Kickstarter was in full swing, what a journey it’s been since then! Colleen is still working hard to complete the graphic novel and we have some incredible pages to share with you.

There have been many merchandise updates in the past few months and whilst a number of backers told us they loved these, others wanted to hear more directly about the graphic novel itself. So, for this month we will focus 100% on Colleen’s work, and how the various editions of the book are coming along. Everything is shaping up rather nicely, if we do say so ourselves!

You may have seen some of the sneak peeks Colleen has posted recently, such as this wonderful scene between our heroes:

And our favourite angel and demon on the road.

Collen has recently shared a rare view from her drawing board with us. "Working on pages 75 pages apart at the same time" she explains. The joy for us is that these pages arrive similarly out of order, so the graphic novel is unfurling like a magnificent jigsaw.

The reversible alternative covers by Rachael Stott and Frank Quitely are coming together beautifully. Different vibes, both ‘heavenly’ and we’re delighted to share them with you:

Moving inside. Here's an introduction to your introduction: our favourites include: Dog: Satanical hellhound and cat-worrier. Everyone should have one!

With the pencils mapping out the story almost completely in place, here are some samples from across the book – don’t worry we’re not giving too much away. It is always interesting to see these images come in, then watch them evolve over time

As we enter the latter stages of inking and colouring, we're also getting glorious new artwork by the bucketload. Colleen has been working diligently and it’s simply wonderful to see the story coming to life so vibrantly.

We shared this a few updates ago in its inked form. Now here it is in full glass-shattering colour.

A jaunty moustache and some 'definitely not-bad-news' being delivered in the middle of a birthday party.

A prior inked piece we shared before. Crowley venting his frustrations, oh so subtly.

And here's a closer look at some of the Horsemen in situ.

...of course you must also have some snippets of Aziraphale and Crowley having a fine time with books and wine.

And this rather lovely panel ends the previews of our main duo for this update.

But one final thing before we leave our heroes for this month... feast your eyes on this absolutely gorgeous celestial piece.

And now to the admin.

If you have a query, please check the Good Omens graphic novel FAQ page at terrypratchett.com. Some key recurring questions:

The Good Omens graphic novel was listed to publish in July 2024 - why have I not received it? We shared an update on April 16th 2024 introducing the new timeline and full context on why dates had to be moved. You can read that here. We appreciate that some didn't catch the timeline update and had been expecting items to arrive across July and August - the graphic novel and surrounding items are due to arrive in Spring 2025 to align with the new publication date. Thank you for your patience. We promise that it will be worth the wait!  

I've been in touch with a query about my pledge but have not heard back - what should I do? We have been dealing with a significantly increased number of messages recently and our team are working through them as best we can. If you have messaged over a week ago and are yet to hear back, please get in touch again, either via the message thread on Kickstarter or your previous email chain. Rest assured, we are reading and working through all messages as quickly as we can and appreciate your patience.

If your question is not answered in the FAQ, please don't hesitate to contact us and we can get back to you as soon as possible.

Events

We announced in our June update that Crowley's S2 Bentley would be appearing at ACME Comic Con in Glasgow. Unfortunately, our team will no longer be attending, so the Bentley will not appear at this event. We wanted to let you know as soon as possible in case you have booked tickets expressly to see it, or to meet the Good Omens HQ team. Maggie Service is also no longer attending the event, however Quelin Sepulveda, our beloved Muriel, is still appearing on the Saturday, and there are many filming locations around the central belt of Scotland if you are visiting, so you can still make your trip a little more ineffable. We apologise for any disruption to your plans.

Colleen has also had to cancel her appearance at the upcoming DragonCon, as she explains here.

[bluerosefox]

Our Well Deserved Break

Its

Shenanigans (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Time again!~

-x-x-

Danny, our boy the Ghost King, looking over a small team going over relic's given or 'offered' to Pariah Dark over the years both before and after he was sealed away. As they're taking inventory of the chaotic offering room, they stumble across a certain artifact.

This artifact is able to summon a set number of people (it does have its limits) of the users wishes to them and it sets up a barrier around the surrounding place so no one summoned gets out. You know, those kinds of artifact's certain people use to summon heroes and or villains into a room and have them fight to see whose the strongest or for a tournament, Yeah that kind of artifact!

Danny, who found the item, takes a look at after being told what it does. Then out of the corner of his eye he spots himself in a mirror in the room and see's his crown floating above his head and feels the full weight of his responsibility since before and after his crowning. Yes he had help with his advisor, despite how cryptid he can be at times, and of his council but still the weight was a bit too much for a teenager like him.

An idea struck his mind when he hears the ticking of a clock behind him. Without saying a word Danny looks back and raises an eyebrow at Clockwork whose staring at him in silence as well. He glances at the item, tilts his head a bit before...

Smiles in only the way CW knows would both be good for Danny and amusing for him. He nods and says "One weekend should be fine. All timelines will be paused for them. I suggest telling your friends to help prepare for your guests. Enjoy and have fun my King."

"YES!" Danny's voice echoing in the offering room made many ghosts in the room jump for a bit.

This was totally going to be fun!

-x-x-

When the following weekend arrived, young and very stressed teen heroes from across the multiverse are suddenly pulled from their worlds and are summoned into the Infinite Realms. Before any of them can panic or start fights a voice rang out above them and when they looked they could see a young teen, with a crown floating above his head, white hair, and glowing green eyes sitting on a throne.

He smiled and said

"Welcome fellow stressed out Heroes and Heroines to Phantom's Keep! I'm King Phantom, recently crowned fifteen year old, and this is the Infinite Realms! The birth and ending of the multiverse afterlife! Now don't worry none of you are dead or anything like that. I summoned you all here for one reason and one reason only..."

Here Danny paused, just to troll a tiny bit, and could see some of the more tense heroes readying up for a fight or at least argue to let them go. He grinned though and then said.

"And thats.... TO HAVE FUN!"

After that he floated out of his throne and with a flourish in the air he waved his hands and his throne room changed with party decor all around. Tables off to the side appeared with food and drinks from well everywhere and anywhere the multiverse, balloons rose from the ground and floated upwards, streamers flew across above to attach themselves to the other sides, the castle lights shifted to a dim and music began playing from somewhere.

Danny grinned brightly down at them and their shocked faces. oh that's funny, thank goodness Tucker is recording this and Jazz is gonna scrapbook this party for him (she plans on making them for all the guests as a party gift later, you know to remember how fun the party was)

"Now all of you are stressed out teen heroes with a lot of responsibilities on their shoulders! Believe me, I know that feeling, been there done that still doing it even now! But! My advisor says this will be both fun for me and good for you guys to spend one whole weekend here to de-stress and have fun! I do have some ground rules though. One your timelines are in fact PAUSED, you don't have to worry about calling your parents or if you got mentors to let them know where you are at. Two you are all heroes here, many of you are from different worlds and if you are from the same world they already know or CAN be trusted with your real identities but you are NOT required to remove any masks or de-transform or anything like that, if you wish there are masks on that green table over there you can stick on if you want to keep your identities hidden and are spelled to stay on and fuzz the minds of anyone trying to remember your looks once its on, even if they catch a good look at you right now it'll fuzz their memories of you once the mask is on and even after the party don't worry we thought of the time. Three, boys and girls rooms will be at different wings within the Keep! Just ask any of the maid or butler ghosts that will be joining us shortly and they will guide you to the rooms! Fourthly! There are sparing rooms if you wanna test your strengths with others, I only ask please don't get too carried away. We are here to have fun not make enemies! and lastly PLEASE DO NOT try to leave the castle, we are in the very afterlife of the multiverse people, its like the ocean and even I find it hard to navigate it sometimes. Portals can open up to any and all worlds, different timelines, etc etc. I have key items here in the castle that can pinpoint YOUR timeline and world so when the party is over I can send you home no problem, so again please do not attempt to leave."

Danny paused to take a breath, okay ground rules set up and warnings given. He could see the absolute bewildered looks on all the heroes faces and held back a laugh. He smiled however when one of the teens, mask on his face already and dressed in green, yellow, and red asked 'Why?'

"Why? Well... I think its time us teens get to have some fun without worrying about the next big bad or world ending event. Even if just for a weekend, we do deserve a break. So... Lets have some fun for once!" Danny responded.