#their love story is perhaps the greatest ever told

[creationcitystreet-em]

Me: wow a full weekend off? I can actually study and get some much needed work done!

My brain: what if you reread the entirety of “Where Soul Meets Body” for the first time in like 5+ years and stayed up until 6am doing so instead??

[deadpresidents]

On the cliffs of Normandy, in a small holding area, the President of the United States was looking out at the English Channel. It was only six weeks ago, on the 80th anniversary of the D-Day landings, and President Biden had just finished his remarks at the American cemetery atop Omaha Beach. Guests had been congratulating him on the speech, but he didn't want to talk about himself. The moment was not about him; it was about the men who had fought and died there. "Today feels so large," he told me. "This may sound strange -- and I don't mean it to -- but when I was out there, I felt the honor of it, the sanctity of it. To speak for the American people, to speak over those graves, it's a profound thing." He turned from the view over the beaches and gestured back toward the war dead. "You want to do right by them, by the country."

Mr. Biden has spent a lifetime trying to do right by the nation, and he did so in the most epic of ways when he chose to end his campaign for re-election. His decision is one of the most remarkable acts of leadership in our history, an act of self-sacrifice that places him in the company of George Washington who also stepped away from the presidency. To put something ahead of one's immediate desires -- to give, rather than to try to take -- is perhaps the most difficult thing for any human being to do. And Mr. Biden has done just that.

To be clear: Mr. Biden is my friend, and it has been a privilege to help him when I can. Not because I am a Democrat -- I belong to neither party and have voted for both Democrats and Republicans -- but because I believe him to be a defender of the Constitution and a public servant of honor and of grace at a time when extreme forces threaten the nation. I do not agree with everything he has done or wanted to do in terms of policy. But I know him to be a good man, a patriot and a president who has met challenges all too similar to those Abraham Lincoln faced. Here is the story I believe history will tell of Joe Biden. With American democracy in an hour of maximum danger in Donald Trump's presidency, Mr. Biden stepped in the breach. He staved off an authoritarian threat at home, rallied the world against autocrats abroad, laid the foundations for decades of prosperity, managed the end of a once-in-a-century pandemic, successfully legislated on vital issues of climate and infrastructure and has conducted a presidency worthy of the greatest of his predecessors. History and fate brought him to the pinnacle in a late season in his life, and in the end, he respected fate -- and he respected the American people.

It is, of course, an incredibly difficult moment. Highs and lows, victories and defeats, joy and pain: It has been ever thus for Mr. Biden. In the distant autumn of 1972, he experienced the most exhilarating of hours -- election to the United States Senate at the age of 29. He was no scion; he earned it. The darkness fell: His wife and daughter were killed in an automobile accident that seriously injured his two sons, Beau and Hunter. But he endured, found purpose in the pain, became deeper, wiser, more empathetic. Through the decades, two presidential campaigns imploded, and in 2015 his son Beau, a lawyer and wonderfully promising young political figure, died of brain cancer after serving in Iraq.

Such tragedy would have broken many lesser men. Mr. Biden, however, never gave up, never gave in, never surrendered the hope that a fallen, frail and fallible world could be made better, stronger and more whole if people could summon just enough goodness and enough courage to build rather than tear down. Character, as the Greeks first taught us, is destiny, and Mr. Biden's character is both a mirror and a maker of his nation's. Like Franklin Roosevelt and Ronald Reagan, he is optimistic, resilient and kind, a steward of American greatness, a love of the great game of politics and, at heart, a hopeless romantic about the country that has given him so much.

Nothing bears out this point as well as his decision to let history happen in the 2024 election. Not matter how much people say that this was inevitable after the debate in Atlanta last month, there was nothing foreordained about an American President ending his political career for the sake of his country and his party. By surrendering the possibility of enduring in the seat of ultimate power, Mr. Biden has taught us a landmark lesson in patriotism, humility and wisdom.

Now the question comes to the rest of us. What will we the people do? We face the most significant of choices. Mr. Roosevelt framed the war whose dead Mr. Biden commemorated at Normandy in June as a battle between democracy and dictatorship. It is not too much to say that we, too, have what Mr. Roosevelt called a "rendezvous with destiny" at home and abroad. Mr. Biden has put country above self, the Constitution above personal ambition, the future of democracy above temporal gain. It is up to us to follow his lead.

-- "Joe Biden, My Friend and an American Hero" by Jon Meacham, New York Times, July 22, 2024.

[fictionaltrvlr]

I’m obsessed with all the repeating themes in the Hunger Games, but one I’m absolutely in love with is how Snow can never escape Lucy Gray.

[This post contains spoilers!]

We know this almost immediately simply from the title, Songbirds and Snakes, as we remember Katniss and her mockingjay and singing in the arena. But this is just the tip of the iceberg.

Snow hates Katniss for the rebellion, of course. But perhaps more than that is what a call she is to his lost love, not in personality so much as spirit.

Lucy Gray is Truly Inescapable

Lucy Gray is named for the Ballad of Lucy Gray, and immediately when we learn this, there is the sinking knowledge that she will not survive this story.

But after the disappearance of the ballad’s Lucy Gray, they follow her footprints, the impressions she’s left behind. And later is one of my favourite lines from the ballad:

Yet some maintain that to this day She is a living Child, That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome Wild.

To all the knowledge that the girls family has, she has died. But they still see her.

And also pulling in the newly released Can’t Catch Me Now:

But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze My footsteps on the ground You'll see my face in every place But you can't catch me now

(I’m so in love with how well this song ties the franchise together, it’s so perfect)

From the second he lands in Twelve, Snow hates the mockingjays and does his best to eradicate them. He sees them as unnatural creatures who survived not only without the Capitol, but inspite of them. And yet he fails to get rid of them, the mockingjays survive despite his best efforts.

And even years later, their sheer existence haunts him, eventually proving to be one of his greatest failures.

And all of the messes you made Yeah, you think that you got away

This is a great line to me because, since this being told from the perspective of Lucy Gray, it turns the story on its head. We and Snow are never really sure if she survived, so you could think that she got away. But it’s in fact Snow who has deluded himself into getting away from her. She will follow him, everywhere, for the rest of his miserable life.

At the end of TBOSAS, he says there would be a vague memory of a girl who had once sung in the arena, and that Lucy Gray and her mockingjays could never hurt him again.

Then gloriously, devastatingly, 65 years later Snow sees another girl with braided hair from Distinct Twelve in the games, adorned with a mockingjay, who sings Rue to sleep, who escapes the arena by cheating with something the Capitol themselves has provided (Katniss with the berries, Lucy Gray with the snakes).

Katniss, who then goes on to spark rebellion with that same symbol of mockingjays, with the song that Lucy Gray penned.

Snow is seeing Lucy Gray everywhere, in the mockingjays, in Peeta’s personality, in Katniss’ appearance, in the song about that tree that changed his life. But he cannot catch her.

He tried, and never knew if he succeeded. But she is everywhere, the symbol of his weakness, the one thing that maybe could have made him give up his future. The person who made him come to detest the very idea of love, who made him swear that if he ever married it will be to someone he hates so they could never manipulate him.

Her spirit chokes him. He is drowning in her and her mockingjays, and they finally are his downfall.

And that is beautiful.

[two-white-butterflies]

CHANGED | part one

Description: You have found that there are different types of love. Self-serving ones who grovel when abandoned in pity for themselves. However, there is another greater form of love, one that creates life. What happens when your husband uses you in the creation of the rings?

Pairing: Annatar/Reader reincarnation trope that i am a sucker for

Mairon — admirable, splendid, and gorgeous.

Your husband is perhaps the greatest maia to ever grace the lands, his gentle touch, his kind smile, his beautiful auburn hair — and his strong shoulders that you have found yourself massaging as of the late. "You are spending far too much time in Lord Aulë's smiths." You opened your mouth to speak, while continuing to massage his back.

"We are doing good work, my love." He defends.

The way that his eyes glitter at the slight of crafting, he brings the finest little treasures to your shared home every day. He creates stories behind the treasures, claiming them to have come from distant lands — you always answer him with a giggle, and he finishes every tale by telling you that he only made it up.

"We spend little time together. I've missed you." You sigh.

He turns to look at you — his eyebrows merged together, eyes filled with concern. "I apologize, lover." He pouts, and you press a kiss to his lips. "...and our child has longed for you too." You place a hand on your stomach. "Aulë says that a great darkness grows," Mairon says.

Goosebumps travel down your spine as you remember whispers of Melkor's darkness, he has always gone against Eru Illuvatar. "He visited the gardens yesterday, Iellas and I were looking for fruits for today's feast. He spoke to us, told us that this world is flawed." You informed, feeling the dread pool in the pit of your stomach.

Mairon rises to his feet.

He looks deep inside of your eyes, searching for any trace of — an emotion that you are unfamiliar with. "You must not speak of that encounter to anyone else, tell Iellas to do the same," Mairon commanded, his voice firm.

"We must tell someone. If Melkor seeks to sew discord — create a conflict that cannot be resolved by mere words, then the very peace of our realm is thrown in limbo." You whispered, afraid that anyone else would be able to hear. "Eru Illuvatar sees all." Mairon affirmed.

You wanted to argue with him — tell him that a dark cloud follows after Melkor, a cloud that you are sure obscures Illuvatar's vision. You stare deep into his eyes again, allowing those sea-green orbs to bring you peace. Mairon knows better. His power exceeds yours.

"— as his children, we must fight against temptation. It is our test." His eyebrows relaxed, but you could sense that there was a deeper meaning to his words. In his eyes, you could see conflict, of both light and darkness, of safety and reckoning. "I see no future in following Melkor's faith. No one shall follow after him, for no one shall desire to leave this paradise." You stated.

Valinor is beautiful — its green fields, warmth, and its promise of eternal peace. Only a fool would leave. Only a fool would follow after a dark mist of dread.

He cups your cheeks with his hands. He presses a soft kiss on your lips. You inhale his scent of roses. "We do not have to worry about that — because we are safe here. The whims of the Valar are beyond our hold, we can only do what makes us happy." He smiles.

"I love you, lover."

"I love you most,"

Mairon slowly turned distant after that, he'd make up excuses — tell you that there was work needed to be done in Lord Aulë's smiths. He'd wake up early in the morning and sleep late in the night. He'd whisper in your ears — all the ways that this world is flawed, all the creations of Illuvatar that are broken.

His songs, which used to feel like feathers and bamboo leaves, now turned grim, reminding you of rocks grinding upon rocks. You tried to intervene...you tried to help him, but one day he just left, without a note, without a word, without a goodbye.

The light that used to fill your child with strength now dwindled like their father — their movements became little, until one day, you were sure that there was no longer life inside of your stomach.

"You are the fairest of Illuvatar's creations," Yavanna's voice echoed throughout the large chambers. "I feel your light." She adds.

"Lady Yavanna, there is no life left for me to live." You opened your mouth to speak, and after centuries of crying and mourning your beloved and child, all joy has shaken off your body.

You kept your eyes on the floor, bowing in the presence of the Valar. Great darkness has consumed these lands and corrupted its people, even your husband, who was more powerful than you. "The Grey Havens exist to provide us with peace. It saddens me that you cannot find it here," Yavanna tilts her head.

"I do not wish to be...How I am jealous of mankind, for their souls can leave this sphere, unlike mine, unlike ours." You breathed.

How beautiful it must be, the feeling of release. The feeling of not having to be in this world anymore, simply a spirit or an energy that floats, incapable of thought, incapable of action, finished in existing.

"It is not death that your spirit seeks, but the privilege of forgetting." Yavanna looks deep inside your thoughts, feeling your memories flow through her veins. "Do you wish to forget, child? To have a new beginning?" She inquires, she is not the most merciful of the Valar, but she sees herself inside of you — she loves Aulë in the same way that you love Mairon, and the thought of her lover being pried out of her hands, it makes her shiver.

"If you will allow me, my lady." You say with hidden pleading.

Yavanna raises her hand — and everything turns to black.

Halbrand — veiled, hidden, shadowed.

You always hated staring at the sea, your mother says that the Grey Havens are always waiting for you out there — but it sounds so dreadful being stuck there, unable to do anything, unable to speak to any other creature besides elf and valar.

But now, you are stuck in the middle of sea, drowning because you refused to learn how to swim.

"Help me, please!" You scream, and a man helps you on his raft. The 'man' gives you a thin-lipped smile, saving you before you can inhale seawater. A cough escapes your mouth, feeling the unforgiving sun kiss your bare skin. "Thank you," you breathed.

The man standing in front of you is ... strange.

He has long brown hair that reaches past his neck. He has a charming beard and a mysterious fea. "What are you called?" He asks, feeling waves of familiarity crash over his body.

This elf maiden standing in front of him — with raven black hair and piercing purple eyes, he feels something hidden inside of her. 'I love you, lover.' His wife's voice floods his thoughts. Halbrand is in this raft because of you — because he wants to chafe his knees, earn his spot back in the Grey Havens, earn his spot back to you.

"Artanis," you say, your name sounds like a prayer.

Artanis, one of the names that he was supposed to give his child. He closes his eyes for a second, imagining his child standing in front of him, a smile ghosts his lips, how old was the child now? Ten thousand years? Fifteen thousand years? He has lost count in Morgoth's caves.

Will he even recognize you or his child? Will he even be allowed to see his family?

"I am Halbrand," he introduces himself.

"...and what are you doing here, Halbrand?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I cannot tell you, fair-Artanis." He chides.

You kept your distance from him, instead, choosing to sit on the farthest corner of the raft, intending to jump ship the moment that this blasted thing touches land.

Halbrand continues thinking about you, unaware that you are sitting right in front of him. "Where is your raft headed?" You asked, he tilted his head — for a second, your voice sounded so familiar. "...I doubt that we will be able to find safety until landfall." You added.

He chooses to ignore your chatty mouth.

"You are a deserter, aren't you?" He says with certainty. Nothing has changed with these elves, they've always run with their tails in between their legs.

Your eyebrows merged together, offended at his insinuation. "Do I have the look of a deserter?" You raised an eyebrow.

Halbrand admits you have the grace of a noble woman, the light of the two trees hiding behind your eyes. He chuckles, he must've wounded your vanity.

"You don't have the look of someone to whom things happen by accident," he teases, his eyes trailing back and forth between your eyes and your lips. The way that your waterline looks...no, it is the sea that is making him remember these memories of you. Of your warm hands massaging his back, of your fingers gently braiding his hair.

"Which means you were running. Whether toward or from something, I haven't decided." He placed a finger on his lips, pretending to be deep in thought.

You have landed right inside of his raft, it is biblical.

"Duty demanded that I return to Middle Earth. That is all that you need to know."

"Important Elf business, no doubt."

"What have Elves ever done to you?" You snapped.

You had already finished your studies by the time Halbrand learned to walk. Speaking from experience, it is always the youngest ones that have a lot to say!

"Do you blame us for your being stranded here?" You queried. Horrible people have horrible stories to tell. "Worry not, Artanis, it was not the elves that chased me from my homeland. It was the darkness that I am sure still remains there." Halbrand looks off to the far distance.

"Your home, where is it?"

"What's it matter? It's gone now." Halbrand interrupts. The light of the sun casts an eerie glow on his face. "I know something of the pain you carry. My father dedicated himself to eradicating darkness. My mother — she lost herself to temptation." You shared.

Your mother was one of the few people that Sauron stole from the Grey Havens. He sewed chaos into the very realm that he once promised to protect. "Morgoth has done terrible things to my kind," you continued. "— my aunt, her husband was Mairon before he became Sauron."

His eyes widen slightly, but his face shifts back to normal before you can notice. "Your aunt, did you know her?" He cannot fight against the urge to ask a question — even when it is uncharacteristic of Halbrand.

"She begged Yavanna to grant her new life. I was born centuries after her spirit left the Grey Havens." You informed. "...and her spirit, where is it now?" Halbrand tried to make his voice sound curious — like something that a human would say after hearing a tale about elves.

"Not even Yavanna knows," your lips pursed into a thin line.

Silence permeates throughout the atmosphere. You turned to look at him again. "What's that around your neck? Is that a mark of your people's king?" You stared at his neck.

"My people have no king," his voice turns cold.

He cannot return to the Grey Havens now. He must find you.

"But if they did, where might that kingdom be found?" You asked with furrowed eyebrows, a plan beginning to form. "What if I told you we might be able to reclaim it?" You say, hoping to ignite a fire of hope in his heart.

Halbrand will be useful to you.

"I am afraid you are short an army," Halbrand scoffs. There was something inside of him that shifted — like mechanical gears suddenly turning in the other direction. Darkness follows him, and engulfs his figure, but you are unable to see it, thinking of it as nothing but his strong fea.

"Leave the army to me." You state with confidence.

"Do you usually plan or do these schemes come to you in dreams?" Halbrand stares. "Why're you stranded at sea, anyways?" He interrogates.

"Because rather than rest in glory, I chose to seek out the very enemy responsible for your suffering." You raise your chin.

"Look, Artanis. You didn't cause my suffering, and you can't fix it." Halbrand breathes.

"I have pursued this foe since before the first sunrise bloodied the sky. It will take longer than your lifetime even to speak the names of those they have taken from me." You argued, he cannot help but roll his eyes again.

If only you knew.

"If you want to murder orcs and settle a score, that is your affair. Don't dress it up as heroism." He spat.

"Are you going to tell me where the enemy is or not?"

"The Southlands." He finally answers. His plan is already fully formed inside of his head.

"I need to know how many the enemy were, under whose banner they marched, and then you are going to take me to their last-known location." You demanded.

Seeing as his wife was no longer in the Grey Havens, and his child could have traveled to Middle Earth during the interim. He could only purse his lips before saying: "Alright, Elf." He relents.

But the moment that you find out about the truth.

It shall not be his fault.

PART TWO ||

COMMENT TO GET TAGGED

[muxshwriting]

talk

Anakin Skywalker x reader (Orpheus and Eurydice retelling)

summary: the greatest love story ever told, that's simultaneously the most tragic || summary: angst, main character death, a lot of death || word count: 1773 || masterlist

There have been many great love stories throughout the centuries, but none were more famous than the tragic tale of Anakin Skywalker and his wife, Y/N. And it begins with her death.

The urge began with a voice pounding at the back of his mind from the moment he had found your body. With every second it grew louder and louder until it was sounding off like a cannon in his brain.

"I'm going to the underworld."

It was a short and direct statement.

Obi-Wan's face paled. "You can't be serious Anakin! That's reckless and dangerous. You're writing your own death warrant."

"I'm rewriting hers." He argued.

"This is insanity!" Obi-Wan cried.

Anakin turned away. "Don't try and stop me. I'm going either way."

His mind was set, there was no change Obi-Wan would be able to find. He walked for days and nights, battling against those who tried to stop him on his journey. Nothing would stop him from getting to you.

The darkness didn’t bother Anakin as he walked, his eyes were set on a goal far ahead. All he could think was that you were alone and probably scared. He needed to get to you. No one had made this journey before, it had been fabled but never done. His journey seemed never ending but Anakin persevered, kept his head down, his plan secret.

On the nights when all hope seemed lost, when the thoughts echoed through his head and told him he couldn’t save you, he push on. It was your voice that rang through his head the mornings after those thoughts. It was a simple whisper, a murmur that you were walking with him and waiting for him on the other side, that you loved him and always would.

After a forever of walking, Anakin was standing outside the gates to the underworld. His journey here had been challenging but to travel through the underworld would be nigh on impossible.

His eyes were trained to the ground as he ignored the screams of damned souls and the cries of condemned asking for salvation. Every step meant he was closer to you, every step was a step closer to your freedom. His hood stayed drawn over his head and his robe was wrapped tightly around him. His lightsaber would be useless here and so he didn’t even bother having it easy to hand. Drawing a weapon in Hades’ domain wouldn’t be wise, anyone could tell you that.

The halls of the Underworld were enormous, rising above his head to the heavens with pits of fire. Hades sat upon his throne, watching the young Jedi enter his halls and slowly approach.

"Anakin Skywalker." He sneered slightly.

Anakin found the courage to meet the King’s eyes. He noticed the slight redness to them no one had discussed before. Beside him sat his wife, Persephone, on a throne of her own, looking like she owned the Underworld. Or course, she did but no one would say that in front of Hades. Even if they did, he would probably agree before ending their life.

"What brings the Chosen One to my domain?" Hades asked but Anakin knew better than to answer. "The Hero with No Fear has come to beg me for a soul, no?"

Persephone reached over and placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. He met her eyes and instantly softened.

"My wife has taken a liking to you boy. Perhaps you will entertain me for a while."

Anakin swallowed his fear and stood a little straighter, "I come here seeking my love, she was taken too soon, as many are. But she deserved a better life than what she was given. And I didn’t care if they called me crazy, if there was a chance I could get her that life, I was going to try." He took the chance to read their expressions for a moment. Persephone looked proud while Hades seemed perplexed. He continued, "When she’s with me, my world is complete, because it is her. I dread to think the kind of person I would be if she was not beside me and I fear for my future without her alive. My heart will darken and grow evil without her light to ward to away the shadows."

"Go on…"

"I walked here, my head to the ground, my name unspoken. I walked through the Underworld for the chance to see my wife and hold her in my arms once more. Perhaps she has passed on, choosing a greater life than what I could provide. But even if I came her in vain and I never leave again, I know I tried. I did not sit idly and ponder what might have been, I tried even if I fail. I have nothing to lose because she was everything and I lost her."

Hades was silent as two guards entered the hall and began to drag Anakin away. He let himself be taken, refusing to look away from the rulers face. He watched as Hades put his head in his hand. Persephone comforted him, reaching a hand for his face and her other for his. Then the doors slammed shut and Anakin was left with his thoughts once more.

He lost count of the number of steps he was dragged down, the people he passed. But then there was a cage surrounded by a dozen others all empty except one. A cage with you inside.

His strength returned and he had freed himself in an instant running to you with a shout of your name. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Anakin, your Anakin was standing in front of you in the Underworld. He had journeyed to the Underworld for you.

"Yes! I’m alright, what are you doing here?"

"Bringing you home."

"Anakin-"

The cage between you two barely mattered as you pressed your lips to his between the bars. You hand intertwined with one another, holding on as tightly as you could. You had lost each other once, you would not lose each other again so easily.

"I love you." You confess. You’d said it to him many time before but never with such reverence as you did now. "I love you Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin’s eyes shined with tears, "It’s a long journey back, dangerous and cold."

"I’ll walk with you every step of the way." You promised. "You’ll never be alone."

Behind Anakin, Hades had arrived, his Queen only a few steps behind. Tentatively he turned to them, his hands still gripping yours. "Can we leave?"

In truth, Hades had no answer. He had come down the deepest dungeons to talk with you and Anakin and he had done so without an answer.

If he said no, he was just as heartless as the tales say he is. He would have no compassion for a man and his wife and the love they shared. He would be a hypocrite and his own wife would never quite forgive him. If he said yes, he would be doing something never done before. He had no moral code, no rules for the Underworld. He would be governing a lawless realm where people could come and go as they pleased.

He was damned either way.

The reality was this: Hades would let them go under the conditions he would set. Yes, he would be a forgiving and understanding King who knew the perfect punishment for any who demanded anything of him. Anakin Skywalker, the leader would walk ahead of his wife all the way out of the Underworld. And if he looked back to check she was following, she would be dragged back down into the depths.

She is out of sight, he is out of his mind. Anakin would foolishly agree, doing anything to have her back, not realising what he’s truly agreed to.

Since agreeing to Hades’ terms, you and Anakin hadn’t looked away from each other.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

Silently, you nod. Anakin takes a steadying breath, his hands brushed against yours as you held one to your chest, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He squeezed his eyes shut and span on his heels, beginning the long walk without you by his side.

The world went silent as your hand slipped from his and he felt utterly alone. He took the first step, trusting you would be right behind him.

As he walked, his footsteps echoed through the Underworld. But what tore his heart into pieces was the lack of your footsteps echoing behind him. He resisted the urge every single day to glance back at you. He prayed this was a part of Hades’ sick terms, that he would be unable to tell if you were behind him until you were out. A few days into the journey, he had started talking to you. It began as a quiet beg that you were still there, a promise he believed, a proclamation of his love. It had escalated when he received no response.

Behind him, you were never more than three steps behind. You heard every word that he said, unable to respond, unable to reach out. More often than not, you would be walking with tears streaming down your face, praying that Anakin would stay strong enough to get you both out.

You both ignored the pain in your feet and in your hearts as the end of the Underworld grew closer. When one morning, you felt the sun on your face for the first time in weeks as the exit was just ahead of you. Anakin’s pace remained steady but his steps seemed more sure, a quiet optimism. You let yourself smile, you were getting out.

The shuddering breath Anakin made as he stepped over the threshold made you almost weep with delight. But then he turns and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. You glance to the floor and your worst fears are confirmed.

"Y/N." He breathes your name in a way that makes his love clear as day.

"Anakin…" Your face has fallen as you look at him with nothing but despair.

You see him glance down at where you’re standing, just inside the threshold of the Underworld. He had turns too early. You hadn’t had time to get out. He hadn’t thought… he just needed to see you after so long.

Through your tears, you muster up a smile for him, "I love you."

You feel your soul being wrenched backwards as you tumble backwards, down, down, down back to your cage in Hades’ town. It was all for nothing.

[wingedshadowfan]

⚠️arcane s2 act iii spoilers // criticism ⚠️

oh, my villain origin story?

the fact that we don't see jinx ever understanding why isha sacrificed herself for her, never internalizing that she was a beacon of hope for zaunites like isha (an orphan who worked in the mines) in their dream for to unity, freedom and end to opression, never rallying up zaun, and it wasn't even vi who'd put so much trust in her that convinced her to help against the noxian army - instead, ekko had to stop several suicide attempts and convince her to go on one last rampage

the fact that jinx told caitlyn she didn't know her mother was there when she blew up the council (so you didn't think any of those people had people who loved them? did that become relevant only when you met caitlyn?) and that she would've done it again regardless (perhaps just to provoke caitlyn and get her to kill her and end her misery) WHEN THE COUNCIL WAS LITERALLY VOTING FOR ZAUN'S SOVEREIGNTY LIKE THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD'VE REGRETTED IT

the only person getting a happy ending in season 2 being singed?? arguably one of the most deranged, vile characters who didn't stop at anything or anyone to get his daughter to live again, only to make her a weird ass robot, and the whole motif of "it is our greatest good which pushes us to commit most unspeakable horrors" or "the things we do for love" came a few episodes prior and got subsequently abandoned for a very vague and ambiguous messege in the end

[daemon-in-my-head]

Okay, fine, since y'all seemed to love and thrive off the previous one, I shall share some more fruits of my very normal obsession. Let me know if there's a need for more. I have plenty. Elaborate backstories that are also lore conform are my kink.

Past Life Dark Urge Asks - 2nd Edition:

Did your Durge interact with others of their assigned race? How did it go, did anyone notice something was off? Did they try to blend in?

The Urge itself was Bhaal's greatest gift, a testament to their lineage. But did they despise or delight in these violent urges, did it maybe even scare them?

Bhaal can control his chosen and force the Slayer or actions upon them; did he ever force your Durge to do something against their will or would they obediently follow?

Durge has an inherent skill for anything medicine; what was their greatest skill? Sewing, caring for wounds, brewing potions or concocting poisons?

The Deathstalker Cloak is part of their inheritance, but did they really use it or did it bide it's time wasting away in a wardrobe?

Durges adoptive family lived in a house in the lower city. Does that house still stand? Did they claim ownership of it, or did they try to get rid of it? Why?

Bane once sacrificed all of Bhaals assassins, a mistake that caused a great rift between them. Did Durge ever plan to get revenge for it?

Being the head of a temple comes with lots of tedious work, did they truly manage all of it or did they try to outsource the best they could?

The Feast of the Moon is a bhaalian ritual where priests told the stories of particularly interesting or unique kills. Was one of your Durges deeds ever discussed, or perhaps even turned into a beloved and often retold story?

Speaking off, Day's Farewell was another ritual everyone of the clergy had to attend as evening dawned over Faerûn. But was it really everyone that came to the gathering, or did a particular Bhaalist sneak out at times or outright refuse attendance? Did they maybe even appear early, eagerly awaiting another service?

[kongthapatom]

Riddle me this: When have queer stories managed to become popular with little kids in Asia before MSP did?

This year I watched MSP cast promote the drama in schools and so many students ranging from small kids to high schoolers doing MSP dance challenges even months after MSP ended. It makes me ecstatic when I see them watching this drama, even becoming a fan! TinnGun made it seem so effortless to touch the hearts of Asian kids and teens in a way no queer drama has been able to do before. 

MSP really changed my perception of what it will take for queer media to overthrow the hetero agenda in Asia someday. It made me realize we need more feel-good, family-friendly and goofy stories that appeal to everyone and make them laugh instead of convoluted or grandiose stories that lose the plot or those that specifically amplify queer struggles and minimise the joy of love.

That in the end, when real change starts in society, no matter how big or small and culminates with homophobia finally packing its bags & Asian families being won over - it won't be because of dramatic and "realistic" queer stories rife with suffering, grief or heartbreak that got voted best by the critics. It will be because of a simple and sweet love story like MSP, where one boy had a crush on another boy and did everything it takes to help him reach his dreams and found his own happiness in the process, a story that is vibrating with so much of queer positivity, joy and heart that it's impossible for anyone who watches it to not became its fan.

It makes my heart burst with joy that queer kids today are growing up with much better examples of queer love in front of them than our previous generations ever did. Imagine the impact this will have, the difference it will make in young queer Asian lives.

Gun told Tinn that the love songs we listen to in high school are the best love songs ever because they're the original soundtracks of our first love - To think there is a generation of kids right now who are listening to MSP soundtrack and falling in love to the same songs Tinn and Gun sang to each other and will remember MSP as their life's greatest love songs someday in the future - it boggles my mind and perhaps we won't grasp the full extent of what MSP did for its queer audience until many years have passed.

Nonetheless, I'll never stop singing MSP's praises because all they had was a newbie director, rookie actors & a banger soundtrack to do the impossible and make queer characters go mainstream in Asian schools and resonate with kids. We'll soon find out if we'll see TinnGun in college next year being sickeningly in love and serenading each other with an even gayer cuter cheesier soundtrack! (I hope so) Even if we don't, I'm excited for the impact MSP and GemFourth will have on queer romance genre down the line.

[kwisatzworld]

List of Valentino Rossi books and documentaries:

inspired by @pgaslys list of marc’s docs

📚 Books

What If I Had Never Tried It [English/Italian/Spanish/German/Japanese/Chinese, etc.]: Vale’s only autobiography to date, translated into a lot of languages (so many that it’s hard to keep count). The English edition is notoriously rough - think spelling mistakes and some lost-in-translation moments. Despite this, yellow fans absolutely shouldn’t miss out on this gem. Published in 2006, during Vale’s zenith with five consecutive championships under his belt, the book radiates his happiness and confidence. The narrative is casual, with chapters loosely connected, but you will still find pleasure in reading this book.

MotoGenius: the Valentino Rossi biography by Mat Oxley: Oxley remains my all-time favorite Rossi author! Initially published years ago, the latest edition is available on Kindle. It’s a treasure trove of Vale anecdotes and Oxley’s unique insights, offering a glimpse into how Vale captivated his generation.

The Valentino Rossi Files: Everything I’ve ever written about VR by Mat Oxley: Available on Kindle, this collection (in two parts) encapsulates all the articles Oxley wrote about Vale for magazines and newspapers before joining Motor Sport Magazine.

Valentino Rossi: The Definitive Biography by Stuart Barker: A comprehensive biography of Vale, chronologically organized.

Valentino Rossi: Il Dio del Motociclismo by Fabio Fagnani [Italian]: Not recommended as the author’s fan-like admiration making it read more like a love letter than a biography. The only saving grace is the interview with Aldo Drudi.

Valentino Rossi: All His Races by Mat Oxley [English/German/Japanese/Serbian]: Chronicles every race of Vale’s career, enriched with exclusive interviews.

🎥 Documentaries

When asked about a movie about himself, Vale said, “If it’s a bad movie, I’d rather it didn’t exist.” He holds a similarly cautious stance towards documentaries, and has never personally produced a documentary about himself, though perhaps that might change at some point in the future.

Faster (2003) : Premiered at the Festival de Cannes during MotoGP’s golden era, this documentary intriguingly portrays the rivalry between Vale and Max Biaggi.

The Doctor, the Tornado, and the Kentucky Kid (2006) : Focuses on the 2005 season, especially the US Grand Prix, you can see the beautiful yellow livery of Yamaha’s 50th anniversary.

Fastest (2011) : A sequel to Faster.

Hitting the Apex (2015) : Arguably the best MotoGP documentary out there. Vale and Marco riding into the sunset to ‘Wish you were here’ is a poignant moment.

Valentino Rossi: The Doctor (2016) : Produced by Monster Energy, primarily illustrating how Vale expanded his empire step by step.

Racing Together (2017): MotoGP history isn’t complete without its greatest icon, Vale features for about 15 minutes.

Valentino’s Secret Room: Inside the Doctor’s Hidden Archive (2020) : Produced by Dainese, revealing Vale’s personal collection.

Ruta 46 – Ruta 93: El camino de dos mitos (2021) : Produced by DAZN España, unfortunately I haven’t seen it yet – if you have, let me know how it tells the tale.

Tales of Valentino (2021) : A nine-episode documentary series produced by Dorna, showcasing different aspects of Vale’s career through nine significant races.

RiVale | Valentino Rossi as Told by His Rivals (2021) : Produced by DAZN Italia featuring Vale’s main rivals (except Marc), sharing their stories with him.

Rossi | BT Sport Documentary on the Career of MotoGP Icon, Valentino Rossi (2022) : Produced by BT Sport following Vale’s retirement, highlighted by Suzi Perry’s captivating hosting style.

MotoGP Unlimited (2022) : No need for a lengthy introduction – it’s probably already been watched by everyone by now.

[eggymf-archived]

no place like home;

ft. garreth weasley with f!reader/mc (one-shot)

themes: hurt to comfort, angst to fluff, established relationship, aged-up characters, post-hogwarts, fiance!garreth, ex!dark!mc, slytherin!mc, 3rd person pov

warning: two idiots in love arguing, mc being the bigger idiot for once, implied traumatic events, implied violence, not spoiler-free, get a load of this sap

summary: she couldn't bear to make him suffer with every horrific danger that constantly chases her, hence she decides to run away one rainy summer night.

word count: 3.2k

a/n: happy weasley wednesday! this is my first entry and fic of garreth actually. i’ve decided to frankenstein the [lyric prompts] sent by @applinsandoranges​​ a while back along with the weekly prompt for weasley wednesday, “wet”. also, if you have read these two smut oneshots (pt.1 and pt.2), this fic features the same mc (just older). that aside, enjoy? :D

main masterlist || series masterlist || AO3

bonus: audio

It was during the summer of 1892 — the year when they finally graduated from Hogwarts. 

She never expected to be given the privilege of spending the summer after her 7th year with Garreth. It was undoubtedly what she truly needed: an opportunity to escape from the utter chaos of the life she has within her own family home in London: specifically her father's seething wrath after that stunt she had pulled, which almost destroyed their own family’s stellar reputation within the wizarding world's pureblood society. 

Family drama aside, not only was it the perfect time for her to rest and recuperate, but it was also the chance for her to contemplate the future now that she has broken free from the shackles of her responsibility as an heiress (temporarily, that is). Perhaps in the midst of it all, she could also make amends for her past wrongdoings.

Oh, but [what on Earth can atone for all the wrong things that she had done]? 

It wasn’t an easy task, to say the least, for the blood that was spilled on her hands all in the name of the greater good has long stained her psyche. There was an insurmountable amount of filth that resides within her as the vessel of accumulated pain, and all she could do was endure the ordeal. The moment she had made that dire decision in the repository during her 5th year, she was doomed to a life of loneliness, but all of that changed during her 7th year when the threads of her own fate were intertwined with his.

She never would've expected that Garreth Weasley out of all people would serve as the beacon that would lead her back to all that had been long forgotten — her own happiness. 

Truth be told, she wasn't the most forthcoming with the notion of romance in general due to her unsavory experiences and personal issues, opting to steer clear of the entire topic in general. In fact, she was better off alone, but for some miraculous reason, the fiery-haired male had managed to creep into her heart, taking his rightful seat on its long-abandoned throne. It was truly a mysterious outcome, for nobody would've foreseen the unusual relationship to even happen, much less prosper.  

A Slytherin and a Gryffindor; the celebrated hero and an aspiring potioneer. They were like day and night; the sun and the moon — ever so different, yet fell in love too soon. Perhaps the irony of it all was what truly brought the both of them together, regardless of all their atrocities, differences, and follies combined. 

But even the greatest of love stories always had their own fair share of trials and tribulations, and the silly, dramatic little tale of her and Garreth weren't an exception. She remembered it all vividly: the times when she'd discourage him from pursuing her, only for her to fall harder and harder for him in the end.

“You'll never know peace a day in your life once you decide to be with me, Weasley.”

“I'm not good for anyone, lest you want a head full of gray hairs before you reach the age of forty.”

“You're better off without me, I assure you.”

“Garreth, please don't. I'll ruin your life.”

Yet her words, no matter how grim, threatening, or incessant, would always be met with his adorably goofy little grin along with the same simple reply that held the undying promise of his devotion and loyalty.

“I know.”

If only things were that simple.

From this moment onwards, ["I know" is never good enough] — not when she's aware of the dire consequences that would soon follow should she decide to pursue the yearnings of her poor, naïve heart. It was too huge a risk to gamble the life of the man who had brought her solace and joy amidst the pandemonium that rages within her blackened soul, for he was all she had left — the only person who would never treat her as a pawn across the chessboard; her most trusted confidant, companion, and lover: her chosen family.  

The musical incantation of Vulnera Sanentur from his Aunt Matilda's lips was all that she heard whilst she silently wallowed in her own thoughts of self-blame, her eyes darting around the damaged parts of their humble abode out of pure guilt. She glances at Garreth's father, who winces as several hands aided him to sit more comfortably on the sofa. His younger sister and older cousins scampered around to repair the several damages within the house whilst checking up on the others after the incident.

It was an ambush by dark wizards: the ones who sought to covet the corrupted power within her. Despite her not being a family member of the Weasleys, they fought gallantly alongside her, defending her as if she was one of their own. Although they are well capable of empathizing and understanding her prior violent display of magic within the heat of battle, it did not quell the bubbling shame that stews within her being. 

It was almost the norm for her to be targeted by the enemies that she had made in her past battles, but to be attacked while she was in Garreth's family home? To put the Weasleys in danger? Preposterous. Utterly preposterous. She'd never forgive her enemies for it. Hell, she'd never forgive herself for it either. 

The warmth of Garreth's palm on her arm startled her from her train of thought whilst she was in the middle of repairing the broken walls, offering her a kiss on her forehead the moment her head turned. 

“Garreth…” her voice, uncharacteristically small and hesitant, trails off while he cups her cheek, tracing his thumb over her delicate face as a form of reassurance.

“It’s not your fault, so please don’t think about it too much, alright? We’ll handle it from here,” he reassures.

Despite her evident disagreement with her fiancé's words, she bit her tongue, not wishing to add any more fuel to the fire. She gave the Weasleys one final glance as she headed to the kitchen to help his mother prepare their dinner for tonight while the others focused on either healing their mild injuries or fixing the damages within their house.

The Weasleys were a beautiful family. It was the ideal family that she would truly love to be a part of in a heartbeat: they were kind-hearted, selfless, and honorable, never swayed by the adversaries that came their way. It was for this very reason that she decided to protect them with all that she has, and she would never allow a single soul to harm even the hairs on their head even if it means that she has to bring herself out of the picture in the end.

Thus, she has made her final decision. 

[She's only safe when she's alone], just as they'd be a whole lot safer without her presence. She could easily slaughter anyone who stood in her way without fear of disappointing anyone with her ruthlessness, and none of her loved ones would be used as ammunition to make her submit to her enemies’ bidding. This painful choice was truly for the best — such as the fate of all fallen “heroes” who walk a lonely, dark path.

Yet despite all the danger he'd have to face and the sought-after coalesced filth of humanity that literally resides within her, her departure was Garreth’s greatest fear.

It was on the same day of the incident that he received the heartbreaking news in the middle of that particular rainy night. His sister was about to pay her a visit for their usual heart-to-heart session, only to find out that she was no longer in their home.

“Gone? What do you mean she’s gone?!” he bellowed, fear lacing his voice as he sped towards the guest room with soft footsteps trailing after him.

“Garreth, I'm sorry. I went to her room and—”

Not giving his younger sister a chance to finish, Garreth barged into the guest room with evident panic, only for his heart to sink at the sight of a room that was entirely bare of her belongings except for a note that she had hurriedly scrawled before she left.

I'm sorry. I love you.

Garreth quickly ran down the flight of stairs and straight to the exit of their home. The shouts and cries of his name fell on deaf ears as he bolted out of the house, racing into the chilly night with a million panicked thoughts buzzing unpleasantly within his head as raindrops drizzled upon his form.

[She had his heart, and he could only hope that she wouldn't hurt him] permanently with one measly written goodbye. He was angry and dismayed with her drastic decisions that lacked his consultation, but he simply couldn't allow all that they'd built to just disintegrate in a blink of an eye. She was, after all, his dearly beloved — the person he'd give his all without a second thought.

As soon as the thunder rumbled, he hurriedly took out the piece of parchment that she had left, casting a tracking charm with his wand. The piece of paper immediately bursts forward, leaving a trail of glittering golden dust for him to follow before the increasingly damp piece of parchment falls to the ground. The spell worked, and it only meant that she hadn't wandered off too far.

He knew exactly where she was from where the trail was heading. With the location clearly visualized within his mind, he apparates to their usual spot, hoping that she was still within the particular vicinity.

Needless to say, he was right.

There she stood in front of the tree where they often frequented for their usual picnics — the place where it's usually just the two of them, gazing upon the meadows of the countryside whilst enjoying the summer breeze. She looks upon the ring that was on her left hand, admiring the ruby and two small diamonds that glimmered under the moonlight. With great reluctance, she attempts to slide her engagement ring off, intending to keep it within their box of little keepsakes before she leaves, which was contained within the tree's hollow.

Amidst the soothing pitter-patter of raindrops, the sound of an audible crack was soon heard from a distance followed by several thuds of footsteps, effectively stopping her. She whips her head in the direction of the sudden noise, only for her eyes to meet a pair of emerald-green orbs. 

[Sometimes, she forgets that she was his] — he'd always find her wherever she may be simply because he knew her that well. She should've expected that he'd figure out her whereabouts within minutes after she had left the Weasley family home. He was, after all, her dearly beloved — the keeper of her heart; the one who knows her better than herself.

“Blast, I shouldn't have loitered around…” she thought ruefully as she faced him completely, a shaky breath escaping her lips as she braced herself for an earful. Instead, he runs towards her with a relieved expression, pulling her into his embrace before kissing her fervently. 

As if it were right on cue, the rain began to pour harder, just like those dramatic little romance novels written by Muggle authors. His touch, although scorching against her cold, damp skin, brought relief to her mind, body, and soul. 

It was only he could bring her such solace, nobody else.

As soon as his lips parted from hers, he grabbed her bag nearby before turning to her direction once again with a tired sigh. Before she could retaliate, he swung his arm around her, engulfing her in his arms before apparating back to his home — specifically into the living room, where the rest of the family was awaiting their return. A blush crept up to her cheeks upon feeling their eyes on her and Garreth, who held her by her waist. The both of them were soaked to the bone with their clothes and strands of their hair clinging uncomfortably onto their skin.

Wordlessly, Garreth set her bag on the ground before flicking the tip of his wand at both of them, casting a drying spell before making his way to the kitchen. She winced at his deathly silence, while the others glanced at each other with an evident grimace as well.

“... Alright, you lot! Off to bed, we go. Come along now!” his mother urges, pushing the other family members right towards the staircase, much to his younger sister's and cousins' chagrin.

“But mum—!”

“Shhh!”

She received several apologetic looks and pats of good luck from his cousins, for she was obviously going to need it. Garreth was upset — abysmally upset to be precise. It was a rare occurrence, but whenever it happens, it was a painful punch to the gut.

Silence looms over the living room, the thumping of footsteps dying out as they scamper to their bedrooms, leaving her and Garreth alone on the first floor of their home.

“Garreth…”

Silence.

“Garreth, please say something?” she pleads, all to no avail. He remains tight-lipped, averting his gaze from her as he grabs the nearby teapot to pour each of them a cup of tea.

She hated it when he was like this, but his reticence was definitely warranted. She sighs in defeat, finally deciding to stop beating about the bush.

“... The attack from earlier—”

“—Was, again, not your fault. And you ran away because you didn't want any of us to get hurt. I know that,” he cuts her off bitterly before he sips his cup of tea in hopes of calming himself down. 

“Then you're aware of the dangers, Garreth. You've seen what they're capable of. You've experienced it for yourself.”

“Yes. So?”

“So why did you bring me back? You know that chaos ensues whenever I'm around, and it's never the good kind.”

“Really, now? Seems like a pretty peaceful night to me until you decided to leave,” he sarcastically snapped, much to her exasperation.

“Garreth, for god's sake—”

He slams his cup on the countertop, nearly shattering the object. His frown deepened, finally looking at her with a glare.

“A note with no explanations? Sneaking out right under my nose? Is that how trivial our relationship is to you?” he asks with a tone mixed with anger and hurt. She visibly pales at this, panic evident within her eyes that he would even think of such a thing.

“Garreth that's not—”

“—what you meant? Oh, believe me, I know. But it certainly feels that way and it's really upsetting. I'm not mad though. I could never be mad at you, but I'm sick and tired of you pushing me away at every bloody inconvenience!”

“I'm doing this for your sake! As long as I'm around, you and your family will always be—”

“I didn't ask you to play hero for us!”

“So you'd rather thoughtlessly sacrifice everyone else just to keep me around?!”

“YOU'RE MY FIANCEE FOR GODRIC'S SAKE!” 

She was stunned into silence by his raging outburst, all retaliations within her head immediately disappearing as he ran his mouth, pouring out every single trace of frustration that had accumulated within his chest.

“Don't you know you're just as important as everyone else in here?! I know what I signed up for — mum knows, dad knows, my little sister knows, every single relative knows! You're already a part of this family at this point!” he continues exasperatedly, running his fingers through his hair out of sheer agitation. “Gods, you’re always like this! I hate that you feel the need to constantly tell me I shouldn’t be with you! I’m still here, aren’t I? Is that not enough for you?!”

She looks away, letting out a shaky exhale while she clenches her fists, her eyes becoming glassy with tears. His heart was thumping loudly, his chest heaving as his emotional hurt slowly descended from its peak. His glare soon faltered the moment he realized the aggression of his words, his fiery anger slowly dissipating as he stared at her with guilt simmering within his gut. Her eyes were downcast while she chewed on her lip, desperately keeping her emotions under wraps while placing her arms gingerly around herself to soothe her nerves.

With an aggravated sigh, he gently pulled her into a warm embrace. She whimpers at his display of tenderness despite the prior exchange of heated words, finally letting her tears run free as she wraps her arms around his waist, a string of apologies pouring out from her lips. He pressed his lips at the side of her head before parting from her as he cupped her face with both of his hands.

“Darling, listen to me. Look at me.”

She acquiesced, her bleary sight slowly trailing up to meet his verdant-hued eyes, which gazed upon her with pure love and adoration despite his recent display of anger. 

“I know I may not be the best man for you, but you best believe that I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe. When I swore to you that I'll accompany you to the ends of the earth, I meant every single word,” he whispers with heartfelt sincerity, wiping a stray tear away with his thumb. “But all I ask of you is to please have a bit of faith in me; in us — that we’ll manage all of this just fine. Please, I love you too much to let you go...”

“But… Your family…” she meekly sobs.

“Then we'll live alone together, just the two of us.”

“But what about you?”

“Then I'll be stronger for you! Hell, I'll beg Sallow to teach me how to duel better if I have to so please…” he begs, his voice cracking. 

“Don't ever leave again. Stay with me until the very end.”

At that moment, she finally caves into her heart's desire, standing on her tiptoes to urgently plant her lips on his without hesitation while his hand flew to the small of her back, the other placing itself at the back of her head to press her further into him. After what seemed like an eternity, they finally parted, gazing at each other's eyes with a smile of relief etched onto their faces. A surprised yelp escaped her lips as he scoops her up into a bridal carry, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

“Well then, now that's done and settled, let's get you to bed, shall we?” he grins, his anger completely appeased by her response.

“At least let me bring my bag upstairs first, love. I need my clothes,” she laughs.

“Clothes? For what?”

“...To change in?”

“Oh, trust me. You won't be needing them tonight,” his voice drops into a teasing whisper. 

Her eyes widened, warmth creeping to her cheeks at his insinuation. He chuckled at her reaction, planting a kiss on her cheek before heading upstairs with her in his arms. The tense aura that loomed over the entire building was now completely gone, her soft giggles of sheer elation filling the halls before a peaceful silence ensued the moment the door to her room was closed shut.

Like the moon and stars that reside in the night skies, this was where she truly belongs — right in the arms of her dearly beloved; her most cherished abode.

[fy-perspectives]

Who Are You?

Who is The Man? Perhaps he is within all of us, waiting to emerge when we choose to live with intention.

Who is The Woman? She is within all of us—a reflection of our highest potential, waiting to be brought to life through discipline, intention, and love.

Who is the Child? They are in all of us, waiting for a moment to emerge. They call us to remember the wonder, joy, and courage that are still within us, reminding us that the potential for growth and discovery never fades.

Who is the Family? It is all of us, bound together by the threads of love, trust, and shared experience. It is the heart of our humanity, the cradle of our dreams, and the foundation of a life well-lived.

Who is the Friend? The Friend is a gift—a chosen family member, a trusted ally, a co-creator of memories. They are the ones who remind us of the beauty in connection and the power of love without expectation.

And just as they stand by us, we, too, are called to be a Friend: to listen, to support, and to walk through life as a companion to those we hold dear.

In the end, The Friend is both a role we cherish and a reminder that we are never alone in the journey of life.

Who is the Community? The Community is us. It is built from our shared dreams, collective efforts, and mutual care. It reminds us that no matter how different we may seem, we are bound by our common humanity.

To be part of a community is both a gift and a responsibility. It calls us to contribute what we can, support those who need us, and celebrate the connections that make life meaningful.

The Community is a tapestry where each thread matters. It is a reminder that while we are individuals, our greatest strength lies in standing together, united by purpose and love.

Who is the Society? The Society is all of us. It is the embodiment of our collective efforts, dreams, and values. It is imperfect, yet filled with potential. It calls us to be better—not just for ourselves but for each other and for future generations.

In society, we find both the challenges that test us and the opportunities that inspire us. It is a reminder that while we are individuals, we are also deeply interconnected. Together, we create the framework for a better world—a society that reflects the best of what it means to be human.

Who Are The Arts? The Arts are all of us. They are in the child painting with abandon, the musician pouring their soul into a melody, the writer weaving words into meaning, and the audience moved to tears by a story that feels like their own.

The Arts are a testament to our humanity—our ability to create, to feel, and to connect. They are the soul’s expression, a reminder that even in the chaos of life, there is beauty, meaning, and hope.

Through The Arts, we find not only the essence of what it means to be human but also the courage to envision a world beyond the limits of our imagination.

Who is Culture? Culture is all of us. It is the collective expression of every individual, every family, every community. It is shaped by our daily actions, the stories we tell, the traditions we uphold, and the innovations we introduce.

Culture is not something we simply inherit—it is something we create, live, and evolve with. It is the ever-changing story of humanity, told through the language of art, action, and shared experience.

In the end, culture is not just a reflection of who we are; it is a call to understand, to connect, and to shape the world around us. It is the heart of our shared humanity, a bridge between past, present, and future, and a reminder that we are all part of a larger, interconnected story.

Who is the Lifestyle? The lifestyle we choose is uniquely ours—it is an ongoing journey of self-discovery, adaptation, and growth. It is shaped by our desires, choices, and actions, as well as the influences of the world around us.

In essence, the lifestyle we create is a reflection of who we are at this moment and who we want to become. It is a conscious expression of our values, a commitment to well-being, and a deliberate choice to live with intention and purpose.

Ultimately, the lifestyle is about more than just existing; it is about living with depth, meaning, and authenticity. It is about cultivating a life that is not only enjoyable but also enriching, leaving us with a sense of fulfillment and a legacy of growth, love, and connection.

Who is Civilization? Civilization is the collective effort of humanity. It is shaped by the actions, choices, and contributions of every individual who participates in it. From philosophers and artists to builders and scientists, every person plays a role in shaping the civilization they inhabit.

Civilization is both the product of human ingenuity and the responsibility of every generation. It is an ongoing process of creation, destruction, and transformation. It reflects our highest ideals and our greatest flaws, our moments of brilliance and our missteps.

In the end, civilization is not an abstract concept but a living, breathing entity. It is shaped by what we choose to value, how we treat one another, and the legacy we leave behind. It is our collective story, a narrative that continues to unfold with each passing day.

[amys-books27]

MAJOR S6 SPOILERS

Dear Mum and Dad, 

I wish you could be seeing what I’m seeing right now , it’s a beautiful sight, really. Selene is trying to teach her little brother how to use a wooden sword, I told her he was just three years old, but she refuses to give up. I didn’t know that trait was hereditary. 

She’s growing up so fast, maybe because she now has a brother, or I’m just nostalgic and exaggerating things. 

The other day she asked me to tell her a story, and I told her the story of two brave elves who sacrificed everything to protect the dragon prince, and how thanks to their sacrifice now we’ve peace between humans and elves, she was fascinated. I wish you’d met her, you both are her heroes, so she’s invested in sword fighting lately. Maybe someday she’ll have her own adventure. 

Just now Damian took the sword , perhaps I should go help him , the weight is a bit too much for him.

No, I’ll let him and his sister handle it, I know Selene can do it , after all, everything she’s learning from me I learned from you and Ethari and Runaan. 

I was thinking… So much has changed since you’ve been away, but one thing has stayed the same for as long as I remember ; I still love moonberry surprise! I swear it’s the best thing anyone has ever created. And one other thing: I love you, I always will, and no matter what my children will know they’ve the greatest grandparents of all time. 

I’ll write you again, soon, I promise.

-With love, Rayla. 

Continue reading here!

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 24.7k+

warning | car crash / mention of injuries / not edited since the first time i posted this story ​

parts | one, two, three

Minho waited anxiously at the table. His fingers tapping rhythmically against the thick table cloth, which was long enough to drape over his shaking knees. His eyes glanced from one side of the restaurant to the other, not so much making observations as his mind was occupied with thoughts of his own. 

He did not get a lick of sleep yesterday night. He stayed up staring at the dim ceiling, recalling everything you told him and reevaluating all his decisions for his marriage. And he has come to an understanding that your sudden awakening was nothing short of a blessing to him. It was a route to guide him to a happier marriage, considering you had not been yearning for the divorce papers when you two saw each other during breakfast this morning.

But despite that, Minho knew he has to be careful with every step he takes onward from this point. Just because you haven’t been actively asking to be divorced did not mean your heart would be set on him and that you would be sitting quietly and waiting for him to be better. The ring sitting in his pocket was kept as a reminder that someone else could very well snatch you away from him any second.

He scowled at the thought, especially when Changbin posed as the greatest enemy at the moment. He reevaluated this jealousy to be a sign of possession rather than love. To be fair, he didn’t think he was ever in love with you. He cared about you, an extension of his responsibilities in this arranged marriage. But he was never in love with you. Not like you were with him. You’ve snapped away from that now. He has never been in love with anyone else either. Perhaps the biggest reason why he was willing to work through this was that he knew nobody else would catch his interest. Nobody has. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he jumped at the intrusion. Pulling it out, he didn’t bother to look at the caller before he accepted the call and greeted with a hushed, annoyed tone.

“Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Minho perked up at your voice. He did another scan around the restaurant and his frown only deepened when he could not find you anywhere. You giggled on the other end, your surprised voice coming through rather staticky as you spoke, “I said don’t frown and you go ahead and frown even more!”

He relaxed into himself upon your careless laughter. Scoffing out a short laugh, he spoke, “Tell me a joke then I might just laugh.”

“A joke? Okay.” You rolled your eyes. “You know who invited me to lunch today? You.”

The joke did not receive the reaction you were hoping for. What you expected would be a sardonic smile turned out to be a remorseful grimace and a flash of guilt before those pretty eyes of his. You gasped out in shock, your eyes widening as you immediately moved out of your hiding spot and approached the table he sat at.

“I’m sorry. I genuinely thought that would be funny,” you said as your feet tapped their way across the marble floor. When you were finally of reach, you hung up the phone and sat across from him. Perking up, you gave him a brief nod before quickly diving into the real deal. “Wait, give me another chance. I have something really funny to say.”

Minho didn’t speak. He nodded at you and sat there waiting for a joke to be delivered to him patiently.

“Okay, why do cows have hooves instead of feet?”

Minho blinked at you and tilted his head. “Because they lactose.”

He wasn’t supposed to get that. You assumed that he would give you a legitimate answer, something knowledgeable and scientific. Then you would jokingly scold him for not having a sense of humor before you tell him the punchline, and then he would laugh and you could regain your throne as the God of Humor.

You pursed your lips as you stared him down, then you pressed your lips into a scowl. “You weren’t supposed to tell me the punchline.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I gotta start the joke somehow!” you retorted.

Minho allowed himself to find your frustration more endearing than unfair, but still, he suppressed a burst of laughter from bubbling up his throat when you started to throw that mini tantrum of yours.

“Okay, don’t be mad,” he laughed as he reached to the middle of the table and pushed the small basket of bread towards you. “Here, eat some breadsticks.”

Your eyes trailed down to the basket and they widened in excitement. You jumped slightly in your seat, almost pouncing over to get the bread the was only a few inches away from you. “Oh wow, these are one of those places that serve bread before the appetizers, huh?” you commented as you picked the bread that was fresh out of the oven and coated with the right amount of salt, then you carelessly popped it in your mouth.

Minho nodded, slightly confused at your choice of wording. “Yeah. This is your favorite restaurant, shouldn’t you know?”

Choking on your saliva, you continued to chew on the bread but you covered your mouth to hide the shock that you unexpectedly showed to him. Oh, you really have to be a little more careful with your words. You have almost forgotten that this wasn’t your life, and it would be a pain for anyone to be suspicious of your identity.

“I know, I just was stating the obvious.” You shrugged as a slow smile appeared on your face.

Come to think of it, you knew nothing about Minho. All the memories you have of him were horrible, and they were all new and fresh. None of which you could use to strengthen the idea that you were the real ‘you’ and not somebody who just infiltrated into a stranger’s body. You have been so focused on people problems that you forgot the important goal of gaining relevant information for future references.

“So!” You cleared your throat, clearing your head and settling the brand new goal down in the middle of your head. This would be the perfect time to discreetly learn more about Minho; you just have to be careful with what you say. “How was work this morning?”

Minho did not seem fully convinced about your sudden gentle outburst. You’ve asked him about work before and stopped when he made it clear that it wasn’t your business. This was relatively new, but you acting weird was not a topic he wished to proceed with for the remaining lunch, therefore he didn’t press on and simply flashed you a knowing nod and a reply. “It was fine. The same routine, just different days.”

Well, not only did you have to be careful, you needed to be a little smart with your words too. That answer gave you zero new information.

Smacking your lips obnoxiously, you grabbed the menu that has been sitting on the edge of the table and opened it. Glancing carelessly at the dishes, once again grimacing at the fact that there weren’t any price tag printed on the papers, you asked with a casual tone, “That’s cool. What did you do?”

Minho looked away, thinking. “I just had a meeting with my dad this morning and listened to the departments pitch their new ideas.”

“I think I’ll get the pasta.” You slammed the menu shut upon his vague answer. Putting it down on the table, you folded your hands on the table and glared pointedly at him with a smile that caught Minho off guard. It felt calculating, which was true to its nature. “What kind of ideas?”

“Oh, just the usual things–why do you suddenly want to know?” He furrowed his brows as he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You have never asked me about work.”

“I have never? I remember I have before.” You feigned a gasp while you mentally took a note down to not ask him too much about work problems. It wasn’t like you particularly cared about it anyway.

“No, not in detail.” He shook his head, an innocent pout evident on his face. As you hummed thoughtfully, he conveniently added, “I don’t… umm, I don’t hate that you are asking though. Just thought I can tell you.”

His head was turned to the side when he spoke. His face scrunched up and his muscles hardened to express how foreign and uncomfortable it was for him to express his feeling so openly like that. You almost wanted to coo at how adorable he was acting; he was one cheek blush away from being the perfect tsundere.

But, more importantly, you could tell he was trying. Starting from him asking you to have lunch with him this morning, with a surprisingly timid voice and jumpy gaze, to this exact moment. You hadn’t expected him to change—or at least attempt to change—this quickly. All it took was one speech from you! Regardless, you appreciated the effort. With caution tipped only to the side, you chose to give him a generous chance at redemption.

"I am glad that you enjoy my curiosity, and thank you for telling me your truest desire.” You dipped your head playfully and smiled.

Minho mirrored the expression on your face. His head turning to you slowly after seeing that fond smile of yours. He couldn’t pinpoint whether the quirk of your lips was made for him or simply just a part of your response, but he was going to take any positivity he could get out of you.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his eyes grazing past the tablecloth nervously as his mind jittered at what he was about to say. He cleared his throat, pressing his lips together to keep the smile away for a moment before he asked, “So, uh, I am going to be home for dinner today.”

“Hmm, great! Let’s eat together then,” you said with excited eyes, your smile never fading. Then, with a sudden scrunch of your brows, you told him, “I’ll see what I can do about that. You don’t have to get anything.”

“O–oh, yeah, no problem.” Minho nodded, then he added, “Are you going to cook?”

You hummed thoughtfully. You haven’t gotten the time to cook in a while. Back when you were still on your Earth, while knowing how to make food, you lacked sufficient time or energy to actually cook anything, so most days there were only choices of instant noodles or takeout food. You were afraid your skills might be off the scale now.

“I don’t know yet,” you replied, squinting your eyes at him teasingly. “Do you want me to cook you something?”

He held up his hands awkwardly at the sudden attention, a scoff leaving his lips and a flustered blush creeping up his cheeks. You breathed out quietly at his out-of-character reaction. It was either he just suddenly changed overnight or he has been hiding this side of him professionally well for the past few days. Both of these could be possible in a drama, which you still believed was what you got stuck in.

“I didn’t even know you can cook until recently. How can I want to try your food?” Minho said defensively. He let his hands down and snorted with an eye-roll. “I bet it’s garbage anyway.”

Ah. There was the Lee Minho you knew of. You smiled, realizing how atrocious it was to be talking as if you have crossed the mountains and the seas with him when you have only known him for days.

“Hey, my food can be many things. Too sweet, too salty, whatever,” you pointed at him, slightly offended even though he might not be wrong, “but they are not garbage.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it.” He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile made its way to your face. This was a ploy—he was discreetly asking for you to make dinner tonight without sounding like he wanted it. Or maybe your assumption was wrong but you would very much like to shower yourself with some attention right now.

“Fine! We’ll see after tonight, Minho,” you said.

“I’ll be anticipating,” he retorted with an arch of his brow, a grin slowly making its way to his way when he saw the childish pout you showed him.

Wasn’t that great? Minho wondered why it took him so long to do this, to just have a normal conversation with you. He really was a spoiled brat. His delusional mind always thought you would love him unconditionally, even without the reciprocation. He was glad to be corrected. He would have continued to be on his snobby path if you hadn’t snapped at him and took the ring off.

You noticed the sudden change of expression on Minho’s face as he stared down at the table. It was guilt-ridden. Twisting your pinky finger, you decided not to say anything and just let him think in peace.

“Okay, hear me out–hey, Minho! Hear me out!” You held back a short laugh when you saw the disappointed look on his face. Gesturing towards the takeout bags on the tea table, you got up from the couch and shook your hands to get his attention.

“I thought you said something about cooking dinner tonight,” Minho muttered under his breath as he placed his bag down on the dining table, then he slowly made his way closer to the couch area so he could stand there gazing down at you with a semi-irritated but ultimately humorous glance. “Whatever happened to that.”

“Well, that’s why I said hear me out, big guy,” you retorted. Once again gesturing towards the takeout bags, you licked your lower lip and explained, “I was planning on cooking dinner but I figured why not have some pizza instead? You’ve never had takeout pizza before, have you?”

Minho furrowed his brows at you in confusion. The things you say kept getting weirder and weirder lately. He was probably a pinch away from getting you to see a psychiatrist. “I have eaten takeout pizza before with my friend.” He shrugged, his eyes darting away as if to recall the memory. “Yeah, during college.”

You hummed, but your grimace disagreed with him. He could have eaten takeout pizza before. But you were almost a hundred percent sure it was one of those extravagant, over-priced, too little cheese and not enough bread kind of pizza. You did not head outside to get one of those; not only were you unaware of any expensive pizza restaurants, you also weren’t interested in having any kind of pizza that wouldn’t grease up your stomach so bad it makes you spend a full day on a toilet. 

What you did, instead, was ask the driver to drive you out to the streets so you could get the kind of pizza you usually get. The oily garbage kind. The kind you eat in front of a television that you couldn’t hear because everyone was talking too loud. The kind that leaves stains on your couch because nobody bothers to use a napkin anymore.

“Trust me, it is not the type you are used to eating.” You beckoned him over to sit next to you on the couch. Reaching over to take out the oily paper boxes and setting them on the tea table, you glanced over to see Minho staring at you unsurely. You sighed, “Sit down, Minho. It’s pizza, not poison.”

“Looks like it to me,” he reluctantly replied, but following your directions, he took off his blazer and neatly folded it over the edge of the couch then he found the spot next to you. His eyes followed as you laid all the food across the table, popped open the cola can, and grabbed the television remote before jumping back onto the couch comfortably.

“It might be poison, but it’s the good kind of poison.” Your eyes fixated on the switching programs, you took a bite out of the big chunk of fries you grabbed with your fist. Though chewing your food, your eyes widened when the drama you wanted to watch finally flipped on, and you carelessly dropped the remote to the side before pointing at the screen. “Oh! Here we go, I have been waiting for this!”

“For what?” Minho followed your gaze and furrowed his brows at the screen. He could recognize the celebrities acting in the show but he had no idea what kind of show it was.

“You’ve never watched it, I figured. Don’t worry, I got the briefing speech down this afternoon.” You reached over to cut out a piece of pizza before pulling out and cutting the stretching cheese. Sitting back on the couch, you propped a leg up and leaned your hot pizza against it. Your eyes were careful on the screen as you waited for each character to appear. “All you need to know is that the suit guy likes the short-haired girl. The girl in the green dress likes the suit guy. Jumper boy is short hair girl’s best friend. You can figure out the rest.”

After explaining, you snorted out a giggle. That plot certainly sounded familiar. It was great to know that the drama within a drama would also be cliché like that.

“I think she is about to get slapped but the guy is gonna come save her. Watch them cut to the hand around the wrist,” you said before taking a big bite of the pizza, your eyes anticipating the plot unfolding in the screen. Sparing a glance towards Minho, you frowned at the way he just awkwardly sat on his spot, eyes glazing past the food on the table with a slight look of distaste.

“Try something. They’re good,” you urged, putting your foot down on the floor and dropping your half-finished pizza on the empty side of the box. You took the liberty of cutting a small piece out, making the round shape uneven but it was for a good cause. Scooting closer to Minho, you moved the food towards his face with a teasing smile. “Come on. It’s good. It’s pizza.”

“That’s fine,” he said, then he pressed his mouth shut and shook his head to refuse the suggestion.

You sighed in faint annoyance. How could this be it? You were supposed to go through the classic montage of teaching the rich boy all about the wondrous world of poor people traditions, starting from deliciously poisonous food, of course. And you two shall bond immensely during the one-minute montage and ultimately, he shall fall head over heels for you.

Not that you particularly care much for whether he falls in love with you. It’s whatever.

“Minho, don’t make me tackle you and force this down your throat.” Your gaze sharpened as you lowered your hands to reveal your face. “Just one small bite. I’ll even play airplane for you if you want.”

“There is no need for that,” he said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ugh, big words, over a conversation about pizza.” You rolled your eyes. “Just try it. One small bite. If you don’t like it then I’ll finish everything here by myself.”

Minho side-eyed all the food on the table and he snickered, “That’s a lot of grease. You’re gonna get a tummy ache.”

“You underestimate my digestive ability.” You clicked your tongue and glared at him. “Look at you! You got me over here talking about bowel movements!”

“I didn’t force you to say anything regarding that matter.” He shrugged.

Then your mind simply decided it was enough talking for him. He needed something to chew on, and that would be the garbage food you were holding in your hand. Minho seemed to sense the burst of devilish instinct through your arched brows, and he quickly moved back against the couch just as you grinned and crawled on top of his body. You paid zero minds to the position you put yourself in while Minho tried not to think too much about your legs straddling his abdomen as he forced himself to keep his eyes up at your face. You rolled the pizza up as you would fold a piece of bread, curling it into a sandwich-like figure before poking it to Minho’s mouth.

“Come on, Minho, I can’t beg you for too long. This one-minute montage has lasted about a page now,” you whined, shimmering yourself closer to his body by moving your thighs.

The unnoticed friction below forced Minho to open his mouth for a surprised gasp. His eyes widened to stare at you while a heated blush crept onto his cheeks. You took the chance to shove the roll of pizza into his mouth, and all Minho could do was chew on the food. His brows arched as seconds passed, tasing the cheesy food on his tongue and chewing the far too rigid bread.

His hands have found their place at your hips now as he concentrated on the paradoxical food in his mouth, his previous panic mode coming to a halt suddenly. It was bad, he could point out exactly why it was bad too but he liked it somehow. Inhaling a sharp breath, his eyes trailed towards you and he nodded. “I like it.”

A grin broke out then and you clasped your hands together in pure joy. “See? I told you you would like it!”

Minho tried not to smile too much due to the food in his mouth, but you could see his eyes arch into a moon shape and it was enough compensation for the lack of smiley lips. After that, it was just quiet. The only sound being made was from the television; it sounded like the second female lead was crying once again as she desperately spilled out her confession.  

You turned your head over to focus on the screen, your brows slightly furrowed and a grimace appearing once you saw how heartbroken the female lead was. Your expression was not out of sympathy, it was annoyance at the fact that she never stops crying.

While you were watching the people on the screen, Minho was watching you.

Your hands have fallen to his chest, unbeknownst to you. Your fingertips pressing against the fabric of his button-up shirt; just a thin wall until they reach the surface of his warm skin. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, no ill intentions provided, it was just the force of daydream.

“Ugh, seriously?” you muttered under your breath as your face scrunched up in dismay. “Do you see this shit, Minho? He just kissed her. Disgusting!”

You turned to look at him, catching his gaze immediately. Confusion faded quickly and your belly tightened when it hit you that Minho has been staring at you for the entirety of this moment. Not to mention the rather intimate position you two were seated in. Clenching your fist tightly, you gasped out and quickly prepared to back off his torso.

“Wait–hold on, I have something to ask!” Minho tightened his grip on your hips, his voice urgent.

“What–what? Yeah?” you breathed out.

Minho’s lips started to quiver, a sign of nervousness you could tell. His eyes moved away from you to the television and back to you again. He cleared his throat a few times, his fingers still gently fixing at the hem of your shirt, unknowingly making your heart pump furiously at the tingly sensation.

“I… uh, basically I want to ask… “ he started, “It’s just… if you are okay with it, of course, I would like you to… um, sleep with me?”

You blinked down at him, rubbing the back of your finger near your cupid’s bow as you sniffed. That was an unexpected question but you came prepared for it. While you knew things have changed drastically starting this morning, all the courtesy to the event last night, you didn’t want things to happen too quick and easy for him. Heading back to sleep on the same bed with him, an act that fosters closeness, you were not willing to just hand it to him yet.

Damn. You selfishly smiled to yourself. This is what it feels like to be chased.

“Thank you for the offer, Minho, but… no,” you replied softly, glancing down at him kindly. “Maybe someday soon.”

He nodded at you, disappointment lacing in the heaves of his chest. “Yeah. That’s no problem.”

“But I do want you to know that I am glad about you taking the first step to change,” you said. “And for not making a fool out of me, you know? I was hoping I hadn’t given the chance to the wrong person.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” He nodded. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Breathing in the silence, you gave him one last smile before backing off his body once and for all. You returned to your designated spot and pulled your legs close to your chest to make up for the sudden loss of warmth. A small smile played at your lips, you almost felt like you were back in high school talking to your first crush again.

“You’re welcome,” you muttered. “We’ve stalled long enough time. Let’s just eat and watch the soap opera together.”

He nodded in agreement, then he laughed. “I still have no idea what is going on though.”

“No worries, I will fill you in.” You waved your hand at him, tempting him to sit a little closer to you. Looking at the food, an idea popped into your head and you yelped, pressing a fist to your palm. “Ah! How about I make it up to you by making your lunch tomorrow?”

Minho bit his lower lip as he reached in to pick up a piece of pizza, his hand greased up with just a single grip but he couldn’t care less. He bit back a soft smile, only offering you a nod in return, “Yeah, please. I’d love that.”

You watched Changbin pop the last spoonful of kimchi fried rice into his mouth, your mouth creasing up into a smile upon the delicious hum he let out as he dropped the metal spoon onto the bento box carelessly, trying to savor the last taste of your homemade lunch. You made extra this morning when you were preparing the food for Minho’s lunch and you decided why not pack one for Changbin too? That way you could share the food and get some reviews in return.

Killing two birds with one stone. I see you were unusually thriving, [Name]. Why was that, one might wonder?

“Since when did you learn how to cook so well?” Changbin asked when he turned to you, a bunched up piece of tissue in his fist.

Oh great. If Changbin thought the food was good then Minho most likely would too. You did doubt the possibility of him complimenting you on the food straightforwardly, though. He would probably say something irritating first before discreetly slip in some happy words here and there, ones which you would be too annoyed to catch, but that wouldn’t be Minho's problem since he did, in fact, compliment you. He could check that box off.

“I had a lot of free time lately, and I decided why not become an improved version of myself?” You smiled smugly at him. A hand reached up to your shoulder to fake a sassy hair-flip as you hummed in satisfaction. “I am a whole new person now, Changbin. I can cook, I can–” your smiled dimmed funnily–“I don’t know what else I can do but I am sure I will think of something eventually.”

Changbin breathed out a faint giggle, his eyes casting down at the empty bento box in front of him once again. He was reluctant to taste the food you made when you first presented it to him, talking about not needing to go to some expensive restaurant and whineing about receiving a giant plate of a chip-sized spaghetti. It started from him doubting if you actually made it since it looked presentable, and then it was him being suspicious of the taste.

“It was really good. Thank you for making me something,” he said, squishing your cheek casually. His gaze softened when you grinned at him, joyous and genuine in the truest way possible. It made him feel as if he had missed out on something, like all the smiles you have shown him before served no value compared to this one. He sighed, folding his hands together and clearing his throat shyly. “Don’t make this weird but you feel happier lately.”

You tilted your head at him. “I do?”

“Yeah. Well, you have never really come to me about any problems and you were always happy when we hang out. But…” Changbin paused in thoughts, trying to phrase them in the best way possible. “It just feels like you’ve been doing much better than before. Like, I am not insinuating anything about your life and your marriage but you didn’t feel like you were genuinely happy before.”

You would never understand why ‘you’ never talked to Changbin about this broken marriage before and instead chose to talk to Minho’s mother. Even in the dramas that you have watched, books that you have read, the main character always tells their best friend about everything. To a point where it may backfire on them. Or perhaps that was the reason why? The reason why Changbin was not informed of the truth was that they were trying to keep him from causing a scene, from acting on his feelings?

Your brows furrowed. But it didn’t seem like Changbin has feelings for you though? The worst thing that could happen would be him sucker-punching Minho in the midst of a normal conversation because “how dare you treat my best friend like that, you piece of shit!” or something along the lines of that. It wouldn’t be you choosing him over Minho and thus, humiliating the latter with a sudden divorce.

“That is a good thing,” you said. “I am happier, I guess?”

“It is. I am just wondering why?” Changbin questioned. “Did something happen with Minho?”

“Changbin–“ you pressed your mouth shut.

You almost asked if he has feelings for you, just like that, bluntly and honestly. Thank god you caught your tongue before spilling such conceited bullshit. Just because you were the main character of this story didn’t mean you plan to assume your attractiveness just leveled up like that. And you would much rather you hadn’t met anyone’s standard in this world, unlike how most dramas work. You’ve spent your entire life being mediocre at best, too much attention would serve as nothing but a mere nuisance.

With the bottom lip jutted out, you puffed some air into your cheeks just to have something to do while the silence rolled on. Changbin was waiting patiently for an answer, dedicated to knowing whether your change in mood had anything to do with your husband. Your head pounded—technically speaking, it did have something to do with Minho, but even more than him, it had something to do with yourself.

The body switch changed ‘you,’ whoever they were. If your theory was correct, the people back on Earth could possibly be asking the same question depending on how ‘you’ decided to act. Or you could be sleeping, stuck in an unreasonable coma, unmoving and weak. You closed your eyes for a moment. Oh, you could see it, you could see the flashing images!

All the five people you knew being worried sick (or not) about you, the doctors were all gathered together to examine your body in hopes to find the cause of your deep slumber, paparazzi’s roaming outside your room! You better be the talk of the country when you wake up. You wanted to be interviewed, to be taken magazine pictures of! You could write a book about this experience; people would probably call you crazy but how would they be able to explain the coma, huh?

[Name], darling, your thoughts were going awfully off-track. Please spare a moment and take a look at the young and handsome man sitting next to you.

“Well, it might be because of him,” you replied carefully. “But it is mostly me. Like I said, I am improving myself! I am learning things and charging myself with knowledge!”

Changbin stared at you for a prolonged moment and you waited nervously for what he would say. The velocity of the wind was just perfect, blowing at your hair without disrupting the beauty of your features but also a sort of feminine flair to the situation; he was staring at you intently with curious eyes, which was enough to make your heart pound. This felt like the perfect time to say something cheesy and thus, mess up your feelings.

“[Name].”

You flinched invisibly, your eyes widened as a squeak left your pursed lips. You looked at him, asking him to continue.

Changbin laughed. “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright? If Minho ever tries to pull any stunt, you tell me.”

You blanked out for the rest of it, relieved that it was not a confession you heard. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, you already knew what Changbin would say. Probably something along the lines of “I will hunt him down and kick his ass,” which would always sound romantic coming from a good-looking man but absolutely hilarious coming from an average-looking one. Either way, it did warm your heart to hear that someone cared about you enough to bother standing up for you.

“Thank you,” you said, rolling your eyes up at the sky and looking faraway. Minho popped into your head and a smile graced upon your lips, unbeknownst to you. “But I think Minho is fine. He may not be the best husband but he is trying, and I think I should give him credit for that.”

The way he treated you when you first met him was unreasonable, but at least he took the first step. Instead of ignoring your words and going on to be the asshole he was, thus prompting you to return the favor, he was the first to attempt at a change. You could always stand by the rule of ‘an eye for an eye,’ but sometimes you need to kill the cycle before it kills you.

“Alright then.” Changbin nodded at your reply and he stood up.

“Thank you, seriously,” you said as you stood up from your seat and as he did. Confidently, you reached your arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. He pressed his hands to your back without hesitation, engulfing you fully with his (very eye-catching) arms. You could never get used to this—his hugs, absolutely god-sent.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you said, your voice muffled in his shirt.

“Always.” Changbin rubbed your back, smiling to himself. When he pulled away, he tilted his head with a question. “Wanna get out of here and go shopping?”

You smiled. Spending money? Sounds like fun. 

Wait. Shopping?

You almost forgot about that generous credit card slipped sluggishly between the five one-hundred-dollar bills in your wallet. When Minho heard that you planned to hang out with Changbin today, all he did was quietly take out his wallet and flip the card out for you to take along. You planned to deny the offer at first but as soon as you caught sight of the thick blackness of the card, you knew this was no normal credit card. 

No, no. That was no grocery store credit card. That card could pay off a mortgage loan in full. It was one of those reserved, royal, luxurious card made out of silk and velvet. You were too busy puking blood, sweat, and tears trying to sustain the weight of that one, stupid card that you didn’t even notice the look of dismay Minho flashed you when he reminded you to get home early. You knew he was rich, but you didn’t know he was this rich. What would be next, huh? A private zoo overlooking a private waterfall?

Changbin raised a brow at you, concern plastered on his face when he saw the uncomfortable look on your face. He stepped closer to you and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally.” You nodded, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “Let’s go. Just remind me not to buy anything too expensive.”

He frowned in confusion. “[Name], what? You married Lee Minho. The word expensive doesn’t exist.”

You spent so long chanting ‘eat the rich’ only to end up becoming one of them. “I don’t think it works that way, Changbin.” You laughed sarcastically before pointing to a random direction. “Can we just go get ice cream or boba. Anything normal like that.”

“Yeah–you are being really weird,” he said, patting you on the shoulder. “Are you taking the whole improving yourself thing too far?”

No, definitely not. If anything, you didn’t just get a mild improvement, you got an upgrade.

The first thing Minho did when he got home was to look for you.

He hadn’t thought about why and what he would do. It wasn’t like you would give him a welcome kiss or anything. He just thought seeing you after an eventful day at work would be a breath of fresh air, considering for most of the day, he had been putting up a professional front. He also wanted to thank you for the delicious lunch he spent minutes trying to figure out where he should eat it at.

He placed his shoes neatly by the door so the housekeeper would pick it up and return it back to his closet and walked over to the couch where he lightly dropped his briefcase at the corner. His eyes laid elsewhere, glancing through the kitchen and the dining area to find not one trace of human life anywhere in the living room. The house was eerily quiet too, unlike usual when you would be at home (especially not recently when you’ve started to get so talkative).

Minho heaved a sigh. You had not come back from your friendly date with Changbin yet.  

Glancing up at the television, he let a smile reach his lips as he recalled the pizza night you two had. He remembered being able to relax with you screaming and whining at the screen that night, and how he genuinely liked being able to lay back and feel nothing for a while. Heck, you even managed to get him invested in the episode half-way down. He was huffing and cursing by the end of the cliff hanger.

It was a great experience; simple and lovely. He missed it, quite a lot.

“Oh, Minho! Welcome back!”

He looked up at the housekeeper, strands of her white and black hair falling over her wrinkly face as the aftermath of domestic chores. She was wiping her hands on her jeans and she walked up to Minho, a gentle smile on her face as she said, “[Name] isn’t home yet if that is what you’re wondering.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said as he reached into his bag and pulled out the wrapped bento box, handing it to the housekeeper politely. “Oh, this is the lunch box if you can wash it for me. Thank you.”

“So you are wondering if they’re home yet?” She took the box in her hands and held it close to her chest, staying on her spot instead of heading straight to the kitchen. Her gentle smile has changed into a knowing smirk, her eyes flashing a rare mischief when she saw the way Minho stuttered with his eyes. “You don’t used to ask for them like this, do you know?”

She was the kind of lady ‘you’ couldn’t fool into thinking the marriage was a good one. Even if she had not been your housekeeper and had not been keeping a careful eye on how you and Minho interact with each other, she would have known just by watching you two stand next to each other. But she kept her mouth shut, for it wasn’t her place to say anything, and for she had faith that something would change eventually.

“Sometimes I just wanna smack you out of it. I could never understand why you were so distant before, even though I can see you are a nice person,” she added. “But I guess I can’t blame everything on you either. Your parents and their parents were too rash.”

Minho pouted slightly at her words. It felt like she was finding excuses for him and it felt wrong. He never knew why he acted so distant either, to be frank, he just knew he started out that way and he had stuck to it for this long. Until you suddenly changed, you had enough of him and snapped back, you took the expected affection and turned it into something he has to earn.

The lady spoke, patting his arm. “But your parents should have given you more time so you can fall in love with them too.”

Minho would have loved you normally, but he was young and he was reckless with sensitivity. Suddenly tying him down with a ring, giving him no choice but to accept and act grateful—it made him go blind with stubbornness and he acted so stupidly in the relationship to prove a point that people would forever be ignorant of.

“How…” He shook his head. “But what if I don’t fall in love with them?”

“Oh, how am I supposed to know? That is in the past now, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, the soft pats on his arm turning into a weak hit. “You enjoy their love, Minho, and you do care. You can admit that. It’s not a bad thing.”

Minho pulled on his fingers, one by one he tugged on them harshly until he reached his ring finger. A gasp breathed from his chest and never out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing uncomfortably as he recalled back when you took yours off and returned it to him. He had it stored carefully in the original box, stuffed to the front of his desk drawer in his workroom.

And suddenly, all he could focus on was to put the ring back on your finger.

A knock came from the big doors, gaining his attention immediately as he turned his head over. Dropping his hands to his side, hope swelling within him, he went over and quickly opened the door only to be left disappointed when he saw that it was Yuna standing before him instead of you. He glanced at the clock slapped around his wrist, his frown deepening as more seconds ticked by without you being home.

“Minho!”

“Hey, Yuna,” he muttered, glancing up from his watch and looking at the girl. “What is it?”

“What is up with your face. Aren’t you at least a little happy to see me?” she questioned, her smile dimming with a faint scoff. She walked inside the house, closing the door on her way in.

“No, not particularly,” Minho replied honestly, sensing nothing wrong with his answer.

Yuna was used to his bluntness by now, but even then she went ahead and kept trying to shorten the bridge Minho set up between the two of them. Her progress wasn’t obvious, she couldn’t even be sure if she had made any type of progress. But one thing she knew for sure was that Minho acts a hell lot more closer to her than he ever did with you. That, she could stand by. Or so it used to be, at least. She wasn’t sure what’s changed recently. Perhaps your snapping made him take a turn for the better, or worse for her. 

“Bummer, I am very happy to see you.” She put on a frown. “Well, maybe not this time because I have something to show you.” Clutching her phone in her hands, her pretty brows furrowed in a look of sympathy mixed with distaste. How she managed to put two opposite emotions together on her face was beyond imaginable but it was, undeniably, a skillset. “Did you know [Name] was out with their best friend… what’s his name? Changbin! They were together today!”

“Yeah, I am well aware of that,” Minho sighed, glancing at his watch again.

“Don’t you find their tension weird?” Yuna asked, stepping up tauntingly. “They are so close! Honestly, if I didn’t know you two are married, I would have thought they were a couple. Especially what happened at the park today!”

Minho blinked slowly. Whatever Yuna was trying to pull here, it was definitely up to no good. He trusted you, whole-heartedly. Back when you were meek and quiet, and now when you were bold and honest. But what he thought was concrete. You couldn’t go behind his back and fool around with somebody else so long as you both haven’t gotten an official divorce yet. However, even if you weren’t cheating, could you possibly be falling in love with another secretly? Yes. He thought it possible, and he was intimidated by that idea.

He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth to keep the accusation at the tip of his tongue. His paranoia shouldn’t be stronger than your morals. Yuna raised her brows at the reaction, her chest thumping in triumph at the assumption that her plan to pin the unfaithfulness on you was working. She jumped over to Minho’s side and circled her arm through his so she could pull him down to her level, and she whipped out her phone with the gallery prepared.

Minho could barely take a glance at the first picture when the door burst open. You came waltzing into the house, a tired groan escaping your lips as you kicked your shoes off and used your feet to shove them to the side. When you finally looked back up, your gaze sharpened at the sight of Minho and Yuna. You wanted to let out another groan of frustration; besides your sore feet, there was another, bigger, hassle in front of you. But you were more curious than annoyed at the sight. 

“How is it that I always catch you two together?” you asked as you crossed your arms.

Minho removed himself from Yuna, his eyes wide in alert and his mouth hung open with a silent explanation. To see him so riled up with fear just because you saw them in a rather friendly position caused none other than jealousy within the girl standing next to him, so she huffed and retorted with her phone clutched tighter in her hand.

“You are one to talk! You were out with Changbin the whole day today!” She flashed you her phone. “Explain this, cheater.”

You had to laugh. Cheater, right. Hilarious accusation. First of all, never in hell. You would not cheat for the fuck of it, not even when you were about to have your grade drop to a C and you have a teacher who sleeps during testing hours. Second of all, you forgot how quickly characters of her archetype liked to jump to conclusions. All those times screaming at the screen about them being a, as you like to call then, stupid fucking bitch, you never thought you would get the chance to experience one.

God, let’s just hope that Minho did not take the claimed cheating evidence the wrong way or else it would be a pain in the ass trying to clarify to him that you and Changbin were nothing more than friends. That was if it wasn’t already enough pain to have to deal with the second female lead over here.

“Oh! Yeah, I did cook lunch today. I had leftovers so I decided to share some with Changbin too, and I was being playful so I spoon-fed him like once before he smacked my hand away,” you laughed at the picture of you shoving a spoon too far down his mouth. “Hey, send this to me, will you? I can blackmail him with it. Look at how ugly he looks.”

Yuna gasped in disbelief. She couldn’t ask why you were spoon-feeding him, it wasn’t like friends are banned from playfully feeding each other food. If she nitpicked on something so trivial, she would sound desperate. Oh, think Yuna! Think hard and clear on how to make Minho hate his devoted spouse! Remember that you were indeed very desperate!

“But–but I saw you two hugging each other. Look!” She swiped her phone and showed it to both you and Minho.

You wished there were cameras present for you to stare into them. It was just a hug, first of all. Secondly, need you to remind that girl the position she caged Minho in when you first saw her in the office room. Hypocritical, dumbly so! This female lead was no fun at all! The deadpan expression on your face seemed to rub off on Minho quite a bit, as he pursed his lips together to hide a snicker at how ridiculous this situation was. You opened your mouth, inhaled a mouthful of air to stall time as you think of a response, and when you finally exhaled it was a defeated one.

“You got me, Yuna. You really got me,” you said, nodding. “I forgot I signed the contract where I can never ever hug my best friend anymore. I am so sorry, I messed up, I was wrong.”

She dropped her arms to her side with a huff. You were right once again. Something you could only say in a drama world and never in the real world, but we shall not go into that for the time being. Anyway, it was just a hug. She could argue that it was much more than just a friendly hug but yet again, she had no reason to show for it and she didn’t want to appear desperate. Even though she was, in fact, very desperate.

“If you aren’t talking then I guess it’s my turn.” You clapped your hands together at the silence. Looking at the girl, you kindly gave her a tilt of your head and a questioning gaze as you spoke, “Why do you have pictures of me and Changbin? Were you stalking me or did you pay other people to stalk me?”

Minho widened his eyes, a shocked yell erupting as he held out his hand. “Woah, [Name]! Yuna might be a little crazy but she isn’t–“

“Trust me, Minho. I have seen this scenario for at least fifty times now. It is not uncommon for the second lead to hire random, scary, useless men to take out the main lead,” you interrupted him quickly, with your palm shot out and facing him.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Yuna asked, baffled.

“Too long, don’t listen. It just means I know how to handle this,” you explained briefly before nodding at her. “Care to explain? Did you take the pictures?”

Yuna heaved a sigh, her pretty eyes staring hopelessly back at you. She glanced at Minho once even though she knew she wouldn’t receive any form of help, and when she looked back at you, she nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

That was much easier than you expected.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you said. “But I want you to know that I don’t like what you did, and I especially don’t like you accusing me of cheating when I didn’t.”

She didn’t apologize; you didn’t expect her to.

Stepping aside, you eyed Minho quickly and gestured for him to take care of the girl. He hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more than to talk to you, and he complied when you glared at him. You stood on the side, not paying attention to what Minho was saying as he walked the girl out, presumably to send her home.

“She really likes you,” you mused the first thing when Minho retuned from his mini-trip. You stirring a cup of tea in your hands, walking out of the kitchen in your slippers. When you saw the confused look Minho gave you, you shrugged. “Just an observation. Don’t tell me you never noticed?”

Minho titled his head to the side. “I don’t think too much of it.”

You hummed. These second-leads; always spending more than half of their life in love with someone only to get a “haha, I don’t think too much of it” in return. Sometimes you wonder if they were created to strengthen the plot and relationships, or just to slap reality right in the face of the audiences. 

Just because you love them doesn’t mean it deserves to work out for you, and most of the time it doesn’t work out for you.

“Heartbreaking,” you commented.

Minho sighed heavily, looking away to grab a mug so he could pour himself a cup of water. “Yeah.“

You eyed him carefully. Whether he was annoyed because of work or whatever just happened, you planned to clarify one thing. “I didn’t cheat, just so you know,” you said. “I never will.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. I trust you,” he said, gulping down the water and putting the mug down on the kitchen counter. He licked the droplets remaining on his lower lip and sighed. “It’s just…”

How does one talk about the feeling of jealousy without having a clear explanation as to why they feel it? How does on talk about the green monster when they were never prone to seeing it? How does one even talk about feeling jealous at all? It is such a taboo emotion for some reason. Minho grimaced, annoyed at himself for being unable to put his feelings into words, right now and back when he was talking with the housekeeper.

He shook his head, deciding to change the topic. “Thank you for the lunch today, I really liked it.”

A small smile appeared on your face as you pressed the lid of the mug close to your lip, not sure if you planned to drink the tea or just to have the heat stay close to your mouth so you could feel the warm humidity. “You’re welcome, I figured you’d like it since Changbin liked it too.”

“Cool,” Minho laughed, a painfully obvious sarcastic tone laced all over him he wasn’t even aware he was dripping with what you could recognize as jealousy. Mildly, not too much of it, just lingering on the fact that you didn’t make the food especially for him when he thought you did.

Amusement tingled in your head and you thought hard about whether you should tease him for it. You wanted to, for sure, but with someone whose dignity and feelings were so reserved, he would never admit to being jealous of anything. He would be hard to tease because he would fight like hell to deny it while his ears betray him in shades of red.

You took a sip of your drink. Fine, at least you knew he felt that way. “I can make your lunch again for tomorrow,” you said casually. “I should probably count my portion right this time. Wouldn’t want to make so much extra food again.”

Minho cleared his throat, a sense of giddiness bubbling up his chest but he pressed it down until he would be out of sight to celebrate this small victory by himself. Carefully placing the cup in the sink, he wiped the wetness on a towel hung on the oven handle, not looking at you as he spoke, “Yeah, sure. Thank you again.”

“No problem.” You moved over to the sink and rinsed your cup before putting it on the dish rack located just at the side.

“Oh, I got news today that my dad’s company is going to hold a gathering soon,” he said, his voice louder when he knew what he needed to say. He rubbed his knuckles against his pants discreetly, clearing this throat. “They basically have people working in other companies come over and each department would pitch an idea and see if they want to invest in the idea.”

You nodded. “Oh, that’s fun.”

“Yeah, and uh, I would like it if you can tag along?” he asked.

“Won’t I have to anyway?” you responded light-heartedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes and no. You don’t actually have to show up all the time, contrary to what we have been doing for almost every single company gatherings I have been to. I just want to see if you want to go this time since my dad–well, he is finally giving me a chance to pitch an idea by myself,” he muttered under his breath before quickly adding. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to! I’m not gonna force you to go to those events anymore.”

This felt like some type of prom proposal but a much less expected and underprepared version of it. This was the first time you have ever been asked to join anything that wasn’t a club activity or a family gathering. Although it was a company gathering, you would still be attending as a plus-one, and the thought of that boost your confidence quite a bit.

Besides, you would probably leave the scene half-way through and, if everything goes according to the book, Minho would follow you out and you two would bond in this magnificent garden you miraculously stumble into. One that should not exist in the middle of a vibrant city behind a company building. 

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you accepted. “Gonna go cheer you on, of course. Not loudly but you know.”

“Oh… okay, thanks,” he breathed out a sigh of relief at your reply, the weight dropping off his shoulders.

You turned to Minho then, a faint smile on your face due to the lack of things to say. The tension was rather awkward. You two simply stood before each other in the kitchen, with no words to say and speechless eyes focusing on each other. Minho moved after a while, his hand flying up just a fraction. He looked as though he wanted to talk but he wasn’t sure how, and so you waited for him to pull his mind together.

“Um… I just wanna say welcome home,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I was gonna greet you when you come back but Yuna was here.”

Your eyes softened. Well, you’ll be. Who would have thought Minho had the ability to stir up the shy romantic in you? Cheeks slightly tinted pink, disbelief eyes darting everywhere but you, hands in pockets, and a naturally pouty lip. Muttering some cheesy lines that would escalate the affection both of you feel for each other, all the while trying too hard to make it seem casual. This man was a whole tsundere and you were living for it!

Laughing, you nodded as you looked around the room you have come to be more familiar with. “Thanks. I’m home.”

“Did you have fun today?” he asked.

“I did,” you replied. “But it’s always nicer at home.”

Minho quirked his lips up for a moment before his expression returned to the bewildered, confused one. His gaze was hard with uncertainty as he moved slow. His arms reaching up unconfidently, his legs wanting to bring him forward but they were unmoving. You tilted your head with squinted eyes, deciphering his movements while he huffed out curses at himself.

“Actually, nevermind,” he said. “You didn’t see anything.”

Oh, for god’s sake, [Name]. Just give the poor man a hug! You want to!

“Minho,” you called to stop him before he could turn and leave. Boldly, you opened your arms. “Come here, it’s fine.”

He reluctantly moved closer to you upon the invitation. His arms carefully going around your back to engulf you in his arms, his head dipping slightly just enough to smell the lingering scent of street food you ate this afternoon. It felt nice, as much as he forgot how touching other people feel. Steadying himself in your embrace felt warm and safe. He blinked at the floor, unsure of what else he could do aside from just standing there with his arms around your torso.

“You smell like sweat, Minho,” you complained with a frown, your chin pinning down on his shoulder as you slapped his back one. “Go take a shower. I’ll make some dinner.”

Minho clicked his tongue, his brows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t mad, though; your remark made him feel less awkward if anything. Reminding him that this was just a hug, and he should not have to take it so seriously like he was heading to war or something. He could do this every day if he wanted to, and he sure wanted to.

“Your hair smells like grilled octopus so maybe you should go deal with that too,” he said. “Did you get me some of that?”

“No, I didn’t know you like that.” You shrugged as you pulled away after one last smack to his back for commenting on how your hair smelled like barbecue as if you didn’t already know. “Let’s go get some next time, just the two of us.”

“Sure, I know a restaurant.”

“No, Minho. I mean the street stalls kind,” you said, waving your hand, “You know? The ones in the crowded streets. The food stalls?”

“I do know. I just don’t go to those places,” he said, pulling a face. He has been wondering what your image of him was. It seemed you’ve considered him under the spotlight of a very stereotypical rich man. 

You poked your tongue against your inner cheek. You should have expected that. Maybe that was where your one-minute montage would come from. You could already see the episode title: love and food, where [Full Name] teaches rich man Lee Minho the art of shoving people in crowded streets to get to your favorite food stalls, thus making Lee Minho fall in love with you because wow, this is such a different scenario than what he was used to! No one has ever brought him to places like this before, even though he was fully capable of going anywhere he wanted!

“Then we have to go at least once,” you huffed. “But for now, let’s worry about dinner.”

“Of course,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I will go take care of my… body odor.”

You burst into laughter as you nodded, moving over to the refrigerator, “Yes, you do that, sweaty. And I will deal with my hair later.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and spun on his heels. Moving out of the kitchen and back to the couch where he could get his bag, he paused for a moment when he caught the black television standing there, and a thought popped into his head.

“Hey, [Name]!” He yelled out, looking up to find you peeking out the door. He played with his fingers, “Should we just order some takeout?”

“Oh?” You looked around the clean kitchen with a soft frown before you nodded with a shrug. “Sure. That’d save me the effort. What do you want?” you asked, walking out of the kitchen as well. “Chinese? Thai?” You hummed with a playful smirk. “Pizza?”

You saw him smile.

Pizza it is.

The clinking of the teaspoon was rhythmic as you stirred the cup of jasmine tea in the quiet kitchen. Night has descended long ago. The housekeeper and driver have already returned to their home. You just peeled off your face mask and you could still feel the essence on your skin. The living room was dark with only the kitchen light illuminating the area. It was one of those silent times in a day where you look around and it hits you once again that you were someplace else.

But this house wasn’t strange to you anymore. This house was where you slept in for weeks, where you ate pizza and cooked meals you could never imagine having the time to cook, where you found yourself gradually approaching the mortifying idea that was falling in love with another human being.

Blowing air out of your lips, you groaned at the thought. Falling in love; you have fanaticized about it so long yet it never really happened. The deepest form of affection you have ever felt was classmate crushes and celebrity admiration, nothing stronger than that has ever occupied your heart before. And you were never sure if you wanted anything more than that, ever, because you have always been afraid of rejection, of the one-sided love television talked so much about.

It wasn’t just the rejection. It was all those witching hours spent being cautious and overthinking every interaction you make with the other person, imagining scenarios that you already deemed impossible, wondering if you should fall in love or if you are worth being fallen in love with.

But the rejection part wouldn’t apply to you in this situation since you and Minho were already married, not to mention he was trying to become a better person for you, therefore you shall have no problem going forward from here. Alright, maybe you would have some trouble with showing affection but that wouldn’t be because you don’t accept Minho and only because you were never taught how to properly reciprocate another’s love.

“Made you jasmine tea, you lame-a-thon!”

Minho looked up from his desk with a deadpan expression. You and your nicknames just get worse and worse as time passes, and he painfully awaits the day when you finally unleash the worst nickname you could muster. When you saw his frown, you hummed, “Oh, stop that frown, boy. Your face will get stuck like that.”

You kept telling him that and he knew for a fact that it is impossible for facial expressions to be stuck on his face. Yet, every time you tell him that, he found himself whole-heartedly trusting you for just a second and he would revert to a neutral expression. It was stupid, it was the kind of stupid only you could bring out in him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name].” Minho received the tea gratefully, giving you a nod of acknowledgment. His eyes bounced down to the pattered mason jar you were holding and he tilted his head, holding up his own mug. “How come you get a pretty jar and I just get a white mug?”

You shook your jar. “My drink is iced, yours is hot. Hot drinks and glass jars? Not cute. Iced drinks and glass jars with straws? Very cute.” You took a sip of your fruit juice before pulling the straw away and added with a giggle. “Also, you don’t look like someone who would use something like this.”

“Judging a book by its cover now, huh? I see.” He rolled his eyes and returned to his papers.

You decided to stay at home with him too, the idea only floating out of your head during the third day when you impulsively knocked on his workroom and sat down on the couch with a random book you pulled from the bookshelf. He let you sit there with him in silence, the only sound reverberating around the room were papers turning, keyboards typing, and an occasional chatter about the book you were reading.

Minho wondered why he has never done this before. He always thought he liked to work alone, and he still does. But having you stay in the same room with him felt more comforting than the deafening silence he has to face whenever he allows himself a moment to rest. He could look up and be reminded that someone is there with him, and that defeats the hidden loneliness he never liked to confront.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” you asked, grimacing. Not sure why you felt the need to urge Minho to stop working when you were also one to sit in front of a computer with papers piling up at your work desk too. It was always much easier to point a bad habit out for somebody else than yourself, you supposed. “You’ve been here the whole day.”

Minho shook his head, pouting slightly. “No. I’ll be done with it when I feel like I’m done for today.”

“Are you slacking behind?”

“No,” he said in a soft whisper, glaring up at you for even thinking he would let himself fall behind.

You sneered and removed yourself from his desk. Walking back to the couch you’ve sat on for days, staring at a book or scrolling on your phone, you jumped back on top and placed your drink on the lamp table just behind your head. Laying your body down and extending your legs, you grabbed the thick book and opened it once again to pick up where you left off.

Minho glanced at you, a gentle smile quirking on his lips and his hands slowing down with the papers. He never noticed it, but the couch was placed at the perfect angle for him to look at. Even if you caught him staring, he could always laugh it off as him looking at the clock just above you on the wall. It was perfect, very discreet, and wish-fulfilling.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You didn’t bother to take your eyes off the book but you had stopped reading the lines. You shook your head. “No, I don’t feel like leaving you here alone with the clock ticking. Also, this book is interesting. I want to finish it quickly so I can grab another one.”

“Huh? What is it about?”

“Some random Math stuff? I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention to the context, I just like to read the words,” you said, looking over at him with confident eyes briefly before going back into the book, where you would be saying the words and not stringing them together to make any sense. “It makes me feel smart when I read them.”

He chuckled at your response, his brow arching slightly at the unpredictability of your actions. He made no further comment, letting himself dive back into work as he planned to. Time flew quickly when he was focused, and another hour passed before he knew it. When he granted himself another break for his eyes and neck, he could see that the time was inching closer to sunrise, and when he cast his gaze downwards, he could find you sleeping with the book open on your chest.

Dropping everything at his fingertips, he stood up slightly to give himself a clearer look. Your breathing was slow and your eyes were closed. You also have not been making any comments for the past hour so that should be enough indication for him that you had fallen asleep. Fully standing up now, Minho walked out of his desk so he could approach the couch where you laid. He glanced down at you, debating whether he should wake you up or carry you back to your room.

He grimaced. It would be best to wake you up, right? What if you didn’t want him to bridal-style carry you? But he also didn’t want to disturb you from your sleep either, you looked so peaceful! Minho paced back and forth across the floor, his index nail stuck between his teeth as his eyes shook with thoughts. God, you would laugh so hard if you knew he did this—what a dilemma! Do you or do you not carry your spouse back to their bed when they have fallen asleep?

Just carry them back, Minho, stop worrying.

He paused in his track, his eyes rolling up at the ceiling with a faint murmur. “Carry them…?”

Uh, yes, Minho. That was what I said.

Minho frowned with a scratch on the back of his neck, but he complied with the voice in his head and moved back to the couch. He crouched to your level and carefully removed the book from your hand. You stirred, causing him to freeze immediately, but there was nothing more than that. He dropped the book on the carpet floor before he fumbled around in the air with his unsure hands, not sure where to place them.

Alright, calm down a moment, Minho.

Breathing out slowly, he attempted to calm his messy mind as he let his arms drop back to his side and he stayed in the crouching position. Minho’s gaze blinked over to your face and his heart softened. This utterly relaxed, unguarded face of yours was one of the many faces Minho loved about you; even though it might take him some time to get around to that strong word, he wasn’t denying how much he felt a genuine fondness over it.

At moments like these, when you couldn’t hear him, Minho thought he would spill his deepest, darkest secrets to you, or even confess the inner feelings he got. Maybe about how he honestly would much prefer to have a cup of water instead of tea, or maybe about how he kind of preferred Chinese food over pizza after you made him eat General Tso with rice that one time, or even about how he really enjoyed strolling through the street with you even though he had protested going outside the other night.

But he didn’t. He just watched, trying to match your breathing with his own, trying to keep the gentle back of his fingers to himself instead of running it down your cheek.

It was supposed to happen this way, the cliché scene where one watches the other sleep. When did such a quiet, loving moment become a laughing stock? Did people forget that it has always just been about the serenity of watching a loved one breathe so peacefully and finding immense solace in the idea that they will be there with you until the night comes and the morning sun rises? What is so cliché about feeling at ease with a loved one by your side?

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed.” Minho smiled to himself when you stirred once more on the couch. He finally slipped his hands under your legs and your torso, making sure he found the right place before he pulled you up. However, instead of hoisting you up into his arms, your breathing quickened in the wake of being disturbed and you were quick to open your heavy eyes.

Minho whispered out a laugh. “Hey, good morning.”

You furrowed your brows. That was Minho, you knew even though your mind was too groggy to make out his face. You couldn’t even see those pretty eyes of his with your eyes half-opened and your brain not functioning normally. You just knew you were exhausted and you wanted nothing more than to head back to sleep.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, shifting your weight so you could turn to him and roll straight into his embrace.

He sat back against his feet, a startled groan paired with the curling of his arms when you hugged him by the neck and laid your face at the crook of it. He froze for a minute, wondering if you planned to move at all only to find that you were asleep once again. Looking around the room, he flashed a hopeless look, asking for help from above.

The above won’t answer you, but I could help, I suppose. Sigh… what would you both do without me?

Just lay down and rest, Minho. It’s about time you sleep too.

Minho licked this lower lip. Your gentle breathes fanning against his skin disarmed all the walls he has built up to guard his heart, which currently thumped heavily in his chest. Oh, how crazy it was! He felt both giddy and baffled at the same time, loving and fearing this reaction! Carefully standing up, he held you close to his chest and moved the both of you back on the couch, where he tried to slide underneath your body first before laying you down.

“Jesus, Minho, stop fucking moving.” You squeezed his neck lightly as your irritated voice echoed in his ears.

He apologized with a nod, toning down the wriggling of his body as he wrapped you up in his arms and, cautiously, placed one leg on top of yours to secure your position. He gulped and exhaled. This was the first time he has ever been this close to someone and it would be the first time he has ever slept in a cuddle position. He has never longed for it, not even when he had to third-wheel his friends on party nights, and he wondered what sorcery caused his indifference toward something so amazing. 

The heaving of your chest pushed against his, reminding him to breathe. He held you close, the corner of his heart filling up the tighter his grip on yours was. He thought you would whine about it again, smacking him and telling him to loosen his grip. He waited until that moment for a long time. It never came. 

The gathering was as extravagant as you expected it to be but it was definitely much more wedding-like than you anticipated. People were leaving their expensive cars left and right at the drop-off area, some greeting each other while some walking straight into the building due to the evening cold.

Seeing the obnoxiously loud interactions of other rich families, you grimaced with a firm reminder of what goal you set for yourself this night: smile and nod, pretend you know the people and fake an emergency for escape! You’ve thought this over thoroughly—what kind of medical emergency would be publicly acceptable in the eyes of the rich? You had no idea, but you figured you’d roll with it when time comes!

“I thought this gathering is just for business people,” you muttered to Minho when he led you into the building.

He looked around with a blank expression, his eyes tired and his heart hammering loudly in his ears upon the bright setting. “Yeah but they bring extra people,” he replied with a low gruff, annoyed and not trying to hide it.

You glanced at his face. He has had this same pained expression on his face the whole day. It has been here since the morning when you got down to the kitchen and found him devouring a piece of toast while looking at the script he prepared for the presentation. You figured he was just nervous. After all, he did mention how important this opportunity was for him. His father was finally allowing him to contribute instead of simply sitting in on meetings and critiquing others’ work.

He was stepping out of his father’s shadow and showcasing his capability, to not just his father but all the other staff as well. You recognized how important that was, so, not wanting to disturb him, you had chosen to keep a good distance for today and only encourage him before he has to go on stage to present his idea for the company. 

Instead of bothering him with your unnecessary commentary about the place, you have decided to keep it all to yourself as you observed your surroundings while following his lead into the gathering hall. There wasn’t much you could say about places as such because you were, for one, inexperienced when it came to excessive places like this. Bright lights, velvet carpet, wide stairs, and marble columns decorated with white flowers.

Honestly, this could really pass for a wedding venue if you didn’t know any better. If they got porcelain white napkins hidden somewhere inside, you’d probably be stuffing some in your pockets just for the fun of it. It would be the closest you’d ever come to actually eating the rich; you would be stealing from them. They were not very similar in action, but at least you’d be doing something, unlike those who were often all bark and no bite.

Minho could feel the burning pit in his stomach growing the more he stepped closer to the actual venue. Pressing a hand to his abdomen in hopes to calm himself down, he spared a glance your way and let out a curious a chuckle when he saw the way you were examining the place—with focused eyes, like you have arrived at a crime scene and you wanted to find hidden clues left by the criminal.

This was the first time he has seen you react like this. You were never bothered by these types of places, much due to the fact that you grew up going to these events. But it was a sight for sore eyes, his sore eyes, and perhaps his sore heart too. He felt like he was about to die from nervousness despite all the times he spent preparing for this moment, and the fact that you shouldn’t be amazed by something so familiar blew over his head.

It was too significant for him not to be anxious over how he could potentially fuck up. Looking at you took those thoughts away for a brief moment before it hit back at him again, and he returned to that stoic expression he had earlier.

“Oh, you are finally here!”

Minho’s mother opened her arms as she approached him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down to hug him better. You smiled at them from behind, your hands clasped at the front and waiting for her to notice you. And she did, immediately after she sent Minho away to find his father. She gave you the same enthusiastic response and hugged you tight like she hasn’t seen you in years.

“I am so glad you came. Somebody needs to be here and cheer my boy on,” she laughed, moving over to the long table filled with treats and drinks. “He has never dealt well with stage fright, unless when he is dancing, then he just turns into this whole other person!”

“Oh, I see–excuse me, what?” You paused in the middle of your sentence, your eyes blinking in disbelief as you turned to her. Forget the almond cookies and the chocolate cupcakes lined up waiting to be greeted by the impending death! Minho and dancing? That was the real deal, you’ve got to get as much information on that as you could!

“Dancing! [Name], you know this! Minho used to dance when he was younger but he stopped when he started university!” she said, hitting your forearm.

“Of–of course! I haven’t seen him dance in a long time, I kind of forgot what it looks like anymore,” you giggled, causing her to scoff.

“Why didn’t you just ask? I have so many videos saved. I can just send them to you when I have time,” she said, to which you beamed. That must be a sight to behold; you wondered if Minho never talked about it because he was embarrassed by it? But then again, judging by the tone of voice his mother was using, she was more proud than amused.

As she looked away at the stage, a nostalgic smile on appeared her face. “He was always so excited to dance. Sometimes I wonder if he would have gone down that path instead of this if his father didn’t force him to quit dancing.”

You hummed in thoughts, wondering the same question. He seemed rather intent with what he has right now, not to mention he was far too determined and hard-working for someone who doesn’t like their job. But that wouldn’t eliminate the possibility that he didn’t choose this for himself. Perhaps you should ask when you get the chance, maybe after the gathering is done and he is back in a good mood again.

“Oh, [Name], I’ve got to leave for a momentl.” She patted your arm to inform you, pointing her finger at a group of older ladies sitting around a table.

“Okay, have fun!” You nodded.

“Of course,” she said, her smile dimming slightly before she walked closer to you. When she spoke, she was whispering, “Did you and Minho fight again? Where is your ring?”

You gasped. You almost forgot about that! Looking away, you cursed yourself for never asking Minho for the ring back. You would be more than happy to put it back on your finger now, considering how you and Minho were getting along splendidly. Witty remarks were thrown at each other, but there were also hints of care and affection left here and there; you two were simultaneously hatching down each others’ emotional walls, waiting to meet each other at the very core of your beings eventually.

Besides, it’d be awkward if other people noticed. 

“No, we didn’t!” You pulled at your fingers and laughed, genuinely. “I took it off when I was cooking earlier this week and I think I misplaced it. I haven’t been able to find it since then, but I will make sure to double-check again.”

She was quick to breathe out a sigh of relief. “Ah, and I was over here wondering what he did this time! You got me on my toes ever since you asked me about a divorce.”

“No, no! Everything is much better now.” You smiled, biting your lower lip as your mind filled up with Minho’s image. “I think I–“ you cleared your throat–“like you said, I loved him through it.”

Oh, you almost said it! It was a close one but no worries, there is always next time. Just make sure you won’t be too late for it.

Her smile widened at your words, her eyes glistening in threatening tears. She held your hands. “That’s great! That is all I want to hear.”

She gave your hand one last squeeze before she bid you another farewell and left your side. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel too anxious having to fend for yourself in a crowd of strangers. For one, you thought if you stuffed your face with enough food, people would leave you alone. For two, your mood was heightened so much after having a talk about Minho, from knowing about his previous dancing passion to indirectly admitting your feelings for him. It made you feel all jittery inside, your heart beating like jelly, sweet and weak.

Facing the sea of sweets laid out in front of you, you quickly reached out for the nearest cookie plate and stuffed two almond cookies into a napkin you grabbed from the corner. When you were done, you looked up and scanned the place for a quiet corner where you could eat your snack in peace. There seemed to be none. This place was riddled with rich people talking, bragging, and whining.

Taking a bite of your cookie, you squinted your eyes in hopes to find traces of Minho anywhere. At a time like this, talking to strangers would be inevitable, and if you were going to do that, you would much rather do it with him by your side. At least he could carry or save the conversation if you started to act weird and say poor, irrelevant things these people wouldn’t understand, like how you like to buy fruits wholesale and that thousand dollars mini purse was so not worth it, ma’am! What the hell do you have in there? Air?

Speaking of mini purses. Your bored gaze trailed across the top of people’s heads until they settled on a familiar someone. You hummed curiously, casting your gaze a little to the side and bingo! There Minho was, as you expected. You were bound to find Minho around if you see Yuna. Swallowing the cookie and stuffing the remaining one into your pocket after wrapping it up neatly in the napkin, you quickly made your way across the hall where those two stood talking.

When Minho saw you approaching, he first breathed out a sigh of relief. He had been trying to get rid of Yuna but it was to no avail. Not saying the girl was persistent in her chattering but because his mind was too hazy to think about anything to say, he could only glare hard at her in hopes to focus at least a little on the one-sided conversation. Yuna should have probably guessed from his eyes that he wanted to take a break but you really shouldn’t expect much from her. She’s a bit stubborn.

She stopped abruptly when she saw Minho turn to the side, a groan leaving his lips. His heavy steps made his way over to you, her brows furrowing as she sucked in a puff of air after she noticed your presence. You laughed in startlement when he placed a hand on your shoulder, ready to give him a snarky remark. Then he suddenly dropped his head down to your shoulder and rested there. You were taken back; he must be exhausted. 

You caught Yuna’s eyes without him blocking your view, the dissatisfied look on her face sending a shiver down your spine. Way to make yourself on top of her blacklist. Not that you cared much, but under a setting like the one you’ve been forced to live in? It would not hurt to plan for some mafia-related accident that may or may not happen.  

“Woah, Minho. Feeling a little too nervous, are we?” you joked, your hand flying up to the back of his neck so you could give him a comforting pat.

As soon as your hand touched his skin, it flinched back on instinct at the burning hot sensation. You grimaced, confused and very concerned. Where did the sudden heat come from? Pressing your palm to the back of his neck again, your faint grimace turned into a deep frown as you patted against him a few times before pulling away to look at him.

“Minho, you’re burning up,” you said as you pushed him up from your shoulder. Your hand went to his forehead despite his protest and back to your own for comparison, not that it was much needed because he was very obviously heating up. You focused on him, watching his chest heave up and down slowly like he was trying to take very deep breathes, and his eyes were struggling to open. “Shit, you have a fever–all of a sudden?”

Yes. All of a sudden. Does nobody care for illogical surprises anymore?

Now his gloomy moods made sense, although it was quite a shock that he just suddenly came down with a fever like this. There were no signs of it just this morning. He probably accumulated too much stress these few weeks from him isolating himself in the workroom. Not to mention the nervousness that built up to today adding more weight to his health.

Before Minho could say anything, there was a muffled clap echoing through the hall. The speakers were turned up for the host standing in the middle of the stage with a microphone in hand, a podium next to him ready for the speakers to go up. He cleared his throat and welcomed everyone in a cheery tone before asking the guests to return to their assigned seats.

You pursed your lips, a sudden tinge of uncertainty flowing into your mind. You forgot he was supposed to go up this evening. 

“You can’t go up there like this. You should go home,” you suggested, giving him a rather commanding glare.

He shook his head, rubbing the side of his temple as he squished his eyes tight. “No, I have to… I have to do this tonight,” he said, “It’s fine, I can hold on until the end of the presentation.”

“But–“

“[Name],” he took a deep breath and smiled at you. He stood up straight, breathed in deep, and kept that smile on his face. Forcing his eyes open, he looked back at you and nodded in confirmation, “I’m going to be fine. I just needed a little rest from the noise. We can leave immediately after I’m done. I promise.”

You bit the inner part of your bottom lip, still unsure and wondering if you should insist on going home early. Him being sick was one thing, but another thing was that you did not want to be the person who ruins his opportunity to show himself in front of important figures within his community. He worked so hard for today, maybe you should put some faith in him when he told you he could make it till the end of his pitch.

Minho relaxed when you placed your hand on his cheek, ever so slightly he leaned against your palm to feel its softness. You almost laughed at his reaction, a light-hearted laugh that shows nothing more than how fond of him you have become. Stroking his cheek with your thumb, you nodded. “Okay then.”

Ah, so sweet. What a miracle that nobody was paying attention to the two of you standing at one corner of the hall, drowned in each others’ eyes like the sun drowns in the sky. It was the exact manifestation of that description where your surroundings go white and it is as if nobody is there. And instead of a kiss, you just have your hand on his cheek.

Get to your damn seats, the story cannot go on without you both at your assigned spots.

The introduction going into the line-up for each presentation prepared for this gathering was boring at best. You were too busy making sure Minho was really feeling okay that you paid little to no attention to what the host was saying on stage. When his name was called up, you flashed him one last concerned look only to get an assuring smile in return.

His steps felt heavy as he moved away from the table and up to the stage. His mind spinning with words from the script he prepared for himself days earlier and memorized within a night’s time. It would be a shame if he messed up or suddenly forget what to say, but he was prepared enough to be able to improvise. He knew his own ideas and materials. 

The only trouble he really needed to conquer was—

Minho closed his eyes immediately when the spotlight flashed at his face without warning. He sucked in through gritted teeth, his eyes burning from the unwanted brightness and his mind feeling jumpier than ever at the stimulation.

—the threatening spotlight, the sea of eyes, the hammering in his ears, the microphone that accentuated his heavy breathing, his sweaty palms, his shaky voice when he started to speak, his warm forehead.

It just hit him how hard this would be. The stage fright and his weak body felt like an immortal enemy. Before he knew it, his eyes were closing, and he was stumbling on his spot, and then all of a sudden, his knees buckled in the most graceful way possible, and his body dropped to the ground.

The first thing Minho saw when he opened his eyes again was those annoying lights attached to his bedroom ceiling. Immediately closing them, he let out a faint groan and shifted his position on the bed so he could sit upon the soft mattress. The fabric of his clothes changed from the rough blazer of his suit to his smooth pajama. He could feel it by grabbing a fistful of his pants as he sat up.

Sensing movement from the bed, you looked up from your phone and immediately broke into a smile when you saw that Minho was awake. Getting up from your seat, you moved over to the edge of his bed and leaned against the side of it to look at him. “Good morning to you. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he muttered, feeling completely out of it. He was trying to remember what happened before he blacked out, mainly whether he made it through the end of his presentation or if he just fainted in the middle of it. The more he tried to use his head, the more nauseated he felt.  

In the midst of his heavy thoughts, he felt your fingers gently brush against his bangs to move them out of his eyes, and he jolted back to reality in order to give you a smile.

“I know you are. Who wouldn’t be, honestly?” you huffed, recalling in fast-forward motion of how you and him spent the past weeks in his office room.

Guilt slowly wrapped around your heartstrings then, making you wonder if you should have taken better care of him despite his persistent to work on the pitch proposal, or if you should have stopped him from going up the stage earlier. Yet none of those would compare to the panic you felt when he dropped to the ground.

The feeling was quick to leave as you figured out the negativity wasn’t what Minho needed at the moment, and you reverted to your old, laid-back self by giving his forehead a flick of your fingers, earning a surprised yelp from him. “Also, if you are wondering, I changed you out of your clothes,” you said. “Don’t worry, I didn’t try and see anything. I am very noble.”

Minho lacked the energy to roll his eyes but he did giggle, leaning his head against the headboard with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he glanced over at you to find you staring right at him. Your brows arched questioningly at his silence, and the more he kept quiet the more you could feel a blush gushing up your cheeks.

Putting your hands on your hips, you tapped your feet against the floor to feign annoyance as you tilted your head at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Oh, please, you knew why he was looking at you with those sparkly eyes of his, gleaming with a kind of adoration no other has held for you. In most cases, quiet moments like these would force the two main characters both looking at each other. One acting confused while the other filled to the brim with love. Since you were the oblivious one, Minho would be the latter.

You knew that. You just didn’t want to admit to knowing it on your own because for one, it might make you look conceited, and for two, what if you were jumping way ahead of yourself? That would be very humiliating for you, [Name]. That was if you hadn’t already done that by asking such a stupid question. 

Instead of replying, all Minho did was reach his arm out so he could grab your hand. You laughed in bewilderment, trying to peel yourself away from his touch but finding yourself complying with what he wanted. Your body moved on its own, scooting closer and lowering your arm so he has easier access to your hand. The laughter died down as soon as it started, leaving its job for the blush that heated on your face.

Could you feel it? That sense of vexation rising in your chest when you realized all those times you spent criticizing characters for acting awkward in romantic situations had backfired on you dramatically because you acted just like them all. Blushing, wordless, shivers in the heart you couldn’t control—completely at Minho’s mercy despite him doing the bare minimum.

This tenderness was as new to you as it was to Minho. He hadn’t touched anyone like this before. Surely, he was never too rough with anybody or anything, but holding you was a different kind of gentleness he has never expressed.

It wasn’t just for the sake of not being bearish. It was being soft so he doesn’t hurt or break, it was being soft so it isn’t just a touch but a cradle and a caress, it was being soft so he becomes as sensitive as you. Touching you is like touching porcelain; he does it softly so he won’t break nor crack nor crease you, and he does it softly so he won’t run the risk of cutting himself with you.

This was what he missed out on all those years. When he thought back to it, only regret clouded his mind, but he has changed along with you when you did, and everything felt okay now.

Just one more thing, though.

You could feel his eyes burning at your hand, and once again you were reminded of the lack of diamond ring on your fourth finger. 

“Oh! The ring! I–ahh–I was going to ask you for it but I never got around to it so.” A wave of panic arose as you yelped, startling Minho. “If you will give it to me again, I will be more than happy to wear it back, Minho.”

He tightened his grip on your hand, pursing his lips as he looked up at you. “Of course, it’s in my–“

“Minho!”

The door burst open, causing both of you to glance over at the door. Minho’s mother came rushing into the room, her face riddled with concern. When she saw Minho awake and smiling, she breathed out a sigh and walked in with a hand on her chest. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Minho replied quickly, “Tried but I am fine, mom. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you sure? You fainted back there, it was really bad,” she pressed on, moving closer. “Everybody was shocked!”

When you saw how his brow creased and his jaw clenched at her words, you cleared your throat and waved your hand to deescalate the tension. “Actually–it wasn’t like, that bad, you know?”

“I am sure, mom. I promise,” Minho reassured, his voice right and weaker all of a sudden. “I am gonna be back on my feet in no time.”

She worriedly glanced over at you for confirmation and you nodded in return. Then she broke into a faint smile, unclenching her fist and letting it fall to her side. “Oh, good. Thank you so much for taking care of Minho for me, [Name],” she thanked, then she looked away from the both of you and stared right ahead at the window. “If there are no more problems then I should take my leave–“

“Mom,” Minho cut her off. You could finally sense it now, the hidden urgency in his voice. Looking over at him, you found that his eyes were shivering widely, like he was afraid, and his grip on your hand has gotten loose as his concentration averted to his mother. “Where is dad?”

She was visibly uncomfortable now. You breathed in deeply, a revelation exploding in your head.

How the hell did you think you could get away with this trope? The man with daddy issue. Or just parental issues in general but this one was so obviously father problems! You cursed inwardly, ears perked up to listen to their conversation while your mind raced to figure out a solution as you did so.

Here is the thing about parental issues in dramas. When it is about the mother, it is often directed at the female counterpart, and often very easy to solve as long as the main lead is headstrong about what they want. When it is about the father, however, it is usually directed at the male counterpart and much harder to get over, because unfortunately he would be stuck with one father for the rest of his life. It becomes less of a marriage problem or an argument about a potential romantic interest, and more of a psychological injury in need of life-long healing. 

It is work ethics, dignity, power, and money! It is about their child not having the intellect to follow in their footsteps, about their child not wanting to follow in their footsteps. It is having an open affair with someone else and not understanding why your child just wouldn’t listen to your mistress. Fathers are special, and they are weird. They are stubborn and annoying. You never liked shitty father figured in fiction!

That was personal. I can feel it. 

“He doesn’t want to see you, Minho,” she spoke comfortingly. When your words are deafening, the only thing you can possibly do is lower your voice, and even then it may not work the way you want them to. “I tried getting him out of the car but–“

You dropped your jaw. The curse words were much louder now, you could practically play a game of word chain all on your own.

“You fainted in the middle of it. He was expecting you to hang on and finish the presentation,” she went on. “But you didn’t.”

Minho’s heart dropped. So he didn’t finish it after all.

“What the fuck–“ you pursed your lips, never mind that you already cursed anyway, and you pulled yourself away from Minho. You were angry, possibly even beyond that. How could his father be so apathetic towards his son’s health? Looking down at Minho, the tears brimming at his waterline made your inside burn, it felt like you were the one being neglected and unfairly treated.

You sucked in a breath, your eyes blinking rapidly for no reason (it’s for comedic purposes). Then suddenly, you smiled and pointed your index finger towards the door. “I think I left the faucet on so I am just gonna go turn that off, okay? You two talk. I am gonna go.”

Your behavior was abnormal at best, which honestly, the other two in the room would have thought they would be used to it by now. Before any of them could open their mouth, and before your cowardly mind decided to not do anything about this situation, you dashed out of the door and headed downstairs. You flung the doors open dramatic and, very angrily, growled when you saw the overly expensive car parked out at the driveway. Rushing outside, you made a stupid of appearing by the driver’s seat. When the driver rolled down the window, you breathed out an annoyed sigh, feeling like your anger was about to explode in a pit of curses and tears.

What the–piece of shit! Why buy an expensive car if you aren’t going to drive it yourself? Useless, showoff, pointless, worthless, a waste of money! Nobody thinks you’re cool, you hag, you can’t even drive and you conform to the discriminative lifestyle of capitalism!

That was also personal, but the floor is yours.

“[Name]?”

“Y–yeah?”

Damn! You have been doing so well up until now but you really are all bark and no bite! Your anger immediately dissolved when you met eyes with the tall, old man who exited on the passenger side of the car. You gasped. He looked so much nicer than you expected he would. If you didn’t know the title he holds, you would not have felt this intimidated.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, walking over to you.

“I live here. What the hell are you talking about?” you retorted. When you noticed a change of his expression, you cleared your throat, inhaled deeply, and calmed yourself down to conjure up some coherent sentences. “I am here to ask you politely to visit Minho, who is your son, which means he is your flesh and blood–“ you squinted your eyes and turned your face away slightly–“because he is your child, like, he is your son?”

He furrowed his brows at you and he sighed curiously. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I will be if you can follow me and go see if Minho is doing okay,” you said, smiling.

There was a knowing look on his face, then he dipped his head to look at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, he shook his head. “No. I am very disappointed in him right now and I am afraid I will say what I don’t mean when I see him.”

“Disappointed about what? The fact that he got sick?” you retorted.

“I gave him one job and he embarrassed me in front of a lot of people tonight,” he said, “You wouldn’t understand, [Name].”

“You wouldn’t understand, [Name]!” Was what you imagine you replied, with a tone so ridiculously disrespectful he may pop a vein big enough to cause a heart attack, but you didn’t. You opened your mouth but only air came out as you carefully analyzed what he actually meant. This man wanted to say you don’t understand what it is like to be a functional member of society and work for money because you lay around at home all day, draining Minho’s bank account, as if he didn’t take part in that decision. 

Well then, he has got another thing coming because you used to be in the workforce as well! You used to work day and night, and even then you could never achieve the kind of luxury his family has, so honestly, you’ve got the upper-hand in this argument. You just needed to find a way to tell him you do know how hard work is without actually telling him that you’ve ever worked before!

So basically you’re not telling him anything at all.

Holding in an outburst, you forced a smile and clapped your hands together so you wouldn’t end up strangling an elder. “Maybe I don’t understand, but I do know that Minho worked really hard for this opportunity,” you said, pleaded even. “The reason why he fainted was that he didn’t let himself rest at all preparing for the presentation. You can’t disregard his effort just like that. You are his father, where is your care?”

“You’re bold to be talking to me like this,” he said after a moment of silence, his tone making it impossible for you to decipher whether he meant that as a compliment or not. “But no. This is work. This is about his future and how he will handle the company when I am gone. I can’t act as his father in a situation like this.”

You were rendered speechless. It was either you smack some sense into him or you talk some sense into him, but it seemed like you weren’t smart enough to talk to him so that left the more physical option. You shivered. You weren’t ready to be put in jail yet, so the physical option was out the window too.  

You bit your lower lip. But Minho—he worked so hard for this, and you were there to watch him work like hell for it. If he was bedridden and couldn’t do anything about this, you thought you could at least try a little harder for his sake. But how? How could you explain it more clearly to him that he should give Minho another chance?

Time’s ticking, [Name]. Try thinking a little bit faster. I’ll even drop you a hint. Since you’ve been there with him as he prepared for the presentation, surely you would know where Minho placed his materials?

You gasped, a light-bulb going off in your eyes. Wordlessly, you spun on your heels and left the old man standing there in confusion, watching your back as you bolted back into the house. You slammed the doors shut, kicked off the shoes you did not bother to wear properly, and you rushed upstairs. Stopping abruptly before the workroom you were so used to being in, you opened the door and went straight to the desk where there was a stack of papers.

You may not have known what he worked on exactly, but you did remember complaining about the number of papers Minho was using back then. You told him something about trees dying and he only laughed, already used to ignoring you and your tendencies to ramble about anything. There has got to be some information contained in that pile of papers he printed. You didn’t know what was in there but it wouldn’t be your job to look through them. It would be his father’s.

You grabbed the whole pile, scooping it up into your hands after scanning it quickly, and you rushed out of the door like a madman. Your steps echoed throughout the hall and you quickly walked downstairs, preparing to head outside when the housekeeper stopped you with an incredulous look on her face.

She looked you up and down, concerned, and she asked, “What are you doing running around like that?”

“I need to show Mr.Lee something,” you urged, glancing out the doors.

“Mrs.Lee? I’m pretty sure they’re leaving. Mrs.Lee just left the house!”

Here we go! We’ve all seen the running in slow motion part in dramas, it was about time your turn comes up.

You gasped out a curse, surprised at how much this shit does not make sense because you really thought you were only in the workroom for less than one minute and you never bumped into his mother when you walked back into the house! Granted, the house was huge, but you knew its map enough to know that if Minho’s mom was leaving, you’d at least saw a glimpse of her! How could she possibly be out of the house already? Through the window? Through teleportation? Through—Jesus Christ, [Name], less rambling and more running!

You went for the door and yelled when you saw the taillights of the car flash red. Whatever that meant, you didn’t know, you never learned how to drive! But you supposed it meant the car was being started and they were about to leave this place, so your legs paddled even quicker than before. You got down the porch of the house and sped through the long driveway, your hand clutching the papers closer to your chest.

You ran, and you tripped! On nothing! You groan at your inability to keep your feet on the ground as you scrambled up and continued running. At this point, you were just trying your best to be thankful that your tripping-during-an-emergency scene didn’t involve running away from serial killers or deformed monsters. 

“Wait! Wait a second! Stop driving, car driver!” you hollered as you, miraculously, moved past the car and stopped right before the tip of the vehicle.

It came to a screeching stop. The driver looking at you with wide, shocked eyes as sweat rolled down the side of his face. The headlights were blinding your eyes but you kept them open for intimidating purposes this time, and you huffed out in triumph when both his parents walked out of the car in complete awe at your action. It’s not admirable, just insane. 

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“Here, take this,” you said as you shoved the pile of papers into Mr.Lee’s hands. “It’s his proposal. I don’t know how much of it is in here but it’s your job to look through it.”

He gave you an annoyed glare. “I already said–“

“I don’t care what you already said,” you mocked through heavy pants. When you calmed down, you grimaced. “I am telling you this as an intellectual. You should never let any opportunity slip from your hands. Just because Minho never got to present the idea does not mean he doesn’t have a good idea. You have eyes and a brain, look through it and see for yourself.”

You were glaring at him, not in a hateful way but more so in hopes that you could pressure him into accepting your suggestion. To be fair, you did make a good point, as much as he didn’t want to admit. Oh, and of course, you got in front of a moving car just to get him to look through Minho’s proposal, which has the be the more heart-attack inducing than anything you could have said this night. 

Looking down at the papers in his hands, he let out a low gruff and finally nodded. “Fine. Now get back inside, I wanna go home!”

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding—ah, yes, that breath—and clapped your hands together in a delightful beam. Finally! All those running and panicking and raging were worth this moment of acceptance, or at least the half-way point of acceptance! After bidding both of the elderlies goodbye, you quickly rushed back into the house with the two eyeing your back.

“Say,” Mr.Lee began, eyes squinting, “have they always been like this?”

“Yeah,” his wife nodded, “you just never pay attention.” 

She’s right. He never does. How he became a CEO was beyond anyone, even me. 

“Hey, I got you some food,” you said when you nudged open the door with your food after struggling to remove your hand from the wooden food tray just to twist the doorknob. The housekeeper had pulled you back in the living room and made you take the Minho’s dinner with you, figuring he would appreciate seeing you more than anyone else at the moment.

Minho turned to you, his eyes unfocused and his thought process uninterrupted. He was still drowning in a saddened state of mind; his whole body felt heavy from both the fever and the shame he felt from disappointing his father. Trying his best to clear his sight, he managed to send you a very faint smirk as you approached.

After clearing out space on the nightstand, you carefully set the wooden tray down and pulled the chair closer to the bed, the one you sat on when he was still out cold. You sat down, clapped your hands, and went ahead to grab the bowl of chicken porridge so you could hand it to him.

Minho looked at you, and down at the bowl, and he blinked in bafflement. As he reached his finger up to point at himself, he finally breathed out a short chuckle. “Am I supposed to eat it myself?”

“Am I supposed to eat it for you?” you asked, widening your eyes pointedly as you pushed your arm forward a little more for emphasis.

He huffed in disbelief, “But I’m sick.”

“So eat your dinner! You can’t have your medicine on an empty stomach,” you urged, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sticky substances in the bowl. 

Minho pouted. He grabbed the spoon and lazily messed around with the food. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, seemingly raising it to his mouth but gave up half-way. The spoon deliberately dropped back into the bowl with a grimace from him. You furrowed your brows. Part of you thought this quiet tantrum came from him being upset about what happened, but coming from experience (you’ve got an annoying friend back home), you knew what he was actually trying to say. 

You rolled your eyes and sighed in defeat. Standing up, you went to sit on the edge of his bed instead, giving yourself better access to him. His fingers loosened from the spoon when you took over, and his hands neatly interacted by his abdomen. You almost laughed at his quick response. Tapping the spoon by the edge of the bowl, you moved your body forward and stopped the spoon right before his mouth, muttering something about being careful of the heat.

“You know you’ve got hands that can move, right?” you complained, stirring the porridge again.

“I just wanted you to feed me, is it really that hard?” Minho groaned. “I’m really tired!”

“Well, I am doing it right now, aren’t I?” you exclaimed, bringing the spoon to him. “Say ‘ah!’”

He suppressed a grin, complying with your patience as you fed him the porridge. The annoyed creasing of your forehead gradually faded into concentration, waiting, and making sure he was fed well. You did it exactly how your mother used to do it when you were younger, but instead of you asking for food to be fed to you, your mother was the one who insisted you don’t do anything.

Neither of you said anything. It was all just the spoon hitting against the bowl and the occasional blowing you did on the hot porridge that was getting cooler by the second. The silence gave Minho the time needed to think. He was much calmer than he was before, back when his mother was talking to him and you were out causing a ruckus, and he’s got a clearer head to reflect on everything that has happened.

It just felt like such a waste of time. His thoughts, his ideas, his research, his preparations; everything he spent time perfecting just reduced to ashes because of an unforeseen circumstance, one that he couldn’t control. He has nothing to blame but nature, which wasn’t tangible enough for him to feel like he was blaming something for his failure. And if that was how it would be then he’d much rather blame himself for not hanging on until the end.

But it was all sharp feelings and venom dripping from his heart. Shame and disappointment, failure and incompetence. He couldn’t stop it; how could he stop what his heart produces? He runs on it. If it stops, he stops, so he chose pain over nothing.

You paused your movements when you saw tears rolling down his cheeks. He started sniffling, crying, quietly and freely. Somehow you could sense this happening. You did see his eyes reddening as seconds went by, but you hadn’t thought about what you would do at a time like this. What should you do? Anything to keep him distracted, or nothing so he could let it all out at once?

You didn’t stop feeding him the porridge, but you had changed up the pace of giving him food and wiping the tears from his face using your fingers. He crying intensified at your gentle touch. He had spent so long crafting himself to be this undamageable being because he expected to be injured; the unfathomable concept of human delicacy at the wake of his vulnerability broke him.

You waited patiently, for him to eat and cry until the bowl was wiped clean and you have to put it back on the tray. Taking the glass of water that was already cool, you hummed, “I should probably get another glass. I’ll get you something warm to drink down the medicine with.”

“No, it’s okay.” Minho shook his head and reached over to your hand so he could take the pill and the water. His crying has ceased by now, but his puffy eyes a harsh reminder of the gentle breakdown he had just experienced. “Stay here with me.”

You stayed, watching him gulp down the water like he hasn’t drunk anything in years. And somehow, you thought this should be the time to bring what you and his mother talked about up to him. Putting a hand on his leg, you sucked in a breath and asked, “So, Minho… do you still dance now?”

He choked on his water, his eyes widening and then narrowing at your sudden question. He pulled the glass away from him, droplets rolling from the surface of his lips as he denied with a questioning noise. “What–no!”

“Oh, wow, you are more defensive about this than I thought you would be,” you muttered under your breath. “Were you bad at it? Your mom told you were good but I can’t really trust her with the biasing opinion going on, you know? And I just can’t seem to recall a time when I saw you dance!”

“I’m not telling you anything about that.” He shook his head, placing the glass of water down on the nightstand, almost slamming it because of your unbelievable question.

“Okay fine, I have videos anyway.” You shrugged, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked on it a few times, puckering your lips for comedic effect. “I asked your mom for it and she sent me a ton of them–“

“Oh my god, no!” Minho reached out for your phone, only to have you stand up from the bed with a sinister laugh. He was just about to rise from the bed and tackle you with his heavy body, but he caught you you glancing up at him from the screen with a deadpan look, and he stopped. “What?”

“I lied. I did ask her about the videos but she hasn’t sent me anything yet,” you said. “I thought she said you really liked dancing. Why are you so embarrassed about it?”

He sat back and leaned against the pillow, squeezing his eyes right as you recalled the older days when he would feel so accomplished just having the spotlight shine on him up on stage. Those were better days, not that his life was ever full of real problems when his parents’ wealth was able to tackle just about anything. 

Heaving a sigh, he shrugged. “I did love dancing. I just stopped doing that now, and I think I kind of lost it.”

“How do you know if you don’t try dancing now?” you exclaimed, moving over to the nightstand and dropping your phone down on the nightstand. Minho could only hear the tune playing after a while when you suddenly started to spin and twirl.

“I’m probably bad–what are you–what are you doing?” he asked between puffs of laughter, his eyes unable to move away from your swaying body as you hummed the song under your breath.

The smile physically could not leave his face as he watched your terrible movements; his dancer-brain was registering how bad your style was but his lover-brain was much more overwhelming with how he found your presence endearing to be around.

“Dancing. Jamming to songs,” you replied in a sing-song manner, moving from one end of the room to another. “You were saying?”

“I said I’m probably bad at dancing now,” he said. “Kind of like you are.”

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Offended? Slightly, but he was true. You were horrible at dancing, you’ve got two left feet and you couldn’t distinguish between left and right when you danced. But the fact that you sucked at it didn’t bring you down. It wasn’t like you ever have to perform in front of people anyway! There is no routine, no beat to match up, no eyes judging you. 

You are dancing for yourself when you dance badly because that is the only time you are allowed to dance badly. And that alone is good enough for you.

“Oh, please.” You stopped on your spot to look at him, pointing at him as if to give him a lecture. “I’ll have you know that the bad dancing is the best kind of dancing. It’s when nobody is watching you and you feel the freest.”

“But I am watching you right now,” Minho argued, pointing at himself.

You hummed. You almost forgot about that, or perhaps you didn’t. Your mind just didn’t care if he was watching or not. You weren’t afraid of what Minho would say because you knew he would never give you criticism with the intention to harm. It would be playful, witty, a pain in the ass kind of comment that you could deflect immediately with a funny glare. But, ultimately, you knew Minho wouldn’t hurt you. 

“Right,” you muttered. “You are.”

Ever heard of the term ‘dance like nobody is watching’? It is always much easier said than done, isn’t it? Dancing has always been about expressing, to move in a way that allows your body to breathe and your heart to burn. It is unlike any other sport where you are either good or bad; it is subjective and intimate because of how artistic its expression is. And it takes a great deal of courage to show it to somebody else, freely, without a doubt.

You just found someone who makes you dance like nobody is watching.  

You smiled at Minho softly, closing in on the bed and getting on top. He raised a brow at you as you straddled his lap, looking at him with determined eyes as you asked, “Was my dancing that bad?”

He thought for a second before he nodded. “Yeah, super.”

“Now that I’ve shown you my dancing, would you show me yours?” you asked, “When you get better, of course.”

He nodded again. “Sure, if you want to.”

“Good,” you smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Still tired,” he said, “but better.”

Minho stared at you when your eyes moved up to his head, and when your hand reached up to fix his bangs again, he felt closer to you. It was so weird; he was just laughing and you were just dancing, and now you have set yourself on top of him with your fingers drowned in his locks and all he could do was stare while feeling like he could part oceans and move mountains for you.

He grabbed ahold of your hand and gently pulled you forward towards him. Your faces were close now, inches apart, and breathes mingled. You could feel the brush of his lips, ghosting over yours, and your heart jumped up to your ear where the thumping begins rashly. And his eyes were beautiful, visible, with pools of stars where your face was imprinted on top drowning within.

This has never happened to you before, you were too stunned to react. But your heart knew that it needed to melt for you to understand, for you to see how deeply Minho was in love with you because it could feel it. The heart could always feel it; even if it deceives you with the surface sometimes, its rooted truth will always come back to you.

“Minho…?” you called out, timidly and softly.

For the split second, Minho remembered how back then when he wasn’t ready to love and love wasn’t ready for him.

How miserable he used to be compared to who he has turned himself into now, his effort not going to complete waste in the face of your acceptance and willingness to forgive. How exhausted he used to be when all he has in mind was work and when he had to pretend to be in love, and now it comes so easily to him, it is natural and daily. How he wanted to do so many things with you now, like traveling or trying new food or sleeping on the same bed together.

“Would you let me kiss you?” he asked in a whisper, his hand tightening around yours because the proximity was driving him crazy. “After I get better.”

You giggled, nodding while you moved to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose instead. “Yes.”

“And you can give me the ring back?” you asked, grinning down at him. And you thought that soon, soon your palpitating heart would become such a normal way of life that you wouldn’t even notice it when it starts to pick up its pace at the sight of Minho.

He nodded, breathing out a chuckle. “Of course.”

Minho is ready to love now, so are you. And love? Love is ready for both of you as well.

Wouldn’t it be the worst thing to find out you forgot your lunch at home after hours of anticipation for lunchtime to roll over? Wouldn’t it be the worst thing, Minho? Yeah, who told you to leave home in such a hurry this morning? Not only did you forget to bid [Name] farewell, you left your lunch right on the counter as well.

“Who the fuck–“ he cursed under his breath as he looked up at the ceiling of his office, his brows furrowed in annoyance. His mood already went down drastically after realizing he couldn’t find his lunch anywhere in his office, he did not need his inner voice insulting him like that as well.

Looking around his desk, he pouted slightly before he stood up. He grabbed his car keys from the drawer, deciding to check his car and hope that he would find it in there somehow, and headed out. If there was no lunch in the car then he’d just have to grab some food at a nearby restaurant, which was something he hasn’t done in some time since you have started preparing his lunch.

I would save you some time and tell you straight that you wouldn’t find your lunch in your car but you didn’t feel like listening to your inner voice so I guess I would just sit back and watch you fumble around with irritated groans leaving your—still—unkissed lips.

Minho slammed his car door shut and locked it by aggressively pressing on the button on the key.

Oh–oh? You think that’s bad? I hope you didn’t forget whose finger was still ringless, Minho.

“Jesus,” he puffed out a string of air, putting his hands on his hips and eyeing up at the sky suspiciously. First day back at work after recovering from the fever and waiting to make sure it went away and he’s hearing random voices in his head, sending him personal attacks?

After making the promise of kissing you when he was healed up, he never found the right time to actually do it. Most of the time, the moment was either ruined by best friends calling your phone or housekeepers knocking on the door, or the timing was awkward. And both you and him would be left dry and red from embarrassment and not getting your first, genuine kiss.  

He shook off his thoughts as he walked back into the building. The air-conditioning blasting against his skin as he walked through the lobby.

“Minho!”

He froze on his spot. That was his father’s voice, he could recognize, obviously. Why was he calling him? Maybe he should keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear anything, the classic method. He wasn’t ready to see his father yet, especially after what happened at the gathering. Before he could even think about an escape plan, his name was called again, and he was forced to turn around and confront his anxiety this time.

“Hey, dad,” he greeted calmly, dipping his head politely as he did so.

“Are you feeling better now?” His father asked after a moment of thought.

Minho nodded. “Yeah. Much better. Thank you for asking.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. This tension started growing as he did until at a certain age, it just got so obvious that it became impossible for Minho to ignore the fact that it was hard for him to communicate with his father just as father and son anymore, and the tension stayed until now. It was unlikely that it would fade until his father started growing older significantly, leading the cycle to bounce backward.

His father cleared his throat and looked away as if he had done something wrong, which he had, but he was here to fix it now. “Back at that night when you fainted, I originally said I wasn’t going to give you a chance to pitch your idea again because of what happened during the gathering,” he started, “But [Name] gave me your project materials and told–demanded me to look over it.”

Minho let out a questioning noise, his brows raising in surprise. Seeing his reaction, his father laughed with an approving nod.

“They made quite the commotion, actually. Ran in front of the car to stop me from leaving,” he said. “But they got me. I read through the materials and they were right, it is too good of an opportunity for me to let pass.”

“Huh?” Minho blinked at his father, his head leaning forward slightly in confusion. He was still trying to process what his father just said about you running in front of a car, and here he was getting his hopes up by talking as if he would be given another chance.

“I’ll let you have it this time,” his father said. “If you can present the idea again at the weekly meeting then we’ll consider it together.”

The hope in Minho soared when it became a reality. His lips slowly quirked into a smile, trying not to act too childish in the face of a second chance. He could freely pump his fist and celebrate when he gets time alone later, for now, he needed to keep a straighter face and accept the chance granted to him. He nodded. “Yeah, of course! Thank you, dad!”

Casting his eyes behind his father for a moment, Minho was able to catch sight of you looking lost outside the building, much to his surprise. The joy in his heart died down for a moment as he squinted his eyes to look better, and when his father too turned around to look at what he was seeing, he laughed.

“Oh, that’s [Name],” he pointed. “Not gonna lie, they creep me out after what happened.”

Minho placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, the amused frown on his face unnoticed as he brushed past him to walk towards you. You seemed to have noticed him when he did, your face brightening when you saw him walking towards you at a quick pace. The little excitement dimmed when it felt like he wasn’t slowing down his pace even though the distance between you both were closing rapidly, and you tilted your head in confusion until he was within reach and suddenly engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Oh–yeah, I got your lunch, dummy,” you giggled as you reached one hand around his shoulder to pat his back. “You don’t have to be this happy about it.”

“You never told me you talked to my dad about my presentation,” he said when he pulled away, an excited beam permanent in his eyes as he grinned down at you like a child. “He said he looked over my stuff and he gave me another chance to present it at the end of this week.”

A chuckle left your lips, a relieved one. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought about that night after it happened, considering you have been spending all the time with Minho, and the bickering and chattering you two did often get your mind off everything else but him. It was probably better that way anyway, it saved you the trouble of worrying. Hearing the good news now was quite a surprise, but you were quick to give him a wide smile.

“That’s great! Do you remember what you have prepared before?” you asked, punching his arm lightly.

Minho laughed, “No but I’ve got some time to prepare.”

“Oh good,” you said, then you suggested. “You know you can practice it on me, right? I might not know what you’re talking about but I can give you presentation pointers.”

He looked down at you, tilting his head and nodding in approval. Why did he think to do that before when he was first preparing for it? It wasn’t like you were really reading the book in your hands anyway, he should have taken the opportunity to ask you for some criticisms. “Don’t go easy on me then.” He shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes at him, a sign that screamed something along the lines of “like hell I will.”

“Oh, and thank you for bringing me my lunch,” he said, holding the box in his hands. “Do you wanna have lunch together since you’re here?”

“I can’t, I told Changbin I was gonna hang out with him today,” you said, your voice lowering timidly because you completely forgot to mention that to Minho. If he hadn’t forgotten his lunch box, you would have texted him about this and waited for the possible tantrum he would give you for ditching him the whole day. “We’re getting dinner today too so I might be back later than usual.”

The frown on Minho’s face was hard to ignore; his forehead creasing and his lips quirking down in an annoyingly attractive way. He wasn’t mad, though, just a slight hint of irritation that you would be spending the whole day, likely a very fun day, with Changbin while he has to be stuck at work and hearing nothing from you. He felt a little left out, which was weird because he just spent four days straight with you, stuck at home and wasting the hours away.

Perhaps he was being just a little bit possessive, so he planned to just let it go. He could hear about your day at the end of it when you get back home and pace around in his room telling him about everything in an animated way. Let’s hope you stay in his room overnight this time because oh, Minho, your progress was not looking so good.

No kiss, no ring, and still have not slept in the same bed yet. Baffling, absolutely baffling.

“Are you mad?” you asked when you saw him glare at the ground. “I can come back for dinner if you want me to.”

“No, I’m fine.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke with closed eyes. “It’s just… I keep hearing things today, it’s weird. It’ll probably go away tomorrow or even later today. I hope it is later today.”

“Hearing things?” You raised a brow at him, looking away and looking back. Then you laughed, “Did you go someplace haunted? Are you thinking maybe it’s a ghost?”

“Funny. If I get possessed, the first soul I am taking is yours,” he said, feigning amusement.

“I’m joking. Maybe you are still feeling a little tired from the fever? It’s unlikely but what’s not possible at this point?” you mumbled the last part to yourself, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Drink more water and take care of yourself, okay?”

Minho nodded with a smile, covering your hand with his own and pressing it to his cheek just for the sake of having you close. The same white background descended back upon you two, the one that drowned out everybody else and where time worked differently than reality. Aside from that, this fantasy background was also a very good backdrop for a kiss scene so maybe one of you would want to take the first step and give the other a farewell kiss.

“I will,” he said. “I need to go back now. Just because my dad owns the company doesn’t mean I get to slack off.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight,” he muttered.

And very casually, even though he felt like his insides would explode any minute, Minho leaned his head down and captured your lips for a very brief moment. He pulled away almost immediately after kissing you as he just touched a sacred land he wasn’t worthy enough to put his claim on yet. When he saw those wide, fascinated eyes of yours, he only fell deeper into the shy hole he dug for himself on the spot.

“Was that bad?” he asked, “Was that weird?”

You laughed, snapping out of your trance and quickly shaking your head. You squished his cheek, your fingers weak from the chaste kiss but you needed something to do. “No, it was fine, maybe a little unexpected but it was fine,” you told him.

Yeah, that did nothing to comfort him. He could only feel the shyness growing in his chest as he stood next to you longer. Bringing his hands up to his chest, where the bento box was pushed against, he uttered out a string of words that you could faintly piece together as a farewell before he turned around and left for the building.

Ah, no good, no good! Minho stopped on his track and breathed in deeply to cool himself. He probably should not have done that, now his mind was going to be completely occupied with you for the whole day! The feeling of your soft lips, the light medicinal taste of your chapstick, the way your noses brushed against each other, how you tightened your grip on his jaw in a moment of surprise—everything! Oh, he would miss you the whole day too if that was the case.

And he would love to see you earlier tonight. Maybe he should speak up about you having dinner with Changbin.

Looking up, he headed over to the reception table and asked the staff behind the table to hold onto his lunch box for him before he quickly left the building once again in hopes you catch up to you, wherever you went after he left. Reaching into his pocket and dialing your number, he pressed his phone to his ears just in time to find you standing around the corner of the street near the road. He hummed, shifting his eyes to find that Yuna was next to you as well.

The closer he got, the more his brows furrowed. You two didn’t seem to be having a very decent conversation and he could almost hear Yuna’s screaming voice from where he was walking. He picked up his pace then, concerned about what could have possibly happened between the five minutes of you and him separating by the company doors.

You could not hear a single word she was saying. It was all gibberish to you despite you trying to listen to your fullest capability, but you had a sense of what she was trying to say. It has got to be something about Minho. She would never willingly pick a conversation with you unless it was about him, unfortunately. Yuna genuinely seemed like a nice girl, a little spoiled and too obsessed, but she wasn’t evil.

You planned to give her the space to vent as much as she wanted before talking to her, but you didn’t know that your utter silence only infuriated her more. Growling under her breath, she glared her wide eyes at you, and, abruptly, she shot her arms forward and gave you an unexpected shove. You cursed at the impact, your back hitting against the lamppost and causing you to stumble away. Your feet met the curb of the pedestrian street and you yelped when you slipped off the street and fell on the road.

Moments like these are hauntingly familiar. You have seen it more times than one, like many other moments you have experienced in this world. The two big words ‘car crash’ engraved in your head, whispering and shouting at you to get up your goddamn feet because five seconds later or so, a car with either a careless driver or a broken brake would come beeping at you. Quickly, [Name]! Move! Get up!

Minho was running towards your direction now, feeling slightly relieved that you started to scramble back up on your feet, but that breath of fresh air quickly choked on his throat when he heard those loud car honks coming from the other side of the street. His heart jumped at the pace of his feet, rapid and piercing, as he ran down the street to where you were.

Questions zapped through his mind: should he grab you back to the street? Should he tackle you both to the other side? Should he shield you from the impact? Any way would be fine as long as you only get a scrape of the knee out of it, really, but which one would work at such a short period?

The were tire screeches, a few honks crashed, and then there were screams from people.

The push at your side was strong, like back when you were younger how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. It has the intention to push you away. You got up from the ground, a pained sob escaping your lips when you saw that both your palms were scraped and bleeding.

“No,” you huffed out, tears already welling in your face.

If you were fine, then it would mean that—

Ignoring the help from others, you turned around without bothering to stand up, and your eyes widened in the glistening of tears when you saw the blood rolling down the side of his head.

—Minho wasn’t.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hey...if requests are still open...can we have a Morpheus x Reader where one of them is a single parent and they catch the other being good to their kid and find themselves falling in love? (no smut please). Thanks!

Prince Of Stories

Dream of the Endless x Reader (but its honestly mostly Dream & Reader's child)

Summary: Your head was hurting and so Dream took it upon himself to care for your child instead.

Word Count: >500

Warnings: fem!reader, single mom!reader, girl dad energy!dream, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: im luv papa bear!dream T_T he has a special place in my heart. i hope you like it nonnie<3 Tagging: @pinksirensong @deniixlovezelda @shadow-pancake9

Dream came to you just when you dozed off. The room was quiet, save for the sounds of Imena talking to herself as she made a tale about the dolls sprawled before her.

Upon seeing Dream, the little girl perked and squealed, running up to him.

Dream crouched down and chuckled softly as he took his beloved's daughter into his arms. He shushed her, telling her they should not wake mommy. She readily agreed, pressing a finger to her lips.

Imena nuzzled against him tightly, telling him that she very much enjoyed the game they played in her dreams last time.

Dream pulled back to look at her and smiled, promising next time they will have much more fun.

He shushes Imena when she squeals in excitement again. She wrangles out of his arms, babbling about her toys and how she must introduce Dream to them.

Dream props her down as she rushes to her dollies.

He smiles to himself when he hears the echo of your dreams, dreams of your daughter, dreams of your future, dreams of him. He walks in front of the couch you were laid on, fixing you in your spot with a pillow and a blanket.

Imena pulls at Dream's coat, urging him to sit down on the mat with her. Upon doing so, she begins to introduce all three of her dolls to him. They were Apple, Coat, and Dream.

Dream smiles and asks if the pink doll was named after him. Imena wholeheartedly disagrees.

Dream laughs as Imena makes a spot for herself on his lap, pulling her dolls with her, "can you tell me a story, dada?"

A moment passes.

Imena waits.

Dada?

Did she just call me dada?

Imena looks up at him, wide eyes, wondering why the story was taking so long. She raises her dolls in hopes it would help clarify, "with my dolls, please?"

Dream's blue eyes are glassy and his chest his tight with emotions he could not put into words.

Imena blinks slowly, wondering what her mistake was. She tries, "pretty please?"

Dreams breath hitches and quickly replies, "of course. Of course, my love."

And so Dream makes what perhaps was the greatest story ever told and ever will told in the history of stories. He brings the dolls to life, literally,and they prance before father and daughter, as the minutes went by.

You had woken up somewhere in the middle of all of it, concerned at first by the loudness of your daughter's exclaims, but then you felt a swell of joy in your heart when you what had prompted it. You saw your two favorite people bond with each other and it was truly a sight to behold.

You scratched away the happy tears in your eyes before they could fall.

Dream was genuinely shocked to find you were awake when he finished his story, as he was so caught up in telling it, he did not even feel you exit his realm.

"Did you have a good sleep, my love?" Dream reaches out to you as he cradles the child whose excitement quickly reclined into tiredness after the story.

You nod at him, lips curved into a fond smile. You rub Imena's back, after taking Dream's hand and moving in for an embrace. You press a kiss on his jaw, "not as good as her sleep will be after that story though."

[ghuleh-recs]

It's @leezlelatch's birthday!! To celebrate, I put together a list of some of her greatest hits (in my humble opinion). I need to point out that it is taking every ounce of self-control I have not to just recommend everything she has ever written. If you want to read about sexy papas with FEELINGS, look no further. She writes some of the best Copia (emotional) hurt/comfort I have ever read. Her writing never fails to have me kicking my feet and blushing (and sometimes crying lol). Happy Birthday Leez!! Thank you for sharing your gorgeous words with us!

recs under the cut.

Brightness at the Heart of My Love - Copia x Reader

Nervous about your first time together, Cardinal Copia invites you to dinner.

Copia is quiet for several seconds, prompting you to look back up at him from your plate. He’s smiling very softly, cheeks tinted pink. There’s a sweetness to his gaze that halts your every thought, dazzled by him. There is something about Copia that is so…lovely. His features are harsh at times, stern and shadowed. Like a wraith, he passes through the hallways of the Ministry at twilight, swathed in the black of his cassock. When he dons the crimson cassock, he looks more like red death stalking abroad than the temperate Cardinal you’ve come to cherish. Little does the congregation know that he enjoys the serenity of the gardens before dark. That he often sneaks off to the kitchens for a sweet or to “borrow” some blueberries for his rats. That he’s never seen the movie Titanic because he knows he’ll bawl his eyes out. When he smiles, you understand what love is. Copia is the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

The World We Knew - Terzo x Reader

You spend your evenings writing at the old diner in town, looking for your next great story idea. And then Terzo Emeritus walks through the door.

As he lifts the mug to his lips, his eyes catch yours. His left eye isn’t milky, the iris is entirely white, pupil like a pinprick. God, you just wanna fling your laptop across the room. You are so goddamn nosy, and look what happened. Embarrassed, and thoroughly blushing, you look away for a moment before compelled, you return his odd gaze. He smiles at you and tips his mug in greeting before taking that first sip which prompts a satisfied sigh to escape that perfect mouth and you want to die. 

Nave of Hearts - Secondo x Reader

Do you believe in love at first sight? Secondo didn't, until he saw you.

Sitting at the very end of a pew, several rows back, you catch his cold stare, nod your head, and smile. Secondo’s fingers dig into the arm of his chair to prevent them from clasping at his chest as his heart begins a frenetic beat against his ribs. His eyes widen, his jaw clenches, and he stares at you so intently, Secondo is sure that you’ll be frightened away by the madness of his expression. Would the Brother sitting next to you catch the menacing glare of the former Papa and warn you away? Away from the angry, bitter old man who stalks the halls in his retirement.  You tilt your head slightly and widen your eyes in a similar manner, a playful smirk on your lips, and Secondo must have made a noise because Terzo glances over at him with a raised brow. The chapel is so bright suddenly, color exploding across the dark paraments and pews. The sun winks off the silver chalice on the altar, watering Secondo’s eyes. The air is clear, and he breathes deeply, overcome by the sudden and desperate need to know everything about you.

Alyssum - Primo x Reader

Life with Primo is a beautiful story told through flowers.

“Alyssum,” Primo’s warmly accented voice sends a butterfly fluttering about your stomach, and you turn to watch as he takes off his soil-stained gloves, laying them casually to the side. “Worth beyond beauty. And you, my petal, are worth far more than any flower I have ever grown.” His lips twitch with a smile. “Sì, you are beautiful as well. Perhaps tomorrow will be purple heather.”

Just a Nibble - Secondo x Reader

Nights with Papa Emeritus II are always interesting.

“Just there, amore,” Secondo sighs, relaxing into the heating pad with a soft groan. You ensure the warmth is placed right along his lower back comfortably so he can rest against the pillows in the shared afterglow of your lovemaking. “Grazie, grazie. Now come to your Papa.” “Come to your Papa, come for your Papa,” you muse with a teasing grin. “So demanding these days, Secondo.” You slide under the covers next to him and squeak with surprise as he hooks an arm around your waist and drags you across the sheets to nestle against his side.

Lust in Your Eyes - Copia x Reader

The Cardinal waits for you in your room…but sometimes, he's impatient.

Abandoning the shelf of records, he sits down on your bed, running his hand across the comforter. With a sigh, Copia falls back, closing his eyes as your scent envelopes him. He turns on his side and follows the pattern of the bedspread with a single finger, a crooked smile on his lips as he thinks about the very naughty things the two of you have gotten up to in this very bed.  He turns his nose into the soft material, taking a deep breath, his mouth falling open slightly. He turns onto his stomach, drawing his legs up as he skims the tip of his nose across the length of the bed, crawling forward until he reaches your pillow. 

𖤐 you know the drill--bookmark, read, and leave kudos/comments!

(I think it would be such a nice birthday gift for you to leave a comment on any of these, don't you?)

[scotianostra]

Happy birthday Scottish television writer and producer Steven Moffat.

Born in Paisley on November 18th 1961, Moffat attended Camphill High School before going on to Glasgow University where he was involved with the student television station, GUST (Glasgow University Student Television). He gained an MA in English and became a teacher for over three years at Cowdenknowes High School, Greenock.

During his years teaching Moffat wrote a couple of plays, one of which, War Zones was performed at Glasgow’s Mayfest and the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. His big break came when his dad, a primary school headmaster, met TV producers filming the Harry Secombe show Highway at his school, he told them about an idea for a show about a school newspaper, the producers asked for a sample script and he insisted his son Steven write it. Producer Sandra Hastie said that it was “the best ever first script” that she had read. The show, Press Gang ran for 43 episodes over 5 series an gave us the likes of Dexter Fletcher and Julia Sawalha. Steven has never looked back.

He is perhaps best known now for his work with Dr Who, his two-part story The Empty Child and The Doctor Dances for series one of BBC One’s revival of Doctor Who (starring Christopher Eccleston and Billie Piper) won him much acclaim, including the award for ‘Television Moment of the Year’ and the first of three HUGO Awards. He has since went on to write numerous episodes and has been showrunner, lead writer and executive producer from 2009 right through until this year.

Mofat still finds time for other work, the feature screenplay for the Golden Globe-nominated Tintin, commissioned by Steven Spielberg via Spielberg’s company Dreamworks, Sherlock, a multi-award-winning, contemporary take on the Arthur Conan Doyle classic, was created by Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, he also wrote and was an Executive Producer of Jekyll, a six-part comedic thriller starring James Nesbitt.

Steven Maffat’’s latest project teamed him up once more with David Tennant, Inside man is a decent, if far fetched show, it’s entertaining enough, but I just think it could have been better. I much preferred The Devil's Hour, which he produced through his production company Hartswood Films, another Doctor, Peter Capaldi, plays a really dark character in this Amazon original, all 6 episodes are on Prime.

Steven teamed up with Karen Gillan once more in the excellent mini series Douglas Is Cancelled, which aired on ITV earlier this years.

Fans of Sherlock will be interested to know that Sue Vertue, who produced the show said recently “we love that show and there is a future for it”. And on Dr Who, by this Christmas, he will have written more episodes of the show than any writer. Recently he made a brilliant comment about the sci-fi series "Doctor Who is the single greatest TV format ever devised," he said. "YOU CAN SACK ANYONE! It is a starring role. And you can switch out the star. What other show can do that?… They all want to come back. Everyone who's ever played Doctor Who thinks they're the real one. That creates a problem in the David Tennant family circle."