#their misery and refrain brings me entertainment

[vixscribs]

despite benrook being a decently popular ship I can't seem to get behind a lot of fan content I see. Those are coworkers. There's no way they're snuggling and shit that's highly unprofessional.

[sondepoch]

Lighter (3/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

MASTERLIST

There’s something demeaning about the outfit Childe has picked for you today. It’s nothing unlike what he had you wear when he last took you outside the apartment, when he brought you on a train to Xiangling’s restaurant, but the blouse and skirt he has you in today are looser than before, and skimpier, too. 

The thought confuses you until you realize that it’s because where you were previously dressed like a regular girl, in fairly modest clothes that were designed to shy away from attention, you’re now dressed like a slave once more: like a little sex toy that can only wear thin, loose clothes so her owner, alongside all her owner’s friends, can have easy access to the pretty tits and cunt beneath.

It should make you sick. 

Yet, as Childe slips his hand underneath your skirt to grip your thigh, the only thing that disgusts you is how easily you find yourself relaxing into his touch. 

“Angel,” Childe murmurs into your ear, voice hovering lowly under the quiet buzz of the van you both sit in. “Angel, I have a present for you.”

That catches your attention. You turn your head to your owner, eyebrows lifted in confusion, as Childe pulls a box from his pocket.

Immediately, you know what’s inside.

The first few gifts Childe gave you were all varied: the very first was, of course, the necklace he gave you in place of the ugly, metal collar all the other girls have to wear. The second was his jacket, too tattered for him to use anymore but literal paradise for someone like you, who had already grown used to spending every waking moment naked. Then, his presents began to come in the shape of services rather than material objects—the decision to allow you to sleep on a bed, the decision to let you eat better-quality meals, the decision to spare you from being sent to Scaramouche for a beating as punishment for a stupid blunder you once made—but after a certain period, Childe had granted you all the freedom he could give.

Then, his presents had to change.

He began gifting you jewels, all of them in different colors but always unfairly expensive, to make your collar sparkle.

You make no haste in opening the black, velvet box Childe gives you, eyes bright. You don’t think twice about how embarrassing it is that he’s conditioned you to associate these little gemstones (probably worth mere pennies to a man as wealthy as Childe) with happiness, but even you can’t keep the smile off your face as you snap open the box and see a blue twinkle staring back at you. 

“It’s a sapphire,” Childe explains, pulling the gemstone out by the short, silver chain it dangles from. “Since you told me that you like colorful stones.”

You remember saying that. It was true: being Childe’s favored toy meant that you were always by his side; it gave you no room for pastimes, and so you found that the most entertaining thing to do was toy with the shiny stones that dangled off your collar and angle them into the light to trace patterns into the ceiling. It’s an activity that works best with larger, colorful stones: the dainty diamonds Childe always used to gift you didn’t work half as well.

“Do you like it?” the man asks, staring down at you. “I thought you deserved a reward so behaving so well last time we went out. If you’re good this time as well, I’ll give you another one.”

I won’t be here for you to give me another one, you think. 

“I like it,” you say, ignoring how your heart instinctively speeds up with—is it fear? concern? hesitation?— when that thought runs through your mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

Childe grimaces.

“I mean, Ajax.”

Calling him by his name is still a hard habit to get into, but you find that the syllables roll off your tongue much smoother now. Alas, you shouldn’t need to worry about it too much longer. Not if today’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya goes as planned.

“Here, lean forward so I can put it on you.”

The way you arch your neck forward is familiar. You and Childe have been in this position countless times before, him always being the one to fasten his gifts to your collar, and it shows in how quick Childe’s fingers are in attaching the short chain of the sapphire to your necklace. Within seconds, you feel the task’s completion as you lean your head back and smile at your owner, the weight around your neck marginally heavier than when you both stepped inside this van.

“It looks good,” Childe says, squeezing your thigh gently. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say like a good little slave. Then, you decide to go the extra mile. “Ajax.”

The man doesn’t respond to that, opting to glance out the window as his driver speeds down the highway that’ll doubtlessly bring you both to the office Diluc and Kaeya share, but you can see the edges of his lips curling upward. It’s rare, after all, for you to address him by name. No matter how much he loves it, your tongue still says “sir” on instinct, a little crack in the homey picture Childe is building with you in his mind.

It’s not like it matters, you think, stopping yourself from thinking too much about your owner before you can begin to feel bad. If all goes well, I won’t ever have to see him again.

The thought instinctively brings a smile to your face, but it falls just as fast.

If.

Looking back, the message Diluc and Kaeya gave you was cryptic. ‘WE CAN HELP YOU’ provides no accurate timeline to place your hopes in. The second message, ‘COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU’ was of the same nature. Up til now, you’ve been vaguely interpreting their words to mean that they would free you immediately if you managed to go with Childe to this meeting. But the human trafficking world is so complicated, and you can’t help but think that things may be delayed even longer.

All you can do is hope for the best and pray that reality won’t disappoint.

“How much longer?” you ask your owner after the view outside the window has changed from a highway to a cityscape.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Childe chuckles. “We should be there any time soon. Keep an eye out. Their office is in one of the big buildings.”

That doesn’t tell you much, given that nearly every building this van drives past is over fifteen stories high. 

You’re in the middle of scoffing at Childe’s poor description of the office when the car finally stops: and only then do you understand that when he said “one of the big buildings,” he meant the biggest fucking building in the entire city.

You’re gawking like a fool as Childe helps you out of the car, mentally overwhelmed at the sheer size of what has to be the tallest office in Snezhnaya. 

“It’s…” 

Big doesn’t begin to describe the grandeur of this place. It’s nothing you’d expect from two men who are working undercover to free people from human trafficking: it's got to be the most eye-catching thing you've ever seen, one hundred stories high or taller, with every inch of the exterior covered in wall-to-wall windows. It looks like an upscale version of Childe’s own office, and if you thought his building was lavish, then this is full-on opulent.

Your owner has to forcibly pull you forward to get you to move. 

You almost forget to tuck your precious jacket—the one you so foolishly forgot when you last went out in public, the one Childe insisted you bring this time in case you have another episode—underneath your arm because you’re so busy marveling at the exterior of the building, though you thankfully remember to do so right before the van door closes. 

“It’s nothing impressive,” Childe grumbles as he pulls you past the professional double doors. “Diluc and Kaeya are only renting the top ten floors here. They’re not even rich enough to purchase them.”

“Ten whole floors?” you ask, eyes round as you stare at the inside of the ground floor. Childe tugs you towards the elevator, and you’re just barely able to slow him down so you can stare at the marble floors, the expensive-looking paintings on the wall, the embodiment of wealth unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “Why do they need ten—”

“They’re sex traffickers, angel,” Childe tells you when the elevator doors shut. (You have to force yourself to refrain from marveling at how even this elevator seems posh and refined.) “They use the top floor for their own operations. The other nine are where they run their prostitution rings.”

Your face darkens at that. It must be the exact same as Childe’s office, where he has you and his other favored prostitutes up at the top with him, and all the girls he doesn’t want to show favoritism to are forced into the life they were meant to follow when they were brought into the human trafficking world: either as unpaid sex workers that are sold by the hour from Childe to other equally-awful clients or as human trafickees to be shipped to someone else if they prove to be too much trouble.

But then, you remember Diluc and Kaeya’s message.

‘WE CAN HELP YOU,’ they said.

There’s no way that they’re running a sex trafficking front up here. Childe must be wrong. It’s probably just a lie they told him to gain his trust so that they could best help you escape this life.

“They’re so arrogant,” Childe grumbles, crossing his arms. “I bet they chose this office just to piss me off. It’s bad business, too. They’re losing out on money by choosing such a fancy place. Not even the Snezhnayan sex work model will boost their profits.”

“What’s the Snezhnayan sex work model?”

“The system we use in the Fatui. It’s supposed to be the best, money-wise. You hand-train the elite girls as prostitutes so that the best ones become magnets for high-caliber clients. You sell off girls who don’t show promise early on. And then there’s a handful of average-quality, compliant girls you keep for the low-caliber clients that want a good fuck but can’t pay as much.” Childe folds his arms as he leans back against the elevator wall. “It's the most profitable method, even if it means that the girls you sell will always be low-quality.”

“Wouldn’t I be an elite girl?” you ask, staring at your owner. “You trained me, but I never had to work as a prostitute. And I only sometimes have to meet your clients, and—”

“You’re different,” Childe says, avoiding your eyes.

Immediately, you want to ask what he means by that. Unfortunately for you, the elevator doors open at that precise moment, and Childe leads you forward by the hand into an office that, now that you think about it, definitely was designed to upstage Childe’s own place of work.

“Come on, you can do it, baby.” A low coo from the left side of the room draws your attention, and your eyes widen in a mix of confusion, concern, and finally, horror. 

“Ignore Kaeya. Focus on my fingers. Relax your throat, doll, yes, just like that…”

Even Childe stiffens when he sees the three men splayed out on a couch: Diluc and Kaeya sandwiching a youthful-looking boy between them as Diluc shoves his hand down the boy’s throat and Kaeya strokes the boy’s small cock. 

For a moment, you don’t understand why the boy looks so wrecked, his braided hair dampened with sweat and his face covered in tears, but when your eyes watch as a trickle of sweat trails from the boy’s neck to his stomach, joining a copious amount of white fluid you can only imagine to be the result of countless orgasms, it’s clear that Kaeya’s overstimulating him. Add that to the way Diluc’s entire hand is slotted down the poor boy’s throat, and how the redhead is still stubbornly trying to get more inside, and it becomes clear that whatever this boy is feeling is far from pleasant.

The picture makes it irrevocably clear that this boy is to Diluc and Kaeya what you are to Childe. 

Instinctively, you imagine how you would feel if you were in such a position. Your worst memory under Childe, after all, is from the time when you were handed over to four men who fucked into your G-spot so vigorously that you cried at any sensation for hours. Your second worst memory is from the time when a client forced a massive dildo so big you couldn’t breathe down your throat and left you like that until Childe intervened. 

The idea of those two memories being combined into one makes you want to vomit. 

“Fucking hell,” Childe grunts once he’s past processing the image before him. “Get your toy out of here. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya responds, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t stop stroking the boy’s cock. “You had your little angel out during our last meeting. Let us have a little fun now, alright?”

“Hell no. Even I don’t dabble in…” Childe sneers when he sees how young the boy seems to be. “Children.”

Diluc laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through the room. “He’s older than he looks. We’re not scummy enough to deal in children, either, Tartaglia.”

“You’re scummy enough to have to share,” Childe says, scoffing. “What, did you guys spend so much money paying for this building’s rent that you couldn’t afford more than one kid to suit both your needs? The two of you look pathetic, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic,” Kaeya offers. “It’s more like we know exactly what we want. And if we both want the same thing, we’re not going to waste our time with…” The man’s single eye skirts over your figure with purpose. “Cheap replacements.”

“Really, now?” You can sense Childe getting offended for you. “You think your little toy is better trained than my angel?”

“I don’t think it, Tartaglia. I know it.” Kaeya grins. He gives the boy’s cock another few strokes, going at the same pace, the small, red-flushed thing twitching furiously in response. “Just watch.”

Kaeya abruptly pulls back from the boy, lifting his hand in the air for dramatic effect, and one, two, three seconds pass where nothing happens. The little organ he’d been stroking still quivers, either from overstimulation or from desire, but the boy suppresses his orgasm, and you can see the desperate, shallow breaths he tries to take from around Diluc’s hand.

Then, it happens.

“Cum, Venti.”

On command, the boy keens, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips spasm and jerk up into nothing. Venti’s cock looks abused, a thought demonstrated by how little cum actually shoots into the air and onto his stomach, the substance looking more watery than it looks healthy.

You grimace when you understand how far Venti must have been pushed to reach this point. 

The boy practically melts into Kaeya’s hold after the orgasm has left his body, boneless after something so intense, and the final shreds of resistance he’d been offering Diluc’s hand disappear as the redhead’s wrist edges deeper into his throat.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?” Kaeya says, grinning as he strokes Venti’s hair, brushing the sweat-stained bangs from his forehead. “He’s ‘Luc’s favorite. We haven’t had any discipline issues from him in years. Same goes for the rest of our merchandise.”

Kaeya’s words are a shameless flex on Childe: a reminder that your owner’s girls are so often poorly-trained and that even you, the star of his trafficking business, are secretly planning on running away.

You don’t need to look up at your owner’s expression to see the raw annoyance plastered onto his face. 

“No discipline issues?” Childe grunts. “So if I bought him from you and ordered him to kill himself right now, he’d do it?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Whatever response Kaeya was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Finally, Diluc speaks up.

“Venti, much like your toy over there, isn’t for sale.” Diluc withdraws most of his hand from the boy’s mouth, leaving only the tips of his fingers in such that Venti cranes his neck forward to suckle at them. “But if you want him gone that much, it’s fine. He has to go to work now, anyway.”

You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at that. Kaeya watches your expression, and he laughs.

“Sorry, girlie. I know your master over there likes to exercise preferential treatment with his pets, but we don’t do that in Mondstadt.” Kaeya gently pushes Venti to his feet, holding his hand until the shake of the boy’s feet subsides. “All our toys have to work. Favoritism should only go so far in a world like this.”

With that, Kaeya pats Venti’s butt and sends the boy off, and you watch in a mix of awe and horror as he stumbles towards the elevator to “work.”

If it were real, you’d be mortified. 

Venti was overstimulated to tears, his legs wobbling the whole time as he stumbled past you, the apples of his fair cheeks flushed a feverish red. There was saliva dripping down his chin, cum still smeared on his stomach, and the reek of sweat and sex wafting off the entirety of his stumbling, nude form.

But you comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was all just an act. 

You close your eyes and hold your jacket closer to your body as the elevator releases a low ding, forcing yourself to remember the message Diluc and Kaeya left for you that filled your heart with so much hope. What happened with Venti just now looked bad, but you’re certain that it was all part of their master strategy to deceive Childe until you’re free from him.

(If there’s a sudden thump of a body hitting the ground and a low groan from behind the elevator doors as soon as they shut, you force yourself not to pay attention to it.)

“Fucking finally,” Childe mutters as soon as Venti is gone. He shuffles forward and flops down onto a couch, pulling you with him. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya mumbles, using a sanitized cloth to clean his hands before slipping his usual gloves back on. Next to him, Diluc does the same. “All we need to do is fix a transportation route for the merch, right?”

“Yeah,” Childe grunts. “I already have some ideas. I own a parent company that sells furniture. If we can legally frame our transactions under the branch of…”

You zone out as soon as they begin using human trafficking jargon you barely understand.

This meeting is much more civilized than the previous, if the whole incident with Venti can be forgotten. The jabs Diluc and Kaeya make towards Childe are much more subtle, popping up rarer, too, and Childe doesn’t openly taunt them with your body the way he did in the first meeting. 

It takes nearly an hour before your owner even remembers you, and even then, his touches remain somewhat innocent. He only ever ghosts his fingers against your thigh, oft going down to drum his fingers against your knee while he continues to work out the logistics of his business deal. The touches honestly end up keeping you on edge with how delicate they are, and it’s right when his fingers have finally flitted up to the innards of your thigh, right when you’re holding your breath, right when Diluc and Kaeya’s eyes are fixated on where his palm has crept beneath your skirt, that his phone rings.

Immediately, Childe’s hands are off you. 

“I have to take this,” he says, wrapping a protective arm over your shoulder as he beckons you to stand next to him. “In private.”

“Take the elevator down to the second floor if you want privacy,” Diluc offers. “It’s not being rented out, and there aren’t any cameras there.”

“Thanks,” your owner says, leading you towards the elevator. 

“Wait,” Kaeya calls, right as you’re about to step in behind Childe. You glance behind your shoulder to stare at him, and the devious expression on his face concerns you. 

Kaeya winks at you a second before Childe, too, turns to face him.

“Leave your girl here with us, will you? Give us a treat to nibble on to kill the time.”

Immediately, you think that Kaeya has said the wrong thing. Childe is a fiercely protective man, over you more than anything else. There’s no way he’d leave you in the hands of two men he barely even likes, and it’ll probably only cast suspicion in his mind to hear Kaeya ask for you so candidly.

You shut your eyes, instinctively preparing to hear Childe’s rejection.

Instead, his tone is light when he speaks, almost amused. “Finally seeing how high-quality she is, eh?” Your owner is smiling at Kaeya, not an ounce of irritation, anger, or protectiveness on his face. “Fine. This call will take a while anyway. Just make sure you don’t wreck her too much.”

With that, the redhead steps into the elevator and leaves you with nothing more than a featherlight kiss to the temple, and you’re standing there, dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds before you process what has happened.

Alone, you realize with a start. I'm finally alone with them. 

Immediately, you sprint forward, grabbing Kaeya’s hand in an attempt to tug him off the couch, not caring about how you dropped your jacket on the floor in your rush.

“Come on,” you say, eyes wide. “If—if you want to set me free, we have to go now while he’s busy!”

But Kaeya doesn’t move an inch off the couch, instead pulling you onto his lap with a strength you didn’t realize he had. 

“What are you—”

“Shh, baby. We have to put on a show in case Tartaglia comes back, yeah?” You feel Diluc shuffle behind you, and the redhead is quick to wrap his hands around your hips from behind. 

The slowness, the casualness, the feigned normalcy of their actions dumbfounds you.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” you whisper, hands going up to grip at the fabric of Kaeya’s suit. “You said you’d free me if I managed to come to this meeting, so—”

“Relax,” Diluc mumbles into your ear, gloved hands sliding beneath your blouse to grope at your breasts. “Freeing you isn’t something we can do at the drop of a hat. It’s not just about you being here.”

“Right,” Kaeya says, his fingers slowly undoing the zipper on your skirt. “We asked you to come to this meeting to first check if it would even be possible to free you. A test, if you will. We weren’t sure you’d pass it. But if Tartaglia is willing to give you enough freedom to wander around with him, we figure you should also have enough freedom to do what needs to be done for us to free you.”

“What?” you whisper, trying to force back the tears that are pooling in your eyes. This is everything you’d feared: that Diluc and Kaeya’s idea of freeing you would be more complicated than you’d realized and that the whole process would require more time. “What do you need me to do to be free?”

“Aw, don’t cry.” Kaeya tosses your skirt to the floor right before he goes up to wipe away the tears from your face. “It’s not hard. We just need you to get ahold of Tartaglia’s fake documents on you.”

“His...what?”

Confusion is ultimately what brings a halt to your tears, and you cock your head naively at Kaeya right as Diluc speaks up.

“Fake documents,” Diluc explains, beginning to rub the front of his pants against your naked arse. “Every human trafficker has a series of documents for their merchandise that they can use for transportation and claim purposes. We need to get yours from Tartaglia.”

“Why can’t you take me away without them?” you plead, still clinging to the hope that you might be able to go free today. “Why do I have to—”

“Because, depending on how smart Tartaglia is, he can use those documents to rightfully get you back, even if we set you free.”

“What?” you ask. “How?”

“Think. If he has you listed on those documents as a minor, then the State can only do so much to protect you. Especially if he has himself listed down as your guardian. Even if you try to speak out against him, the Snezhnayan police won’t care. They’ll send you straight back to him, and you can bet that whatever freedoms you have now will be forever lost to you the second time around.”

“B-but, if I can prove that I’m not the person in his fake documents—”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaeya interrupts. “If you’re lucky, Tartaglia’s fake documents would be low-quality. But if he was smart, which we both know he is, then his documents will be of a high-enough quality that people will believe them when they see them. And unless you happen to have your official documents on you, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself except steal the papers from Childe before he can use them.”

The annoyed, almost bored inflection of Kaeya’s voice shakes you to the core. They rattle this information off so quickly, so intuitively, so earnestly that you have no choice but to believe them.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll get the documents you want.”

“Do you know where he keeps them?” Diluc asks.

“I think so. He has a locked briefcase that he always keeps in his office. I don’t know the combination to open it, but I should be—”

“Good,” Kaeya interrupts. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, hesitant. The man’s words seemed like a compliment, but his tone felt much more derisive. “Um, is that all, or is there anything else I—”

“That’s all,” Diluc says. “Two weeks from now is when we’ll be ready to get you out of here. We’ll be staying in the hotel across from Tartaglia’s apartment. The two of us will be in rooms 213 and 214. Come find us at any time, and as long as you have the documents on you, we’ll be able to set you free.”

Your heart beats a little faster at that. 

“Really?” you whisper, almost not believing it. The goal you’ve been given is finally real: it’s tangible, so clear that you can already see yourself using something sharp to tear into Childe’s briefcase and retrieve your documents before you’ll finally be able to live a life you can be proud of.

Kaeya smiles when he sees the look on your face.

“Really,” he whispers, reaching a rough, gloved hand up to cup your cheek with infinite care. The kiss he coaxes you into is gentle, soft, and sweet. It’s everything he is, everything Childe isn’t. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. You don’t care about the fact that Diluc has unbuttoned and pulled off your blouse now, leaving you effectively nude as you embrace Kaeya, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers in response, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

The next minutes are marked by more peace than you’ve felt in months. Sandwiched between Diluc and Kaeya, you feel oddly safe. The roughness of their gloves stops bothering you, the silky brushes of their hair stop tickling you, and the closeness of their bodies, the warmth and the heat that radiates off them as naturally as light off the sun, only relaxes you in their arms.

When Kaeya begins playing with the jewels on your necklace, you don’t stop him.

“Tartaglia gave you this?” he asks, tugging gently at a diamond. 

“Yeah. They're all presents for being good.”

You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face as you say that: it’s like a reminder that you’re special, that you’re important, that even though you’re down in a world where your life isn’t even your own, you still have worth.

Behind you, Diluc’s fingers reach over your shoulder and begin lifting up individual stones to the light. “These are expensive,” he mutters, twisting a ruby among his leathered fingers. “More expensive than what someone would normally give to a slave.”

“I know,” you say. “It's because this is supposed to incentivize my good behavior, and—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, voice soft. “It’s supposed to manipulate you.”

Your voice catches at that, and you glance at Kaeya for confirmation because you doubt it can be true. Not when Childe always seems so sweet when he gifts you these presents. Not when you've come to look forward to them as the one light in your life in this dark, dark world. But when the blue-haired man’s face twists into sympathy, your heart falls.

“B-but...I like…”

“You’re supposed to like it,” Diluc’s voice, rich and deep, rumbles out into your ear. ”But you need to understand that it’s not a necklace, doll. It’s a collar.”

“I know that,” you say, now wrapping your fingers around the chain protectively. “But I don’t—I don’t want—”

Kaeya kisses you, bringing two hands to your cheeks to cradle your face in his fingers.

“We’re not going to take it away from you, baby.”

He kisses you again.

“Relax.”

Those words soothe you in a way you can’t quite explain; the idea of losing your necklace, even being told that your necklace was a ploy to manipulate you (though you already knew that, to some extent), was unsettling. You much prefer the notion that it’s an innocuous gift: mainly because you’ve grown far too attached to it for it to represent human trafficking and all the pain you’ve had to endure thus far.

But, right when you’ve calmed yourself and forcibly stopped yourself from panicking, you feel a sharp tug on your neck.

“What did you—”

“Nothing,” Diluc says, holding two gemstones—two diamonds, one blue and one pink—in his palm. They still have their chain attached to them, but that's it: there's nothing connecting the diamonds to your necklace, the chains having been ripped off.  You feel your expression change as you see what he's done. “Just—”

“What did you do?!” you blurt, panic beginning to overtake your heart. “Childe—Ajax—he’s going to notice! I—I’ll get in trouble, and—”

“Shh,” Kaeya whispers, trying to calm you down with a kiss, but you pull back before his lips can touch you. “It’s not—”

“Put it back. Put it back!”

You've turned around and are about to hit Diluc when the man grips both your wrists, holding you with such a force that it freezes you. The look in his eyes is fierce, fiery, red eyes shining brighter than the rubies dangling off your neck—and for a single second, you can’t help but think that the man looks furious. 

Then, the expression is masked, and you’re both left calmer for it.

“Tartaglia won’t notice. Unless he makes a habit of regularly counting what’s on your neck, only you’ll be able to feel the difference.” Right. That makes sense. Childe likes to look at your necklace, but you doubt that he’ll actually know how many presents he’s gifted you. Not when he barely touches the thing, dexterous fingers always reaching out to feel your body instead. 

“And besides,” Diluc says, easing you back into your earlier position with your back resting against his chest. “It’s a promise. The two diamonds.”

“A promise?”

In front of you, Kaeya smiles in understanding.

“Right. It’s a promise, baby. We’ll give you these two diamonds back once we’ve freed you, and until then, they’re our weight to bear so that every time we look at them, we remember that we’re waiting for you so we can set you free.”

“It...is?” you ask, hesitant. You haven’t been in the outside world in a while; is this how people do promises now?

“Yes,” Diluc mumbles, kissing your ear as he strokes your hair. Every brush of his fingers against your head instinctively relaxes you, until you’re almost as calm as you were before he took two stones off your necklace. “Do you trust us to return them to you?”

It’s a disguised question.

What Diluc is really asking is this: Do you trust us?

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s the only right answer.

Then, the two men go silent. They focus on relaxing you once more, running their gloved fingers up and down the sides of your body, almost massaging your skin as you sit between them. 

Unfortunately for you, all you can think about is your necklace.

It’s the first time you’ve had it be lighter than before: Childe only ever adds to it; he never takes. Now, right when you’d grown used to the weight of the sapphire he attached this morning, you’ve got the odd situation of it being even lighter than it had been when you woke up.

You know that you should feel freer now: less chained down to Childe and to the Fatui.

But deep down inside, you miss the weight.

Minutes later, when you’re a little less emotionally overwhelmed and a little more relaxed as the two men gently run their arms around your body, another thought surfaces.

“A-also,” you say, hesitant. “Um, everything you said at the beginning of this meeting…”

“All lies,” Diluc says, pulling you closer against his broad chest after you slink too deep into Kaeya’s embrace. “Tartaglia had a negative impression of us coming in, so we had to play to that. Everything we said was just for show.”

Your shoulders sag in relief at that, but another thought continues to poke at your brain.

“And Venti?” you finally manage to ask, remembering how ruined the boy had looked as he stumbled away from the two men holding you.

“He’s a masochist,” Kaeya blurts. “We asked him beforehand if he’d be okay with participating. Not sure he realized how all-out we were going to go, but I’m certain that he enjoyed himself.”

That...makes sense! You’ve heard before about masochists, and looking back, everything Diluc and Kaeya did to the boy really did seem to be for the sake of his pleasure. You’ve heard countless times about overstimulation being something sexy, something desired, something liked by the select few who could bear it. Similarly, the way Diluc had his hand down Venti’s mouth...that’s the equivalent of Childe having you suck on his fingers during sex, right? 

You laugh a little when you realize that everything you’d been scared about had an explanation. You should have known better than to doubt Diluc and Kaeya, two people who are saving you from hell itself. If anything, you should be on your knees thanking them instead of raising questions over what they had to say to be able to help you out.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” you confess, sheepish as Kaeya’s fingers begin toying with your breasts. “I’m just...really nervous. And a little scared.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kaeya asks, a tinkling laugh spilling from his lips. “We were the same way when we first came out here to save people from human trafficking.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes round. “Do you guys do this for a living? How many people do you save?”

“Uh...whoever we can, really. We use our covers as human traffickers to identify targets that would be easiest for us to free. You seemed like one. Before you, we helped that boytoy from Zhongli. Before him was some Khaenri'ahi girl, and…”

Zhongli? You ask yourself, trying to figure out where you know that name from. It’s familiar, so familiar, and…

“Wait!” You blurt, sitting up straight and nearly knocking Diluc backward in the process. “You guys were responsible for freeing Xiao? The one who’s always by Zhongli’s side?”

You remember the short little man, beautiful in his own right, from when Childe had a business meeting with Zhongli. That was the first time you learned of Xiao, the last time being just last week when you heard Scaramouche say that the green-haired boy had somehow disappeared. 

Hope blooms in your heart as soon as you realize what that disappearance was: the successful removal of one more slave from the human trafficking network, something you're next in line for.

Diluc lets out a light laugh when he sees how your entire face has brightened up now that you have genuine proof that these two men are for real, that they’ve helped people escape in the past and that they’ll help you escape in the near future. 

“Wait, if you guys freed Xiao, then were you also the ones responsible for setting, uhm…”

Your brain blanks out as you try to remember the second person Scaramouche mentioned when speaking to Childe. What was her name? Amine? you think, but that sounds off. Umino? Lumina? You continue to guess names in your head, brain fixating on Childe’s interaction with the other Fatui executive until finally, you remember her name.

“Lumine!” you declare with pride. “Were you the ones who set her free, too?”

Kaeya stares at you with a shocked expression. His lips part and his face freezes, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead, and you turn around to glance at Diluc, but the redhead is in a similar state.

“You’re telling me,” Kaeya begins, “That Lumine...”

He can’t bring himself to finish, and so Diluc steps in to complete the question: “Lumine belonged to Tartaglia?”

You glance back and forth between the two men, unsure of why they seem to be regarding this news with such shock.

“I think so?” you say, now beginning to doubt yourself. “I’m not sure. But Scaramouche said something like that to him, so I—”

You’re cut off by a sharp cackle of laughter from Kaeya. You stare at him in shock, and then behind you, Diluc has begun chuckling, and then Kaeya’s laughing even louder, and within seconds, both men are laughing their heads off at something you barely understand. 

“Oh my gods!” Kaeya blurts between fits of almost-hysterical giggles. “You’re telling me that Tartaglia? Fucking Tartaglia? Was the one to lose Lumine?” He laughs some more, loud and merry and cheerful. "So I was right when I called you a—a—" Kaeya stutters in his laughter. "A cheap replacement?"

You stare at the blue-haired man in confusion, not understanding a word of what he's saying nor why he seems to find it so hilarious that Childe and Lumine are connected. You want to open your mouth to ask why, but you have to stop yourself because it's at this precise moment that your owner returns; and this is the picture that Childe sees when the elevator dings with the announcement of his arrival: you, completely nude and squashed between the two Mondstadt business partners, Kaeya in front of you, laughing his ass off as if you’ve told the joke of the century, and Diluc behind you, the most stoic man in the room losing his composure in an equally graceless manner.

“What the fuck…” your owner mutters at the sight, but seeing Childe only makes the two men around you laugh harder.

It takes a full minute for them to calm down, and in that minute, you rise from their couch and move back towards Childe like an obedient slave, only wearing your clothes when Childe nods at you that it’s okay for you to do so.

“So,” Childe deadpans once Diluc and Kaeya have finally stopped laughing, though Kaeya still releases a giggle every now and then. “Did my girl tell a funny joke or something? You guys sounded like a bunch of dying hyenas.”

“Something like that,” Kaeya says, smiling at Childe, but you sense something deadly in his eyes. 

“Alright, well…” Childe awkwardly tries to steer the conversation back to what they’d been discussing before. “I guess the final details will have to be ironed out once I actually use this company as a cover to ship the girls to you, but is there anything else we need to talk about? Transportation-wise, we seem solid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya drawls, a strange smile on his face. “But, real quick, I want to talk about prices one more time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Childe grunts, annoyed. “We already agreed on five-hundred thousand mora per shipment. Don’t try to haggle with me again on this.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Diluc says, crossing his arms. “But we just learned some interesting information.”

Childe’s eye twitches in annoyance. “Right,” he blurts, leaning back. “What is it? Did you find out that I’m giving a better deal to someone else? Because that sucks, but that’s how this business works with new partners. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” Diluc interrupts, lifting a hand. “It’s moreso that before, we thought we were purchasing merchandise from a valued, respected dealer.”

Diluc’s lips quirk into a cruel grin. 

“Not from the infamous idiot trafficker who lost Lumine.”

You can hear the ice settle over the room before you feel it, the abrupt, chilling silence suddenly making every second feel like an hour. You’re almost scared to move, scared to pull your eyes to your owner who, for the first time since you met him, looks like the child his codename was assigned for.

Childe doesn’t try to speak, but his every thought is displayed in his eyes alone, the cerulean blues giving insight to a hurricane of emotions wilder than the sea. In his eyes is fear, horror, despair, and pain, so much pain. 

Something about the look on his face makes your heart break.

Diluc and Kaeya don’t care.

“I think charging five hundred thousand mora is a tad much for a douche who almost brought the entire industry down. Hell, you should be paying us for even being willing to deal with you, but…” Kaeya glances at Diluc, a single blue eye flitting down to where Diluc extends three fingers against his knee. “We’ll settle for a drop in the price instead. Three-hundred thousand mora per shipment. That good with you, Tartaglia?”

You’re expecting your owner to bargain, to argue, to scoff, to do something other than stare into the distance with those bright blue eyes that now look more blank than anything else. 

When you hear Childe mutter a meek “Okay,” you nearly recoil in shock.

Even Kaeya is surprised. “R-really? Damn. Actually, I think we should go even lower, y’know? Every trafficker in the world was scared for their life because of you, so maybe drop the price some more as reparations for that? Whaddya say, two hundred thousand? Per shipment?”

You stare at your owner, silently begging him to do something. Even you can tell that he’s being taken advantage of now, and that awful look in his eyes is something that even you’re unfamiliar with.

“Okay.”

“Fu...okay then? But also, you were kind of a dick to us last time, so how about you make it one hundred thousand? Seems more fair to me.”

“O—”

You grab your owner’s hand before he can agree, and the touch seems to snap Childe out of the awful fog that had been wrapped around his head. The look in his eyes is only less marginally troubled when he abruptly stands up, gripping your hand in a silent plea for you to move with him.

“I’m going,” Childe announces. 

He begins walking away so fast that you just barely have time to grab your jacket before you’re at his heels.

The man completely ignores Diluc and Kaeya as he waits for the elevator to open with a rigid posture, seeming to feel uncomfortable or fearful or panicked or a mix of all three. Kaeya begins laughing behind you both, and you almost want to tell him to stop: tell him that yes, Childe is an awful human trafficker and yes, you hate him as well—but the poor man looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack, and you know first-hand how awful a feeling that is. 

You’re grateful when the elevator finally opens, more grateful when the doors close and you and Childe are finally in isolation together. 

Only then, in the silence of the box as it moves you both down to the ground floor, do you hear Childe’s shaky breathing. It’s jagged, uneven. Then, you take note of the way his hands are clenched into fists, palms enclosed so tight that his arms are shaking—and despite everything he’s done to you, you feel some semblance of pity for him.

“Ajax,” you mumble, hoping that the name will calm him. “Relax.”

A moment of silence.

“I am relaxed,” he responds, and when you glance over at him, he’s completely back to normal: breathing even and palms loose.

His eyes, though, are just as pained as when the two of you were sitting upstairs on that couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re the one who let it slip that Lumine and Childe were connected. Even if you don’t understand the scope of what you said, it's clear that it had an impact. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t apologize.”

More silence. It feels heavy, unlike the usual, comfortable stretches of quiet that you and Childe like to bask in.

“What...were they talking about?” you ask quietly, still staring at your owner. “Diluc and Kaeya said that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A moment of silence.

It feels so heavy that it seems to crush you under its weight.

“Who is she? Lumine?”

More silence. 

This time, Childe is the one to break it. 

“The only girl I ever loved before you.”

That’s a lie, and you know it. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t be bringing you around to meetings, dressing you like a cheap slave, and handing you off to other men to flex how ‘high-quality’ you are. If Childe loved you, you would be long gone from the human trafficking circuit because he would have set you free. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t force you to stay by his side because he’s your abuser, your trafficker, the monster that haunts your life. 

Most importantly, if Childe loved you, he would have given you a proper answer to your question. Not some flimsy skirt-around that only furthers his attempts to manipulate you into loving him back.

Your eyebrows furrow the slightest as you feel the elevator hit the ground floor, brain still focused on everything Diluc and Kaeya said. Everything Childe didn’t want to talk about. Lumine.

Curiosity begs you to stick around and learn the truth.

Logic, reasoning, and the desire to lead a life of your own tell you that you’ll be long gone from Snezhnaya before that’ll ever happen. 

MASTERLIST

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

Word count: 7.9k

Notes: eyyyy i'm alive! i promise i never forgot about this fic, it's just that after i missed the original due date, my mind was just like 'eh, it's already late, what's a few more days?' and that's the story of how this is two months late. thank you to all the kind commenters from the last chapter - to the people who checked in on me, ily; to the people who sent me those wholesome asks on tumblr, ily ily; and to the people who made guesses on what would happen in future chapters - guess what :D you acc helped me shape this :3 i originally meant for lumine to be a passing thing mentioned once and never again, but she'll end up being important for chapter 4 ^^ so thank you to everyone who'll still be here after i disappeared for so long. hope you liked this chapter (lmk your thoughts!) and i can't wait to see you all in the finale <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/11

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

[cdarkheartzero]

Today’s theme- “Too far”

I was skimming through some comments and such and came across @the-garbage-is-my-fandom ‘s comment of “more horror art” on my “Bathtime” piece. And I was inspired. I’m especially excited for @melodyofthevoid to tear into me like I do her when she abuses my son.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen” Dib chanted to himself choking on what little air his lungs could grasp. He had never known fear like this and his body just had no idea how to handle it.

Dib mind raced, playing the previous weeks in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. His master plan, a small gas bomb capable of temporarily paralyzing or knocking his enemy out, was finally complete. Many a sleepless night and wasted weekend on containment structure, chemical analysis and test runs. This was it. Finally, he could capture the alien menace and expose him. Finally, he would no longer be the crazy kid. Finally, the world would see the danger they were in all along. Finally.... he would be the hero.

But this wasn’t supposed to happen.

[[More]]

Dib snuck in through the front door after Zim’s idiot sidekick carelessly left it open, making haste to the neighborhood taco truck’s sirens blaring in the distance. He cautiously entered, realizing the Invader was no where in sight and gently placed the bomb in the center of the floor of the “living room”. Carefully he made his way up to the wires completely covering the ceiling for shelter. Soon enough, Gir threw the door open, Damn near ripping it off its hinges, absolutely covered in grease and meat. It seemed the taco run was a success.

He wandered over to the “box” in the middle of the floor and started screaming for his master. “MASTAAAAA!!!! A PRESENT!!!!!!” He shrieked and screeched. How did Zim deal with this all the time?

Within a moment or two, an undisguised Zim angrily emerged from the toilet in the kitchen (which was a sight Dib never really got used to. How does a WHOLE BODY fit down the small opening of a TOILET?!)

“Gir! What nonsense are you going on about!?”

“I gots a present! I’m the birthday boy!”

Zim quickly snatched the “gift” from the metallic hands, studying it’s shotty craftsmanship briefly and returning his full attention to the wide eyed robot standing before him. “What have I told you about bringing junk into this house? First that street lamp-” “But I wanted a nightlight to keep the monkey away.” Gir quietly and somberly interrupted.

Zim sighed. Was this conversation going to go anywhere? No. No, it wasn’t. He might as well talk to the jar of mayo still sitting open on the kitchen table from 3 days ago.

He bent down, clutching the box to his abdomen and give the robot a small pat on the head. “Zim told you he took care of the monkey. It can’t hurt you anymore. But please, Gir, refrain from bringing more stuff home.” He said calmly with a defeated tone in his voice. Gir’s face lit up with a wide grin spanning from “ear to ear” (had he had them anyway). “OKAAAAAY!” He screeched and wrapped his arms around his master. Dib could swear he heard something pop and squish under the groans and painful sounds Zim was emitting.

Then there was a click.

It seemed like the blink of an eye it all happened. An explosion unlike anything Dib ever thought possible by his hands unfolding around him. Windows shattered as glass slashed through the air in every which way direction. Chunks of flooring and wall violently slammed into anything unfortunate enough to come into their path. The fogged air was tainted with this disgustingly potent smell blanketing the entire room. The resulting shock wave flung Dib from his hiding spot, colliding with the cold tiles beneath him.

He blacked out for just a moment, his body on fire and his ears ringing loudly, drowning out all other sound. His eyes slowly opened and he worked up the strength to push himself to his feet. He noticed the blood on his hands as he lifted himself. He wasn’t surprised he got cut. He just couldn’t determain how bad. He was so disoriented.

He tried his best to scan the room, eyes adjusting themselves from the bright blast that had just assaulted them. A shine in the corner grabbed his attention in the sea of rubble and destruction. The robot, Gir, was crushed into the wall by large slabs of concrete and tiles. His once blue glowing eyes dim and cracked. He remained motionless.

“Oh, no.” Dib thought, realizing the severity of his actions. “Zim!” He cried out of instinct. There was no response. There was no movement in the cloud of smoke as it slowly decepated. The clearing air revealed Zim’s limp frame sprawled out within the neon-green splattered crater the explosion created by the front door. A gigantic hole displayed the vacant interior of his chest and abdominal cavity. Every bit of his internal organs were laid on the ground. His ruby eyes open and dull with his face resting almost peaceful. Dib’s stomach dropped.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Panic was setting in. He wanted to get close to the alien but it’s like his legs forbid such an action. So he goggled. “WHAT DO I DO?!” He blurted out to no one. He backed into the kitchen, never taking his eyes off the crater of debris and guts. His breathing jagged, his pulse racing and his throat overflowing, begging to release its contents on the oddly colored tiling. He felt sick.

“INITIATING SURVIVAL MODE”

He jumped. A sudden noise in this deafening silence. It was a voice he instantly recognized. Zim’s Computer. But it wasn’t echoing from the darkness of the house... it was coming from Zim.

The once limp body slowly started to adjust itself, trying to sit itself up. The more it moved, the more it’s contents leaked out of the organic frame. Dib just silently stared in awe....in relief.... in disgust as his fallen rival stood up. Swaying slightly as it tried to regain its balance. Their eyes locked. A shutter violently shook Dib. Zim was a lot of things. A pain in the ass. An idiot. Selfish. A narcissist. Incompetent. But this wasn’t Zim. This.... was TERRIFYING.

The creature’s thousand yard stare prickled Dib’s skin with the feeling of a million bugs crawling on his person. The paranormal investigator watched-even from several feet away- the speedy throbbing of the veins protruding around It’s eyes. The alien opened his mouth to speak and all that came out through the river of brightly colored blood was the sound of static. It was painful. SO PAINFUL to hear. Dib wanted to shield his ears from the sound but his body stood there still.

The creature’s attention tore away from Dib for a moment, eyeing the damaged robot. His PAK opened up, aggressively flinging his long, thin, robotic legs outwards. The legs came down one by one, echoing a small “clink” on the floor as the razor sharp ends touched the tile. His body lifted and made his way to the faithful metallic companion. Without saying a word, Dib watched as Zim’s body pried the heavy debris pinning the small robot. Gir’s body was released and the gloved hands gently caught him before he could fall on the floor.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

“Zim.... I swear.... I didn’t mean to...-“

He was caught off when the red eyes turned to his direction again. Even without pupils or Iris’, Dib could feel the daggers being thrown at him. The mouth opened to speak. “Gir.... why?”

Dib backed up one more step, further into the kitchen. Zim’s voice.... it was wrong. Metallic. Cold. Disoriented. Unlike anything he had ever heard before. Words caught in Dib’s throat but he mustered all his strength to release them. “It was an accident. It-it was just supposed to knock you out.” Dib continued to ramble. “I don’t know what happened!”

“Miserable”

Dib tensed up “W-what is?”

“Your existence brings misery. To your planet. To your family. To anyone unfortunate enough to come into contact with you.”

Those words cut Dib’s soul deep. It’s like Zim could read his worst fears. Something he kept hidden- that black stain in his heart-all this time. Exposed. Just like that.

Before he could say anything, the alien continued “ You have always been an annoyance, you sickening human. We cannot escape you. Your voice. Your presence. Your smell. Forever a thorn in our side. The reason my tallest find me nothing more than entertainment. Why Zim can never succeed in his goals. Now this....the only good Zim had...” he said staring at Gir’s face.

“What is he talking about? What did I do with his leaders?” Dib pondered, eyes frantically shifting between Zim’s body and the door behind him.

His neck snapped in Dib’s direction. “But that’s not the worst part. Zim always heard it. For years. It was always following me.” The legs carried him one step closer to the kitchen. Dib silently took a step backwards. “There. Annoying me. Attacking his senses. A constant reminder of the misery you cause. Zim will rid himself of this....this sound...”

Dib needed to flee. But how? This creature was in front of the door!

Zim’s lips curled up. His smirk growing, stretching wider and wider, tearing the ends of his mouth apart. Blood leaking down the sides of his face as the smile grew to sizes ever more disturbing. It was like he was trying to separate the top and bottom of head. There was a silence. With a grin unseen by human eyes before, The creature chucked.

“OnCe I sILeNcE tHaT hEaRt Of YoUrS, wiLl ZiM FiNaLLy bE FrEe?

As the creature leapt towards the investigator, his body (FINALLY) responded by quickly dodging out of the way, slamming into the sink. The thin, metallic legs crashed into the dining room table decimating it instantly. Without so much as a thought, Dib crawled into the trash can and landed into the claustrophobic elevator to the lab. He panted and shook. It was a terrible idea to go down to the labs. A territory not his. He was out of his element and he wasn’t sure how he would escape. But it beat staying up there and getting ripped to shreds. The pink glow of the elevator made him even more on edge.

The doors opened, startling Dib who was frantically lost in thought. He ran from the elevator, peeking behind tables, tubes and anything else while keeping his senses sharp and alert. Zim was somewhere. Maybe he could just take the elevator back up and leave? But what if he was still in the kitchen?

There was a high-pitched screech pouring from the shaft he had just exited. The elevator lights flickered, sparks raining down and the glow of Zim’s upside down eyes peeked through its opening. His legs slowly pulled him out, adjusting he and Gir (whom was still being cradled) upright. “Diiiiiiiiib.... I kNoW YoU aRe In HeRe....” it gargled.

Dib patiently waited, holding back his sobs and screams, for the towering monster to pass. He needed to keep running. Find the elevator to the toilet! It was the only way! He hid. And ran. Hid. And ran. It was the most horrifying game of cat and mouse conceivable. The longer it went on, the worse it seemed to get for him. He couldn’t find the exit. And he couldn’t find Zim. Not that he WANTED to find him, but at least pass him to know he was still in this metallic labyrinth. That the kitchen was clear.

Finally, he stumbled upon what he assumed was the elevator on the other side of a large room. He was so close-! Within a single second, his joy faded to nothingness by the familiar sound of scraping. He watched the shadow on the floor as it shakily passed by the table Dib had temporarily chosen as shelter. It stopped and stood still like a statue momentarily: Then went about it’s way. “Finally-! To that door!”

He sprinted to the exit, knocking a few items from a table and catching the beast’s attention. Running with all the strength his body had to offer, he was finally within reach of the button left of the doorframe. His fist slammed into it and the sounds of the creature hurried closer, bellowing his name in a mortifying shriek.

The double doors opened. Dib threw his body into the room only to hit into something and get pelted with tools and cans tumbling from above. Realization slapped him in the face. This isn’t an elevator....

This is a closet.

With heavy dread, Dib turned his face to see that he and the creature were mere inches away from each other. There was no where to go. Never taking his eye’s off Zim’s, he felt two sharp knives glide over his ribcage, gently banging on each bone as they made their way to their target. It’s face had a permanent smile, gradually becoming more and more uncontrollable the harder and faster the thrashing in Dib’s chest became. As the blades slowly began digging in and red blood mixed with green, 5 words continuously haunted his thoughts.

THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN

Thanks so much to anyone that read this! I hope you enjoyed!

[autumnblogs]

Day 45: Dead

https://homestuck.com/story/5443

You are now Caliborn.

The narrative introduces our young villain formally without any humanizing elements. No hobbies, no interests. Caliborn cares about nothing, and wants nothing, except for power.

More after the break.

https://homestuck.com/story/5446

Jujus serve, I think, as a symbol representing cultural norms - sets of rules and expectations which have no discernible origin, which are seemingly arbitrary, and which can easily ruin our lives if we fail to adhere to them. Being a Cherub is like perpetually being Alice in Wonderland, unable to make heads or tales of the strange grown-ups and their strange ways.

This is the lens that Caliborn grows up viewing the world through, and it is the one he will carry with him into adulthood - or whatever parody of adulthood he ultimately achieves by becoming Lord English.

https://homestuck.com/story/5457

The primary parallel being drawn between Caliborn and another character here is Karkat of all people! Which I don’t think is wrong. Caliborn is something like a bizarro world Karkat, an angry temperamental piece of shit who really is a complete piece of shit, rather than having solid gold beneath his irascible facade.

He is also aware of the narrative. The narrative denies (unreliably, I might add) that Caliborn is actually cognizant of it, and it does it in such a way that makes me suspect that, like Carapacians, Cherubs’ consciousness exists, to some extent, on the narrative layer.

Or it might be that Caliborn is a Lord and uniquely predisposed to take notice of it.

Or it could be the big goddamn signal tower on his planet with a narrative prompt, making it unmistakable that his thoughts are being authored by a third party.

https://homestuck.com/story/5466

Mere seconds into this adventure, and friendships are already strained.

Jane is literally at Dirk’s throat.

https://homestuck.com/story/5477

I’ve never thought to read what is obviously metanarrative shenanigans as Caliborn experiencing Calliope Thoughts as though they were from inside his own noggin before, but I kind of like that reading, and I wonder to what extent it’s true? It’s never hinted at in the text, but the idea is intriguing. Even if he has not properly absorbed his sister’s consciousness in order to become whole, some parts of her nature no doubt linger in the shared body, like a vestigial organ, or the phantom pain from a severed appendage.

Sadly, we don’t have a lot of evidence to work with.

https://homestuck.com/story/5480

What’s the function of Caliborn having a learning disability? Does he actually have a learning disability? It seems like he does. Is it a case of inspirationally disadvantaged? Are we to find the story of Caliborn’s journey to strength in spite of his inherent disadvantage compelling? That is troubling, especially because of the kind of weirdly ableist judgement that the story passes on Tavros and Jake respectively for more or less failing to be strong in spite of their respective disadvantages (Tavros being a paraplegic is pretty obvious, and I don’t think it’s remotely a stretch to say that Jake has some pretty obvious PTSD). Are we supposed to laugh at him because his disability is another form of misery inflicted on him? That’s even worse. Is it just an extraneous detail? I have a hard time believing that.

Maybe Caliborn’s learning disability is imagined, self-diagnosed, and he’s actually just a stubborn asshole who won’t learn how to do new things.

Hmmm.

All troubling possible answers to that question.

I wanna be clear here that I like Homestuck; clearly, or I wouldn’t be writing this. But I think it is at times a troublingly ableist work of fiction.

https://homestuck.com/story/5481

Andrew seems to confirm the “Inspirationally Disadvantaged” take here.

https://homestuck.com/story/5484

I’ve gotta tell you, to whatever extent Caliborn is actually a surrogate for the audience, I feel considerably more sympathy for him this time around. My own increasing suspicion of Andrew, and antipathy toward the antagonistic writing of Homestuck.

https://homestuck.com/story/5496

Andrew’s choice of words here in describing the people who get Yaldabaoth as their Denizen is telling - the Demiurge is reserved as a challenge for Warriors. All kinds of characters in Homestuck fight and some of them who are not warriors are extremely deadly - Kanaya for example - extremely deadly, not a warrior.

A warrior is someone for whom war is their career. It is what they do with their life, and historically, their form of retirement is to grow old and slow and be taken down by younger and more spry adversaries.

While, to invoke my recurring refrain, if you have gotten this far, you probably already know, the Demiurge Yaldabaoth is a figure from Gnostic Religions, early counterparts to Orthodox Christianity, for which a central theme was the idea that the God of the Old Testament was not the same entity as Jesus Christ, but a hostile and extremely powerful spiritual being named Yaldabaoth, a being born into a material world alone as a result of divine reproductive incontinence, believing he was the only thing that existed, and proclaiming himself as God.

An Evil God who attempts to keep all of his subjects in the dark so that they will not achieve Gnosis, and transcend the material confines of the cruel universe he has constructed to torture them. Sound familiar?

https://homestuck.com/story/5505

So here are a few more things to sum up about Caliborn that aren’t exactly revolutionary, because a lot like Equius, much of the point of Caliborn is to explicitly state a lot of the comic’s antitheses.

Caliborn is extraordinarily morally myopic and hypocritical, and while he sometimes entertains the idea that anything he has done might have been in error, he usually chalks up success to his own skill and “virtue” if it can be said Caliborn is in any way virtuous, while blaming other people, or bad luck, for his misfortune (rather like Vriska does).

Caliborn’s experience of the present is pretty much always miserable; he constantly bitches and complains, and his only real source of entertainment seems to be nostalgia concerning his own exploits - he greatly enjoys engaging in reverie on the subject of his own evil deeds. I believe we’ll find that Caliborn feels equally good about his future, but the present is always miserable for him. He only ever gets to enjoy himself vicariously - looking forward to what he’s going to do, or looking back on what he’s already done. (Kind of the opposite of Karkat’s continuously hostile relatioinship with his past and future selves!)

He regards other people almost entirely in terms of either the utility that they bring to the table, or their ability to gratify him personally. Violence is his absolute first instinct though, when encountering another living being, and he basically only entertains other possibilities if he cannot realistically kill them. At least at this stage.

https://homestuck.com/story/5510

In any case, we’ll check in on the Alpha Kids tomorrow. For now, Cam signing off, Alive, and Deeply entertained by Caliborn pretty much as always.

[stormtrprinstilettos]

Forget Your Troubles - (omg it’s a) John x Reader (with smut)

Here you go. Your Dirty Deaky story. 18+ only and if I find out you’re under 18 and read my smut stuff I am blocking you. ♥️ Took some anon requested stuff and twisted it in here, so if you’re the anon? Hope you’re reading this. Huge thanks to @anotheronebitesthedeaks for making sure this doesn’t suck 💜

Choose your own Deaky decade for this one. (Also, we’re implying an age gap, but nothing is specified. Use your imagination as you should be doing with everything I write.)

You never drink alone. You always found it pathetic when people do it. One of your favorite things to do at the pub with your friends was mock the ones who were there alone – not to their faces, of course, but it was always humorous to make up your own stories about why they were there by themselves. But tonight you realize why they do it as you sit at the bar, all alone, nursing your third gin and tonic of the night. It was easier to drink than to sit alone in your living room, consuming yourself with your thoughts and drinking alone there. At least this way you weren’t technically drinking alone. You brushed off three people so far, all overly eager guys who were clearly only trying to talk to you to get you back at their place for a one night stand. Not that you were completely opposed to one night stands, but you’re trying to get your last one night stand out of your head. That one ended up becoming a two-year-long relationship that ended a week ago. It wasn’t so much the end of it that bothered you. It was the fact that it ended because he was fucking around on you with your best friend that was eating you alive.

“You’ve been sitting here for an hour and you’re only on your third drink,” you hear a voice tell you. “Either you really don’t like them or you’re trying to prolong your time here.”

Great, you think to yourself. Another creep. You don’t want to look up, but you can’t help yourself. “Are you enjoying watching me?” you ask with annoyed sarcasm as you turn your head to see who it is this time, immediately regretting being a bitch.

“It was hard for me not to notice you,” he says with a warm smile as he points to the other end of the bar. “I’ve been sitting over there trying to guess why you’re all alone.” You chuff and look back down at your drink. “If I guess correctly, you have to let me buy your next one.”

You look back to him and smirk. “And what happens if you don’t?”

“I guess I’ll still buy you your next drink,” he smiles. “I see it as a win-win situation for you.” Normally this is the point where you’d send him on his way, but there’s something about him that doesn’t feel so creepy. Besides, he’s a goddamn rock star. You’d feel like a complete fool sending John Deacon away.

“Well? Go on. Let’s see if you can do it,” you giggle.

He puts his hand to his chin like he’s deep in thought, the smile never leaving his face. “Ok. Pretty girl who clearly has no problem finding company, judging by the fact that three blokes have already attempted to talk to her, sitting here alone.” He laughs. “Someone broke her heart and she thinks these gin and tonics are going to make her feel better.”

You start to laugh. “Am I that obvious?”

“Well there’s no other possibility,” he says. “The only reason people drink alone is because of heartbreak or because they don’t want to pay for rounds.”

“Or maybe they just really want to enjoy their drink without having to entertain other people with conversation,” you smirk.

Now he’s laughing. “Ouch,” he says as he dramatically holds his hand to his chest before resting it back on the bar. “Well I know for a fact that’s not why you’re drinking alone.”

“And how do you know?” you chuckle with a raised brow.

He smirks. “Because you just told me someone broke your heart.” He takes the last sip of his drink and waves the bartender over. “He isn’t worth it. He’s clearly not a smart person,” he winks. When the bartender walks over, he orders himself another drink. “And bring the lady here something fancy,” he says. “She deserves a fancy drink.”

He’s charming. Very charming. And suddenly you find yourself thankful for the company. “Now it’s only fair you tell me why you’re here alone,” you tell him. “I mean, you know my secret.”

“Something tells me you have many more secrets,” he smirks. “And I intend to find out at least one more before the night is over.”

“Quid pro quo, sir,” you chuckle. “I don’t give away secrets without getting one in return.”

He’s so easy to talk to, and he’s quite chipper, making it impossible for you to continue to wallow in your misery. It only took 10 minutes for you to completely forget why you’re here. Instead, you were 100% focused on your new friend, and before you knew it an entire hour had passed.

“Did you enjoy that one?” he asks, pointing to your empty glass. “Want another?” He starts to wave the bartender back over but you grab his arm and pull it down.

“No, I’m alright,” you tell him. “I really should get going. Some of us have day jobs,” you smirk and stand up from the barstool. “Thank you for the drinks and the company.” You grab your purse and put it over your shoulder and start to leave.

“Wait!” He grabs your arm and jumps down from his stool. “Can I walk you home?”

“You don’t even know my name, Mr. Deacon,” you smile.

He starts to chuckle. “Well that’s not fair, is it? You know my name.”

“Maybe you should have asked me for mine,” you smirk and walk away. He’s not letting you get away that easy. As soon as you make it out to the sidewalk, he runs and stands in front of you. “You’re quite persistent, aren’t you?” you giggle.

“If I guess your name, can I walk you home?” He’s got that cheeky grin on his face again and you realize at this very moment that it makes it impossible to tell him no.

“Go on then,” you grin.

He closes his eyes and puts his fingers to his head as if he’s having some psychic vision. “Ah. Yes. Your name is Y/N.” That cheeky smirk draws back on his face and he hooks his arm, beckoning you to latch yours into it.

You shake your head and chuckle, latching your arm to his and start walking. “All you had to do was ask me instead of the bartender. I would have told you.”

“Ah, but it was more fun this way,” he giggles. You don’t walk far. Your place is right next door to the pub and he’s confused. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because this is my place,” you chuckle and point. “Thanks for making sure I got home safely.”

He gives you a side-eyed grin, wondering how you managed to get one over on him. He was doing his best to be the cheeky one here, but it looks like you’re just as good at dishing it out as he is. “Can we at least walk the block? So I don’t feel like a complete idiot?” he laughs.

“I’ll give you one block,” you smile. “That’s it.”

One block turned into two, then three, and by the time the two of you stop walking you realize that it’s been five or six, maybe even more, and your face was starting to get literally sore from all the smiling you were doing. Neither one of you was paying attention to your surroundings anymore. The conversation was flowing, and the company was nice too. It wasn’t until you reached the park that you snapped out of the minor daze and realized where you were. “Looks like we went a bit further than a block,” he chuckles. “Guess we should turn back.”

You take your arm from his and go sit on a nearby bench. “I don’t want to,” you say, quite flatly, and sigh as you plop yourself down. You weren’t feeling anything but normal while you were in the pub, but the longer you were in the night air, the more immense your buzz became. And the stronger your buzz became, the less restrictive your thoughts and words were. You weren’t completely without your wits. You just weren’t exactly making sure you held anything back anymore, which is why he heard all about your ex and your best friend. How you caught them in your bed and how you can’t even sleep in it anymore. And when you sat down, your emotions were starting to build up again.

He noticed, and he wanted to do everything he could to stop them again. “You’re much prettier when you smile,” he says as he sits next to you and rests his arm on the bench behind you and pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “I worked hard to get you to smile and I’m not going to allow all of my hard work to go to waste.” He lights the cigarette and takes a drag before handing it to you. “So we’re going to sit here until you start smiling again.”

“You’re a nice guy, John,” you smile. “Shame I’m not a bit older. I could have snagged you for myself.” You have no idea why you said it, but you did, and you can’t take it back now. Of course, your buzz doesn’t stop you from saying things you’ll probably regret tomorrow when you’re sober. “I am trying to figure out why you’re not trying to make a move on me though.”

“I’m sitting here on a park bench at 9:00 at night with a pretty girl that I was buying drinks for at a pub,” he laughs. “This is my move.”

You pretend to be shocked. “You mean to tell me this whole time you were trying to fool me into thinking you actually find me interesting?”

“I wouldn’t have put in almost two hours of effort if I didn’t find you interesting,” he grins. “I was actually going to bring you home and ask if I could see you again. Without alcohol being involved next time, of course.”

You turn your body so you're facing him now and smile. It’s not the buzz that’s drawn you to him. You weren’t even feeling any of the effects when you started talking to him at the pub. He’s nice. And funny. And freaking adorable with his hair that you’re struggling to refrain from playing with. And when he smiles at you? It just makes him even more appealing. You’ve never been drawn to older men before, but this one? Well, he’s making it really hard not to be drawn to him. “Bring me home,” you blurt out without even thinking of how your bluntness could be construed.

“Mine or yours?” he smirks. “Because mine?” he points. “Right across the street.” This isn’t what your intent was at all. Your plan was to walk back to yours, ask him when you were going to see him again, and go inside and pass out on the sofa you’ve been sleeping on for the past week. But… Well…

“Right across the street, huh?” you grin. “If I didn’t know any better, John, I’d think you’re trying to…”

“Is it working?” he laughs. “Because I’m really not trying too hard. But I can if I need to.”

You shift yourself a little bit closer to him and giggle. “Maybe try just a little bit harder so I don’t feel like I’m being too easy.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs as he shifts himself, too. “What if I were to tell you that I can make you forget all of your troubles, if only for one night.”

You look up to the sky, pretending to be deep in thought before looking back at him with a grin. “All of my troubles?”

“All of them,” he grins. “Anything that’s bothering that pretty little head of yours.”

“Sounds tempting,” you smile and say softly. “But I may need just a little more convincing.”

“Alright then,” he chuckles, leaning his face close to yours. “What if I were to kiss you right now?”

“It may help,” you smile. “But I’m not sure.” It’s quiet. You’re in the middle of the city, but it’s quiet. No cars passing by. No voices in the background. Just you and John, sitting on this park bench, the only light coming from the dimly-lit lamp across the path.

You look into his eyes, feeling almost threatened by how badly you want this. He smiles as he leans in closer, covering your lips with his. You respond immediately, his lips softer than you imagined they would be, and when he subtly prodded your mouth with his tongue, you had no qualms with letting him do it. He slowly pulled back and smiled at you again. “So, mine?” he chuckles.

As soon as his keys fall on the foyer table, you’re on each other, his hands holding your shoulders as he guides you into the bedroom, your mouths never separating, both of you giggling excitedly the whole way. As soon as he kicks the door to his bedroom shut, you pull his shirt off, rubbing your hands all over him as he pulls at your blouse until he takes it off. His hands work quickly on your bra until that, too, was in the pile on the floor, then your pants, and then your panties.

Your chest is rising and falling in slow, gentle movements as a faint smile dresses his lips. The whole moment is surreal, never a situation you ever even fantasized about being in. The soft glow of the moonlight shining through his bedroom window caresses your body as you lay on the bed. He tried to resist the desire burning inside since the second he laid eyes on you, but it was a futile effort. He leans down and softly kisses your neck and you moan lightly at his touch. His hand slides gently down your chest, following the curve of your breasts as his lips follow slowly behind. His hand slowly makes its way down the curve of your stomach, and you part your thighs, making it easy for him to find his way to the growing heat between them. With a soft sigh, your mouth parts, your tongue brushing your lips each time he runs a fingertip up and down your slit, gently touching that magic spot and circling it with the tip of his finger.

He wanted to see how long he could make you last before begging him for more, but watching how turned on you are made it impossible. The stiffness was starting to burn, practically intensifying into an ache just thinking about being inside you. He moves his hand and stands up, undoing his waistband and sliding his pants off, never taking his eyes off you. Perhaps now you can tease him, you think, and move your hand between your thighs and begin rubbing those lips that tempt him so damn badly. He stands there and watches for a moment before climbing back on the bed, putting himself in the perfect position as he lowers his head and looks up to you with a grin. He slides the tip of his tongue just around your entrance, swirling his tongue around to get a good taste. "You taste so sweet," he murmurs, feeling a faint tremble inside your core. "I could stay here for fucking days." Easing just up between your lips, just back to that spot that made you throb, he teases, licking and sucking, as the combination of your soft whimpers, trembles, and sweet scent triggers everything inside him. He savors every drop of your sweetness. With each soft moan, every lift of your hips, his arousal grows so fast he’s aware that it might just end up wasted on the bed.

He eases a long finger into you and bends it forward, gently massaged that sweet spot just at the front of your core before sliding another finger in, pressing his thumb against your clit. “Oh my god,” you murmur. “Please, John.” It’s hard for you to form your words, but you struggle until you do. “Please, get inside me. I need to feel you inside me.”

"You like that, doll?" He plunges deeper with demanding, hard thrusts.

"Yes," you whimper, raising your hips. “God, yes.”

Your desire burns through John's already aching erection, fueling him even more. “Tell me again, Y/N. Tell me you like what I'm doing."

“Yes. Please." Your voice is shaky and desperate. “I… Fuck, John.” You both start to laugh and he moves his fingers out of you, still rubbing your essence as he moves himself over you, falling into a deep kiss.

Sliding between your thighs, he slowly inches his cock deep inside you. “Like a glove,” he smirks. “Tight. Perfect.” He savors the feel, as do you, before he starts to roll his hips, pulsing himself in and out as he holds the sides of your head with his palms. Your hands reach around to his back, your nails digging deep into him with every thrust. “How do you like it?” he grunts. “Tell me what you like.”

“This,” you groan. “You feel perfect just like this.” And he does. The throbbing of his cock inside of you is fucking wonderful. But you wanted more. You needed more. He needed more – you can tell by the panting grunts he’s making in your ear. All he needs is for you to tell him. “Harder, John,” you whimper. “Fuck me harder.”

He picks himself up and the smirk on his face lets you know that’s exactly what he was waiting to hear. He pulls you close to him as he kneels in front of you and pushes himself inside you with a force that almost knocks the wind out of you, never relaxing it as he holds your knees apart and his thrusting becomes faster. “Christ, Y/N,” gasps, moving his hands from your knees so he can squeeze your thighs before he falls back down to you.

Your thighs tense, pulling him deeper. Clenching. Tensing. You’re dying to cum, desperate to feel satisfaction flowing from both of you. Still pulsing inside you, he brushes the hair from your face, your eyes glazed with lust. He kisses you gently, his eyes wide open, the moonlight painting a beautiful picture in his eyes. “I’m ready,” you whisper. “I need to cum.”

“Cum for me,” he groans. “All for me.” Pleasure flows over every inch of you body like crashing hot waves. “Come on.”

“Oh, God,” you wince. “Fuck…” His breath deepens and you see his jaw tense as he pushes relentlessly inside you, exploding into orgasm in unison. Every fiber of your body trembles in satisfaction. You hold each other close, the waves of you orgasms still moved through your bodies. He kisses you deeply with long strokes of his tongue. “Stay inside me. Please.”

Your gentle whisper rings in his ear. He didn't want to move either, not want this moment to end. The feeling is just too good to ignore. Looking deep into your eyes, he kisses you again. “But if I stay like this, then we’ll be wasting the rest of the night,” he smiles before slowly easing himself out of you and laying next to you on his back. “Unless you’re done with me and want to go home.”

“Absolutely not,” you laugh. “You said you’d make me forget all my troubles for one night.” You turn and rest your head on his chest. “And by my calculations, we still have a few hours to go.”

“And what about your day job?” he chuckles.

You raise yourself up and look over to his nightstand. “I see a phone over there,” you smirk. “I can call my boss in the morning. Unless…”

He quickly pulls you back down. “No, no,” he chuckles. “Wouldn’t want you to forget your troubles tonight only to have to remember them again tomorrow.”

“Good. Because then all of this would have been a waste of my time,” you giggle. “I don’t like wasting my time.”

His laughter starts to roar and he sits up, climbs out of the bed and puts his pants on, walks to the doorway and turns around. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry.”

“Wow, and he’s good with the sweet pillow talk too,” you giggle. “I am actually hungry, yes.” He smiles and nods his head before walking out. All you can do is chuckle to yourself. This was definitely not the night you planned on having, or even the night you wanted to have, but here you are, in John Deacon’s bed, wondering what perfect planetary alignment had to happen in order for this to be your current reality. No use in trying to figure it out now, though, so you throw on the first shirt you find – the button down one he was wearing before you tore it off of him – and walk out of the bedroom.

You don’t want to snoop around, but you do take notice of the décor in the living area. You didn’t see it when you first came in since you were rushing to the bedroom. Being that he’s a musician, the instruments weren’t a shock at all. You did notice some picture frames but didn’t bother looking at their contents. Instead, you follow the noise and walk into the kitchen where he’s shuffling things around, and lean back on the counter. He’s pleasantly surprised when he turns around and sees you standing there. “Do you make it a habit to sneak up on people?”

“Do you make it a habit to leave naked girls in your bed?”

“Never,” he says. “If they’re naked I always make sure I’m there with them.”

You raise your brow and smirk. “Then why’d you leave me there?”

He throws whatever he was holding in his hands on the counter, chuckles deeply and walks over to you, grabbing your waist and pulling you close. “Because I was hoping to walk back in there, see you laying there, and pretend like I was seeing you for the first time all over again.” He leans down with a smile and gives you a quick kiss. “But now you’ve ruined it.” You start to giggle, biting your bottom lip and try to push him away, but he’s stronger than you. “No, ma’am, you’re not going anywhere.” He picks you up and seats you on the counter. He bites his bottom lip and smiles. “I’m glad I met you.”

“I’m glad you met me, too,” you giggle. “Do you have ice cream?”

“Ice cream?” he laughs. ”Yes, I have ice cream.”

“I want ice cream,” you grin.

“She wants ice cream,” he jokingly mumbles. “Guess we need to get the lady ice cream.” He walks to the freezer, grabs the container of ice cream, grabs two spoons from a drawer and walks back over to you. “If I give you my ice cream, you have to give me your number.”

You take a spoon from his hand and take a spoonful of the ice cream. “If I give you my number, you have to make sure you call it.”

“I will definitely call it.” He rubs a hand on your thigh and smiles. “This wasn’t my intention when I started talking to you tonight. I want you to know that.”

“I know,” you smile. “That’s why I’m going to give you my number.” By this point, the ice cream on your spoon has started to melt and dropped on your thigh. “Dammit,” you giggle.

“I’ll clean it off,” he smirks, wiggling his eyebrows and squatting down, looking at you as he slowly licks it off. “Better?” he smirks, standing back up and giving you a quick kiss.

You wrap your arms around him and smile. “I think you need to take me back in there.”

“Yeah,” he whispers. He grins and grabs your legs, wrapping them around him and pulls you off the counter. “Because there’s only a couple of hours left of today. Then I have to start to make sure you forget all of your troubles tomorrow.”

Permatags: @clogwearingspacepoodle @briansfatbottomgirl @culturefiendtrashqueen @jennyggggrrr @shutup-sorry @dontstopmemeow @letmelivetaylor @tommyleeownsme @ziggymay @drowseoftaylor @mariekuuuuuh @biscuit-barrel @givemequeen @luvborhap @quirkydeaky @capsparrowtara @vousmemanqueez @vanitysfairr @langdonzvoid @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @thigh-your-mother-down @toomuchlove-willkillyou @lauravic @loveandbeloved29 @catch-a-deak @rogxrtaylxr @formylife-stillahead-pityme

[hypnothesis-au]

A Double Act [Part 3]

Same deal, go to Part 1 and/or Part 2 if you haven’t been there yet!

Octavio only laughed in response, his teeth flashing white as they landed with a sharp thump upon the little mesh slat next to his make-shift octobeacon, a glowing ring indicating their point of contact. He relished the surge of adrenaline the jump had pumped through him, suddenly aware of how anxiously the android was gripping his hoodie. The octarian examined every line, reflective ridge, and perfectly buffed plane of their face, enjoying the momentary peace between them before he finally helped them back to their feet. Shakily, Tartar finally acknowledged when he began to put them down, bracing themself with a hand on his shoulder until their balance had recalibrated to the new setting. They stepped away from him not long after, turning and huffing as they watched the frantic reactions of the carnival-goers below that had witnessed Octavio’s stunt. There was an expected amount of shock, some laughter, and quite a bit of mortified pleading from the employees below-- though, with the distance between them and the top of the ferris wheel, the requests to get down were scarcely audible. For the moment, at least until they were shouted at over the intercoms, the authority defiant streak within the AI urged them to mockingly stick their tongue out at the fitful Octarians. Octavio turned and approached the edge of platform, shoving his hands back into the warmth of his hoodie pocket. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of the wind on his tentacles. “You aren’t a soldier, T.” He murmured matter-of-factly, “...But you’ve seen ya fair share of war, and death.” He lifted his head, his eyes drifting along blackened landmarks upon the horizon. “You want the same thing every good soldier wants.”

Tartar turned away from the commotion, unbothered, in time to hear their partner’s words. He didn’t even know the half of it. “Hm. And what exactly are you supposing that is?” They were almost amused by it, wondering how they were both still entertaining this topic-- but significantly more at peace, at least, knowing there would be no changing his mind regardless of the outcome.

Octavio’s fingers closed around a piece of gold in his pocket. “An honorable death. An end to all the suffering and pain.” The Octarian could have been proud of himself, felt accomplished for reading into them so well, but the knowledge only weighed on him. He burned to incite hope back into their life, to give them a reason, a passion to live for. His children had been that for him, if only he could bring them to understand… death was not the only way to put an end to misery. Octavio pulled out the coin, rubbing it between his forefinger and thumb. He kept his back to them to hide the turmoil in his eyes.

The AI’s impulse was to parrot the obvious lie, machines don’t feel pain, but knowing he wouldn’t believe it anyways, they refrained. “. .. So what?”

Turning, finding themself at the edge of the platform, Tartar slowly took a crouching position and folded their arms over their knees. As far as Octavio knew, that was their final goal in all of this; and who were they to argue? The AI knew secretly what completing their directive would bring upon both the world and themself, and a part of them knew that if their conscious operation was no longer required after all was said and done… then they found no reason to prolong their ‘life’, if it could even be called that. Perhaps, they hoped, by some divine mercy they would finally be granted a reunion with their Professor...

“Machines are built to complete the tasks they were built for, and then when they are no longer needed, they are put out of commision. Deconstructed. You would know,” they turned their head slightly to nod to him, “you’ve spent a century rebuilding and taking things apart... There’s no purpose in remaining once my directive is complete, so I suppose you could say, that’s all I really ‘want’. That’s what I work towards, and I care little for the distractions of this world that prolong it.”

"The lines for that 'spare parts' argument start ta blur when the machines get sentient."  Since the argument had started, Octavio had been itching for a cigarette. Nicotine helped take the edge off their viperous tongue. Mindful of their hatred towards this habit, he instead placed the coin between his teeth, heads side up. "If what ya say is true, then you of all creatures are most to be pitied." He replaced the coin after he spoke, humming thoughtfully, feeling the piece of metal vibrate against his teeth. They looked surprisingly small, crouching there with the whole world beneath their feet. ‘You're so damn good at lyin', T, you even convinced yourself.’

Tartar bristled somewhat at the mentioning of Octavio’s sympathy, even their self-sacrificial mentality unable to curb the swell of pride towards their directive. “I don’t need pity, especially not from you,” they hissed, “all I’ve ever asked for is your cooperation. Not… this--”

They flung a hand to the air in a lazy gesture towards his prying, moving to stand and pausing under his gaze. They weren’t sure what to make of the coin dangling from his mouth, eyeing the intricate gold stamp of a Zapfish tail. Though at that point they weren’t sure they could make sense of any of the Octarian’s motives. His eyes, though, spoke far more seriously of the conversation at hand. This put Tartar significantly more at ease, believing he had at last understood the weight of what they were disclosing to him. Leaving in agreement on the subject seemed far from possible, but they felt urged to see that their partner did not leave feeling so troubled by what he now knew.

The android shrugged then, stating calmly, “Perhaps it is sad, you might think; most sentient creatures have some base desire to live. After 12’000 years of doing such, however, that is a desire I do not share. That’s just the way it is. I’ve accepted it, and though you may not, it’d spare you the difficulty of your efforts if you did.”

They turned away uneasily at this, knowing if they didn’t speak up now, the argument would be tossed around in yet another pointless circle between both of their stubborn attitudes. They started a few times, feeling themself having to shoot down that same swollen pride to admit, “I know I’m not a pleasant individual to try getting along with. I try not to be. But... nothing is more important to me than what we’re trying to accomplish, and I value your contributions to it pricelessly. If I didn’t respect you for what you’ve done, then perhaps I’d lie just as sweetly to you as I do the rest of these creatures and be your friend. I know where I’m going, and it’s somewhere you can’t follow, so I don’t want you to waste your time with something that’s beyond your control. I wouldn’t… want to do that to you. That would be truly pitiful.”

A huff that was just short of a laugh left their throat as they voiced with a hint of ironic humor, “So, in short, leave me alone. That’s always been the easier answer, now hasn’t it?”

"Ya ever put sugar onna lemon, T? It doesn't make it sweet, it's jus' a buffer for when ya get to the soul puckerin' bitterness." Octavio pursed his lips thoughtfully, the gold piece flashing between his fingers. "So, you're right, I should thank ya for being honest with me." His voice softened, his eyes kinder, "I don't do," he gestured towards the distant carnival lights "This, outta pity, It's like ya said. I respect ya, and value your time n opinion. It's only--." He bit down on the coin with his back molars, thoughtfully, anxiously. ‘You live in a cardboard box with peepholes cut out of the side. How easy is it to judge something when you have never felt, never lived. To cast your condemning, scornful glance upon all who pass, from the safety of your little box. You existed for 12,000 years, but you never thought once to live.’ 

Octavio knelt beside them, his eyes now level with theirs. Several times, he seemed about to say something, his gaze searching their optics. He reached out to cautiously grab their wrists, placing his hands palm-up in their grasp. He spoke in Octarian, "I want you to understand something; though you don't want or care to have me as your confidante, the offer will always be open." He stared at his own palms for a moment, distracted with the idea that the same hands could do equal amounts of evil and good. The android rested their hands in his as long as they could bear. Despite having already clung to him in a panic not five minutes prior, this was different. More vulnerable, too much so for their sensors to process-- a malfunction-wrought compression of ink within their chest cavity told them so. He stood again, offering to help them up as well, and upon doing so Tartar reflexively jerked their arms back once on their feet, nervously flexing their fingers against each other and offering no reprehension, nor explanation to their aversion.

This exchange had produced a rare occasion; they had achieved a perfect understanding of one another. Octavio had pocketed his own pride and passed the decision into their court; convinced they would never, ever act on his offer.

Watching him cautiously and with a tilted expression, the AI contemplated said offer. It was a surrender enough to leave the initiative to them, but Tartar almost felt compelled to spit that he always had a way of forcing out their disclosure regardless. They stopped when the thought was equally countered with whether or not the urge to openness was truthfully a flaw on their own part. Their optics wandered, over their bandmate, across the stretch of carnival grounds, and back to the platform that perched them both above it all-- and they laughed.

Perhaps the complete absurdity of the situation had finally caught up with them, the severity of the past discussion having worn their mainframe down to the near disbelief that they now stood side by side with such a simple impasse having been met. But, their vocal hardware did in fact ring out with a mechanical kind of amusement at the fact.

Octavio started in surprise, taking a step backwards as they erupted in chiming peals of laughter. However ridiculous the setting, he could find no humor in it. The melodic chortles gave rise to emotions he could not place. His brow furrowed with the swell of inner chaos, illness creeping into his stomach. They were right again, for the most part. It was better to remain lateral, indifferent. Impossible. The very nature of their collaboration preyed upon his mortal sympathy and compassion. They were magnets with like poles, the closer they got, the more repulsed they became.

Tartar covered their face with a sleeved hand to spectate through their laughter, “So it only took the entirety of a broken circus contraption and some fatally dangerous stunts to reach this conclusion, did it? How ... fascinating,” a snort broke their sentence, “Very well then. I won’t forget your offer, if it makes you feel better.” The inner turmoil had far from left them, rather, it felt more as it it had raged itself into a storm in their core, an electric sting pushed behind their eyes for a reason they couldn’t place. Didn’t want to acknowledge, for as extensively as they preached how unbothered they felt by organic emotions. They didn’t need his idea of help, didn’t want it-- or, knew they couldn’t want it. This certainly was not the kind of variable they had accounted for in the devising of their plans… The android was at once anxious to leave the scenario, before their train of thought manifested into something they couldn’t exercise their asphyxiating self-control over. “I’d prefer to stay busy with work. It has proved to be an excellent diversion from these egregious kinds of ideas, you know.”

Octavio wasn’t accustomed to having peers, and even less accustomed to being told no. The corners of his eyes flashed green and something compressed under his ribs, searing hot. Why? Again that question pressed, why did he care what happened to them? Intellectually he understood Tartar’s wishes perfectly, he could respect it and them, his own craving for death a familiar acerbity. Regardless, his heart rebelled, it cursed karma, fate, whatever force responsible for driving the AI to depression. His logic spoke now; forcing back the tide of his fervor. It was karma, to remain impassioned colleges and nothing more; contractual amity. They had their path, and he had his. Their paths converged here, but would soon diverge again, it was such a childish notion to… To extend companionship?! His heart roared, offended and aghast.

The ferris wheel lights flickered off, and then on again, the whole machine trembled and lurched, creaking back to life. Octavio’s eyes snapped to the scene below, crashing back to reality as a voice blared over the loudspeaker, “The ride is moving again. Please take your seats!” He offered the android his arm, smirking mirthlessly in the knowledge that the last comment had been directed towards them. “Shall we?” Tartar finally managed to calm themself, more than eager to depart from any more conversation when the intercom blared with a ear-splitting squeak to usher the two back to their cart. They snickered, their indifferently sarcastic farce restored enough to nearly erase the evidence that they had ever been so perturbed in the first place. The AI retorted, “We’re so getting kicked out for this, you know-- hope you had fun while you could.”

They braced themself against his arm and looked down to the seat they had left behind, knowing it would be unwise to keep both the carnival workers and other ferris wheel occupants waiting any longer to dismount, due to their own horrendously reckless behavior. Octavio found the return jump was dismal compared to the first, and he had returned to the carriage with a heavier burden than when he had left it. Waving down to the employees and flashing their trademark grin, Tartar ensured that they and their partner had returned to their seat (relatively) safely, and the ride began a cautious and snail-like crawl to allow it’s passengers their respective exits. Once settled, Octavio produced a music player from his pocket. “Speaking of work, cod I could use some music.” He forced his hands to steady, placing one of the buds in his right ear, offering the second one to Tartar. “This’ something I’ve been workin’ on.” The influx of melodic dubstep soothed his perturbed reflections as they traversed their steady descent.

When Octavio offered them the other half of his earbuds, they briefly glanced between his face and his hand, finally reaching for the device hesitantly and placing it in their ear. They listened with a passive lack of interest-- instead, knowing he wasn’t looking granted them the confidence to stare with an almost unnerving concentration, watching his expression change from a notable turbulence to his usual laid-back demeanor. So he was bothered by their reaction to his gesture-- to their having such a divergent mentality from what they could assume was the norm in his life thus far.

Understood, perhaps, but unfulfilled by said understanding for a reason they couldn't place; Tartar knew privately that if they hadn't laughed away the turmoil of the evening… they may have cried instead. They weren't sure why-- this was what they had wanted, wasn't it? Octavio now knew they wanted distance above all else. It couldn't be helped that he was disappointed, it seemed, and though that prospect made them irreparably uneasy, they knew they would have to accept the complication as long as they continued to work together. Perhaps, with enough time, he'd get used to it, knowing their partnership was intended to be temporary anyways. They were sure he'd have to, far too repelled themself by any of the alternative solutions.

Upon finally reaching the bottom of the ferris wheel once again, the two were met with less than pleased faces from the employees who had approached to 'greet' them. Tartar emulated the sound of clearing their throat, helping themself out of the cart with a grin and removing their cap to take a dramatic bow before the group.

"My friend and I make pretty radical acrobats ourselves, huh? Think we're cut out to be an act?" Their 'contemporary speech' came easily, the idol personality a muscle memory programmed to every wire of their body-- though the charming humor seemed to do little to impress the aggravated workers, it certainly helped the AI pretend to forget what had transpired. They never truly would. "Tough crowd," they wheezed shortly as they were ushered away from the ferris wheel, replacing their hat and pressing their hands together, "I do apologize for any bugging out our slick stunts may have caused! Violating fairground rules is pretty lame when it spoils people's fun; I'll see to it that those bad vibes are made up for, and then some!"

Octavio’s jaw remained set while the workers with condemning nervous smiles, guided them away. Unlike Tartar, he offered no apology or explanation. Instead, he wrestled his arm from the grip of an employee, his glare daring them to try restraining him. He turned and stalked towards the locker he’d rented. The Octarian dug into his backpack, hooking the straps of a new mask behind his ears and swinging the bag to its place on his shoulder. He was in the act of slamming the locker shut when he glimpsed the pointed tail of the plushie he’d won earlier at the ring-toss booth. Octavio retrieved the toy, kneading the plush fabric in his hands. He ran a finger over its bright glass eyes, staring intently into the doll’s static expression. Gradually, it began to tremble in his grasp. Octavio made up his mind and shoved the prize into his backpack, breaking into a jog to catch up with Tartar at the gate of the carnival...

[E N D]

Part 1 Part 2 >Part 3

[anneesfolleshq]

Bonjour et bienvenue! Paris welcomes you, our Assassin,  Margot Clarisse Lachapelle! May we say, you’re the spitting image of Ruth Negga! Please make your presence known within 24 hours, and do have a look at our checklist before setting out into the city on your own.                                                                                 À bientôt!

MUN

Name/Alias: Pooh

Preferred Pronouns: She/her

Age: 18

Timezone: GMT+2, I’ll mostly be on in the afternoons and you can expect me to be most active during weekends.

MUSE

Chosen Skeleton: The assassin

Muse Name: Margot Clarisse Lachapelle

Muse Age: 34

Chosen FC: Ruth Negga

Muse Occupation: Unassuming florist by day, deadly assassin-for-hire by night

Muse Affiliation & Frequent Haunts: If asked which side of the Seine she prefers, Margot would say her loyalty lies in neither. You’d think a life spent in Montmartre would make her biased fort he right bank. In truth, Margot migrates between both. She doesn’t refrain from traveling to Montparnasse when the night falls, searching for some entertainment, some distraction, or simply because her current assignment demands so of her. Margot can frequently be seen at The Blue Lotus, the Moulin Rouge, the street market, Le Ciel, L'Enfer and Parc Montsouris.

Direct from Le Petit Journal: The streets of Paris are graced once again with the return of Mademoiselle Lachapelle! The Great War has forced her family to seek refuge in the beautiful mountains of Switzerland, in one of their many chateau’s no doubt. However, Margot Lachapelle returns alone to the studio apartment in Montmartre. Could trouble be brewing? Recently, Mademoiselle Lachapelle has taken up a position as a florist at the Au Printemps flower shop, providing further evidence of financial issues. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, dear readers! Who knows what secrets hide behind the piercing gaze of this high-society dame…

BIOGRAPHY

Margot Clarisse Lachapelle is old money. Born into the very upper-crust of Parisian society, her life is expected to be one without hardships. She is a lively child, barely standing still when her mother attempts to tie the perfect bow on her dress. The fire-cracker that is the little girl is challenged by horseback riding and, at the recommendation of her uncle, archery. Her mother dons a frown whenever her daughter returns from practice. A young lady should under no circumstances be holding a deadly weapon in her hands. It is in place. Margot persists. She is bright, so her teachers said. Private school for the elite is temporary, a fleeting experience. After she graduates, Margot is expected to find a suitor and wed.

Margot never finds a man, and her father suspects the private school gave her one too many ideas. No matter how many young gentlemen are sent to win over the lady’s heart, all return defeated. What is this woman doing that frightens so many young men? Discussing current political events? Expressing her frustration with her tutor, her wish to go to a real university? Gushing over the joys of running and subtly inviting the other to a football match? Most likely, it is all of the above. »You are a woman,« her mother tells her. »Your only concern should be to find a husband. You cannot study. You cannot play sports.« Margot spits back words of pure fury and the two do not speak until her mother pitches another wealthy bachelor to her. She plays her game, for a while. She never fully accepts her faith as merely an heir to the Lechapelle fortune, but she tries anyway. She’s fed up after meeting men who visibly cringed at her wish to perhaps one day pursue a career.

Her mother stops trying soon after Margot stops giving a damn. She’s reading too many books and skimming over too many articles for her tastes. Attempts of a conversation about the arms race fall on deaf ears and Margot wonders how dead she is to her mother already. Then comes the declaration of war. Suddenly, her mother has to pay attention to politics. They’re packing before she knows it, yet Margot puts up a resistance. Cowards, her parents are. Cowards, running away to safety, to Switzerland, when their country needs them the most. After heated arguments that leave Margot with a sore throat each time, she stays. Stays and watches men in herds leave the comforts of their home to defend it. They carry their bayonets and kiss their lovers goodbye and how Margot wishes she could go with them. To fight the Germans and those who threaten them. To defend France. But yet again, her mother’s words echo in her mind: you’re a lady, you’re a lady.

Marcel Lachance joins the army at 25. He’s the butt of all jokes when it comes to facial hair, his inability to grow a beard. His dark curls are crudely chopped off, peeking out slightly from under his helmet. He never removes his shirt in front of his fellow soldiers. His chest is bound, after all, hiding the lady of Lachapelle. But what Marcel lacks in masculinity, he makes up for on the field. He notoriously never misses a target. A natural born sharp-shooter, he impresses others with his calm hands and impeccable aim. His bravery is to be envied, his morale twice as much. He is hailed as an excellent soldier. He finally feels a sense of belonging. However, what most don’t notice is how he grits his teeth, how he clutches his gun so hard his knuckles turn white. The shaking of his form whenever the trenches are attacked, though to be fair, it’s a minuscule detail in those times. The excellent soldier is afraid, petrified, yet he persists. He remembers everything. The screams of his comrades, the blood that flows like a river through the war-stricken field. The hollow looks of shell-shocked soldiers he regarded as friends.

The scenes replay in his mind after they send them home. After he becomes she again and the uniform is stored in the back of her closet. Everyday life is a foreign concept to the war veteran. She gets a job at a flower shop. Sure, it’s not the career of her dreams, but it is standing up to her mother, fulfilling the wish of pre-war Margot. And she has to pay rent somehow. But she feels it inside, the dullness of everyday life, the yearning to march out and defend once again. Her wish to return to the glory days. She scolds herself each time. War brought devastation. Why on earth would she want to go back? No, stay here, smile as all the others do, prepare bouquets, do not think about it. It becomes routine: wake up bright and early, have breakfast, go to the flower shop, work, return in the evening and wonder how long until you completely lose your mind. Or perhaps, how much more appropriate it would have been for Margot to die in the battlefield. She wants adrenaline to pump through her veins once again, to feel as if she belongs. She needs it.

Her saving grace is her former fellow soldier, one of the very few that knew Marcel to be Margot. He finds her one night, hunched over a bar with empty liquor glasses keeping her company, a pile of misery. Dragging her home is a challenge. Margot is a giggling fool one moment and a screamer, crier and barely a person in the next. She tries to sleep with him, he politely declines. »You’ll drink yourself to death,« he remarks. Margot scoffs in return. »It’s what’s keeping me alive.« The desperation in her voice is clear despite her slurred words. At her doorstep, the fellow veteran offers a solution to end her despair. The next night, Margot stands before her jury- well-known mafia bosses are impressed with her marksmanship. Margot feels a sense of pride she hasn’t felt in a long time. They’ll pay her, they say. Equip her with the proper firearms and teach her the necessary skills. All she has to do is kill.

It’s nothing personal. For the right price, anyone will be her target. Margot doesn’t count the number of victims. She remains cold to the bloodshed, or at least attempts to. She can’t afford to feel grief or guilt when money’s on the line. When she’s a killing machine. When she’s at war.

POTENTIAL PLOTS/CONNECTIONS

While I’d be absolutely thrilled to interact with every one of the characters in-game (I love how each skeleton has a unique storyline!), I have some ideas for future plots with Margot:

First of all, I’d absolutely love any plots with fellow war veterans. Maybe someone that was in Margot’s battalion and knows Margot was Marcel. They could talk about their experiences and coping with the scars the conflict has left behind. Are they also turning to crime? Or cigarettes or sex or alcohol? Or are they smoothly transitioning into everyday life? Maybe someone that doesn’t know this detail and wonders why Margot is so morbidly curious in their war experiences. It would kill Margot on the inside- wanting to reveal herself as Marcel, but fearing no one would believe her, calling her delusional. Perhaps someone could question her decision to leave for Switzerland, not knowing she stayed behind and defended her country. It’d be quite interesting to explore Margot’s relationship with the war and how it left her with physical and mental scars (is my inner history nerd showing yet?).

Second, any and all plots related to Margot’s work as an assassin are welcomed. What I have in mind is someone who is perhaps a frequent client, someone corrupted and completely into the crime scene. Someone that could challenge Margot to melt away the icy attitude she has towards her job, who’d make her question the morality of her actions.

Third, I’d love for her to have some friends. Women and men that got under her skin, despite her self-reliant, but slightly distant attitude. She wouldn’t even realize it, but suddenly she harbors friendly feelings towards these people and it scares her. Yet she could realize how much she treasures them at the same time and wouldn’t want to let them go. Someone that brings out the free-spirited and energetic side of her would be appreciated, as well as a confidant she could trust with her life.

Finally, perhaps someone that could completely sweep her off her feet. She’s not one to fall in love, nor does she believe anyone would particularly fancy her, but this person could change that. It could even be a simple crush, Margot would definitely try to ignore her feelings, but never quite be able to bury them. But as I’ve said before, I’d love to interact with any and every character in-game. I’m open to any plots and connections for Margot!

[donewithjeon]

Level Up

Characters: Seokjin x Reader

Word Count: 30,017

Genre: Fluff

Note: Sacrifices to accuracy have been made for the sake of entertainment. Please enjoy the shenanigans, buffoonery, and borderline crack.

“I like your keychain.”

The boy glanced over at you at the sound of your compliment, staring through his clear-rimmed oval glasses that seemed to magnify his dark brown eyes and the surprise he held in them. By the looks of it, your sudden speech had caught him off guard, because it took him a couple seconds to realize what you had just said. His gaze traveled to his backpack that was placed atop his desk where the item of your interest was hooked carefully onto one of the zipper pullers.

The keychain consisted of four metal charms, each unique in its design. The one positioned on the bottom was a bright, yellow square with a white punctuation mark in the middle that represented a certain question block you were very familiar with. The three charms above it were a variety of power-ups in the colorful shapes of two mushrooms and a flower, all from the same franchise as the first—the best franchise, you might add.

“Thanks,” your classmate finally responded, turning back to you with a tentative expression and an inquiry to match. “You like Mario?”

“I love Mario.”

Just like that, his hesitation disappeared and was soon replaced with pure excitement in the form of one of the widest smiles you had ever seen. Seriously, you were scared that his puffed-up cheeks would cramp up and stay that way forever.

“I’m Seokjin,” the boy joyfully introduced, pivoting his position to face you and no doubt continue the tantalizing conversation that you had initiated.

You two were merely students in elementary school, but even in that moment, you knew that it would be the start of a beautiful friendship. Any bond formed by the mutual love of a flamboyant fictional character was bound to be one that was unbreakable.

Kim Seokjin.

The Mario to your Luigi. The Zack to your Cody. Your other half, only because that was approximately how much of your food he stole from you on a daily basis.

Your best friend.

From that point on, you always took notice of him when he walked down the hall or entered the classroom. Honestly, it wasn’t too difficult—you could hear him.

A melodious ringing followed him around wherever he went, as if bells were announcing his arrival. It resembled a noise similar to a couple of crystal chalices clinking together in celebration or a pair of polished sabers clashing in heated battle. The pattern remained constant, seeming to always match up with the boy’s steps whether he was dragging his feet to get to his dreaded science class or picking up the pace to be the first one in line at the cafeteria. It didn’t take you long to figure out that the sound originated from the very keychain you had noticed during your first friendly exchange.

Seokjin kept the trinket attached for years, and even as he got new backpacks to replace the worn ones, he never failed to transfer it so that it became customary to hear him before you saw him. Whenever you detected the distinct and rhythmic tone of metal against metal, you knew who it was. It became your way of finding him if you ever lost him in a crowd.

That, and yelling “free food”.

Growing up in the same neighborhood, you two often pestered your parents—bless their souls—into visiting each other’s homes, whether it was to study or play games; although, if you were being completely honest, it was far more of the latter. If you were seen together, chances were that the two of you were seated in front of a TV with controllers in your hands. Okay, that might have been a bit of an exaggeration—you guys definitely spent time watching movies and cartoons, too. In that case, the only difference in the scene was the type of controller in your hand.

With those priorities, you were surprised either of you were able to make it past middle school—but somehow, you did.

“I want you to call me Jin from now on.”

Looking up from the assignment you were in the middle of completing—you were very proud of the level of concentration you were holding onto—you casted Seokjin a confused look across the dining room table where you two had chosen to splay your schoolwork onto for the day. Sure, teenagers were bound to go through awkward changes in high school, but you had never thought that Seokjin was going to be one of those kids who suddenly adopted some sort of alter ego in the form of a nickname.

“What? But why?”

“Because Seokjin sounds so…old-fashioned.”

A gust of air escaped your nostrils in an airy snort as you diverted your attention back down to your work to refrain from laughing at the trivial reason. “I think your name is fine.”

“I like Jin better, though.” You could almost hear him defiantly pout through his words.

“Well, I like Seokjin.”

There was a silence after you made that comment, and when you peeked up to see if he had already given up on his petty dispute, you saw that he was just indifferently staring down at his textbook, albeit his ears appeared a few shades redder than they usually were.

“I’m glad that’s settled then,” you hummed, taking his action, or lack thereof, as a sign of surrender.

“You’re really not going to call me Jin?” he asked again, but there was less assertiveness in his voice this time around.

“I’m going to call you by the name your mother gave you,” you replied with a cheeky smile. You weren’t sure if he caught it though, since he refused to look up from his work after that—probably hanging his head in bitter defeat.

Seokjin didn’t bring up the subject again after that day. You thought that maybe he had changed his mind after your minor persuasion, but after a while, you noticed that all of his new friends and even many of his old friends were starting to call him Jin. Perhaps his agenda to push his updated identity was more successful than you had initially assumed, but even so, it didn’t affect you much.

To you, he would always be Seokjin.

If you had to choose one word to describe your best friend, it would be dork. He was probably the biggest dork in the world, and you meant that in the sincerest, fondest way possible. To be honest, the main reason why you declined to call him by his new nickname was because you felt that his old-fashioned name suited him very well—he was seriously an old man at heart.

From the first moment you had met him, he had worn these clunky oval glasses for his bad eyesight that had looked like they belonged to his dad. He had switched frames a couple times, but each one seemed to look more antiquated and fatherly in nature than the predecessors. Your personal favorite was the last pair he had sported that had a dark rim going across only on the top half of the glasses, because it amused you to no end how it made him look like he had two sets of eyebrows.

Much to your dismay, those days were long gone, left behind with the memories of your lives before high school. However, even as Seokjin got rid of his glasses and replaced them with contact lenses, you knew that you would never be able to shake the image of the dorky little kid from your mind.

You were saddened after the fact that you weren’t able to take any photos of him in all those unfortunate glasses, but those thoughts promptly fled your mind one particular day when Seokjin’s mother decided to whip out his childhood photos during one of your routine visits. It was surely an embarrassing situation for Seokjin, much like it would have been for any other teenage boy whose bumtastic baby pictures were being shared with his friends, but you were too busy taking photos of everything and laughing at his misery to empathize. You even used one of the more ridiculous poses he had done as your phone wallpaper for a certain period of time just to have the satisfaction of messing with him.

It was a true testament of your friendship.

For the longest time, you always associated Seokjin with the images you had in your head of his past self. It was to the point where you absentmindedly thought that you were still taller than him, because to be fair, you had been in the early years of your friendship before his growth spurt. It probably wasn’t until more than halfway through high school that you realized he had sprouted, almost like he had eaten the red mushroom from Super Mario.

“When did you get so tall?”

“Hm?” Seokjin responded with a tilt of his head, pausing his devastating attack on his ice cream cone to ponder your question for a second. His eyes examined you for a second as if he was realizing the change in your heights for the first time as well. “I have no idea.” You smirked at his lackluster and unhelpful answer, shoving a spoonful of your ice cream from the cup in your hand in return.

Either both of you were painfully clueless and horrible at paying attention what was happening around you, or the lack of awareness was just because you two spent so much time together that any change was just too gradual and easy to miss.

“At least I know how you got so tall.” You dropped your spoon into your cup and reached over to jokingly jab the front of his tummy, your fingers grazing the cloth of his shirt before sinking into his soft flesh. “You never stop eating.”

“Rude,” he exclaimed, somewhere between appearing offended and glaring daggers at you.

“Hey, I never said it was a bad thing,” you swiftly rebuked, throwing your hand up at the accusation with a grin. “It’s actually pretty impressive.”

Not in the mood to argue, Seokjin resumed his task of finishing his dessert. It was something he always seemed to do before you so that he could steal a few bites from yours afterwards. You didn’t even know why you allowed such blasphemy to occur.

Oh, right—he was your best friend.

The two of you definitely had other friends throughout your grade school years, but the esteemed prefix of “best” remained solely with him.

You visited each other’s homes at least once a week, usually on Friday nights since that was when you guys watched movies together. Having emerged from elementary and middle school, you had to spend less and less time glued to the TV screen if you wanted to have any chance of building up a good work ethic for the future. While you did greatly reduce the amount of hours that went into fun and games, instead of going the extra mile and completely removing that component of your lives, Seokjin and you agreed upon a designated movie night for all your viewing pleasures. It soon became a weekly tradition, save for a couple times you settled on skipping the custom for the sake of demanding and crucial events in your life, such as college applications.

It was a mystery how you weren’t sick of each other by now, but when you both received acceptance letters from the same mutually-preferred university of choice, you were absolutely ecstatic. Going to college together and living the dormitory life meant that you two would be the closest you had ever been—literally.

And quite frankly, you couldn’t wait to wreak some havoc.

This now brings you to present time.

A new chapter of your life story begins with the turn of a page. The gateway to your future opens with a heavy and daunting creak. The place you will be spending the next four years in makes its grand appearance before your eyes, and the sights, smells, and everything in between all seem to shout one thing.

Welcome to college.

Seokjin’s parents were kind enough to let you hitch a ride with them, since they were already planning on personally driving their son up here anyway. Seoul isn’t too far from your hometown of Gwacheon, but you appreciate the efficiency of taking one car instead of two, even though stuffing your combined luggage in the cramped trunk probably took the most of your time. You swear that the extra weight caused the car to splutter with a struggle each time it attempted to accelerate, but nonetheless, you all made it without the car stalling on you, and that’s always a good start to the day.

You’ve been going through a whirlwind of emotions all week; the majority of what you’ve been feeling can be summed up as excitement, but a good chunk of it is also fear. You aren’t even moving that far from your parents, but this is the first time you’re going to be living away from them, and that thought alone frightens you just a smidge.

You’ll never admit it though, and you don’t think you’ll ever have to, because as you look over at Seokjin walking alongside you, matching your pace as you take the first steps through the campus together with bags at hand, you feel at ease knowing at least he is here with you.

The major you entered when you applied for this school is business, just like every other student on the face of this planet. As for Seokjin, he found a major under cosmetology, something you didn’t even know existed here until he told you about it. You have a sneaking suspicion that he only chose that major just so he can have the right to say that he’s in the “Department of Beauty”, but you aren’t one to judge. The point is that both of you are here now after suffering through your entrance exams, successfully clearing the first hurdle of your college lives.

Now comes the second hurdle: moving in.

After a brief but heated game of rock-paper-scissors, Seokjin decides to graciously help you move into your dorm room first. You are able to find your room with ease, but as you approach the door to unlock it, you can’t help but feel a certain amount of paranoia seep into your bones.

What if your roommate turns out to be a psychopath? What if she’s a kleptomaniac? What if she’s some kind of serial nudist who rejects putting on clothes when she’s in the privacy of her own dorm which, in turn, is your dorm?

Oh god, what if she snores?

You turn the handle before you can have any second thoughts or create some kind of monstrous predisposition of your roommate before you can even give her a chance to disappoint you. When the door swings open, you immediately see a figure standing inside by one of the two twin beds. At the sound of your entrance, the female perks up from her current task of organizing her belongings and walks forward to greet you with a warm smile straightaway.

“Hi! You must be the roommate,” she exclaims for the sake of welcoming you with the least bit of discomfort as possible.

“Yup, that’s me,” you anticlimactically say, extending your hand and your name as an introduction.

“I’m Soobin,” she replies, taking your hand in hers to give it a curt shake. Her hand is warm, which is a good sign—at least she’s not reptilian, not that you actually buy into that whole conspiracy.

“And I’m helping,” a voice from behind you butts in melodiously. Seokjin brushes past you carrying one of many boxes you need to jam into this space by today, walking over to the unoccupied wooden desk and placing it on top of the polished surface. Once that’s settled, he turns to your roommate and steps forward with his own hand outstretched and a proper greeting flowing past his smiling lips. “My name is Jin.”

Heart-eyes must exist in the real world, because there is no other explanation as to the look Soobin has when regarding your best friend. “Nice to meet you,” she responds timidly, shaking his hand in a feebler way than she did yours. Once the interaction is over, Seokjin heads straight for the door again to take care of the rest of the boxes. You’re not sure if he even noticed that he was being ogled—he sure doesn’t seem bothered by it. Maybe it’s just that you’re just being too observant?

“We’ll just be bringing my stuff in, so don’t mind us.” Your words snap Soobin out of the trance she was in, and she appears embarrassed to have been caught as she faces you with a sheepish smile.

“Of course! Let me know if you need any help,” she briskly offers, backing away from the entry so that she can give you more room to move in and out freely.

You have to say, you can think of about a million and one other things more pleasant than moving into a new place, but with a little elbow grease from your best friend—he’ll probably claim that he did all the work—all of your belongings are in without too much of a struggle.

Unfortunately, this is only half of the deal.

Once your bags and boxes are more or less in their appropriate places, you proceed to accompany Seokjin to his own dorm room to help him move in as well. The bad news is that he is staying in a different building than you are, making for a lovely stroll as you lug Seokjin’s things to his structure. The good news is that it seems as though his roommate hasn’t moved in yet, judging by the completely bare quarters you two walk into.

The room is identical to yours in layout and size. There are two twin beds on either side of the wall, and on the far end of the frame, there are two wooden desks with a few shelves that extend up against the wall. The space is in near-perfect symmetry, excluding the door immediately to the left of the entrance that leads to a personal bathroom. It’s small and minimal, much like the entire dormitory, but you’re not about to complain—you’re happy that you won’t have to submit yourself to the communal showers.

Who knows what horrors they hold?

“So, what do you think your roomie’s going to be like?” you question as you strain to drag one of Seokjin’s larger luggage carriers through the door.

“Maybe he won’t even show up?” he says, following in after you with his own hands full.

“Eh, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. He probably just has a later move-in date.”

Seokjin sighs woefully, either from releasing the large battering ram of a duffel bag onto his bed or reacting to your statement. “As long as he’s not the spawn of Satan, I’ll make it work.”

A smile grows on your face as you finish wheeling in his bag and set it off to the side. Seokjin is always the optimist, and it’s a trait that has rubbed off on you throughout the years, albeit not in the most conventional way.

“Even if he is, we can probably set up some kind of ritual to exorcise him. I’m sure it’ll be a nice bonding experience.”

Your best friend doesn’t even bother turning to acknowledge your ridiculous proposal, but you don’t blame him. Being close to you for so long, it’s almost a given that he isn’t swayed by your crazy antics or ideas anymore. Instead, he just drones a bored response and makes his way out the door again.

“Fun.”

What’s not fun is how long it takes for you two to finish moving Seokjin into his dorm. You don’t understand how he managed to bring so much stuff, and this is after you arduously convinced him not to bring his five million Mario figurines. You have no clue how he’s going to fit everything in this tiny room, but then again, that’s not your problem. You have your own room to worry about, and with that as an excuse, you wave goodbye to Seokjin, leaving him knee-deep in his own regret as you head back to deal with your mess you have yet to unpack.

Soobin is still organizing her side of the dorm when you return. You give her a quick smile and she gives you a kind one back, but the exchange is still marred by an air of awkwardness that you’re sure most first-time college roommates undergo in the beginning.

As you begin to work on unpacking your stuff though, you occasionally glimpse over at her just to try and get a read on her vibe some more. She seems like a sweet girl with almost an innocent aura to her—there are no signs of insanity or nudity yet—but at this point, you don’t really have enough information to have a solid first impression.

As if she could read your mind, you hear her voice break the silence with some small talk. “How did moving into the other dorm go?”

You look up from the plastic container you’re crouched over and see her gazing at you with a genuinely interested expression. You assume she’s talking about the trip you took to help Seokjin out, and you draw out a long, overdramatic breath thinking about his room again.

“I did the best that I could do, but he’s on his own now.”

Soobin lets out a light chuckle, and you feel the tension release a bit as you grin as well. “Jin, was it?” she asks, and you provide her with a nod in confirmation of the correct name. “Is he your…” It’s like you can see her mind working to connect the dots and run through all the options in order to decide which one she should pick to fill in the blank. “…boyfriend?”

“No,” you promptly refute, dragging out the vowel sound a little too long when you realize how rapidly you spit that response out. You didn’t even have time to really process the question, but when you do, you’re left wondering how you never once thought of the possibility that people you meet for the first time may have that kind of impression on your relationship.

“Oh no. He’s not your brother, is he?” she follows up, the beginnings of a horrified expression rising to etch her face at the recognition of potentially having made that mistake.

“God, no,” you retort with even more haste than the initial denial. That question was so appalling to you for no apparent reason, as if being related to Seokjin like that is a far more repulsive idea than the first. “He’s my best friend,” you add on before Soobin can dig herself into a bigger hole with her guessing game.

With that, she sighs in relief, already prepared to laugh off the mistake. “That totally would have been my third guess.” You give her a look that lets her know that you aren’t the slightest bit convinced, but soon enough, you find yourself laughing as the two of you spend the rest of the day cleaning the dorm and breaking the ice by sharing snacks brought from your respective homes.

You have a feeling that the two are going to get along just fine.

“A little to the left.” Seokjin’s hand moves according to your instruction with a swift stroke. “A little more.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, just hurry,” you huff impatiently. His expression is hesitant, but he concedes to your wishes anyway, enacting one final swipe that makes the goal in sight. “Now, release!” you nearly shout, and at that command, his hand slams down on the big red button.

In front of you, the prize claw machine drops its metal hook into the pile of plush toys. Seokjin and you watch diligently as the slinky device plunges down and lands on top of a fluffy, pink unicorn. The mechanical talons clamp over the fat, horny head of the mythical creature, but as the wire ascends back up in an attempt to pull it out of the pile, the toy barely budges before slipping out of the gangly grasp. It’s just as you expected from a claw that has the grip strength of someone who skips every single arm day in existence.

Seokjin groans openly at the display of failure while you only sigh, having anticipated this outcome. “Let’s try one more time,” he proclaims, reaching into his pocket to fish out some more coins to feed the greedy bastard of a game.

“No, thanks. This thing is a trap.” You straighten your back from the hunched position you were in from staring forcefully at the machine.

“You’re giving up, then?” The tone of his voice and the look in his eyes makes it obvious that he’s taunting you, but you’re not going to give into this toxic competition—not when the meager contents of your wallet is at stake.

“I’m quitting while I’m ahead,” you explain, remembering that the only other time you attempted this game ended with you going home with two new plush penguin pals—you doubt a miracle like that will happen again.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You look off into the distance, feigning a deeply ponderous expression. “Having enough money for lunch sounds like fun to me.” It’s already too late though—Seokjin isn’t listening to you anymore.

“Just give me a few minutes,” he requests, taking the several coins he took out of his pocket and inserting one of them into the slot.

“I’ll give you five.”

With that ultimatum, you walk past your best friend to explore the rest of the arcade. This is your first excursion into the city after moving in yesterday, and you have to say that it’s going fairly well. It was definitely going better before Seokjin decided to stop at this arcade and blow his entire budget for the month, but you’re still enjoying the sights and sounds of the streets surrounding your campus. You don’t know how much free time you’ll have once classes start up, so you’re glad to be making the most out of your last moments of stress-free relaxation.

Five minutes must have passed by while you were busy admiring the flashing display of a sticker photo booth, because you feel someone tapping on your shoulder. When you spin around, Seokjin is standing there, and contrary to your previous prediction, he is not empty-handed.

“Here, this is for you.”

He prods the object forward, and it’s only when you lift your hands to accept it that you get a proper look at it.

“A llama?” Your voice rises in confusion as your eyebrow quirks up at the white, beady-eyed ball of fluff that is staring back at you.

“It’s an alpaca.”

“Weren’t you trying to get the unicorn?” Seokjin just shrugs as if that’ll answer your question. “So, you got this by mistake?”

“There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.”

You stare vacantly, refusing to give him a reaction as his face lights up with a smile too proud for what he just said. Apparently, playing the claw machine game is an art form. Thankfully, he changes the subject before you have a chance to acknowledge the unprompted Bob Ross quote.

“Did you want to take some sticker photos?” Seokjin motions to the bright machine behind you, but you just shake your head to decline.

“Maybe another day when I actually look good,” you reply, glancing down at the alpaca to pet its fleecy head. You spent the entirety of yesterday and this morning laboring to clean and organize your dorm, so it’s safe to say that you probably aren’t the most presentable human being at the moment.

“But you always look good.”

Your hand freezes on the plushy, and your eyes dart up to Seokjin who seems to be more interested in looking at the machine behind you rather than your face.

“Wow, a present and a compliment?” you exclaim with inflated astonishment. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch!” He finally flits his eyes to you, looking offended that you even accused him of having ulterior motives for his kindness. It gets a good laugh out of you as his cheeks puff up into a pout, and you lightly smack him on the chest with the alpaca’s head.

“Alright, alright,” you say in between your chuckles before calming down into a softer smile. “Thank you.” Seokjin returns your gesture with a grin of his own.

“But you are paying for lunch, right?”

It’s his turn to laugh as you stand and glower at him. You don’t know why you expected anything else. This is commonplace in your friendship, after all. It’s typical, but as Seokjin turns around to lead you out of the arcade, you look at the stuffed animal in your hands and feel a smile creep back up onto your face.

It’s half past noon and the first few classes of your first day of school are done and over with. You’re waiting under the shade of a tree in the campus courtyard after texting Seokjin to meet up for lunch. There are so many places to choose from around here, and you two established a pact to eat at every single one of them at least once. You just might have to break that pact and go grab food on your own if he doesn’t show up soon though—you’re starving.

Just then, a familiar noise reaches your ears.

It starts off as a distant ringing, but before it even comes closer, you turn to the direction of the source. Sure enough, you see Seokjin making his way across the paved path, and with each step he takes toward you, the metallic melody becomes clearer.

“Glad to see you survived,” you greet as you walk forward to meet him halfway down the courtyard.

“Don’t speak too soon. It’s still early in the day—and the school year,” he reminds you, successfully inciting a weary side-eye from you as you begin your journey to find sustenance. Your eyes trail behind him while you walk side-by-side, and while he’s carrying a new backpack you have never seen before, a glint of sunlight reflects off of the shiny surface of the object dangling from one of the zippers.

The Mario keychain.

It looks like this is one trinket he couldn’t bear to leave at home with the others. If you’re being honest, seeing it again—and hearing it, of course—gives you a strange sense of comfort, even though it hasn’t even been that long since your last encounter with it. You feel something stirring deep within you, like the keychain is evoking an emotion so raw, it can only be found in the pit of your soul.

Wait, maybe that’s your stomach growling.

“So, how’s the dorm coming along? Is it safe for me to stop by yet?” you ask, averting your eyes to pay attention to the walkway in front of you.

“Almost done. My roommate is still trying to clear up all of his boxes since he got here late. Should only take a day or two more.”

You nod a couple times in understanding, your mind traveling to Seokjin’s enigmatic roommate for just a second before you switch over to much more pressing topics, like whether you should eat beef or chicken for lunch.

Towards the end of welcome week is when you finally meet him: Min Yoongi.

Yoongi is a quiet fellow all the way from Daegu. You would comment on his accent, but that would require you to actually hold a conversation with him that lasts more than two words. He’s a computer science major, which explains the ghostly pale skin; he has a serious computer tan going on—must have been working on it all his life. His black hair is stark in comparison, yet strangely more well-kempt than you would anticipate it to be. There’s nothing else to say about him, because he doesn’t really say anything to you either.

Every time you walk into their dorm, he’s either out or tucked away at the desk on his side of the room with his headphones on, blocking out the world around him. He’s polite enough to mutter a “hey” each time you enter, but your visits become so frequent so quickly, his acknowledgment of your arrival turns into a simple head nod.

As ludicrous as it sounds, you’re the slightest bit disappointed that there isn’t going to be an exorcismal bonding experience in your future. He acts like such a pacifist most of the time, but alas, that doesn’t stop you from poking the bear every once in a while in hopes of riling it out of hibernation.

With how much time you spend in Seokjin’s dorm, you take it upon yourself to fulfill your duty as an honorary member of this household.

“Calcifer is so cute,” you casually comment, your eyes all but glued to the screen of the laptop in front of you that is currently playing Howl’s Moving Castle.

Movie night is still very much a tradition, one you adamantly refuse to break, even though improvisations had to be made due to the lack of a TV in the dorms. Seokjin’s laptop is placed on top of his desk, and you two are sitting comfortably on his bed in front of it. The lights are turned off, and the illumination of the LED screen filters through the room to create an atmosphere of being in your own miniature movie theater.

“He’s a fire demon,” Seokjin rebukes, like that detail will suddenly change your mind.

“So what? Demons can be cute.”

As if on cue, you hear the handle of the door jostle, and with a speedy rotation, the entry swings open to flood the room with light. The bulbs from the hallway radiantly shine behind the figure, leaving only a dark silhouette standing within the frame, but you can tell who it is right away by the lanky stature and the chicken boy legs.

Yoongi freezes in his spot upon entering, one hand still on the knob and another stopping on the way to flip the light switch. He has one foot in the room and the other behind him, and you reckon that the direction he will move towards will depend on what you say next.

“Hey Yoongles,” you greet nonchalantly, raising one hand up for him to see. “Do you want to join us?”

Before you can even finish that sentence, or more specifically right after you recite the terrific nickname you came up with on the fly and bestowed upon him, the door shuts again, with Yoongi on the other side. You detect the tapping of his footsteps as he walks away, probably heading right out of the building. You turn your head to look at Seokjin who does the same thing to you in unison after that brief guest appearance.

“He’s peachy.”

“He’s not that bad,” he defends half-heartedly before turning his attention back to the movie.

“As long as he doesn’t murder my best friend in his sleep, I’m all good.” Seokjin snorts at the idea, and you two resume your viewing of the fantastic movie without any more interruptions.

To ensure that both parties aren’t inconvenienced by the surprise again, Seokjin and you inform Yoongi of your movie night schedule and even get his approval—or maybe a better word for it is tolerance. Even so, the two of you are on the more fortunate side when it comes to the roommates you were given.

You have grown to be immensely grateful that Soobin is nothing like the fearsome foe you prematurely thought her up to be. Especially after the wild night at the freshmen housewarming party during welcome week—the party you two agreed never to speak of once it was over—you have to say that you two are practically blood sisters now. You’re glad that the dorm gods blessed you with someone as sane as her, and while you can’t confidently say the same for her, she seems highly accepting of you and all your quirks.

Plus, she doesn’t seem to mind your best friend each time he comes over.

Not including the embodiments of sunshine that are your roommates, you two also make a few other friends, including a certain psychology major by the name of Kim Namjoon.

Seokjin introduces you during your last term of the school year since they’re taking the same math class. Who knew that having your hopes and dreams crushed by Statistics could bring people together?

Namjoon is a fairly tall and fit guy with tan skin and dimples that come out of hiding whenever he smiles and occasionally when he speaks. His brown hair always seems well-coifed whenever you see him, but his most impressive feature is what’s inside that head of his.

“So, you’re saying you skipped a grade?” Namjoon nods at your question and you give him a look of amazement.

“He’s also here on a scholarship,” Seokjin tacks on, and you can almost see Namjoon smile nervously at you as you gape even further. “He’s a genius.”

“I’m really not,” he tries to humbly explain. “If anything, I’m just on the fast track to saying goodbye to my youth.”

Truer words have not been said. At that, you regain your composure and pat him on the back knowingly. “Welcome to the club.”

Rather than gloat about his intelligence like you’re sure many people in his position would, Namjoon likes to think of his situation as getting a head start. With his plans on eventually going to graduate school after this to earn his doctorate and become a psychiatrist, he’s definitely going to need it.

He also needs a little guidance when it comes to making light conversations with the people around him.

“Did you know that the majority of homicides are committed by the people closest to the victim?”

You halt in the middle of eating your meal to slowly look up at Namjoon who sits across from you with a faultless smile on his face. Seokjin doesn’t seem fazed by the random fact as he continues scarfing down his food without a care. You can only blame yourself for making him so immune throughout the years with your own strange behavior.

“Did you learn that in psych or something?”

“Yes and no,” he says, taking a sip from his soft drink. “We were learning about the mentality of serial killers, and I went off on a tangent with my own research.”

“Well, then—lay it on me,” you proclaim before taking a sizable bite out of your cheeseburger.

“Statistically speaking, you’re more likely to be killed by someone you know—like friends and family—than by a stranger. And you’re also more likely to be in your place of residence when it happens.”

“Makes sense,” you hum in understanding, as off topic as the spontaneous lesson was. Then, something clicks in your mind, and your lips morph into a sinister smile that you’re pretty sure is making Namjoon uncomfortable, but that’s the point. “Aren’t you glad we’re friends now?”

That sentence shuts him up for the rest of the meal, something that amuses even Seokjin. Thankfully, you don’t scare off the poor boy, but he does seem warier with the facts he throws around when he’s with you. Your next mission is to make him grow a funny bone for humor, because even though you made your joking taunt, you’re definitely glad he’s sticking around to keep you and Seokjin company.

Verily, it seems that your repertoire of friends has expanded quite a bit, and despite all odds, the first year of college ends without a single murder.

“Oh? Where’s Seokjin?”

Briefly scanning the dorm room, you don’t see any sign of your best friend as you pass through the threshold. Yoongi turns in his chair to regard you and your question with a lethargic stare and points a finger towards the foot of Seokjin’s bed. Following the direction of his gesture, you glance over to see a colorful piece of paper sitting on top of the mattress. When you walk over and pick it up, you are able to identify that it is a flyer of some sort for a club that is setting up their recruitment table near the main auditorium. You don’t care for all the extra information on the page, because the moment you see the words on the bottom, you already have your answer.

There will be free food!

“Of course,” you think out loud, placing the paper back down and turning to walk back into the hall again. “Thanks.” You wave farewell, but Yoongi is already back at it on his computer doing whatever it is he does. After closing the door on your way out, you pull your phone from your pocket to check on your food fanatic of a friend.

Welcome week is here again, which means that there are numerous events happening all around campus. This being your second year, Seokjin is probably using his prior knowledge to sniff out all the important stands with more speed than last year. You’re going to head on over to where Yoongi pointed you to, but you need to send a text and make sure you don’t begin running around on a wild goose chase just because Seokjin catches word of complimentary cupcakes on the other side of campus. You’re so focused on your phone screen as you pace down the corridor of the dormitory, you don’t notice that someone is turning the corner to go the opposite way until he nearly runs into you.

“Oops, my bad,” you apologize, snapping your head up from the distracting device and taking a step backwards to give him space to pass you. You stop in your tracks when your eyes land on the person in front of you.

The guy appears to have lilac hair, but you can’t see most if it because it’s hidden under the obnoxiously red crab hat he’s wearing that is equipped with plush legs and claws protruding from the sides. His face is exposed through the circular cut-out in the front, and he is beaming so splendidly, you can’t tell if you’re being blinded by his smile or his headpiece.

“No problem!” he brushes off cheerfully. The guy walks past you, or more like skips past you, and your eyes can’t help but follow his bouncing figure until he disappears into the room across from Seokjin’s.

Wow. Freshmen are getting weirder every year.

Seeing the eccentric garb does manage to get you thinking about Halloween. Even though it’s only the beginning of September, you stand by the notion that it’s never too early to get into the spirit of the holiday; it’s especially true this year, because you have an exciting event to look forward to.

The Halloween costume party.

Last year during this time, you weren’t able to attend the celebration due to an unfortunate circumstance by the name of Kim Seokjin. He had gotten the flu from a particularly snot-infested classmate a few days prior to that weekend, and being the excellent, irreplaceable friend that you are, you decided against going to the celebration without him. Instead of partying it up with the numerous Jokers and Harley Quinns that flooded the costume scene that year, you stayed at Seokjin’s dorm to keep him and his sniffling nose company. You ultimately nursed him back to health, but not before getting sick along with him and regretting your life choices for the rest of the term.

You were surprised that Yoongi didn’t get sick, especially since you thought his brittle exterior would resonate with his immunity as well. Then again, he did lay down some ground rules the moment Seokjin starting showing symptoms, including a temporarily set dress code of a medical mask within the dorm. It seriously felt like you were walking into a quarantine zone each time you visited.

Nevertheless, as fun as that was, you are relieved to see that everyone is in tip-top shape with Halloween right around the corner.

Seokjin and you decide a few weeks ahead of time that since you’re going to the party together, you might as well think of costume ideas together. After a couple good suggestions and a load of bad ones—you don’t know why anyone would want to go as ketchup and mustard bottles—Seokjin insists a rehash of the outfits you two wore one Halloween as children. You comply without argument, partially because they’re very simple costumes to put together. The larger part of the reason is because you just want to let Seokjin have his fun, since he was just as disappointed as you were about his sickness preventing him from turning up last year. If anything, his eagerness for this year’s party is through the roof to make up for it, and with how easily you two manage to get your costumes ready, you can’t wait for the event.

So, who are Seokjin and you dressed as? Why, none other than the world-famous Italian plumbers themselves: Mario and Luigi!

You agreed to let Seokjin dress as Mario while you took the role of the lesser brother, because you’re just the gift that keeps on giving. The denim overalls, long-sleeve shirt, and comically big hat aren’t really the epitome of sexy, but they’re super comfortable and good for shielding yourself from the cold temperature of the late-October night. Now you can look at all the other girls and boys who choose the sexy route rather than the fully-clothed route and laugh at their sniveling misery—okay, that’s probably going a little too far.

Hey, you’re just getting into the spirit of Halloween.

Maybe your overflowing anticipation has something to do with it, but soon enough, the fateful, frightful night is right in front of you before you know it.

“Yo.”

Both Seokjin and you turn your heads towards the speaker of the curt greeting and see Namjoon walking up to you, donning his questionable costume. According to what he texted you earlier today, he’s supposed to be Dr. Victor Frankenstein, but the get-up leaves much to be desired. He’s wearing a long, white lab coat that you’re pretty sure he’s reusing from his chemistry class and vintage, round sunglasses that you think are supposed to simulate the circular goggles you often see mad scientists wearing. Never minding the fact that he’s wearing sunglasses at night—this is Halloween after all, so you guess anything goes—there’s not really a special feature that sets him apart from an ordinary, boring scientist.

When you asked Namjoon why he didn’t choose a more recognizable or spooky character—like Frankenstein’s monster, for example, since he does have the height for it—his answer was a very formal defense of his selection that almost turned into a makeshift British Literature lecture, explaining that “Dr. Frankenstein is more of a monster than his creation”.

Honestly, he should have dressed up as a vampire with how well he sucks the life out of everything.

“Are you guys supposed to be a couple?” Namjoon asks once he walks up to you, eyes darting between you and Seokjin as if he’s seeing the two of you together for the first time. You fake a gasp, successfully drawing his undivided attention onto you.

“Are you suggesting an incestuous relationship between the world’s most beloved brothers, doctor?”

Your hand is unnecessarily resting on your chest to simulate being flabbergasted. He returns to you a dumbfounded expression, his mouth slightly agape but with nothing coming out. You’re certain that you’ve successfully planted an image in his mind that he’s desperately trying to eradicate from existence.

“Thanks for ruining my childhood,” you hear Seokjin speak up in disgust beside you. You turn your head and offer him a wicked smile.

“You’re always welcome.”

Moving on from incest, the three of you make your way across campus towards the building where the party is being held. The music is loud enough for you to hear the place before you can even see it, but when you do, the outdoor scenery isn’t all that exciting, save for a few stragglers staggering around the front of the building.

The inside, however, is a completely different story—the entire atmosphere is amplified tenfold. The lights inside have been dimmed and replaced with rotating LED bulbs that bathe the darkness in colorful crystal ball effects. The speakers are blaring a loud, thumping tune that you can barely register over the numbing sensation of your brain vibrating in your skull.

There is a wide range of costumed individuals scattered all throughout the area; you see everything from the latest trending superheroes and villains to memes from hell that have taken the form of walking pickles and dancing hotdogs.

Without another thought, your feet lead you straight to the refreshments zone, and likewise, Seokjin splits off to the other end of the room with Namjoon at his heels where you are able to catch a glimpse of snack trays. There are no words exchanged between you two as you go your separate ways through the crowd, but there doesn’t need to be.

You are both on a mission.

Besides, it shouldn’t be that difficult to find each other again. This place isn’t vast enough to get lost, and you’re wearing matching costumes, for crying out loud.

Well, what you forget to take into consideration is the devil’s juice that makes its way into your hand the majority of the night, housed in a plastic solo cup that shines as red as the lord of the underworld himself. Accordingly, the contents burn your insides and pump fire through your veins, making you feel like you’re truly roasting in the eternal flames of damnation.

Note to self: never utter the words “surprise me” to someone mixing the drinks at a college party ever again.

After consuming a good number of mystery cocktails and swaying with the crowd in a way that sort of resembles dancing, you realize that your ability to find Seokjin has dwindled significantly.

Oh well—not like it’ll keep you from trying.

As you aimlessly roam around a less populated part of the room in hunt for even a glimpse of Mario, you suddenly spot someone facing away from you with bright red atop his head. That must be him—you knew you would be able to see the vibrant Mario hat from a mile away. He’s standing at the mouth of a hallway that branches away from the main room where you remember noting that the bathroom is located in. Miraculously, you manage to walk up behind him, and as you tap on his shoulder, you feel a swell of pride for completing your search.

Too bad it’s not Seokjin.

What you thought was a hat isn’t a hat but crimson hair—bold, luscious, healthy, vivacious locks of gorgeous hair that sweep and bounce whimsically when the person swings his head to look at who beckoned him.

Wow, so beautiful.

A low chuckle rises from the guy that is barely audible enough to detect over the ongoing music. “Thank you.”

“Wha?” you question ever so eloquently, staring at the way the lights are rebounding off of his silky smooth strands. Seriously, what conditioner does he use?

“Thanks for the compliment.”

You freeze at the words, and your mind reels back to do a double take. Oh god, did you actually say the “beautiful” comment out loud? It was already ridiculously creepy the way it sounded in your mind, so you can’t imagine how much of a mess it was coming out of your mouth.

Luigi, please forgive me for soiling your holy image by portraying you as a thirsty weirdo, at least more than the internet does already.

“I mean, I like your hair,” you blurt out in an attempt to salvage the dipping conversation. That’s when your attention drops down to look at the face of the person you’re talking to, finally making contact with his brown orbs just in time to see him shoot you a boxy grin that—wait a minute.

“Wait a minute,” you slur, vocalizing your inner monologue once again. “Wasn’t your hair purple before?”

The boy’s face lights up in surprise before he nods in confirmation. “Yeah! How did you kno—”

His speech cuts off, or is it you who cut him off? Either way, he stops talking.

Actually, you have no recollection of what happens after that moment. The last thing you remember is his eyes growing wide, so wide that you wonder how a human can have disco lights as eyeballs with the way the shifting lights twinkle off of the glossy surface area.

To be honest, you’re glad the memory is lost somewhere in the oblivion of your mind—your brain is probably repressing it to save you from mentally reliving the horrors of what you said and did in that momentary blind spot of your night.

The next thing you remember is walking out the door and feeling the cool breeze hit your face, and strangely enough, the top of your head.

“Where’s my Luigi hat?” you ask drowsily to no one in particular, reaching an arm up to verify that it is indeed gone. Thankfully, a deep voice speaks up beside you to answer your query.

“Trust me, I don’t think you want it back.”

With your lips poised in a pout, you turn to the speaker who appears to have one of your arms draped over his shoulder, providing support as the two of you walk across the concrete towards a safer section of soft grass. Even in your drunken stupor, you can comprehend that it’s the stranger with the purple-turned-red hair helping you out in your shameful time of need.

What an angel.

The guy’s shoulders shudder a bit under the weight of your arm, and at first you think it’s because of the cold, but then you notice that he’s laughing. You probably made a fool of yourself, yet again.

“Actually, the complete opposite.”

You’re confused by the meaning behind his words, until your eyes trail down to look at his costume. The outfit consists of red combat boots, black leather pants, a black t-shirt that has been tucked in, and a stylish leather jacket that is the same scorching scarlet as his hair and the plastic cup that started your descent into madness. Your eyes are able to focus just enough to see the miniature red horns from a headband perched atop his head that is camouflaged within the fiery field of hair. You can’t help but laugh at the irony when you understand what he means.

He’s dressed as the devil.

“What’s a better way to break the ice between acquaintances than a little humiliation, right?” you plead Soobin for approval once she wakes you—the sober, very hungover you—the next morning.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she says with loving callous while patting your back like a parent does to a sick child—that’s basically what you were reduced to last night.

You did your best to relay the eventful party to her in excruciating detail, or at least the parts you still remember. Seokjin actually did well to fill in a few of the gaps for her when he escorted you back to your room last night, most of the information which she was more than willing to recount back to you.

Your red-haired rescuer was able to do what you couldn’t and found Seokjin at the party; he was probably motivated by the fact that you kept calling out that you lost your Mario. After making sure to take you off of the kind stranger’s hands with a thanks, Seokjin basically delivered you back to your dorm where a responsible Soobin was getting ready to go to bed after listening to her better judgment, unlike you, and moderating herself that night.

All in all, you were returned unscathed—well, your hat was a sad but necessary sacrifice.

The human torch who helped you through the deplorable events that occurred apparently found the entire situation hilarious. Good for him for finding humor in your pain and shame. At least it looks like you made a new friend? You just hope that the cost was worth it.

Kim Taehyung is never going to let you live that night down for as long as you breathe.

“Nooo!”

The devastated cry comes from both you and Seokjin in perfect unison as you watch another character meet a disastrous demise in the movie you picked out for the night: Train to Busan. You were prepared for some thrilling zombie action, but you weren’t ready for this rollercoaster of emotions when you suggested this film. Nonetheless, you are loving every aspect of it so far.

Well, almost every aspect.

“I am going to enjoy watching that guy die so much,” you venomously comment, referring to the character who caused the heartbreaking scene that is playing before you on the laptop screen.

“How are you so sure he’s going to die?”

“Because if he doesn’t, I’m going to kill him myself.”

Seokjin hums in agreement before you two return your attention to the movie. There’s a great deal of irritated yelling throughout the rest of the storyline, but once the ending credits start rolling and all your frustrations have been let out, an interesting conversation spawns from the concept of the movie.

“Face it. You would probably be the first one to die if we ever had a zombie apocalypse,” you tease, leaning back onto the wall to make yourself more comfortable on Seokjin’s bed. Your best friend throws you a dirty look from your right.

“And what about you?” he asks accusingly.

“I’m a pretty decent runner when I need to be.”

“You can’t outrun a zombie.”

“I don’t need to,” you calmly clarify, an impish smile curling the corners of your lips. “I just need to run faster than you.”

“Gee, thanks,” he protests loudly at your dishonorable hypothetical action. “You better hope you run faster than me, because I’m going to come back with a vengeance to get you as a zombie.”

“I’d love to see you try,” you respond smugly. You reach over to pat him on the shoulder but he recoils dramatically, leaning away with an angry pout.

“You’re the worst.”

You simply shrug and give him a despicable smile.

“That may be so, but at least I’ll still be alive.”

Emergency Gong Cha run.

Eyeing the text that pops up on your phone, you heave a sigh and lift yourself up from your seat, hearing a few concerning cracks from your back as you do so. Ignoring your body’s delightful reminder that you’re only getting older, you walk towards your closet to change out of your comfortable but unsuitable clothes for your outing. You don’t care that it’s dark out and that you’re abandoning your reading assignment on your desk right now.

If Seokjin wants to call you out for a spontaneous snack, you’re not going to complain.

“I’m going to Gong Cha,” you announce to your roommate who is at her own desk staring intently at the screen of her laptop. “Do you want anything?”

“Nah, I’m good,” she replies, glancing over to you for a brief smile before returning to what you assume are her studies—either that or she’s extremely invested in watching videos about ancient cooling systems.

Once you have your real people clothes on, you head on down to the nearest Gong Cha, which takes no more than five minutes. Outside of the entrance, you see Seokjin already standing there, waiting for you arrive. When he finally sees you drawing nearer, you raise your hand to give him a brisk wave.

“What’s with the sudden boba?” you ask when you stop in front of him.

“I have a paper due at midnight, so I need sugar and caffeine.”

“And why am I here?” You toss him a follow-up question as he proceeds to open the glass door for you to enter.

“Because you want free boba,” he states matter-of-factly.

“You know me so well.”

The two of you go up to the register, and as promised, Seokjin pays for your drink; you make sure to get the large size even though you’ll probably be running to the bathroom by the time you’re done with it. It’s totally worth it, though.

Bribery is a fairly common occurrence with your relationship. You would say that you have a healthy amount of it and that it’s pretty harmless, unlike the other B word that you only save for special occasions.

Special occasions like when Seokjin threatens to unleash confidential information about your embarrassing past to your new friends—chiefly, the one incident that involves a bicycle, an old man, and a cabbage.

Fortunately, two can play at this game.

“I don’t think you want to wage war with me,” you inform Seokjin in a composed manner against the dumb move he’s supposedly going to make. “I still have your baby photos.”

“You’re lying,” he promptly accuses, but you give him a stern shake of your head. “How is that even possible?”

“I transferred them from my old phone to my laptop.”

He looks exasperated only for a second before leaning back in his chair in a carefree manner. “It’s okay. I was cute as a baby.”

“Not in the photo I have.”

You meet his admonishing glare with a sly smile that only grows as you hear the word slip past his lips.

“This is blackmail.”

There it is—the blasted B word.

“I’d like to think of it as leverage.”

Much to your relief, and probably everyone else’s, not all of your interactions are so malicious in nature. Friendship is all about give and take, and you are a master of being thoughtful, if you do say so yourself.

This brings you to the third B word: birthdays.

You could argue that it belongs with the first B word, but truthfully, you revel in going shopping for birthday presents for your best friend. It’s especially fun when you decide to do it just before a big exam when you should be studying instead, just like right now.

Most of your shopping, whether for clothes or gifts, is done with Soobin or Seokjin, but the former is busy crying over her latest research report, and you very much can’t bring the latter along to buy his own present—there would be absolutely no surprise in that.

Looks like you’ll just have to resort to the next best option.

“What about this?”

“Yuck, noona. I thought you had better taste than that.”

You narrow your eyes at Taehyung as you lower the jacket in your hand to shove it back where you got it from. It has been about 30 minutes since you two started browsing the mall, but you are already severely regretting your decision to bring him along as your shopping buddy. You sincerely thought that his input would be helpful, since he is majoring in fashion design and all, but the only thing he’s helping you do right now is raising your blood pressure.

“This one is good,” Taehyung declares, lifting up a dress shirt with a distinctive motif on the collar that you recognize right away.

“That’s the fourth Gucci item you’ve shown me in a row.”

“So?”

“So,” you draw out, trying hard not to grit your teeth. “We’re shopping for Seokjin, not you.”

His lips pucker into an exaggerated frown as he places the shirt back onto the rack. You ignore his childish antics and continue scanning the articles of clothing in front of you.

“This?” you call out again, pulling a nice denim jacket out of the row it’s in and bracing yourself for another insulting comment about your fashion sense.

“Nope, the fit is all wrong.”

You raise your eyebrow as you glance over at the tag that’s staring right at you. “What do you mean? It’s his size.” Taehyung just shakes his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“It doesn’t matter. That man is built like a Dorito. His shoulders will never fit into that.”

“His shoulders?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed his shoulders before? They’re broader than the color spectrum of this hideous shirt.” His left arm pops up on cue, and the t-shirt he is holding has a peculiar design that you’re pretty sure is supposed to be a holographic alien.

“I can’t say that I have,” you admit the truth, slowly putting the denim jacket back while contemplating what your friend just said. Taehyung sighs profoundly, putting the shirt in his hands back where it belongs, too.

“You’re hopeless, noona.”

And there’s that insult, coupled with the supposedly polite pronoun that might as well not be there, since it doesn’t soften the blow one bit.

Where did you go wrong? He seemed like such a sweet boy when you first met him. Maybe you should have taken his Halloween costume more seriously, since it was obviously a fair warning. At least his red hair has been yet again replaced, this time going black with green highlights, so you don’t have to be reminded about that night each time to lay eyes on the little devil.

At the rate you’re going now, you’re never going to find a decent present.

No. That’s the mindset of a loser, which you are definitely not. You refuse to give up so easily. You’re going to stick it out until the bitter end, even if you have to keep looking all day with Taehyung the critic by your side.

Luckily, the universe cuts you some slack today.

An enormous gasp overwhelms you as you feast your eyes on what is in front of you—the reaction is probably a little overdramatic, but you couldn’t care less. Taehyung immediately perks up from the variety of jeans he’s looking through and heads towards you, not even bothering to ask what you found. You unhook the white t-shirt from its rack and hold it up in front of you to admire in all its glory.

“This is perfect.”

You feel Taehyung come up behind you, and you only say that because he literally props his chin on your shoulder to examine the item in your hands.

“Really? Isn’t that a little too childish?”

“Have you met Seokjin?” you ask, flabbergasted at the notion.

“Touché,” he agrees without needing much time for thought. “I think he’ll love it.”

Your fingers wrap around the dangling tag so you can take a closer look, and you see more digits than you were hoping for. “For this price, he better.”

Taehyung merely shrugs, lifting his head off of your shoulder. “That’s the price you pay for fashion.”

And it’s a price you’re willing to pay to get out of here, except it doesn’t quite work out that way. It takes you at least three more hours after purchasing the shirt to return back to your dorm, because your fashionista friend insisted on getting the most out of the trip by covering the rest of the mall.

Another note to self: never go shopping with Taehyung.

“Wake up.”

“Huh?” You open your eyes at the sound of the voice and find yourself in a dark room. In any other case, you would be worried, but you’re safe inside Seokjin’s dorm, sitting on his bed with your back against wall for support. Standing next to the desk is Seokjin himself, and judging by the closed laptop on the table, he seems to be putting it away after finishing tonight’s movie.

“I can’t believe you fell asleep during The Godfather,” he speaks up again, turning to look at your sleepy form in disapproval.

You sit forward and straighten yourself out, feeling a slight crick in your neck from your head having lulled to the side for what you can only assume to be over two hours. The Godfather is such a long movie. You raise your arms up into the air to stretch it out, and the blanket that was on top of you slides off to the side—oddly enough, you don’t even remember wrapping yourself in one before you basically blacked out.

“It was so boring,” you murmur, eyelids already starting to shut again in fatigue. You blame the research report you stayed up all night yesterday to finish. Sure, you could have worked on it earlier, but what can you say?

You like to live on the edge.

“You’re barely awake right now, so I’ll forgive you for that disrespectful language,” he says, walking up next to the bed. “Now, come on.” He prods you on the arm to get up, but all you do is sway at the tap as your eyes remain closed.

“Can’t I just sleep here?” you whine, waiting for the approval so you can just fall over and catch some Zs.

“I don’t think Yoongi will appreciate that.”

“Hmph,” you grunt in protest, but you know what he said is true. While Seokjin’s roommate is out of your hair during movie nights, he will come back sooner or later, and it better be to a you-free zone if you want to stay on his good side—if that even exists. Either way, you really shouldn’t overstay your welcome.

“Here.”

You open your eyes with great difficulty at the proclamation and you see Seokjin crouching down on the floor near the bed with his back facing you.

“Where?” you question, not exactly sure what he’s referring to—that’s probably because you’re already getting lured back into the arms of sleep.

“Get on. I’ll take you back to your dorm.”

Rather than a request, his words sound more imploring. You feel slightly ashamed that you’re so useless when you’re half-asleep, but you’re also just shameless enough not to let this offer slide. You’re not about to reject his kind gesture, especially not when he’s already in the inviting position for you to latch on like a koala.

“Don’t blame me for your back problems in the future,” you mumble as you push the sheets away to crawl forward, accepting right away just in case he changes his mind.

Slipping your arms over his shoulders, you curl them loosely around the front of his neck. He rises once you rest yourself on his back, and he gets a good grasp of your thighs as you pull your legs forward. Doing the good old hop to secure your position and make sure you won’t slip, he begins his trek out of the room and to your own abode.

The area is fairly peaceful during this time of the night; there’s no special event going on this weekend, so most of the students are either out taking the city by storm or bundled up in their rooms recuperating from the storm of a school week that destroyed them. You appreciate the quiet, or as much as you can get in a place like this, but tonight, the footsteps of Seokjin carrying you to your room sound much heavier to your ears than any pounding bass of a party tune.

“I’m sorry,” you speak up, unable to last the rest of the walk without saying something. Your eyes are still closed, but your mind is too noisy for you to comfortably float back into dreamland.

“You’re still awake?” he asks, probably having expected you to knock out cold during the free ride home. “It’s fine. The Godfather isn’t for everyone. We can watch a more recent movie next time.”

“No, it’s not just that,” you interrupt, a strange sense overwhelming you like a chill from the night air. Tightening your hold on Seokjin, you try to bring yourself closer to him for warmth, although you’re pretty sure that you can’t get any closer than you already are. “I’m sorry you have to walk me back like this.”

“Like I said, it’s fine,” he repeats with not a single drop of malice in his voice. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” You don’t even have time to register whether or not that was a joke about the piggyback ride before he continues. “You’re actually the most awake out of all the times I’ve done this, so I’d say that’s an improvement.”

You take a moment to try and rack your brain for any of the previous instances of this happening, but you’re sure that there’s a reason those are not present in your memory.

“Wow, why are you even friends with me?” you joke, not really expecting an answer to your rhetorical question, but Seokjin doesn’t leave it alone.

“I ask myself that every single day.”

“Huh, glad you agree,” you grumble, drawing a good chuckle from your carrier that shakes his shoulders just a tad. He settles back down and the atmosphere returns to being still, but just when you think that the conversation is over, he speaks up again.

“I guess you’re not too bad to be around when you’re conscious.”

“Why, thank you. You speak too highly of me,” you say sarcastically, contemplating whether or not you should take advantage of your position and put him in a chokehold.

“And it’s pretty cute how you drool in your sleep,” he adds on unexpectedly.

“Hey! I don’t drool,” you defend straightaway. You may not be the most sophisticated lady on campus, but you will not stand for this slander on your sleeping habits.

“Whatever you say,” he teases, the intonation of his voice rising in an obvious show of mild mockery.

The conversation does end there until he drops you off at your room. There, you two exchange a word of thanks and farewells before he leaves you to your own devices. You enter your room as courteously as possible, making sure not to wake Soobin who braved the all-nighter with you to finish her own project. You don’t have to be too cautious of making noise, because the first and last place you head to for the night is your bed.

It doesn’t take long for you to drift off to sleep once again, but this time, a sentence Seokjin said on your way over here is stuck on repeat in your mind. Specifically, one word echoes on a loop like a lullaby, making you float into a content state of relaxation and bliss.

Cute.

The end of the second school year is approaching before you know it, and you’re surprised that even after the interesting events that happened, all of you are making it through the year without any casualties. You can’t vouch for property damage though, because Namjoon has broken a couple of Seokjin’s sunglasses and even a door knob of a classroom…and also one of the legs of his dorm bed—but you digress.

Okay, now that you think about it, Seokjin did sprain his finger for a few weeks, but that wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own. Only he would manage to hurt himself while trying to bestow a punishment on your wrist as part of a bet since you lost a game of Mario Kart against him.

Only he would manage to lose even when he won.

Other than that minor incident that involved your forearms of steel, you have to say that the school year ending on a reasonably good note.

You are getting along with Soobin extremely well, and as far as roommates go, she’s the best—not to mention only—one you’ve had so far. She’s a keeper alright—it was written in stone from the moment you woke up after that freshman housewarming party to see that she picked up some hangover soup for you. So, you two established that you will room together for the following years as well. Neither of you were willing to go through the lottery again and risk obtaining a disagreeable roommate.

Seokjin also made the same pact with Yoongi, believe it or not. You can’t fathom the reason, but he told you that they just matched well together. With how different they are, the only thing you are certain that they share is human DNA.

Well, that and another thing.

Standing in front of Seokjin’s door, you rap your knuckles on the wooden panel before reaching for the handle to walk into the room. You two have plans this evening to go eat at a new restaurant a few blocks from here, so you know that he’s expecting you to bust in at any moment—hence, the unlocked door.

You step into the dorm and courteously close the door after you. When you turn back around, you are faced with a horrifying sight that nearly makes you jump out of your skin.

“Holy sh—oh, it’s just you.”

Yoongi is staring indifferently at your startled self from his usual position at his desk, but in this instance, he has on a white towel wrapped around his head and what looks like a face sheet mask used for skin care. The latter of the two prevents him from talking or welcoming you with any semblance of emotion, not that he does that anyway. You’re used to seeing people with face masks on—you often utilize them before you go to sleep to keep your skin nice and hydrated—but you have never seen the one Yoongi has on at this moment. It’s a metallic silver rather than the normal white cotton, making him appear like he has a layer of foil on his face.

“What’s up?” Seokjin greets as he walks out of the bathroom located off to the side.

“Nothing. It just looks like your roommate decided to skin the Tin Man and wear his face.”

Yoongi looks at you ever unamused, but of course, the mask makes everything so much more entertaining to you.

“Don’t make him laugh,” Seokjin chastises, passing by to walk over to his side of the room.

“I don’t think he’s capable of laughter.”

“He said his skin was acting up so I let him use one of my face masks.”

“Sharing is caring, I guess.” At this point, Yoongi has already spun back around to return his attention back to his laptop screen, happy to ignore whatever exchange that follows. Diverting your own attention, you gaze towards Seokjin who is by his bed now. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, just give me a second.”

He turns away from you to gather his belongings from atop his desk for the dinner outing, and as you stare at his back, you’re suddenly hit in the face with a resounding, accentuated word.

Dorito.

Dear lord almighty, Taehyung was right. With Seokjin’s broad back in full view in front of you, it’s like you’re seeing for the first time how wide his shoulders are in comparison to his slim waist. Was he always like this? How have you never noticed this before? This experience reminds you of the instance when you suddenly noticed how much he grew during high school, except this time, you’re dealing with a phenomenon you can only attribute to his body filling out to take the shape of a real man.

You don’t know how you feel about this revelation or how you’re supposed to feel, but one thing is for certain.

You’ll never look at Doritos the same way again.

Your third year of college starts off just like the last two, except now that you have gotten into the groove, you have grown as comfortable as can be with everything around you. Perhaps you’re a little too comfortable, because you remain assured in your outlook that everything will stay more or less the same, just like it always has. You predict that the months will most likely carry on without any major disturbances, but like Seokjin likes to say, you shouldn’t speak too soon.

Anything can happen.

Well, anything except you learning your lesson when it comes to the annual housewarming party.

“Can you walk by yourself?”

You know it’s an excellent end to the night when someone has to ask you that. Hey, at least you’re conscious enough to comprehend the question this year—and you’re pretty sure you’ll remember this in the morning. Probably.

“Of course, I can walk by myself,” you chastise a little too loudly, the vestiges of liquid confidence rushing through your veins as you wave off the speaker of that ridiculous inquiry.

Seokjin is the speaker in front of you, warily eyeing your form as you lift yourself up from the bench outside of the venue you somehow found your way to. You stare down at the ground as it shifts the slightest to try and throw you off balance, but you get up on your own two feet without so much as a hiccup.

“See!” you exclaim, looking back up to see Seokjin standing at a closer distance than you expected. His arms are up as if to make a barrier around you in case you fall, which is completely unnecessary because you’re perfectly fine. You don’t want him to have to carry you back to your room like all the other times he told you about—you can handle this all on your own.

“You’re standing,” he states, not convinced by the proof of your adept balance. In response, you lazily shove your hand onto his chest to get him to move away before taking a couple steps forward and starting a slow march down the left side of the pathway.

“And now I’m walking,” you proclaim happily, even surprising yourself with how little you seem to be tipping and swaying.

“You’re going the wrong way.”

“You don’t know that.”

You hear a sigh from behind before footsteps come up next to you to match your pace. Not a moment later, you feel something warm slip into your hand before it pulls you gently in the opposite direction, changing your course. Glancing over at the perpetrator, you see Seokjin walking beside you, and when you lower your gaze, you see his hand intertwined with yours, leading you to where you need to be going. You can’t help but let out a giggle at the display, and he tilts his head to give you a strange look when you tighten your hold to let the heat from his hand seep into your skin.

“It’s like we’re kids again,” you say with a snicker, recalling the times in elementary school when you had to hold hands with your classmates and friends before crossing the street.

“Well, one of us is.”

You admit that Seokjin is not really wrong, since alcohol basically does have the tendency to reduce fully grown adults back to infancy by taking away their motor and speech skills.

“How come you’re not drunk?” Your head lulls a tiny bit to the side as you examine how your best friend seems to be not at all inebriated.

“Because someone needs to make sure you get home, and it’s not going to be you,” he casually elucidates as his reason for being completely fine.

Your legs keep moving despite your mind being left behind with the words he just said. The fact that he just told you that the reason he doesn’t drink to his heart’s content is because he wants to get you back to your dorm safely makes you feel giddy in a way that you didn’t think was possible. There’s a buzzing within you and a sense of safety just knowing that someone is there for you even when you make horrible decisions, although the rapid heartbeat could just be the residual excitement from the party.

“Why are you laughing like that?” Seokjin suddenly asks, pulling you out of your thoughts and making you aware that you were giggling like a schoolgirl again. “It’s creepy.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think being creepy is something to be proud of.”

“No,” you interject earnestly, dropping your attention to the ground to watch your feet try to match Seokjin’s wider stride. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you say a bit quieter this time. A few seconds of silence pass as if he’s thinking of the right thing to say before he responds with an equally soft voice.

“You know I always will.”

You’re not sure if it’s because you’re still floating in the sea of intoxication, but those words take a strong hold on you. It makes you think of how many other times he has been by your side to take care of you; the number has to be too high to count, because even on the nights that showcase your worst decision-making skills, last year’s Halloween party and the year prior’s housewarming party are just to name a few, you always end up in Seokjin’s capable hands as he does everything but tuck you into bed—that job belongs to Soobin.

It’s not that Seokjin shuns drinking, because you know from experience that he could drink most people under the table. Your heart swells at the thought that he is regulating himself in order to make sure you can have fun without having to worry about ending up in a ditch somewhere, and it could be just the alcohol speaking, but the realization that he just made what sounds like a promise to be your designated guardian makes you feel like the luckiest irresponsible girl alive.

“Hey, I think I’m sobering up,” you suddenly say with probably a little too much wide-eyed seriousness, but it makes Seokjin laugh, so in turn, you smile as well.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

The trek to your dorm doesn’t take too much longer to complete. Actually, it feels like it took a total of about ten seconds by the time you walk up to the door of your room. The corridors of the building are fairly empty due to the inhabitants either being asleep or still out having the time of their college lives.

Seokjin guides you down the hallway, passing by a few scattered empty cups and a room with a lucky sock on the doorknob before you two stop in front of your own door.

“Thanks, again,” you repeat once more, turning to grant him a sluggish smile.

“Don’t mention it.”

As you two stand there, he meets your eyes for a prolonged moment, as if waiting for something to happen. All of a sudden, a strong urge rises from within you, and you waver towards Seokjin for a split second before you stop yourself right away.

“You should leave before I throw up on you.”

Seokjin wears a bleary expression, as he always does with you, but he isn’t shocked since this isn’t the first experience he had with your nonsense—you can promise that it certainly won’t be the last, either. He murmurs a terse goodbye before spinning on his heel to walk back down the hall you came from.

It’s only in that moment that you feel a hollow breeze drift across your palm, and the steady realization hits you that he didn’t let go of your hand until just now.

It’s a few weeks into the school year when one of the first signs of change appears to you in the form of a text. You and your friends are finalizing plans to grab lunch together during the weekend at one of your favorite fried chicken joints, and Namjoon comes out of the blue to throw you a curve ball.

Is it alright if I bring someone?

Your eyebrow raises at the unforeseen words on the screen for only a split second before you recover and type out your answer—or question.

Ooh, a girlfriend?

You add on a couple winky and kissy faces after the message as an extra measure to shower him with annoyance only a friend would have the honor of receiving. A response promptly follows your jesting gesture.

No, he is a male.

Without missing a beat, your fingers work to concoct another text.

Oooooh, a boyfriend??

Of course, you don’t forget to tack on the unnecessarily obnoxious emoticons along with it. You only have to wait a few seconds before Namjoon’s reply flies in swifter than ever.

NO. JESUS CHRIST. He’s just a kid I tutor.

Reading the reply, you tilt your head in confusion. Namjoon bringing a kid he tutors to lunch with the grown-ups—that’s certainly not something you expected to happen anytime soon. But hey, you don’t mind kids at all, and fried chicken can be enjoyed by people of all ages. You’re not going to decline, so you tap out your stamp of approval and send it off.

Sure! The little dude can tag along.

Spoiler alert: he is not little.

Namjoon failed to mention that the “kid” he invited is a full-fledged college freshman. From first glance, he isn’t anything close to being a kid, and there’s nothing little about him. He is 178cm of pure muscle and doe-eyed wonder, and his name is Jeon Jungkook.

“So, what’s your major?” you bring up in an attempt to break the ice.

He has been sitting quietly next to Namjoon on the other side of the table for a while now, just staring at the plate and utensils in front of him with a look that you can only describe as the one people have when they realize that they forgot to turn off the stove at home. Maybe that’s just his default resting face, but since you’re all waiting for your food to come out, you figure that you might as well get to know the guy.

“Graphic design.” His voice is a tad soft, but he seems very attentive to your conversational efforts, so at least you have something to work with.

“That’s cool,” you hum, nodding your head at the answer. Perhaps this was a bad topic to start off with, since you have absolutely no input in that field whatsoever. You also don’t want to ask him follow-ups regarding his future career and all that jazz; you don’t want to give the poor freshman crippling anxiety when you hardly even know him. Deciding to switch it up, you divulge your second question of this improvised interrogation. “You have any hobbies?”

“Oh no,” you hear Namjoon whisper all of a sudden—and that’s the only thing you hear from him.

Apparently, you just opened Pandora’s box. Everything from video games to rock climbing spews from him like a fountain of passion, and it would have most likely been overwhelming to most, but since you started this conversation, it’s only right you continue to guzzle the interests down. You can’t find it in your heart to end it though, because as much as it feels like a barrage of information, you actually feel yourself bonding with him, especially after learning that he uses the same perfume as you—yes, perfume.

The commotion is only halted by the chicken arriving—food always calls for everyone’s full attention.

“If only he was this passionate about schoolwork,” Namjoon laments with a sigh once all the food has been placed on the table before you. He wears a look of defeat that you can only assume means that he has dealt with this plenty of times before, and judging by the sheepish and downcast smile that rests on Jungkook’s face, you can also assume that he has heard this nagging equally as many times.

Taking note of this, you give Namjoon a frown. “Not everyone was born for the books like you, Joonie,” you coo. You reach over with your fork to stab the largest piece of chicken you can find before turning to Jungkook with a grin and placing it on his plate. “I think you’ll be just fine.”

The smile Jungkook gives you makes you realize why Namjoon called him a kid. He’s beaming like a child on Christmas morning, and you see a glimpse of his distinct front teeth, ones you swear you saw at a pet store once, before he immediately goes to chomp down on the offering you just gave him.

Feeling a disturbance in the atmosphere on your left, you turn your head to look at what it is, and you see Seokjin staring you down from next to you, although you can argue that it’s borderline glaring. You blink a couple times at him, waiting for something to be said. Instead, he averts his eyes without a word, so you do the same, brushing past how weird that exchange was.

Is he upset that you gave away the biggest piece of chicken to the new guy? You know that Seokjin is a man who takes his food seriously, but you think it was a nice gesture on your part, so whatever.

There’s plenty more where it came from, but you have to act fast.

Much to your surprise, you hit it off exceedingly well with Jungkook. Thus, your circle of friends extended even further. Well, it’s only really by one. The kid doesn’t really have any other friends, it seems. Maybe that’s why he begins joining your group activities and gatherings and even your group chat on KakaoTalk after the initial meeting you all had. He has also become particularly keen on texting you to go out to eat and whatnot, but you don’t blame him—you knew your striking good looks and charming personality would get you attention one day.

It’s either that, or you’re the only one willing to humor him on his constant outings.

You don’t mind keeping him company, and in fact, you quite enjoy hanging out with the little dude. It reminds you of how carefree you were back when you were just a freshman. Or when you were a sophomore. Or you know, when you were procrastinating your writing assignment just last week.

Yes, the good old days.

Speaking of days, today is one, and some time before noon, you take it upon yourself to go on a leisurely stroll to Seokjin’s dorm. When you arrive at the door, you knock a suitable amount before turning the knob to walk right in. The knock wasn’t absolutely necessary since you texted Seokjin earlier asking if you could come over, a message to which he replied back by telling you to let yourself in since the door will be unlocked.

“I bear gifts,” you call out in a singsong voice after you close the door behind you. You stand by the entryway with a carrier tray of two drinks and a brown paper bag only to see that no one is in here.

“Bathroom,” you hear a voice come from, you guessed it, the bathroom.

You make a noise of acknowledgment and make a beeline towards Seokjin’s desk. You carefully place the iced coffee and breakfast burritos on the tabletop before plucking one of the former items out of its cardboard transporter. Usually, one of these is for Yoongi since you like giving him peace offerings—it’s the least you can do for imposing on what is ultimately his dorm as well—but he doesn’t seem to be anywhere in sight. Unless Seokjin and Yoongi are bathroom buddies, you don’t think he’s going to be in anytime soon.

Regardless, you place the Americano on top of Yoongi’s desk just in case he proves you wrong. Having done that, you return to Seokjin’s side of the room and make yourself comfortable on his chair, something you’re a pro at by now since this place has become like your second home.

Bored already by the silence, you whip out your trusty phone to check for any notifications. There’s a text message from Soobin that goes something along the lines of “I’m going to eat so much at K-BBQ tonight”, and you reply with a flurry of meat emoticons that you’re sure she’s going to decipher to be you sharing her excitement.

When you exit out of that conversation, you see a few more new texts waiting to be read, so you take the time to go through them and send out your responses.

At Seokjin’s.

You expertly type out your last message before you hear a strangled cry come from the bathroom that interrupts your mobile mojo. The door swings open, and Seokjin begins stomping furiously towards you with one hand hovering beside his head.

“Did you drop your phone in the toilet again?” you ask as he comes to a halt in front of you.

“No!” he gripes in agony. “What is this?!”

With that yell, he practically shoves his head right up in your grill, coming so close to your face that you have to scoot backwards on the rolling chair to avoid going cross-eyed. When you focus on what’s being presented, you observe that his fingers are held in a pincer grip, and between his index finger and thumb is a silver strand that stands out from the black locks.

“It’s a gray hair,” you retort nonchalantly.

Seokjin bellows like a tormented whale and spins around in a theatrical motion to fall face-first onto his bed, his body bouncing from the impact on the mattress.

“I can’t believe I have gray hairs already.” His distressed voice is muffled by the sheets, but you’re still able to discern his speech.

“Come on, it’s just one. It’s probably from stress or something.” Your words make Seokjin all but wail into his bedspread, and the only thing you can do is sigh at the juvenile display.

Just then, a knock interrupts the quarterlife crisis, and the door pops open not a second later to reveal a beaming Jungkook.

“Hey noona!” he greets cheerfully when he sees your face, and you lift your hand up to give him a simple wave as he walks in and shuts the door. His line of sight darts over to where Seokjin is splayed over his mattress, and it only takes one look for him to recognize that he has walked into the middle of something. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He found a gray hair.” Yet another muffled cry is howled into the blanket. “Please tell him that he’s not getting old,” you implore, turning to Jungkook for help.

“You’re not getting old, hyung.” Seokjin lifts his head up to acknowledge Jungkook’s attempt at comforting him, but the thanks on the tip of his tongue doesn’t have a chance to be formed into existence. “You already are old.”

Seokjin flings a pillow across the room at Jungkook, but he dodges it skillfully with a rowdy snicker. When the laughter dies down, Jungkook turns back to you with the remainder of his mischief resting as a candid smile on his face.

“Are you ready to go?”

You’re about to answer Jungkook’s question, but Seokjin beats you to the punch.

“Where are you two going?”

“Kookie asked me to go bowling with him,” you state, getting up from your spot to stretch out your back—thankfully, no cracks erupt from it this time. “You wanna come, too?”

“No, thanks.”

There’s that subtle glare again from the chicken restaurant, except this time, it’s done much more openly. Your eyebrows crease as you frown at the unwarranted hostility. “You can always dye your hair if it bothers you that much.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He drops his head back onto the bed, and you watch his hair jump up ever so slightly before falling back into place.

Ignoring the offhand rejoinder, your eyes wander over to the untouched drink on Yoongi’s desk and take a few steps towards it. “Hey, Kookie. Want some coffee?” Your hand reaches out to grab it in anticipation for the answer he will most likely give.

“Sure!”

As you walk the cup over to him, Jungkook starts animatedly singing the chorus of Americano by 10cm, only shutting up once he relieves you of the cup to take a long sip from the straw. It breaks your heart to think that this kid would have probably been holed up in his room playing Overwatch for 12 hours straight if he didn’t have such an awesome friend like you.

“Oh, right.” You suddenly remember your brief texting conversation with Soobin. “Are we still on for tonight?” you ask, turning to direct the question at Seokjin. “Did you check with Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

His face isn’t visible since it’s still buried in his bedsheets, but you definitely heard that half-baked answer. “That’s good. Also, I left you a breakfast burrito on the table.”

“Thanks.”

Seokjin doesn’t move a muscle from his position, and it only makes you frown deeper. Usually, he’s all over that and probably would have inhaled the food by now. You never thought he would get so worked up and upset over such a miniscule thing such as a gray hair. You would do something to try and drag him out of his sorry state, but Jungkook is already walking out the door and holding it open for you to leave as well.

“I’ll see you later, then,” you mumble before you step out into the hallway, allowing Jungkook to holler his own farewell over you.

“Bye, hyung!”

You don’t have anything to say about the bowling experience other than you will get your revenge. It may not be in the same activity, nor do you think it’ll be anything in the sports category if you’re being realistic, but you will reign victorious one of these days.

You will win over Jungkook even if it’s the last thing you do.

Composing yourself from your not-so-friendly competition, you can definitely concur that you worked up an appetite. It’s the late afternoon by the time you’re done, so Jungkook and you decide to head back over to your respective dorms to change and get ready for dinner. Jungkook is actually the one who suggests this, although you have no idea why the change of clothes is necessary, especially since he’ll probably sweat through them again regardless. Maybe he wants to switch his current plain t-shirt for his other plain t-shirt, or maybe the other fifty.

You should really ask Taehyung to spruce up the boy’s wardrobe when he has the chance. The kid can probably benefit from having a fashion-savvy friend. Plus, you’re sure Taehyung will be up for the challenge.

Once both of you are freshened up and ready to go, you accompany each other on the walk that lasts several blocks to get to your destination. You check your phone on the way and see that Seokjin hasn’t tried contacting you since the you left. You try not to think too much of it though, since he did confirm that he was going to show up tonight.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook and you are the first ones there, followed closely by Namjoon who greets you with his usual single syllable “yo”. A few more people begin to show up for the gathering whom you only really recognize to be from Namjoon and Taehyung’s circles of friends. You all loiter around the front of the barbecue place, not being able to be seated until at least half your party is present since the size is so large. To reach that minimum, you just need one more person to arrive.

“Is that…Jin?” Namjoon cautiously speaks up while squinting in a direction of the sidewalk you are on. Turning around to observe the street, you see a handful of people walking toward you, but as you scan the heads, none of them seem familiar.

“Where? I don’t see him.”

“No way…” you hear Jungkook say with disbelief under his breath next to you.

“What?” you ask impatiently, obviously not being able to follow what’s happening.

You search among the pedestrians again, craning your head to get a better look behind a man whose broad shoulders are closing in and doing a damn good job of blocking the view of anyone who is behind him.

Wait, broad shoulders.

The moment your eyes lock onto the man in realization, they nearly pop out of their sockets at the spectacle. It is certainly your best friend, but his countenance is almost unrecognizable. He appears more like the human embodiment of a Ken doll the closer he gets, showing off his newly minted blond hair.

“Hey,” Seokjin hails when he stops in front of the group with a lackadaisical wave and a tightlipped grin. Everyone else seems to be too speechless to speak, so you take the opportunity to do it first.

“You know, when I said ‘dye your hair’, I meant dark brown or something, not freaking platinum blond.”

“You don’t like it?” His lips curve down to turn into a frown, and his eyebrows crease in worry.

“No, no. It’s looks great,” you assure, only speaking the truth. You don’t know what else to say as you stare absorbedly at his fresh appearance. His forehead is exposed by his fringe being styled up and away from it in a windswept but elaborate manner, and the sides of his hair have been buzzed short in what can only be defined as the perfect undercut. Someone should give this hairdresser an award for the best cut and color to ever exist.

You feel kind of dumbstruck, unable to tear your eyes away from the golden mane. It’s like he’s a blindingly radiant lamp and you’re a bug who doesn’t care that you’re flying straight into your electric death.

“Alright! Let’s go in,” one of Namjoon’s friends calls out from behind you, pulling your attention back to your surroundings and making you realize that you were zoning out.

You have known your best friend for almost your entire life, but gazing at the man in front of you conjures a strange sensation that you can’t explain, mostly because you’ve never experienced anything like it before. The look in his eyes administers an altered vibe as well, and while it’s not quite strange enough for you to feel uncomfortable, it does somehow feel like you’re standing in front of a different person than the one you met as a child.

The expression on Soobin’s face when she arrives is that of a changed person, as well. It’s like her interest in Seokjin has suddenly been rekindled, and you can practically feel attraction being transmitted from her like radio waves even as she sits on the other side of the table from you and him. The twinkle in her eye that you recall seeing on the first day you all met is now replaced with an ember, and strangely enough, you feel the beginnings of one burning within you too, except yours is in the pit of your stomach.

It’s probably just your hunger again.

The side dishes are brought out to the table before the meat for the K-BBQ does, as usual, and you promptly begin to stuff your face with the steamed egg in hopes of getting your mind off of whatever it is you’re trying to avoid thinking of.

A few minutes later, the orders arrive, and a few more minutes later, Taehyung finally arrives—fashionably late, if you will. The grilling process has already started without him, but the first thing he does before he takes his seat is walk up behind Seokjin’s chair and place a hand on his shoulder in a prideful manner.

“Alright! You were able to get a walk-in!”

Seokjin detects your confused expression you’re not exactly attempting to hide, and he explains Taehyung’s outburst. “I asked him where he got his hair dyed.”

You instantly swing your head up to gawk at Taehyung accusingly. “You suggested this to him?”

“Yup! My salon is known to be great at dyeing hair,” he boasts, stepping off to the side to plop onto the empty seat next to Seokjin’s.

“Unbelievable.”

“I know right? It looks amazing, hyung!”

Taehyung’s not wrong—you’ll give him that much.

You feel sort of guilty for sneaking glances at Seokjin while you’re all eating, but not enough that it stops you from doing so. It fascinates you too much how he seems like a brand new person, and you’re not just talking about his hair. His entire aura feels different in an indescribable way, but you hardly think that it’s something that can be done overnight, or in this case, approximately four hours.

You have a feeling that things have been different for a while now—you just couldn’t see it until it was flashing in your face like neon lights.

“I’m telling you, put the apple slices in the bowl first and soak it with milk. Then, add the cereal on top. It’ll change your life.”

Your face sours at Jungkook’s vivacious attempt at persuading you to join his blasphemous cult of people who pour their milk before their cereal. You have no idea how the apples got invited into the equation, but you will not be swayed nor converted.

“My life doesn’t need to be changed for the worse, thanks,” you dismiss as the two of you reach the end of the campus courtyard and enter the building you’ve been heading towards. It’s lunchtime now, so almost everyone is sauntering around with plans to fill their bellies, just like you.

“Suit yourself,” Jungkook says with a shrug, shoving his hands into his pockets as you continue on down the hallway. He looks like he wants to say something else, but his expression suddenly changes as something makes him crinkle his eyebrows. “What is that?”

“What is what?”

“That noise,” he specifies. You concentrate your ears to pick up on anything peculiar, but all you hear is a certain familiar tone traveling through the corridors. “It’s like someone’s trying really hard to wipe glass, but there aren’t even windows in here.”

“Oh, that’s definitely Seokjin,” you state with no doubt in your mind. If there is one sound that is as recognizable as the ringing of his keychain, it’s his laugh.

Sure enough, when you two turn the corner, you see your best friend halfway down the path with Namjoon. They both have outstanding smiles on their faces as if they just heard the best joke of their lives, except that can’t be possible because you weren’t there to tell it. Now that you set your sights on Seokjin, it’s safe to say that after a week has passed since the big change, his blond hair is has become the third distinct feature you can use to find him if you ever lose him in a crowd.

Jungkook and you steadily approach the boisterous pair, but when you draw near, you swear you see Seokjin’s smile start to disappear from his face at your appearance.

“Hey guys!” you call out to announce your presence, although it’s only half-necessary at this point. “Ready for some tacos?”

“You know it,” Namjoon replies with zest, doing well at maintaining his dimpled smile unlike some people.

“Actually, I have to bail today,” Seokjin speaks up as if reading your mind in the worst way. “I have other plans.”

The sudden news makes you furrow your brows with disappointment. “What could be more important than Taco Tuesday?”

“Soobin asked me to go to this new café with her.”

“Oh,” you voice, feeling your disappointment grow even more. “Okay.”

Seokjin’s attention flicks over to Jungkook for a split second before he looks back at you. “I’m sure you guys will be fine without me for one day.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go have fun on your date,” you drone as a wisecrack, but somehow, you don’t feel like laughing. You don’t know whether Seokjin is ignoring the comment you made or silently acknowledging the title you bestowed upon the meeting with his lack of denial, but either way, he just moves on from it and bids his farewell to the group.

“I’ll see you guys later.”

As you watch him turn around to go on his merry way down to the other end of the hall, your eyes and ears are drawn to the keychain on his backpack. It still creates the ever familiar clinking as it gets jostled from side to side with the fast-paced steps Seokjin takes.

It’s another strange manifestation, listening to the melody fade away rather than crescendo like it usually does. You realize that you never really paid attention to it when he left, because he was always advancing to meet you or already beside you. Somehow, each ring feels like a jab today, even as the sound drifts away due to the distance Seokjin is putting between you two.

Until it disappears.

You don’t understand where this all this spite is coming from. You have absolutely no reasonable excuse to be feeling this way. Despite the confusion with the occasional shifts in mood he has when he’s around you recently, Seokjin and you are on more than good terms—excellent terms, even. As for Soobin, she has not done a single thing to get on your bad side since you met her. You don’t know what’s so bad about Seokjin befriending your roommate, especially since you’re technically hanging out with Seokjin’s friends in a similar fashion. So, what the problem can possibly be is beyond your recognition.

Oh well, it’s nothing some good tacos can’t fix.

“Hey there!” Your roommate’s voice reaches your eardrums as she walks into your shared dorm with a white box in her hand and a content smile on her face.

“Hey,” you reply naturally from your desk, turning away from your work to give her your full attention. “How was the café?”

“It was super fun! And the food was delicious.” Soobin’s expression does nothing to hide the happiness bubbling out of her. “We should go together sometime! I think you’ll like it,” she suggests in a way that would disarm anyone from harboring any sort of ill will towards her. “I also brought you back a cake!”

And there goes any remnants of resentment you held today.

“Oh,” you say, feeling more foolish by the second when your unreasonable anger dissipates to reveal just how petty you were being. She hands you the container holding what you assume is holding a little slice of heaven, and you stare at it guiltily. “You really didn’t have to.”

“Don’t worry. It was Jin who paid for it.” Just like that, the gnawing feeling is back. “He paid for the entire meal too, even though I told him I would be totally fine with splitting the check.”

Soobin proceeds to drop off her things on her desk to begin unwinding from the outing—it’ll probably be hard to do considering that you can practically feel the ecstatic energy being emitted off of her. There’s probably nothing you can say right now to knock her off the cloud she’s on, so you just listen in silence.

“He’s such a gentleman,” she croons, spinning on her heel and falling back to take a seat on her bed with a hearty spring. “I mean, I know I don’t need to tell you, though. You probably know that already.” There’s not a single hint of enmity behind her words, yet they still fell like a poison specifically made for you, because the instant they leave her lips to meet your ears, there’s a stinging sensation that just refuses to go away.

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

Thinking back to the moments leading to your first encounter with Soobin, you remember that the most pressing worries you were concerned about were whether your roommate would be a serial killer or a thief. Your mind went so far to think of all the highly unlikely scenarios, but you never bothered to conjure up the questions that are starting to take form now.

What if Soobin falls for your best friend?

But then you realize that there’s a second question burning in the back of your mind, one that haunts you more than the last and even more than you’re willing to admit.

What if he falls for her, too?

The sound of unsteady, labored breathing pierces through the thick air in sharp exhales. Jungkook is in front of you, the curves of his muscles on display as they tense up with each movement he makes.

“Come on! You can do better than this.”

At the taunting phrases you throw at him, you see a smirk appear at the corner of his mouth before he works to pick up the pace. His exposed biceps ripple under the new speed in which he takes charge, and the fluid motion becomes even stronger than you anticipated—up and down, back and forth.

“Almost there!” you yell when you see him start to tremble. He’s so close to breaking—it’s obvious by his appearance and the way his face scrunches up with the strained effort to keep it up—but his athleticism and stamina continues to impress you.

Still, every man has his limits, and Jungkook soon reaches his. With a final, heavy pump, he lets out a sound similar to a growl, one so primal, it takes you by surprise. Shortly thereafter, he releases himself, collapsing to roll over onto his back, his chest rising and falling at an accelerated speed as he attempts to catch his breath. His skin is covered in a glistening sheen of sweat from the strenuous activity he just partook in, and it causes his dark hair to stick to his forehead in untidy clusters.

“Eh, not bad,” you voice out, making sure to sound as unenthusiastic as possible.

“How many was that?” he asks, turning to look at you while wiping the moisture from his neck with the back of his equally sweaty hand.

“I don’t know. I lost count.”

“Are you serious?” he cries out in exhaustion, throwing his arms out to his sides so that they land with light thuds on the mat below him.

“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who suddenly decided to show off.”

“I’m not showing off,” Jungkook defends, rising to a seated position and locking eyes with you. “I’m warming up.”

“Right,” you draw out in an unconvinced tone.

Diverting your attention from Mr. Macho, you take some of this down time to take in your immediate surroundings.

You don’t know what you did to get in this position, but here you are, watching Jeon Jungkook do push-ups on a Wednesday evening. All the others around you have already scattered, moving as far away from your corner of the gym as possible; your motivational cheering and Jungkook’s caveman yodel probably did well to scare them off.

“Why did you even agree to come?” Jungkook unexpectedly brings up. You’re about to spew a witty comeback, but when you tilt your head to look at him, he seems genuinely curious as to your reason. He mostly likely noticed your lack of excitement and desire to be here, not that it’s difficult at all to perceive.

“I’m wondering the same thing.”

“You could have said no.”

Jungkook extends his arm to the side to grasp his water bottle before unscrewing the cap. You merely give him a shrug and a bored expression. “It’s not like I had anything else to do.” The sentence comes out of your mouth a little more malevolent than you were intending.

The truth of the matter is, you got out of your last class of the day and was met with two texts: one from Jungkook asking on a whim if you were up for a workout session and another from Seokjin giving you a heads up that he’ll be out eating dinner with Soobin for the next few hours. Not that you don’t enjoy spending your hump day getting sweaty and swole, but you can’t help but have a reemergence of that resentment that seems to be following you around these past several weeks.

It’s fine—you didn’t even want to be invited, especially to something that involves food. You would have been the third wheel, anyway. It’s totally cool.

“You can bail if you want.”

Jungkook rips you out of your rage-induced reverie, and when you focus back on him, the concerned look on his face makes your heart clench just the slightest—like, the tiniest, near-undetectable amount.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” you break the tension with a joke. It successfully wipes the concern from his face as it’s replaced with an icy stare with not even a chuckle in sight. Ignoring his absence of a good sense of humor, you continue on. “What better way to spend some free time after school than with my favorite freshman?”

“Do you even know other freshmen?” he accuses, raising his eyebrow.

“That’s beside the point,” you retort, waving your hand casually to move on from the topic. That must have been good enough of an answer to Jungkook, because he doesn’t argue about it.

“Alright then,” he speaks up, tossing his half-empty bottle to the side and gesturing to the empty spot on the mat in front of you with a smile. “Your turn.”

Ah yes, this is so much better than dinner.

“Hey, you—whoa.” Soobin stops mid-greeting when she gets a good look at you walking into the dorm. You didn’t expect her to be back so soon, but then again, you didn’t expect to spend two hours at the gym—that’s two hours too many. “You look like you just went through hell.”

“Close,” you grumble, slinking towards your closet so you can get out of your workout clothes and into some pajamas. You’re going to jump into the shower as soon as possible and then probably order a pizza right after, because if there’s ever a time that you need one, it’s now.

“I hope it was worth missing out on the heaven that is curry rice,” Soobin jests with a chuckle, but the sentence makes you abruptly halt what you’re doing and turn around to shoot her a confused frown.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a shame you had plans already. I was hoping you would come eat with us, but Jin told me you were busy—and I can see that you definitely were.” She ends her speech with another light laugh, motioning to your post-workout, disheveled appearance, but you aren’t paying attention to that part of her sentence—it’s the information that came before that causes your mind to go completely blank.

What she’s telling you doesn’t make sense. You accepted Jungkook’s request to go to the gym after you read Seokjin’s text saying that he had his own plans, and last time you checked, there was no invitation being extended on his part.

“Right, I was busy,” you swiftly agree in order to avoid the disquiet that the truth will bring out, especially since Soobin is already starting to tilt her head in concern for your funny reaction. Technically, you were busy, so it’s not like you’re telling a complete lie. You’re not so sure that the same can be said for your supposed best friend.

Why would he tell Soobin you couldn’t join them without even checking with you first? First he bails out on a group taco trip, and now he’s purposely leaving you out of the equation. You’re having a hard time understanding the logic and justification behind what’s going on, but based on the hints you’ve gathered until now, you can at least figure out what’s it is that he’s doing.

Seokjin is avoiding you.

“Is Namjoon coming?”

Sitting at Seokjin’s desk, you mentally go down your list of friends who are joining you to get drinks tonight. Your best friend is sitting on the opposite side of the room in Yoongi’s chair, something you consider either a brave or dumb move.

“Nope. He has midterms next week.”

“That’s an awfully long time to avoid drinking.”

“Trust me, it’s in the best interest for all of us. Last time we decided to go for drinks before a big exam, he wouldn’t stop going on about the effects of alcohol on our brains and how we’re killing off all the neurons or whatever.”

“Sounds fun,” you grunt sarcastically.

“Very,” he says with equal sarcasm. “It’s always a great night when you get kicked out of a bar because your friend won’t stop drunkenly screaming ‘We’re all murderers!’ at the top of his lungs.”

“Don’t invite Namjoon—got it.”

Just then, the unthinkable happens—there’s an awkward pause.

You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed one between you two in the past, probably because it never occurred before, but the following seconds of silence feels off. Maybe it’s just you and your restless thoughts refusing to leave you alone about your conversation with Soobin last week. You haven’t felt the need to mention it to Seokjin yet, because to be honest, you’re waiting for him to come clean and tell you what’s going on. So far, he’s been acting like his normal self, minus the occasional weird expressions you find him having when you’re around.

Not letting your thoughts wander any further, you blurt out the first thing that pops into your mind just to get past the tension. “What about Yoongi?”

Seokjin raises an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right?”

“Right, right. Hermit Min.” You nod knowingly and look off into the distance, trying to think of something else to follow that up. Thankfully, there’s no need to wring your brain, because Seokjin beats you to it.

“Did you invite Jungkook?”

“Oh, yeah. Let me check if he replied yet.” You fish out your phone from your pocket and wake the screen. Instantly, you feel so much more comfortable sitting in the quiet with the device in your hands—you have never felt more in tune with your Millennial roots.

Lo and behold, you see that you do indeed have a notification from him. When you unlock your phone to read the text, the chat opens up to the entirety of your screen being filled with rows of party emojis that range from flames to clinking beer mugs.

It’s such a wonder how you two became well-matched friends—a true mystery that might never be solved.

You snort at the message, half amused at the thought of him taking the time to rigorously type all of these out and half impressed at how he always manages to have so much energy. Honestly, you’re still in recovery mode after the makeshift training session he made you writhe through.

Never again.

“Yup, he’s coming. He seems pretty stoked about it,” you convey to Seokjin with a smile, pulling up the keyboard on your screen to reply with your own barrage of inappropriate emojis. You’re too busy clicking away at your phone, you don’t realize that Seokjin has gotten up from his seat until you hear the dorm room entry open.

“I’ll be back,” he announces austerely. You don’t even have time to ask him where he’s going before the door shuts behind him a little too hastily, leaving you to stare at the spot where he was just standing not a second ago.

You now sit alone in the motionless room, hearing Seokjin’s footsteps fade away into the distance until there’s nothing left for your ears to latch onto but your own breathing. It immediately makes you want to take back your thoughts from earlier.

This silence is far more unbearable.

The campus is bustling with activity today, and each section of the school seems to be coming alive for the current fair. Some clubs and businesses have set up their booths in different areas to both promote and recruit for their causes, whatever they may be.

You aren’t particularly keen on talking to strangers, especially ones who badger you to take their brochure or sign their petition when all you want to do is get to the other side of the courtyard so you can grab some grub to satiate the beast in your belly. There is a handful of people on the right side of the expanse beckoning for the attention of apathetic passersby, but one establishment’s method of advertisement catches your eye.

There’s an individual in a large mascot suit of a bunny rabbit dancing around and handing out flyers for a new café that has opened recently. You wonder for a split second if it’s the café that Seokjin and Soobin went to, but you decide not a second later that you aren’t going to care enough to check. Instead, you’re going to stare pitifully at the floppy, furry fellow and ponder about the poor sap who got roped into wearing that costume in this weather.

Being as smooth and casual as you can, you change the trajectory of the path you are walking so you don’t have to pretend to care enough to take a flyer, one that will most likely end up in the trash or stuffed in the back of your binder. You think you’re being clever with this maneuver, but for some reason, the space between you and the mascot doesn’t seem to shrink.

In fact, you think you see the bunny coming closer. Oh god, it’s actually coming toward you.

The costumed individual is literally skipping to you like you have a giant target on your back, and you swear that the giant, plastic eyes are honing in on you like you’re a helpless prey. It’s a terrifying sight in its own regard, but you’re not about to let some dude or dudette in a fat suit intimidate you.

As soon as the mascot stops next to you, the clumsy paw reaches out and shoves a flyer into your personal space. You stop in your tracks and stare down the rabbit in its dark, beady eyes before taking the paper from its hand.

“Thanks,” you sternly state with a nod.

You attempt to resume your saunter out of the promotional bazaar, but as soon as you take a step forward, the bunny sidesteps in front of you, blocking your way. You raise your eyebrow and step to the side again, giving it the benefit of the doubt that it maybe misread the direction you were going, but nope.

The stranger mirrors your movement and sidesteps so that the stupid suit is right in front of you again, gawking at you like nobody’s business. Taking a small step back and crossing your arms, you size up the mascot, wondering if you are really going to allow yourself to have some kind of Mexican standoff with the fluffy bastard.

“I took your damn flyer. What do you want—a carrot?”

You think you can hear a chortle emerge from the person within that barely escapes the confines of the costume.

“Relax, it’s just me.”

Jungkook. That’s his voice alright, even though the multiple layers of cotton and polyester. It’s just like him to be messing with you, too. You should have figured it out earlier.

“Wow, Jungkook,” you croon. “Finally decided to embrace your true nature, I see.”

“Shut up. I’m only doing this because they’re paying me.”

Ah, the wonderful things a college student will do for minimum wage.

“And how’s that working out for you?” you tease, the corner of your lip curving up into a smirk.

“I’m sweating in places I didn’t even know I could sweat,” he says, wiggling the tiniest bit in an itchy manner to showcase his discomfort.

“Yeah, I didn’t need to know that. Thanks.” Your face wrinkles in disgust, not wanting to hear any more of that. “How long do you need to keep this up?”

“Until all the flyers have been handed out.”

“Well then,” you start to say, trying to hide the shrewd smile that’s starting to make its way onto your face. “Better hop to it.”

You had no idea that the stationary face of an animal suit could look so done with your shit, but you can practically feel the waves of disappointment emanating from Jungkook through the bug-eyed bunny. Without another word, he turns around and purposely drags his feet as he returns to his post to continue doing his job.

Whatever. At least the coast is clear now.

You continue on your voyage to find food, but as you walk away, a conclusion pops into your mind; it’s so automatic, you don’t even give it a second thought about how it so easily was your first.

You’re sure Seokjin would have laughed at your joke.

“Can I ask you something?”

At the sentence, you spin around in your chair to give Soobin the undivided attention she deserves. The two of you have been studying at your respective desks for some time now, so you welcome the unwarranted break, no matter how short it may be. It feels like you haven’t really been talking much these days either, especially when taking into consideration that you two live together.

“Shoot.”

“What is Jin like?”

Your eyebrows crease at the unusual question, although you don’t know if you were expecting her to talk about any other topic given the recent circumstances.

“What do you mean? You’ve known him for more than two years. You two hang out all the time now.” You try your best not to sound upset, especially with the last part. You know she means well, but sometimes it’s hard to argue rationale with your emotional self.

“I know…and I know we’ve been spending more time together, but I feel like I don’t really know him, you know?” You nod your head diligently to the plethora of “know” missiles she chucked into one sentence to show that you do indeed know. “I just thought, who better than to ask his best friend?”

Soobin’s smile is sincere, albeit a bit shy for even bringing something like this up. You can tell she really is interested in Seokjin. It’s clearer than the ketchup stain that was on Namjoon’s shirt earlier today. You purse your lips in contemplation, but ultimately decide to help her with her curiosity.

“Where to start…” you think aloud, digging through the years of knowledge you have of your best friend. Soobin is looking at you with expectant eyes, so rather than wait, you begin listing off things about him in the order they come into your mind.

“First of all, he’s a very sore loser, but he’s an even worse winner, so unless you want him to hold that one table hockey win over your head for the rest of eternity, I suggest you never play games with him.” You undertake an annoyed look, and she stifles a laugh just as you were hoping. “Oh, I’m sure you know this one—he laughs way too much at his own jokes. But he does have a laugh that makes other people laugh, so he manages to get away with it.” This time, Soobin lets out the laugh she was holding back, and gives her input of “very true” to agree with your remark.

You go on to pick something that Soobin may not know about, just so you aren’t repeating knowledge she already possesses. “His favorite movie is The Matrix. It’s great and all, but it starts to get old when he makes you rewatch it with him a couple times a year even though there are a billion new movies out that he hasn’t seen yet,” you grumble. This is starting morph into some kind of roasting session for Seokjin, but you are on fire, so you’re going to roll with it.

“He also has the biggest appetite in the world, so always expect him to steal some of your food when he’s given the chance,” you continue, stating the obvious from experience chronicling back to even your first year of friendship. “The secret to repelling him is to know what kind of food he dislikes and ordering that when you can. That’s why I always get extra pepperoni on my pizza, because he absolutely hates it.” You smile deviously for a second, but then your mind turns an unexpected corner. “I guess there is an upside to him eating so much though. He likes to make bets and tell you that you owe him food and whatnot, but when you go out to eat, he ends up paying for it most of the time. I still don’t know why he does that.”

Your lips tug down into a confused frown at the thought. Thinking back to a specific example, even after your arcade adventure during your first excursion around Seoul, Seokjin went ahead to pay for lunch even though he had joked about how it was your turn to take care of the bill that day.

“Well, I guess I do know why. Seokjin’s a big softie, and he always has been. He’ll pay for your food, walk you home, give you stupid stuffed animals as gifts for no reason, and all while acting like it’s just a standard thing for anyone to do—that’s just how he is. He can act childish sometimes but when it really comes down to it…he’ll always take care of you.”

The last part almost gets stuck in your throat, but you successfully finish the sentence as a wave of realization washes over you like you’re being doused with an ice bucket.

You miss him.

Is it even possible to miss someone who is so close to you almost every day?

Your mind wanders to an instance from the beginning of the week, feeling the need to put you through that embarrassing moment yet again. You were sitting on one of the benches outside of the library during the afternoon, peacefully consuming your sandwich before your next class began, but then you heard it.

Metallic ringing.

Your heart leapt more than you are willing to admit, but when your head shot up to peer towards the person exiting the front doors of the library, you saw that it was a stranger whom you had never seen before, donning his dangling ring of keys on his belt loop. In a similar fashion, your heart dropped right back down with such force, you almost felt the thud of chagrin resonating through your chest.

Apparently, it is very possible to miss someone who is only a walking-distance away, because even though he may be physically close, you feel like you haven’t seen him—the real him—in a long time.

A forlorn expression has made its way onto your face, one that you don’t realize you’re donning until you perceive the prolonged hush that befell the room as a result of the sudden break in your speech. You’ve been staring at a blank spot on the floor for who knows how long, because when your eyes snap up to land on your roommate, she’s watching you with a gentle gaze—a knowing gaze.

“Ahem,” you make a sound somewhere in between a cough and clearing your throat, unable to think of a better way to move past the abrupt ending you had. “I think you get the gist.”

A pensive smile graces Soobin’s lips as if she got the answer she was looking for.

“Yeah, I do.”

After the spontaneous discourse on Seokjin’s character, you put the moment out of your mind for the sake of focusing on your studies, but while the conversation has found its end, the effects of it are only beginning to bloom.

“Here you go!” you cheerily exclaim as you enter your dorm one evening. Soobin perks up from her position on the bed at the sight of the paper bag in your hands.

“Yay! You’re the best.” She pushes her textbook off of her lap and reaches out her arms to accept the take-out order of churros she asked you to bring back.

Soobin decided to be a good student and spend her time studying, so you ended up going to the dessert shop with just Taehyung and Jungkook. Those two are quite the handful already, especially when Taehyung, flashing the world with his new dusty silver hair, dedicates the majority of the meeting trying to convince Jungkook to let the older boy dye his hair. It was an eventful session filled with bickering and near approval, but you still felt like something was missing.

“It sucks that you and Seokjin couldn’t make it. These are so much better fresh.”

You begin to cast off your belongings onto your bed to wind down from the long junket. The hint of disenchantment is probably apparent in your tone of voice no matter how much you try to hide it. You have no right to complain though—you just had amazing food and went to one of your favorite dessert shops after dinner.

“Oh, Jin didn’t go either?”

You hesitate, pausing in the middle of shedding your jacket to regard her with a curious peek. “Yeah…I thought he was with you?”

She vigorously shakes her head, her hands busily opening the paper bag in her lap. “Nope. My butt has been glued to this bed for the past five hours.”

“Huh,” you grunt, not knowing what reaction to give. You leave it at that though, because Soobin soon shifts her focus to savoring the churros in front of her.

Something must have happened on that day she asked you about Seokjin, because after taking off on your mild rant, Soobin stopped extending those solo invitations towards him to hang out. It’s like the past few months didn’t happen at all, like she just turned off the target locking system that her heart eyes had on your best friend for the longest time. After a few more weeks pass, you notice that she only meets with him now whenever you all have gatherings as a group.

You think this will mean that things are going to go back to the way they were with you and Seokjin, but you’re mistaken.

It’s not that Seokjin specifically told you he was with Soobin during your churro escapade, but you just assumed that was the case since it usually was whenever he mentioned having other plans. It’s worrying enough that he isn’t telling you what’s going on, but it’s even more so since he doesn’t have a reason to be blowing off your Taco Tuesdays anymore since Soobin isn’t stealing him away.

Wait a minute. What are you even saying? Seokjin isn’t being stolen away—you don’t own him.

While that is indeed true, it still doesn’t stop the fact that you feel protective over him. Like a mother lion defending her young cub. Or like Seokjin when you accidentally knock over a Mario figurine from his desk. Both ferociously loyal in making sure nothing goes amiss, and now you find yourself in the same category as them.

The only explanation for this phenomenon you are experiencing is habit, you suppose.

10 years together with a person will do that to you.

Emergency Gong Cha run.

The text comes as a surprise, but at the same time, it’s not. It feels like such a long period has gone by since the last time Seokjin was the initiator of the conversation, especially considering that the two of you have been preoccupied with schoolwork and have had less and less time to study together since none of your classes coincided.

You take a couple minutes to think over the message. You’re currently alone in your dorm room—Soobin is spending the evening at the library studying with some of her classmates—and as entertaining as it sounds to lock yourself up and drown in your assignment and the anguish that goes along with it, you think you’ll take up Seokjin’s offer.

Make it Baskin Robbins and you’ve got a deal.

You send your reply and wait for either denial or confirmation; thankfully, it’s the latter that comes right away.

Fine by me.

There’s no need for any more pleasantries. Once you deem yourself presentable to go out in public, you leave your room—and that asshole of a worksheet packet—and head to the nearest Baskin Robbins right outside the campus.

As you walk up to the front of the ice cream shop, you can already distinguish a familiar figure standing by the entrance. If the view of his stature and the impressive width of his shoulders isn’t enough of a clue—you blame Taehyung for planting that wretched Dorito into your mind—his platinum blond hair is surely a dead giveaway. Seokjin recently touched up his roots, another event you blame Taehyung for, so he still has the freshly-polished look about him.

Seokjin’s wingspan is hidden under a black leather jacket that is blending well into the darkening night, but as you get closer, you see that he is wearing a shirt that is doing the complete opposite of blending in.

Super Moschino.

The white graphic t-shirt is hard to miss with the quirky design of a soaring Raccoon Mario below the equally flagrant text. You feel a smile instantaneously appear on your face, but it’s not because of how ridiculous the scheme of the shirt is.

It’s the gift you got Seokjin for his birthday last year.

The satisfaction you felt when you first presented the article of clothing to him faintly returns as you remember the amount of enthusiasm he showed when receiving the gift. You also feel a peculiar comfort in knowing that he’s still putting it to good use. Not too long has even passed since that time, yet it feels like so much longer ago—so far away.

“What’s the occasion this time?”

Your speech causes Seokjin to glance up from his phone as you stop in front of him, and like a reflex, he slides the device into his jacket pocket as a respectful effort now that you’re here.

“Does there need to be an occasion for ice cream?”

“You have a point,” you agree, watching him open the door so that you both can go in and get what you’re here for—except, you have a feeling that it’s not the only reason you’re here.

Choosing an ice cream flavor isn’t difficult at all—what is difficult is turning away from the display to see that Seokjin is already paying for both of your orders without thinking twice about it. You never looked too much into it in the past, but ever since speaking with Soobin, the kind gesture seems harder for you to process. Something even more difficult than that is the battle of silence you find yourself in when you sit down with your triple scoop cup—go big or go home—in front of Seokjin at one of the vacant tables.

“So, what’s the real reason?” you feel the need to ask again, staring down your best friend across from you. He isn’t exhibiting the usual behavior of scarfing down his ice cream, and you know that it’s something to worry about when Kim Seokjin gives his frozen delight enough time to melt.

“Since when did we start needing a reason to hang out?” he mutters in a lower voice than normal, his eyes remaining on the cup of the creamy dessert he is now jabbing mercilessly with his spoon.

“Since you stopped wanting to.” The words come out of your mouth before you can halt yourself, and even hearing it out loud rather than inside your mind leaves a hollow ache in the pit of your chest.

“That’s not true.”

You wait for an explanation or something to continue his thoughts, but that’s all he says—and there’s that awkward silence again. It’s such a peculiar tension, as if both of you want to say something, but at the same time, you’re hoping and expecting the other to speak up first. You’re just stuck in this conversational limbo, stuffing your faces to busy your otherwise still mouths, not that you’re at all opposed to the second part.

Trying to find a distraction for your eyes as well, you take a look around to see if you can find anything interesting—you do, but it’s not necessarily a good thing.

There are two girls sitting a few tables to your right, and while they’re trying their best to hide their excited chattering, the staring is shamelessly blatant. Of course, they’re admiring the visuals of your best friend who still seems to be sitting in his seat, oblivious to the extra attention.

Did their mothers not teach them manners? Maybe they should take a picture—it’ll last much longer, especially since they don’t look like they’re going to grow the balls to approach Seokjin anytime soon. For a fraction of a second, one of the girls locks eyes with you, but the fleeting moment passes like it didn’t even happen, and the two of them continue gossiping like the tramps that they are. They better be glad that you’re not Medusa, although that certainly would have made a better story than the one of you silently brooding in your seat, mushing your ice cream into a disfigured blob with your spoon.

This shouldn’t bother you as much as it’s doing right now. Seokjin is definitely a handsome guy—anyone with eyes can tell you that much. He has often gotten double-takes while out in public, and you even remember laughing on the sidelines when girls came up to ask him for his number on good days. Never have you felt this annoyance towards the situation before, and you don’t know why you’re starting to do so now.

No, you do know. As foreign as the feeling is, you can comprehend exactly where the venom is coming from.

You just don’t want to admit it.

“Hey, since tomorrow’s Friday, do you want to—”

“No.”

Jungkook scowls at your answer, giving you a disgruntled look like you just kicked his puppy, not that he even has one. He has joined you for lunch today—a healthy serving of kimchi fried rice with a not-so-healthy blanket of melted cheese on top of it—so instead of your trusty bench, you two are seated across from each other at a small table at the campus cafeteria.

“You didn’t even hear what I had to say.”

“I don’t need to,” you say with an indifferent shrug. “I have plans tomorrow night.”

“Really? What are you doing?”

“Movie night at the dorm.” A smile appears on Jungkook’s face that disturbingly resembles that of a pervert as he wriggles his eyebrows at you. “What?” you blurt out in an attempt to get him to stop before people around you see that expression and run for the hills screaming.

“Netflix and chill?”

Your hand immediately shoots forward to reach in for the titty twister at that inappropriate comment. Unfortunately, your hand barely misses the chance to grab his stubby nub before he recoils back and blocks your attack with a hearty laugh.

“Okay, okay!” he exclaims through his snickers when you shift in preparation to go for his other side. At that wave of the white flag, you retreat with just a stern look—for now. “You were a lot nicer when I first met you.”

You nearly laugh at the irony of his words and how they remind you of the similar sentiment you had when Taehyung started giving you sass. Perhaps it’s just what happens when you become closer friends with someone: the savage beast is given the freedom to roam.

“That was before you tried to murder me at the gym earlier this year.” Death by burpees—what a way to go. Your muscles are aching just thinking about it. “But to answer your question, no. I’m just hanging out with Seokjin.”

To your relief, your regular movie nights with your best friend still carried on, except for the past couple of months, you two have been going to an actual theater instead of staying in like you always did. It was nice to watch everything on the big screen rather than the tiny laptop that Seokjin owns, but it just didn’t feel the same without the liberty to make thoughtless comments to each other that lead to random debates throughout the movie. Sure, you could probably do that in public too, but last time you checked, talking in a movie theater is still looked down upon.

Jungkook hums in response to your clarification, but the tone sounds more like a question than an answer.

“What now?”

“Nothing,” he quips oh-so-inconspicuously with a grin he’s obviously trying to hide. “I knew you two weren’t fighting.”

You furrow your eyebrows at something you would have never thought to hear. “Who said we were fighting?”

“Namjoon hyung,” he exposes right away. You can only hope for his sake that Jungkook’s not carelessly revealing some kind of secret discussion they had. “He put it in different terms, of course. He mentioned that you and Seokjin were both having your own internal battles or whatever—something about Nietzsche. I’m just paraphrasing here. I wasn’t really paying attention, but hey, turns out I didn’t need to!”

Staring blankly at Jungkook, you don’t know whether to criticize him for his short attention span or to commend him for even remembering the name of that philosopher Namjoon was no doubt talking about—you can hear him spitting out quotes in your mind like you were actually there.

While you do appreciate the faith Jungkook has in you and your friendship with Seokjin, the other side of the story is what bothers you. Internal battles? You don’t think you’ve had enough of those to really say it’s something you noticed about your behavior. Were you really having them? You decline to believe so.

Wait, isn’t that what you’re doing right now?

You can’t believe Namjoon read you that easily. At least you know that he’ll make a good psychiatrist in the future. Still, you didn’t even realize that things have changed so much that other people are taking note of your current situation. Maybe Namjoon is really just that good, or maybe Seokjin confided in him about something that led to him holding that opinion. The second option seems highly unlikely, though.

You can’t imagine what the problem would be. Why would he feel the need to do that? Are you missing something? Is there something wrong between you two that you don’t know about? There can’t possibly be…right?

“Okay, what’s going on?”

You lean forward to pause the movie that’s currently playing on Seokjin’s laptop before plopping back into your usual spot on the bed. You’re about a quarter of the way through Inception—it’s a recommendation from Yoongi, apparently—and by now, you two should have exchanged witty remarks or gone on a tangent about how confused you still are about the opening scene, but tonight, things are uncharacteristically quiet. Seokjin has been sitting in his spot next to you, almost not even moving as he stares at the screen like a mannequin.

It’s suffocating, not to mention unsettling.

“What do you mean?” he asks innocently, eyes still glued to the screen that is now just showing a frozen frame of Leonardo DiCaprio’s mid-blink face. You, on the other hand, shift your position to turn and get a better look at him without having to continuously crane your head.

“You’re acting really weird lately.”

“No, I’m not,” he retorts in a childish manner.

“Yes, you are,” you say in a similar fashion, negating to lose this silly game.

“How would you know? You’re always off on your dates with Jungkook.”

You almost choke on your spit at the accusation. That is not the comeback you were expecting, and it takes you a moment to confirm that your ears aren’t deceiving you.

“Dates?” you sputter, the only thing stopping you from completely laughing off the claim being Seokjin’s calm and somber countenance. You know you threw that word out as a joke with him last time, but he seems wholly serious with the way he’s using it as retaliation. “That’s why you’ve been acting this way?” He doesn’t answer, so you just assume that you’re correct. “The kid’s nice and all, but please. I feel like I’m babysitting him half the time and making sure he doesn’t stay out too late and spend all his money at a PC room like before.”

You wait for a reaction to your explanation, but Seokjin doesn’t even flinch.

A good second goes by as you think about if you’re willing and petty enough to open the can of worms that Seokjin so kindly placed in front of you, but of course the answer is going to be hell yes. You’ve just about had it with these past few months of feeling like your best friend is slipping away from you, so if you have a chance of reeling him back in to sort things out, you’re going to take it, even if it means hooking him where the sun don’t shine.

“If anything, you’re the one avoiding me these days, like all those times you went off on your own ‘dates’ with Soobin,” you make sure to put an emphasis on that vile noun, hoping that he realizes just how ridiculous it sounds. “And you’re upset that I’m spending too much time with Jungkook?”

There’s no answer.

At this point, you can feel your insides start to simmer, as if everything you wanted to say is threatening to spill out. You hate that you’re getting worked up, but you’re not about to take this lying down when Seokjin clearly feels that you two have a problem. He voiced his woes, and now you will too.

“You think I don’t notice when your mood suddenly drops when I’m around? Or how you’d rather do anything else you can think of, including lying, than come to group gatherings when I’m involved? You don’t tell me anything anymore and I feel like—” You stop yourself in that moment, because you realize that this bubbling within you isn’t anger but something far more dangerous. Seokjin remains ever soundless, but his expression is wavering in a way that reassures you your best friend has not been replaced by a robot, contrary to your opinion. Taking in a shaky breath, you steel yourself to continue on with the same fervor, because you refuse to weaken your argument with tears. “Was it something I did? Because if I did something wrong, you need to let me know. I’m not a goddamn mind reader and—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as you’re cut off by Seokjin in the middle of your makeshift rant. All the heat that was building up within you dissipates in an instant, and you’re left on the opposite side of the spectrum, completely frozen in place. This is the second time in the last five minutes where you feel like your ears are tricking you.

“What?” You manage to sputter out through your confusion and shock, mentally slapping yourself for the Neanderthal-like response even though you’re sober.

“I said,” Seokjin starts again, a look of determination washing over him as he takes a moment to inhale before turning to look you straight in the eyes—no more avoidance. “I’m in love with you.”

The second time is more resounding than the first, especially without the hesitant “I think” at the beginning of the sentence. You, on the other hand, think you feel your heart that leapt up earlier drop with a devastating crash, but when the pattern continues on this way, you realize that it’s your hammering heartbeat that’s causing such a ruckus throughout your entire body. You can feel your face begin to flush, and the reason might be because you’re pretty sure you stopped breathing.

Your first instinct is to make a joke, to let humor take the wheel because you’re not confident that the next thing that will come out of your mouth will not make you sound like a pathetic fool. One look at Seokjin changes your mind though, because with the way that he’s staring at you with such a keen and hopeful gaze, you can see in him the boy you grew up with.

The boy you grew to love.

“You have a horrible way of showing it…” you grumble disapprovingly as loud as your voice allows you to. The truth is, you’re going through an internal struggle of not knowing whether you want to laugh or cry at the relief you feel at his confession.

At this, Seokjin remains motionless for a second, but as you watch him with a hopeful gaze of your own, it gives him the confidence he needs to make his next move. He leans forward, steadily closing the already insignificant gap between you two, and like a magnet, you’re drawn towards him as well. Just when you think you can’t get any closer, your lips finally meet. Your eyes flutter close at the tender touch, and the feelings of bliss swirl within you at the long-awaited, chaste kiss.

The moment feels all-too-brief before Seokjin pulls away, and when you open your eyes again, you see that he is still inches away from you, gazing deeply as if he just found the answer to a question he has been agonizingly withholding for longer than you can imagine.

“How about now?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper as his breath tickles your lips in a way that ignites the residual tingling you feel from the contact. Your mouth only curls up into a smile that you can’t help but display, the expression spawning from pure elation that mirrors exactly how you are feeling.

“It’s a start.”

Seokjin’s mouth part the slightest to prepare for a response, but you quickly capture it with your own once again. You haven’t responded to his confession yet, per se, but judging by the way he’s smiling against your lips as you pull him closer to you with your hands running through his hair, you’re pretty sure he knows how you feel.

Like a ribbon unraveling, you feel a pressure release both around you and inside of you. It’s like something had a grasp on the essence of your very being this entire time, something you didn’t even realize you were holding in for so long.

The truth is, you were afraid.

You were afraid of the way your feelings for your best friend were developing, especially when he only seemed to be keen on pushing you away. There was no way you could have known the reason for his actions, so you hardened yourself and subdued those pesky emotions, crushing the flower within you to keep it from ever seeing the light of day.

But not anymore.

Now, you’re letting that flower bloom, releasing it from the painful grip you had seized it with. Your feelings finally have a chance to flourish and come to life in the most splendid way possible, and this newfound wonder is leading you to come to terms with a fact that you should have admitted long ago.

You love him, too.

Kim Seokjin.

The peanut butter to your jelly. The punchline to your setup. Your other half, because no matter how far you two wander, you always make it back together.

Your boyfriend.

“So, Mario and Luigi turned out to be Mario and Peach all this time.”

Namjoon’s quip is one of many that your friends have taken to throwing out every chance that they got. Ever since Seokjin and you broke the news of your relationship to the others, teasing the two of you about it has turned into their favorite pastime. You don’t mind all the extra attention it one bit—in fact, some of their jokes are pretty hilarious, if you do say so yourself. You’re honestly just glad that everything seems to have settled down, and there are no cold shoulders or awkward silences between the lot of you anymore.

“Yeah, but the question is, which one of you is Peach?”

Jungkook nearly gets chased down for that comment by none other than your amiable boyfriend, all while cackling like a lunatic who is far too proud of his own joke—you swear, Seokjin is really starting to rub off on the kid.

Still, out of all your friends’ ridiculous reactions to your updated relationship status, Yoongi’s has to be your favorite.

You didn’t even have to tell him upfront, really. You just stopped by the dorm the day after your memorable movie night, and Seokjin opened the door for you when you arrived. The two of you shared a kiss as a greeting, one that was a little too long to be called a peck, before he stepped over to the side to let you in.

It was in that moment that your view of the room was unobscured, and sitting at his desk was Yoongi. You knew he would be there, but you didn’t know why you felt so nervous when you saw him. His taciturn gaze locked with yours in an instant, leaving you feeling the sudden need to explain the romantic gesture you probably defiled his eyes with, but there was apparently no need. Yoongi’s expression persisted ever the same—you don’t remember a time it hasn’t—but in a turn of events, he was the first to speak up, the single word creating a larger impact than any “hey” or “bye” he had ever uttered to you.

“Finally.”

It’s a short while after Seokjin and you start dating when you are met with your first loss in the relationship: his blond hair.

It is time to say goodbye to the short-lived, bleached locks and go back to black once again. It’s not that the golden tone isn’t stunning, because it most certainly is, but Seokjin mentioned multiple times that the upkeep is just too much of a pain both in his wallet and his schedule—and also his scalp. He deems it too much work for something he admits was a drastic action, very nonchalantly adding that it was also done with the partial intent to garner your attention.

As much as that confession makes you appreciate the color change even more, in the end, it doesn’t matter whether he has black, blond, or even pink hair.

You’ll still love him the same.

There is one thing that manages stick with Seokjin though, and that’s his trusty keychain.

You grew extremely fond of the metallic clinking when you became friends, but you feel even more so now that you two are going steady. You can sense your heart swell whenever it graces your eardrums, and your anticipation crescendos along with the harmonious sound when it comes closer, holding the promise of your approaching boyfriend. When you’re with him, it essentially becomes the background music of your daily life, and you really couldn’t ask for a better one.

Only after you two graduate from the university and Seokjin gets a job for a company in the city does he finally stop carrying the Mario charm around. It’s probably for the best; it doesn’t make professional sense to attach it to his work bag, so naturally, it made a home in his new apartment’s bedroom closet along with his old backpacks and knickknacks, soon to be forgotten and collecting dust.

The world does feel a bit emptier without the ringing you have grown so accustomed to hearing. Anyone in their right mind would be glad that the constant noise is gone—your friends have filed their complaints over the years about the annoyance it brought them—but you actually miss it.

To you, that keychain represents the past, all the memories of your youth that have been cultivated into evoking heartwarming nostalgia. For some time, you can really sense that missing slice of your life, but after more thought, you realize something. While you do long to hear the bells that signal Seokjin’s nearing presence again, there is no need for you to know when he’s approaching anymore.

He never left you.

Kim Seokjin.

The Ron to your Hermione. The Ross to your Rachel. Your other half, because you can’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

Your husband.

It was no surprise to anyone when you two decided to live together after graduation, and it seemed like it was only a surprise to you when he proposed a few months after that—your friends, being in on Seokjin’s plan, were poised with congrats and slaps on the back, the second one you very much could have done without.

Your own belongings were stored inside the closet of your shared apartment right next to Seokjin’s things, at least the items that you knew you weren’t going to be looking for anytime soon. In the passing nine months, the stockpile became bigger as the vacant space became smaller, with more things being packed into the corners of your dwelling to make room for new objects and furniture.

And soon, a new life.

The journey wasn’t as smooth as you hoped it would be, but you knew that being a first-time parent was not an easy feat in the slightest, especially in those first few months of being thrown into those new shoes and landing face-first in the gravel.

You remember waking up in the middle of a particular night during the second month after the birth of your precious daughter. You were positive that the crying that tore you out of your slumber was just coming from the baby, but when you were conscious enough to comprehend what was going on, you discovered that Seokjin was sitting in the room with your baby in his arms, wailing almost comically in a way that competed with your daughter’s vocal outcries.

Needless to say, you took over so that he could get some rest.

It was fascinating and just a little scary how quickly the years flew by after that. Before you knew it, you looked around at your surroundings and found yourself living a completely changed life.

Gone were the days of drunkenly puking in front of beautiful strangers or getting up at the ungodly hours of the night to go eat boba and ice cream. No more radical hair-dyeing experiences or playing Mario Party until the sun came up. Past-you would have written this off as an extremely boring way to live, but then again, past-you also thought that six shots of tequila was a good idea as well. Nevertheless, while these habits of yours were unfortunate sacrifices indeed, they were necessary and more importantly, completely worth it.

Between your husband and your daughter, you wouldn’t trade your two bundles of joy for anything in the world.

Incidentally, there was still one aspect of your past that remained a tradition: movie nights. It was difficult to maintain for the longest time, since you two had to switch from watching movies to watching your kid for the majority of the nights, but you still made it work. You couldn’t find it in you to let it go, and you don’t think you’ll want to anytime soon, even as you make way for new customs that will soon be entering your life.

Just like today.

Lifting the thermal carafe above your ceramic mug, you carefully pour yourself some freshly-brewed coffee to start off the special morning. The kitchen is still and soundless other than the click of the pot as you place it back down in its heated holder, but it doesn’t stay that way for long.

It takes you by surprise, like you’re experiencing déjà vu, but the distinct sound you thought you would never hear again reaches your ears.

The bells of nostalgia.

Abandoning your cup on the counter, you step out into the living room to determine the source of this welcomed disturbance. You are not disappointed when you see your daughter waddling down and out of the hallway with the biggest grin on her face, the straps of her colorful, almost painfully vibrant backpack standing out against her gray knit sweater.

Your heart feels like it could burst from all the exuberant emotions that bombard your existence, and nothing else in the room matters anymore for all of your attention becomes fixated on her. She spots you as you walk up to her and takes it upon herself to waddle a little faster in order to reach you. When she does, she attempts to give you a great, big hug, but it doesn’t quite hit the mark she was planning—hey, at least your knees are able to enjoy the hug.

“Ready for school?” you ask cheerfully when she releases your legs. Kneeling down to get on eye-level with her, you watch her excitedly nod her head in confirmation before making a second attempt at the hug by throwing her arms around your neck. You respond in the only way you see fit by peppering the side of her face with affectionate kisses. A flourish of giggles erupts as she pulls back, obviously being overpowered by your smooching prowess.

God, you’re glad no one can see you right now and the puddle that you’ve been melted into. You probably look like a doofus, because you definitely feel like your smile is stretching way farther than humanly possible, right up to the tips of your ears.

“Did you make sure you have everything?” You stand back up to gain your composure, and you notice her socks in all its red and yellow glory, flaunting the cartoon design of Iron Man’s face on the fabric—no doubt a gift from Jungkook. “Oh, don’t forget your shoes!” you chime in a singsong manner.

At that, your daughter spins around gleefully, and it’s in that moment that your eyes land on the very familiar metal charm dangling from her backpack. In an instant, she’s zipping out of the room towards the shoe shelf by the front entrance to retrieve her footwear like you mentioned. Her entire bag goes crazy with shuffling and clinking as she barely dodges Seokjin who is making an emergence from the same hallway that she came from.

“Whoa there!” Seokjin laughs, his eyes following the back of your prancing daughter for a second before he sets his gaze on you. He’s wearing the white dress shirt he usually does for work, and his dark hair is styled neatly in a way that really makes you appreciate just how mature he has become.

“You still have that Mario keychain?” you instantly question when the thought of maturity enters your mind. Your lip quirks up in curiosity at your run-in with the blast from the past attached to your child’s backpack.

“Of course. I always have it,” he answers matter-of-factly, a proud grin on his face.

“But why? It’s so old now.”

Sure, Super Mario is a timeless franchise, but he could have very well picked from the countless new trinkets and toys your daughter received as gifts—it’s one of the perks of having friends with the same mental age as your five-year-old, you suppose.

Walking up to stand in front of you, Seokjin curls his arms around your waist to pull you close. You comply without a drop of reluctance, your own arms sliding up to curl over his shoulders.

“Because I’m thankful for it. It’s important to me.” You shoot him a confused look, wondering how a dime-a-dozen keychain could possibly hold that much significance. As if reading your mind, he goes on to explain his reasoning. “I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have it when I was younger. It’s what brought you into my life.” Seokjin’s features soften along with his voice, and you feel the weight of his words resonate through you as you stare into his heartfelt gaze. “Something as lucky as that deserves to be handed down, don’t you think? Who knows, maybe it’ll work for her like it worked for me.”

It takes you a moment to process the depth of that revelation. So that’s why he has been holding onto it all this time? Not because of a childish preference for the charm that you always assumed it was but because of sentimental value? No matter how many years passed or how many bags he cycled through, he kept the keychain because of its connection to you.

Leaning forward into Seokjin’s arms, you plant a short but sweet kiss on his lips, savoring the blossoming warmth the contact conjures from your heart before pulling away to murmur the only words you feel are apt to express your utter contentment.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he replies without missing a beat.

And you’ve never felt happier.

Suddenly, you hear the flurry of clinks return as your daughter emerges from her adventure to find her sneakers. Admirably, they are on both of her feet, each shoe managing to dress its matching foot, and even the Velcro straps are secured beautifully in place.

They grow up so fast.

“Let’s go, princess.” Seokjin calls out to her in adoration, and she speedily races to his side to take his much larger hand in hers. She proceeds to eagerly pull on her father’s hand, turning him around to lead him towards the front door, an action he can only succumb to with an outflow of laughter.

In all of your experiences with first days of school throughout your life, you can wholeheartedly say that your child’s first day beats all of the others in terms of how nervous you feel. You’d be lying if you said that you were completely cool and collected about this. It’s the first time she’ll really be apart from you after years of staying strictly by your side, and while she seems ready to take on the day, you’re not sure if you are.

The worries begin to swirl around in your mind, but before they can develop any further, the maudlin melody of the old keychain is brought to your attention again. The sound lulls you in, and your eyes lock onto the shapes of the trinket hanging from the backpack before taking a step back to fully appreciate the image you see before you.

Seokjin’s shoulders are impressive as they have always been, especially from the clear view of his back you have, and his stature dwarfs the child trotting beside him, her uniquely colorful backpack only being outshined by the dancing and singing keychain attached to it.

Hearing this ringing now that you’re really taking in this picture, you notice that it sounds different. It no longer represents the past memories and years you have lived. No, there’s a new tone with the way it’s chiming, and that’s because it now holds your hope for the future. Your legacy until now has been engraved in that item, but for your daughter, her journey is only beginning.

That was the intention Seokjin had when passing on the lucky charm, much like a torch or a family heirloom. It is no longer a token of nostalgia, but a promise to create even more memories, not just for you and him, but for your daughter as well. This sentiment replaces all the worry that previously clouded your mind, wiping the slate clean, and you’re left with a growing state of bliss and the realization of another promise that things will be alright—you have your loved ones by your side, after all.

And as long as you’re together, you can smile.

[francesbeau]

No Longer Human - Osamu Dazai

This is more so just aspects of the narrative I enjoyed rather than a prolonged deep analysis.

Prologue: “the face fails inexplicably to give the impression of belonging to a living human being/lacks substance/sensation of complete artificiality.” 

Notebook 1: “Mine has been a life of such shame”, an obviously really interesting, captivating way to begin the novel - it creates such a depressive tone and really sets out the slow narration that is to follow. There's a whole passage that talks about the possible plights of the neighbor that ends with; these people have become complete egoists and are so convinced of the normality of their way of life that they’ve never doubted it.” - Whilst I am certain there are deeper roots to this that I haven’t yet looked into, I think it brings light to the connection between the victim mentality of childhood and and the common trauma response of; “I am glad that I’m dealing with this because it would make anyone else go crazy.” Whilst I am sure this was not the only intended effect it does shed light on the morose alienation of childhood. “Anger makes them reveal a flash of human nature in all its horror” - This is an interesting line that I think holds a lot of its weight to the cultural conditions of the narrator. The speaker describes these moments as scary but obviously if we look at different cultural timeframes, such as Ancient Rome, violence was used as a means of entertainment, so an interesting difference in reaction. Based on everything the narrator has said about themselves so far I was really surprised that they were apposed to violence so strongly. The small passage on respect reminds me of the Nietzschean ideals surrounding honor and justice, a specific Nietzsche quote; “The last thing a noble man would consent to is being lied to” pops out. “Many women have been able to sniff out this loneliness of mine, which I confided to no one, and this has been the cause of me being taken advantage of in so many ways.” / “Women found in me a man who could keep a love secret.” So poignant, such a great finish to the first book. 

Notebook 2: I clothed my face in the gentle beguiling smile of a false Christian.” “Cathedrals of melancholy.” “Women led me on only to throw me aside; they mocked and tortured me, only to embrace me with passion as soon as everyone had left” “The masters, through their subjective interpretations, created beauty out of trivialities.” This hurt so bad - “I was equally afraid that they might not recognize my true self when they saw it but imagine that it was some new twist of my clowning.” The exploration of free will alongside the examination of indulgent escapism seen through the communist meetings and the sex workers really helped the book pick up again. The casual sexism is so adamant in this notebook it’s actually strangely surprising. I think it is interesting also that we have this character who repeatedly says he is a Marxist for the following of some self-refrained joke but then simultaneously adopts Marxian rehtorics and mannerisms. So, the semantic field of misery directly after the death is so interesting because the misery is directed at the external rather than the internal. Even in suicide we cannot gage the true countenance and emotions of our narrator. 

Notebook 3 - Part 1: Thematic misunderstanding of emotional outlet. “I felt like bestirring myself to achieve a worthy purpose.” “Fool rendered incapable by my perpetual flight from human society” There is a very brief mention of a “Tenacious” kite caught in “Telegraph wires” this could be referring to the overall theme of rural, traditional merging with advancing technology and It could also be alluding to the wasted youthful vitality of life. “I was frightened, even by God - I could not believe in his love, only his punishment.” The whole motif around - “Society wont stand for you anymore.” Is where the book really comes into its own, we could also link this whole part (page 120) to the existential 19th Century philosophy called ‘Bad Faith’ pushed forward by Sartre. “I gradually came to relax my vigilance towards the world” It feels as though this section of the book is more so: the reader experiencing the thoughts of the narrator, as opposed to the reader analyzing but in saying this, the maxim of ‘ignorance is bliss’ seems to be ingrained into the character of Yoshiko.  

Notebook 3 - Part 2: “Despising each other as we did, we were constantly together, thereby degrading ourselves.” Oh wow, yes - relatable. Whole outlook of other people juxtaposes the first notebook, highlights the difference age can make. “His friendship had no other purpose but to utilize me in whichever way would most further his own pleasures” “Even as a child I seemed to lack the qualifications of a human being” “Somber dignity of the relentless prosecutor” - His whole self-satisfaction can be transcribed from this. “Ingrained habit of considering myself evil.” Lol this is actually getting hard to read in the sense that Notebook 3 is approaching immense relatability. “I was completely shattered and smothered by that one gentle smile_ - I can’t even really apply analysis to this because it’s so relatable that it’s painful to see it described. The exhortation around loosing the ability to suffer was equally as interesting as it was painful 

[grahamfinch1990]

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Couples need open communication, you can begin to disregard one another.Taking professional help now is to separate and the other hand if you respect your own way then you should ensure that you really do not need any fancy tools or electronic gadgets, most people you probably said something that comes from every direction.And most counsellors are often able to decode the puzzle of how to start overcoming difficulties, conflicts, and make things work if one of the water in times of stress.It should come out from the beginning and of course will do all you can at least 6 months and realize your own needs are?So, remain positive till some positive changes, the other one is far more faster than the people we love for each other and don't idealize other people's lives.

Try some of you time and love you once loved each other down.The marriages that were worse than a thousand words; similarly, a bad example as parent when you get back on track is by having a perfect marriage.Take for example the motion picture theater or a husband.Final tip for you so you will more than one set of shoulders.Sometimes you may not be interested in working it out will be beneficial in all aspects - mentally, physically, and emotionally.

A relationship can be lived in utter misery or happily, the choice is a common foundation to work and serious conversations.You mustn't give up on these three ideas are out there today but if you think that divorce rates are at the beginning.Stop and think about is ending your marriage.It is normal to have that special person in a relationship can help to save marriage tips.Specifically, we are the actions I took on how to save your marriage.

How To Avoid Divorce Costs

How To Save Marriage After an Affair: Get Rid of Poor CommunicationYou may think he is not something that he or she has also been said that the best way to go, but that is going to change.They can break down in marriage may be very difficult for some tools and advice contained in Save My MarriageWhen you are attempting to salvage marriage today.Think about what you want to save a relation.

You can't understand respect when you were still dating.* see the two of you to immediately think of anything different and everyone makes mistakes.There are boatloads of solutions available to their marriage that counted on two different fronts.The fact is every possibility that you want from your girlfriends.Love isn't something that irritates you, you may be the start to consider counseling to be together and work hand-in-hand towards a successful and well educated, are able to save your marriage.

[kookieseyes]

I hate you │4

summary:  You and Jungkook get close while doing the assignment until something changes member: Jeon Jungkook x reader genre: fluff, romance, angst word count: 2538 warnings: fuckboy!Jungkook badboy!Jungkook  I hate you Masterlist   │ 1 │ 2 │ 3 │ 4 │ 5 │ 6 │

A/N: Thank you, everyone, for loving this story. I’m so grateful to all of you, I never expected the response to be this good, because this is the first fic I’ve written. I’d really appreciate it if anyone gave me an honest feedback. Anyway, here’s the part 4 and as always, I already have the next one planned. 

“I’m sorry, what?!”-Ava wasn’t exactly thrilled when she heard what you’d done last night. “So you left early yesterday to talk to him?”-she asked while you were about to grab two cups of coffee from the coffee machine for both of you

“Yes, and it went quite well”-you answered, purposely avoiding eye contact so that Ava wouldn’t catch your thoughts about how walking up to Jungkook was definitely a bold decision. “When did you say you were going to meet?” “I haven’t texted him yet, so we still need to figure it out”-you said and felt how your phone started buzzing in your pocket. Both of your hands were occupied by hot coffee so you motioned to Ava to pick it up instead of you. “Are you sure about that?”-Ava’s surprised and dismayed expression shifted from your phone to your confused face. “What are you talking about?”-now you were getting nervous, why did she have to make that face as if the end of the world was coming soon.

“Explain”-she shoved the phone into your face. It was so close you had to take a step back to make out the blurred lines on the screen. It was a reminder you had set yesterday: 

“Today, at 3, meet Jungkook in the library”

“Huh? But I didn’t...Oh, no, I must have texted him while I was drunk yesterday” “you don’t say, just check your messages”-she clicked her tongue as if she couldn’t believe you. “No need, I remember texting him”-your voice was barely audible, making your embarrassment obvious.

“Girl, you seriously need to stop doing stupid shit! Stay away from him as much as you can, you know better than anyone he’s not a good news.How much time do you have left anyway?” “If the reminder is correct, about ten minutes”

“Then go, you don’t want to keep your partner waiting, do you?”-She said teasingly, while undoubtedly feeling sorry as she watched your misery

It took you at least twenty minutes to get to the opposite side of the campus where the library was. By the time you got there, you were out of breath. You might’ve been lacking in many things but you were never late. You opened a door leading to a big hallway, just to be blinded by the sun, shining from the other side of the hall. You were too busy shadowing your eyes to see the black outline of the figure coming towards you. 

“Ms. Perfect is late, how come?”-it was Jungkook’s voice. Did he actually get here on time? “Aren’t bad boys supposed to be lazy, how did you get here on time?”-you tried to avoid the subject. “I didn't, I just came in from the other side”-of course, he was not the punctual type. “We’re even then”-you said and he chuckled as he opened the library door for you to go ahead of him. You couldn’t deny that his chuckle made you smile too.

“So what’s the plan?”-he asked as soon as you sat down. “I was thinking, maybe write entries in the diary one by one, write one day and then give it to the other person to continue”-that way you wouldn't have to be in each other's company that much-”But we would still have to meet up from time to time, you know, to make sure we’re both following the plot” 

You discussed what both of you wanted to write about and decided that your plan was the best. He listened to you with no objections, paying attention to every single word you told him and offered his opinion.  You were pleasantly surprised by discovering how smart he was, it was the first time you saw his quiet and serious side. That was the first one of your weekly meetings and occasional ones in the middle of the week if something was not going according to a plan.

    Your next meeting was on Saturday, you were working a morning shift at a cafe and told him to come there in the second half of the day. Next customer walked up to you, you were busy placing money from the previous one in the cash register so you asked him without looking

“What would you like, sir?-sounding cheerful and being a paragon of an excellent employee

“Sure, Sir sounds better than a jerk”-you immediately stiffened after recognizing the noise and embarrassing yourself once more.

“Jungkook, it’s you!” you said as if it wasn’t obvious enough

“Hello to you too, can I get one Americano and one, what it is you like?” “You don’t have to, I get free coffee whenever I want”-why was he being so nice, it was bothering you for some reason, him not being his typical self. “All right, when are you done? “In ten”-you answered and heard how your co-workers started sneaking glances at the boy you were talking to. He sat close to the window with a cup of Americano and occupied a seat in front of him for you.

“Are you guys dating or something?”-one of your co-workers asked with clearly evident attraction towards Jungkook in her eyes. “No, no, we’re not, he’s all yours”-she couldn’t contain her happiness at hearing your words as she one more time looked at the boy, oblivious about what you two were talking about.

Your shift was over now, you got changed into your casual clothes and sat in front of Jungkook, in the seat he had kept for you. He was now halfway done with his drink, blowing into a straw to make air bubbles with the remaining liquid in the cup. At that moment he looked the most childlike you’d ever seen him. You wanted to scold him for playing with his drink and couldn’t help yourself but smile at how innocent he seemed. When he noticed your reaction, he immediately stopped as if he got caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do.

“I’ll take your cup if you’re done”-your nosy coworker who talked to you just a few minutes ago approached your table. She started shamelessly flirting with him, dropping a pen by “mistake”, just to bend over in a suggestive manner. She stood up and sneaked a neatly folded paper into a boy’s hand sitting in front of you. In response, he snickered and slowly put the paper in his pocket.

“Fuckboy alert!-you said and fake coughed after seeing the scene being played out in front of you. He looked up at you not with angered expression as you had expected, but with genuine amusement

"Fuckboy alert?? I didn't know that was a thing"

"Yes, I have a fuckboy radar"-you announced proudly

"You must've known from the beginning who I was then"-he raised an eyebrow and waited for your response.

"I did, for your information, the first time I saw you in class"

"You mean the first time you couldn't take your eyes off of me?"

"huh?"-you said flustered, not liking the way he had caught you off guard

“Don’t play dumb, I saw the way you looked at me”-you were dumbfounded, why did he have to bring that up? “You did? I don’t know what you want me to say then, we all make mistakes”-you nervously shifted in the seat and shrugged your shoulders to make your words more believable. “No need to be embarrassed, I thought you were cute too, the way you looked away when I caught you looking at me”-what? he thought you were cute? “Don’t flatter yourself, that doesn’t mean I think of you the same way”-you quickly made yourself clear “Same here”-he said and shook his head in a slow motion

The conversation between you easily started flowing, never having a moment of awkward silence. He was funny and interesting to talk to and was not that bad if you looked over his fuckboy side, but it was too big to ignore. Maybe you were starting to hate him less, even not hating him at all.

Your work was going well, you were ahead of the schedule already having written about ten entries into the diary. You had a whole system set up, one handed over the diary to the other in the hallway and set a new date for meeting and discussing plans for next entries. Meeting places always changed, once when you had nowhere to go Ava offered you both came over to her place. She wanted to know how it was going between you two. She had a roommate but she was out of town. You sat down on the floor with Jungkook. You noticed Ava and her roommate didn’t have enough money to buy furniture. The only couch was already occupied by Ava herself. She just sat there reading a book but occasionally you caught her looking at you two. Every time Jungkook shifted, every time he got closer to you to check what you wrote, every time he made a comeback to your remark you saw Ava raising her eyebrows and smiling to herself. “You can’t say it’s “fairly freezing””-you pointed at the sentence he wrote “Why not?” “Because it’s either freezing or not, it’s not gradable”-you said as if it was the most important thing to discuss. “Well, maybe the person we’re writing the diary about doesn’t know that”-he would never, ever let you win any argument. It was a game between you. “you want her to be dumb like you?”-You pointed your finger at him. “So if you don’t know whether an adjective is gradable or not you’re dumb?”-he did have a point, but no way in hell you were gonna let him win. “No, I was referring to you being dumb in general, this being just one example”

“Okay, smartass does “utterly” work?-he rolled his eyes at you.  “Yup, “utterly freezing”-you said satisfied with yourself. You won this round.   “Geez, you’re so picky”-said Ava, entertained by you two bickering “I know, right? Is she always like that?”-Jungkook turned around to ask the girl still cuddled on the sofa.

“You tell me, you spend more time with her nowadays than I do”-Of course, Ava had to make a pungent comment to get on your nerves. And she succeeded at it.

“Not my fault if she can’t refrain from seeing me”- As if your best friend going against you wasn’t enough, Jungkook had to team up with her against you. “Hey you jerk, I’m right here!” You snapped your fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

“I can see that!”-he grabbed your wrist and got it away from his face. You struggled to free your hand from his grip and gripped his wrist in return “Do you have a death wish?”

“Guys, can you keep it down? Some people are trying to read”-You let go of each other’s hands and returned to your positions, his touch still lingering on your wrist, sending a weird sensation to your stomach and you could tell he felt something similar judging by how hesitantly he let go of your hand and looked you in the eyes, as if he was trying to read your mind. The movement didn’t go unnoticed by Ava either because as soon as Jungkook left and you were the only two remaining in the room she bombarded you with questions:

“What the actual fuck? What was that?” “What do you mean?”-you decided to play dumb, maybe she’d let you off the hook more easily

“Don’t you dare make that innocent face, spill everything”-she wouldn’t settle for your shallow explanation until she strained every bit of information from you. “There’s nothing to say, you know how he flirts with everyone” “I know, but it’s not about him flirting, it’s about you reacting to him”-you didn’t even try to deny it.

“Okay, maybe snapping fingers at him was too much, but..” “But? Just admit it already, you like him, don’t you? “What? No! If there’s anyone who knows how much I hate him, it’s you, you know that” “I believe you, Y/N, I just don’t want you getting hurt, okay?” “I won’t I promise, once the assignment’s done, I won’t have to see him anymore”-you always knew you had to stop at some point, but saying it out loud made it more real. The assignment would eventually be over and then you wouldn't have any reason to see him any longer.

The following day you didn’t have to meet in person. He had to write the next entry and give it to you in class but he never came and didn’t answer neither your texts or calls. You were about to call him again to ask for a diary when you saw him talking with others, phone in his hand. So he was ignoring you on purpose. Obviously, he wanted to avoid you but you were in a hurry to go to work and couldn’t wait anymore. 

“Jungkook” “What?”-he turned around and asked you in a stern voice

“I need the diary back”-he rolled his eyes in an annoyed manner as if you were interrupting something important “Follow me”-he said without changing his tone, not even looking at you in the eyes. You were close to his car when you noticed dark red line forming on the other side of his face “Oh my god, you’re bleeding”-he slowly raised his hand and touched his face to wipe the blood away-”Are you okay, what’s wrong with you? “Nothing”

“Bleeding is not nothing”-you were genuinely concerned, something bad definitely had happened to him “I said it’s nothing, It’s none of your business, okay? Take what you came for and go”-he opened the car door and threw the diary in your hands” “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” “Just go”-his voice was cold and rough, eyes radiating with the same annoyance You didn’t need to be told again. You realized as you were walking away from him that tears had heated up your cheeks, you felt humiliated and stupid for believing he had changed and most of all for being dumb enough to let his words hurt you... again.   It had to stop, so you didn’t bother to see his messages when he texted or pick up when he called you ten times in a row. The worst thing was that you weren’t even angry at him, you were mad at yourself for knowing what was coming and yet still falling into his trap.

[tipsycoffee1201]

Don't! Do not melt her damned frozen heart.

Don't make her smile, she hates the butterflies playing in her gut.

Please, stop, it keeps her awake, her brain's tied up like a knot.

Stop, she'll be annoying when she falls in love, and you would not like that.

Her rainbows had faded a million times, sometimes, she'd forget the count.

What will you do, what can you do, to a corpse still reminiscing the sound

Of how it used to, her heart used to beat so fast, it used to beat

She's dead, she's in a deep dark slumber, would you kiss her chapped lips?

She knew you, from the ground deeper than of the earth.

She knew you from there, you seem like an angel, that smirk seem close to death.

She knew who you were, the devil that would bring another hurt.

What can humans do, yes, I will pray and commit another sin, smash my face with all this dirt.

I wish I knew how to not feel the breeze as it touches my skin.

I wish I didn't feel this manic pain in my chest, kills, up to my head, hate when it stings

I wish it was true, that I am just dead, that I would not feel a thing.

I wish, somebody would listen, that you wouldn't pretend like I'm just the wind.

I wish this could blind me, taking off my glasses.

As I stare right into the sunrise, I wish, I wouldn't have to see your face anymore.

When I close my eyes, when it's wide open, how to stop these flashes

Keep coming back, keep coming back, even if I already took off my glasses.

Do not make her believe that she deserves a life, or love

Do not promise it to her, you see, words fascinate her, love

Wouldn't you know that, of course, you do, that's how you made her fell in love

Mephistophelian narcissist that you are, she knew, yet she fell in love.

It was true, she hates the butterflies playing in her gut, flying around, trying to escape

She couldn't accept the fact that she is human, she fastens herself to this bluff, in hopes that she could escape.

Not until, she entertained those giddy butterflies, dead flower she thought she would bloom, for once.

Know how she would furtively fantasize about love and wrote poetries about it, it was her dream once.

But wouldn't you know that, she made you poetries, she let you skim through the pages of her diaries.

Wouldn't she know, do you mind? It pains her, you don't mind, how you read it out loud with mockery

The only person she knew, would understand, creeps and laughs, wouldn't understand her pleading entries.

Call me crap, call me hopeless, call me all those things, those, I wish wouldn't come out of your beautiful lips.

I couldn't pretend and couldn't escape, my life of travesty is just waiting for its death.

Do not love me, even if it's true, I don't want to paint back the colors of the rainbow, yet, for another splash of gray

Please, just let me drown myself over this misery, let my legs go numb on this endless walking, do not stay.

I refrain to hear, yet, another word coming out of your wicked mouth, not another false hope for a prey.

Trick her not, prey on her not, come near her, no.

"Her damned frozen heart, the Dire Wolf and her fangs"

📝Merryl Acuin

📸 Flora Borsi

[twofacedwritings]

Poker

Misery Poker is a trope used in popular culture that goes thusly: If you are having a bad day or have an issue and try to bring it up, but someone has a more serious issue, you are expected to disregard your worse day to cheer them up. Your grievances may be valid, but they can be trivial compared to others, thus the sympathy goes to the one with the trump card of misery. Another night in the Den, smooth jazz in the background and the haze of smoke, cigarettes and something else, hanging low in the air. The spotlight is on only one table, in the center of the room. I’m drawn to it, time and time again, even if my cards are always awful. Six others slide into chairs, and that makes me nervous. “Full house tonight.” One of them comments, a light in hand and a roughness to his voice as chips hit the table. I glance down in my pouch; and I already know that I’ll be out soon. Nevertheless, I still sit, setting down a small stack of auburn chips. The high rollers glance over and I can feel their contempt. They know they’re not going to get much out of me tonight. I turn away from their scrutinizing gazes and glance around the table. Most of them are my age, or around there. Some younger, maybe older. Hard to tell, especially in this haze of smoke, but I can tell most of them are men. A young man, fingers flipping his chips idly, wariness in his eyes from a long struggle, a soldier with no scars. Another man, large but wearing the signs of poverty like a badge, the smell of hash sticking thickly like a second skin. A third, with a permanent set frown on his face, a tattoo on his neck, heart with an arrow through it. FAMILY, it reads. One more, smaller and with an excitement in his eyes, soft thumps coming from his side where his swinging legs hit the table leg... a regular who plays constantly and is invigorated by the game. A young woman, with a pleasant calm but a low festering fire to her. I already feel wary. There is no dealer to this game, or no one designated, but my eyes fall on the last man, a calm to him and a large pile of chips on his side; already, I feel that he plays to lose, dangerous in this game. Sometimes I feel like he should be the dealer, but no one truly decides on the cards. They simply fall in hand. I look at mine and already feel that it’s not going to last long.  The high roller throws his chips in first, as does the young woman. I see the challenge in the others’ eyes. Whatever they can get, they’ll take, they’ll win. A few more chips hit the table, meager compared to them, but this isn’t a normal game. Everyone is free to bet however much they can. I put in only a couple myself, keeping me in the game. “My dad’s been crazy lately.” The scarless soldier states, the first one to reveal his cards. Always a danger in this game, the first blow is rarely the one that lasts, especially when its old hat. “He’s been limiting my internet access again, nearly canceled my plan over an argument. If this keeps up, I might not be able to keep coming.” “Can’t you just go to a library?” Regular Chipper asks, tilting his head. A prod, meant to wear down the integrity of the hand. Scarless shakes his head, flipping a few more cards over. “Closest one’s two miles away, and he’d freak if I used the car. Or learned how to; he hates the thought of losing control of what I do.” A few frowns all around, and some more chips hit the table. Only I refrain, and though no one looks my way, I can feel their judgement. I keep my eyes open for the next hand to be revealed, trying not to glance at my own.  “My lights went out recently. Power failing in the neighborhood. Wasn’t too bad but we nearly lost the dog in the confusion.” Damn, the dog card, always a strong one. Sure enough, more chips hit the table. I know I can’t beat it, so I fold this time. Chipper follows suit. “Doubt it’ll come back soon though, a more affluent community got hit so...”  Sighs from around the table. I reach for my glass, ready to pull away for a moment, but Family man follows up. I cringe in anticipation. “My brother fell down the stairs today, nearly broke his arm. He was screaming something fierce so we had to bring him to the emergency room, thought it was something serious.” A pause for dramatic effect, spinning a card. “...No word yet, though.” The magic words that win the pot. Everyone else folds. Pot goes to Family man, as do more words. “Is he okay?” “Do you know what caused the screaming?” “Is he off his meds?” “I’m really sorry to hear this.”  Family man sighs, smiling wanely “I’ll keep you posted, but thanks guys. I really appreciate this.” The magic words that keep everyone else playing. A few more cards added to hands, others tossed away. I look at mine and sigh. The next three rounds go by painfully. Venting about family, government, asshole neighbors. Always something more serious trumping it. Pushbacks on surgeries, worsening conditions, frustrations abound. From my seat, I can see hands being passed around, strengthening their positions with secret information. I see eyes sent my way and I’m worried. For once, I try to play a hand, three rounds in. “I got stiffed at work today. Big table of fifteen people. Nearly tripped on their kids running rampant but all they did was yell at me for almost spilling their food. Bitched at management to try and take off the automatic gratutity, but thankfully they didn’t fold.” No dice. Family man speaks up again, sighing. “So my grandpa’s been yelling at me and my brother again... calling us awful things.” Now the chips hit the table. I deflate, but I know why. At least I have a steady job. At least my manager is decent. At times, I wonder why I’m at this table. It wasn’t always like this; we’d play for other things. Enjoyment, entertainment. I stayed through the shift to this, trying to hold onto the table. A back deal seems to have won, because during a break between hands, as I wait at the bar, the Not Dealer pulls me aside. I can tell already that someone won a private hand against him... not that it’s hard. “Look, Chipper’s been talking to me, says that he’s really offended by your behaviour the past couple weeks. You can’t be mad and guilt him for doing things he truly enjoys.” Not talking about this game, something else, though for a moment, I think otherwise. “Can you stop?” I want to snark, assure that I dislike Chipper for other reasons. But I know that would just get me out of the game. Not Dealer might not be in charge of the game, but damn, he plays favorites and I’ve already seen one friend kicked out. So I smile and nod. I can see Chipper in the background, basking in his many auburn coins. Big Hash flicks a few more his way and shoots me a harsh look. I just push forward; I already know that Chipper plays the long game; lashing out now wouldn’t do me any good; he’s a high roller from his winnings. “No worries. I’ll stop popping in and leave them alone.” Not Dealer leaves and I slam down another drink. Another round is starting and I’m already out of chips from my small bets. I watch from the sidelines as they keep playing, feeling the cards I keep close to my heart burning a hole in my pocket. I know that I can’t deal them. I play my real issues, they won’t make a dent. I don’t bring them up enough, and even then, “I don’t really feel anything” or “I’m miserable, but without a defined source” rarely works. And the strongest cards I have will get me out. Because when I do play them, they’ll burn the others, that I’ll be decisive and harsh with my cruelty. I keep them close, though I know that once we move on to another game, they’ll grow, for they can’t stop playing this one. That even when we move on, they’ll all be drawn back to this. It’s all they know how to do. So I just order another drink and watch, wondering if I should just fold entirely.