#this is what being a sunday school teacher has done to me.

[lovingldsconvert]

in mormon 2:26 he says “the strength of the Lord was not with us”

so you’re saying…the nephites didn’t have the power of god and anime on their side?

[amourcheol]

agrodolce

❝Because you cannot create perfection without a little tension.❞

rivals to lovers! au | fluff | 27.5k words

s u m m a r y : one would expect being a dessert chef to be a life filled with sugary goodness, but nothing is sweet when working alongside boo seungkwan. when the two of you are forced to create a special dessert for the winter menu together, you think the restaurant will burn down. late night planning, shopping mall snooping, and a simple dessert might just save you from your expectations.

c o n t e n t : dessert chef! mc, dessert chef! seungkwan, rivals to lovers! au but i kept it tame so i didn't lose my mind, head chef! jeonghan who terrorises his employees, seungkwan is leading the sassy man apocolypse, flatmate! julie from kiss of life who wants to be santa, lots of mentions of italian desserts, lots of geographical London referencess, lots of bickering, little bits of tension, making out but no smut because im fearing god again, fluff obviously and overall just very winter-esque!!

p l a y l i s t : candy by seventeen || chocolate by seventeen || daawat-e-ishq by sajid-wajid || strawberry sunday by dojaejung

t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @ourkivee @syluslittlecrows @ye0ppl @markhyuckbest @uhdrienne

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : this is not edited properly and for that i am sorry...so tired i fear but she is FINALLY done!! thank you @camandemstudios for inviting me to participate in this collab, i've enjoyed every moment of yapping and fighting over pixel cats <33 to alice and addy for listening to me complaing about this fic but seungkwan deserves sm love so i had to do my bit !! i hope you all enjoy and happy new year !! <3

back to masterlist

BEING BERATED BY A SUPERIOR WILL ALWAYS BE A HUMBLING EXPERIENCE.

Whether that be in school, when you are scolded for forgetting your homework, or gaining detention for arguing with your teacher. In the working world, it could be insufficient effort in a team project, perhaps your boss simply being a prick and wanting to make your life difficult. 

Never did you think you would be sitting in front of your Head Chef, remnants of food stuck in your hair and clothing, a sheepish look plastered upon your face as you faced his imminent wrath.

You knew it was over for you—the man at the head of the office sat, sleeveless arms crossed, eyebrows knitted in rage at your dishevelled appearance, his feet tapping viciously under the desk. You never really considered your superior to be a particularly scary figure of power, but, in this light, if he made any sudden moves, there was a slim possibility you would scream.

You wondered whether begging for forgiveness was still on the table.

“Remind me, _____,” he finally said, sighing the words out, “How old are you?” 

A part of you wished to remind him that he was not legally allowed to ask you that. You did not even know why he was asking such a question. Head Chef Yoon Jeonghan had known you for a long time now. He realised it too, but for another reason entirely. “No, scratch that. You’re an age where your brain has developed fully, right? I’m not wrong in assuming that you’re capable of knowing what’s right and what’s wrong?”

“Of course, Chef,” you answered, trying to find some self-assuredness in your voice. Difficult, in all honesty, when you were covered with salted butter and vanilla extract. 

That seemed to be the wrong answer. “Then tell me why, _____,” he asked, agitation rising, “I caught you with your hands full of whipped cream, throwing it at a fellow chef.”

You attempted an explanation. “In my defence, Chef, you weren’t meant to see that.”

Jeonghan was not amused. “I’m surprised the entire restaurant didn’t catch your antics. If this incident happened during open hours I shudder to think what our customers would think.”

Reining in a sigh, you did not respond this time, positive that another dry quip from you would have your unemployment confirmed. 

It was a little unfair, though. You were not the only one who was caught. 

A drawl resounded from beside you. “I won’t be surprised if half our customers don’t already know what _____’s like.”

This particular chirp had your self-wallowing bubbling to a rage. 

No, you were not the sole culprit, because as you whipped your head to the man who decided to voice his opinion at the wrong time, you caught the shit-eating glint in his eyes and nearly screamed the office down.

You could not stop yourself from crowing out, “Let’s not forget your 2018 meltdown over multiple tiramisu failures, Seungkwan.”

That had him scoffing harshly. “Always digging up incidents from years ago because you have nothing else to bring up.” His eyes hiked up and down your ruined uniform. “I can name your screw-ups starting today.”

“Oh, so I was just pissing about with all this food by myself then,” you snapped, gesturing towards his own mess. His hazel locks had the remnants of whipped cream too, matting his hair, whilst different coloured stains adorned his professional uniform, much similar to yours. However, you noticed he was much dirtier in appearance, which made your lips quirk upward in satisfaction.

He caught on instantly, to your distaste. “You were the one who couldn’t argue properly with me,” he accused. “No wonder you had to resort to childish gimmicks to get back at me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” A turn of your nose. “You look horrendous.” 

“You’re no sight for sore eyes either.” He reached for the thick strands of his hair, matted together with whipped cream. “Do you even know how hard it is to wash off mascarpone?”

“I wouldn’t, actually, because you missed, remember?”

“Oh, you—” 

“Enough!” Jeonghan declared, interrupting you two before any escalations occurred. “Not only were these gimmicks childish and immature, but also a huge waste on our ingredients. Mingyu’s estimated our stock for this week was cut down by 17%.” 

Your surprise was exposed through the twist of your mouth. “That’s right.” Jeonghan sighed once again, many in his arsenal. “Both of your temper tantrums have cost the restaurant financially. Aside from the fact that I will be talking to my therapist about this incident.” 

“Of course _____ wouldn’t care about the restaurant finances,” Seungkwan jeered, dusting off flakes of self-raising flour from his lap. “Nor your mental health.”

“I do care about your mental health, Chef,” you rebuked your colleague’s claim. “If I didn’t, then the stock would have plummeted another 25% at least. That’s why I didn’t touch the vintage dessert wines.” 

“You do seem to have some sense then,” Jeonghan griped, no humour in his smile, “Because if you ruined the wines on Seungkwan I would have fired you instantly.”

Not a warning—a promise. Another one of his infamous sighs exhaled from his coral lips, which he brushed with his wandering fingers in thought. “You both…you both need to stop this. I mean it.” 

“I will stop when she stops,” the man beside you asserted, glaring at you. 

You matched his venom. “I will stop when he stops.” 

“No, you both will stop, because I have had enough.” He locked his hands together, losing all amusement—as if there was any present in the first place. “Christmas period is approaching, and that means changing up the menu for the new quarter. These next couple of months will be incredibly busy, especially given the tourist season and school holidays in central.” 

Glancing at the stack of papers on his desk, he set aside a few files, sliding out a particular piece and studying the details. “As you know, the main menu has been under alteration, but the dessert menu is still the same as the summer. I have already selected the majority of the confectionery, but there is still one more dessert I wish to add to the seasonal collection.” 

He then set his sights on the two of you. “I need you to make this dessert. Hand me the plans for its creation, flavour variety, as well as its marketability in the restaurant.” 

That had you sitting up in your seat. A creation of a dessert—it was something you had concocted in larger groups, back when you were a mere apprentice under Jeonghan’s wing at Camden Market. You had done seasonal dessert preparations for the spring and summer menus, but the winter menu selection was the most prestigious amongst the luxury restaurants within your borough. With locals flocking to central London, tourists from all corners of the world flying across oceans to stay in this beloved city, they wanted nothing more than seasonal excellence. 

An exquisite dessert meant maintaining that expectation of perfection. A dessert was enjoyed at the end of the main meal, and—in your eyes—cemented the opinion of a customer on whether they would return to the establishment, or forget it ever existed. The treats you made left impressions on thousands, impressions you savoured everyday at work, and outside. 

This may just be all your hard work paying off. Finally.

Before Jeonghan could continue, you nodded, all confidence. “I will be happy to accept this task, Chef.”

A snort sounded next to you, and your smugness faltered, replaced with irritation. “You have something to say?” 

“Yeah, actually,” he said, folding his leg over the other, “I was wondering why you were piping up when Chef was asking me.” 

This time, you were the one that laughed. “Your arrogance makes you look like a dumbass many times, Seungkwan. This is one of those times.” 

He leaned in a little, nodding condescendingly along to your taunts. “Oh do I? I guess it’ll be your turn to look stupid today.” 

“Both of you are looking stupid in front of me,” the boss interjected once more. “Because I wasn’t asking a specific individual.” 

He raised his hands to the two of you. “I’m asking you both to work on this dessert inclusion. Together.” 

You halted. Stilled in the stark, yellow lights of the grand office, evidence of Jeonghan’s success. Success which you have yet to taste on your own.

Success which, unfortunately, might have died with the words that left your superior’s mouth.

For the first time in a while, there was complete silence in the office.

Even Jeonghan found the notion hard to believe. “My God,” he uttered, twisting the corners of his mouth downwards, stunned. “Maybe I should have dropped this news before the food fight.”

You could only stare at the man in pure horror. “I would rather snap raw spaghetti and serve it to you before doing such a thing!”

Seungkwan let out a groan. “Here come the dramatics,” he muttered, but you heard it clear enough. “Anything to make a fuss and delay the business.”

Jeonghan perked up. “Oh, so you wouldn’t be opposed to it?”

A smile. “I’d kill myself before working with _____.”

Your huff of laughter had the boy scowling. “And he called me dramatic.”

“Enough!” was the final outcry from your boss, who seemed ready to overthrow the desk in pure frustration. “You two…” he shook his head, raking his slender hands through his long, black hair. “I don’t care.”

The younger attempted to fight his case to the end. “But Chef, this will be a disaster—”

You chimed in for the sake of interrupting, “This will cause the downfall of your restaurant—”

“I don’t care how you two feel,” his interruption was final, his head shaking still. “I don’t give a fuck, to be honest.”

Seungkwan’s mouth parted, but then heard the fuck, and decided against saying a word. You should have followed suit, but it was against your very principle to follow his example. “Chef, please,” you tried, almost pleading to be heard out. “Seungkwan and I have completely different palettes too. It’s not even about personal differences.”

“Again, that is a setback I don’t care about.” He stood up from his seat, and almost on instinct the two of you shot up from your chairs, remnants of cooked fettuccine falling from your dampened uniform pockets. The Head Chef took note of this detail. “This…this petty rivalry between the two of you is affecting the people around you now. Both of you are so talented, yet I have seen caffeine-crazed kids behave better than you during rush hours.” 

He rested his hands on the table, his hard gaze razor-sharp. “You both have about eight weeks to hand me the final dessert plan on my table. If I receive two individual plans, or no plan at all, then I will fire you both.”

That was enough for balls to drop. You were fortunate to have none, so only assumed Seungkwan was the victim in this situation.

“Y-you can’t do that!” he exclaimed, and for the first time, you had to agree with him. A horrifying prospect. “We’re halfway through September now!”

“So?”

“You need me on desserts, Chef!” you declared, taking a more outraged stance on his statement. “What the hell will you do when there’s no one to make your amarettis?”

The man was still, face impassive. “I don’t care if you both are my best chefs. There are many big-eyed, desperate Masterchef rejects who will cut off their legs to be trained within this position.”

Whatever snide remark that almost escaped your mouth lodged itself in your throat. You wanted to feel special—like there was a place reserved only for you at the restaurant. 

Now, because of one person, that position is threatened.

“This isn’t fair, Jeonghan,” you mumbled. 

There was a pause. Then, “Don’t make me agree with _____.”

“Shut up.”

The boss took a turn from his desk, walking towards the door. “As I said,” he began, holding onto the handle, “You have eight weeks.” 

He took one last glance at the two of you, a judgement akin to the one the scriptures warned about. “Don’t fuck this up.” 

With that, he left his office with a final thud! of the door. 

And as the weight of the decision finally settled on your shoulders, its pressure making them sag, you looked to the man whose employment rested in your hands—whose hands your employment rested on too. 

The two of you scowled at the exact same moment.

If anyone was going to get fired, it would not be you.

THE RUSH HOUR OF THE UNDERGROUND TUBE SOURED YOUR ALREADY UNPLEASANT CONDITION.

The Northern line from Camden experienced a few closures, so that resulted in delays, consequently filling the already dingy underground area into a complete sardine-like squeeze. It was horrendous enough the place was like a cesspit of heat and sweat amongst all these commuters, but knowing you were going to be late was enough to worsen your mood. 

You would have complained to your flatmate, but there was no service underneath—the entire commute resulted in staring down the people who held a seat in the jam-packed tube, when you were slotted against the sliding doors of the train. Holding onto the railings for dear life, you could only hope that your colleague had experienced an inconvenience as severe as you had (perhaps tripping over his dirty laundry—maybe even a car crash on the ring road? He could take his pick). 

Once the tube finally reached Leicester Square, you could not struggle out of the train fast enough, tapping out your card and flying up the stairs in two-three steps. The Piazza of Covent Garden was not far away, but London was a city that never rested, and so the people were everywhere. Thankfully, you had mastered the art of moving out of the crowds with precision, so you arrived at your destination, only about five minutes late. 

The columns of Covent Garden’s grand building welcomed your vision. There, nestled to the side with luxury outdoor seating splayed onto the cobblestone, was the Vita di Diamante—Jeonghan’s product of blood, sweat and tears for the world to admire. The Georgian-style front was painted an emerald green, white borders of the doors and windows making the restaurant glow in the soft winter sun. Customers were already queuing, even though doors were not to open for the next two hours. You could not help a small smile forming, chest swelling with pride. 

Avoiding the front entrance, you hurried around to the side doors, this particular entrance already open thanks to Prep Cook Kim Mingyu, who offered a sheepish smile at your appearance. 

“Oh no,” you said in greeting, quickly stepping past him as he closed the door. “What’s that look for?” 

He chuckled, tightening his apron’s bow at the back. “Seungkwan’s been waiting at your station for thirty minutes.”

A curse escaped you, furthering his amusement. “How mad is he?”

“He shouted at me for the lack of ricotta in the pantry.” 

You scrunched your brows in shame, widening your lips in a line. “That’s on me. I threw it at him the other day.”

Although he shook his head, he said, “Tell me it hit his face, at least.”

“Right on target.”

Hearing his laughter behind you, you dashed to the cloakroom, quickly changing into your uniform. Tossing your bag in the small lockers, you exited, finding yourself in the familiar surroundings of the dessert station. 

From the last time you had been in this side of the kitchens, the place had been the victim of your vicious food fight with Seungkwan—stained with sauces, powdered with flour, and littered with different nuts and sprinkles from the pantry. Now, the floors and tables were spotless, all evidence of your petty rage disappeared into your memories. 

Unfortunately, the cleaners could not make the sole reason for your anger disappear. He stood, back hunched to you, like a nasty stain upon your domain, refusing to be wiped away. You could not help your glower towards his figure, a small hope that you would develop lasers for eyes and smite him off the station.

“What’re you glaring at me for? You’re the one who’s late.” 

Jerking your head back at his voice, you twisted your lips downwards, walking towards him. “You don’t know that,” you challenged, sneaking a look at what he focused on—a notebook, with scribbles written in black ink. 

“I do, because you’re glaring at me as we speak.” He glanced up at you. “See?” 

It was a little pitiful now, trying to school your face into neutrality. “Whatever,” you muttered, taking out your own notepad, setting it on the steel tops. “And for the late thing, rush hour spares no one.”

“Yet the entire staff managed to come early,” he said, a certain, condescending ease in his tone which made your glower darken. “We’re lucky that Jeonghan’s helping us with desserts in the next coming weeks, or we would have been screwed.” 

“Jeonghan’s coming?” you asked, genuinely surprised. You were aware that he was trialling a few dessert apprentices to deal with the restaurant’s rush period, butyou did not expect the big boss to turn up at the stations.

“He wants us to focus on ‘team collaboration’,” he iterated, exaggerating the latter words in air quotes, “As well as ‘building our professional relationship’.” 

“Jesus,” you could only say, dreading the near future for what it held for the two of you. Jeonghan was either the dumbest person to grace this restaurant, or enjoyed messing with his employees for work-place entertainment. 

A glimpse of the clock. “We’re due for starting up in a couple of hours, so we better start thinking up ideas now.” You looked down at the pages of your notebook, a few ideas already jotted down that needed further exploration. “Since we’re only doing one dessert, this shouldn’t take us more than a week to decide.”

Seungkwan’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “Yeah, if you’re just handing a scoop of gelato to them.”

That particular comment had you craning your head back. “You have to be braindead to take two months to come up with one item.”

“You must be putting anything in your customer’s plates then,” was his sour response, “To need only a week to create a luxury food.”

A sharp sigh escaped you. “What grand plans do you have for the public then?”

Picking up his notebook, he brushed a finger past the page. “Right…so we already have the standard tiramisu and gelato variations. We should definitely incorporate a sugary pastry since we’ve been lacking in the previous quarter.” 

“Pastry,” you mumbled. He was talking pure, unadulterated shit. Chocolate bignè was the permanent item on the summer menu—little, indulgent profiteroles that melt into the taster’s mouth. Apart from that, the generic selection of cannolis and bomobolini doughnuts were already sold at the till within the cafe section outside, so another addition of the pastry was not needed.

Perhaps your thoughts projected upon your face, because the boy was incredulous. “And what’s so wrong about pastries?”

“It’s been done too many times.” You showed him the previous menu, which he had before him. “We should do something different.” 

“And what would that ‘different’ be?”

You scoured your page, latching onto the words of strong flavours. “Stray from the sweets this time. I’ve been wanting to experiment with a few flavours, and I think that bitter amarettis will be big this winter.”

Mentioning the Italian macarons did not bode well. “Bitter amarettis? Are you insane?”

Instantly you crowed, “The Sarano branch is actually very popular ‘cause they’re smaller and easier to eat after a meal. We can flavour them with coffee or almonds.”

“No.”

The sudden dismissal was enough for you to argue your case. “It’s better than a goddamn doughnut!”

“Fine.” He clutched his notebook tighter. “Let’s drop the pastry. How about a pannacotta?”

Pannacotta—sweet cream dessert thickened and moulded with gelatin. Not your first choice, but its greatest advantage was its range of flavours that it accommodated.

You decided to try your luck once more. “We can do something with that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek, thinking of any flavours that were not simply sugar sprinkled on cream. “I’ve experimented with bay leaves before. We can add one or two to add a lime-like essence.”

The man scrunched his nose at the notion. “My God. Were you thrown against the wall as a child?”

That morbid image had you scoffing. “I had an amazing childhood, thank you. Why are you so against it already?”

“Pannacotta is a sweet dessert, _____. I’m not adding fucking leaves on a delicacy.”

“Adding herbs on certain confectionery is actually a luxury trait. You learn this in culinary school.”

Once again, the idea was immediately cut for another. “We should add cinnamon to it.” He pointed towards his notebook. “A nod towards the coming Christmas.” 

“Cinnamon?” you parrotted. “A sweet flavouring on an already sweetened cream? Do you want to rot our customers’ teeth?

“Oh, what do you suggest then?” He let out a harsh scoff. “Coffee for the millionth time?”

“Well, actually—” you were about to make an incredible point, but your partner began to groan, cutting you off. “Hey, coffee is versatile, and you know it!”

Seungkwan looked to the side, as if there was an invisible camera he could make a face to. “Here comes the anti-sweet agenda.”

Your sharp exhale was loud enough to gain his unpleasant attention. “If you had your way, all our customers would have type 2 diabetes!”

“Well sorry that I don’t want my customers as bitter as you are!” he exclaimed. “It’s beyond me how you became a dessert chef!” 

“It’s called having range, dumbass!” you shouted right back, unwilling to relent. “My skills go beyond just dumping a load of sugar and calling it a dessert!”

He slapped his notebook on the desk, leaning in. “I said to have cinnamon because it’s bloody Christmas. My bad if you like to Grinch it up every year.”

“You want to show Christmas through cinnamon, huh?” You huffed a laugh in his face. “Wow, Seungkwan, how original! I might as well put a fucking christmas hat on top of our tiramisu. Fuck it, let’s start singing a Christmas carol while we serve it since you want to be on theme so much!”

Seungkwan’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want fucking leaves in a dessert.”

You matched his anger. “Well, I don’t want you in this process, but we can’t always have what we want.” 

A tilt of his head, the locks framing his forehead sliding along. “I'm not dying to work with you either, dearest.”

Dearest. That pissed you off even further. “Then find a way to deal with it,” you seethed. 

“I could say the same thing to you.”

You pursed your lips, at a loss for words. The man stared into the rising rage of your gaze, his own agitation reflected clearly. He was watching you intently, words dying on his lips, only inhaling and exhaling sharply. Had he been a few inches closer, his huffed anger would have fanned your face, truly taste how he felt about this entire situation.

But that was the last thing you wanted, and so you could only match his displeasure. 

“I’m not losing my job because of you,” you warned.

His eyes darted all over your face before he deigned to reply to you. “And you think I want to be fired?”

The quirk of your mouth upwards had his nostrils flaring. “If you act like an asshole, Seungkwan, that’s exactly what you deserve.”

“Why do you get to be the judge of that?” he scoffed out.

“I won’t. Jeonghan will see through you soon enough.”

Oh, he was seething underneath that mask of irritation. If you had been any weaker, you would have crumbled under such a withering look. He did not have much to say anymore, thinking that knifing you with his glare would be enough to win this argument. Because he had you as an opponent, it was no easy feat—the two of you said nothing again, staring and staring with mouths parted, almost waiting for an insult to rise from their throats and strike any second. 

Something might have struck—would have occurred under the flickering lights of the dessert station. Perhaps Seungkwan would have said something to make you succumb to your aggravation. Maybe you would have finally killed him. 

“Already at each other’s throats?”

You and Seungkwan whirled your heads to the voice.

There stood Jeonghan, tapping his foot against the floor, arms crossed as he observed you two. “Standing this close, well…either you’re about to claw each other’s faces off or make out.”

The latter option had you and Seungkwan breaking out of your rageful bubble, repelling from each other like magnets of the same sides. The boy exhaled sharply through his nose, while you swiped up your notes, not even sparing your Head Chef with a glare. “You’re horrid.”

Seungkwan snorted. “I think I’d rather get punched.”

You directed that sour look back at the man who deserved it more. “You’ll have it coming if you keep at it.”

“If you both have wasted enough time fighting,” Jeonghan interjected, always the mediator, “Then let’s get on with it. I wanna hear your initial plans.”

“_____ will summarise,” The younger replied, before you could even begin. “I have to go in a minute.”

You made a face. “Where’re you running off to?”

He returned it. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I have to pick up my niece and nephew from school. They have a half-day today.”

You could have rolled your eyes at him. “Is this allowed, Chef?” you demanded. “Something as important as the Christmas menu is being discussed, and he’s doing school duty.”

But Jeonghan overlooked your valid concerns, countering, “It’s all good, _____. Seungkwan asked for the half-day a week earlier.”

The said-man handed his notes to the superior. He could not help remarking, “Perhaps if you had bothered to be on time, then we could have fought out another dessert.”

As he exited, bidding his adieus to him, you reined in the temptation to stick his middle finger out. After all, it would have only landed behind his back—the bastard deserved to see it. 

Your boss clicked his tongue at you as he walked over to where you stood. “Good to see you didn’t flip him off in front of me. At least you’re thirty percent professional.”

“Why did you give him the half-day?” This time, you could not restrain the eye-roll. “Sometimes I think he’s making those kids up.”

“_____!” He scolded, bringing Seungkwan’s notepad back on the surface. “I’ve met his niece and nephew, they’re very much real.”

“Or you could be in on the bit,” you jeered, leaning against the countertop. “Trying to piss me off on purpose.”

“Your self-importance astounds me. Not everyone is thinking about you.” A knowing look. “Even the man you happen to hate so much.”

“Well I hope he keeps my name out of his mouth. And his mind, for that matter,” you added for good measure, observing the very door the man departed from. 

Jeonghan followed your line of sight. “You seem to have a hard time keeping his name out of your mouth though.”

Your accused mouth tightened at its allegations. “Are you on my side or his?”

He raised his hands in surrender, a grin breaking free from his lips. “Don’t drag me into your petty rivalry.” Pointing towards your notes, he then changed the subject. “Now, tell me about your rough plans.”

You obliged your boss, running down your initial prospects. He seemed satisfied enough, informing you that he will ask Seungkwan as well, and reminded you to prepare for the early customers.

As you prepared yourself for the open doors, prepping your ingredients alongside the Prep Cook, your thoughts wandered to the man who escaped this menial work, and then the eventual rush.

You and Seungkwan would not be able to create this dessert. Meeting in the middle would be impossible with someone as stubborn as him. Of course you wished to be successful, because that meant Jeonghan would not throw you out into the cobblestones of Covent Garden. You wanted this to go well. 

A sharp breath exhaled from you. You could only hope that Seungkwan hoped the same, or else you would both are completely, utterly, inescapably fucked. 

“HO HO HO!” 

A sigh involuntarily escaped you. “One more ‘ho ho ho’ and I’m shooting myself in the head.”

“Hey!” The slender girl exclaimed, fixing her Santa hat upon her straight hair. “You know I need to perfect it for today.”

You looked beyond her figure to the shop, lit up with seasonal outfits on display. “You’re gonna get the role anyway, Julie, because no one else will be auditioning.”

The girl tried to push you in punishment, you narrowly dodging her dainty hand. “Go back to slaving away at Jeonghan’s restaurant.”

A mocked gasp left you. “Are you telling me to get back in the kitchen?”

“Yeah, so step on it!”

“I’m supporting you, though!” You reasoned. “There is no one in London who can pull off Santa Claus better than you.”

“And what about the world?”

You mocked a shrug. “There’s too many old white men to compete for that title, I fear.”

“See?” She clicked her tongue. “A real friend would lie to me and say I’m the best.”

Shaking your head at her antics, you could not help smiling at her. Julie Han was a fiery girl you had befriended in school, bonding over your terrible teachers in one after-school detention. Your paths had never strayed, establishing each other as flatmates when the two of you decided to pursue careers in the big city. Where you pursued luxury food, she sought after theatre and cameras, deciding to be an actress when she landed herself the role of ‘Juliet’ in Romeo and Juliet in primary school, and considered it destiny (she, however, did not have chemistry with her Romeo, because he kissed her like a ‘fish’. In her words, men who cannot kiss should not be romancing other actresses).

“I don’t get the Santa Claus obsession, though,” you wondered out loud. “There are other ways to help kids out.”

“I know, but it’s Christmas!” She waved her arms to the air, gesturing at the winter-themed fairy lights on the mall ceilings, twinkling with every ray of light that caught them. “It’s also adorable when the kids ask you for presents.”

“I think it’ll be cuter with a female Claus, too,” you pointed out. “I wouldn’t put my kid on any old man’s lap.”

“Exactly!” There was a moment of brief pause before Julie relented. “Also, the mall employees get a 50 percent discount on retail.”

“I knew your ass wasn’t feeling the Christmas charity spirit.”

The girl chuckled, looping her arm around yours. “Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot.”

“Of course!” You returned her grin with a mischievous smile. “I wasn’t gonna miss you screaming ‘Ho Ho Ho’ at every kid in M&S.”

“Shut up,” she muttered, but could not contain her laughter. “Hey, weren’t you supposed to work today?”

That made your cheerful expression falter a little. “I was, but Seungkwan took the full day off today, so Jeonghan used it as an excuse to trial out the apprentices.” 

“You know, I still need to meet this guy,” she said, glancing at the street food booths in the middle of the halls. “He’s the only man I know who genuinely makes you go batshit.”

“Don’t get me started again.” You rolled your eyes. “You know, he took his day off for his niece and nephew again. I’m telling you, he’s making these fucking kids up.”

Julie’s face twisted into concern. “Making up fake kids for a holiday is a little far-fetched, _____.”

“Keep giving people the benefit of the doubt, then,” you crowed at her, “I'm just gonna pretend you're method acting for Santa."

But she was persistent, asking, “When will you let me spread the Christmas charity to your nemesis?” 

“Never, if I can help it.” You twisted your mouth. “I’m saving you the headache.”

“Why the headache?” Julie then gasped. “Is he ugly?”

You scoffed, looking ahead to respond when you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your friend, arm locked with yours, lurched backwards, whirling her head to you. Catching your expression had her demanding, “What the hell?”

But you were not listening to her, because your eyes landed on the very man you were bad-mouthing mere seconds ago. It was insanity how you recognised him, when his face was half-hidden from his signature oversized scarf—the three-metres of red fabric which always irritated you for some irrational reason (possibly because you were always cold, and the stupid, awful scarf always seemed so warm). His black trench-coat covered his slender figure, his hair ruffled, the after-effects of a beanie situated upon them.

Those details were still not important—completely useless when the most prominent addition was a woman beside him, laughing at his quip.

Shit. You did not waste any time.

“_____?” your friend called out, only to be met with your sudden turn on your heel, as, with her ungracious yelp, you hauled her inside the nearest shop, nearly crashing into the mannequins. “Jeez, if you wanted to go inside Zara so badly, then you should have just said!” 

As you hid behind the retail giant’s new winter collection, you observed, a little further away, the two people strolling without a care in the world. You noticed how the man was carrying all the shopping—stores from high-street to designer, which had your eyebrow raising—whilst the woman was pointing towards different stores, perhaps scour all of Westfield if she could help it. 

A frown marred your lips. 

Seungkwan said he was assisting his child-aged niece and nephew—you did not remember said-niece and nephew being one adult woman. 

“He’s on a fucking date,” you seethed.

Julie, now hiding beside you, tried to find whoever it was that you were glaring at. “Who’s on a date?”

“Seungkwan!” you exclaimed, pointing at him through the mannequin’s arm. “The prick with the red scarf.” But he and his company had walked past Zara, nearly leaving your field of vision. “Wait, we gotta move.” 

The poor girl, who was once again hauled up, and now being led out of the store, tugged at your arm. “What are we doing?” she asked. “Why are you still talking about him?”

“Because he’s there!” You jerked your head towards him and his lady-friend. “Look!”

A sharp breath drew from your friend. “Oh my God! Speak of the dessert devil, huh?”

“Exactly! So we’re following him.”

That had Julie stopping the chase, thus stopping you. “Why the hell are we doing that?”

“To catch him out on his terrible excuse!” you explained, tutting at your friend’s inability to understand the drastic nature of this situation. “I need to see the look on his face when I catch him making the rounds on H&M’s winter collection.”

For some unimaginable reason, the girl did not seem so enthusiastic. “My interview’s in thirty minutes, _____.”

You scrambled for any lame excuse. “This will distract you from your interview nerves!” 

“I haven’t gotten any interview nerves.”

“Well, you should because your voice cannot go ‘Santa Claus’ deep.”

Julie nudged you with her interlocked arm, shaking her head. “Now I’m scared, so fuck you.”

“You're very welcome.” You ticked your head towards your target. “Let’s go.”

As you two began your possibly illegal, certainly socially unacceptable activity, a certain rush thrummed within your veins, as if you had taken something for the exhilaration. Seeing your colleague declare one thing to you, yet do something entirely different—and then to witness it with your own eyes—felt like a scene out of a ridiculous rom-com. He was taking this girl everywhere, offering his opinions on certain collections on display in whatever shop they passed, loud enough for you to hear. Of course, it was expected from someone as opinionated as him—you were not surprised in the slightest. 

“All the time in the world for his kids, huh?” you muttered, sporting a grin which would have had criminals running for the hills.

Even Julie was spooked. “You really are rooting for his downfall, huh?” 

“You have no idea.”

The two people you tailed went inside the White Tiger, and it was at this point as, when you made to enter the strange shop, you were stopped by your friend. “I’m gonna leave you here.” 

“What?” You tugged on her arm. “You still have fifteen minutes.”

She sighed. “If I tank in my audition, just know I’m going to your restaurant and telling this Seungkwan that you had a wet dream about him.”

Your mouth dropped open. “That’s diabolical.” 

Her growing smirk had you widening your eyes. “I’ll do you an even better one. If you don’t let me leave I’m calling Seungkwan here and telling him we were stalking him.”

That had your blood running cold. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“You don’t think so?” She turned her face forwards, shit-eating expression furthering. 

She then parted her mouth, making your heart stop. 

“Seungkwan!” 

“What the—” You instantly grabbed her arm, aiming to cover her mouth when she waved off your hands, her grin chilling you to your bones. “Oh my fucking God—!”

“Hey, Seungkwan!” Julie shouted once more, louder this time. You knifed her with a vicious glare, but then she waved her hand, and you whirled your head to where she greeted.

Your face contorted in pure horror as you watched Seungkwan look over his shoulder, slowly turning himself. 

What you did next was completely out of your control. 

It was your legs that suddenly held the reins, dashing into the shop beside your friend, hiding behind the racks of clothing. Your heart beat as if you had run an Olympic sprint, pounding in your ears, and your mouth repeatedly cursed the girl who had instigated all this, praying she embarrassed herself in her audition—perhaps screaming Whore, whore, whore! instead of the classic jingle. You did not think of the logistics, too enraged and embarrassed to think up a solution.

Despite the chaos of customers shopping, the swishing of clothing amongst the racks, and the robotic beeping of cash registers, you peeked through the burgundy cardigans you hid behind, catching the very man you wished to avoid walking up to your friend. 

His voice could be heard from your makeshift sanctuary, clearly confused. “I’m sorry, did you call for me?”

Julie kept glancing at the shop you hid in. She tried her hardest to restrain her smile as she said, “I did, actually! This is so weird, but my name’s Julie. _____’s friend.”

You could not mistake it—the realisation striking in his eyes, as they widened, ever so slightly. His mouth parted, then the corners of his lips curled upwards, and suddenly you could have been made of dread and anguish and every fearful emotion a person was capable of feeling. 

Seungkwan was going to eat you alive. 

“_____?” He repeated, and the amusement that dripped off your name had you wishing all men perished. “Oh, it’s always a pleasure to see a friend of _____’s.”

He raised his hand out, and Julie reciprocated, shaking it thoroughly. “I wouldn’t have expected an answer like that from you, actually.”

“Is that so?” the man quirked his mouth in a side-smile, all mischief and whimsical. “Maybe I’m fixing my manners for a pretty girl, then.”

“Oh!” she brought a hand to her chest, her smiling losing all mischief, turning more genuine. “She didn’t tell me you were such a charmer.”

You had to bring a hand to your mouth, aghast. The bitch is being fooled! “I’m not surprised by that in the slightest.” He let out an uneasy chuckle. “I hope you don’t believe the impression she’s made of me.”

“I’ll try not to be swayed,” she promised, sneaking another glance at your hiding place. Although she had not caught your eye, you glared at her for being so obvious. “Though I will admit, I haven’t heard great things.” 

“I’d be shocked if I heard anything positive,” he remarked. “_____, she…” He tugged his lip between his teeth. “I won’t say it cause she’s your friend but…”

“Yeah, nothing too crazy, please,” she warned, “Because then I’d have to tell her, she’d go all ballistic on you, and then she’d complain to me. I can’t deal with this soap opera.” 

“Soap opera?” he said, scoffing. “God, I can’t even complain, it’s EastEnders everyday in that damned kitchen.”

Julie laughed. “Now I know my friend loves a bit of drama, but surely she’s not the one in the wrong every time?” 

But Seungkwan tilted his head, squinting his eyes as if considering a completely different opinion. “And yet she’s the one throwing food in my face.” 

That had your friend glancing at you through the shop window, a second-long judgement. You glared at her to turn away, she obliging with a shake of her head. “Well…I suppose I can’t defend her against that.” 

His winning smile irked you to the bone. “Exactly.” 

You knew from Julie’s sheepish scratch of her neck that there was no convincing him, and had unintentionally proved his point. A soft groan escaped you, about to hold your head in your hands. Must bully her about this later.

The need to torture her for the rest of her miserable, Santa-adoring life worsened when he looked beyond her frame, a questioning twist of his mouth forming. “Am I crazy, or was _____ here with you?”

The girl’s helpless, a million-emotions-a-second expression once again exposed the guilt Seungkwan waited patiently for, and latched onto. “Huh. So I’m not crazy.” 

“She just left,” Julie explained, looking down at her boots. “She had the whole dessert thing to think up, prepare for…you know, the reason you guys are yelling at each other.”  

“Such dedication to her work!” he praised, but even she could recognise the patronising tone, directed at you from afar. If he had caught onto the fact that you were hiding from him, you might as well throw yourself off the highest floor in this mall. 

The condescension had the girl ticking her head. “She is, though. Why else would she be fighting for her preferences?” 

Seungkwan stared at your friend, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I guess you’re right,” he relented, which had you frowning behind the clothing. Given up so easily? 

You could not ponder over it further, because the man looked over his shoulder, no doubt realising he had left his mysterious companion behind. “You must excuse me, Julie,” he said, “But it was really good to meet you, truly.” 

He held his hand out, which, surprised, your friend shook, lightening up. “You too, Seungkwan.”

As he let go, turning on his heel, you just managed to catch the smirk on his face, hidden from Julie. “You tell your friend I said I missed her here.”

And off he went, catching her off-guard, and kickstarting your irritation as he strolled back to his date. 

Once you were sure he was out of your distance, you stood, avoiding the flurry of winter clothing, keeping your head down in slight shame at knowing quite a few shoppers had seen you hiding out behind the railings. Another unprecedented consequence of knowing Seungkwan.

Quickly you hurried to your friend, who turned to you, pointing her thumb in his direction. “Oh my God.” 

“‘She had this whole dessert thing to prepare for’?” you greeted, hands on your hips. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think he’d realise you were here!” She kept a finger to her chin, thinking over possible escapes. “I mean, I don’t think he saw you in Zara? You hid better than I thought, honestly.” 

“Shit.” You brought your fingers to your temple, scraping against your skin. “And why did he agree with you on me being dedicated?! Fake-ass.” 

Julie then raised a brow. “You’re overthinking it. I am right. Him being passionate about his work doesn’t change the fact that you’re dedicated to it too.” 

You could only grunt in agreement, glancing back to see him a mere speck amongst the sea of Christmas shoppers. 

Although it was a fool’s hope, you wished that he would not bring up this incident tomorrow. 

THE MOMENT YOU STEPPED INTO THE KITCHENS, HE WAS WAITING FOR YOU. 

Not that you were afraid of him—at the end of the day, he was just a man with a small apron and a bad attitude, and you were not letting him get the better of you. 

Except your heart was pounding like an echoing gong, hair standing on the back of your neck. Even your palms were sweating, you flexing and unflexing your hands in distraction. Seungkwan was behind the large commercial hob, cooking something in a pot when he looked over his shoulder, beholding your unnerved presence. 

For the first time since he started working alongside you, he offered you a smile. 

You could have taken the pot and flung the contents on his head. 

“Good morning, _____!” he chirped, the smile widening when you instantly gritted your teeth. “Well rested?”

“Morning,” you replied curtly, tying your apron behind your back. “And yes.”

“Very good,” he asserted, mixing the contents of the pot. He wasted no time in the next question. “How was your weekend?” 

“Alright.”

“Oh, was it? Go anywhere?”

Shit. “Shopping.”

“What a coincidence!” he exclaimed, as if you had revealed the secrets of the universe to him.”I went shopping too.”

“So does everyone and their mothers on the weekend, Seungkwan,” you monotoned, hoping he would take the hint.

He took the hint, of course, but chose to disregard it completely. “My weekend was excellent,” he insisted, tapping the wooden spoon against the pot’s rim, draining out the residue. Making caramel, then. “I went to Westfield yesterday. Very fun, I’ll say.”

I bet it was, prick. “Is that so?” 

“It was so,” he parroted, like the bastard he was. “I actually happened to meet your friend there!” 

Your sigh could have had a laugh rasping out of him. “Which one?” you merely asked, feigning innocence still. 

A snort. “Don’t pretend you have more than one friend, _____.” 

Ouch. “Don’t pretend to know everything about me,” you huffed. 

“Fair enough. I happened to meet Julie.” Satisfied with the slow melting of the sugar and butter, he finally focused on you, leaning against the hob. “Lovely girl, by the way.”

“I know.” You shot him a look. “So?”

“She told me that you were with her this entire time!” 

It took every atom of your strength to not react to that statement. “I was.” 

“Then tell me…” He made to walk towards you, the only boundary between you two being the huge island tabletops. “How come I was so unlucky to miss you yesterday?”

You clenched your jaw. “I left before she saw you.” 

“Left?” he inquired, hand resting on the countertop. “You see, I remember it more as running away the moment she called after me.”

A Jesus Christ slipped out of you before you could help yourself. Instantly you repelled from his walking figure, hurrying to check the sizzling which had increased. The sauce was forming. “What’d you need this for?”

“Caramel Budino. Don’t dodge the question.” You could feel his gaze on you. “Why did you run away from me?”

You took the spoon set on the side, stirring. “I didn’t run away.”

“Yes you did,” he countered immediately. “I saw you bolt into Zara as if they had a closing down sale.”

“Maybe I was excited about their Black Friday deals,” you asserted, sparing him an irritated glance.

His accusatory stare had you looking back at the pot. “Don’t bullshit with me, _____,” He finally stepped past the countertop. “My God. You were stalking me, weren’t you? You and your friend?”

“What—no!” you denounced. “How can you think that?”

He was not four feet from you now. You tried not to look at him; somehow, in the most bothersome of ways, his eyes were unnerving you—as if you had committed some crime, and were now caught red-handed fleeing the scene. Well, you were caught fleeing the scene, but you thought you had escaped the consequences. 

But you had not escaped shit, and now you had to shrink under this bastard’s malicious, victorious scrutiny. 

“Then why did you run away?” he asked you, all quiet. 

The strange hush of his voice had you blurting out an unexpected response. “Because I think you’re a bloody liar.” 

Finally, you mustered the strength to face him—his confusion had you continuing. “You took the day off yesterday, right? For your niece and nephew? Well I didn’t see these so-called nieces and nephews, but a woman I had never met, or seen, even!” You then scoffed. “I was lucky to catch you red-handed, actually, because I was going to work the closing shift!” 

As Seungkwan took in your sudden accusation, craning his head back the further your words attempted to strike true to his pride, he found himself trying to contain a smile. His self-respect was completely intact from your attacks—the more you spoke, the more he was abashed, not quite believing what he heard from your mouth.

He caught onto what you considered the most irrelevant detail from your outburst. “You…you thought I was on a date?”

“Yes!” you snapped. “And you lied about it!”

But he began to chuckle, and you swore you could have seen red. “Why would I be lying?” he merely asked, hand on his white-cottoned chest. 

“To—” but then you stopped yourself. Not everyone is thinking about you. Even the man you happen to hate so much. You pursed your lips, Jeonghan’s words striking your mouth shut. 

Seungkwan, of course, would not let you keep him in such suspense. “To what?” he demanded, lips parted. “The one time I don’t want you to shut up, and you go mute on me!”

That was enough for you to explode. “To get out of working with me!” 

That had him jerking his head back. He squinted his eyes slightly, genuinely stunned, and you knew then and there that you had assumed completely wrong. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Jesus Christ, _____,” he began, and the beginnings of his god-awful, self-pleasing laugh was back, aching your ears and flustering your attitude. “You thought…you thought I was avoiding you? Like, some kind of bullied victim?”

You instantly rebuked him, stammering, “W-well, that’s not what I meant—”

“You really are self-centred, aren’t you?” he mocked. “You believe that all you want, sweetheart, but you don’t scare me like that.” 

“I didn’t mean scared, asshole,” you sneered. “I meant hate.”

He put a hand to his hip, leaning against the hob. “Hate?”

“Yes, hate!” you clarified sarcastically, but you did not know why you began to sound absurd. Suddenly, you were the child, and he was the adult playing along to your antics. “Isn’t that what this all is?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, he dared another step towards you. The shuffling of his clothes against the countertop were the only sounds in the room—that, and the sizzling of the caramel. “Do you…do you really hate me?”

Your brain screamed at you to step away from him. Who was he to come this close to you? Who was he to ask you questions that were meant to stay unanswered?

He seemed hell-bent, however, to break unspoken rules. “I asked you a question, _____. Do you truly hate me?”

Although his mouth twisted in a hard smile, almost condescending, his eyes revealed a completely different sentiment. It was strange, so incredibly unsettling, that you knew the difference between what his words spoke, and what his face exposed. You were not meant to understand him like that.

But you did, and that scared you. 

“Do you?” you muttered, barely audible. If he was not so close, he would not have heard you. 

His gaze flickered all over your face. Your inquisitive eyes, your flared nostrils, your mouth, now parted, inhaling, exhaling. His own lips broke, you catching the grit in his teeth, as if mulling over the options—as if there were options to consider. 

Your breath shuddered. “Seungkwan?”

He was not answering you, still staring. What was on your face that fascinated him to this extent? You were not so sure, but still, he did not say a word, merely choosing to relish in your agitated features. Your skin thrummed at his stare, the close proximity of his body. Why was it so hot? 

The air around you, that is—not his body. Not that you were thinking of it—the forearms that were exposed from rolling his sleeves, the sliver of his collarbone from two buttons undone at the top of his shirt. 

“Yes?”

Back on his face—his mouth. "I, uh…" you got out, trying to remember how to speak. "I asked you something.” What was the blasted question again?

A slight, minute dip of his head. “I know.” 

He had to stop. What you should have done was leave the room—cease this madness. 

You only prolonged it. “Do you hate me?”

Another silence, and you were going to die. Collapse in this goddamn kitchen, and this creature of a man would be your only witness. 

He then ghosted the slightest smile on his lips, and you hung onto its movement. “I would have loved to…” 

He dared a little closer—any more and he would brush your mouth. “But then I realised you don’t.” Your change in expression had his ghost-like smile sparking to life. “So I can’t either.”

You did not know why the answer pissed you off. “How can you be sure of that?” you seethed. “I can hate you as much as I want.”

“Hmm, no, you can’t.” His eyes were not boring into yours—only at your mouth, too damn close. “Because you don’t know me well enough to hate me.”

You tilted your head back, enough to gauge—or at least attempt to figure out the undecipherable expression on his face. This close, you understood why the customers stared at him, even double-taken at every peek they could manage through the kitchen windows.  

The man was a little beautiful this close, and this realisation haunted you. 

Your mouth tried to release something, a refusal to his claim, but any counter died on your tongue. How well did you really know him? Sure, you were certain that he was a pain in your arse, but what of the man behind the sordid comments, the constant judgement? How much did you know of the man outside of the boundaries of Vita di Diamante? Hell, your lack of information had you second-guessing whether he even was lying about the kids.

(Though you refused, even now, to give him the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, the kids are either a long-running joke, or Seungkwan’s demons).

Despite all that, his truth was inescapable—solid and present and impossible to deny. You despised him for the entirety of your acquaintance, but did not even bother to know your supposed nemesis. 

Somehow, even after yesterday’s shitshow, this realisation was far more embarrassing than anything you had ever experienced. 

The supposed nemesis watched you discover these revelations, the corners of his lips curling upwards. It was so awful how he understood perfectly, and was now basking in this victory. 

The realisation stunned you so intently you did not grasp the screech-like crackling right next to you. Once the smell of the burnt caramel engulfed your nose, you blinked back, turning to the pot which now looked like brown, volcanic magma after it loses its colour. Instantly you turned the switch off, turning on the exhaust, the smell of the burnt sugar, after realising its presence, now making you ill. Seungkwan only watched you fumble at the stove, finally taking a step back. With that, you were able to breathe. 

Your ammunition was ready. “Look at the mess you’ve made.” 

He took it surprisingly well. “I’ll clean it,” he said, taking the pot and setting it to the side. “It is my fault, after all.”

You raised your eyebrow at him. “You’re taking responsibility for your actions?”

A glimpse towards you. “I told you, didn’t I? You don’t know me.”

That had you shutting up immediately. 

Seungkwan looked at the clock, realising that the restaurant was about to open. Then his eyes settled on you. “I still can’t believe you stalked me.”

You made a face. “That was not stalking. Well, not the scary kind,” you clarified, which did not make your case any stronger. “And anyway, you still haven’t denied the whole date thing, which means you were lying.” 

Dusting away at his apron, he made to walk to the backdoor, about to call for Mingyu to help with ingredient preparation. You thought he was going to outright ignore you, but then he faced you, a certain smile on his face that you could not unravel.

“I guess you’ll find out soon enough.”

And he was off, leaving you even more baffled than you were the first time you accused him. 

ANOTHER WEEK PASSED AT THE RESTAURANT, AND YOU WERE GOBSMACKED TO SEE A SEMBLANCE OF PROGRESS.

One would think that the strange incident in the kitchens would have been talked about further, but Seungkwan made no mention of it—and him making no mentions meant you would cut off your tongue and turn it into a French delicacy before talking about it either. 

Though you wish he had at least made one comment. 

Never before had you felt so…you did not know how to interpret it, but it was clearly something awful. The man had been an entity you had hated, but you wondered whether the emotion was rendered useless after such a heated conversation. It was so stupid, absolute insanity how you could not stop thinking about the proximity of his frame, his breaths fanning your lips, his questions that turned your entire opinion of him on its axis. 

You don’t know me well enough to hate me.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath.

Though you were cursing yourself, Seungkwan—who was beside you, experimenting on a particular chocolate pudding—took some offence. “What’re you mad about this time?”

Whirling your head to him, you were ready to give him a piece of your delirious mind when you caught the scene before you.

You were already aware he was creating a variation of the Bonet—chocolate, coffee, and rum, mixed and whipped to perfection alongside the core ingredients. He opted to swap the coffee for cinnamon, much to your exasperation. He had already heated his mixture in a not-burnt-to-a-crisp caramel sauce, cooked in a bain-marie—a process of melting chocolate-like mixtures under another pot of boiling water. 

His almost-dessert done, he only had the sprinkle of cacao powder to add to the final product, standing in perfect confidence in front of him. You admired the chocolate excellence, mouth already watering at seeing the soft, textured edges of the pudding. The amaretti macarons at the top contrasted the glaze of the darker chocolate, reflected the lights of the kitchen, and you had to stop your work for the customers, simply admiring the dessert your partner had created. 

Sometimes you forgot that Boo Seungkwan was a born chef. 

He was also a born pain in the ass. “If you can eye-fuck my Bonet, _____, then you can compliment it, too.”

Snapping out of the awe-filled haze, you twisted your mouth. “I suppose it’s not the worst thing you’ve made in this kitchen.”

“You’re right, actually, because the worst thing in this kitchen was made by your hands.”

Boo Seungkwan—the man who, despite your conflicting thoughts over last week, still managed to rile you into a frenzy. You could have cursed him outright, but this week’s apprentice, Wen Junhui, rushed into the room, bearing the role of Kitchen Porter. “There’s more orders for tiramisu!” He informed hurriedly, bringing a further three-dozen eggs upon the busied countertops. 

You looked up to the poor, clueless man. “You do realise you don’t have to take orders, right? That’s the waiter’s job.”

“Jun, here.” Seungkwan patted to the space next to him. “Help me whip some eggs.”

The apprentice obliging instantly, he began cracking eggs on the side of the bowl, setting himself to work. The man in charge with you focused once more on his creation, adorning a proud smirk as he brought out a long spoon next to him. “We should do a Bonet for the final dessert,” he suggested, cutting a small corner. 

“Of course you’ll say that now,” you said. “Oh, and just so you know, I’m never accepting it with cinnamon.”

You watched him raise the spoon, assuming he would take a bite. He then paused, flitting his gaze to you. 

He then changed direction, swinging the spoon ever so slightly—offering it to you. “Go on.”

You looked at it as if you had never seen a spoon before in your life. “You take a bite first,” he clarified. “I need to stamp out this anti-cinnamon agenda once and for all.”

“I’d like to see you try,” you challenged. Taking the spoon from him, avoiding his fingers, you observed the spongy portion before bringing the cutlery’s bowl to your mouth.

The moment the Bonet touched your tongue, it was chocolate heaven—chocolate bliss of the highest order, the cacao flavour merging along with the rum, sparking your senses to life. The most surprising factor was the dreaded cinnamon, spreading its infectious, sugary goodness along your taste buds. It was a small bite, but the chef had packed the sweet universe into a few millilitres, showing you a world where a life could be good and beautiful without any semblance of bitterness. 

Seungkwan watched your reaction, his smug smirk widening. Bringing the spoon out, you could not help the hum that escaped you, and it made him bite his lip, restraining his chuckles. “See?” 

Even still, you attempted to crush his spirits. “I hate it?” you offered, not even convincing yourself. 

The leash on him snapped, huffing out a round of laughter that had you setting the cutlery down. “I suppose you’ll not want another bite, then,” he said.

“Nope,” you lied. You found a clean spoon on the table, offering it to him. “You finish it off.”

The new offering was rejected. “Just give me yours.”

“But I used it.” A tilt of your head. “That doesn’t bother you?”

He jutted out his lip, shaking his head slightly. “Just more dishes to clean. A waste, no?” He gestured with his hand to beckon the old one back. “Pass the other one over.”

“Oh-kay,” you dragged out, handing over the original. With that, he scooped a bite from the Bonet, this time incorporating the little amaretti alongside. 

Your focus trained on him, you watched as he brought the bite to his mouth, his lips closing over the spoon. His reaction was more subdued—unsurprising since it was your first time trying his variation, but nonetheless satisfied as he hummed, closing his eyes. Your eyes took in the sight of him sliding out the spoon from his mouth, his tongue gliding over the silver to lap up the remnants of the chocolate, stubborn to remain. Your cheeks burned at the sight, almost as if you should not be watching. The moment he bit into the amaretti, the crunch against his teeth had you hitching in a breath, as if his mouth, his teeth, had grazed over your mouth, sunken into your skin. 

You blinked back. 

Seungkwan, who had finally opened his eyes, the sensations now subsided, caught your dazed out countenance. He knitted his brows. 

God, you were losing your mind. “Your slobbering was horrendous,” you mocked instead. 

He only shrugged, setting the spoon back on the table. “I don’t waste a thing,” he said, licking his lips—wiping any remnants of chocolate left.

You watched that too—his tongue, which now slid back into his mouth. Another rush of blinking, a sharp sigh, and you caught the ghost of a smile on him. “You should focus on the orders.”

Bastard. “Y-you focus on yours! Instead of wolfing them down!” you exclaimed pathetically. You shot up from where you leaned at the countertop, focusing on the three rounds of Tiramisus ordered. 

Hearing his chuckling behind you had you souring further, face akin to a bonfire, but your mood was soon distracted from the last-hour rush of orders. With Junhui helping the two of you, the round of desserts being created were more effortless, plates of every kind of pudding, gelatos and cakes and pastries leaving your kitchens. The final thirty minutes were more subdued, potential customers understanding that this was no longer the place to dine, and must find sustenance elsewhere. 

Once the time was out for the restaurant’s closure for the day, you thought to close up, already commencing to help the apprentice tidy away the remaining ingredients. Then Jeonghan entered the station, a new, clean apron wrapped around his out-of-work attire. He was set on Seungkwan, pointing towards him. “You,” he began, beckoning him over. “You got a special guest.” 

You narrowed your sight on the man, but his face instantly lit up. That only added to your confusion. Special guest? “Tell her to sit at the reserved table,” he only said, washing his hands off the flour and butter. “I’ll be right over.” 

Watching him rush his usual clean ups, even leaving out a few objects for dessert preparation, you walked up to him, hands on your hips. “Who’s this special guest?” you inquired, his back to you. 

Looking over his shoulder, he shook off the excess water from his hands. “You’ve seen her before.” 

“Huh?” you could only get out, but a moment of thinking had you sucking in a breath. “Wait, you brought your date here?!”

A scoff escaped him, shaking his head. “It’s about time you see the woman who’s bothering you so much.”

“What?!” You glanced at the long, open window of the restaurant layout, where you could spy the seating. “I can’t do that! You’re making this much weirder than it needs to be.” 

“Well, why not?” He stepped past you, grabbing hold of a tea towel. “And remind me, who stalked me for this very information?”

“That was—!” You attempted, but then quietened, realising you could not win that argument. “Piss off.” 

He huffed out a laugh at your response, jerking his head towards the entrance to the main hall. “Come on,” he merely said, walking towards the door. “You can weasel your way out of it to her.”

You wanted nothing more than to lock yourself away from this entire situation—Seungkwan was exploiting his position to use the restaurant as his date-place, and you had managed to trap yourself into this precarious position. 

Despite that, you let your curiosity get to you—yes, it killed the cat, but you were different. Better than that stupid creature. 

Hesitantly, you followed behind as he left the kitchens, weaving his way around the dozens of tables. You caught sight of the mysterious woman, her back to you, but it was not her voice that greeted you first.

Two voices yelped out instead at seeing Seungkwan—voices which were shrilled, higher-pitched, as if they belonged to children. 

You stopped walking as the surprises revealed themselves. 

“Uncle Seungkwan!” 

Two young children—a boy and girl, no more than 11 years old—came running towards your colleague at full speed, nearly bumping against the furniture without a care in the world. You did not see his face, but he must have been smiling, because a delighted oh! escaped him, and his arms were out. He barely had time to raise them before the two kids collided against him, making him stumble back, balance shaky, and you instinctively took a step back, in case he bumped into you. Everyone was laughing in that strong hold, the man’s arms wrapped tightly around them, and your eyes softened without realising.

This was a different Seungkwan. A Seungkwan you had not witnessed—perhaps not been allowed to witness, possibly by your own accord. 

So engrossed by the heartwarming sight, you did not realise the initial woman you planned to see had gotten up from her seat, walking over to the group. “All of you hugging as if you didn’t meet two days ago,” she remarked, a hand on a nearby chair. 

“Don’t get mad because they like me more,” he crowed, glancing at her before ruffling the children’s hair. “Isn’t that right, kids?” 

“Yes!” they both exclaimed in agreement, causing the woman to shake her head. 

She then noticed you behind him, perking her head up. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she stepped past the group, a glance at him. “I didn’t realise you were there.”

That had you scratching the back of your neck—perhaps curiosity made points killing the cat, cause you felt the great urge to die on the spot. “Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m—” you cleared your throat, a slight suspicion about this whole situation rising in the crevices of your mind. 

Seungkwan chipped in for you, realising your mouth was not working. “This is _____. The partner,” he clarified, and you paused at seeing a knowing look on the woman’s face. “And this….”

He then looked at you. “This is Jinsoul. My sister.” 

Oh. Good. God. 

His introductions extended to the two children. “My very real niece and nephew, Sohyun and Sojung.” 

Your mouth parted at the comment, completely abashed. You were not given more time to ponder on his audacity, because his sister—God, his fucking sister, all this time— held her hand out, immediately greeting you with a smile. “It’s so good to meet you!” A glance at him. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Is that so?” you chuckled out, nerves now rising. 

“Of course!” She let go of your hand after a hearty shake. “Seungkwan talks about you all the time.”

The said-man gaped at her, instantly souring at the reveal before chiding, “Your antics have reached my family’s ears, yes.”

You would have glared at him if you were not still humiliated. “Then I don’t know why you’re being so nice to me,” you admitted.

“Well, why wouldn’t I?” She leaned on the chair. “I just assumed it was Seungkwan’s fault.”

The apparent culprit huffed. “If you wanna side with her so badly, she can make your free dinner.”

But the woman only shrugged, leading her children over to you. “Alright then. Nobody wanted your ass cinnamon rolls anyway.” 

“Hey!” Seungkwan twisted his lips into a frown. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?”

With their mother’s encouragement, the children waved their hands in introduction. “Nice to meet you!” the two chirped in almost-unison, the boy who said it a second too late looking away in embarrassment. You could not help waving back, smiling at them. 

Once done with that, she finally answered him. “I am, actually—” a glance down at her watch, inhaling through her teeth— “And am running late, shit.”

“And you said we couldn’t use that word,” the boy—Sojung—grumbled, fixing his beanie. 

“Well I’m a mother in a hurry, sweetie,” Jinsoul reasoned. She faced her brother. “We’ll try coming here, but if we run a little late, then you come ‘round, alright?”

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he only said, giving her a quick side-hug before waving her off with a flick of his hand. “Now go away.” 

“Alright, damn.” Pressing a kiss to her children’s cheeks, she offered you a beautiful smile—a striking similarity to her brother’s. “If these kids are being a bother, this big ass one included—” a shove towards him— “You let me know.”

You could not help it, returning her mirth. “I’ll steal his phone and call you.”

Her smile was positively mischievous. “I like you already.” 

With that, she bid her goodbyes one more time, you stunned from her little declaration—her words, and why that had your heart swelling. With Jinsoul leaving, you tried to focus back on the niece and nephew, who were not Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s running joke, but real and alive and in front of you. 

The former, who was watching your shock, snapped you out of it as he focused on the youngest. “Right, you two,” he began, pointing towards their seats, ”Tell me what you want.”

“What’re you making us this time?” Sojung asked, instantly settling himself down, already giddy at the prospect of food. 

“Don’t listen to Mum!” Sohyun chimed in, following after her brother, sitting on one knee as the other leg dangled over the seat. “We’ll have the cinnamon rolls.” 

“Seungkwan’s family and their cinnamon,” you murmured.

The family you mentioned, however, had razor-sharp hearing, and three heads turned to you. “What’s wrong with cinnamon?” the girl asked, 

“Don’t you worry about _____, here, sweetie,” the eldest mock-consoled, “She doesn’t like to have anything sweet.” 

“That’s not true,” you immediately said, but the kids caught onto their uncle’s words quicker than yours, and their shock had you almost embarrassed.

“No way!”

“How do you live your life?”

“Uncle Seungkwan, why didn’t you change her mind?” 

Their incessant questions only had you chuckling nervously—you were sure sweat was breaking out, and that only worsened when the man beside you thoroughly enjoyed you squirming. “Your uncle is exaggerating,” you could only offer them, but you could tell they were not satisfied with your answer.

“Leave it to me,” he only said, winking at the children, “I’ll sort her out soon enough.”

That had you looking at him unconvinced. “You’ve failed for the past year, so I don’t know what’s changing.”

The children began oooooh-ing at what they believed was an insanely sick burn towards their uncle, who scoffed in response. “You’ll find out,” he merely said, then turned his attention to those fanning the flames. “And what happened to backing me up unconditionally?” 

“We’ll support you when you give us some food,” Sojung reasoned, which had you chuckling. Negotiating for a luxury treat? You had to respect them. 

“Alright, alright,” Seungkwan conceded, about to turn on his heel. “You lot stay here, and I’ll whip something up.”

As you watched him begin to leave, you narrowed your eyes at the workspace, separated by the windowless-frame. You focused on the children, an idea hatching. “Hey, you guys wanna come inside?”

Perking up at you, their eyes danced at the prospect. “Could we actually?” Sohyun asked, darting her head between you and the man beside. “Wait, are we even allowed?”

Seungkwan pondered over it, as if genuinely thinking over the restrictions. “So what?” you said, smiling at them. “We’ll make it allowed.”

Your answer was all the children needed, excitement almost reverberating off them. You ushered them out of their seats, pointing them towards the kitchen entrance, and they dashed off before you could offer any general warnings, fighting to contain your smile. 

As Seungkwan watched, following after his niece and nephew, he took a cautionary glimpse at you. “If they break any health code violations, then you’re taking the sack.”

Walking right beside him, you opened the door to the station. “I’ll just say they’re your responsibility, and Jeonghan will finally have an excuse to fire you.”

But he was snickering softly at the claim, close at your heels as he stepped inside. It could have been the lowering of his voice, the slight octave down—perhaps the proximity again, which might have been purposeful on his part. 

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he muttered, and you had to blame the chill from the open windows for the shivers down your neck. 

By the time you both entered, Sojung and Sohyun were already exploring the premises, marvelling at the professional equipment, the grandeur of the stainless steel. It was as if the stations were a long, forgotten historical site, and the children were archaeologists, brushes at the ready to inspect, marvelling at anything they had not seen before. The half-eaten Bonet latched onto their fancies, and they would have eaten the dessert with their bare hands had Seungkwan not tutted, pointing at the clean spoons on the countertop.

“I was expecting the kitchen to be really messy,” Sohyun commented, eyes straying from the pudding to observe the surroundings once more. “Wouldn’t it get so busy in here?”

“Super busy,” you admitted, “Especially during this time. Mind you, sometimes there’s no room around here, there’s so much ingredients to take care of.”

As he tried to find said-plethora-of-ingredients, Sojung said, “I bet you could have such a good food fight in here.” He glanced at the Bonet, and then at his sister. 

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, raising her cutlery as a legendary weapon. 

But you did not fixate on their conversation to the end, because the mention of the food fight had you glancing at the man who you had actually thrown food at. It was not as if it was that long ago—hell, Seungkwan would have only just rid himself off the mascarpone from his hair. 

You even remembered how it all began—the fateful incident which brought down Jeonghan’s wrath, and ultimately this dreaded assignment. It was like any other prep day for the restaurant, Mingyu helping alongside you two as you prepared the ingredients on the countertops, finalising the desserts which were to be offered that night. It had to be stressed—it was a completely normal day. 

Except Seungkwan had already sparked your irritation alive from the initial disagreements on the flavour variations of the Cassata Siciliana—a layered cake of sheep ricotta cheese, chocolate, candied fruit, all topped with marzipan. The blends of the cheese usually worked wonders, but the idiot suggested substituting the traditional ricotta for mascarpone, apparently enriching the dessert to its fullest extent. You knew his scheming was simply to have a sweeter grand dessert on the menu, but you refused to fall for his antics. You instantly rejected his attempts, and that only fuelled his anger, insisting that the specialised cream be used for the Cassata or he would refuse to add your additions. 

You did not know whether it was that warning, or the notion that he had no power to even say such a warning. Whatever the motivation, it was enough for you to ask him a simple question, hands straying to the ingredients. 

“You wanna know where mascarpone cream would look best?” 

Forever the fool, he asked, hoping his condescending nature would rile you up. 

And because you were a greater fool than he was, you only scooped the cream and flung it on his face, he yelping as it stuck to the perfect curls of his brown hair. Reeling back from the mess, he touched the remnants on his cheeks, his locks, gaping at it until he set his stare on you. 

It was then the chaos began. The pandemonium that followed, food flying everywhere in places you never thought it would reach, a pitiful waste of ingredients and emotions as the rest of the crew scrambled to mediate between the two of you. Even Jeonghan had difficulty at first, but one guttural roar had everyone pausing. Everything afterwards was history. 

Looking at him now, though, imagining the chaos of it all…it brought a strange fluttering within your chest. You did not think there was anyone else you could have thrown food at. 

With the way he returned your gaze, his usual sharp glower softened as the memory flashed within his own eyes. He could not help himself, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards the more he delved into it, the verbal lashings the two of you received afterwards.

It was there, in the kitchens, with the children stealing glances at the stillness of their guardians, the faint scent of cinnamon still in the air, that you smiled at Seungkwan without an ounce of ridicule laced in it.

His eyes widened. His slight surprise had you smiling a little wider, but before he could say anything, he was duly interrupted. “Uncle Seungkwan, when are we getting any food?” 

Sojung joined in. “Stop staring at Miss _____ here!” 

The accused immediately composed himself. “Jinsoul really needs to discipline you both…”

Fidgeting with your rolled-up sleeves, you resorted to helping your partner. “Right, you two,” you asserted, clapping your hands together, “What do you want?” 

Sohyun dug the toe of her boot further into the floor, all sheepish. “We were hoping Uncle Seungkwan would make us the usual.”

“The usual?” A side-glance at him. “Anything special?”

“I didn’t think so,” he admitted, a finger at his chin as he thought about his ingredients’ whereabouts. “They can’t have enough of it, though.” After another moment, he turned to the direction of the pantry. “Hey, there’s still vanilla gelato leftover right?”

Once you nodded, he was off, heading towards the other entrance, promising to come back within minutes. With the common man gone, you looked at the two children, whose curiosities still seemed unsatiated. 

You decided to question them first. “What’s your uncle making you?”

The boy answered before his sister even opened her mouth. “It’s so good! It’s what Uncle Seungkwan makes us every time we come here.” 

“All I know is that Sojung always makes Uncle Seungkwan add more ice cream than mine.”

“Now you’re just lying!” he rebuked, aching to push her off the countertop. “She always gets more biscuits in hers, so she can’t complain!”

You chuckled at their antics, speaking over them to settle their bickering. “Biscuits and ice cream is it?” 

“No, no, it’s like…” the girl imitated with her hands, describing the shape of an odd-looking mug. “You put ice cream first, then hot chocolate, and then Uncle Seungkwan adds more stuff I can’t remember.”

“It’s amazing,” Sojung promised, his face serious and persuasive, as if he was a politician promising a controversial policy. 

Impressed by his words, you, the hesitant voter, decided to believe him. “You’ve convinced me, little man.” You glanced over your shoulder—at the other entrance—before focusing on the boy, whispering, “Your Uncle Seungkwan does make a killer dessert.”

“Why’re you saying it like that?” Sohyun asked, matching your hushed tone. “Do you not like him?”

You contemplated the question. It was simple enough—they were not expecting a Tolstoy-saga timeline of your unstable partnership with their uncle. A couple of weeks ago, the answer would have been easier.

Situations, however, had changed—shifted indefinitely, throwing your viewpoint off its axis. You both were rivalling teams, always rooting for each other’s downfall, and now you both played for the same side, and it was…you did not know. Well, you did know, were very aware of how it felt, but it was something you could not voice out loud—not even to yourself.

So you merely said, “He’s alright…your Uncle Seungkwan,” and hoped to anything that resided above that it was enough.

It seemed so—then, Sojung, forever curious, thought to be more personal than his sister. “If you don’t like him, then who do you like?”

You were astounded by how nosy children were, but realised they were related to Seungkwan. Checks out. “I’m afraid I’m too busy working to have workplace crushes.”

As you made your declaration, you heard the man on a mission return, door swinging open with his foot as he held the ingredients. Walking over to the counter, he dumped the contents, you observing what he brought: a box of fresh vanilla gelato, a 4-pint carton of semi-skimmed milk, and a few small pots, labelled as almonds, hazelnuts, amarettis. 

“Is she telling the truth?” Sojung asked his uncle, you gasping at the notion. Since when did children require witness confirmation for your half-lies?

Seungkwan snorted as he brought out a pot from the side of the hob, setting the base upon the bottom right stove, sparking the flames to life. Without even looking back, he grabbed the milk carton, unscrewing the cap. “She’s lying to you guys,” he confirmed, pouring the contents inside. He set the half-empty container beside him, sparing you a mischievous glance. “She’s too busy arguing with me.”

“Hey!” The children began to laugh. “I only argue with him when he’s provoking me.”

Snickering knowingly, he walked to the metal cupboards settled in the corner, opening them up to procure three elongated glasses, small, circular handles on their sides, narrowing at the bottom. Setting them before his esteemed customers, he replied, “I’ll have you know, _____, you’re the one who starts most of our arguments.”

“Since when?” 

Usually, his stare would have been incredulous, unamused. This time, though, his eyes were dancing. “Did you know, kids,” he began, voice deepening as if regaling a fantasy tale, grabbing the tub of luxury hot chocolate powder, “That _____ and I had a real food fight here?”

“No way!” Sohyun gasped. “Did you guys get in trouble?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, sighing through his teeth as he poured two heaped teaspoons within each glass. “Our punishment was to work on a dessert together.”

“Uncle Jeonghan has a weird way of punishing someone,” the girl commented. 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, Seungkwan also murmuring in agreement as he started the kettle, the water heating at lightning-speed and ready before you realised. Picking up the kettle from its base, he poured a little into each cup, mixing the powder within the water to rid himself of the textured cocoa forming. “Hot chocolate?” you inquired, watching his every movement—his setting the kettle back, all the while grabbing the milk off the stove, pouring three-quarters full of every glass, stirring simultaneously whilst he drained the pot off its boiling contents. 

This was second nature to him—he did not answer, engrossed in his work, because this was him in his element. He was a born creator, thriving in the atmosphere of nourishment. The scent of hot cocoa and vanilla, amplified when his nephew cracked open the container, delighted your senses, mouth watering at the notion of trying this beverage. 

The girl beside you responded for him as he set the empty pot to the side. “It’s more than hot chocolate,” she said, as she grabbed hold of a spoon, hoping to take a bite but stopped when her uncle shot her a disapproving look. “Please, just one bite!” 

“You and your brother won’t leave us with any when you’re done,” he scolded, holding out his hand. Caught red-handed, she begrudgingly gave him the spoon, which he put away, instead bringing out an ice cream scoop. Checking the open container, he brought the scoop down, the soft gelato curling luxuriously within the curve of the metal. He was generous with his serving, the gelato fighting to stay on the scoop as he dropped the first into the hot chocolate closest to him, quite low to avoid any chocolate spillage. He added another to the glass before repeating it several times for the other two cups, giving in to the children’s request for more in their serving. 

You realised the product was finished when, before Seungkwan could declare it himself, the kids yanked their cups further away from him, excitement radiating off their features. “Thank you, thank you!” they both chirped in harmony, instantly sipping on the hot chocolate and groaning in approval. 

The esteemed chef took hold of your glass by the handle, walking over to where you leaned forward at the counter. Straightening yourself, you judged the final product, him leaning back before it. “Voila,” he said, “Or whatever you call it in Italian.”

“It’s the same, actually.” You pulled the cup closer, admiring the chocolate-to-milk gradient, the vanilla ice cream slowly melting within the glass. “Not bad.”

He ticked his head to the side, furrowing his brows. “Um, I think you meant to say it looks exquisite.”

“What even is it?” You turned the glass around. 

Seungkwan watched you inspect the contents. “It’s, uh…it’s a drink I’ve always made for them, back in my apprentice days.” He brought a hand to his torso, smoothing down his apron. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it, but I changed it a little…made it more kid-friendly.”

“Kid-friendly?” A glance at him. “What the hell was the original drink?” 

He scoffed out a chuckle. “It’s nothing like what you’re thinking. The original beverage had liquid espresso, and I thought it’d be too bitter for them.”

“That’s fair.” Taking a spoon from the pile of cutlery, you began stirring the ice cream, melting it within the milky hot chocolate. Taking a sip, you slipped the spoon in your mouth and hummed. “Oh…woah.”

“Use your words, _____,” he merely said, earning a second-glare from you. You could not retain it though, instantly digging in.

“This is nice, actually,” you had to admit. Seeing the man try to bask in your half-assed compliment had you adding on, “But I will say, I would have liked the espresso. I know what you mean about the kid-friendliness of it all.”

“I can make it if you want.” He glanced at the equipment—the barista-standard machines, more portable coffee-machines, the like. “There’s a french press thrown in the cupboard somewhere.”

You looked at him, slightly disbelieving. “You just made me this.”

“So?” He shrugged, twisting his lips to the side. “It won’t be hard.” He took a step back, watching over the children. “You two want a snack or something?”

“Do you even need to ask?” Sohyun demanded, sipping the last of the drink. 

“I wonder where they got their attitude from,” he grumbled, grabbing their empty glasses and bringing them to the sink. 

You could not help your snort, scooping out half-melted ice cream. “I’m looking right at him.”

“I hope the hell you’re not looking at me right now,” was his warning, turning on the faucet and letting the hot water fill the dirtied glasses. 

He made sure you were not, but you were never one to follow orders. You watched him as he brought out a french press from the cupboards beside the machines. “This won’t make the best espresso, but I can’t be arsed to fire up the machines right now.”

“Wow, such high-class customer service!” you shrilled, slowly walking over to the fridges on the opposite side and opening the door, finding the airtight Bombe Calde doughnuts sitting daintily inside. Deciding to take all eight displayed, you closed the fridge, setting them before the table. 

The children jumped on the treats at once, Seungkwan tutting at their sheer gluttony. “You’re gonna get sick, and then your mum is gonna beat me up.”

“Noshewomt,” was the boy’s coherent answer, mouth too occupied with the chocolate doughnut to bother clarifying.  

Turning the kettle on once more, the man obtained the finely-ground coffee beans, adding a couple teaspoons within the french press and waiting for the water to boil. “Pass me one, will you?” he asked, and you decided to comply, taking one from the plate—noticing half of them have been wiped out—and holding it out to him. 

He held out his hand, fingers brushing against yours as he accepted the treat, your own hand still in the air between as he brought it to his mouth, taking a bite. You did not realise your fingers were still holding out the outline of the dessert until the switch on the kettle ticked off, snapping you out of your daze. Curling them into your palm, you set your hand to the side, sighing sharply. “You don’t have to make this.”

Luring the jug to the open press, he poured the water, the fine coffee instantly darkening the liquid. “You don’t want it?”

“Well…” you trailed off, watching him as he took the plunger, pressing the lid shut upon its glass and began pumping the water and coffee together. He was quick, up and down and repeating the gesture, creating a more bitter colour. “It’s not that…”

Finishing, he chose to not to respond then, only taking a new glass from the cupboard in front of him. “Sohyun, the gelato.”

His niece obliging, he deposited two scoops of the ice cream, one after the other. Then, assuming this was the final touch, he poured the espresso inside, assuring that the ice cream was drenched in the bitter flavour, until the french press was drained. 

Perhaps your partner was correct—the bitterness of the drink, even the mere scent of coffee in your nostrils had you exhaling in satisfaction. Seungkwan caught it, smiling a little in reaction. 

It was then he chose to respond. “I wanted to make it for you.”

“Oh.” You chose to admire the dessert-beverage he made—for you only, you thought. “Does it have a name?”

A nod. “It does.” You could feel his eyes on you. His fingers grazed the glass’ base, curling—close to where your own fingers wandered, nail scratching against the curves of the cup. “It’s called an affogato.”

You looked at him. “An affogato? I’ve had a few of these before.” Taking your spoon, you cut through the gelato, making sure you scooped enough of the espresso. Once you dared a taste, you instantly hummed, the bittersweet mixture of the ice cream and the coffee enlivening your taste buds. “Oh, Christ, this is the one.”

“I knew you would enjoy the original recipe,” Seungkwan remarked, watching you lap away at the dessert. “I will say, though, the french press doesn’t do the espresso justice.” 

“Yeah, you use the proper machines for it, right?” Another bite taken. “This is insane, though.” 

“You think so?” When you nodded, he dipped his head, acknowledging your approval. He blew air from his mouth, a deep sigh which had you tilting your head. “I used to make it a lot, back in the day.” 

“Your apprentice days?” you parrotted, just as he did earlier. 

He only squinted his eyes, an effort to keep your teasing in check, but found himself chuckling. “Yeah, back in Jeju. My dad loved to make them…he, like, would always add different flavoured ice creams in the espresso, maybe add hot chocolate if I wasn’t feeling too good with coffee…”

“Your dad made you these?” You sipped on the drink, careful of the ice cream. “That’s really sweet.”

“I know.” Taking a bite out of the bambe calde, he continued, “Yeah, he’s really supportive. My mum, too, but it took some time for her to accept that I wasn’t gonna be a doctor.”

“You’re better off for sure,” you remarked, stirring the contents. “Imagine your ass trying to do surgery on someone…you’d get the hospital sued.”

“First of all, fuck you,” he started, but quickly stopped when his niece and nephew gasped at the curse. “Sorry, sorry! I promise she doesn’t mind.”

“Don’t say sorry to us, too, say it to _____!” Sojung ordered.

“You’re being mean, Uncle Seungkwan,” Sohyun huffed next.

“Yeah, Uncle Seungkwan,” you chimed in, earning a berating glower from him. “You’re being rude.” 

“Well I’m so sorry, _____,” the man chirped, and you had to keep drinking to stop yourself from laughing. “Now, you two, get back to stuffing your faces.” 

As the kids happily obliged, you released a satisfied exhale as you finished off the espresso, half-melted ice cream left in the glass. “I still mean it. You would have been worse off as a doctor.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. I’ll kill off my patients because I wouldn’t know the difference between a scalpel and a butter knife.” 

“No, not like that.” You turned to him. “Seungkwan, you were meant to create desserts.”

He looked at you then, not quite believing his ears. “Do you really believe that?” 

“Of course.” Your eyes flickered to the remnants of the affogato. “There’s a reason Jeonghan kept you…hell, there’s a reason I still haven’t managed to get rid of you.”

There was a pause, felt enough that you snuck a quick glance as you watched over the conversing children. 

“Do you want to?” he asked. Your gaze stuck, and he furrowed his brows, clarifying, “Get rid of me, still?”

He looked at you, and you found yourself a little lost in his eyes. There was one certainty you could rely on, and that was his gaze—whatever he felt, he always exposed it, whether he wanted to or not.

Tonight was different. Tonight, with the children nearby, you still stirring the melted gelato, you could not comprehend them. What his eyes offered this time was tenderness—a certain warmth you had never been offered by him since…since ever. Since as long as you had known him. 

So you held up the cup, finishing the rest of the dessert—the dessert he had made with his own hands.

You decided to say something else instead of answering his question—something better. “I think we’ve found our dessert, Seungkwan.”

The man’s warmth morphed with confusion. “The affogato,” you said, holding out the glass. “We should make it for our Christmas menu.” His stance had you carrying on, setting the cup to the side as you focused on him. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but hear me out. You said it yourself, you can make this with various flavours right?” His nod had you continuing, “And obviously, we’ve seen that you can change around the drink bit, too.”

“Hmm…” That had him thinking, and you could see it, the cogs within his head turning at rapid speed. “Wait, you know what…my dad also added liqueurs in the drink, which gave a little fire to the dessert. I liked it a lot, but obviously you can’t give hard alcohol to kids, so…”

“Very responsible,” you deemed it. “And it’s so easy to make! I mean, you whipped it up within minutes for me.” 

He was straightened up now, watching you intently as you thought about it further, the entire prospect of it. “It could be quicker, too, you know. The french press takes more time, but if we made it on the machine, then—” He cut himself off, thinking and thinking, walking towards the countertop. “Wait, this could actually work.” 

“What can work, Uncle Seungkwan?” his nephew asked, curiosity prompting his question. 

“Something really special, Sojung,” he replied, scouring the table for his notes, but realising he left them at the changing lockers. “Shit. Shit.”

“Language!” Sohyun chided, but her dear uncle wasn’t really listening, whipping out his phone and typing ferociously.

You did not realise what he was doing until he pressed the phone to his ear, pointing at the kids to wash their hands. “Hello? Yeah, Jinsoul, hi, you guys back from the date?” A pause, as he started a pace, back and forth in the kitchen. “Hmm, yeah, don’t care about all those details, listen—” He turned a sharp corner, finding the words, “Is it alright if I could drop the kids back right now? Something urgent came up.”

As he listened to his sister, his eyes flickered to you. “Yeah…it is. We thought of something perfect.” 

You avoided his gaze then—a cowardly choice, you knew—but, perhaps for the first time, his stare was a little too intense. “Yeah, don’t worry about that, I’ll do it,” he said, “I owe you. For real this time.”

As the man ended the call, the nephew pulled a face. “Do we have to go back already?” he whined, licking the sugar from his fingers. 

“Afraid so, buddy,” was his response, pocketing his phone. “Come on, you two, I gotta take you back to your parents.”

“But what about _____?” Sohyun asked, watching you intently as you began to clear away the dishes. 

“I’ll get going, too,” you replied, cleaning the rest of the dishes, setting them on the side. “Or else my friend will think I’m overworking myself.” 

“Julie?” Seungkwan asked, and you nodded. “How is she doing, by the way?”

Dusting away at your hands, you gave him a look, untying your apron. “How do you know her name?”

“I talked to her when you ran away from me, remember?”

“I didn’t run away,” you muttered, but that did not stop the pompous twist of his mouth, threatening to sour your mood. 

Another ten minutes, and the rest of you were sorted, clothing and other personal items extracted from your locker and donning your coat. You let Seungkwan and the children exit first, making sure all the entrances were locked save for the one you were leaving from.

The chill of the London winter nipped at your face as you left from the backdoor, a slight shiver cluttering your teeth as you locked the premises. You witnessed the man firmly wrapping his huge red scarf around the girl, whispering to the boy at the same time to don his gloves—yes, even if they don’t let him use his phone.

As you walked over to the group, you were about to start when he beat you to it. “I'll drop Sohyun and Sojung off, and then I’ll get to the planning. My dad will be up around this time, so I’ll ask about his preferences.”

“I’ll do some research back home,” you offered. “Jinsoul wasn’t mad, right? I think you disturbed her date.”

“She’ll live,” he said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve got more important things to do, anyway.”

Nodding, you then leaned forward, smiling at the children. “You two should come again.” 

“Oh, we will!” Sojung promised, smirking. “I don’t know why Uncle Seungkwan was hiding you from us.”

The accused ruffled the boy’s hair. “You’re running your mouth too much today.”

“He always runs his mouth too much,” Sohyun muttered, causing her brother to stick his tongue out at her. 

Giggling at their antics, you looked to Seungkwan, who sighed slightly as you released another shiver. “You know I need you alive for this dessert report.”

Hugging yourself tightly, you remarked, “Who would have thought Boo Seungkwan wanted me happy and healthy by his side?”

A snort, misting in the cold air. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said alive. Barely is fine by me, too.”

You shook your head at him, restraining the urge to let your lips quirk upward. “Goodnight, Seungkwan.”

As you swivelled with a last goodbye to his niece and nephew, you left for the underground, not two minutes away. 

Sohyun was the first to break the night silence as you finally turned the corner, away from their sight. “I like her, Uncle Seungkwan,” she declared, walking ahead of the group. 

“Me too,” Sojung agreed, following after his sister in hopes to tread on her boots. “I hope we see her again.”

The man did not listen to their petty arguments which soon replaced their praises of you, holding onto their first confessions. And although he did not voice them out loud, his thoughts were an answer, left unsaid.

You will see her again—whether I want to or not.

THE NEXT WEEK BROUGHT ANOTHER CHANGE WITHIN YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH SEUNGKWAN. 

Mostly because what you and your partner had actually was a relationship now. The intense months, before the Christmas menu was even established, where you and him had argued and screamed the kitchen down had soothed into a kurt understanding of the dessert you were about to create. At last, after months of your victories, your losses to him, the disgruntled progression into stalemates, you two had achieved the unachievable.

You both had decided on a dessert.

Jeonghan could not believe his ears when you first informed him, and immediately booked himself a special Specsaver’s hearing test—you forgot how far he would go for a bit, but at least it was not your time he was wasting. He asked Seungkwan for confirmation, and, sure enough, when the latter agreed, your boss may have experienced shell-shock akin to war veterans. Of course, you wanted to be offended, but you had no right—at the end of the day, Jeonghan had only ever seen violence brewing between you and the dessert chef. Any semblance of toleration was considered a breaking-news event.

The two of you tried not to let Jeonghan’s shock distract you from your planning—Seungkwan received a wealth of information from his father, and learned that the most classic form of the affogato is the one he created for you—the vanilla gelato, and hot espresso poured on top. Although it was delicious, it was deemed too plain for Christmas menu, and opted for more flavours. 

Seungkwan first offered the idea for whipped cream, but you rejected it. “Whipped cream and gelato seems excessive,” you explained, looking over your research notes. “The cream might offset the gelato’s flavour.”

“How do you feel about chocolate shavings? It could work well with smoothing out the bitterness of the espresso.” 

“But the gelato’s doing that,” you countered. “I don’t mind it, but I’d want something stronger for the first choice.” 

“Hmm…” He skimmed his father’s ramblings for a moment, then handed it to you. “This is what Dad used. He’d swap certain things around.”

Reading through, the first thing you noticed was the neat writing—Seungkwan’s, undoubtedly. He had categorised different gelato flavours in one column, espresso or other coffee variations in the second, liqueur choices for the third, and the last, larger column was reserved for toppings. “He certainly has range,” you commented, looking up. “How come you missed learning it?”

“You’re the only one blind to it,” he disputed, crossing his arms. “It’s a wonder you’re not turning down the affogato as we speak.” 

“You never know!” you chirped sarcastically, in hope to keep him on his toes. “Did you try out all these variations?”

“Yep. I was a picky eater.” He exhaled through his nose at your incredulous look, reminiscing. “Shocking, I know. Aside from the alcohol, he tried every single one of those flavours. All of them are approved by child-me, teenage-me, and today-me.” 

“I see,” you said, reverting back to the notes. You had to admit, his father did take liberties with what he deemed Italian for an Italian drink. As you kept reading it over, glancing at the man’s peaceful recollection, you did not think that mattered. 

This was someone’s efforts to keep their child full. This was a father’s testimony of ensuring his son’s happiness. 

You smiled at the notion, offering the pages back to him. “I personally like the biscotti the most out of all these options. If we chop the biscuit finely enough, it’ll have a nice crunch in the dessert. It’ll keep the espresso’s essence as well, while also maintaining the sweetness of the ice cream.”

His slight surprise had you pulling back. “What? Oh, is this your turn to reject me now?”

But then he smiled a little, catching you off guard. “No, the opposite actually. I’m just surprised you chose that one.”

“Why?” You groaned, getting up from your seat. “It’s the worst one, right? Baby-you threw up after having it, I’m sure.”

“No, actually.” He paused. “The biscotti was my favourite topping.”

Oh. “So…you’re good for its almond flavouring?”

He nodded, taking the papers from you. “Yeah, I am…why are you asking?”

“It’s just…I don’t think we’ve ever agreed to a decision so…cordially.” 

Seungkwan scoffed. “Well, obviously we weren’t gonna argue when you agreed with me.”

You instantly checked him on this. “I was the one who suggested it.”

His counter was immediate. “You picked it from my notes.”

A click of your tongue. “Your dad’s, actually.” 

He opened his mouth, eyes narrowing, but then realised you were right, and clamped his lips together. The action within those sudden sequences had you offering him a smirk. “And I thought we were past all this,” he whinged, exasperation clear. 

“Don’t think I’ll let you win so easily,” you warned, widening your shit-eating smile as you walked over to the espresso machines, regarding the fine steel in its all shining glory. 

“I never win easily with you,” he grumbled, stepping beside you. 

“It should be kept that way,” you only said. “Now, how do we work this shit?” 

Seungkwan turned away from you, hiding his bemused smile before clearing his throat and explaining the rules. This was the way you two worked now—a smidge of back and forth bickering, but never truly rising to the surface where you threatened ultimate violence. 

It was strange, you had to admit; never before had you felt a tolerance, even an acceptance of his presence beside you. He would offer assistance of some kind, bring forth new suggestions, and your first instinct was not to cuss out his ancestors for suggesting such gullible ideas. Even the man who worked alongside you would not provoke your rash temper, and day by day you found yourself wondering why, after the entirety of his acquaintance, you had never simply got on with him. 

You did not care to investigate the origins of who was at fault. All that was left, in a sense, was to salvage whatever strange alliance you both had created, and hope that was enough to finish the final dessert. 

The preparations, the testing of the machines continued into the restaurant’s opening, and Jeonghan assisted, as promised during the beginning of the process, in helping with orders, teaching Junhui of the more luxurious, complex desserts during that time. Thankfully, the restaurant was quieter that day, so the Head Chef was relaxed, carefree enough to try provoking you and Seungkwan into a disagreement, but to no avail. 

The trialling carried on well into the night, the only people left in the restaurant being you two and Jeonghan, who was arguing with his accountant loud enough to hear it through the dessert stations. You ignored him, tasting the newly created vanilla gelato, liquid espresso and biscotti pieces sprinkled. Seungkwan brought out the last touch, pouring a half-shot of amaretto liqueur into the long, slender glass. 

And as the two of you tasted the dessert, your spoon first, and then passing it onto him, you realised you may have made something great—perfection can take a while, you both understood it, but what you two created was something bigger than yourselves. Realistically, it was just a beverage, but it was not just a beverage—this was peace, scooped up within the containers of the gelato, an acceptance peeking out within the chopped biscottis. This was—could you say it—respect, poured from his very hands, staining the glass of your relationship with him. 

Even as the two of you shared a look of understanding, finishing the singular affogatto together, you knew circumstances had shifted—something was different. 

Seeing as the boss was stuck with working out his finances, you decided to head out, letting Seungkwan finish with the cleaning up, lest you make a sound and he made you carry out your dishwashing. You made a head start towards your belongings in the other room, taking out your bag and jacket as the man walked to his lockers. Donning your layers, he slid out his satchel, coat and that long-ass scarf, snapping the square door shut. 

“I think we can send the report to Jeonghan any day now,” he said, sliding his arms through the coat holes. 

You began to walk to the back door, watching him follow slowly. “You think so?” 

He caught up, wrapping his scarf around himself—three loops round his neck, almost hiding half his face. Pulling down the fabric with a finger, he settled his chin over the scarf, nodding. “We’ve done almost everything…I mean, there’s a bit of paperwork left, but I’ll write that tonight when I’m at Jinsoul’s.”

“You’re going to your sister’s?” you asked as you grabbed onto the door. “Don’t tell me you’re interrupting the poor couple again.”

“So what if I am?” he demanded. “That’s on them for establishing a relationship between me and their kids.”

“Fair enough.” Opening the door to the outside world, you instantly shivered at the sheer temperature drop from the past few days. London’s winters were unpredictable, but you forgot its cruelty too. The chill of the midnight winter seeped through your too-thin jacket, and you had to stop yourself from shivering out of your bones.

Your teeth would have chattered more had Seungkwan not spoken again. “She was asking about you, by the way.”

“Oh,” you could only say—courtesy of the cold, and the teeth. “She was?” 

“Why’re you so shocked by that?”

A lazy shrug. “I don’t know…I thought you would have talked shit about me.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Now why would you think that?” You returned the gaze, and then he let out an understanding noise. “Oh, yeah…yeah, I did that the other day actually.”

“Hey, now!” You would have nudged his elbow, but were too cold to do so. “I haven’t pissed you off this past fortnight.”

“I know, I know, I just…” he sighed a little, which frosted into the air. “I mean…I’ve mentioned you. In passing.”

“In passing?” You parroted, hugging yourself. A frosted scoff escaped you. “You can’t help being obsessed with me, huh?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled, which had you chuckling—the soft laughter was cut off by your teeth once more, chattering to the point of catching his notice. “You knew it was gonna get cold, you idiot.” 

You returned his observations with a glare. “I didn’t actually know that, which is why I’m cold right now…you idiot.”

The condensation from your mouth was enough evidence of the chill—that, and of course, your bated breaths. “Yes, I’m the idiot that’s so nice and warm,” Seungkwan sang, irritating you further. 

When you did not deign to respond to him, the cold weather conquering your meagre layers, nipping at your skin, he stopped the next dig, at the tip of his tongue. He then observed your countenance—the rubbing of the arms, the groans you tried to contain at the discomfort taking over. The man veiled his mouth with the bunched-up scarf, narrowing his eyes. Sighing a little, the heat of his breath curled against the fabric, kissing his face, and the slight warmth that welcomed him did not bring him the comfort he relished mere minutes prior. 

He looked at you, hugging yourself tightly. The moment your eyes flickered to his, remnants of displeasure in your eyes, his own widened slightly.

Shit. His hands grabbed onto the scarf before he realised what he was doing. Shit, shit, shit, was all he could think, as, with hands unwrapping the long piece of clothing from his neck, he seethed a little at the chill that welcomed his exposed skin.

Before you could realise what he was doing, he brought the length of the scarf around you, both his hands holding each of the ends at your sides. “Wh-what are you doing?” you got out, your hands instantly stopping his. “Wait, Seungkwan—”

“Save your bickering,” he cut you off, merely waving your hands away as he wrapped the first loop around you, the scarf still too long on one side. “Talking will only make you colder.”

But you were already opening your mouth, ready to counter him when another loop of the scarf masked half of your face. Your surprise was shown only through your eyes, but he ignored it completely, wrapping the length around one last time. The scarf had almost shrunk you, your head buried in the layers, and Seungkwan had to pause for a second, unable to contain his smile. 

What are you smiling at? you asked, except the scarf had mumbled your speech, and he could not hear a thing. He could understand very clearly the irritation, though, rising in your gaze, and that only broke the seam of his lips, grinning at you. 

“Wait, hold still,” he said, reaching to the top of the neckwear. He leaned in, fingers folding down the fabric, slowly and gently, and you blinked back at the proximity. You had a feeling he had not noticed at first, but then your eyes bore into him, and his fingers slowed. His knuckle brushed against your jaw, and a soft shiver escaped you, finally catching his attention. Only then he stole a glance, realising just how close he was to you. 

His pupils were darting all over your face, as much as he could take in from the closeness. You could not help it either, mouth parting, watching his bated breaths condense upon your face. God, he was close to you, and it was out of the ordinary, unfamiliar territory. If he leaned in any further, his lips would caress yours, solving the problem of this chill. You were not cold though—not anymore, with your cheeks burning every second spent under his scrutiny. 

You should be pulling away—should be taking a step back. He felt the same. Once again, the two of you were in sync; always denying how similar you both thought, but confronted with that fated truth. 

Seungkwan could see it—the truth, reflecting in your gaze. “There,” he whispered, fingers brushing against the scarf. 

The scarf. His scarf. “I can’t have this,” you said, but your voice was barely there. “It’s yours.” 

“I know.” A ghost of his raised brow. “It’s not like I’m giving it to you forever. I will take it back.”

You twisted your mouth. “Way to ruin a moment.” 

He parted his mouth, both brows raising. “Was there a moment to ruin?” 

“No!” you gasped out, craning your head back. You saw his smirk rise, and it was agonising, how your speech stuttered. “No, no, no. No moment here! You’re thinking it all up.” 

“Hmm,” was all he got out, gaze skimming over your face—pausing at your mouth. “If you say so.” 

With one last moment (because yes, there was something, and there was no denying it anymore), he stepped away, admiring the scarf wrapped around you. “Maybe I should let you keep it.”

This time, you had to look away. “You can have it back tomorrow.” Glancing over the time on your phone, you cleared your throat, fidgeting with the fabric. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

He nodded, hands sliding in his pockets. “We’re so close, _____.” 

Choosing to avoid his eyes, you instead focused on the locks of his hair, the lapels of his jacket. It was unavoidable—he was beautiful, and he was smiling. A celebration of the coming victory, so near that you could taste Jeonghan’s approval. 

So you smiled back. “We are, Seungkwan.” 

JEONGHAN TURNED ANOTHER PAGE OF THE FINAL DESSERT REPORT. 

You waited anxiously, one leg folded over the other as your eyes focused intently at the head chef, reading over the analysis. He was silent for the first time in a while, no sarcastic quip over the explanations. No questions were thrown at you, catching you off—all you were tested with was complete quiet, which, in a weirder sense, unnerved you more. 

Your partner was there, too—in the same seat he always claimed on your right, bouncing his leg in anticipation, eyes trained at the same target as yours. He, on the other hand, could not deal with the silence which permeated the office. “I think you’ve read this section for the third time, Chef.” 

But Chef ignored him, choosing to spend another ten minutes staring at the same pages, an effective enough punishment for being bothered. You would have thrown him an irritated glare had you not been so exhausted from the final trials.

The affogato dessert report was finished after another week of testing. 

You and Seungkwan had spent half of the nights within that week at the restaurant, bouncing ideas off each other, finalising the rest of the toppings, the beverage variations. The two of you must have had fifty hours of sleep combined for the past six days, but it was worth the wait. It was worth the restlessness, the countless drafts of writing and rewriting…it reached a full completion at two in the morning, when you and your partner took one look at each other and knew you had done it.

Bothering Jeonghan at that time would have gotten you both fired, so you resorted to running back home for six-odd hours before trudging back to the restaurant. You saw Seungkwan at the entrance, identical eye-bags to yours, his frown a default feature on his sleep-stricken face. Still, the clear fatigue seemed to clear when he caught sight of you, leaving the door open to let you in. 

It was here now, with you two anxiously waiting, that Jeonghan snapped the file shut, the slap of paper against paper jolting you both alert. “I hope that’s woken you up.” 

The man beside you groaned, his leg ceasing the bouncing. “Jesus,” he could only say, because cursing his boss only fast-tracked him to unemployment (not that Jeonghan would have sacked him—in honesty, he was hoping one of them would call him a dickhead and storm out).

“It did,” you answered, trying your hardest to not knife him with your gaze. “Now are you approving the dessert?” 

He observed the front of the report, jutting out his lower lip. “Well, I am impressed with the details…I don’t think any of you have put this much effort into a dessert report in your entire career.” 

“Don’t say that!” You immediately exclaimed. “My granita dessert report last year was top-notch and you agreed with me!” 

“Yeah, but that was last year, so it doesn't exist anymore.” He waved off your counters, continuing, “Anyway, this report is brilliant. I can see how much effort the two of you have put into this process.”

You nodded along to his comments, locking your hands together. There was no denying it, of course—you and Seungkwan had carved out your hearts and mixed the remnants within the affogato. What was appreciated was Jeonghan witnessing it with his own eyes. 

“Before I officially start advertising the final selection, I do need to ask you one thing.” He set the report to the side, setting his chin upon interlocked fingers. “Now I know how you both felt about working together for this project…obviously I didn’t care about your opinions because of the disruptions, but recently, there’s been a peaceful environment at the station.” 

His eyes darted between his dessert chefs. “Should the opportunity arise…would you work together on specific projects again?”

The dreaded silence was back, but it was not the head chef which instigated it this time. 

It took almost every nerve in your system to restrain the muscles in your body, which would instinctively turn your head towards the man beside you. Biting your lip, glancing down at your hands once more, you thought the question over, echoing slowly in your mind.

If you were asked this question a couple of weeks ago, you would have laughed in Jeonghan’s face. You still remembered the evening in this office, when your boss doomed the two of you with the dessert project. You had not forgotten the snide comments, the back-and-forth bickering, even the fated confrontations—the night with the burnt caramel which had your entire viewpoint spinning on its surface.

What you did not comprehend was the change; the slow shift in every interaction, the anticipation of his family’s interactions, wondering whether his sister had asked for you again. That was the jackpot moment, you thought. At the end of the day, Seungkwan had not changed—you simply bothered to know him.  

And whatever you had learned, you did not despise. 

You chose not to admit any of this to the group. Instead, you remained in your silence, waiting for any of the men to shatter it.

Seungkwan stepped up to the quiet and broke it. “I dreaded doing the project.” You looked at him. He continued, staring at Jeonghan. “It was hard, I’ll be honest…what with our constant fighting and that.” 

It was after a while he spoke again. “However, if you force us together in the next quarter, then…” He turned to you, and you swore there was a glow radiating from his face. “I wouldn’t mind it...being forced together with her again.”

You parted your mouth. You could barely hear Jeonghan’s scoff, humming at the implications. No, you only stared at him, your partner-in-crime, your—your friend? Something different, another term entirely. 

Your mouth ran on its own, disregarding your sense of thought. “I wouldn’t mind it either.” 

This time, you heard the boss’ huff of laughter enough to snap out of your stunned daze, watching him rise from his chair. “Does this mean my customers won’t hear you both arguing over their moonlit dinners?” 

Truly, you wanted to frown at him. “As long as Seungkwan keeps quiet,” you said, glancing at the said-man.

His smile was mischievous when you caught it—you had to look away. “I’m not promising a damn thing.”

You only heard Jeonghan’s laughter then, vanishing only by the closing of his door as he left, approved report in hand. 

Perhaps Seungkwan wanted to say more, but you hurried out of the office under the pretense of opening the restaurant. He chose to play along to your excuses, helping you alongside Mingyu and Junhui for the ingredient prepping, and soon business took over priority, the rush of the customers even in the late morning. 

The bustling environment of the restaurant did not calm until its closing, you cursing the customers for not offering a single break during your long shift. The entire time consisted of egg and sugar whipping, the sounds of caramel cooking, espresso steaming and curt orders thrown around by you and your partner in the station. Because the stress of the dessert menu had faded, though, a great level of pressure had subsided, as if the summer sun had cleared through London’s winter storms. 

Nighttime cloaked Covent Garden, stars scattered across the black sky, twinkling at the thousands upon thousands, in and out of the entrance columns. After seeing the last family off on their merry way, you turned the banner to Closed, sighing after a long day’s work. 

Mingyu and Junhui were already packing, informing you of their plans together, so you let them leave earlier than anticipated. Seungkwan was the sole chef left, save for Jeonghan—though he could have fucked off without anyone’s knowing, for all you knew.

You thought he would have ran straight for his sister’s down south; it was a Friday night, which meant that Sohyun and Sojung were anticipating movie night with their favourite (and only, so you doubted how prized this title really was) uncle. Despite being aware of this, you caught sight of him whipping up the all-too familiar dessert, this time in accordance to the restaurant’s official recipe.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” you asked him, walking over to where he stood next to the counter. “The kids’ll be waiting.” 

“You remembered,” he pointed out, surprised. Pouring the espresso on top, he looked over to you, closing in. “Well, today I get a pass to celebrate our victory.” 

“Victory?” You observed the finished affogato, scrunching your nose. “Not to be that person, but I’ve had enough of these to last me the year.” 

“I know you were gonna say that,” he countered, holding up a finger as he stepped to the side. Lo and behold, there was a large bottle of champagne, a crisp burgundy bow wrapped around the neck. “Which is why I brought a little extra for the occasion.” 

Lighting up at the sight of the alcohol, you grabbed onto the top, studying the label. “Franciacorta. Very tasteful.” 

You set it back, searching for a corkscrew. “You sound shocked by my tastefulness,” you heard him remark, you opening the drawers and finding it amongst the disarray of cutlery. 

“Well, of course,” you said, bringing the utensil to Seungkwan’s side of the counter, waiting for him to add in the cut-up biscotti. “Let’s not forget who the classier one out of us is.” 

He clicked his tongue. “I am not getting into that can of worms.”

“All the better for your rep,” you added, earning a snort from him. 

“Right,” he began, pushing the drink in your direction as he grabbed the bottle. “How about a drink first?”

“That I can agree with,” you said, handing him the corkscrew. 

Seungkwan struck the cork with it, twisting it till he was satisfied. Then, with a little force, he popped open the champagne, fizzing from the bottle’s mouth. “There we go,” he sighed out, grabbing a couple of spare glasses, identical to the dessert’s shape, and filling them to the very tip. “I couldn’t find the proper glasses.”

“And you said you were the classier one,” you quipped, sipping the drink. 

Shaking his head, he drank up, seething as he brought the glass down. “I can’t believe we’re finished, you know.” 

“I don’t think it’s settled yet for me,” you admitted. “It was only a few weeks, but it felt like months.”

“God, I know.” Finishing off the first glass, he poured himself another. “Remember when you wanted to add leaves in the dessert? We’ve come so far.” 

“Now you know I had a whole plan for that,” you defended, shaking a finger at him as you kept drinking. “And you can’t say anything, with your diabetes-inducing sweets.”

“You’re the one who agreed to the affogato.” He twisted his mouth into a smirk. “And that was my idea.” 

You wanted to snarl at him—it had been too long since a bickering broke any semblance of peace, and although you enjoyed the lack of shouting, you swore it was enhancing his overconfidence. 

But you decided to indulge him. You did not know why. “Your idea was so personal to your roots, Seungkwan. I don’t think I could have said no.” 

Even he was stunned. “You couldn’t have said no?” he repeated in question, brows raising.

You only downed the rest of your champagne. “Nope.” 

“Huh.” That was all he could give, swirling his drink. Your insides sung at his reaction, biting the corner of your lip to stop yourself from smiling. Seungkwan’s smirks, you thought, truly had no substance the way his surprised, one-word responses did.

Another glass down, and you felt the buzz of the alcohol, bubbling through your veins, settling a little too pleasantly in your mind. The lights of the dessert station had been dimmed, too, only the lights of the hob turned on, your surroundings atmospheric. The silences may have been prevalent, but there was no discomfort. The tranquility was…in a way, it was beautiful.

There was more beauty, it seemed, in Seungkwan’s next words. “I wouldn’t have suggested it if it was anyone else, you know.” 

You straightened in your seat. “Oh?”

He nodded, you thinking that was the rest of it. But then he opened his mouth again, spilling out the confession which rested in his heart. “If it was anyone else working with me, they wouldn’t have seen the dessert, why I made it…my sister, her kids, anything like that.” He took a deep breath, about to continue, but then made sure to drink up. “And you suggested it first, which…I really appreciated.”

“Is that why I had never seen your family before?” another sip of the champagne. “Because you hated me that much?”

“I never hated you, _____,” he said, which only had you scoffing. “No, really! Sure, you pissed me off. Did Jinsoul first hear of you cause I bitched about you? Unfortunately, yeah. But!” he countered, raising a finger, “It was never hatred.”

“Well, I can’t say the same,” you mumbled, staring into the end of your glass. He grabbed your attention, filling it to the rim once more. 

His stare did not leave you. “It’s not like that anymore, right?”

You matched his gaze—a smile threatened to take over. “No…not anymore. I got to know you, didn’t I?” 

He could have gasped. 

Boo Seungkwan, for the first time in his life, was speechless. It usually took devastating news to rattle him to his core—a notion so shocking his world slips from underneath him. His pupils almost dilated, gaping at you as if you told him he had won Jeonghan’s restaurant.

And although it was endearing, truly a sight to behold, you had the nerve to raise a brow at him. “Weren’t you the one who said I didn’t?”

He blinked back at the question, realising that he was not in a trance. “That I did.” He cleared his throat, downing another glass. The alcohol was getting to him, he could feel it.  

You decided to leave the champagne for now, the bubbles successful in enhancing your giddiness. Turning to the affogato, you finally gave it some attention, digging in with a spoon. “It’s melted now,” you commented, taking another bite. 

“That’s what happens when you ignore a dessert,” Seungkwan remarked, tutting as he drank.

“Don’t give a girl such good champagne then.” 

“Hmm, or maybe you’re distracted by my company,” he appealed, watching you roll your eyes and chuckling. “Come on. We’re not throwing food at each other anymore, so you can be honest.” 

“Okay,” you said, savouring the espresso and vanilla, in perfect harmony in your mouth. “I guess you’re not the worst person to have a conversation with.” He made to celebrate, face lightening up, but you interjected, “When you’re around your family.”

“Yeah, now you’re just saying shit,” he rebuked, setting the glass down. “I’m a bloody joy to be around!” 

“And which one out of Jinsoul’s kids said that to get a doughnut out of you?”

“None of them!” he first exclaimed, but after two seconds of staring him down, he sighed out, “Sojung got four doughnuts that day.” 

“Exactly.” Another bite, a little messy—you were sure the vanilla cream left remnants on your lips. “I told you, right? I know you now.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he only said, tilting his head on his shoulder. He had drunk enough tonight. He was not usually careless—not that he was, but he did not take his glasses into account. He did, but he was with you tonight, and you were so happy. 

He then noticed the slight gelato lining your lips, and he perked up slightly. “Affogato that good? You left behind a trail.”

“Unfortunately. Where is it?” you asked, trying to wipe it off, but to no avail. “I’m looking stupid, right?”

“The dumbest.” He pointed to his own mouth, but you would not follow. “Wait, one second.” 

He stepped closer, rubbing his hands on his trousers. With a harsh intake of breath, he reached his hand out, and you froze at his touch, brushing against the corner of his lip. His focus did not distract him from your expression, thumb rubbing off the vanilla, cream fading from his every gentle swipe. His finger was soft—softer than you expected, velvety like the ice cream he made for you. 

It was only when he finished, craning his head back just an inch, that he noticed your tensed-up expression—the breath that was caught in your throat. He had parted his mouth, the realisation striking him cold, and all he could do was watch—eyes flickering to your own, darting between one and the other, as if unable to take the full intensity of your stare. 

You caught him peeking shamelessly at your lips, where his thumb remained, a ghost of a touch. Seconds passed, none of you daring to move, and you suddenly had an inkling that he was about to do something. 

Oh God. Was he? You could not tell—he was looking at you in a strange manner, eyes heavy lidded. It must have been the alcohol. You were sure that was the reason for his daze, why his breaths were uneven.

You could not help the whisper escaping, as soft and delicate as a winter snowflake, twirling in a cold breeze. “Seungkwan?” 

The said-man blinked back at your voice—his name on your tongue. 

What you were going to do was close your eyes, brace yourself for the final distance—and then you realised you were bracing yourself for Boo Seungkwan, and the slight panic set in, striking you like a lightning bolt. 

He must have caught it in your eyes, because then his reaction reflected your own, and maybe he made the most idiotic decision in his entire life. Although every muscle in his body demanded he do the opposite, he began to pull away and then you grasped onto your mistake, realising what he was doing, and you cursed yourself for letting him slip away in front of you this very second—this devastating, crucial moment. 

And even though you did not comprehend what in hell you were doing at that moment, you caught his arm, holding onto the white cotton of his work shirt. He gaped at the gesture before setting the shock on you. “What’re you doing?” he rasped out.

“What’re you doing?” was your answer.

It was there, in the dimmed, flickering lights of the hob, that he stared at you, trying the hardest he ever had in the entirety of his life to catch your meaning. Damn him for drinking, damn his lack of restraint, because maybe if he had one less glass of champagne—

The darkening of your irises clocked any confusion in his tipsied judgement. His mouth parted, and you could have sighed with an intoxicated relief.

He knew you after all. 

“Bastard,” you could only say, catching the beginnings of an appeased grin before he leaned in, any semblance of doubt erased as he pressed his lips to yours. 

The first touch of his mouth was indescribable. 

Never did you think you would find yourself in this situation, closing your eyes, a soft hum as he moved against you, finding the rhythm upon your lips. His own were so soft, a shocking twist in the tale—all those hard, condescending quips, but you supposed it should have made perfect sense. Your arguments were bitter, your collaborations tensioned, but there were no remnants of the past in his movements. He was as soft as the gelato you had indulged in, as velvety as the espresso coating his affogato gift. 

Your breaths were caught in your throat, caged by his mouth, which delved deeper as the man’s hands cupped your face. His fingers were warm, shaking as they tilted your head to enhance the kiss. Your senses were alive before, but they were bouncing off the kitchen walls now, darting from the stove to the countertop, out of the doors and into the city as the sheer pleasure took over. 

It was in that moment you realised that Boo Seungkwan was not only a great dessert chef, but an excellent kisser. The way he moved his lips with yours, syncing you along with him, was unfathomable in any other situation. You, following along, even bothering to hear him out, here now, trailing after his movements? You could not help yourself, though, when he was good, he knew this like he knew the affogato—familiar with its recipe, its methods, how to create it, nourishing it to perfection. 

And because every dessert creation needed patience, Seungkwan was slow, careful as his tongue slid against the seam of your lips, trialling, testing. He succeeded in the first attempt, you opening up to him, and the feeling of his tongue slithering along yours had your stomach somersaulting within, unable to contain yourself. You could not contain the soft groans, lodged deep within your throat, and you could have sworn the bastard smiled against you, closing his mouth as he sucked on your tongue. 

This was it. In the Vita di Diamante, under the lights of a luxury restaurant’s dessert-kitchen, your hands crept up his arms, locking behind his neck, and you snuffed out any distance, the countertop edges digging slowly into your side, dutifully ignored. Any sense of discomfort was replaced by the mountain of pleasure, boosted by Seungkwan’s fingers on your face, then your neck, his lips taking yours prisoner, threatening to roam, and his body, pressing against your own, his weight like a welcome cage, engulfing your entire presence. 

This was nothing short of intoxication, a spark of a drug which would spiral into an addiction. You had kissed many others before your supposed rival, this uncertain friend, but you were sure of the ecstasy he offered, given to you in abundance. You had thought him selfish, narcissistic. But was this not compassion, each heated bursts of generosity he planted on the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, slowly trailing downward till he found refuge on the patch of skin, just above your collarbone? Were these not acts of selflessness, the manner in which he teethed his kisses, inciting a moan loud enough to have your entire face alight?

It was that particular noise that made him realise his place, a burst of pride igniting inside him before he noticed the hob lights glistening your face. “We shouldn’t—fuck—” Seungkwan cursed out, breathless, and your stomach fluttered at the mere curse, spewed out countless times before. When did you become so affected—no, rattled by whatever this man did? “W-we shouldn’t do this here.” 

Yet he was peppering you with open-mouthed kisses, and you could have screamed at him for making it so hard to answer him. “Then maybe…” you were rasping out your breaths, mind a complete daze. “Maybe you should stop.” 

Pausing, he dragged his mouth, skimming along to your neck, only pulling away to lock your heavy-lidded eyes with his own. The lust swirling within them was the final, perfect garnish to the dessert of his desire—the same desire which worsened your hunger. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Instinctively, you licked your lips, swiping up the remnants of Seungkwan’s efforts, relishing the residue of the champagne. When he caught the mere action, he hoped with the very marrow of his bones that you did not refuse him. 

When you narrowed his eyes, lips twisting in a sneer, his fervour paused. “Are you fucking stupid?” you spat out, and he gawked at you—only for a second.

But a second was still too long, because you grabbed onto the collars of his shirt, colliding your mouth against his, and he could have sighed with relief. He furrowed his brow as matched your hunger, sliding his tongue back into your mouth, and this time you let the moans free, a symphony to his ears. He was all over you, moreso when his hands now tugged at your sides, pushing you further into the counter. You did not catch onto his intentions until, with one swift swipe of his hands, he lifted you upon the countertop, chasing your lips still, refusing to break away. He pushed between your thighs, caging himself in your presence, and it was embarrassing how quick your body responded, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Seungkwan was delirious, you were frenzied—Seungkwan was out of his mind, and you were out of your soul, the sounds of your mouths and tongues colliding in a destructive understanding, a heated combination that would have been impossible mere weeks ago. What had happened, how did it all equate to this very situation? Fate always worked in strange ways, but you had to work out how you ended up in this passionate scene—shameless as your whimpers grew louder, his arrogance growing with them, swallowing them with his mouth. 

Maybe you both would have created something grander than any dessert in this station, sweeter than the damned cinnamon Seungkwan campaigned for at every given chance. With the soft moans darkening, breaths rasping out in slight desperation, you would have shown this restaurant a harmony never witnessed in your work. 

But at this precise moment, Yoon fucking Jeonghan sauntered into the kitchens, ready to share some good news to you both when he took one look at your colliding figures.

The sharp, shocked scoff that escaped his coral lips had you and Seungkwan stopping dead in your heated tracks. 

“How many more health and safety regulations are you two gonna violate?”

It was comical, how you both whipped your heads at the slender figure, smirk so conceited and pompous you wondered whether you were bickering at the wrong chef this entire time. “I knew one day you were gonna eat each other’s faces off,” he continued, catching onto every sudden movement of Seungkwan’s fingers tightening at your waist, your arms loosening around his neck. “But did it have to be in my goddamn kitchen?”

“Shut the fuck up,” was the younger’s reasonable response, earning him a huff of laughter from his boss. You could only stare and do nothing, so ashamed of being caught you restrained the urge to hide within the crook of his shoulder. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be angry at me!” Jeonghan waved his hand over to the door beyond the further walls. “Personally, I think the pantry’s a better shout…more privacy, you know?” Close enough in front of you, his grin lop-sided. “Unless, of course, you wanted to give me a show—”

“Please, Jeonghan!” you cried out finally, as, with an aching decision, you pulled away from the man’s arms, the absence duly noted. “God, don’t you have a life outside of this place?”

“Well, if I did, then I wouldn’t have a restaurant,” he countered, smug as his eyes darted between his employees. “And my dear dessert chefs wouldn’t have a love shack to fuck in.”

That horrendous statement had you jumping down from the counter, dusting yourself off as you glowered at your boss, risking termination. “You need to talk to someone other than your accountant.” 

A melodramatic sigh left his lips. “You’re right, which is why I was taking a few other calls. That’s why I came down here, to let you both know that there will be some very important people coming in for the new menu’s christening.” He then raised his hands in surrender. “But then I see you guys have much more important shit to cover!” 

Perhaps telling your boss to get floored under a Northern line tube was cruel, but the threat stayed rooted on your tongue. He could sense it for sure, because he looked at his watch. “Now I have to go soon, which means I want you going home.” He glanced up at the post-makeout scene, another chuckle rising. “So who’s place are you continuing this shit in?” 

“Go away, man!” Seungkwan demanded as you groaned, only left with Jeonghan’s laughter ringing in your ears as he left the scene, bidding an adieu with wiggling brows. 

With the silence falling on you both, the tension, so rampant beforehand, had all but crashed disastrously after the interruption. The complete absurdity of it all brought a sigh out of you, Seungkwan humming in agreement.

“How do we get Jeonghan fired?” was the first question asked in the kitchen—courtesy of your venom.

“You think a bullying allegation would cut it?” the man suggested, but you clicked your tongue. “Nah, you’re right, it’s child’s play in this business. We’d be deemed cowards.” 

“Couldn’t he have come later?” you mumbled, rubbing your eyes. God, you were tired. The tipsy stupor had morphed into fatigue. 

And although Seungkwan felt the lethargy too, he chose to latch onto your words. “Later, huh? Didn’t want to be disturbed, then?”

You almost rolled your eyes. “You know exactly what I mean.”

But he was back to being a grade-A asshole, so he crowed, “No, please, indulge me…what did you mean?” 

You meant to glare at him, but his eyes were dancing, and you remembered his lips on you all over again. You resorted to silence, clamping your lips together, finding a little comfort in the smile he curled at your quiet response. 

The two of you found yourselves collecting your things, Jeonghan the final man left in the restaurant so there was no concern for locking up. Your paths were shared up until Leicester Square's Station, ten minutes away from the restaurant, where your destination was. 

“You didn’t have to walk me here, you know,” you said, turning to him as you fished for your travel card.

Seungkwan nodded lightly, “I know…I wanted to ask you something, actually.” 

You looked at him, anticipating. There were still crowds, even at this time of night, rushing in and out of the popular station, but you did not notice them, not now. Not when he was gazing at you, an indecipherable emotion flickering in his features. 

He licked his lips, intaking a sharp breath before asking you. “You didn’t…regret it, right?” 

You knew what he meant, of course. Because you were a piece of shit too—only a little—you took a step closer, tilting your head at him. “What do you think?” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t make me answer that,” he said, “Whatever I’ll say you’ll just say the opposite.” 

A chuckle. “Smart man.” 

Which is why you refrained from speaking the opposite—did not say anything at all as you leaned in, holding his face in your hand as you kissed him.

It was an unexpected phenomenon for him—exactly what you hoped to achieve. Still, it was welcomed, as Seungkwan moved his lips against yours, opening his mouth upon you to let a soft moan escape. The rush of London was no more—no tourists with their loud cameras, no locals with their grumblings of said-tourists. It was you and him, and this moment, captured in your lips in harmony with his.

Which is why it was difficult to break away, breathing heavily at the sensation as you watched his eyes flutter open, completely breathless. The sight had your heart constricting. 

“Is that enough of an answer?” you asked him.

The smile he offered you was enough. 

“WHEN ARE WE GONNA MEET SANTA CLAUS?” 

The age-old question. You scanned the constant wave of local and international shoppers, twice the size of the groups you and Julie dealt with weeks ago. “It won’t be too far now, dear,” you reassured the boy, who was frowning the further along you walked. 

“We just have to find the big Christmas tree,” Sohyun explained, looking back as she led the pack. “And we would if we actually hurried up.” 

The eldest within the group let out an overly dramatic sigh, raking his hands through his hair. “The Christmas tree is not going anywhere,” he commented, “I don’t know what this rush is for.” 

“Just because you don’t care about Santa,” Sojung huffed, crossing his arms. “Maybe you’ve become old, Uncle Seungkwan.”

Your laughter could not drown out the scoff that escaped the accused-hag’s lips. “I’m gonna tell on you to Jinsoul.”

But the way the boy only chuckled, blowing mischievous raspberries at his dear uncle, cemented how seriously he took that threat. You watched him catch up to his sister, smiling the entire time. 

Seungkwan caught onto that. “Don’t encourage him.” 

“What?” your smile turned playful. “Scared he’s getting your attitude?”

“Uh, excuse me!” he started, “Firstly, I’d be the happiest man alive if he became like me. This sass is more from his mother.” 

You scoffed. “That was textbook Seungkwan behaviour. You’re just too conceited to realise.” 

“Conceited? Big words today, _____.”

You, however, were terribly unimpressed. “That is a normal, everyday word, Seungkwan. You should probably read a book.” 

“Enough now,” he said, raising a hand, “I’m goofy, not stupid.” Your hesitance in instantly agreeing with him had him gasping. “Oh my God, you think I’m an idiot!” 

“The fact you just clocked this proves my opinion even more,” you restated, shrugging to dig the blow deeper. “Sorry, buddy.” 

“Don’t ‘buddy’ me,” he immediately refuted, and you glanced at him, a slight irritation in his features. “I’ve made out with you enough times to deserve a better term.” 

The too-casual mention of it had you quickly scanning over the children, then glaring at him once you were satisfied by their ignorance. “Why did you say it like that?”

“What?” His earlier complaint had softened, slowly morphing into a smugness which made your lips twist, and—unfortunately—made your heartbeat quicken. “Did we not?”

You thought of the week when you first kissed him at the restaurant—the gentle touch of your lips against his, the remnants of vanilla gelato and victory prevalent on your tongues. Then, your mind caught onto the different webs of your memory, flashes of heated moments after that fateful night, mouths colliding and hands wandering in more appropriate times, in more private places. No nosy flatmate caught you two in your house, and no nosier boss disturbed you in the pantry room (thank you, said-nosier boss). Yes, you would have died if your past self learned of this newfound situation, but the bastard was good, and he knew how to make you breathless—through heated arguments and frenzied kisses. 

So yes, you did make out with him more times than you would like to admit in front of him. But amongst those nights, you found yourself enjoying his company outside of your workplace, and the two people who capitalised the most out of it were his niece and nephew. When they heard that you knew of a Santa who can hand free Cadbury bars out to them in Westfield shopping centre, they jumped at the idea—as if Christmas had arrived much early. 

The Santa they sought was finally seen, when, walking past another wave of shoppers, there she was, in all her stuffed-suited, fake-bearded glory, asking questions you could not hear as she shook their hand, or gently let them sit atop her padded lap. Santa caught sight of you and your group, and she smiled, quickly slipping the child she tended to a chocolate bar and waving them off. 

“Ho, ho, ho, motherfuckers!” was the beautiful greeting Santa offered in her unusually low, forced baritone, and you could not contain the slight crease of your shoulders as the parents nearby whirled their heads at the words. “Oh, damn, forgot other kids were waiting too.”

“I wonder how you got the job,” you mock wondered, which had the girl underneath the costume almost whacking you on the shoulder. Not very Santa-like, thus proving your point. 

Your bickering was cut short when Sohyun and Sojung appeared from behind you, looking at Julie with a growing anticipation. “You’re the Santa giving out free chocolate, right?” the former asked. 

“Ho, ho, ho! Yes, I am, kids!” your friend dug into her brown sack slugged beside her, fishing out the larger, classic flavour of the Cadbury bar, holding it out for the children. “Merry Christmas!” 

As Sohyun thanked her, taking the chocolate, Sojung only glanced at her, confusion staining his little face. “Hey, I thought Santa was a man.”

Julie, taken aback by the statement, fixed her beard, which began to slouch. “Anyone can be Santa!” 

“Yeah, but Santa’s an old man,” Sojung reasoned, crossing his arms. “You sound like you’re in your thirties.” 

“Thirties—” the girl’s usual chirp cut through, but then she coughed, realising she was about to argue with a child. Lowering her voice, she merely held out the Cadbury. “Just take the chocolate, little man.”

Seeing the treat was enough to quench his burning questions on Santa’s gender identity, quickly digging into the sweetness of the chocolate bricks. Julie threw you a look, which had you snickering, sneaking closer to her. 

“That was it?” Seungkwan asked, glancing at the line your friend had evoked. “People’ll do anything for free food—” 

He stopped, realising that Julie was trying to sneak you three Cadbury bars in your bag, and the sight of you feigning any sense of stealth had him clamping his lips together, trying to contain his laughter. 

“Have fun on your babysitting date,” she whispered to you, and you stuck your tongue out at her before turning to the said-date—because yes, this was supposed to be a date, but the children caught wind of their uncle meeting you, and begged him to talk to you. 

“Three?” he inquired, animating the number with his fingers. 

“Inflation’s hit us hard,” was your only excuse, but it was a measly one. Being a dessert chef meant possessing an infinite amount of chocolates in the pantry, ranging from every flavour created in the Italian peninsula. 

He said so himself. “You create desserts for a living. You see chocolate puddings more than your own parents.” 

“You can never have too much,” you sang out, and the children beside you hummed in agreement. “See? The council has spoken.” 

“I can’t disagree then.” Seungkwan turned to the council. “Now, Sohyun, Sojung…where do you guys want to go?” 

“Can we go to the toilet first?” Sojung clutched his stomach. “I think I ate the chocolate too quickly.” 

“I told you to eat it slowly!” Sohyun scolded, clicking her tongue. 

“You think you know the way?” his uncle asked, to which he nodded. “Sohyun, you walk with him. I don’t want you two running off alone, okay?” 

“We’ll be fine,” the girl said, waving off the concern. She clutched her brother’s arm, whose face twisted in pain the more time passed. “Come on, you idiot.” 

“Keep your phones on!” The man called after them as they walked to their destination, which, as the digital maps exposed, was not too far. 

As the children disappeared, you watched, concern rising. “I hope Sojung’s okay.” 

“He’ll be alright.” A roll of his eyes. “Unfortunately, the pigging out on things which’ll make him sick later is a trait he got from me.”

“So all the bad habits he has are from you then?” 

“Only some of them,” he admitted, which had you shaking your head. “Spend enough time with them, and they’ll learn your terrible ways, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” you snarked, “I am a perfect role model.”

“Role model, huh?” He took a step closer—as if he was not close already—and roamed his eyes over you, over a particular item of clothing. “Perfect role models don’t steal from their dates.” 

Your hands instinctively clutched the scarf—the red scarf which you had not returned since he engulfed you with its warmth weeks back. “It’s not stealing,” you said, lifting your chin in defiance. “You’re the one who pretended to be a gentleman and gave it to me.”

“Okay then, I’ll give up the pretence.” Another step closer—a foot’s distance from you. “I’d like my scarf back.”

Realistically, you would have handed his precious scarf back without a fight. After all, it was his possession.

But today was cold, and the scarf was snug—warm. As welcoming as it had been when your head was wrapped around it. “It suits me more, though, don’t you think?” you taunted, fingers holding both ends of the fabric, the long, fringes dangling. “I rock it better, you have to admit.”

The man stared at you, taking in the words, washing over him. His hands reached out, snaking around your waist, and you had to calm your heart from beating out of your chest as he pulled you closer. 

If this was the beginning of the winter, he would have chosen cruel words, shatter the fantasy he thought was forming in front of his eyes. This was not a fantasy, though, far from it—you, who had been a thorn at his side since the moment he stepped into the restaurant, had blossomed into a flower, flourishing before him in a newfound light. 

He played along—not because it was not true, but because he believed the words that left his lips. “You do everything better than me.”

A sharp breath escaped you.

Never did you think a confession like that would ever come from Seungkwan. 

His pride was his great strength, but also a formidable weakness. It was his self-confidence, his arrogance, even, that contributed to his successes, and—most importantly—his long-lasting rivalry with you. His belief in his perfection, his being the best out of all, was what made him who he was. 

You guessed that he did not believe in it. Not anymore. 

Still, you did not accept it. “A very touching statement,” you began, sliding your arms around him, “But I’ll do you one better.” 

He shook his head. “God forbid you agree with me.”

You tilted your head back, gazing at him fully. “We’re equals, Seungkwan.”

He stared at you, widening his eyes as you continued. “Equal partners in our work, equal chefs in our creations…what I do, you do the same. It’s why we argued, and never won. One could not defeat the other…no matter how much we tried. Maybe we were meant to stay in this stalemate, you know?” 

You smiled at him—your partner in the kitchen, your partner-in-crime. “It’s our losses in the restaurant, I believe, that brought us together in the end…and that, for me at least, is a win.” 

Seungkwan felt his very nerves spark to life. 

Come alive with a veracity akin to a rocket ship blasting fire from its ends, firing off to the universe beyond. He had experienced appreciation, passion, perhaps even tenderness—what you said to him in a shopping mall in a corner of London was extraordinary.

He tightened his grip at your sides, his expression starry-eyed. “You really think that?” 

You melted into his hold, sneaking closer. “If I didn’t think it, Seungkwan, I wouldn’t say it.” 

His heart ballooned in his chest, threatening to burst at the seams of his skin. He could not help himself, leaning in to press his lips against yours, and you welcomed him with open arms, closing in around him. You were unable to stop, curling your lips upwards at the sensation because happiness swirled in your stomach, fluttering uncontrollably, moreso because it was Boo Seungkwan who caused it—Boo Seungkwan, who was the catalyst to your butterflies. 

Before he could go further, you remembered where you were, breaking away from his lips. His sudden murmur from the pull-away had you giggling, cheeks tinged rosy from the confession. 

Your laughter, like little wind chimes singing in a spring breeze, had him speaking from the heart. “I couldn’t do this job with anyone else, you know…working together, what’s come out of it…” His stare had your heartbeat uneasy. “You’re the only one I trust.” 

Although your face warmed at the words, you grinned cheekily at him. “Of course you would. Who else would you rely on? Jeonghan?” 

“...a very fair point.” 

Chucking, his hold on you strayed, one hand remaining. “Now, ______,” he began, sliding his hand over to your own, interlocking his fingers. “After the kids come back, where do you wanna eat? I’m starving.”

“I’m down for anything,” you said, tapping your fingers against the back of his hand. “But if I have to eat another Italian dessert for the next week I’m causing a massacre in the restaurant.”

“So the usual tiramisu with whipped cream on the side, then?” he offered, which had you squeezing his hand. “What? I’m not ungrateful like you. I like to eat anything.” 

“Says the one who said he’d shrivel and die if he had to eat almond amarettis for the second time.” 

“That’s different!” he tried to explain, “I nearly choked on one doing the trialling.” 

You swung your intertwined hands. “All I hear is weak-ass excuses, Seungkwan!” 

“At least I’m not advocating on adding grass to my pannacottas,” he muttered, starting to walk forwards.

You halted him, furrowing your eyebrows. “For the last time, they’re bay leaves!” 

“Yeah, which shouldn’t be on my desserts!” 

“Okay, don’t add them to your shitty sweets, then,” you crowed, “Cause I’m suffocating my pannacottas in them.”

His eyes began to glimmer, and you realised that he successfully baited you into irritation. “Maybe I spoke too soon on trusting you with my life in the kitchen,” he teased, but you groaned, prying your hand from his. “Hey, hey, okay, maybe bay leaves aren’t the worst garnish known to man!” 

“And maybe I’m going back to counting and laughing at your losses,” you snapped, but Seungkwan was laughing, and your cheeks were burning. “One more laugh out of that big mouth of yours, and I’m throwing mascarpone cream at you. Maybe this time we’ll finally be fired.” 

He stopped in your tracks, making you pause your stomping away. “I’d like to see you try,” he dared, and when you looked back at him, the challenge rising in your gaze, he felt his soul come alive. 

You knew it too. “Don’t tempt me, Seungkwan. I’ll win this time.”

And as he leaned in, crossing his arms and staring you down, you held your ground, providing no room to give in. His proud smirk had you remembering the old days—and not grimacing. “Famous last words.”

A scoff was the rest of the conversation, but the showdown of your eyes, locked with his, was not over.

Yes, you both may have grown a mutual respect, even developed a fondness—but you were you and Seungkwan was Seungkwan. Perhaps battling it out with a man you rather liked would consequently make shouting at him a little easier.

As you mirrored his arrogant expression, the two of you knew that the kitchen had yet to see more battles. 

Well—there was always the spring menu. Let the petty rivalry (laced with just a slight touch of affection) begin once more. 

[thechaoticcherub]

Cherub

Pairing: Priest!Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Reader is a student teacher at the Catholic nursery school attached to the church she attended growing up. While becoming disillusioned with being a teacher she runs into the church's priest that she has known since he taught her confirmation classes.

Warnings: 18+ please, large age gap, power dynamics, dubcon(?), priests, catholicism, lots of religious imagery, i mean i am GOING TO HELL, blatant blasphemy, violation of holy spaces, joel is a PERVERT, some mentions of him being interested in reader as a underage teenager(no actual underage anything), masturbation, sexual shame, humiliation, embarrassment, innocence kink, virgin reader, fingering, unprotected penetrative sex, light choking(not even really choking), rough sex, pussy pronouns, no use of y/n, religious trauma, i really gotta underscore how much I violate holy things from christianity, smoking, cigarettes, cum play, lots of pet names, no daddy kink but lots of calling him Father

Notes: Okay please bless me lord for I have SINNED. this is FILTH even thought there isn't like constant smut it might be the dirtiest thing i've written? I'm so sorry to Catholics everywhere. And I'm sorry if I fucked up terminology. I tried to do lots of research but you know, liturgical shit is hard to understand. also yeah, i get how much this is more writer insert than reader considering the title. Ahem. I'm sorry this is again not really edited or beta read. sorry. Well I hope you enjoy!

OH! also: I have a playlist for this if anyone would be interested, let me know!

Word Count: 6.4 K

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It had been a long week at Holy Trinity Catholic Nursery School and you were exhausted, when you had first started your student teaching unit you had been beyond excited to be back at the church you grew up going to. You were familiar with the facilities including the big, beautiful sanctuary and the priest who still presided over the Parish was the priest who had done confirmation with you. Father Joel Miller had always been a slightly off-beat, interesting, yet intimidating choice for priest of a Catholic church. He was known for smoking Marlboro Reds in his office, having a scruffy unshaven face, giving short homilies in his gruff Texan accent and seeming more like a cowboy than a priest. 

There was something about him though that had always sent a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t tell if it was a good shiver, or something sinister. He was handsome, that was a known fact around the church when you were growing up, the other girls in your confirmation class giggled about it and  even now your co-workers at the nursery school often made jokes or teasing comments to each other. He had to be in his mid-fifties now with greying stubble and hair and lines around his eyes and forehead but yes, you did still find him attractive, but it didn’t shake the sense that your tingling sense of something might not have been entirely positive. 

Maybe it was the simple fact that his eyes always had lingered on you for longer than you felt necessary. Even when you were a young teenager in his confirmation classes, learning prayers, handing in your sermon notes, sitting in mass every Sunday, you felt his eyes on you. You never understood what it was about you that made him look for so long but he had. Now that you were working on becoming a teacher like you had always hoped, you found that when he came to visit the classrooms, he spent his time asking you questions about the classroom instead of the lead teachers. That was easy to brush off as maybe he felt like he was helping you learn, but when you brought the children to the main church for their daily prayers his eyes would spark on you and he would come to you first when he gave a blessing to everyone. His hand resting on your forehead as he spoke his short blessing before drawing the sign of the cross on your forehead with his thumb, his eyes stuck on yours as if he would never look away. Eventually he always did, moving on to each individual child and adult from your classroom, but he didn’t linger with any of them the way he lingered with you. 

Now, as the day was coming to a close you had snuck away from the classroom to try and escape the exhaustion that was working with children day in and day out. You had always wanted to be a Nursery school teacher but now that you were experiencing a classroom you understood why burnout was so common. You had made up a bad excuse and snuck down the cool hallway, away from the school portion of the building,  to the candle lit nave, you weaved your way through the pews over to the side aisle lined with stone arches. You took a pack of cigarettes out of the pocket of the cutesy dress you wore because of your ridiculous desire to be the next Ms Frizzle. In your opinion, just under the arches to the side of the pews was the best place to sneak away to and smoke without being in too much danger of being caught. The incense that was regularly burned covered up most of the smell, you could enjoy the view of the sanctuary and the altar while you smoked and it was usually deserted. You tucked yourself under one of the arches, your back pressed into the cool stone and lit up. Taking a long inhale you relished in the fact that you weren’t surrounded by screaming preschoolers. It was allowing yourself these couple minutes away from the chaos of the end of the day that made this week bearable. You smoked and tapped the ash off onto the stone floor, rubbing it into the cracks with your foot as you went. 

“You ain’t sposed to be smokin’ in here, young lady.” The voice came from a few yards away by the priest’s door that opened into the sanctuary by the altar, you jumped and turned to face the man whose voice it was. Father Miller was watching you as he walked across the sanctuary, first past the altar and then the pulpit and down through the central gap between the altar rails. You felt frozen in place, you had smoked here multiple times and no one had ever come in and of course now, it was Father Miller who had found you here. He stood in front of the first pew and crossed his arms over his chest, still watching you. 

“Shit,” you said, unsure of what to do with the lit cigarette. Usually when you were done smoking you’d put it out on the floor and rub out the mark and shove the butt into the pack to get rid of later. Now he was there and the smoke from your cigarette filtered up above you, curling against the stone arch and then dispersing. 

“Got a fresh mouth on you too,” He added with a laugh. “Never knew that about you before,” he crossed in front of the pew, walking towards you. You felt like a small animal caught in a trap and he was some kind of giant predator stalking towards you. He was wearing all black, his shirtsleeves were rolled up and his clerical collar was bright white against the black of the shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Father, I…didn’t think-” You broke off because really you didn’t think you would be caught, not that you didn’t think it would be a problem or anything. Joel’s eyes widened a little as he waited for you to finish your sentence, he turned at the end of the pew to walk along the side aisle to the first arch where you were still trapped. His finger grazed alone the  wood of the pew, 

“You didn’t think…?” He prompted when your voice faltered. You shrugged, 

“I don’t have an excuse, Father.” You admitted. Father Miller walked right up to you in your alcove that you thought would be so secret and stood in front of you. You remembered how intimidated by him you had always been, suddenly you felt fifteen again, having to recite scripture and prayers correctly in your weekly confirmation classes. Your heart thudded in your chest as he looked down at you, he was tall, broad and as he stood so close to you, popping any sort of personal space bubble you thought you had, you realized you could smell him. Tobacco, cool mint, fresh sweat and then underneath it all, an acrid heat, almost metallic. It mingled into something not unpleasant but it did mean he was too close. 

“Go ahead and smoke that, kid.” Joel’s eyes moved from yours down towards the cigarette dangling in your fingers and he nodded slowly, encouraging you. 

“I-I shouldn’t…” You stuttered, still looking up at him, almost transfixed on his face, still frozen there half with fear, half just trapped in his gaze. 

“No, you shouldn’t…but you already are, cherub, may as well finish.” Joel said and you watched as a sly smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. Cherub. Not typically did a priest use any sort of nickname for a parishioner, let alone a pet name like that. If anything they would say “my child” if in confession. Cherub sent that familiar shiver down your spine, a memory surfaced of that word on his lips years before. It had been to you then too,

“Say a hail mary and you will be absolved, cherub.” You must have confessed something to him or done something wrong in class.  Your heart sped at the memory and your eyes flicked up to meet his. He was telling you to smoke, daring you to and there was no reason not to anymore. It wasn’t like he didn’t smoke in the church, Mr. Marlboro Reds in his office. So you held his gaze as best you could and lifted the cigarette back to your lips and inhaled. You blew the smoke away from him and he watched you, like he had so many times before. 

“Aint you supposed to be with the kids?” He asked, still standing to close, his scent still wafting over you, still just watching you smoke. 

“Yes,” You said softly, “But I needed…a minute away,” You didn’t even want to admit how much you needed to get away from your job, your responsibilities but the words spilled out of you before you could stop them. You hurriedly brought the cigarette up to your lips again, as if to silence yourself.

“A minute away…” Joel repeated, “To pray?” He asked, his voice mocked you because even though you were in the church, you weren’t lighting a candle or on your knees asking for peace. You were smoking and feeling bad for yourself. You started to shake your head, the cigarette dangling from your lips now, before you could even complete the motion his hand was on your chin, halting your movement.  His thick thumb dug into one side of your jaw, his pointer finger curled down the other side. Breath, and all thought was knocked out of you. All you could do was look up at the chiseled face above you.  There was grey in the scruff on his cheeks and peppering his mustache and  his chin was tilted up as his eyes looked down on you, examining your face. The old priest shouldn’t have been touching you like this, you knew that but your feet wouldn’t work, your stomach twisted and the shiver running up and down your spine still couldn’t make up its mind about whether it was a good shiver or a bad shiver. “I think you need’ta get on your knees to pray more often,” his voice had lowered slightly but the gruff resonance in it was enough to shake you. You thought for a half second he was about to force your to your knees now but instead he reached up with his other hand and plucked the dangling cigarette from your lips. He put it into his mouth, inhaled and then removed it, taking a step away from you,

“Thanks, cherub.” he said and then he turned on his  nice leather shoes and walked back up through the pews. 

+

You didn’t return to the church to smoke again. You did tell yourself you would go to mass more often. The thoughts you were having about that evening were completely unholy, and you needed to force them out of your mind. You needed to take the Eucharist and try and heal yourself from these sins of the flesh. For the first time in a long time you had been tempted, really tempted to do something you knew was wrong. When you were young you had touched yourself plenty but as you got older you became more and more disgusted by your actions and resisted it, knowing self love was sinful, but that interaction with Father Joel Miller had you thinking things that made your body heat up. The crawling shiver up your spine had been a warning, a warning about feelings that had bubbled up in your tummy and how it would be so easy for those feelings, those desires, wants, needs to take over. It was your own dirty mind that was allowing you to believe it was because of Father Joel looking at you that you got that creeping sensation. He was a priest, a little bit of an unorthodox priest, but a priest nonetheless and you were allowing dirty thoughts to change your opinion of him. So going to mass was a good idea. 

You didn’t allow yourself to look at Father Miller during the service on Sunday, but his gruff voice speaking his homily reminded you vividly of the way he said “cherub”. The way he had told you that you needed to “get on your knees to pray.” You could barely pay attention to his words because simply his voice, that resounding, husky voice did something to you and warmth pooled deep in your belly. It felt like there was a persistent drip of warmth sliding lower down, lower to that place that remained mostly unexplored by you, by anyone. All because of his voice.

You felt like it vibrated through the floor of the church and up into your pew, making you pulse with your disgusting desires.

You kept your eyes down, on your hymnal, refusing to look up at Father Miller because there was a quiet part of you, in the back of your mind, that told you if you looked at him, you’d be meeting his gaze. That would do absolutely nothing to help control that heat that was pooling inside of you. 

When you stood to go to the altar rails and receive the eucharist your legs were wobbly, damn this weakness. There was no reason to sexualize Father Miller’s kindness to you. He hadn’t gotten you in trouble for smoking in the church and in return you were allowing these debased thoughts to happen to you in church on your way to receive the very body and blood of Christ. While you walked up the aisle, the crucifix directly in front of you, a statue of the Virgin Mary staring into your soul, you could feel that drip of heat wetting your underwear. You tried your hardest to tell yourself it was nothing, it was just natural discharge, not what you knew it to be, your body’s reaction to Father Miller’s voice as he spoke holy words, prayers and talked of repentance during his Homily.

At the altar rail you knelt down on the cushion and clasped your hands in front of you to pray while you waited for your turn to receive communion.  You knew you would have to look at Father Miller while he gave you the body of Christ but you were scared, you had forced yourself to avoid looking at him all throughout mass, you hadn’t met his gaze when you knew he was looking at you and you told yourself time and time again that his gaze meant nothing. But your attempts to curb your desires had been in vain something about his voice, about the memories of his hand on your chin, his body so close to you, his smell had caused you to leak arousal into your underwear. Your labia felt swollen against the tight cotton and you were ashamed to be kneeling in church like this, your face was burning much like you would be if you were to be struck down dead right now. You could hear him approaching, speaking to each parishioner as he placed the body of Christ on their tongue and blessed them. You would have to look up at him shortly, your eyes would have to meet his, you would have to take in that face that had been haunting you while he spoke his blessing to you. He was on the person to your right and now was the time to tilt your head up, you almost didn’t but as he moved over, you knew your place as a good Catholic and you looked up at your priest. 

He was just as entrancing as he always had been, in off white vestments with gold stitching, his greying hair pushed back away from his face, a little long in the back, curling around his neck and his eyes, dark and hungry, staring down at you. Your vagina clenched around nothing and you burned with shame and the memory of his big hand at your chin and jaw. 

Your eyes locked onto his and his gaze held yours, refusing to let you go, there was no choice in the matter, you would gaze up into his eyes until the end of time if he wanted it. He held the body of Christ out to you, your head upturned. At the time you didn’t understand just how reverent you looked, all you could think of was him and the vague worry that your juices might have been dripping down your leg. 

“The body of Christ,” Father Miller’s voice changed ever so slightly when he spoke the words to you. You had been listening the whole time you had been kneeling and now his voice had lost the monotone pitch he had had. There was a lilt in his voice that was only for you. 

“Amen,” You said, you opened your mouth, your tongue very slightly pushed out, resting on the edge of your bottom lip, your eyes still captured in his gaze. Something blazed there, behind his eyes and despite the heat in your cheeks and the heat that was making your wet and swollen vulva pulse with a need you had never felt before, that familiar shiver crawled up your spine. Joel placed the body of Christ on your tongue and maybe you imagined it, maybe it was a split second that felt like it stretched into eternity but you could have sworn the tip of his finger grazed the side of your tongue as he took his hand away. That tiniest touch of his thick, calloused finger against an intimate and sensitive part of yourself made your brow briefly furrow and that deep clench of your sex to take over your body again. You closed your mouth around the wafer that you believed to be the actual flesh of your Savior and your gaze remained on the man granting you that sacrament. You watched his lip twitch ever so slightly as, without taking those dark, burning brown eyes form yours, he took the chalice he was handed and held it before you. 

“The blood of Christ,” he said, you could hear that lilt again, like he was mocking not only you but God himself as he held that chalice out. 

“Amen,” you said and he brought the chalice to your mouth, tilting it back while cupping his hand under your chin in case it spilled over. The proximity of his hand to your chin buzzed something in you. Your eyes remained on him and his eyebrows raised slightly as he fed you the Blood of Christ. When he removed the chalice from your lips, a droplet of the wine dribbled out of the corner of your mouth. You were about to reach up and wipe it when his thumb beat you to it. In one quick motion, he swiped it away, the calloused thumb leaving a trail of heat on your face. You felt him tear his eyes away from you like a punch to the gut and you knew you had to continue on. You made the sign of the cross on yourself, collected every ounce of strength you had and got up from the altar rail. You could feel your slick soaking your underwear, and wetting your thighs as you walked. You knew you had to beg for forgiveness and the only place to do that was Confession. 

+

You knew you had to confess. You hadn’t been able to resist your carnal desires, once you had returned to your apartment after mass on Sunday you had tried your hardest to relieve that mounting pressure between your thighs. You had delicately stroked your folds and experimented with pace and tried to find a rhythm that would relieve you but as if as punishment, you couldn’t. Now, you needed to confess and to make matters worse, the only person you could confess to was Father Miller. You came to confession on a Friday night after school had let out. The hours for confession were set and you knew he would be in the confessional, waiting for perishoners.

Friday was usually silent at the church, the staff had left for the weekend and most people didn’t confess on a Friday. You walked into the church  and down the side aisle to where the confessional was. It was tucked into the side aisle just in front of the very altar rail you had knelt at and drenched your underwear earlier in the week. Your cheeks were bright red as you stepped into the booth and knelt down in front of the partition, there was a screen between you and him but you knew he was there. The smell of him lingered all around you. Tobacco, mint and the acrid metallic scent…what could that be? If you had to guess you’d say gunpowder but that made no sense to you. Your body reacted to his scent as if you were being touched by him again, your body clenched and your heart skipped a beat. 

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was…” You actually had to think about it for a moment, you had confessed at your church in college but that was over a year ago…was that the last time you had confessed? “Over a year ago,” You mumbled. You paused, unsure if you should just start or if he would say something else. 

“What are your sins, Cherub?” He knew it was you. He’d never say that to someone else. It would have been, “My child”. But no, cherub. You were taken aback by this breach in protocol and you didn’t speak for so long he cleared his throat, “We ain’t gettin’ any younger.” He said. “And your sins aint any closer to absolved,” You needed to speak and speak now, to get all this off of your chest so you could lay it to rest and forget it. 

“I’ve…been plagued with unholy desires, Father.” You said. You could hear him shift in the box next to you and you leaned your head forward, your forehead pressed to the screen separating you. “I’ve been having these intense…” Embarrassment made your cheeks flush, you fiddled with the hem of the skirt you wore today and you knew you had to keep going, “Sexual fantasies,” You blurted it out and you heard him let out a long, slow breath. “I can’t stop them but the thoughts are so intense…and wrong,” You said. You listened to his breathing while your own breathing quickened because the heady scent of him was doing something to you again. Your knees were aching from where they were pressed into the kneeler and your whole body felt tight and tense. 

“You been actin’ on these…fantasies?” He asked. Acting on them? Did an aborted masturbation attempt count as acting on them? In the eyes of the Lord, yes. You needed to admit it to him. 

“Yes, Father…I…I believe I have.” You said it even as you could feel that blooming, dripping heat fill your belly. 

“You believe you have, huh?” He asked, that mocking lilt colored his voice and another shiver crawled up your spine. While the shiver might have been caused by something unholy, it certainly was a good shiver. 

“I’ve touched myself because of these fantasies,” You admitted softly, your fingers still twisting the end of your skirt. “I was never able to…finish but it’s still a sin.” You told him taking a deep breath through your nose, you wondered if he was leaning in towards the screen too. You pulled your head back to look,  you could see bits of him through the latticed wood that created the screen that was supposedly there to protect anonymity.  

“Yea, Cherub, it sure is a sin.” He spoke and the words, his voice was like an injection of heat straight to your core. You had already practically leaked all over the altar rails at communion but now you were going to drip down your thighs in confession. “And I know what your penance should be,” he said. You let out a relieved breath, maybe if you did the penance you would be absolved and God would take the lust from your body. 

“Yes, Father. What should I do?” You asked. You heard Joel lean forward now, his voice was closer to the screen and the seat he was on creaked slightly. 

“You gotta reach your fingers under your skirt and touch yourself again, right here, right now.” His low voice sounded even more gravely than usual and the words burned through you. 

“F-Father?” You questioned, unsure if this could be possible. Your brain was already addled with lust, and this felt wrong but the temptation was so strong. 

“The only way we can absolve you of these sins is to complete them.” He insisted and you knew how wrong he was. Those shivers you felt were warnings of him. But how could you resist this? His voice was like a drug and that scent and the way you remembered the feeling of his fingers on your jaw, the pad of his thumb on your chin at communion, the ridge of his finger on the side of your tongue. “I want you to tell me just how wet you are, kneeling there before God,” Joel’s voice came to you through your lust filled fog and before you could think further you reached your hand up under your skirt and into your underwear. Your fingers immediately slipped over your soaked lips and you let out a gasp at the realization you had been soaking your underwear during the entirety of the confession. 

“Father, it’s…so wet.” You gasped, you heard movement again from his side of the confessional, the rustle of clothing and maybe the clinking of a belt being adjusted. 

“Get those knees nice and wide and stroke your lips for me,” Father Miller said, and you knew he was close to you leaned into the wood lattice screen. You could practically feel his breath. You did as you were told, kneeling a little wider and stroking your lips. You let out a squeak of pleasure, “Nice n’ slow, darlin’” His voice floated through the screen and your fingers slowly, painfully slow stroked along your puffy lips. 

“Oh God,” The words were ripped from you as the tips of your delicate fingers grazed your clitorus and your whole body throbbed. 

“Jus’ your lips, pretty girl, don’t touch that clit of yours.” The filth words coming from your priest's mouth only spurred you on. You wanted to ignore him and touch your clit again, but how had he known you had touched it in the first place? “Stroke down to your hole, cherub,” it was horribly disgusting and lewd to hear him talk like that but it still stoked a terrible fire inside you. You reached your hand farther down, sinking your butt back towards your feet as you knelt. Your finger found your entrance, the source of your wetness and you found yourself longing to push your finger into yourself. As if he heard your very thought Joel chuckled,

“Dont even think about fingerin’ yourself, little girl.” He said. A moan of desperation that matched any of the vulgarity he had spewed to you fell from your lips. “Tell me, cherub, is that a virgin cunt you’ve got over there? Or is there somethin’ else you need to be confessin’ to your Father?” he asked. Your fingers were tracing a circle around your soaked hole, trying to listen to him and not let your finger enter your body. 

“I’m a virgin, Father. Please…” You didn’t know what you were asking for with that please but it felt appropriate. Once you said that, there was a rush of movement and then the door to your side of the confessional was thrown open and Father Miller stood in front of you. You nearly toppled over from where you were kneeling, your hand still shoved into  your underwear.  He made a tsking sound, 

“Oh my little Virgin Mary,” his voice crawled up your spine like the shiver. “I’ve always known you were my good girl,” He reached down to where you were kneeling and wrapped his arm around your upper arm, pulling you up to stand. You gasped and he pulled you out of the confessional, his body moving your weight like it was nothing. His hand tightened on your arm as he pulled you into his body and then it dropped to around your waist and his mouth was on yours, kissing you. It was anything but a chaste kiss, his tongue lavished your mouth, circling yours while his arms wrapped around your waist keeping you locked against his broad, strong body.  When he pulled away from you, you were gasping for breath and he let out a dark chuckle

“Oh, I am going to eat you up, Cherub.” It was a threat, but it made you pulse with need. Joel took your upper arms in his hands again, fingers digging in, “Let’s pray,” he said and he started to pull you over a few feet to the altar rail. In a sharp movement he pushed you down, bent at the waist over the rail, your feet pressed into the kneeler, you squealed in surprise, 

“Father!” You managed to squeak out.

“Let’s see this pretty cunt that’s causin’ you such problems, sweetheart.” Joel growled and with one hand shoved your skirt up and then ripped your undies down, exposing your soaked pussy to him. You whimper in shame and embarrassment. You were so close to the holy altar, staring up at the crucifix while your most private part was exposed to Father Joel Miller. He let out a laugh, as his hand came up to your ass, he grabbed the meat of it, digging his fingers in and spreading it enough to expose more of your pussy to him. 

“Ohhh there she is,” He breathed, he let out a low whistle, “So swollen, so wet.” The fingers of his other hand stroked down your wet lips and in response you spread your legs a little more. “Is that what you want, Cherub?” he asked. You nodded vigorously, completely lost in lust. Joel stroked along your lips up to your clit and he started to flick slow circles around it. Your moans started to echo as he worked you up. “That’s it, enjoy that sin, darlin,” he breathed, leaning over your back to whisper into your ear. You could feel his black button up pressed into your back while his fingers continued to circle around your clit, sending burning pleasure coursing through you. 

“P-please!” You begged, letting yourself go completely to the need for more. “God! Please!” You cried. 

“Please, what?” Joel asked into your ear, you could feel his stubble and mustache against your ear. His scent washed over you, intoxicating you further. 

“Please, I want you inside of me, Father!” You cried, you hadn’t even realized that was what you would say when you opened your mouth but it came tumbling out anyway. His fingers moved from your clit to your entrance where you were clenching on nothing, your cunt was begging for it regardless of what you said. His middle finger circled around your hole, not entering you but noticing how tight you were. Joel pulled back enough to look down at your pussy again, 

“You want me inside of your virgin pussy?” He asked, You nodded before letting your head hang down in shame, the shame of how much you needed it and how much you were willing to sacrifice for it. The temptation of him had been too much. You could feel his eyes on your fluttering sex while he started to ease his finger inside of you. He rocked his finger inside of you and you pressed yourself back against him. 

“Oh cherub, I can see that you’re a virgin.” He said, those greedy, dark eyes on you, still, even now, sending shivers up your spine. His finger had barely made it halfway inside of you when he tugged his finger away. You gasped at the loss and pressed yourself back towards him. 

“Father! No! Please!” You whined, wiggling your hips. 

“If your virginity is gunna be mine, I sure as hell am gunna take it with my cock.” Joel’s molten voice sizzled inside of you and the realization washed over you that you weren’t going to try to stop him, and you were about to be filled with his cock right here in the middle of the church. You heard the buckle of his belt and the shift of clothes, still leaned over the altar railing, legs spread wide, ready to for him to fully know you. 

Joel watched your pussy as he notched his thick cock against your hole, your inner lips were parting for him waiting for your cunt to accept him. 

“Joel,” you gasped his name for the first time as you fully understood what was about to happen. “Is it going to hurt?”You asked. 

“Well it ain’t goin’ to be a walk in the park at first, Cherub.” He said, and you could feel how thick his cock head felt at your entrance“But I think she’ll open up for me,” his voice had that mocking lilt to it again. Before you could say anything else he had started to push into you and the stretch was so much that the breath was completely knocked out of you. You lurched forward as his hips rocked into you. 

“Oh, that looks so good…pretty cunt splittin’ open for me.” He said and you knew he was watching the place where your bodies connected. He pressed himself forward again, forcing his way inside of you, making a spot for his thick cock in your tight hole. You let out a whine and he gripped your hips tugging you back more. “Atta girl, you’re takin’ my cock so well. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?” he asked and all you could manage was a garbled moan in response. It did hurt some as he continued to ease himself in inch by thick inch but you were also completely drenched with slick that it was decently quick work to ease you open. 

“Father! Oh, its…so big!” You pressed your hips back, hoping to open yourself more to him. When he was fully sheathed inside of you, he was still for so long that you felt like you might go crazy with the need for friction. “Please…father…fuck me.” You gasped and that seemed to spur Joel on, he started to pull his cock back before shoving it back in, setting a brutal pace. Joels breath started to grow ragged with his own pleasure,

“Is that what you want, little girl?” He asked as his hips snapped forward to fill you over and over. “You want my cock to fuck you?” He asked. You nodded, still dazed. 

“I wanna hear you, Cherub. Confess to me, what do you want?” Joel bent forward over you, one hand snaking around you and grabbing your throat , fingers pressing into your jaw.  You moaned, unable to form a proper sentence as he pulled you back by your neck, making you look up at the altar in front of you. “Come on, let‘s hear that confession,” he said as his cock ruthlessly pummeled against your cervix, splitting you open more and more with each thrust. His other hand, the one not forcing you to look at the image of your savior, trailed down your belly and underneath your skirt. His middle finger found your clit, stroking it in those quick, flicking circles. Your body tensed against the feeling, tightening around his cock. He groaned into your cheek while he held you up with his hand on your neck. “Come on, tell me you want me to fuck your pretty little cunt.” He said. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” You cried, your eyes blurring with tears as you admitted it in front of him, and God all the same. “Yes, I want your cock to fuck me and I want to come!” You cried. 

“You want to come?” He asked, “Is that it, Cherub? You wanna come while confessin’ your sins right here in front of the holy altar?” his voice was strained and you could feel his thrusts becoming messier, harder as he chased his own orgasm. 

“Yes! Father! Please!” his finger stroked across your clit. 

“Come on my cock, Cherub. Let go for me,” He spoke the word into her cheek, your head turned to the side, leaning back into him. Your orgasm burst over you like white light, heat and shivers down your spine. He stroked your clit through it while his hips pumped his thick cock in and out of you, pulling mewls of pleasure out of. Your eyes opened and you watched the statue of the Virgin Mary while his cock pummeled your cervix and he released ropes of his hot spend inside of you. He groaned into your cheek, your body still back against him. Joel’s teeth caught your jaw, biting you briefly. 

As your breathing settled a little, Father Joel Miller pulled himself out of you. You felt his eyes on your completely destroyed pussy and his fingers briefly stroked at your entrance, gathering a generous amount of his sticky come onto his fingers before he lifted your underwear for you, covering you again. 

“Turn around, Cherub.” he instructed and you did, your face burning with the shame of what had just happened. Joel grabbed your jaw with one of his hands, “Open,” he said and you did what you were told, your tongue pressed out just a tiny bit, resting against your bottom lip. He brought the finger coated in his come that had been dripping out of you to your tongue and swiped across it. The salty, heady taste mixed with the scent of Father Joel Miller, Tobacco, mint, fresh sweat and the acrid burning metallic gunpowder smell. Shivers ran up and down your spine as you stood in front of the holy altar, bleary eyed and red cheeked. 

“God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

[naneun-no]

On “Insecure Jikookers”…

Alright. I might lose followers for this and that’s very okay; curate your timeline and protect your peace babes. But for YEARS, every time the phrase “insecure jikooker” has come up on my feed my eyelid has done a little twitchy twitch 🤨🤨

And I have always ignored it, because I’ve never wanted to be out here policing ppl’s language and we are literally supposed to be having fun and celebrating love, like for me that’s the whole point, but —

I’ve been seeing the phrase popping up again surrounding the release of AYS and I just gotta say it.

You guys the term seems so culty 😬🥲

Like I think I get the origin (maybe)? It probably started when some of the early jikook bloggers (if you are one I salute you, I am not worthy, trust me this is NOT a dig at anyone, jikook bloggers are by and large cool and kind af 🙇‍♀️) would get these sketchy asks that were antis or cultists in disguise just casting aspersions on jikook’s bond or being blatantly homophobic and/or in general being rude little anonymous internet gremlins. Or maybe it was people who did want to believe that jikook was real but kept nagging and begging for reassurance at every turn, which I can totally see becoming annoying as hell and prompting people to start using the term.

But it feels like it’s used now as like a catchall for anyone who expresses any doubt or asks any critical questions? Even like… reasonable ones? And I used to see a lot of “hey believe what you want to believe but this is what I believe” but now it seems like the sentiment around jikooker communities has by and large become “if you don’t believe you’re an idiotic dumb person who has never known love — you’re either a rival shipper in disguise or WORSE (dun dun dunnnnn) an Insecure Jikooker — and we don’t want people like you around.”

And idk it just feels weird for a community that has always seemed to kind of pride itself on being the “rational, fact-based” ship… like we LOVE to be smug about how jikook don’t need edits to be obvious, don’t need slo-mo zooms with red circles and arrows because their chemistry and fondness and affection is just plain to see in basic footage. We’re the levelheaded ones 😌.

But doesn’t that mean that we should always be encouraging critical thinking, and if someone comes to a different conclusion than us, so be it? Like it or not, none of us have foolproof confirmation that jikook are anything more than very close friends. That’s literally all we know. The rest is our best guess based on vibes, anecdotes, dot-connecting, subtext and body language observation, experience, perception (!!This is a big one because confirmation bias is real!!), and suspicion. That’s literally it.

Look maybe I’m just projecting 😅 but when you criticize people for expressing reasonable doubt over something that is literally not confirmed, it’s just a little too religious fundamentalist for me! (This is why I was a bad Christian, because I always raised my hand and asked questions the Sunday school teacher didn’t like.)

Feel free to ignore me. I never want to come across as pushy or trying to stir up anything, it’s just a phrase that grinds my gears and I’m sort of hoping I’m not alone in that… but if I am, so be it! 🤣 would love to hear people’s thoughts because maybe I’m missing something.

(P.S. If you’re a troll who spams jikook blog inboxes this is not me defending you. You’re still annoying and you need a better hobby. Have you tried yoga? Snowboarding? Fly fishing? Filming food vlogs and/or painting? You should try cooking. You should stop being an anonymous internet troll stomping on everyone’s proverbial sandcastles and instead write a poem. K bye ✌️ )

[octuscle]

Reorganization of a law student

I am a university student here in Cambridge. My class teacher urged me to study law. He said I had what it takes. I'm the first person in my family to ever graduate from school. No relative has ever even thought about going to university. And if I hadn't gotten the scholarship, I wouldn't have done it either. The stupid thing is that, as an obvious member of the working class, I never fitted in at university. And the scholarship isn't enough to live on either. I thought about taking a job at McDonald's. That's where I meet the people I understand. Even if they think I'm the snob from university now. It's still better than being the working-class proletarian for my fellow students.

Day 1: Monday

What a day it has been. I commenced my new employment at McDonald's. I felt somewhat out of place in my suit, amidst the others in their uniforms. Nevertheless, they appeared to be amicable. However, I found it difficult to comprehend much of their conversation.

The boss incessantly spoke about burgers and fries. I couldn't help but think, "My dear sir, I am well versed in arguing a case; I hardly require a lecture on flipping a burger."

Day 3: Wednesday

I'm gettin' the hang of it, I guess. It's just about flippin' burgers and slingin' fries, ain't it? Not that complicated, eh? So, I meet this dude named Dave, been workin' here forever. He's like a big deal around here, ya know? But man, he talks funny, all Cockney and stuff.

Anyway, Dave's big into bodybuilding and stuff. He's like, "Bro, you gotta hit the gym with me." I might give it a shot, ya know? Need to lose some of this uni weight, man.

Day 5: Friday

So, turns out Dave ain't just into bodybuildin'. Bloke's obsessed with it. He's always talkin' about his protein shakes and them supplements. Keeps tryin' to get me to take some, reckon it'll make me "ripped".

Said yes to goin' to the pub with him tonight. He reckons he knows some places where we can watch the rugby. Never really been into rugby, but why not, eh?

Day 7: Sunday

Last night was mad. Went to the pub with Dave, ended up watchin' rugby and havin' a few pints. Then some bloke started mouthing off, next thing I know, there's a full-on brawl.

Dave was right in the middle of it, throwin' punches like there's no tomorrow. Got a few bruises meself, but it was proper adrenaline rush, I tell ya.

Day 10: Wednesday

Me life's taken a turn, ain't it? Can't believe how much I've changed in just a week. Started takin' them supplements Dave gave me. Dunno what's in 'em, but I feel like I could take on the world.

Been skippin' lectures to hang out with Dave. He's teachin' me all sorts of things about bodybuildin' and rugby. Who knew I'd find it all so interestin'?

Day 14: Sunday

Two weeks in, and I'm a changed man. Used to be all about them fancy words and legal cases. Now, I'm more interested in bench pressin' and pint down the pub.

Me mates from uni are proper shocked when they see me now. But sod 'em, I'm lovin' life. Dave's me new mentor, and I couldn't be happier. Who needs law when you've got burgers, rugby, and a good old pub brawl?

Inspiration by @mchav1020

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling mom to stop giving me unhealthy food and then refusing to say "I love you" back?

I (16, FtM) am autistic, for the longest time I struggled with eating different types of foods, in fact, i only started eating vegetables when I was 16 because my nutritionist told me to. Since I have memory, i've been teased by my weight, all my life. It led me to make decisions i'm not very proud of (like getting groomed at 8-9 years old), because of my low self esteem.

I've gone to the nutritionist a total of 2 times in my life, but in my opinion i should've gone more but my parents didn't seem to think the same. Both of those times the doctors told me I was a little overweight. They didn't tell me i was obese or morbidly obese which thank god because I would've broken down and kms (not really but even thinking of getting told that makes me anxious).

They did tell me to start eating more food other than fried food and other type of stuff. After the meeting, my parents started scolding me for embarrassing them in front of the doctor, but all i did was being brutally honest with her! I told her how my parents keep buying flavored water which has at least 2 stamps in it (The government makes it so that companies have to put stamps on their products saying what's exactly in it), so the only source of natural water is the one we boil ourselves, which i drink every time i do exercise. And also how the dinner mom makes is sausages and french fries, it's quick and easy. This last week I've eating that dinner two times and on the weekend i ate fast food for lunch, on Saturday and Sunday which means TWICE. By the end I was so worried i might have to double my exercise next week (so now) to balance it off. I felt really fat on monday so uh not a good feeling.

For my part, I've had this discussion with my P.E teacher, and she agreed to make me play basketball more so i can both exercise at home and more at school other than P.E class. I've also done the effort of eating vegetables (which due to my autism it was very hard at first but I've gotten the hang of it!) And doing more exercise at school.

But even when mom agreed to start feeding me more healthy foods, it's like she gave up. She's gone back to giving me the same lazy foods that are filled with cholesterol and grease, and every time i eat those it makes me feel worried. Tonight was one of those dinners and all i want is to get it out of my system (literally).

I told mom she can't keep feeding me like this if she wants me to lose weight, and she responds by saying "but what can we feed you? You don't eat anything else" which? Fucking excuse me? WHAT DO YOU THINK I'VE BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST MONTHS??? She always says that, it's like whenever i eat entire salads she fucking ignores me or something! It makes me feel so angry, fuck my efforts i guess???

I got more angry, but she's my mom, so i decided to shut up. Since i was getting ready to bed once i got comfortable she told me "I love you", which is a normal habit we have every time i go to bed. She says "i love you" i say it back. But this time I didn't, and she just sighed and closed the door.

Right now i'm really mad at her, but i recognize that maybe not saying "I love you" back was a bit too much, but if i have to stop saying it at all for her to understand I want to lose weight, then so be it. If she doesn't want to recognize im the only one doing the effort, whatever. I'm thinking of starting to refuse her food to make myself clear.

What are these acronyms?

[dee-boop]

i'm forever trying to understand and process just how dehumanizing being a christian was. who can know your heart? the heart is evil, you don't want to know it. don't trust your own thoughts. you're prone to do bad things. do what you're told as soon as you're told don't question anything or you're bad and wrong and that's the devil trying to lead you away from god. the sermons shame you. the body is the worst thing to ever happen to you, but it's a gift from god. you are an uncut diamond and "god" (your pastor, your parents, your sunday school teacher, and then, eventually, you are the one giving yourself a thousand cuts) is trimming and trimming away until you're something "he" likes. don't trust your own thoughts (you don't). don't trust your feelings (you don't). punish the body if you have to (you have); it is separate from your soul and it's not yours anyway. it's god's and then you get married and it's your husband's. the only thing a girl is good for is being a cheerful little servant. your little anger is funny. your little anger is silly. your little anger is annoying, i don't want to hear it. being angry is a sin. if you complain i'll hit you. i have to hit you. you'll thank me when you're older (the pastor's daughter has publically done this at church). you cry too much. why are you so serious? and then when they've worn the expression of negative emotions and critical thinking out of you you're stupid (enough to make fun of) and secondary (as you should be) and an accessory (so pretty on his arm, pretty in his kitchen, pretty in his bed, pretty in unmedicated labor). you're anxious all the time. every night you ask god to forgive you for any sins you didn't know you committed, or forgotten (you never forget, but just in case. does that even count? you apologize for not being sincere enough). you are crippled by indecision. you blindly trust any authority figure in christian circles and plenty outside those circles, too. they mold you into something you don't recognize when you finally leave. you feel like someone not from earth but from the uncanny valley. you are so fucking ancient but also a child. you are nothing like your nonreligious peers and you have to grieve, there is so much grief. who am i outside of the pain?--you're dissociating again--I don't know.

[ladykailitha]

The Magic of Christmas Part 5/8

The paladin theory is something that a good friend of mine came up with, that if a person was playing them unironically they tended to be self-righteous assholes who actually believed they were holier than thou. Now if you were doing it for fun or to riff on how paladins were self-righteous jerks, then it didn't apply.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

***

September was the hardest on Steve. All the kids were away at school, busy being students and living their lives. If it hadn’t been for Eddie, he wasn’t sure what he would have done.

“Who are you going to work on next?” Steve asked around his slice of pizza.

Eddie wiped his hands on his jeans. “The ranger sounded more fun, so Lucas is next.”

“You got a thing against paladins?” Steve asked, throwing him a couple of napkins.

“Every person that I have ever known that played one unironically have been assholes so...”

Steve started laughing and Eddie cocked his head to the side.

“What’s so funny?”

He wiped away a stray tear. “Mike is exactly like that.”

Eddie blinked. “Wait, really?”

Steve nodded, his eyes continuing to water as he fought back bales of laughter.

Eddie started laughing, too. Soon they were falling over each other just laughing their asses off when the girls found them like that ten minutes later.

“We are gone for less than an hour,” Chrissy huffed, “and we come back to find you giggling like children. Did Eddie break out the weed or something?”

The two men shook their heads.

“I was telling about Mike,” Steve insisted, “and he was telling me his theory that people that play paladins are assholes.”

Robin blinked for a moment and then started laughing too. Which set Steve and Eddie off again.

Chrissy just shook her head and put away the dessert Robin and she got, bringing out the beer to the sofa.

By the time she had finished all three of them had calmed down enough to explain.

“I’m going to have to tell the guys about this on Sunday,” Eddie said, holding his ribs.

“What happens on Sunday?” Robin asked, flopping on the sofa next to him.

Chrissy sat down on Eddie’s other side. “D&D with the Hellfire Club. Eddie DMs, while Jeff, Gareth, Brian and I play. It’s fun. Gareth has been fiercely battling Eddie over that nugget for years.”

Eddie grinned, all teeth. “He’s only bitter because he plays a paladin.”

That got them all laughing hysterically.

“That’s hilarious,” Robin said after they managed to calm down.

“So what’s on the docket tonight for my reeducation or whatever it is we call these things,” Steve asked.

“A double feature,” Eddie said excitedly. “Muppet fantasy. It’s fantastic.”

Steve turned to Robin, “I didn’t know Tammy Thompson made movies.”

Robin gasped. “You take that back!”

Chrissy and Eddie just looked at each in confusion.

“She sang like a Muppet!” Steve insisted.

“She did not!” Robin hissed. “She absolutely did not!”

Steve leaned over to get in her face. “Like a Muppet giving birth!”

“You’re horrible!” Robin groused.

Steve turned to the other two with a smile. “Tammy was Robin’s first baby gay crush in high school. She thought she could sing but she was the only one who thought so. Well, not counting the music teacher and her mother.”

Then he proceeded to sing horribly and high pitched so that everyone was laughing. Yes, even Robin.

“All right she was that bad,” Robin finally conceded.

Steve waved his hand at her. “Thank you!”

“I didn’t know you two met in high school,” Chrissy said. “That’s cute.”

Steve and Robin looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

“Everyone knew who Steve was,” Robin said, “captain of two of the three sports he played in. Rich, good looking, popular with the ladies. It was annoying.”

“I was also a bit of a mean girl,” Steve said with a half shrug. “We didn’t meet until after I graduated when my dad forced me to take the most humiliating job at the mall.”

Robin shuddered. “It was horrible. It was a nautical themed ice cream shop in the food court and we had wear these tiny sailor outfits.”

“Like the shorts on the boys’ costume was shorter than the girls’,” Steve said. “We measured.”

“At least the girls’ costume had shorts instead of skirt,” Chrissy said.

“Thank you!” Steve said throwing his arms in the air. “Tell that to this one!” He pointed at Robin.

“I would have gotten more dates if it had been a skirt is all I’m saying,” she replied haughtily.

“You were getting dates while I was getting made fun of,” Steve groused. “It was the stupid hat. It wouldn’t sit right for a start. My hair is too thick. I even tried not styling it. Nope still refused to stay on straight. Plus, I was famous for my hair in high school, so I thought it was hiding my best feature.”

Robin giggled. “I had a whiteboard and everything. ‘YOU SUCK’ on one side and ‘YOU RULE’ on the other. He never did get a single mark in that one.”

Eddie licked his lips slowly. “There–there wouldn’t be pictures of this is... outfit, would there?”

Robin threw her head back and laughed. “There’s a commercial.”

“No!” Chrissy gasped. “This I have to see!”

Robin grabbed the remote and found the YouTube channel for their smart TV. She logged into Eddie’s account with a grin.

When Steve realized what she was going to do, he made a dive for the remote. But Eddie tackled him to the floor.

“Quick!” Chrissy said. “What’s the name of the shop?”

Robin cackled. “Scoops Ahoy!”

Chrissy typed it in on her phone and grabbed the video that clearly had teenaged versions of their friends.

Steve immediately stopped struggling when the opening jingle started, allowing Eddie to get up and watch this absolute disaster of less than a minute’s worth of hell.

“Those are some criminally short shorts, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. He leaned forward and started cackling. “Does the register really say boobies?”

Chrissy leaned forward. “Oh my god! How did you get away with that?”

“Apparently film executives pop out of Hell as fully formed adults who wouldn’t know a joke if it bit them on the ass,” Steve said on the floor. He leaned his head back far enough to see the screen. He sighed. His hair looked like shit.

Eddie poked Steve in the ribs. “You looked cute.”

He held out his hand to Steve, who took it to get up. He plopped on the floor and leaned back against the sofa. “Yeah, you think so now, but I have no doubt you would have teased me for it back then.”

Robin looked at the remote in her hand and then back at Steve. “Sorry. I thought it would be funny. But you didn’t have a good time and that wasn’t fair to you.”

Steve shrugged.

Eddie put his arm around his shoulders. “I might have teased you, but only in the most unhinged flirting kind of way imaginable.”

Chrissy rolled her eyes. “He would have been insufferable about it, too. He would have made me come with every time even though I’m lactose intolerant so that he could make goo-goo eyes at the pretty boy.”

Steve looked up at him. “You think I was pretty?”

“Sweetheart, not was, is.”

Robin smiled at them and then shared a glance with Chrissy. Absolute idiots, the pair of them.

She pressed the remote and got them back their double feature. They started with Dark Crystal and throughout the whole movie, Steve didn’t budge from Eddie’s side as they sat together on the floor, Eddie’s arm still slung over Steve’s shoulders.

It was only when it was over and they took a brief break before starting Labyrinth that Eddie let go at all.

Steve moved to the large sofa, but when Eddie came back, instead of sitting on the floor like he had been before, he squished himself between Chrissy and Steve, forcing Steve to plaster himself against Eddie’s side.

Robin shook her head. It was going to be an eternity before they got to Christmas.

*

“You going to admit you like him now?” Robin asked a couple of days later as they sat on their sofa eating mac and cheese.

Steve sighed. “I can really see myself with him for the long term.”

“So why don’t you make a move then?” she asked, poking him with her toes.

Steve picked at his food with his fork, stabbing the noodles without any real effort to get them to stay. “I don’t know. We’ve talked about it before. You think he’s head over heels and I think he’s just being polite because I’m paying his bills right now.”

“Oh.”

Steve looked up at her and echoed. “Yeah, oh.”

“Shit, Steve,” Robin muttered. “I could ask Chrissy. I bet he tells her everything.”

“Would you tell her if she asked for Eddie if I liked him like that?” he asked, going back and picking at his food.

She deflated. “No. I would tell her he has to talk to you.”

“And I’m not ready for that,” he murmured finally setting his food aside. “There’s too much time between now and Christmas, I don’t want to make things awkward if he doesn’t like me like that.”

Robin winced. Especially for New Year’s eve.

“Yeah, okay,” she conceded. “Just make sure you tell him as soon as you can. You don’t want to wait too long and find out he’s moved on with someone else because he thought you weren’t interested.”

Steve nodded. “I know. I’ve just got to keep up the flirting and teasing so he knows I’m interested and hopefully he’ll make the first move.”

“I really hope this doesn’t blow up in your face.”

“You and me both, Robs. You and me both.”

***

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

@spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @vecnuthy @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @anne-bennett-cosplayer @irregular-child @carlprocastinator1000 @mogami13 @samsoble

[morgana-larkin]

Me again lol I was wondering if u could do Melissa x reader where reader is autistic and has an autistic meltdown or struggles with change in routine and Melissa helps her (lol sorry I keep requesting fics but your writing is sooooo good I can’t get enough and as always no pressure and look after yourself 🫶)

Hey, thank you for the prompt! I literally just moved 2 weeks ago from one end of the city I live in to the other so I wrote that reader moves since its really relatable to me right now. And feel free to send as many prompts as you want, it’s not a problem😉. Hope you like it!

On another note, I was going to post this tomorrow but kept seeing people like my other fics so I figured I could just post it now lol. Also I can’t believe how many people are liking my fics! Especially ‘her poco sole’ , that was the one I really didn’t know if people were gonna like and it’s the most liked one which surprised me. I’m gonna try to get another one shot to a prompt I got a few hours ago and the next chapter of Worth It. I do have my acting workshop tomorrow and a role on Sunday but I’m gonna try!

Overwhelmed

Warnings: reader has a meltdown

Words: 3.1k

You’ve always done things a certain way, you planned your day ahead of time and you don’t like changes.

You got diagnosed with Autism when you were 13. Your parents knew nothing about it but were super supportive and researched it to better help you. They also liked to ask you questions about what you prefer to help you even further.

You all realised that routine is very important for you, and if something changed then you would need a bit of time to calm down from your mini freak out. If it was small changes like having to wear a different shirt or a friend wants to meet up at a different store, those you can deal with. But big ones like if a friend you were going to hang out with cancelled last minute or a family member dropped by unexpectedly or you moved.

That last one you didn’t experience a lot thankfully. You only remember moving once, and it was moving out of your parents place and in with a friend you’ve known since first grade. The next time would be when you moved in with Melissa.

You got accepted for a job to be a teacher's aide at Abbott Elementary. You walked in at 7:30 and went to the principal's office to get your badge and to know who the teacher you’ll be helping is. You liked being a teacher's aide instead of the teacher. If there was any big changes to the day then the teacher mostly has to deal with it and you just do what you’re told.

You got introduced to the principal, you didn’t understand how she got the job with how she acts but you don’t ask, it’s your first day after all.

« so the teacher that you’ll be an aide for, her name is Melissa Schemmenti. I’ll bring you to meet her now, she’s in the break room. » Ava said and you nodded your head. You followed her there and walked in the room and all the teachers there looked up and looked at you and you blushed a bit. You got nervous when you felt put in the spotlight with a bunch of people you don’t know. « Hey Melissa, your new aide is here. ». She told someone and when Ava moved out of the way your breath caught in your throat. A pair or beautiful green eyes were on you and they belonged to the most beautiful woman you’ve ever met. And then it hit you, she’s the teacher you’ll be helping. You’re either really lucky or really fucked. You then remember that you should introduce yourself.

« Hi, my name is y/n y/l/n. You must be Melissa Schemmenti. » you tell her and she nods then looks at Ava.

« She better be better than the last one Coleman. » she says and you look confused. She already had an aide that she didn’t like?

« I don’t know, I didn’t pick her, the school board did. » Ava says then leaves. And you just stand there not knowing what to do until one of the teachers stands up to greet you.

« Hi y/n it’s nice to meet you, my name is Janine Teagues. I’m a second grade teacher. » she says and is practically bouncing in your face and you lean back a bit, a bit surprised by her energy and enthusiasm.

« Hi. » is all you say, you never really know what to say to someone new.

« Alright kid, follow me, I’ll bring you to the classroom. » Melissa says as she gets up and you nod as you follow her out of the break room.

You stare at her little bit, you don’t know what to think of her yet other than she’s stunning and you oddly feel safe around her. Which is different, it takes you a few times of getting to know someone before you even feel comfortable. But it seems this woman has the power to make herself go from being a complete stranger to all the way to feeling safe around her.

« You’re really quiet. » she says to you as she bends down a bit to unlock her door with her key around her neck.

« Sorry, just nervous. » You tell her and she motions for you to go into the room.

« I didn’t say it was a bad thing, definitely a nice change from the last one. » she says and you want to be better than the last one so you can’t help but ask her.

« What did the last one do that you didn’t like? Just so I don’t repeat it. » You tell her and she looks at you curiously.

« She disrupted the class more that the students did. She made it worse more than she helped. » she simply said and leaned against her desk and folded her arms. And that’s when you get a look at what she’s wearing. Black leggings with a pink top and black leather jacket. Oh. You always found a girl who wears a leather jacket hot. « Do I scare you? » she says as you haven’t said anything.

« I don’t know you yet. I’m just nervous meeting new people and never know what to say. I’m autistic so I’m not as good with social interactions as other people. » You tell her and she nods.

« Well this is the classroom. I have a split class. » she says as she takes a seat on her desk and puts her hands together on her lap. « I have 20 second graders and 10 third graders. »

« Oh fuck. » you say and she laughs.

« That was my reaction too. Do you have any questions? »

« Um » you say and think about it. « What will you be needing me to do? »

« Just stuff to help really. Like photocopy papers, hand out tests, help them with some class work. Might need you to sometimes teach the third graders a quick lesson in the back of the classroom. » she says and you nod. This sounds like it’ll be good, you think. « any other questions? » she asks.

« Just mostly wondering how you’ve been doing this mostly by yourself. You must be a hell of a teacher to have 30 students in your class. » You tell her and she smiles.

« It was hard at first I’ll admit. I even punched the head of a cardboard samurai right off before I asked for an aide. » she says and you laugh.

The two of you talk for a bit before students start arriving. Melissa has you helping the third graders with some work while she teaches currency to the second graders. She gets you to grade some tests for most of the morning then has you help bring them to the cafeteria at lunch.

« You were a great help today so far, keep up the great work. » she says with a smile and you beam.

A month goes by with you helping Melissa and she’s less stressed now that she has an aide that’s helpful and you’ve settled in nicely with the class and some of the teachers. Until you get home from work one day and your friend tells you that her work transferred her to another city and she’s moving in a month and your smile falls. You can’t afford the rent by yourself, that means moving.

The next day at school, Melissa can tell something is bothering you since you seem distracted and in your head a lot. During her prep period, she asks you about it.

« Hey, what’s going on with you? You seem distracted this morning. » she asks you and you look up at her.

« I’m sorry, just a lot on my mind. » you tell her.

« You wanna talk about it? » she asks and you shake your head, you don’t really want to put it on her.

« You sure? »

You sigh and put your chin on your hands. « Just found out last night that I have a month to find a new place and move. And I looked a bit last night and there’s nothing I can afford by myself and very few people are looking for roommates. » you tell her and she doesn’t say anything. « Sorry, I didn’t want to bother you with my problems. » you tell her and she shakes her head.

« I offered remember. And plus I was actually going to start looking for a roommate. » she says and you look at her. « I have a spare room I’m not using and wouldn’t mind some extra cash. » you look at her confused, wondering if she’s saying what you think she is. « I guess what I’m saying is , if you need a place, you can move in with me. »

And that’s how you got here. The day you’re moving in with Melissa. And you’ve been freaking out about it for a week, your friend has been trying to help you pack and comfort you the best she can. You move your things into her place all day, you don’t have a lot of time to think about it until you’re standing in your new room, and it hits you all at once. Everything changed, different room, different house, different roommate, different end of the city. It all changed and you crumble to the ground and bring your legs to your chest and hug your legs and start rocking to comfort yourself.

« Hey y/n I made dinner and was wondering if… » Melissa comes by your room and sees you. « Y/n? You ok? »

You don’t say anything, you feel like you can’t talk right now, it’s all too much. You end up shaking your head and she comes over and sits on the ground next to you. She doesn’t say anything, she just wraps her arms around you and brings you in for a hug. And that’s when you break and start crying and Melissa rubs your back in a circular motion. The repetitive movement and the physical contact of someone you know soothes you. After a minute you pull back and wipe your tears off. And she just sits next to you for a few minutes, letting you calm down « Thank you. » you tell her when you feel like you can talk again.

« Not a problem. I know it can get overwhelming. But I can help you settle in so it’s not so scary. You like knowing about things right? » she asks and you nod. « Ok, well today I can show you around the house so you know where things are. And then tomorrow I can show you where I shop and you can decide if you like it or not. Then I can show you all the best places to get a bite to eat around here and anything else you want to know. » she offers.

« You’d do that for me? » you ask and she nods. « Why? »

She shrugs. « Because you’re a good person who just needs a bit of help. » she says and you smile at her.

« You know at first, I was a bit scared of you. » You tell her and she laughs.

« I knew it! » she says with a smile.

« But after getting to know you, and seeing how you are with the students, I realised how much of a softie you are. » You tell her and she glares at you.

« Don’t go telling anyone that! » she tells you sternly. And you put your hands up in surrender.

« Don’t worry I won’t, I know you got a reputation to keep. » You joke with her. « was there something you needed btw? » You ask her, remembering she was asking you something before she saw you on the floor.

« Just that I made dinner and wanted to know if you wanted something. I always make a lot. » she says and you beam. You’ve heard great things about her cooking but haven’t had any yet.

Turns out what they say about her cooking didn’t live up to how great she actually was. It was better than you thought. She did give you a tour of the house after supper and you felt a little better. You ended up watching tv with her and she stayed right beside you so that your arms are touching. She knows that close proximity with someone you know helps you calm down and process things.

For the next week you barely say anything. You’re more quiet than normal and you hide in your own head, in your own little fantasy world that you have complete control of.

Melissa has no idea what’s going on with you, and that’s when she starts actually looking up autism and how it affects the person and how they act and how to help them. She sees that if they’re dealing with a lot of big changes, they get overwhelmed and they either repress it and pull away from people or have a meltdown, it also says that they can repress it then have a meltdown. And that’s exactly what happens with you. Melissa was prepared in case it happened, it’s just how it happened and what you end up doing after, that shocked her.

You came home after going grocery shopping and slammed the front door. Melissa was dusting her table with all her pictures when you came in.

« You alright there sunshine? » Melissa joked and you glared at her. Melissa came from an Italian family, so glares didn’t even faze her. She went and leaned on the side of the couch and crossed her arms.

« I’m fine, just they didn’t have some things I wanted so I just walked out. » You said, trying to take your jacket off but it got stuck when trying to take your arms out and you let out a huff.

« Need help? » she asks with a raised eyebrow.

« No. » you snap and continue to struggle. « Ugh why is nothing going right! » Melissa walks over to you and pulls at the arm of the jacket and you’re able to take it off. You slam your jacket on the ground « stupid jacket! Stupid grocery store! » You half scream out.

« Hey it’s alright » she tells you and puts a hand on your shoulder trying to comfort you.

You gasp and turn to her with a glare before shrugging her hand off. « Don’t touch me. » you snap at her then try to calm yourself down. Melissa tries again, knowing that physical contact helps you and read that doing things that helps that autistic person calm down helps during a meltdown. « I said don’t touch me! » you tell her and back up to get away. You end up backing into a wall and you feel like everything is too much and you grab your hair and start freaking out.

« Y/n it’s alright » she says and you barely hear her. She wraps her arms around you from behind you and you scream at her to let you go and try to push her off but she hangs on. And then you start crying and fall to the ground and she follows you, still hugging you. You put one of your hands on her hand and lean into her. « it’s ok y/n, you’re ok. » she says, still hugging you from behind. She rests her chin on your shoulder and you relax more into her. After about a minute you sit up a bit and she removes her head from you. You turn around and in a wave of confidence, you lean in and kiss her.

She kisses you back and she feels you smile. You pull back and look into her eyes. « R u ok y/n? » she asks you after it seems you’ve calmed down.

« I think mostly, it’s still a bit hard for me, I’m still processing everything. » You tell her and she gets an idea. She helps you back and tells you to stay there for a second. She goes over and turns on her Bluetooth speaker and it connects to her phone. She opens her Spotify and clicks on a song. The song starts playing through the speaker and you instantly recognize the song, it’s the Macarena.

« Come on I’m sure you know the moves. » she tells you when you raise your eyebrows at her. She pulls you away from the wall and goes behind you and moves your arms to the music with the moves. You start laughing at her goofiness but eventually you start getting into it and she lets your arms go and does the moves with you. At the end of the song, your both laughing and having a great time, then the next starts playing and it’s ‘can you feel the love tonight’ from the lion king. Melissa just goes with it and holds out a hand for you to take. « May I have this dance? » she asks you and you giggle and you take her hand.

She brings you close to her and puts one hand on your shoulder and moves her hand in yours to the proper position and you put your hand on her waist. She starts doing the waltz with you and you’re surprised. She ends up being a really good dancer.

« You seem surprised. » she tells you.

« I am, I’m wondering if there’s something you can’t do. » you tell her and she laughs. « I’m being serious, you’re an amazing teacher, your meals taste like heaven, you can waltz really well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you knew a second language. » you tell her as a joke but looks at you with a smile.

« Conosco Italian. » she says and you look at her. « That means I know Italian. »

« I was actually joking but at this point I’m not surprised. » You tell her and she giggles. The song ends but both of you don’t pull away. « thank you btw. You’ve helped me so much. » You tell her with a smile and she smiles back at you.

« of course mia carina. » she tells you.

« Ok now you’re just showing off. » You joke and she laughs. Then she puts a hand around your neck and kisses you and you kiss her back. It’ll take time but Melissa is willing to help you with all the changes and to make her house feel like home to you.

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[sarahjtv]

My Hero Academia Chapter 430 Spoiler Talk: The True End of An Era (Part 1)

This is it, the final chapter of My Hero Academia. A series 10 years in the making has finally ended. It's really insane to think about. This series has done so much good for a lot of people despite the fandom's flaws. MHA was both people's introduction and even reintroduction to manga and anime. It's bittersweet to write about the final chapter, but I will do the best I can to honor the series I love. This is going to be a very long one. Also a lot of screaming.

Now, please, if you want to wait until the official translation releases on Sunday, PLEASE TURN AWAY NOW! Save this post and come back to it on Sunday when everyone has read the chapter. I will be using spoiler hashtags for this, so if you end up spoiling yourself because of my post, that's on you. THIS IS YOUR FINAL WARNING:

Here we go. We first start off with our Final Color page for the series! It's a gorgeous double-page spread featuring all Class 1-A (Now 2-A) kids that we've grown to know and love throughout the past 10 years including Shinso, Aizawa, and All Might of course. Izuku Midoriya AKA Deku, our beautiful MC who I will miss with all my heart and soul 💚, is leading the page and his friends towards the bright future they all fought so hard for. It's a wonderful way to conclude the series and I will make sure to get a high-quality version of it to use as my computer wallpaper.

The final chapter is titled "My Hero Academia" because of course it is 🥹. This was truly My Hero Academia.

OH FUCK WE GET A TIME SKIP TO THE FUTURE SOMEONE HOLD ME 😭

KOTA IS THE THE UA HERO COURSE AND IZUKU IS HIS TEACHER IT'S SO PERFECT FOR HIM!!!💚😭 I BET MR. AIZAWA AND ALL MIGHT WERE BIG INSPIRATIONS FOR HIM TO TAKE THIS PATH 🥹

IT'S ONLY BEEN 1 PAGE AND THIS CHAPTER HAS ALREADY ENDED ME IT'S SO JOEVER FUCK

BTW, Deku is saying a more optimistic version of the "Not all men are born equal" narration he told us at the beginning of the very first chapter of the series. Very nice way of bringing the story full circle.

Ok, the next 2 pages have a lot of things in them, so I'm going to try to sum it up as best as I can:

Izuku finally came home to see his mother, Inko, at their apartment and she looks happy 💚

All Might is out of his wheelchair and helping old Gran Tarino walk with a cane (how he still survived I have no idea).

All the kids running in their gym clothes in what looks like their second Sports Festival (god, what I'd give to see that in its entirety).

Miriko is very happy with her new prosthetics including one that looks like the Bullet Bill from the Super Mario series.

The kids struggling taking either mid-terms or finals written tests. Bakugo is still using his left arm to write, so I assume his right arm is still barely usable.

Shoji and Kota shaking some prominent mutant's hand I assume from their contributions towards the war.

Mt. Lady and Kamui Woods working together as usual!

Tokoyama meeting up with Hawks.

KOTA AND ERI HOLDING HANDS AND GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL WITH MADALAY'S APPROVAL THAT'S SO FUCKING CUTE 😭❤️🤍

Endeavor being followed around by his sidekicks and Hawks.

Aizawa and Present Mic visiting what I bet is Shirakumo's grave 😢

The fan translator says that the kids finally meet Melissa from the first MHA movie! We don't see her face, but I'll take what they say is truth.

Spinner's book selling and Compress reading it in jail.

Bakugo going through rehab to get his right arm back!

Deku and Ochako spending time in the snow.

OUR KID'S GRADUATION OH MY GOD MOST OF THEM ARE 18 THERE AND THEY'RE OFFICIALLY PRO HEROES I'M SO FUCKING PROUD OF THEM 😭❤️ Interesting though since none of them really look much older except for maybe Iida and Shoto, but it's hard to tell from the scans. And Bakugo and Monoma keep the crazy graduation tradition of blowing things up as their goodbye present to UA!

And finally, we see the embers of One For All slowly fade away in Izuku's hand until there's nothing left...

Oh, god. The time skip takes place 8 YEARS in the future geez. So, if this is 8 years since we left the kids in Class 2-A, they would be about 24-25 years old now damn. We're actually going to see them all grown up that's crazy.

The next page shows us a middle school class very similar to how we saw Deku and Bakugo at the very beginning of the series. The teacher asks them what they want to do in the future and we get to see small glimpses of other characters now such as Hatsume who has her own lab (go, girl!), and LaBrava who seems to own a company with Gentle!

The main kid we focus on in this class is Dai, the young boy with dark blue-ish dotted hair who was looking at the All Might statue in Kamino before the first war started (I don't blame you for forgetting; I had to look him up too). He says he wants to be a hero, but everyone else says that his Quirk is too weak for him to become one. Despite that, he still goes to the All Might statue (which sounds like has been rebuilt) for inspiration. Sound familiar? 🤔

Next we see Shoji accepting a prestigious award for his efforts in resolving mutant prejudice-based incidents! He looks SO BULKY HOLY SHIT DUDE 😳 And his hair got longer to the point of putting it in a ponytail! Also, Koda and the glue Class 1-B kid (I think his name is Bondo or something) are there to congratulate him too! I bet you that Shoji making it to the top 10 in the final popularity poll helped Horikoshi give him a little spotlight and it's a good way of following up on what happened after his bout in the Final War.

Next up, we see Ochako, Tsuyu, Momo, and Iida visiting schools across the country! Ochako has also set up a Quirk Counseling expansion project that's become one of the most essential things in the future society!

Ok:

1: It's hard to tell with Iida, but the girls all look slightly older especially with their hair being a little longer.

2: Their future costumes look great! It's not a 100% match to what we saw in Endeavor's vision, but it's still great! Iida's armor got more detail to them; Tsuyu's frog goggles got gogglier?; Momo is finally coving up her cleavage and showing less exposed skin took you 10 years, but you finally got there, Horikoshi; and Ochako's got updated headwear, the two dots on her outfit are side-by-side instead of on top of each other, and her collar thing looks similar to Deku's hero mask which I know was intentional.

3: Good for Ochako for doing something about Quirk Counseling. Definitely inspired by what happened with Himiko Toga. I hope this means that we won't have another incident like Toga had and that kids are now able to get help with their Quirks as opposed to being villainized. I hope Ochako's making good money out of this too for her family like she originally intended.

We also see a teenage Eri going to her music club with a guitar on her back! She has a normal girl's sailor uniform, so my best guess is that she's either still in middle school (I think she would be 14-15 at this point) or she's not in UA like a lot of us thought. Either way, she wants to pursue music instead of Hero work so I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't go to UA at all. It also looks like her horn did fully grow back, but whether her Rewind Quirk still works the same is up in the air.

And we see that Mr. Aizawa is still working at UA, BUT HE CUT HIS HAIR SHORT 😭 WHY DID YOU CUT HIS BEAUTIFUL, LONG LOCKS, HORIKOSHI??? OF ALL THE PHYSICAL CHANGES YOU GIVE OUR CHARACTERS THIS IS THE MOST DEVASTATING 😭

*BREATHS* But, he shows Deku and us a video of Bakugo SCREAMING AT A CIVILIAN FOR FILMING HIM TOO CLOSELY 😂😭 PLEASE NEVER CHANGE, KATSUKI BAKUGO 🧡 I'm also really glad he still got to be a Pro Hero despite his injuries.

AND NOW WE SEE MY SWEET FAVORITE BOY, SHOTO TODOROKI WHO CUT HIS HAIR A LITTLE SHORTER!!! I DON'T CARE WHAT ANYONE SAYS, I LIKE HIM BETTER WITH SHORT HAIR AND STILL LOOKS LIKE THE BEAUTIFUL PRETTY BOY HE ALWAYS WAS! STAY PRETTY, SHOTO!!! 🩵

Anyway, Shoto patrols day and night and is very nice to his fans! Kind king 👑! He's also become his own man to the public now as he's barley called "Endeavor's Son" anymore. That's a real relief because I know for a fact that that was haunting him for years. Also, there's a chance he'll pass Mt. Lady, Kamui Woods, and even Mirio in the rankings! I'm so proud of my fave! 🩵❄️🔥

GAH! I'm actually hitting a world limit here! I have to make a Part 2!

[kingofmyheart-19]

CHAPTER 4

Alex POV

"Okay, so where are you taking me?" Mack asks.

"For me to know and you to find out." I respond.

She chuckles.

I reach over and grab her hand, intertwining them.

We continue driving and pull into the restaurant.

"Whoa." Mack says.

I smile and squeeze her hand, "I really love this restaurant and wanted to share it with you."

She stares at me, "Let's go."

We get out of the car and start walking in when I feel Mack grab my hand.

I smile and feel butterflies in my stomach.

"Hi, Miss Morgan, we have your table ready."

"Thanks!"

Mack pulls me to a stop, "Miss Morgan? So fancy."

I feel my face heat up, "Well. You know that I'm famous. I don't want that to scare you off, but it has its perks."

She smiles and shakes her head, "Doesn't scare me."

I nod and pull her along to our table that has an ocean view.

"Wow. This is amazing." She says.

"Well. I think you're pretty amazing, so only the best for you." I say.

She chuckles and shakes her head.

"So, how was your day?" She asks.

I smile, "It was good. We had training and then meetings. We have a big game on Sunday again against Portland. You'll be there?"

She smiles, "I think I'm your goodluck charm."

I chuckle, "You are. I scored and we won last week. Now you have to be at every game."

"I plan on it." She says.

I stare at her, "How was your day?"

She bobs her head, "It was good. It's like getting to the end of the year, so things are settling down. Mostly exams and papers. My students are like so ready to be done, driving me nuts a little."

I chuckle, "Do you remember being in high school? I couldn't wait for summer."

She smiles, "Oh yeah, I remember. It's just hard to keep my patience. Plus I have my GSA kids trying to plan an end of year thing."

"GSA?" I ask.

"Gay-straight alliance. Like a club for the kids. I'm the teacher sponsor for them."

I lean back, "Wow. That's so cool."

She smiles, "Well. I'd always wished that I had that growing up, so it only made sense to kind of give back. Make sure they feel supported, make connections."

I nod, "That makes sense. That's truly amazing, those kids are lucky to have you."

She looks down, "It's nothing, really."

I reach and grab her hand, "It is. It's impressive."

I watch as her ears turn bright red.

"Alright, food. Wait, actually, wine." I say.

"You trying to get me drunk?" She quips.

My eyes widen, "Uh, no? We don't have to have wine!"

She chuckles and squeezes my hand, "I'm just teasing. We can have wine. White wine."

"White wine. Okay." I say.

"Do you eat fish?" She asks.

"Yes." I deadpan.

She stares at me and turns bright red.

I chuckle, "You're adorable. Yes, I eat fish. All kinds."

"Okay. Great." She says.

'This girl is too cute.'

Mack POV

"That was delicious." I say and sit back.

"Glad you liked it." She says.

I grin, "The company was alright too."

She laughs, "Just alright?"

I look down and back up, "Company was wonderful."

"So wonderful that you'll get another glass of wine with me and watch the ocean out on the patio?"

I chuckle, "I think I can manage that."

"Okay, great. You go out there, I'll pay and get the wine."

I smile and head outside.

I lean on the railing and look out, then look down at the rings around my neck.

Babe, if you're there, just let me know.

I close my eyes and feel a wind blow harshly.

I smile, "Hi, babe."

I sigh, "You like Alex?"

I wait and feel the wind blow lightly.

I smile, "Me too."

I feel a hand on my back and startle.

"Hey. You okay?" I turn and see Alex.

I smile, "Yeah. A whole bottle? You really are trying to get me drunk."

She chuckles, "Maybe I am."

I shake my head, "You're something else."

"In a good way?" She asks.

I nod and lean in, kissing her cheek, "A really good way."

She grins and pours us both a glass, handing me one.

She sits next to me and rests her hand on my leg.

I lean my head on her shoulder, "I like this."

"I like this too." She says.

"So how does the World Cup work?" I ask.

I lift my head up and look at her.

"What do you mean?" She asks.

"Like explain it to me. I saw that there's eight groups of four teams."

She smiles, "Okay. So we do group play first, which means we play every team in the group. Top two teams advance out do the group to the round of 16, knockouts then you have to win to move on."

I nod along, "Oh wow. That's like a lot of games in a month."

She nods, "It takes a toll, emotionally and physically."

"I believe it. Does Charlie get to go? And your family?"

She smiles and nods, "My family always comes. My dad is literally like the team mascot."

I chuckle, "That's so cool. That they're supportive. It's in Australia and New Zealand?"

She nods, "Yeah, but it's going to be winter, like cold."

I chuckle, "You don't like the cold?"

She shakes her head, "California girl through and through."

I squeeze her side, "Well, we will have to toughen you up. East coast winters are brutal."

She looks at me, "You'll keep me warm."

I stare at her puppy dog eyes and smile, "Yeah, I will. I'm pretty good at building a fire too."

"Do you go back for the holidays?"

I nod, "Yeah. We usually go see Ally's family, they're in New York. We will probably do that again this year."

She nods, "Do you talk to her family a lot?"

I sigh, "Yeah. I mean Riley is their granddaughter. They've always been supportive and they're really great people."

"That's good, I'm glad they're supportive."

"Me too. It would've made the nightmare even worst if they weren't." I say.

I finish my glass of wine, "Shall we finish this off?"

She smiles and nods.

"Pour me a glass? I'll be right back." She says and I watch as she walks inside.

I pour her a glass and myself.

'Best night.'

Alex POV

I walk back out and stare at Mack.

'I'm so lucky.'

I hear the music come on and she looks up.

I walk over to her and hold my hand out, "I told you that I'd make you dance with me."

She shakes her head and I throw my head back.

"Please? Don't leave me hanging." I plead.

She sighs and takes my hand and I pull her up.

She laughs, "You like Taylor Swift?"

I pause, "It's not a like, it's a love."

She stares at me and shakes her head, "I like her music too."

I grab her hands and place them around my back.

We start swaying and I lay my head on her shoulder.

We sway until the music is over and I look up at her.

She's staring at me and I take a deep breath.

"Hi." She says.

I chuckle, "Hi."

"I really want to kiss you." She whispers.

I lean in so that my lips ghost over hers, "I really want you to."

She smiles and leans in, pressing her lips against mine and I swear the world was burning around us.

I pull away and open my eyes, seeing her eyes closed with tears falling down her cheeks.

I place my hands on her cheeks, "Hey. It's okay."

She opens her eyes and stares at me, "Tears of happiness, promise."

I rub my thumbs under her eyes and lean in, pressing my lips against hers, then pull back.

She chuckles, "You're something."

I nod, "I know. But I really like you."

She bobs her head, "I really like you too. Just be patient with me, okay?"

I pull her close and hug her, "I'll be as patient as you need me to be."

She kisses my head, "Thanks."

I pull away and she sits back down and holds her hand out.

She pulls me so that I'm sitting on her lap and hands me my glass.

"This is cozy." I say.

She grins, "It is, huh. Okay, so, is Portland good?"

I stare at her and chuckle, "Yeah, they're very good. They're pretty physical too. I usually need like a whole body massage afterwards."

Her eyes widen and I can see her whole face flushing.

I chuckle and put my hand on her cheek, "I'm not expecting you to give me one. But for future reference, how would Ally have rated your massage skills?"

She smiles and shakes her head, "I think she'd rate them pretty good."

I bob my head, "Good to know."

"So am I going to be worried about you at the game?"

I shrug and take a drink of wine, "Maybe, but I'll be okay. I always get back up. Or almost always at least."

Her eyes widen, "Almost always?"

"There's been a few times. But if you're going to be my biggest supporter, you're allowed to worry. But you'll know when I'm really hurt or when I just need a minute to breathe through it."

She nods, "Okay. You'll give me like a thumbs up or something?"

I chuckle and nod.

I finish my wine and watch as she does too.

"I don't want this night to end." She says.

I lean down and press my lips against hers.

"Me either." I say as I pull away.

I stare at her and try to read what she's feeling.

I rub her cheek, "I'm not going anywhere and we have time."

She closes her eyes and nods, "You're amazing."

I smile and press my lips against hers again.

"Well I think you're pretty amazing too. Ready to head home?"

She nods and I stand up, reaching my hand out.

She grabs it and I turn my hand to intertwine them.

I pull her through the restaurant.

"Goodnight, Miss Morgan."

I look at the hostess, "Goodnight, thank you!"

We get to my car and I open her door, closing it after her.

I get into the driver's seat and turn to look at Mack, who's staring at me.

"What?"

"I used to always open the door for Ally. It was like our thing." She says.

I grab her hand and pull it to my lips, "Well now I'll open it for you. It'll be our thing."

She smiles and nods, leaning her head back, "I like that."

I smile and nod, starting the drive back to her house.

I turn on Taylor swift and start singing.

I look over and she's smiling.

"What? Am I bad at singing?" I ask.

She shakes her head, "I'm not telling you to shut up. I'm just smiling at you."

I reach and turn up the music.

"But she wears short skirts, I wear t-shirts, she's cheer captain, and I'm on the bleachers. Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find that what you're looking for has been here the whole time!" I sing loudly.

I look over at her and she's smiling widely.

"If you could see that I'm the one who understands you. Been here all along, so why can't you see? You belong with me!"

I turn down the music.

"You'll sing with me?" I ask her.

She chuckles, "I don't sing."

"You also said that you don't dance, but I already got my way with that." I say pointedly.

She shakes her head, "You did, didn't you?"

I nod, "Yup!"

She smiles widely, "I'll sing with you one day."

"I'm holding you to that, Mack!"

She squeezes my hand, "I know you are."

We pull up to her house and I sigh.

"What's wrong?" She asks.

I look at her, "I had so much fun. I'll just miss you until Sunday."

She squeezes my hand, "Well what if Riley and I saw you and Charlie tomorrow?"

I stare at her.

"Beach day?" She asks.

I smile and nod, "Absolutely. I have a light training and a meeting, but after?"

"That's okay. Riley and I are going to visit Ally in the morning, so that works out." She says.

I smile softly, "Okay. Beach date?"

She chuckles, "Beach date with our girls."

I lean in and wait until she meets me halfway and presses her lips against mine.

I move my lips with hers and can't help the moan that escapes me.

I pull away and lick my lips.

I open my eyes and see her smiling, "See you tomorrow, superstar."

"Night, Mack."

I watch as she gets out and walks to her door, opening and turning back towards me.

I blow her a kiss and she catches it.

I shake my head and laugh.

'Best date ever.'

[venusdian]

The Black Aesthetic - 005.

Previous | Chapter 4

"Being Black isn't an Aesthetic, It's culture."

(This is a mixture of 1st & 3rd POV) - 2.7K Words

Marí

────

Friday Morning

I was awakened by the sound of somebody not understanding a bitch is fucking asleep. I snatched my phone off the nightstand and saw it was Tailah calling me. I begrudgingly answered the call.

“What.”

“Well, good morning to you, Marí.”

“Oh, fuck off. What do you want?”

“OOO Language.”

“Tailah, don’t piss me off.”

“I need you to go to Genesis’ school and place a bereavement leave for her.” I slowly sat up on the bed and gasped.

“Ms. Donna ain’t make it?” She lets out a sad sigh.

“She died last night. We’ll probably be in Knoxville for the next couple of days to handle the funeral arrangements and things like that.” Damn, I felt horrible for Devin. He just lost his dad and now his mom. I can’t bear to imagine the pain that he’s going through. It didn’t hurt as much as when my mom died, but if our dad died?

I think I would be in shambles. I love our dad a lot. Even though I found out he was my dad later in life, even when he didn’t know I was his daughter, he always treated me as his own. I feel awful for Devin.

“Yeah, but uhh, I was able to get some documents confirming her death. I already called the school. You just gotta go up there and drop off the paperwork that I’m faxing you right now. Her teacher should have packets for her to complete her assignment while we’re in Knoxville.” I nodded.

“Ok, that’s fine. Hold up! Why ain’t you ask your parents to do that shit?”

“Well, My mom has some things to do at the youth center and dad is busy with the church. Which reminds me, Dad said to call him tonight, he misses you.” I groaned.

“I’ll think about it. I love him, but he talks too damn much and then gets mad when I have nothing to say.” Tailah is just going to laugh. I’m glad she finds it funny because I don’t. That shit is annoying. I be ready to go to bed then, BOOM! Here he comes calling my phone telling me about some damn fishing trip.

“Look, just call him.” I groaned.

“Aight, Tee. I’ma call you when I have everything done.”

“Ok, cool. We’re staying at his parent’s place.” I gasped.

“You want me to drop the shit off too?!” I exclaimed. Tailah kisses her teeth.

“See you soon, Marí.” Before I could argue, she hung up the phone. Again, That dusty bitch owes me.

omniscient

────

Alexandra Crane busts open Noah’s office door. Noah looks up and is stunned to see Alex at his office.

“When in the fuck were you going to tell me you cut my studio session for some Instagram thot?” Alex angrily asks Noah. Noah sighs, realizing he had forgotten to tell her that news so her anger is reasonable.

“I’m sorry, Alex—” Alex interrupts him, putting her hand up.

“You know how much this comeback album means to me. For nine months I’ve been writing and perfecting my craft for a perfect comeback. I can’t afford to lose any studio time. It’s already bad enough I have to come to Memphis to record music, taking time away from my daughter—” Noah sighs.

“I understand—”

“DO YOU?! It seems like this is too much for you, and if That’s the case, I can find somebody else.” Noah gets up and shakes his head.

“No, look. I can book another session with Max on Saturday, too. You’re here till Sunday, and we’ll use this time wisely.”

“But, you didn’t answer my question. Why is she also booked for today.” He sighs.

“Because I’ve been neglecting all my clients to focus on you.”

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem. You know, I didn’t have these issues with Marí.” Noah takes a deep breath. He was growing tired of the comparison. Noah was trying his best. He already had his clients, but now he had double the workload, trying to make Marí’s clients happy, too. He just wished they understood.

“Look, Alex, these past few weeks, I’ve been dealing with getting sample clearance because you want to sample the whole damn music catalog. I’ve been calling venues and working with your label trying to perfect your rollout. So, spare me the bullshit right now. I have other clients, not just you. I’ll make sure we have studio sessions until the time you leave. But what I have is set in stone, ok?” Alex stares at him, stunned by his tone and language.

She understood where he was coming from, but it was still the principal. He didn’t even ask if she wanted to cut her studio time. She huffs and storms out of his office. Noah sighs, looking down with his arms crossed. He doesn’t want to admit this was overwhelming for him. But, he was losing sleep trying to please everyone. Maybe, it was time to throw in the towel.

Marí

────

I walk into the main office with the paperwork in my hand. I’m tired. That’s all I got. I’m tired and Tailah better be lucky that I love her.

“Aye, they know I’m supposed to be here.” The secretary looks up at me, confused.

“But, I don’t. Name?” She asked with a slight attitude. I glared at her but decided to take the easy route, taking a deep breath.

“Marí Dunlock. I’m Genesis Glenn’s Godmother. She’s supposed to be on Bereavement, and y’all need documents or whatever.” I explained. She begins typing on her computer, not looking up at me. I huffed as I folded my arms.

“Is there a problem?” The secretary asked me. I lick my lips. She really testing my gangsta right now.

“No. But it will be if you don’t fix your attitude.” I threatened.

“If that’s a threat I will have to call security.” She smugly says. Right on cue, Ava comes out of her office. I looked up at her.

“Ava getcho girl before you have to call an ambulance.”

“On who?”

“You.” Ava got in between us.

“Aye, calm down. As much as I would love to watch a fight unfold. I can’t afford to get in trouble and be broke. Shante, I’ll take over.” I mugged her as she mugged me back, I wanted to hop over and beat that hoe ass, but Ava was pulling me into her office. I go into her office, and she closes the door behind us.

“How she died?” Ava’s nosey ass asks me. I looked at her in disbelief.

“You just have no decorum at all, huh?” Ava looks at me, waiting for an answer. I let out a sigh.

“She died due to a heart attack.” Ava clutches her chest.

“My god! That’s horrible.” I shake my head, handing her the paperwork. She takes the paperwork and begins to read it.

“So, you want my man back.” Ava rambles off.

“Nigga, what?”

“You want Gregory back.” I pinched the bridge of my nose.

“What is with this fucking town about me and Greg!” I angrily exclaimed. It’s like this stupid ass town wants us to get back together. Which is fucking weird like don’t they have their own lives or something?! Ava laughs, amused by my irritation.

“Look, Your niece tried to pay Janine to break up with Greg so y’all can get back together.” My eyes widen, and my jaw drops.

“You’re fucking lying.” Ava shakes her head.

“Yeah, she offered her twenty bucks.”

“Oh… I gotta talk to Janine. I don’t want her to think—” Ava smiles, getting up with her messy ass.

“I’ll gladly take you to her room.” I sighed.

“Fine,” I grumbled. We left Ava’s office and headed to Janine’s classroom. I know Gigi had good intentions, but Greg and I are over and will never be together. He’s happy with Janine, and I’m at peace about being alone. Once we arrived at Janine’s classroom, Ava entered the classroom, calling Janine to come outside. Janine looked at her worriedly but came outside, stunned to see me.

“Janine, hey! Look, I want to apologize for Gigi. She’s just—” Janine smiles, shaking her head.

“No, it’s fine, really.” I sympathetically looked at her.

“No, it’s not. I know you and Greg are together and happy. I don’t want to interfere with that.” I reassured her. She nods.

“Look, Marí it’s fine. Honestly, Genesis is a great girl and I know she has a big heart. I wasn’t offended by it.”

“Ok.” Janine and I awkwardly looked at each other. Then she excused herself back to her classroom.

“BOOOO! TOMATOES! TOMATOES!” Ava announced. I rolled my eyes and walked away.

“Where are you going?” She called out.

“I’m going to get Genesis’ schoolwork.” I walked to Gregory’s classroom, knocking on the door.

“It’s open.” He called out. I entered the classroom, and it was empty.

“Hey, Greg.” I nervously called out. He looks back at me and smiles.

“Oh, hey, Marí. I assume you’re here for Genesis’ school work.” I nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Well, come in. It’s on my desk.” I hummed, nodding. I walked over and sat down, collecting everything.

“Greg, I’m so sorry that Gigi asked Janine to break up with you.” Gregory nonchalantly hums.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You’re happy and moved on… I don’t want my return to interfere with that.” He looks up at me.

“Your return has actually made me happy.” He admits. I look away. He gets up and walks over to me. He grabs my face, making me look at him.

“Greg, look. What we had is in the past.”

“It is. But?” I shake my head.

“No, we can’t do this.”

“We can’t do what? Talk about our feelings?”

“What about Janine?”

“Marí, tell me, do you still love me?” I looked up at him, stammering.

“w-why are you acting like this?” I finally got out. Greg shrugged.

“I don’t know. I want to suppress it, I really do, but it’s like when I’m around you. I forget all common sense and just want the old thing back.” I pulled away, taking the packet out of his hand.

“Greg, you could’ve stopped me seven years ago but chose not to.”

“If you wanted me to stop you, why did you leave then?” I let out a flustered groan, turning around and looking at him.

“I was scared, Greg!” I exclaimed, then quickly covered my mouth.

“Scared of what?” He further prods. I looked up at him and sighed.

“I was scared of the future. You knew all the answers and I didn’t. I was scared coming back to Anslem because there were things that I didn’t want to confront. When we decided to leave, I didn’t want to come back, and, honestly, I still don’t want to be here. But I am, and I don’t know what’s next.” I confessed, my eyes watering because this stupid ass nigga got me vulnerable again.

Greg places his thumb on my cheek, wiping the tears off.

“Then you should’ve said something, Marí. I would’ve been by your side. I love you.” Greg pauses and takes a step back as I look at him.

“Shit.” He says, realizing what’s going on.

“I should leave,” I muttered. I walk towards the door when he calls my name. I turn around.

“yes?”

“Do you love me too?” I take a deep breath, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I never stopped.” I turned around, leaving the classroom. I could see Greg’s students were on their way back from wherever they were and kept my head down. I did not want anyone else to see me cry. I hurried out of the school and into my car. Once I got in the car I placed my head on the steering wheel, letting out a scream because, WHY?! Why me?! Why Greg?!

Out of all the exes I could be hung up on, it has to be a man who’s in a happily committed relationship. I don’t want to be the downfall of their relationship. Karma is a bitch and I already have enough trauma in my life. I don’t need this shit. My phone rings, stopping me from crying. I look over and see it’s Alex calling me. I sniffled, wiping my tears, and picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“I want a new manager or have you back as my manager.” I groaned, starting my car.

“What’s wrong?”

“He cut my studio time in half for some Instagram hoe.” I rolled my eyes.

“Her name is Courtney, and why do you care so much?”

“Because this is my debut album.” I groaned, pulling out of my parking spot and speeding down the street.

“Alex, You sharing a studio session is not the end of the world. I promise we’ll still have your rollout ready. You just need to make sure Gravity is ready, too.” Alex kisses her teeth.

“They will be. Why you hatin’ on yo aunt.” I rolled my eyes.

“I ain’t. Look, I’m just being realistic. Star’s Sophomore album is in the works, and Noah’s comeback album is highly anticipated. Let’s not forget the Empire merger.” I remind her, pulling up to a red light. I could tell, she did not want to hear that, but it was the truth. That’s why I don’t want Courtney to sigh to Gravity. She would just fall to the waste side while they’re trying to keep their current artists happy.

It just isn’t a good idea, and besides, she needs to build a following for her music before she can even think about getting a label co-sign. Alex lets out a tired sigh.

“I—I know. It’s just when Carlotta suggested that I get managed by you, I was scared, but you quickly eased my nerves and kept the money flowing not just for me, but for Derek too. Have him speak at important Seminars. You made me feel secure about my future. Noah—”

“Noah is trying his best. It’s only been six months since I got the promotion. He’s doing his best. I wouldn’t give him my clients if I didn’t have faith in him. Now, give him a chance. You’re sounding like Star.” I could tell Alex scrunched her face because she and I both knew that wasn’t a compliment. Alex lets out a small chuckle as the light turns green.

“Alright, I’ll let him slide this time. But, Marí?” I hummed.

“Have you talked to Carlotta? I know the last time you saw her was at your mother’s funeral.” I sighed. Carlotta has reached out to me after my mother’s passing but I’ve been ducking those calls. Our last conversation was just— Very emotional and I need my space. As you can see, I don’t do well with emotional conversations. It’s not my strong suit, it never has. So, I have Three Aunts and two uncles on my mother’s side. Out of All of them, Carlotta is the only one who could make me emotionally express how I feel about my mother’s death and that was an intense conversation that I would like to keep between me, her, and God.

I just— it’s a lot.

“By your silence, I’m going to say no. Well, you should call her.” I sighed.

“I’ll get around to it. Look, I have a three-hour drive to Knoxville so I’ll call you when I’m free.” Alex hums.

“Aight, Love you Marí.”

“Love you too.” I hang up the call. I toss my phone into my passenger seat. It lights up. I look over and see it’s an Instagram message. I grabbed my phone and placed it on my lap. I was coming up to the next red light. Once, I pulled up and looked down at my phone, tapping my phone screen. It was a new message. I opened the notification, and I saw the message my heart sank.

“When you’re ready, I’ll be right here.” Attached is a YouTube Video of 112’s Right Here for U.

When this song came out, He sang it to me all the time, in 6th grade. Whenever I was sad or scared. He could not sing, but the gesture was always nice. The last time he performed this song, We were in college and had that dusty apartment. I was sad because life was lifing, and he did a full-out performance for me.

He always knew how to make me happy. I tossed the phone back in the passenger seat. I looked up to see a green light. I sigh to myself. Although the message warmed my heart, I’ll never know when I’ll be ready for him, and I don’t want him to wait.

[roping-riding-wrangling]

Eyes Without A Face

Previous

Alone in his car, you listen to the sounds of the Clash. “This,” Jonathan nods towards the radio, “was Will’s favorite song?”

“Is” you correct him. “Will’s still alive.”

Jonathan huffs out a gentle, “yeah.”

“Anyway, really? He's like 11, I’m surprised his favorite song isn’t Rainbow Connection or something.”

Jonathan has a faraway look in his eyes, one that tells you he’s not really paying attention to your attempts to cheer him up. “Jonathan,” you begin, “I’m serious. He’s gonna be okay.”

Summary: Y/n and Bob finally talk, Jon and Y/n go casket shopping and run into a familiar face

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: Newby!reader, swearing, signs of depression/dissociation, anxiety, mentions of death (including child death)

Its the first morning this week that you haven’t felt deeply exhausted when you wake up. Despite the fact that you wake up in yesterday’s clothes, you can’t deny how rested you feel. Of course, coffee is still a necessity. 

You walk out to the kitchen and are surprised to find your dad already sitting at the table. A full mug waits for you. You give him a soft smile and a “thanks” before taking a seat and sipping on your mug. Your dad must have been up for a while, the coffee is already cooled to a drinkable temperature. 

“Buddy, I think we need to talk.” Your dad says after a few beats of silence. 

Your shoulders slump with the weight of the conversation yet to happen. 

“I’m worried about you. You nearly passed out yesterday. I couldn’t really understand most of what you said last night, but I want to know what's going on to make you this upset. It’s clearly more than Benny’s passing. Please, just tell me whats wrong.”

You take a breath, deciding how to explain everything to your dad. “You uh, know how I don’t really bring any friends over. Its cause I can count them on one hand. You,” you put up a finger, “Benny,” a second finger rises, “and Jonathan” three fingers for three friends. 

“What about the girls on the team?”

“We’re teammates, not friends. Anyways, as of yesterday a third of my friends is dead. And for some inexplicable reason, he killed himself. Benny, happy Benny, shot himself. And I was one of the last people to see him. That night…a kid showed up in the kitchen. A runaway, I think. Anyways, I offered to stay in the diner to keep an eye on her and Benny let me go home. I keep going back to that night. I keep replaying it in my head on loop. And I keep wondering…If I had stayed maybe–maybe he’d still be here. And then there's the whole Jonathan thing…His kid brother has been missing since Sunday night. I was with Jonathan that night. He came into the diner right before close and I let him stay late. Thats probably when Will went missing. If I’d just–”

Your dad set his hand on your clenched fist.

“If I had just made him go home, Will might not be lost, or it would've been noticed sooner or something. I just…I keep letting things happen.”

“Letting things happen?”

“You know, not doing anything. I just…I feel so passive and I feel like lately its been having consequences.”

“Then don’t be passive.”

“What?”

“Well, if you think that being passive is causing trouble, then start taking action.”

You think back to yesterday’s events. You, paralyzed to act, as Jonathan’s camera is destroyed. You think back farther, to not saying anything when Ms Henderson didn’t notice the song until you were seconds away from snapping. Not stopping your dad as he left you alone. Agreeing to leave Eleven and Benny. Letting Jonathan stay late at the diner. 

The guilt eats you alive. Your entire life, you’ve done things because it was easier than fighting. You joined volleyball because your middle school teacher had asked you to. You worked at Benny’s because he needed a hand taking orders. You didn’t even put up a fight when your mom left. 

“I don’t think I know how.”

“So we’ll start small. You’ll take a day for yourself. I’ll stay home with you and you’ll tell me how today is going to go. Every step of the day is your choice, not mine, not anyone else’s. your’s”

Even now you can’t seem to say no to your dad. 

“...okay”

“So what’s first?”

“Can you call my coach? I don’t want her to think I’m skipping for anything dumb. And,” you pause, gauging his reaction, “can I go back to sleep for a bit?”

“Of course, buddy. I love you.”

“I love you too dad.”

You slowly head back to your room

You don’t sleep. Instead, you sit on the floor, back against the door. You sift through your music collection. None of it sounds appealing. One album stands out amongst the others: Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell. You’d been listening to it on Sunday. Sunday feels like it was years ago

You turn the cassette over in your hands. It was borrowed from Jonathan last week, but you’d yet to return it. You gently remove it from the case and put it in your walkman. sticking the headphones on yourself, you fall into the memory of him lending it to you,

It was another slow, late night at the diner. Benny was doing inventory in the back while you were up front, chatting with Jonathan, the lone patron of the diner. 

“What is this?” you asked, the station he’d changed the radio to was playing an unfamiliar tune. 

“The Talking Heads,” he answered, “you like ‘em?”

“I don’t know. It sounds kinda weird.”

“Yeah,” he laughed lightly, “that's kinda the point. They’re not conforming to the general population’s perception of good music.”

You frowned, “So I’m the general population?”

Jonathan looked at you plainly, “I mean…yeah. I’m sorry, but every time I come in here it's either Kenny Rogers, or Dolly Parton, or Glen Campbell.”

“That's not all I listen to. It’s just that Benny likes it and it's literally his diner,” you respond, “there’s plenty of other stuff I like–like Elton John! And Simon and Garfunkel and Linda Rondstadt and David Bowie and–”

“Okay okay! I get it” he said throwing his hands up in surrender, but you weren’t done

“The Police and Billy Idol–”

“Wait,” he interrupted again, “You like Billy Idol?”

That gave you pause. “Uh…I mean, yeah, he’s cool.”

“Have you listened to Rebel Yell?” he asked excitedly.

“Oh no,” you replied awkwardly, “I uh, haven’t managed to get my hands on it.”

“Here!” He materialized the cassette from somewhere within his bag, “you can borrow this.”

“Oh,” you were shocked. You wouldn’t have expected him to give over the tape that readily. You’d pegged him as the type to keep his music to himself. He prided himself on his superior taste, whereas your taste was too eclectic for you to be pretentious about it 

“Thanks!” 

You really had meant to just listen to it once and return it, but it kept poking out from your bag while you did your homework. You listened to it again the next day on your drive, and again while jogging. Jonathan never asked for it back, and you never brought it up either. 

The tape stopping pulls you from your reverie. You yank the headphones off and stick the walkman back in your bag. 

You put the box of cassettes up and crawled into bed. The fan blows air at the windows, moving your curtains. Every so often, you caught a glimpse of the outside. The sky is gray, casting a sad shadow over the trees in your yard. You pull the curtains back even more, resting your cheek against the cool glass. Every so often, a car passes by. The wind knocks down leaves from the trees. When you breathe, the glass fogs up. 

You flop back on the bed, no longer feeling tired. No longer feeling anything. There's nothing left to feel. You recognize the emptiness. It's a comfort that you’ve often turned to. Shutting yourself out and going on autopilot. You know exactly how to act so that everyone thinks you’re fine, but the reality is that your smiles don’t go all the way and your laughs are a hollow ringing in your own ears. 

You haven’t had to shut down in a while. You forgot how nice the nothingness is. 

You don’t sleep, but laying in your bed with nothing but the fan and the gentle noises from outside feels good. You finally rise from your bed, your stomach grumbling from negligence. You quietly open your door. The floor is cold against your unsocked feet. 

“Hey buddy, feeling better?” Your dad asks from his spot on the couch, where he is watching reruns of MASH. You nod at him and give him a smile. “What’s next on the agenda?” his answer comes in the form of your stomach growling. You both laugh, but his is louder. "Could we go get some food in town?” you ask him.

“You got it, what’ll it be?” 

“I could go for some pizza,” you shrug.

You grab your bag and hop in his car. You watch from the passenger seat as the trees fly by and begin to fade into the familiar buildings of downtown Hawkins. He pulls into his parking spot behind the Radio Shack and ducks around the car to open the door for you. “After you,” he says, a goofy grin on his face. 

The walk to the pizza place is short and your dad rambles about a radio he donated to the middle school AV club the whole time. You recall him mentioning how he started the club in his youth. He speaks vigorously and you have trouble understanding everything he means, but its sweet how passionate he is about it. Its one of the things you admire most about the man. When he loves something, he loves it truly and deeply. 

He once again opens the door for you when you arrive. You claim a table while he puts your order in at the counter. He returns with a flag with the number eleven on it. The reminder of the sweet little girl gives your heart a twinge, and you quickly let the numbness consume it. 

“Scott was telling me how excited all the boys were on Monday when they saw it. Did you know the Henderson kid is in the club?” he asks you.

“No, I didn’t. Good for him,” you answer. 

“Yeah...speaking of clubs, how's volleyball going?” it's clear he’s trying to make conversation.

You know that your dad needs this. He needs to know that you’re okay, that you’re not slipping away from him, that he’s doing his job as a dad correctly. You could never deny him this kindness, so you fill the void of silence, “It’s going pretty well. Coach wants me to try libero, since Casey’s graduating next year, but I think I’m better as a setter. We’ll see.”

A server comes with a tray of pizza for your table. Your dad continues to ask you about volleyball, school, anything to keep you talking. You play along and answer his questions while eating. 

After three slices, you have to make the choice of eating another. You decide not to make yourself sick and have your dad flag down the server to ask for a to go box. 

Again he opens the door for you on the way out. The pizza settles in your stomach and you feel some of the sluggishness from the morning begin to wear. Your dad tucks his arm around you in the walk back and you huddle closer, grateful for the warmth he radiates. 

Across the street, you see a familiar figure and are reminded of the cassette you’d stashed in your bag earlier. “Hey dad,” you pull yourself from his arm, “I’m gonna go say hi to Jonathan.”

“Okay, I’ll be in the shack.”

He departs for his store as you head across the street. As you approach the boy, you can tell something is wrong.

“Jonathan,” you call out to him as you jog to catch up. He is hunched over and when he finally looks up at you his brows are furrowed and his eyes are bloodshot. “Jonathan?” you say again, softer this time.

“Will died” he spits the words from his mouth like they're venom. You blink slowly, letting the emptiness that resides within you absorb this information. The cassette is all but forgotten as you gently pull him into a hug. He barely hangs onto you, but you can feel how he shakes. 

Still holding onto him you glance around then ask, “Where’s your mom?”

He grips you tighter at that, “She’s convinced he’s alive, that he’s living in our walls. She thinks he’s being hunted by a monster. But I just–I just came from the morgue. Y/n, his body was so small.”

He hiccups and you squeeze him, “Jonathan, I’m so sorry.”

You pull away, letting him wipe the tears from his face with his sleeves. He hiccups again again and you rub his back in slow, small circles as he catches his breath. He needs this, his mother is gone so there is no one to comfort the boy. You'll be that pillar for him, a shoulder for him to cry on. "What are you gonna do?" you ask.

“I have to plan his funeral…pick out a coffin.” he says slowly, as if he's just now realizing what he needs to do.

He collapses back onto your shoulder, just like on Tuesday night. Except on Tuesday, he still had hope. Now, the despair rolls off him in waves. He is in no position to make decisions by himself. 

Your dad’s words from this morning echo in your mind and you decide this will not be something you just let happen again. You can use your emotionless state to help him–so you do. 

“Do you want some company?”

He nods sadly against your shoulder and very subtly tries to wipe his tears before he picks his head back up. You hold out your elbow for him and he holds onto it. You lead him to the funeral home. 

“I’m gonna call my dad real quick, will you be okay for a minute?” you ask outside, eyeing the payphone. He nods quietly and you fish out the correct change from your bag. You dial the number to the Radio Shack and wait as rings thrice before your dad’s familiar voice greets you.

“Hello, you’ve reached the Hawkins Radio Shack, this is Bob, how can I help you?”

“Hey dad, its Y/n.”

“Buddy, where are you?”

“I’m at the funeral home…Jonathan’s brother died. I’m gonna make sure he’s not alone right now. I wanted to let you know.”

“Oh no, poor kid. You’re doing the right thing, Y/n. You’re a good friend. I love you and I’m proud of you. Let the Byers know that I’m thinking of them.”

“Will do. I love you too, dad.”

You hang up and head inside to Jonathan, who is already talking to a salesman. You hear him discuss a walnut casket as you sidle up Jonathan and place a gentle hand on his arm to alert him to your presence. 

“Now, I don’t know what your budget is,” the man says softly, “but over here we have  copper and bronze.” the pair of you silently follow him to the other caskets. Jonathan stops and you look past him to see Nancy in the door. She looks like she wants to talk. “Could we just have a minute?” you ask the salesman and he gives you an understanding nod. 

You approach the timid girl. She looks up at Jonathan and says, “Your mom, she said you’d be here. I just,” you prepare to hear her offer condolences but she surprises you. “Can we talk for a second?”

You follow the girl out into the hall and stand over Jonathan’s shoulder as the pair sit on a bench. Nancy pulls out the taped-back-together photos from yesterday. “I noticed something behind Barb,” she begins and hands them to Jonathan, “I can’t tell what it is, but it’s weird right?”

As she mentions it, you do see a figure shrouded in shadow behind the immortalized girl on the diving board. 

“I see it.” you tell her. She looks up at you, hope shining in her eyes. “It looks like it could be some kind of perspective distortion,” Jonathan tells you both, and the hope begins to fade from her face. “I wasn’t using a wide angle. I don’t know, it’s weird.”

“And you’re sure you didn’t see anyone else out there?” she probes.

“No,” he answers, “just Y/n later on, but Barb…she was there one second and gone. I figure she bolted”

“What were you doing there?” Nancy asks you.

“Its kind of a long story…I saw Jonathan’s car and got worried. I didn’t see anyone else though.” 

“Did you see Barb?” she interrogates further. 

“No, I’m sorry.”

“The cops think that she ran away, but they don’t know Barb.” You’re ashamed to admit to yourself that you hadn’t even noticed the girl was missing. You don’t know the younger girl, but when you try to recall her, you remember her in the hallways, a soft smile on her face and Nancy attached to her hip. 

 The numbness begins to wane as you consider everything that’s happened in the past week. Eleven, Benny, Will, and now Barbara. At this point, it can no longer be a coincidence. Nancy’s voice breaks through your train of thought, “And I went back to Steve's and I thought I saw something. Some weird man or…I don’t know what it was.” 

With the reveal of the mysterious figure, it's like trying to put together a puzzle, but all the pieces are from different boxes. The pieces fit, but the picture looks weird. “I’m sorry. I–I shouldn’t have come here today,” she gets up to go. “I’m so sorry.”

Before she can fully leave, Jonathan speaks up, “What’d he look like?” he asks and you remember what he told you earlier, about his mom thinking Will was still alive and being hunted. Could she be right? Its an insane thought, you tell yourself. Jonathan saw the body in the morgue. 

“What?” Nancy turns around to look at him. 

“Jonathan, you don’t think…” you begin, but he ignores you, looking imploringly at Nancy. “This man you saw in the woods, what’d he look like?”

You hold your breath as you stand between the two, and Nancy tries to explain, “I don’t know, it almost like he didn’t ha–”

Jonathan finishes the thought for her, “Didn’t have a face?”

“How did you know that?”

“Jonathan, is there a way to see the picture better?” You ask, grabbing the photo from Nancy’s hand and pointing at the figure. “If this…thing is what got Barb, and it's hunting Will…we need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I guess…I’d need the dark room at the school though.”

“Great, where are you parked?”

“Y/n…”

“Lets go.” you turn and make your way back to downtown. The others follow behind hot on your tail. Jonathan jogs ahead of you to lead you to his car. You arrive and he fumbles for his keys, dropping them in the process. 

He finally unlocks the car and you pile in. On the drive there, you explain to them your thoughts. 

“I think there's something abducting people. On Monday, there was a little girl at the diner. I thought she was a runaway, but what if she wasn’t running from home. What if she was running from whatever thing is. It would explain the weird timing. And then she suddenly vanished again?”

“And Barb went missing the next day…” Nancy picks up your line of thinking. 

“Exactly!” you respond, “I still don’t understand how Benny fits into this, but–”

“Wait,” she interrupts, “Benny? Like ‘Benny's Burgers’ Benny? What does he have to do with this?”

Oh. She doesn’t know.

“Benny…he was found dead the morning after we found the kid. She was nowhere to be seen”

“How do you know that?”

“I, uh, I work there. I was the last one, beside the girl, to see him. The police took me in for questioning. I’ve been trying to figure everything out since then, but…I just don’t understand why he shot himself.”

“Maybe he survived this thing but couldn’t handle it?” Jonathan offers.

“Yeah, like the vets from ‘nam…I had an uncle that fought and came back from that and…” Nancy trails off. You realize how truly little you two know about each other, despite living in a small town where everyone gossips. You don’t dwell on it, though, as Jonathan parks outside the school. 

“How are we gonna get in? School’s been out for a while, it's probably locked.” the boy asks, getting out of the car. You’re already making your way to the gym. “Follow me!” you yell at them. “The coaches never lock this door,” you explain as you lead them to a side entrance. You hold the door for them as they enter. 

The three of you make your way to the dark room. Jonathan prepares the negatives. Neither you nor Nancy understand exactly what he’s doing to the film. 

Nancy asks him, “and you’re?”

He answers, “Brightening. Enlarging.”

“Did your mom say anything else? Like, where it might have gone to, or…” Nancy asks him further

“Nope, just that it came out of the wall.”

The machine dings and Jonathan removes the page, dipping it in some liquid. The picture slowly starts to develop and the three of you crowd around it. It's silent for a moment before Nancy begins speaking again, “How long does this take?” 

“Not long.” Jonathan responds

The waiting is killing you. You tap your fingers against the table as you stare at the paper. 

“Have you been doing this long?” Nancy seems to be like your dad. Unable to endure silence. 

“What?” Jonathan asks, indulging her questioning. 

“Photography.”

“yeah…I guess I’d rather observe people, than…”

“Talk to them?”

As the pair talk, you feel an all too familiar feeling creep up on you. Your rush of figuring out the mystery from earlier is starting to wear off the realization sinks in that whatever is about to reveal itself has already taken a life, if not three more. You hold yourself completely still so as not to alert the others of your impending panic. Your knuckles are nearly white from how tightly you grip the edges of the table. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

You hold onto the comfort of your numbers, willing them to be the only thing on your mind. You slowly tune back into the conversation, the emptiness settling back in. 

“Its just sometimes, people don’t always say what they’re really thinking. But you capture the right moment,” Jonathan says, leaning closer to Nancy. “It says more.”

“What was I saying?” Nancy gives him a gentle, almost kind, smirk “When you took my picture?”

Even in the red light, you can tell he’s blushing. “I shouldn’t have taken that. I’m sorry.”

You glance away, not wanting to intrude on whatever intimate moment they’re having. The picture has developed before your eyes, and a grotesque figure looms above Barb. Its a horrifying sight. There is no way this thing is human. Its huge and though it stands upright, its limbs are more animal than man. 

“Nancy…” you interrupt their intense eye contact. “Is this what you saw?”

Her eyes dart away from the boy and down onto the picture. 

“Oh my god…thats it,” she gasps.

“My mom,” Jonathan breathes out, “I thought she was crazy ‘cause she said thats not Will’s body. That he’s alive.”

“And he’s alive–” nancy begins

“Barb and Eleven are too” you finish. 

Jonathan drives the both of you home, “We’ll need a plan, like a real actual plan,” you explain logically, “When are you guys free tomorrow?”

“Well, uh, the funeral is tomorrow, so after that.”

You rub a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder, though your theory about Will could be true, it doesn’t change the fact that tomorrow will be a sad day. 

“We’ll need information too. Like everywhere this thing has been”

The car pulls into the Wheeler’s driveway and Jonathan looks at Nancy before she leaves, “Meet us at my car tomorrow.”

She nods resolutely at him, then at you. Alone in his car, you listen to the sounds of the Clash. “This,” Jonathan nods towards the radio, “was Will’s favorite song?”

“Is,” you correct him. “Will’s still alive.”

Jonathan huffs out a gentle, “yeah.”

“Anyway, really? He's like 11, I’m surprised his favorite song isn’t Rainbow Connection or something.”

Jonathan has a faraway look in his eyes, one that tells you he’s not really paying attention to your attempts to cheer him up. “Jonathan,” you begin, “I’m serious. He’s gonna be okay.”

“But what if he isn’t,” he rebuts, “what if we fight this thing and it's too late and he’s still gone?”

Jonathan pulls up to your house and parks, but doesn’t look at you. His grip on the steering wheel is tight. “What if we lose and I’ve failed him again…I can’t do that.”

You scoot closer to him and wrap your arms around him and lean your head on his shoulder. He grabs your arms, grateful for the comforting touch. 

“He’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna save him– and Barb and Eleven. I promise. We’re gonna bring them home.”

He says nothing, just nods against you. You lose track of how long the two of you sit in his car. You don’t dare break away. He needs this. You’ve known the boy for years, but feel like you didn’t actually know anything about him until this week. He’s like you. He doesn’t quite understand how to connect to people, so the people he has in his life are terribly important and all consuming. For a long time, Jonathan just had his mom and Will–you just had your dad and Benny. Then you had each other. Now you both have Nancy.

You couldn’t save Benny, but you could do this for them. You could save their people. You think of the little girl that came in all dirt and grime and skin and bones. You picture her contagious smile as she tried milkshakes–her big doe eyes looking up at you–and you hope that she will be a permanent addition to your small collection of people. You decide she will be, once you defeat this thing. 

Next Chapter

Tags: @ucannotcompare

[jilliam]

hi! this is super random, but are you still doing ballet? i’m thinking of signing up for a class and while i know it won’t be the same exact experience, what did you think of it? i danced for 10 years 14 years ago, so i’d definitely be rusty haha, and am curious what your class was like instructor and fellow pupil wise - thanks!!

Hi!

At this point l've stopped going to classes, I stopped around March of this year bc I was traveling a bunch in April and May and just never picked it up after things calmed down, and also be I started jewelry making class which was on the day that I used to do ballet (Tuesday evenings).

I was taking it at New York theater ballet, which is in the east village. They have classes on days other than Tuesday - I think Monday is beginner beginner like never done ballet before, Tuesday and Thursday are beginner but with some experience, and Wednesday is more of an intermediate class taught by the school's director who is apparently really strict and wants you to come in with a bun and has made some of my classmates cry, allegedly.

It was $14 per class for a drop in, but they had a deal that if you bought 10 classes in advance for $120 it comes out to be $12 per class. I think they recently changed it to $15 for drop in and $130 for 10.

I had basically no ballet experience before - I did it for a few months in like pre k maybe? And then I did it for a few months in end of 2019, and stopped when the pandemic hit. Then I moved to new york and started around September 2021 and did it until March 2024 (2.5 years?) going once a week

I really liked the cadence of going once a week, it made me feel like I was committed to something I wanted to do and that I could organize my life around doing things I set my mind to, and slowly but surely noticing my improvements and increased knowledge / skill / confidence with respect to ballet

I was probably one of the least experienced people there when I started, but nowadays if I were to drop in I would probably be somewhere in the middle in terms of skill. There were usually 20-30 people in each class and always like 3-5 people who were really good, like on a professional track at some point in their lives and just decided not to continue professional track but still have the technique and more fluid ~dance-y quality (as opposed to a beginner like me who's mainly focused on doing things with correct technique).

I definitely enjoyed it for the first few years, I really liked my teacher. For me I think the class is most worth it™ when the teacher makes a specific correction for my technique and I have things that I can specifically work on. I think toward the end, because I wasn't a beginner beginner anymore, I stopped receiving individual corrections so I felt like I was stagnating and it stopped feeling as fulfilling as it used to

In March 2024 I signed up for a 3 week ballet intensive which was really fun and really intense - it was like Thursday 7-9:30pm, Saturday 3-7pm, and Sunday 3-6pm. Doing this for three weeks I felt that I learned a lot (was able to finally do tour jeté :D) but was burnt out and wanted to take a break, and then I just haven't returned. Not to say that I wouldn't return, but it's not high on my priorities at this point anymore

Let me know if you decide to sign up for a class! I vaguely remember you being based in DC? Where are you now? Also feel free to dm me if you wanna chat more

[andressa-vera]

rainer (spirals)

From 45 to 90, to 180, to 360, 720, 1080, 1440, 1800, 2160, winding, tightening, tightening... I was stunned by pure horror and disgust.

It was a breezy day.

I was visiting the family like I always did on weekends- though it seems I am not a part of it anymore. The death of my brother weighs in on my family more than ever. I feel dizzy as I approach my cousin's house- the green car is parked on the front porch, blindingly fluorescent and vivid.

It was windy.

"Where is ______?" I asked. She averted her eyes and smiled. "Oh, he's at the school, y'know."

"On a Sunday?"

"Yes, dear. He has a lot of work to be done. Being a teacher sure is more hectic than what we think."

It was my cue to stop talking. I was prying into business that wasn't mine- again, we no longer seemed like family. I looked at my aunt- her face pallid and paler than ever; it's been years since I've seen her look like this.

"Where's C̶̠̺̊̎̽̈́̐ȧ̸͖̱̯̦͚͈͍̣̒r̶̛̛̫̼̳͍̲͔͗̍̈r̵͍̒͋̓̊̑̀͆͘͜͠i̵̛̝͖̞̮͂̽͊͐̀͑ě̵̡̠̜̟͎̆͜ͅ?"

"Where's Care?" I asked.

"She's playing outside." Aunt Anna smiled. You can go play with her. She misses you a lot, you know?"

I walked out the front door. The green car was still parked on the porch. ______'s car. It was unnerving for some reason. I closed my eyes and still felt the green car speeding towards me, and in a blinding flash of white, I felt weak. I felt my legs sink into the soil and my body being torn apart. I did not even get a moment to let out a cry or scream as I lay there on the ground, the flash of light dimming into the dark once and for all.

I quickly walked past the car and to the corner of the house. C̶̠̺̊̎̽̈́̐ȧ̸͖̱̯̦͚͈͍̣̒r̶̛̛̫̼̳͍̲͔͗̍̈r̵͍̒͋̓̊̑̀͆͘͜͠i̵̛̝͖̞̮͂̽͊͐̀͑ě̵̡̠̜̟͎̆͜ͅ

Care was all by herself- I felt calm. She was putting her arms up high and jumping around in the direction where the wind blew. The breeze blew inconsistently back and forth to which she spun, from 45 to 90, to 180, to 360, 720, 1080, 1440, 1800, 2160, winding, tightening, tightening...

I was stunned by pure horror and disgust.

___________________________________

Her body spun rapidly- twisting, convulsing, swirling into a tornado of some sort- she spun clockwise, anticlockwise, rotating, revolving all whilst flailing her arms around and screaming at the top of her lungs. I froze.

Her body twisted upwards from her ankles to her neck and for a split second, it almost seemed like her head broke, hanging limply on her side. Her hair seemed suspended in the air- thin strands like the petals of a flower hung afloat.

Her whole body spiralled and spun.

Like a windmill.

[chaisshitposts]

hi love if you don’t mind can you go in more detail about the time you entered the void and manifested your job? what was your mindset like before you entered? what do you think helped you enter? i’m in my 20s as well and really want to at least get my dream job first of all things and then i feel like i could finally relax you know? :( so your help would be greatly appreciated🥹

also i think your followers are really nice and mature so when i do tap in, i wouldn’t mind affirming (everyone who likes my success story and has good intentions will enter roe)

sure! let's see if I can remember as many details as possible— it was a couple days after I had my job interview, I had already been affirmin' my ass off that that job was mine and no one could take it from me— on this particular day, I think it was a Sunday. the lady who interviewed me said I would get my answer on the followin' Wednesday, and god that stressed me out, but I still kept affirmin'. on that day, I felt an extreme sense of drowsiness and so I had went to try and sleep in my bed. I already knew about SATs and whatever so I thought I could just affirm as I go to sleep, which I did. I was 'asleep' but I was still repeating my affirmations over and over, only focusin' on them while I was physically tossing and turning. Since I was tryna sleep, my eyes were already closed and it was silent in my room so ig I just didn't care about my surroundings. I do, however, remember that at some point I was affirmin' and was fully aware of my affirmations but then somethin' changed inside me and I was like 'Its done, nothing more for me to do, I don't wanna stress over this anymore. I can't sleep so, might as well just go back downstairs.' Then I opened my eyes and got up, feeling my stress about everything completely gone.

I went downstairs, right as my ma sat down after gettin' a package off the porch and that's when she gave me my new phone. (I still live with my family, yes, but only bc california is a dirt bag ofc) And I kid ya not, a couple minutes after I opened up the box with my new phone in it, I got a congratulations email from the lady who interviewed me, as well as the offer letter on my old phone. I freaked out afterwards bc I was like, ain't no way??? She said she'd send me somethin' on WEDNESDAY?? It's SUNDAY. I even told my ma and she was excited, then I was like-- I really manifested this??? After an entire year of being unemployed despite havin' my degree, and forcin' myself to work at Amazon and FedEx just to have a lil' change to call my own... I finally scored the job I WANT.

The best advice I could give you tbh is that ya should make robotic affirmin', the list method, and the ten minute method yer best friend. I did not have a good outlook on employment until I settled down and decided to change my thinkin' and god I was still stressed as fuck even when I affirmin'. I've never been good at talkin' to strangers, especially on the phone or on video call, but I affirmed right up until the interview started that the job would be mine no matter what and I was completely calm. Now, I am a step closer to my dream job. (I'm a substitute teacher currently workin' towards my credentials to be a full-time teacher in case ya were wonderin', the company I work for also provides grants to pay for the schooling needed to get credentialed which is such a big fuckin' bonus)

and yes, they definitely all are amazin' people, I never expected to have such a positive lil' community of followers but I am grateful to them, for sure.

bUt, okay, lemme stop ramblin' here's what I wantcha to do anonnie— I want ya to make yerself a list, title it whatever ya want to call the list, and fill that list with affirmations, askformations, statements, new beliefs, whatever ya want. could include anything ya want, details about the job ya want, how much money ya wanna make, how ya want the bosses to treat ya, what kinda work environment ya want, whatever, and then I want ya to include some self-concept affirmations, as well as some affirmations about the void (whatever feels natural for you), ah and some manifestation affirmations too. make it however long or short ya want, doesn't matter. once ya have that, read it over as many times as ya want and then throughout the day, whenever ya can, I want ya to robotically affirm that you've got everything on [name of yer list], say this whenever ya can, and especially when ya start thinkin' negative about whatever you desire or whenever ya feel like you're about spiral. affirm this through everything and anything, affirm if ya can't help but cry, affirm when yer angry, affirm when yer happy, just keep affirmin.'

as long as ya keep this up and correct yer thoughts, you'll have guaranteed movement in yer life, that's the law. even in false hope, whatever is repeated shall harden into fact.