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kmhappybunny240 · 3 months ago

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The French Nurse

Chapter 8

Olivia sat hunched over her desk with only the desk lamp on. Most of her day was spent shuffling through new applications for nursing positions. A perk of her job was she had been given the power to overhaul the nursing program. She took inspiration from her schooling in Boston and applied it.

She wanted to push the women to their fullest potential. She wanted them in the thick of things. From her own personal experiences society wasn't kind to women in the medical field. Nurses provided a critical service but they were not respected.She came close to punching a doctor for calling herself nothing more than a secretary. Demeaning to both professions. Olivia had great pride in her work and wanted others to feel the same.

Olivia arose from her chair to stretch her aching muscles. She slapped her bottom to get the feeling back.

"Well that is attractive."

Olivia jolted and knocked her knee into the chair. When she turned to the door way Peter stood there smirking.

"You should have knocked."

"And miss this show. Is this what you do in your free time? Spank yourself."

"That is enough from you." They giggled and Olivia playfully slapped him.

"I surrender I surrender."

"Are you ready for a late dinner?" Peter asked

"Yes, let me lock up these files and we can leave."

Peter helped Olivia into her coat and they left.

Olivia held on to Peter arm during the silent walk to the pub. The Fox and Parrot pub has been a convenient favorite of the hospital works since it's within walking distance. The pub had a calm atmosphere. Olivia was relieved for that as they sat at a booth. They both ordered the classic fish and chips.

"May I ask about Tommy now?" Peter hadn't broached the subject of their reunion yet.

"Everything is fine between us. Oscar is fitting in well with his family. They all love him dearly.He is spending four days with Tommy and I will see him again on Tuesday. Couldn't have asked for a better result." Olivia took a large chug of her beer.

Peter knew her though. She could force herself into being agreeable for the sake of peace. She was being too nice.

"You are lying Mon cher. Something bothered you. I will take a wild guess and say it's his fiance." Peter looked her sternly in the eyes. She was stubborn but he wasn't backing down. Olivia huffed.

"Grace did not give the best first impression."Olivia told him hesitantly.

"Mhm. I thought as much." He rolled his eyes.

"She did apologize , not only to me but to Oscar."

"What did she do to my boy?"

"MY son is just fine. He has Tommy there to protect him when I'm not around. Like I said she apologized for her rude behavior."

Peter considered himself as Oscar unofficial god father.

"Oscar is the closest thing I have to a nephew. I love him as my own blood. I don't take any harassment towards him lightly." Peter blood was boiling.

Olivia folded her hand over Peter's to calm and comfort him.

"She explained why she was so rude to us and I understand her feelings. I believed her sincerity."

"Then explain to me. Why would she be rude to a little boy? Her future step son."

" Calm down Pete."

"Her world has been tilted from Tommy actions. Polly filled me in on what he has done since the war. Everything you neglected to tell me. So much danger has followed him and just as she has settled now she has a step son."

Peter saw Olivia starting to blame herself for Grace bratty behavior.

"Stop it Livy. None of this is your fault."

"Why didn't you tell me? I am having a difficult time reconciling the two Tommy's. The soldier in France and the gangster here in England."

"I couldn't. I just.." Peter trailed off. Olivia moved closer to him and hugged him some.

She knew Peter was protecting Tommy. Protecting the both of them.

"Polly also told me who Grace is really is. How she met Tommy. I don't particularly like the circumstances but if he has forgiven her then I am putting my trust in that. Judge not lest ye be judged. I have plenty of skeletons in my closet. I wouldn't want people to look down on me because of my past."

"Your skeletons are minimal compared to hers."Peter retorted.

Shouting broke out. A young woman being roughly handled by a drunk brute. Another man attempted to subdue the drunk. It didn't work.

A beer mug smashed over the good civilian head. Blood dripped down his head to the bottom of his face.

"We need to go now." Peter stood up and grabbed onto Olivia wrist to pull her up. Olivia stood but stopped when she saw the bastard slap the woman and she fell to the ground. Her instincts kicked in and Olivia ran into the fight. Peter tried to hold Olivia back to no avail.

The drunk bumped into another patron who fell off his stool. That lead to a massive fight. More men joined in and were hurting each other for no reason. Olivia had to crawl to the woman who was curled up on the floor. Men were tripping over both of them and the frightened woman screamed when her hand was crushed.

"Shh I can help you. What is your name." Olivia had to yell over the chaos.

"Melissa." The young woman whimpered.

"Stay with me Melissa." Olivia took Melissa by the shoulders to move her. The closest safe spot was behind a knocked over table. They made haste and watched the fighting. Melissa kept crying while Olivia felt her heart rapidly beat , skin crawling, and clammy skin. Another panic attack. She couldn't see Peter in the mix but she could fairly hear a man call out her name.

Two loud guns shot into the ceiling silenced the crowed.

"You have thirty seconds to clear the building, otherwise the police will be on their way and you all will be hauled in." Another shot rang out. Olivia flinched. Bile rose up into her mouth and she swallowed.

Men scurried out the door when two sets of feet ran their way to the table. Olivia held the shaking woman to her chest.

"Livy!" Peter dropped down to the floor. He pulled her to her feet. Melissa joined them.

"What were you thinking. You could have gotten killed."

"I had to help her."

"Fuck" The stranger coughed up blood.

Olivia walked over to the man with a napkin she took off the floor. She applied pressure to his head.

"We need to get them to the hospital now."

Olivia went under the man arm to hold him steady. His head rolled to the side.

"Thank you." He said to her as the four of them hurried to the hospital.

"You're welcome. Can you tell me your name. What city you are in?" She needed to keep him talking in case of a concussion.

"Atticus Davenport and in London. Birch street if can recall." He gave her a painful grin. His head was killing him. Olivia noticed his green eyes that sparkled under the street lights. He was tall and handsome. Even with the blood staining some of his hair it was perfect. Styled with a slight wave. Sandy blonde. He was handsome.

Olivia scolded herself for thinking about this stranger's looks at a time like this.

"That's good Mr.Davenport. Your cognitive ability seems seems to be functional. Once we get you into the hospital the doctor will run tests to make sure there is no damage."

"Are you my guardian angel?"

Olivia cheeks blushed at his question.

"No just a nurse."

When they arrived at the hospital Peter called out for help. A few orderslies helped them into separate rooms. Peter stayed with the young woman while Olivia stayed with Atticus.

"I didn't think you were the fighting type Olivia."

"I'm not. A drunken fool was harassing an innocent woman,Melissa. Mr. Davenport stepped in to defend her. What are their injuries?"

Olivia and the doctor on call stood out in the hallway.

"I am about to discharge Melissa. Her hand is sprained and a few scrapes but she is fine. Mr.Davenport is asking for you. I am wanting to keep him for the night for observation.His head wound is clean. I was about to have a nurse stitch him up."

"I will be there in a moment. Thank you." She patted the doctor on the arm.

Olivia entered Melissa room. Peter was helping her with her coat.

"You should drive her home." Olivia suggested to Peter.

"Oh no you don't have to bother. You both have done so much already."

"Nonsense. You need to get home safely. It's late."

"Are you sure Livy? "

"Of course. Don't need to worry about me." Olivia kissed him on the cheek in a goodbye. Melissa crushed her in a hug and thanked her.

Olivia walked down the hall back to Atticus room.

"I can take over." Olivia nodded to the other nurse who left the room.

"How is your head feeling Mr. Davenport?"

"Atticus. Mr. Davenport was my father. It's not so bad the medicine doctor gave me is helping." He smiled at Olivia.

"That's wonderful."

Olivia inspected his cleaned wound.

"A clean cut. You won't need too many stiches. I will give you a numbing shot now."

"I don't think I'm going to feel it."

Olivia smiled at him. As she got to work she couldn't help eyeing him. He was a stranger , she shouldn't be oogling him. There was something about him though.

"How is the young lady fairing?"

"Minor injuries. She is on her way home."

Atticus nodded.

"You were very brave tonight. Not many people would come to the rescue of a stranger."

"Not brave just the right thing to do. I couldn't stand there and do nothing while that jackass was accosting her." Atticus stated with conviction.

"Still a noble deed." Olivia gave him small smile.

"All done." Olivia taped the bandaged over his wound.

Atticus stood up. Olivia had to steady him from falling over. She helped him lay down.

"I will send the doctor in now. He will.."

Atticus took Olivia hand before she could finish. He rubbed his thumb across her knuckles and then kissed her hand.

"Thank you Guardian angel for keeping me safe tonight."

Olivia blushed and swooned. The way he caressed her hand. His lusty eyes made her feel wanted in that moment.

"I am Olivia Dubois a simple nurse , not close to an angel at all."

"Don't underestimate yourself." Atticus was about to make a bold move when the doctor entered the room.

"I have to leave now. You are in good hands Atticus. I wish you a speedy recovery."Olivia quickly left , she heard him say thank you as she exited.

She should have gotten a cab home but Olivia wanted to walk off the night. Her adrenaline was wearing off , her nerves were frayed from the fighting and gun going off. The long walk also let her contemplate her interaction with Atticus. Her loneliness was coming out in an inappropriate way. He was a patient. Just like Tommy was. She never had romantic feelings for any patient before. She didn't suffer from nightingale syndrome. Did she?

Tommy was an exception. The extreme environment of war could let you bend the rules. The other exception was she fell in love with him. Their broken souls found each other , bonding over shared trauma.She is cemented to him forever through their boy.

Atticus was a stranger. A stranger that wouldn't be a patient by the end of tomorrow. He stood up for a woman in need without question. He was charming and handsome. Olivia didn't want a serious relationship that could lead to marriage, she wanted to be a free woman. As much as a single mother can be.She could discreetly date while Oscar was in Birmingham. The man didn't have to meet him. She could pull of a casual relationship. She hoped at least.

Olivia wanted to slap herself with all this over thinking. Atticus would be discharged and back to his own life. His head injury was the reason for his flirty behavior. Olivia was sure of it. That didn't stop the fluttering in her belly.

Olivia could hear the telephone ring when she entered her home. She tossed her coat and shoes at the bench in her foyer. She hurried over to answer.

"About time you answered. I was about to head over to you." Peter gave her a huff.

"No need to worry my dear. I stayed with Atticus for some time and then walked home." Olivia told him in a light tone. It made Peter pause.

"You sound different and who is Atticus?"

"The man we helped."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you stay with him for so long?"

Olivia pinched the bridge of her nose. She loved Peter dearly but the protective brother act was getting on her nerves. If she wanted to deal with that she would go back to France and visit with her own brother.

"I'm tired Peter, I thank you for checking on me. I am home safe and it's time for bed. Goodnight Mon petit chou."

"You don't have to call me that. I am not a cabbage."

"Goodnight Peter." Olivia smiled while hanging up the phone.

Olivia crawled into bed wearing only her slip ,to tired to dress in proper pyjamas. She stared at the ceiling as her bones started to feel heavy and fell into sleep easily. Her recurring dream started off the same as usual with Tommy but at some point he morphed into Attiucs shockingly. They danced, laughed and kissed. The dream she would seek solace in with Tommy now didn't belong to just him. When Olivia woke, she woke in a state of calmness. The sense of loss that she would wake with was gone. It felt her subconscious was cutting the ties with Tommy. She wanted to love again but she needed a push. Her dream and interaction with Atticus was just the thing.

~~~~~~~~~~ Two days later.~~~~~~~~~~

"Someone has an admirer." Nurse Mabel sat a large bouquet of flowers at the nurse station. Orange lillies set in a crystal vase. It was clear the vase was real and very expensive. A white envelope was nestled in the center with her name written in perfect cursive. She opened it to see a note card inside.

"Thank You My Angel, Atticus."

On the back he had written his phone number.

"Who is he?" Mabel sidled up to Olivia , looking over her shoulder , trying to snatch the card from her.

"No one." Olivia put the note back into the envelope and into the pocket of her uniform.

"You need to stop being nosey Mabel."

"Now why would I do that? I have a piece of juicy gossip on you now." Mabel gave Olivia a cheeky smirk while Olivia hurried the flowers towards her office. Her heart thumped the whole way.

She sat at her desk and stared at the card. His number calling out to her. Take the plunge. Take the plunge she heard over and over. He obviously was interested in her. She still could feel this hand in hers. He sent flowers. She had to test the waters. Without a second thought she picked up the phone receiver and dialed. By the fourth ring she started to lose her confidence. By the sixth ring she wanted to hang up, before she could she heard a familiar voice answer.

"Hello?" He asked a second time. Olivia was frozen. She was swept up in the moment she hadn't thought of what to say to Atticus.

"Hello?"

"It's me." Olivia voice cracked. She wanted to smack her self.

"Olivia." She cleared her throat.

"I wanted to thank you for the flowers."

"It was the least I could do"

They both went silent, nervously unsure what to say next.

"So"

"Um"

"You can go first." Olivia told him.

"If you aren't busy tonight, would you care to join me for dinner tonight?"

"TONIGHT?" Olivia screeched . Tonight was too soon. It was also about the only night she can go out for another week. Oscar had decided to stay two extra days with his father. Dinner with a man. With a stranger.

A stranger who felt she was attractive enough to date. Date.might be going to far. A thank you dinner? Her heart slumped some at the possibility the dinner could only be a friendly one and not romantic.

"If you aren't able to."

"No no I'm free. What time?"

"Seven thirty?"

"That sounds wonderful. I will see you then." Olivia gave him her address and quickly hung up. She didn't want to lose her nerve and back out.

She had a date or a friendly thank you dinner. Still she would have to dress up. What would she wear? Looking at the clock on the wall it was four -forty five. Fifteen minutes until end of her shift which would be cutting it close by the time she got home to get ready.

"Shut up." Loud whispering could be heard outside of the office door. Olivia got up and saw several nurses standing next to the door. Her friends looked guilty for eavesdropping. Mabel didn't. She was smug.

"You need to leave now."

"My shift isn't."

"Oh who cares about fifteen minutes." Marble cut her off.

"Go home now and I want details tomorrow."

"We are having dinner that's it."

"GO NOW!" Mabel shoved the vase into Olivia arms and pushed her towards the exit stairwell.

She left in a hurry and made her way home in record time. She placed the flowers on the foyer table and ran up the stairs.

Olivia was panicking. The bedside clock read seven o five and she still hadn't picked out a dress. She took a bath, styled her hair, put on a subtle yet alluring amount of make up, and perfume. She also had specialty made lingerie on she bought from a Parisian boutique. She didn't plan on Atticus seeing the undergarments but it made her feel sexy. The only thing she needed was her dress.

She had a wide variety of dresses. Sunday best, everyday work, a few formal, and several dresses that could be considered sexy, not trashy. She narrowed down to two and placed them on the bed. Seven fifteen was glaring at her. Telling her to hurry up. The first dress was dark maroon color ankle length. The style was more in tune with the current London modern woman. She didn't particularly like the dress not having a proper waist but it was all the rave. Far Less constricting than pre war fashion.

The second dress was more her French style. A forest green that flowed a few inches below the knee. The neck line was demure enough but showed some chest skin. Shoulder butterfly sleeves and the waist line hugged her perfectly. This was the dress. She knew she would turn Atticus head. She put on the dress and went for her large jewelry armoire,as her son called it, that stood next to her vanity. Small stud earrings with a matching necklace. A silver bracelet and a ring.

Olivia hand hovered over her rings. Sitting there next to her grandmother diamond ring in the top drawer was a well polished but worn out gold band. She brushed over it with her finger tip.The pang of longing came back.

Knocking from down stairs jolted Olivia.

"Fuck" She yelled out loud. Seeing her clock. Seven thirty exactly. She shoved her feet into her heels , grabbed her purse and ran down the stairs. She stopped herself from tripping down the stairs and took a deep breathe, looking in the hall mirror.

"You can do this. Just dinner." She pep herself up and opened the front door. Atticus was certainly handsome. His hair was slicked back and was wearing a freshly pressed navy blue three piece suit. Dare she say he looked better than Tommy?

No. No thoughts or mentions of Tommy. Her mind was running a million miles at the moment and she didn't need Tommy taking up any space.

"You look gorgeous." Atticus complemented Olivia.

"Thank you. And thank you once again for the lovely flowers." Olivia moved and pointed so he could see where she placed them.

"It warms my heart that I brought you joy."

"Shall we go?"

"Yes let me get my coat." As she was about to put on her coat he took it from her to help. Olivia felt the heat in her cheeks and couldn't stop smiling at him as they left.

"I made reservations at Antonio's. Have you been there before?"

"No. I only recently moved to London."

"From France if I hear your accent correctly."

"Yes a little obvious." Olivia smirked and batted her eyes at him.

"Your voice is like music. I don't think I could ever get tired of it."

Olivia heart swooned. They arrived at the restaurant and Atticus was the perfect gentleman. Opening doors, pulling out her chair. He ordered for the both of then which would usually bother her but it was the first date and he knew the restaurant better than her. Once the drinks started flowing Olivia loosened up. She spilled every detail of her life. Well almost every detail . She conveniently left out Oscar and Tommy. There was a small pit of guilt in her stomach but she didn't know the man well enough and it wasn't his business right now.

"I have been rambling all night tell me about you." Olivia leaned forward.

"My life seems boring compared to yours."

"Start with your family then. Do you have siblings." Olivia asked with eagerness. The date was going so much better than she had expected.

"No I am only child. I do have many cousins on both parents side. My parents wanted more but they were always busy."

"Oh really?"

Atticus saw the sympathy flash in Olivia face. He moved his hand closer to hers. His pinky brushing the tips of her fingers.

"My parents work for my mother family business. Importing spices and teas. My father is COO while my mother ran the logistics department before she retired . My Uncle Bennett currently runs the company. Within a few more years father and uncle Ben want to retire also and hopefully I will be able to take over."

"That's wonderful."

Atticus chuckled.

"Like I said. Very boring compared to you."

"No it's not. I do like tea and use plenty of spices when I cook. I would love to know more about how the are transported and farmed."

"Now you are just humoring me."

He leaned closer to Olivia. He hooked her with the simplicity of his life. It was true for the most part. He didn't mention his father military career or Irish connections. The alleged backhanded deals made with governments for cheap imports collected in inhumane ways. Give her enough to be charming but not enough that could put him on Tommy radar too quickly.

"I still think your work is quite interesting."

They flirted over the rest of the dinner and into desert. Both told stories and antics of their youths. One comment by Atticus made Olivia pause.

"I would love to visit the Eiffel Tower some day. Never been to France." Atticus was very flippant with the comment. He didn't mean to let it slip, knowing what that meant to a veteran like Olivia.

"You haven't?"

Olivia felt a knot in her stomach. It was foolish but she had to temper her judgment and anger when she met men who didn't fight in the war. Her feelings would always be jumbled. She didn't think it was fair so many men were forced to fight in that God awful war but she also didn't think it was fair that some men stayed home in their warm beds. Not having to commit heinous crimes in the name of their King or government.

"Did not serve?"

Atticus wanted to slap himself. He was losing her.

"I volunteered in the ministry department. Due to my family connects I oversaw food supplies to the frontlines. I pushed for a military position. To be a soldier but they needed me to keep the food supply going."

" Uncle Bennet lost two sons. I think about them everyday. Knowing that could have been me." Atticus did his best with a sorrowful look.

"I greatly admire your service."

His put his hand over Olivia and squeezed.

"You helped with the war effort. That's what matters."

Olivia felt the urge to kiss him but the waiter interrupted them with the check.

He paid and they left the restaurant. The atmosphere in the car was thick with a romantic tension.

Once they stopped in front of Olivia house Atticus was quick to jump out and open the passenger door. He walked her to up the steps to the door. It was a magical night that her conscious wouldn't let her enjoy so she blurted out her secret like an idiot.

"I have a son." She could see his slow reaction to comprehend what she just said.

"You said you weren't married."

"I'm not."

"Widowed?"

"Um no." How could she do this to herself?

"I fell in love with a British soldier and was supposed to meet after the war in his home town and marry. I never found him after and found out I was pregnant. Oscar is his name. Been a single mother this whole time. Until moved here and found his father. That's where he is now."

"You have a son?" He practiced this part in the mirror.

"I am truly sorry for not being truthful in the beginning. I just." Olivia trailed off , starting to regret this entire evening.

"You were afraid of what I would think of you."

"That is a small part of it. The other part is I want to constantly protect him. I haven't been with any other man than his father. I'm so sorry."

Atticus pulled Olivia close. Brush her hair behind the ear and pulled her chin up. He kissed her with such passion Olivia had to force herself to breathe. Seconds, minutes, hours that had passed Olivia didn't know and didn't care. She only felt bliss. He pulled back and stared into her eyes.

"Thank you for telling me the truth. I don't think any less of you. You are brave. Raising a child on your own."

"Really?"

"Yes. I hope to learn more about him in the future maybe meet him one day."

Olivia couldn't believe what she was hearing. A man who saw her as attractive and didn't look down on her for having a son out of wedlock. She wanted more of him. She had to be careful and not hurt her heart or her son in the process.

"I would like that."

Atticus kissed her for head and waited for her to enter her home.

"Will you call me tomorrow to set up another date."

"Of course." Olivia jumped at the chance.

"Have a wonderful night my beauty."

As Olivia undressed and removed her jewelry she spotted the gold ring. Her fake wedding band with her fake marriage to Tommy. When people asked about the father she spun the story of her British soldier husband who was lost during the war. A fantasy she created that did help her with the grief of Tommy absence. It was time to get rid of that ring. She tried to throw it away but settled with burying at the bottom of her underwear drawer.

She was moving on officially with a wonderful man. She wouldn't introduce her son anytime soon but the thought that he would accept Oscar and Oscar would accept him made Olivia tear up. She wasn't alone anymore. She could have what Tommy had. A love to share the rest of their lives together.

~~~~~~London Pay Phone's ~~~~~~~~~

On the second ring the other line picked up.

"The date was a success. I will be having another date. She told me about the boy. I was amused she was so apologetic about having a bastard ."

Atticus couldn't help his smirking. This Olivia was an easy mark.

"Good just be careful . Soon as Tommy hears about this he will look into you." The light Irish accent held concern.

"I know Grace. I planned for that. Talk to next week."

Atticus hung up and left for home.

He felt bad because Olivia really was a jem. Beautiful intelligent. She obviously could breed well. Such a shame he has to get rid of her. She could have been a match for him but his true alliance was with Grace. Soon he can have his love back in his arms and Tommy Shelby will be destroyed.

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fics #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #ada thorne #aunt polly #polly gray #arthur shelby #john shelby #orginal character #original female character #ww1 #the french nurse #lost son #lost love #alfie solomons

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tryan-a-bex · 2 years ago

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Pottery; or, Function, Purpose, and Heart

Why is Destruction called Joe?

Read on ao3

It was a quaint little town, between the mountains and the ocean, the kind of well-preserved quaint you see in towns that mostly run off tourist money. Hob, Dream, and Joe had arrived a couple weeks earlier and settled into a little two bedroom above a convenient pub, the kind with lots of local character and a friendly landlord. Hob and Dream explored the area, Hob chatting up the locals while Dream listened to their stories with that amused twitch to his lips that wasn’t quite a smile but also wasn’t quite not, either. Joe proudly shared his latest mediocre painting with them at the end of every day. They were a far better audience than Barnabas, though he wasn’t sure if that was because his painting had improved, because they liked him better, or just because they were so in love everything took on a rosy glow, even his amateurish painting.

Hob had joined him not long after Dream. Joe was happy to have him; maybe not quite as ecstatic as he’d been when Dream appeared, having finally found his way out of the knot of “change or die” he’d been trapped in; but Hob made Dream content and that was enough for Joe to welcome him wholeheartedly. As Dream always called him Brother, the issue of a name hadn’t come up before Hob arrived. But when asked, he found that the name Delirium gave him last time they were together suited him just fine. Dream talked about taking a new name as well, but in the end Hob was going to call him Dream, as a pet name if nothing else, and Joe called him Brother, so he just used Tom on the rare occasion it was necessary with strangers and left it at that. Hob had arrived with the personally delivered greetings of their sister, not the youngest but the elder. After joining them in his dreams for some time, he had finally asked her if joining them permanently was an option for his afterlife, and upon receiving a positive answer, he finally took her hand. It had been a lovely family reunion, if brief, and she went home with permission for Delirium to visit them occasionally as well.

Today, Joe painted through the fading afternoon light, putting the final touches on the streetscape with urban tree he was working on. He was fascinated with the interplay of nature and humanity’s creations, the unavoidable growth and decay juxtaposed with the incessant variety of human life. It never came out how he wanted it, but well, that was art, wasn’t it?

A clatter on the stairs jolted him from his work, the door bursting open just as he put down his brush, Hob and Dream shattering the quiet with laughter and talk. He truly never had seen his brother so happy.

“C’mon, Joe!” Hob grabbed his arm. “Time to take a break and come get some dinner with us!”

“Ah, is that what you’ve been painting today?” Dream put in. “It looks familiar, like something I’ve seen in a dream.”

“No, silly! It’s the road outside the window! You saw it today!” guffawed Joe.

“Brilliant!” said Hob, looking out the window and back and forth to the painting. “I see what you’ve done!”

“No,” Joe complained, “it’s missing something. My art is always missing something, and I don’t know what.” His mouth turned down, but seeing his roommates’ attention on him he realized he was making the mood sombre and gave them a hearty smile.

“How about that dinner, then?”

That night as Joe cleaned his brushes and prepared his canvas for the next day, he heard Dream and Hob talking in the next room. They sounded more scheme-y and less lovey-dovey than usual, but surely that was none of his business. As he settled in for the night, he once again began turning around in his head his own knotty problem. What was wrong with his art? Why was his life unsatisfying? What was he missing, that would fill that ache?

The next day, Joe was up early, packing his brushes, paint and canvas for a short walk to some scenic location nearby, which he would know when he saw it. Hob stumbled into the kitchenette, grasping for the coffeemaker, as he began to put everything into his pack. He was about ready to head out when Hob, finally partially caffeinated, stopped him.

“Hey, Joe, we were wondering if you’d hang with us today. Hold on while I bring Dream his coffee.”

Joe considered the request as Hob slid into the bedroom, greeting his lover cheerfully yet softly as Dream groaned and reached for his coffee. Joe really did love these two, but sometimes he felt like a third wheel. And surely, his art would only improve with practice and maybe today would be the day he found his spark.

“I’m all ready to go, why don’t you two just enjoy your day again today,” he responded, loudly, toward the bedroom.

“Brother,” he heard, and then Dream’s head poked around the door, “we have a plan. It involves you. Wait.”

Fine, then he was going to make some more toast while he waited. Soon Hob and Dream appeared, somewhat more presentable and awake than previously. They joined him for the toast and a few eggs Hob said he fried up “for strength for new adventures.” That didn’t sound ominous at all, Joe thought darkly. What were these two up to now?

Feeling bare without his backpack, which they’d persuaded him to leave behind, Dream and Hob led him downstairs and up the street. Joe had spent enough time wandering aimlessly that he didn’t bother asking where they were going. It was enough to enjoy the beautiful day. So it was a bit grey and rainy (not the real rain, the kind you can stop with an umbrella, but the kind these sea coast areas seemed to get so much, the kind that hangs in the air and you breathe it). Every kind of weather is necessary and therefore beautiful, and the play of light and water is art, in all its many forms, Joe maintained. Though he would also be okay with going inside and getting dry.

Finally Hob pulled him to the right as Dream held a door open. The small shop they had entered was full of shelves of little clay figurines and cups and bowls, and some fantastic vases, in many colours but also, many of them, in no colour at all. In one corner, a potter turned a vase on a wheel, and at the back a door led to a large and mysterious workspace. The centre of the room was filled with tables where a couple customers molded or glazed little objects.

“I’ve tried a lot of things in my day” Hob explained earnestly, “and we were talking about you last night” (ah, so they had been scheming, Joe concluded) “and Dream remembered this little place we walked by, and apparently they do classes, and let people work on their own, if you want, and they provide the clay and fire it for you.” (For a reasonable price, it is a tourist town, after all, Joe thought, seeing the pricing list.)

“We just thought.” Dream stated, his deep, slow voice drawing stares from the few customers present, “that you might be happier. Did your art contain. More of your element.”

Joe looked around in confusion, not seeing any sign of “his element” in this lovely, well organized shop. Then, as his eyes drifted past, the vase on the potter’s wheel started to wobble, and without any warning, she smacked it down. Scraping it off the wheel, she took it to a nearby table and started to violently pound it. Suddenly noticing his attention, she looked up and smiled.

“When it goes wonky, there’s nothing for it but to start over with wedging it. It gets all the bubbles out so you can work it again,” she explained.

“But, it’ll work next time, right?” Joe asked, finding it hard to believe how cheerfully she’d started over from scratch.

“Oh no, it may take dozens of tries to get a nice piece. And it won’t necessarily be the one I’m aiming for! If you can’t deal with starting over, there are other forms of pottery that you may enjoy, but the wheel will be frustrating.”

“Not all at,” Joe replied, feeling something loosen in his chest. “I think the pottery wheel might be just the thing I’m looking for.”

A couple weeks later, Joe returned from his latest pottery class feeling still somewhat effervescent. He entered the apartment to a scene of utter chaos.

“Oh, hi, Joe!” exclaimed Hob from the pile of magazines and newspapers he was sitting beside, and on, and maybe a little under.

“I apologize for the disorder,” Dream intoned, looking around at the leaves and twigs and, was that glitter?!? surrounding him.

“You’d better apologize, if that’s glitter I see!” Joe knew about glitter. It was the devil’s art supply. Once was enough!

“It’s okay!” Hob laughed, “it’s glitter glue! The craft supply store lady said it’s much easier to clean up than actual glitter!”

“What in the hells are you doing?” Joe really, really wanted to know.

“Well, we walked past a school, you know,” Hob began.

“The children were collecting bits of nature,” Dream continued. (They were starting to do that, Joe realized. Finish each other’s sentences. It was a good thing.)

“We were so curious, so we asked the teacher,” Hob explained.

“They are making collage, she said” Dream went on.

“And so she ran inside to get her example from last year to show us—“

“The children. Shared their dreams. For their creations.”

“We decided it would be fun to try it! The library had discarded magazines for free! But we may have spent some money at the craft store—“

“Don’t tell him how much.”

“And we found some neat leaves and twigs and things in the park, it was so much fun!”

“The passersby were amused.”

“Would you like to join us?” Hob finished, with a rush, handing him a pair of scissors.

It looked like they were using a stiff paper for a canvas, and cutting shapes out of the magazines. The newspapers were for putting underneath while they glued bits and pieces, both of magazine and of nature, onto the canvas.

“Hmmm” Joe pondered. And then waded into the mess and started flipping through magazines.

Inspiration struck, and three hours later Joe added the finishing touches to a three foot high face which strangely resembled his youngest sister. As he turned around, in utter satisfaction both from the creating and the cutting that had come before, the scraps of paper and various materials left all over the floor began to swirl and rise in a spiral to take form—as Delirium.

“You called, my Brother?!” she asked, practically dancing up and down.

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, enveloping her in a hug as big as the sky.

Next: Tom, Dick and Harry

Notes : The three foot high collage face was made by a classmate of mine once and it was astounding.

This was inspired by reading the comics, fanfics by so many awesome writers on Tumblr*, and my brother’s visit from Korea.

*including but not limited to: @softest-punk (softestpunk on ao3), @themirokai (mirokai on ao3), @avelera, @cuubism, @qqueenofhades

Thank you to @greebledrat (discord) and AnneMcSommers (ao3) for beta reading!

#dreamling #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #destruction of the endless #delirium of the endless #pottery #collage #the wake #endless nights #the sandman comics spoilers #the sandman fanfic #tryana find it back

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shesalittlelost · 8 months ago

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I've noticed this that most Nesta stans treat Nesta less like a character and more like a vehicle that they can use to be as misogynistic as possible and live their own mean girl fantasy on the internet. And the saddest thing is that it's not just her fans who do it, the author did the same to her so I'm gonna talk to about the latter first.

Nesta in ACOTAR wanted to go out and carve her life on her own because the realisation that she still hadn't found a purpose for herself while her sister already did and that she owed her whole life to her chafed at her. That's why their reunion in the first book was so touching. I was so looking forward to see what Nesta does with her journey but she isn't allowed that. Fast forward to ACOMAF, she's just... a mean girl, unnecessarily poking at her sister for no reason at all. This scene is used as a way to start Nesta and Cassian's “banter” and “romance” (lol) and in order to do that SJM basically walks back and kills whatever little but extremely significant development Nesta had in book 1. Her concern for her sister that made her risk her own life is forgotten and instead she's made to be petty, antagonistic and stupid and incredibly shortsighted even (when in book 1 she was the only one in the family who listened to Feyre & understood the threat Fae posed to the humans) to Feyre for no reason other than to clash her with Cassian. And since then it's been like this. SJM keeps obliterating everything that made Nesta, Nesta. Her ability to resist glamour? forgotten. Her not wanting to become a warrior? LOL her whole personality is just being fandom's cookie cutter sword and armour girl now. Her being averse to casual sex? Well.... you see... she lavvvvsss sex so muchhh! She reads porn. She thinks about porn. She starts daydreaming about having a threesome with her bf and his brother to a point that her brother-in-law can tell that from her face and gets awkward (🤮). Her wishing to explore this world on her own? Yeah lol that's not happening. Like ever.

This girl really just got moulded into someone that Miss Maas can conveniently use to live her own fantasy in the ACOTAR world.

Maas is known to not get along well with other women in the field who are as popular and successful (if not more) than her and allegedly called one (a very famous author who writes about fantasy russia) an ableist slur. It's public knowledge that she was horrible to her other author friends until they cut her off. She now lives in her own bubble and picks some two or three new people, less popular than her to befriend, who just hype her up. Even her interactions with her fans are all prerecorded now and occur in a controlled environment where she's surrounded only by those who gush all over her. Sounds familiar? Yeah. Nesta too can't ever get along with any other major female character who is as equally relevant in the story as her but is a lot more friendly with the guys. Elain was her best buddy until she stopped being Nesta's side chick. Feyre, (she was always jealous with, in her own words) and in acosf--a book entirely focusing on Nesta's growth as a character--they don't share a single meaningful scene together when her relationship with Feyre is the most significant part of her character considering it defined her since the first book. Proving SJM's incapability of writing any deeper than surface level relationships between women and also because making the two interact would mean making Nesta aka SJM herself, take the initiative to mend the relationship that was damaged due to her own behaviour but she's too egoistic to ever imagine herself in such a position so it just never happens. She looks down at Mor for not being dressed modestly causing both the guys to laugh at that insult (truly a heroine for the pick mes). That scene where Rhys (SJM's mouthpiece) gasses her up by calling her an illyrian (warrior) as a compliment while comparing her to Elain and implying Elain doesn't count coz she just isn't one. Like there is such a big “she's not like the other girls! she is ✨different✨” energy going on with the way she's written, especially her relationship with every other women in the story, except for the two characters who are written solely to be her hype girls, that I literally can not stand it.

It starts to make sense why she appeals to a certain kind of fans here who also suffer from the “i'm not like the other girls” syndrome. A lot of these people don't even like or care about Nesta's character or story that much no, they just latch onto her to hate on every other character, especially the female ones, that they can't self insert as. Calling Feyre the nastiest things, hating on Elain for apparently being a “selfish bitch” and trying to paint Mor into this jealous desperate ex who feels threatened by Nesta getting all the male attention (actual takei saw from a pro nesta account) as if Mor isn't into fucking women and doesn't gaf about men 😭😭 Like these people are physically incapable of talking about her or praising her without comparing her with or bringing down other women in the series and it's genuinely nasty how they talk about every woman who isn't her or the ones who suck up to her. I wonder if they realize how crazy they look to others coz they are very transparent.

#acotar #feyre #nesta archeron #anti nesta stans #sjm writes like a man and these people talk about other women like an angry redditor #acotar fandom #feyre archeron #elain archeron #mor acotar #anti sjm #acomaf #acowar #anti nessian #anti acosf #pro feyre archeron #pro elain #pro morrigan #posts #mine my own

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planetkiimchi-rbs · 6 months ago

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“i’m guessing you want to talk about it, after all.”

aww the dynamic yn has w namjoon :(

others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other. but he’s a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.

i fucking LOVE dancers, even if i don’t stan zb1 there’s a sense of kinship w sung hanbin that i can’t quite explain

then, limbs whose color resembles the void slither their way to your heart, wrapping around it while the organ struggles to beat; it’s a slow process but an unending hole that will birth from it. yet, you do your best to fight off these limbs, unraveling them one by one in hopes it will give up—until you settle for shaking them off.

ah </3 family issues…

they knew all of his hardships—you only know a fraction.

i’m sorry for ever trying to write an idol au, sorry for ever picking up a pen to write. i probably can’t write anything original for a month or so because anything i try to write will definitely just be (poorly) trying to emulate this fic

but your finger trap with hanbin was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.

had to look up finger traps bc i didn’t know what they were but GOSH i really really love all your metaphors

fav lines:

you and hanbin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

“you’re—” captivating. “you’ve improved a lot.”

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

WHAT THE FUCK. these lines ???? are you trying to rip my heart out or what ????

and you’re ready to leave the convenience store, bid farewell to jongseob and a delicious pizza made for two, and never greet or say goodbye to the living fragment of what you last know of cheonan—

but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin.

what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.

in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you. now, your home is hanbin.

overall thoughts:

noo cuz im actually in love with authors putting actual pictures in their fics like yes !!! i want to know what the notebook page looks like !!!! i want to see what handwriting you think the character has !!!

ok wait im actually speechless this is one of the best fics i’ve read in a long time, i genuinely haven’t found something that i’ve enjoyed half as much as this. and usually im trying my best to find specific lines i like to tell the author how much i liked their fic but with this fic i can’t choose because it’s so interspersed with dialogue and so beautifully woven together? i can’t possible copy the whole fic down for my comments but…. i love all the tension and little pauses and yn’s ramblings. so poetic.

trying to articulate my thoughts again, i love how you wrote yn’s family issues and how yn has mr kim as a kind of grandfather figure and how much fun they’re having… idk it’s very interesting and beautiful to read.

also playlist is very well curated, i feel like all the songs really fit this fic.

i like the vast amounts of metaphors used instead of directly talking about how yn is feeling, they’re very apt. (i love the pearl walls with black leaking through metaphor bc it also aligns w the black arms that threaten yn,, chef’s kiss)

i can’t believe we ended with no closure… open endings break my heart bc im a sucker for happily ever afters. but this was much needed and beautifully written angst.

finger trapped (ripped to its seams) ➵ sung hanbin

sung hanbin x reader

with an unexpected reunion, you and hanbin relive the memories of cheonan—and confront what could’ve been between you two.

general genre/warnings ➵ friends to almost lovers, angst, fluff, gender neutral reader, some depressive and insecure thoughts, hurt/comfort, the last five years story-telling method (aka present will be told going backwards while past will be told moving forward... i hope that makes sense), brief mention of blood from picking on your skin, tiger parents so... parental issues, unexpected reunion, keeping secrets & lying, jealousy remains but love triumphs, journalist reader (u kno i had to do it), reader is a nerd and hanbin is a student-athlete, kms jokes from jongseob (all /lh), finger traps aren’t efficient after all

word count ➵ 15.6k words

playlist ➵ end of beginning by djo // high school in jakarta by niki // i know it won't work by gracie abrams // no big deal (i love you) by dodie // keeping tabs by niki // no one knows by stephen sanchez & laufey // so what now by reneé rapp // i wish i hated you by ariana grande // the 1 by taylor swift // seasons by wave to earth

a/n ➵ it's finally out! this work is so so personal to me on so many levels so i hope you all love and treat this fic with care :')) for the bitches who struggle with parents and dreams.... this one's for you (i am in the same boat) i appreciate everyone who's been so patient and looking forward to this fic's release. please do reblog and leave feedback!!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! masterlist

present -> three weeks after the interview, 2024

the newsroom never sleeps. the rings of landlines and clacks of keyboards bounce off the four walls. through light bulbs or sunshine, light continues to remain. and at every corner, a journalist stands—ready to enter the depths of slumber but remain on their toes as they await for an update on their unraveling story.

but the newsroom is rarely busy unless there’s a major nationwide event, election season or the super bowl to name a few, for most journalists are out to discover what the world has to offer.

knowledge doesn’t only come from the chitchat of your coworkers. it’s only on the field that you’ll hear of hearsay and testimonies. after all, the choice to probe rests on your shoulders.

“there’s a typo over there.”

“huh? where?”

“over here,” you mumble as your finger darts to point at a section on the screen. “it’s supposed to say “with the climactic finale of boys planet,” not climatic.”

“ah, i see it now. sorry about that,” lee jihoon of digital development says as he corrects the error. his hair is disheveled from the hood that once perched on his head during the night he spent in the newsroom. you would’ve scolded the guy—go home and take a shower before you stink up the place—but you are no better, grouped with the other journalists who stayed up in the office.

“there we go. should be all good. now, are you ready to go through the profiles?”

an exhausted chuckle departs from your lips. “yeah, let’s go—”

“what’s the update?” life and arts editor kim namjoon—your editor—comes to you with a smile.

the grey hoodie he wears paired with comfortable jeans shows that he’s a little relaxed. for once, you don’t see him on his phone, battling the deadlines or getting pitched stories by the other editors. it’s a nice sight but one that won’t last for long.

“we just finished going through the article about the group, so we still have yet to go through the profiles.” jihoon then looks at you. “i can’t believe you basically wrote 10 articles. like, nine profiles and one main article is a lot. you didn’t want to work on it with anyone else?”

once namjoon stands beside you, you bump your shoulder against his figure. “i didn’t have a choice, did i?” it’s a rhetorical question but one your editor still chooses to answer.

“unfortunately, we’re understaffed, but it seemed like you got the hang of it. i wouldn’t have trusted anyone else to do it.” namjoon shoots you a smile before redirecting his attention back to jihoon. “and as much as i’d love to tell y/n more, we have to pick up the pace.” without any further questions, the three of you resume with work.

there’s no time to waste in the journalism industry. still, his praise doesn’t go unnoticed.

one article turned into eight done in a matter of 30 minutes, all with the help of three pairs of eyes to go through them. (namjoon seemed to carry the heavy lifting. after all, the guy was trained to be quick in reading and spotting errors.)

it should’ve been easy to keep up with your editor for all the other articles; you know each profile like the back of your hand.

then, the face of a boy who you once knew sits on the screen.

his gaze seems to pierce through your soul, almost in the same way you last talked to him. the loose ends of composure slip through your fingers; your breath’s stuck in your throat as the hammering of your heart fills your ears. yet, he stands still on the monitor.

as your eyes drift through the passages you’ve written, every sound is drowned out. the voice of your editor fades like the everchanging seasons and the clicks of the keyboard resemble the sobs you let out in the comfort of your childhood room.

and suddenly, the hands of the clock have turned all the way back to 2017. the cubicles transformed into aisles of chips and instant ramen, and you hear mr. kim’s voice in the distance—i have some hotteok! fresh from the pan! but amidst it all, you hear the giggles of the boy, your best friend, as he rushes towards you—i’ll go audition and make you proud. as your arm is wrapped with the heat of his fingers, you almost believe that your life as a journalist is nothing but a dream—

“i knew him.” the illusion disappears within a blink of an eye. namjoon’s eyes snap towards you and jihoon stops scrolling through the website. “we went to the same high school.”

you aren’t sure why you revealed that to your coworkers, let alone your boss. it’s an old memory—your weight to carry. before you can apologize for disrupting their work, namjoon’s hand rests on your shoulder, his thumb drawing shapes into it. when you look over at him, you’re greeted by his smile. it resembles your bed after a long day of work or a slow day at the newsroom.

but it never lives up to him, whose giggles resemble nature’s symphonies. the two shots of espresso you need at the start of the day once came in the form of his warm embrace. most of all, his smile is enough to illuminate the world even through the strongest storms and times when power went out.

for the remaining articles, not a single word leaves you. before you know it, all 10 articles were ready to go up on the web.

“that’s all of it. should i still schedule them to go up around 12 p.m.?” jihoon notes as he saves the drafts.

“yeah, 12 p.m. still sounds good. thanks a lot.” namjoon nudges his shoulder before looking over to you. “let’s talk in my office.”

you don’t question his orders. once namjoon takes off, you follow him all the way to his office. as he swings the door open, you are met with the familiar sight of his workspace. hues of green and brown mix, where nature and art meet within the space of corporate.

once namjoon takes a seat on his chair, you find your spot across from him. his eyes stare off to the window. for a moment, you’re not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting.

seconds pass and not a single word has been said—

“this place’s always alive,” your editor breaks the silence. “don’t you think so?”

you follow his line of sight. busy seoul never changes; the skyscrapers pollute the sky and the people never sleep, off to work or off to party.

“where’d you grow up again?”

you look back at namjoon whose eyes still remain locked on the city. “cheonan.”

he hums. “i haven’t been there. nice place?”

“yeah, but i haven’t gone back in a while.”

“when was the last time?” his eyes finally meet yours.

your teeth grasp the inside of your cheek. “2017, since i first left,” you admit.

“do you miss it?”

you’re not sure how to answer. the pavements you’ve scraped your knees against and the walls your laughs bounced off of—do you miss them all? or is the reason behind your laughter and scabs the one you long for?

“is that why you were hesitant about interviewing them?” namjoon’s thumbs fiddle with each other. “because of your history with him?”

now, you stare at your linked hands. maybe the silence from you is enough to answer his question but you know namjoon would never settle for a soundless answer.

“i—i’m not a good person. and even if i didn’t make the choice to leave, i—” you hold yourself back. your fingers start to pick on the skin around your thumbs, peeling it so blood can spill.

“it’s okay, i understand. you don’t have to share it with me.” your eyes drift back to namjoon, spotting a small smile that rests on his face. “it must’ve been hard to relive it all.”

the bond you have with namjoon is one that you hold close to your heart. through his mentorship, you got to learn about what it means to be a writer. the fears of being a journalist would loom over you, where questions of salary and demanding work hours would occupy your mind, but namjoon became someone who would absolve them all. he became a pillar in your life, one that provides you hope and comfort within the industry.

“so, don’t feel pressured to talk about it. but if you ever want to open up about it, then i’ll be here.”

namjoon’s giving you an exit. are you willing to take it?

you cross your arms as you lean back into the chair. “you know how i was a science major then?”

“yeah, i remember looking over your resume. and then i saw that you were part of your university’s publication.”

your tongue pushes against the inside of your cheek. “i would’ve gotten some job in that field, like, i had it lined up for me.”

“really? like lab coat and all?”

as namjoon attempts to hold back his laugh over the image, you chuckle along. “yeah, lab coat and all! it’s crazy how my life was all set for that field, but i’m here now.” you look down at your arms. “i think just facing him in a completely different field that i once used to imagine with him was just strange. but i think hearing his answers really did it for me.”

namjoon nods at your words. “care to have lunch with me?” your eyes snap back to your editor. “i’m guessing you want to talk about it, after all.”

all you do is smile before getting off your seat.

spring of 2017

the season of spring has graced cheonan; the sun gleams in the expanse of blue and birds perched on tree branches sing their songs. it’s the perfect season to embrace the wonders of the town.

while it would be a delight to bask under the returning warmth, you’re stuck within the walls of the classroom, head resting on crossed arms.

still, the lilacs have yet to bloom.

“y/n.” you quickly sit up before your eyes settle on your adviser, ms. jeon, who stands in front of the classroom. “let’s take attendance.”

with that, you’re beside her as you call out each name on the class list. it’s a quick process of saying your classmates’ names for them to respond in variations of “present,” until you reach the section of last names that start with a ‘s’.

“sung hanbin.” no response.

you rip your eyes off the piece of paper, only met with your classmates who either look at each other in confusion or spaced out in their own worlds.

“sung hanbin?” when you’re met with the same reaction, you’re ready to mark the student absent—

“sorry!” the doors slam open. a boy clad in a white polo and jogging pants is panting by the entrance, covered in sweat as he rests on the edge of it. “sorry, i’m late.”

“oh, it’s okay! you arrived just in time.” ms. jeon smiles at the tardy student. as you watch him take a seat, his eyes lock with yours, but your adviser nudges you before saying, “y/n, proceed.”

sung hanbin made his name a few years back at a competition. the applause and roars from the crowd marked his spot in the school. others describe his movement as of cranes, standing in the middle of a pond as they do their best to minimize forming any ripples, or of elephants, swaying their trunks with control like no other.

but he’s a versatile dancer; nothing can truly capture him.

once you’ve finished marking the attendance, you go back to your seat. you’re ready to start the day with no bother but you can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

“now, you can see in these,” your art teacher, ms. park, points to the screen showcasing works from her favorite contemporary artists like kwon yongju and félix gonzález-torres, “that there are no borders to what constitutes art. and that’s not wrong because we have to recognize that art comes in different forms as we progress, from traditional painting and sculptures to digital ones.”

this field isn't your strong suit. with a greater understanding of the sciences, you struggle to create anything that could be on par with the works of any artist. yet, you enjoyed learning about every piece that your teacher shared, like unfolding and admiring something you know you can never replicate or create. still, the universe decides that they have other plans for you.

“as i mentioned before, i’ll be giving you time to work on your final assessment, which is to create an artwork for the class exhibit. for this deliverable, i’m asking that your work will be a collaborative one, meaning you aren’t working alone.” in a sea of chatter, some groans exit your classmates. “remember, inspiration doesn’t come from your own bubble! take this as your opportunity to create something that you’ve never imagined.”

within a split second, students are off their seats as they attempt to find a partner to work with. you, however, were struggling to think of who you could team up with. admittedly, you have a very different work style compared to others—even lee soojin, aspiring valedictorian, didn’t enjoy working with you. she turned every activity into a competition against you. (you didn’t enjoy her, either.) while you’re considering shamefully going up to your classmates like a stray dog looking for anyone willing to care for them—

“hi!” in front of you stands the tardy student of today, all smiles as his hands find comfort in the pockets of his jogging pants. “do you have a partner already?”

with furrowed eyebrows, you can’t help but look him up and down. “no, why?”

“well,” hanbin looks around the classroom, “everyone seems to have paired up except for us.” as his eyes drift back to you, he flashes you a smile, one that shows the whiskers engraved into his cheeks. “which leaves me to ask if you would like to work with me for this.”

you don’t have a choice. ms. park would never bend the rules for you. if anything, she would find a way to pair you with another student who would dread the idea of working with you. (“i’m sure they won’t mind being partners with you, right?” is what she would ask the poor student, only to be met with their retreat.)

“unless we accept a failing mark, which i’m sure we both don’t want.” it’s not like hanbin had a choice as well.

“okay.” with one word, light fills his eyes, enough to resemble the starlight that grazes your skin every night. “we can meet and discuss our schedules, especially because i’ve got ap stat, and you have, uhm,” a cough leaves you, “training, i’m assuming, or rehearsals. i don’t really know what you call them.”

his eyebrows shoot up as his mouth parts open. “o—oh, yeah. i usually have training after class until 8 p.m. on tuesdays, thursdays, and saturdays.”

“same. my classes are until 7 p.m. on tuesdays and thursdays, so maybe we can use the other days to work together?”

with one nod from him, his dimples reappear. “great! i’ll see you tomorrow.”

before you know it, everyone finds their way back to their seats for ms. park’s final reminders. you do your best to pay attention to every announcement, jotting down every word on your planner and planning out your agenda for the upcoming weeks. yet, your eyes seem to have a mind of their own as they drift back to the boy who discreetly passes notes to choi jiung, another dancer on the team, all while listening to the teacher.

you don’t notice how long you spend staring at hanbin until he turns to meet your gaze. in that split second, you look at each other—then, embarrassment washes over you. you shift your attention back to ms. park. as you drum your fingers against the desk, mentally kicking yourself over the interaction, you still can’t shake the feeling of being watched.

you look back at hanbin; he’s still looking at you.

his dimples make their reappearance before he looks back at ms. park. you do the same as you attempt to listen to her ramble about banksy’s works.

(you’re still thinking about his whiskers.)

the first time you get to meet with hanbin for the project happens the following week. you two had different commitments to attend to, whether it be other projects or training. and while you would usually settle to meet in the school library or a cafe nearby, you find yourself inside the empty gymnasium, sitting on bleachers while your partner stands in front of mirrors.

“don’t you think it would be nice to combine our hobbies together?”

your pencil taps against the notebook. “like, your dancing? with what?”

“whatever you like to do!” once he makes his way to you, he leans on the row in front of you with crossed arms. “i mean, do you have anything you like to do during your free time?”

a scoff leaves you. “funny of you to assume that i have free time.”

“what’s your schedule like?”

“well, i have our classes and ap ones, then kumon at night.”

hanbin reels at the thought of your schedule. “that’s brutal. the last time i had kumon was back in grade 4.”

“yeah, but i’m sure yours is busy as well. the amount of time that you put into training is…” his eyes are wide, hanging on your words. it’s the hope they hold that has you say, “admirable.”

a shy smile takes over his features. “yeah, but it’s only because my family is supportive of what i do.”

you only muster out a hum.

“do you have anything you like to do during those short breaks?”

your lips trill. “i don’t know. watch something on youtube?”

his cheeks puff up, stuck in his thoughts as he tries to navigate this project—and you—until his eyes glint. “what do you do when you want to vent?”

“you sure have a lot of questions,” you comment, trying to hold back a chuckle at his curiosity. “i can just adjust to you. maybe attempt to draw, picture, or even film you.”

his eyebrows furrow. “but that wouldn’t make it collaborative. i want us to work on something that aligns with what we do.”

a beat passes.

he holds your gaze. “i want us to create something that shows us.”

inside you, a gong is struck; its sound reverberates throughout your body, from the crown of your forehead to the tips of your toes. then, silence seeps in—a moment only for you and him.

“i, uh, write,” you whisper as your eyes shift to the notebook resting on your lap.

“really? like, stories and poetry?”

you nod. “i like writing people’s stories more, but i do like making ones.” when you look back at hanbin, his eyes are still filled with curiosity. “i would, like, find interviews online and try to make my own, sort of, uhm—god this is embarrassing. forget about it.”

“huh? no, it isn’t!” he attempts to reassure your shrunken figure. “i mean, you don’t have to share more if you really don’t want to, but i’d like to hear more about it.” and when his dimples appear, you almost can’t help but feel your face warm up.

“i’d make articles, i guess?” he nods along with your words. “i don’t know, it’s just interesting to hear about people’s lives and kind of create something out of it, and i like thinking about all the possibilities of who would love to hear them. like, don’t you think that some of the stories that we read hold fragments of someone?”

“that’s an interesting way to look at it.”

as you doodle on your notebook, you say, “yeah, it’s just fun to hear these stories and maybe create something out of it. or even think of stories that i could never live out, you know?” you expect yourself to be met with the bored face of hanbin but his eyes remain on you.

“what if you interview me?”

your eyebrows shoot up. “you?”

“yeah,” he stands up before walking up to your row, finding a spot beside you. “think of me as your first interviewee if you want.”

the sudden suggestion has you stumbling over your words. “huh? b—but, i don’t have questions prepared. and how does this help our project?”

when his arms brush against yours, you start to become aware of the distance between your shoulders—and his face from yours. warmth spreads throughout your body, almost like you’re about to have a fever. once his open hand rests near yours, you don’t know what he’s asking.

“let me draw it out for you.” you hand him your pencil and notebook, allowing him to see your doodles. (you don’t miss his grin.) “you know, with that article you make, we can cut it up and create something out of it.” a roughly drawn sketch of a boy posed in the middle of a dance move now rests on the page. “i don’t know if a collage would be okay.”

as you think about what can be done, you perch your chin on your palm. “we can do papercut art? basically, it’s cutting up the article in a way to form an image.”

“oh, that sounds cool!”

“yeah, but the only challenge is that we can only use one piece of paper.” a sigh leaves you. “it would be impossible for me to even do that.”

“that’s why you have me.” his small smile causes wind chimes to ring. (you’re positive you heard them, even if there were no such things in the gymnasium.)

he continues to sketch out the layout of your joint artwork. “how do we feel about this?” on the paper, there are two boxes beside the figure, where one is labeled as “photo of me” while the other is labeled “an article by y/n.” your head tilts. “it’ll be a three-set piece. so, it’ll be a photo of me and your article, and in between is the papercut art that we’ll make.”

you hum. “you know, you’re very creative.” you look at him only to see that he’s been staring at you. “like, you’re inclined to the arts. i wouldn’t have been able to think of something like this.”

“you’re just as creative,” he argues back as he writes down something.

you shake your head before retorting, “hanbin, you’re very talented. i’ve seen the way you dance,” his movements halt, “and you’re like no other dancer i’ve seen. if you ever try out to be an idol, i’m sure you’d do great, maybe end up on the list of the best dancers in the industry.”

but he shakes his head, going back to writing on your notebook and shutting down your compliments. you decide to not push.

“i can get the photo sometime during my training,” he says as he hands you your notebook.

“then i can have the questions sometime this week. for the article, i can have it done maybe four days after the interview. how does wednesday, after school, sound for the interview?”

he shoots you a smile before standing up from his seat. “that’s perfect! i’m looking forward to meeting journalist y/n.” you can’t help but scoff at what he calls you. “what’s wrong?”

“nothing,” you shake your head. “it’s just a silly name.” because the reality is that you had your future planned out—and it definitely didn’t involve that field.

he shrugs. “i don’t know, i think it would fit you.”

“but you haven’t read any of my works.”

“but i want to root for you in the same way you do for me. i don’t want you to feel ashamed of your works.” a fire ignites in your heart; it’s a fireplace.

you’re baffled that hanbin, out of all people, now holds your secret, but you’re even astounded over the idea of him supporting you. you almost can’t remember the last time you heard such words of support. is it genuine or nothing but a facade?

“anyway, i’ve got to go. i need to catch up on some homework.” while you shoot him a nod, his dimples make their appearance once more. “i’ll see you tomorrow!” as he takes off, you’re left in the gymnasium with your opened notebook and unlocked heart. you look back down at his sketch surrounded by your doodles, but you don’t miss his little note—cute doodles btw <3

the season of spring has unfolded in cheonan; a single lilac has bloomed.

present -> a day before the interview, 2024

it’s a late night on a tuesday, about to be a midnight wednesday, and you’re in a convenience store as you scout for your dinner. all hauled up in the newsroom, the idea of ordering food during a time where restaurants would still be open slipped your mind. now, you’re left to scan through the same options you’ve eaten for the past years since you started living in seoul.

the convenience clerks are familiar with you, both kim jongseob and kim jiwoo. with your constant late-night meals at the store, you’d talk to whichever one had a shift. jongseob is saving up to upgrade his setup at home to record more music. with all the stories he shares about his time in underground rap battles along with the short verses he’s performed for you, you’re positive that he’ll get signed to a label soon. as for jiwoo, this is one of the many jobs she has in order to save enough money for fashion school. you’ve seen her sketches and outfits she’s put together and you’re hoping that she’ll get accepted.

a sigh leaves you. you didn’t have a problem with eating the food here but you were craving for something new in your life in seoul. the perpetual cycle of eating takeout food and unconsciously skipping meals for work needed to be disrupted just for a moment. but you weren’t seeking michelin-star food—all you wanted was something home cooked. something from home.

the spice of tteokbokki, the burn of freshly fried hotteok, and the sweetness of homemade peach iced tea—mr. kim’s convenience store had it all.

your tastebuds long for cheonan.

“planning to beat your record of spending 23 minutes on deciding what to get?”

you roll your eyes before looking to your right, seeing jongseob stock up the drinks in the fridge. “i hate you.”

“what? i’m just saying, you’re taking a lot longer to decide today.” he chuckles before placing the last bottle of sweetened probiotic milk in the fridge. “none of the options look good to you?”

“sort of,” you hum before you scan through the aisle of packaged meals. “i think i’m craving for something different.”

“i get it. the food here can get boring, which is why i’m planning to order pizza if you want to split the costs.”

your eyebrows shoot up at jongseob’s suggestion. “really? you’d share pizza with me?”

“yeah, as long as you pay for your share.” he shoots you a smile before grabbing on a trolley carrying empty boxes. “unless… you want to pay for the whole thing.”

you bite back a smile as you shake your head. you should’ve known the guy would ask you to buy him food, but you knew that he needed the money and you at least had a stable income to keep you comfortable. “fine,” jongseob’s smile grows as you fish out your wallet from your pocket and pull out a couple of bills. “just order enough for us two.”

“of course,” he says as soon as you hand him some money. “i’ll make sure to order the most expensive thing on the menu.”

you scoff at his joke. “just make sure to treat me to something.”

the bell by the door chimes. “sorry, can’t hear you over that! need to attend to a customer!” jongseob dashes away from you while dragging the trolley. that little shit just knew how to press your buttons, but you love the kid, anyway.

still, you stand in the middle of the mart and your heart longs for home.

then, you shut your eyes, and you’re transported back in front of the familiar aisle filled with bags of potato chips and sweet corn. the noisy fan along with the soft sounds of mr. kim’s korean drama fills your ears. a mix of yellow and orange hues paint every corner of the mart, including you—and you’re not alone.

your best friend stands on your right, wearing the unbuttoned school uniform polo over a tank top along with jogging pants. he’s lost in thought as he scans through the options of snacks you two can have for today’s afternoon. he starts to giggle to himself, probably from a silly thought he’ll share with you in the next second or a memory involving you, and his whiskers appear—your heart thumps in your ears.

and just like how quickly you were transported back to cheonan, your surroundings transformed into the cool-lit convenience store found in seoul. all you have left is the image of him bathed in the sunlight.

but he fades away like the ink on old receipts, never gone, because the glowing image of him warps into a different version who stands next to you in the cold mart. he’s grown a few inches taller and his hair doesn’t get in the way of his line of sight. while he wears a green sweater, you notice that he’s gained some muscles. his eyes scan through the aisle behind you filled with different brands of instant ramen.

but he bites the inside of his cheek and his dimples appear.

it’s a tornado that brews within you, enough to uproot trees and displace buildings, all because of an unexpected reunion with hanbin. why did the universe decide to bring two ex-best friends on a random tuesday night? what brings him to the convenience store at the same time you’re there? and why did it have to happen a day before the interview?

you weren’t going to commit the same mistake; keep your eyes off of him and make your way out of the store. it didn’t matter if you had an empty, growling stomach, or gave free money to jongseob. you need to leave without the distant, familiar face noticing.

your feet act fast, and you're almost certain that might’ve caught his attention, but it didn’t matter as you see jongseob standing behind the cashier with his phone out. “i just ordered the pizza. it should arrive in about… 20 to 30 minutes.”

“yeah, about that…”

“don’t tell me you’re taking your money back.”

at the sight of jongseob’s pout, you roll your eyes. “no, keep it. i just—i need to go.”

“what? why?”

you peek behind you. it seems like he didn’t recognize you, after all. “i’ve got… work!”

“but don’t you only have your interview with zerobase—”

“hey!” your fingers snap at him. “you cannot—i mean, you just… just take the goddamn money.”

“but we’re supposed to share the pizza. you haven’t eaten.”

an exasperated sigh leaves you. “jongseob, just treat me next time. i can eat at home.”

“y/n?”

and the plan failed.

when you meet his gaze, you’re able to take in the different version of him. he’s grown so much—it’s such a pain that you weren’t there to witness it. his eyes are a pool of emotions; you can’t identify them.

all it takes is one breath from you. “hanbin.”

a beat passes.

“i’m just gonna… go through the storage,” jongseob points his thumb at the back of the mart, “and maybe kill myself afterwards. i don’t know.” before you can protest, he’s already gone. (and he still has your money. that fucker.)

you and hanbin were once painted with the hues of the sun. this reunion is tainted with blue.

hanbin’s fingers tense up, almost as if he was hesitating—debating—on how to approach you. his body would waver, but he never took a step towards you. “i… i wasn’t expecting to meet you here.”

“same here.” you lean your back against the checkout counter. “d—do you stay around this part of the city?”

he shakes his head. “i live around 15, maybe 20, minutes away from here. i’m only here because…” your breath gets caught in your throat. “i don’t know.”

fate. that’s what brought us here.

“do you live here?”

you nod. “yeah, ever since—” the sentence never gets completed; you and him already know.

for a moment, sorrow flashes in his eyes, but a smile shows up. the dimples don’t appear. “i, uh, i was going to get something from here but it seems like your friend is busy.”

“sorry about jongseob.” you whip out your phone and scold him through text. “he should be with us in a bit.”

hanbin hums before walking to the freezer filled with different ice cream. as he looks through the selection, he asks, “do you still like twin bar?”

“y—yeah.”

“still the grape flavor?” you don’t know what to say, but when his gaze meets yours, you settle for a nod. with your favorite ice cream in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he finally walks towards you. you don’t miss the slight stagger in his steps.

hanbin finds his spot beside you. there’s still distance between you two—two tiles worth, enough space for one person—but it’s enough for your muscles to freeze. thankfully, jongseob comes just in time to manage the cashier (with an awkward smile plastered on).

he scans hanbin’s item first before grabbing onto your ice cream.

“oh, i’m paying—”

“no, let me,” hanbin insists. “you can always treat me another time.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, thinking over the second half of his sentence. jongseob holds back from scanning the item, until you shoot him a nod. hanbin pays for the food before jongseob hands them to you.

“i’ll just let you know when the pizza gets here.” his small smile is enough for your shoulders to ease and a quiet exhale to leave. a small nod is all you give him.

you follow hanbin outside to the tables in front of the mart. once he’s settled on a spot, you sit across from him. he tears away the plastic wrapping of his food while you play with the ends of yours.

while he swallows what you assume to be his dinner of the day, you’re left to swallow your own pride.

“i’ve seen your performances.” his chews halt. “you’re—” captivating. “you’ve improved a lot.”

with one gulp, a shy smile takes over his face. “i still have a long way to go.”

“you always say that, even back then.” a half bitten sandwich now rests on the wrapper. “but i admire your drive.” always have.

while a different version of hanbin sits across you, the one you knew back in cheonan still lives. in the busy, unfamiliar expanse of seoul, meeting 7 years later, he’ll never be stranger. you could never treat him as such, even if you wanted to.

“there’s always room for improvement,” he says.

you hum along with his sentiment. “did you stick with early childhood education?” you’re met with his orbs that hold a thousand of emotions, some you can name as shock, confusion. a question hangs in the air—what did you deserve to know?

“sorry, i’m assuming you still went to college, which is totally fine if you did or didn’t, by the way. and it’s also okay if you didn’t stick to your major. i mean, you always talked about pursuing a performing arts degree before—”

“y/n,” he giggles, “you’re okay. i still went to college but i took media & communication.” your eyebrows shoot up at the revelation. “i thought it made sense to study something related to what i do, just the more technical and theoretical side of it, i guess. and the online classes were easy to squeeze into my schedule.” he lifts up the sandwich. “what about you?”

“uh, i ended up in the same course as well.” a hum of shock leaves hanbin. “yeah,” you chuckle, “i managed to shift courses.”

“that’s amazing! i’m happy for you.”

you smile at him. “thanks. now, i’m just—” you should tell him what you do. what would be a better time to reveal that you ended up in the path he dreamed for you to be than now? “—figuring things out.”

with your vagueness, hanbin only nods before munching away. if there’s anything about you that still remains, it’s that you shouldn’t be pushed to share something you didn’t want to talk about. he still knew that.

as he finishes his sandwich, you tear off the plastic wrapping of your ice cream. with the twin bar in your hands, you snap it into two before you hand him a piece. confusion paints his features, wide eyes glossing over the popsicle in your hand, but he takes it before you can say anything.

“thanks.”

you shake your head. “don’t even worry about it. it’s only tradition.”

silence settles between you two. as you eat away on your share of the twin bar, you look up to the sky. from where you sit, you can’t see a single star; the lights of seoul seemed to outshine them. and during those moments, you almost can’t help but miss the view of the starry night from your childhood room.

you glance at hanbin who looks up to the sky as well. yet, one hand remains in his pocket, almost as if he’s fiddling with something.

as if he feels your eyes on him, he asks, “did you ever think about coming back?”

you halt your movements. if there’s one thing you were expecting your old friend to ask, it would be related to your sudden departure. but you’re hit with an entirely different question, one you didn’t get to rehearse the answer to in case you ever cross paths with him.

because after all this talk about your yearning for cheonan, why didn’t you choose to visit? despite how much you long mr. kim’s home cooked meals, skies filled with stars, or the presence of your best friend, why didn’t you ever come back?

if you miss home, why is your first instinct to run away from it?

and the reality is that you do think about it all the time. since you left cheonan, you drafted out how many plans to go back. you were homesick, missing the familiar landscape you spent your entire childhood growing up in. but most of all, you missed hanbin. as long as you had him, you would survive anywhere, whether in seoul or cheonan.

despite how much you yearned for him during your years away, you learned that your relationship wasn’t always filled with the warmth that would grace you two every afternoon. for so long, you’ve sat with jealousy. while his family was his pillar of strength, you were met with a home that offered nothing but criticism.

the black limbs slowly ate away at your heart; the void was born.

it became easier to remain resentful. with the distance, you weren’t faced with hanbin’s genuineness. yet, with time, you discovered that you still cared for him—regardless of your jealousy—because you still wanted more for him than you did for yourself.

for a long time, you resented. now, it’s only guilt that held you back from going back to him.

so when you remain silent, hanbin takes it as your answer.

and for the first time, the distance feels greater since you first left cheonan.

summer of 2017

it’s the peak of summer. amidst the expanse of verdant fields, bees seek solace in the fully-bloomed sunflowers and kaleidoscope wings illuminate as they soar.

but summer is where mouths go dry and clothes cling to skin. as days blend with each other, the comfort of your bed is all you have until the season passes.

the fan rumbles against the wooden floor, doing its best to cool you, but the heat prickles against the back of your neck. the wind has turned into nothing but hot waves. with your elbows perched on the desk, a sigh leaves you as you attempt to make sense of the worksheet filled with math equations.

your room is your favorite place in cheonan. within these four walls are scattered fragments of you, from your favorite books and mangas that rest on the bookshelf to the stuffed toys that rest on your bed. book tabs stick out of your workbooks lined up on your desk and your cork board is filled with crossed out to-do lists.

and every once in a while, you would look out through your window, admiring the neighboring houses and all their greenery. as people walk on pavements, you cannot help but think about where they’re off to—are they on their way to work? did they leave an important document back home? or are they coming back to a meal and home filled with warmth?

despite the halo soundtrack filling your ears, the cogs in your brain seem to drown them out. the numbers on your paper have jumbled up. it should’ve been easy. after all, you’ve become friends with the letters who’ve squeezed their way into math. once you’ve wrapped up on this assignment, you know you’ll wake up to another set of work to do. it didn’t help that you’re stuck watching kids your age enjoy their break.

with a tired mind, you consider making yourself another cup of iced coffee. maybe another dose of caffeine will make sense of the numbers—

your phone buzzes against your table. as your eyes rip from the unfinished worksheet, you spot the familiar name flashing on the screen. with one glance at your door, you bring your headphones to rest around your neck. it takes three rings for you to answer.

“what do you want?”

“the fuck? what’s wrong with you?”

you roll your eyes as you fiddle with your pen. “i’m studying, you fucker.”

“on a sunday?” hanbin’s question has you only groan. “what happened to resting?”

“i wish,” you murmur as you scratch the back of your head. “i’ve been stuck on this stupid worksheet for the past hours. it’s annoying too. i mean, i already know this topic, so i don’t know why it’s so hard.”

“awe, is my best friend suffering over kumon?”

your forehead rests on crossed arms. “yes. i think i’m going to die.”

“okay, then. i’ll take that as my sign.”

“sign to what?”

he chuckles as if it were obvious. “to save you! let’s go to mr. kim’s.”

a groan leaves you as your back meets the chair. “no, i can’t. do you know what would happen if i don’t finish my kumon?”

“uh… no?”

“me, neither. i’m not taking my chances.”

“but, you’re not even doing anything!” hanbin pointing out the obvious has you rolling your eyes. “wouldn’t it be better to take a break with your best friend? i can even help out.”

as you bite the inside of your cheek, you glance once more at your closed door. you weigh it out; would you rather take a break with your best friend or would you save yourself from the consequences brought by home?

but the answer was already clear. “give me 10 minutes.”

hanbin laughs before you drop the call.

it’s the smell of fresh hotteok that greets you. the quiet buzzing of the fan accompanied by mr. kim’s favorite trot music fills your ears. while the owner seems to be away from the cashier, a white, stray cat takes over, body flopped on the counter as it snores away the heat. as the sun pours through windows, coating every corner of the mart with a glow of fireflies, you know this will be a place of its own.

“y/n, over here!” a familiar voice calls out. as you whip your head to the source, you see your best friend by the chest freezer, eyes crinkled and all dimples.

now, you’re certain that nothing could ever replicate this.

you walk towards hanbin, finding your spot beside him as you two look through the collection of frozen treats. “so, what do you want from here?” you ask.

“uh… i’ll be honest, i just realized i’m short on money.”

you glance through the price tags, only for a groan to leave you. “i’m short too. when did mr. kim raise the prices?”

“no clue. i thought i’d have enough to get a summer crush,” hanbin complains as his eyes are glued to the coffee sorbet. “i hate inflation.”

“come on.” you fish out for the coins in your pocket. “let’s see how much we have together.” hanbin does the same. with palms out, you two count through your shared funds.

“we can get a summer crush!”

“you can get one. i’ll be left with barely anything.” you look through the selection once more. “man, i really want samanco. the red bean sounds so good right now.”

defeat casts over hanbin’s features. for a moment, you almost consider giving up on having a frozen treat and settling for a glass bottle of orange soda, until you spot a familiar popsicle brand.

“holy shit, it’s right there.”

“what?”

“there!” your finger points at the stack of twin bars. “we can probably get that and split it.”

hanbin’s expression morphs into realization. “okay, let’s get—”

“dibs on grape.”

“dibs?” he furrows his eyebrows at you. “you can’t just call dibs. you’re doing it wrong. clearly, we should discuss—”

“nope,” you retort. a chuckle laced with disbelief leaves your best friend. to him, it seemed like you were joking around. “i made the suggestion and contributed a lot more to our shared funds.”

“okay, but—”

“don’t tell me you want the peach flavor more than the grape.” as you continue to shut him down, he knows there’s no way around you.

(plus, he wasn’t a fan of peach-flavored things, anyway. how unfortunate that mr. kim only has those two flavors right now.)

“next time, we’re choosing a flavor that i want,” he gives in. you let out a cheer before grabbing the frozen treat.

you two make your way back to the cashier and spot mr. kim slouched in front of the television, hand stroking the sleepy feline. he’s still wearing an old, red plaid apron on top of a pair of basketball shorts and a loose graphic tee which had the name of a band you’re unfamiliar with. with how he sits, you’re afraid that his back problems will get even worse. (still, you don’t say anything. he’ll only play it off and say he’s still one of the “youngins”... whatever that means.)

once his eyes land on you two, a grin takes over. “ah, my favorite kids! it’s nice to see you both.”

“yeah, it’s been a while,” hanbin starts off. “y/n’s always busy with kumon.”

you narrow your eyes at the boy. “hey! you’re busy, too! you’ve been practicing at the studio almost every day!” the wrapped popsicle now rests on the counter. “every time i’m free, you’re not.”

“hey! whenever you’re free, i’m tired from training!”

“okay, let’s settle down,” mr. kim breaks up the banter. he then takes note of the ice cream on the cashier, the price showing up on the cashier. “isn’t the heat hard enough for you two to be studying or practicing?”

“yes, very much.” you count the coins once more before dropping the exact amount on the counter. “but,” you glance at hanbin and his disheartened expression is enough for mountains to move, “i don’t think we have a choice.”

in reality, these were the circumstances you two had to work and live with. during the days hanbin ended practice early, you were drowning in summer school assessments. whenever you managed to finish your homework, it would be during the hours your best friend was off at the studio or passed out at home from exhaustion.

“choice, no choice, people always say that.” mr. kim counts your payment before putting it into the cashier. as he takes note of what you’ve bought, he says, “everyone has a choice. i’m sure you two can figure it out.”

the only difference is that one chose this path; the other had to suffer from the decision forced onto them.

“don’t worry, mr. kim,” hanbin nudges your shoulder. “i’m sure we’ll figure it out.” and when his whiskers appear, you find yourself smiling back.

maybe you were okay with the life you had to live, just maybe.

“anyway, we’ll go ahead,” hanbin bids farewell to mr. kim.

you giggle. “he means we’re just going to eat our ice cream at the front.”

as you two slowly make your way out of the mart, mr. kim shakes his head. “you lovebirds go ahead. i’ll see you next time!”

“mr. kim!” you and hanbin shout in unison before glancing at each other.

“what?!”

your best friend groans. “you know we aren’t together.”

“yeah! like, i can’t imagine it,” you join in.

still, the owner laughs at your reactions. “you two are so funny. just go and enjoy your ice cream.”

you roll your eyes at his words. “bye, mr. kim!”

with that, you and hanbin were out of the mart and took a seat on the benches. you hand your best friend the wrapped frozen treat before letting out a sigh. “i still can’t believe this is one of the few times we got to meet up during the break.”

“i know.” he tears the plastic wrapping off. “you would think that summer break would mean we get to hang out nonstop, but i’m starting to think we saw each other more whenever we had school.”

you hum. “i know. and i had ap stat while you had training.” your eyes dart at hanbin who grips onto the popsicle sticks, struggling to split it into two. “oh my god, don’t tell me you can’t split it.”

“hey! it’s hard.”

as you giggle, you reach your hand out. “let me do it.” once hanbin hands you the twin bar, you attempt to split the two. for a moment, you almost think about agreeing with him. yet, the frozen treat splits into two perfectly, and a satisfied smile rests on your lips.

you hand him one popsicle, only to be met with his glare. “i know, i’m just better.”

“just shut up.” to that, another laugh leaves you.

under the sun, you enjoy the coolness of the twin bar. while you would’ve stared off to nowhere, you and hanbin were here at the right time to catch civilians bustling away. some were on dates, where one would go on about their interest while the other would smile at their rambling. there were kids whose chatter could be heard all the way from the end of the block, and blue-collar men who were off to enjoy their break.

you can’t help but imagine what people saw—thought—of you and hanbin. did they think of you as unexpected friends? has it ever crossed their minds that you two were only classmates who seemed to always be paired together? or did they ever think the same as mr. kim?

“you know,” hanbin starts off, causing you to look at him, “i was going through college courses the other day.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “oh?”

with your reaction, hanbin giggles. “i was just curious, you know? not that i’m giving up on dance or anything, but,” he licks the popsicle, “early childhood education sounds cool.”

you hum. “i wasn’t expecting that.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“no, it’s not a bad thing!” you reassure the boy. “it’s just,” you rip your gaze off of hanbin and look at the playground, “i always thought of you as a dancer, you know? kind of like you were meant for the stage.” the laughter of the kids who passed by you two bounces all over the block and you can’t help but smile. “but i don’t doubt it.”

the breeze graces your sweat-covered skin. “what about you?” you look back at him. “would you ever consider journalism? maybe communication as your major?”

you’re quick to laugh at his suggestion, but when confusion paints his features, you realize it’s a serious question from him.

“no.” it’s a straightforward answer from you, but hanbin could never settle with that

“why not?”

a sigh leaves you. “i just don’t consider it. i mean, i think about it,” all the time, “but not enough to consider it. plus, astrophysics is cool.”

“but is it your dream?”

hanbin’s question is an easy one to answer—not at all. you’ve had enough learning about theories and making sense of the numbers. if your future is going to only complicate that further, then maybe astrophysics isn’t made for you.

but who’s to say that you’ll even enjoy journalism?

“we’ll see.” you leave it at that and hanbin didn’t push for more.

because the reality is that if you ever did consider it, transform those dreams into action plans, you were terrified to be met with your parents’ disappointment—it wouldn’t only be from your lousy desires but from hanbin’s role in your life.

the first time you mentioned hanbin to your parents happened over dinner, letting them know you would be staying later at school to work on the final project for art class with him. they didn’t bat an eye at his name as they continued to talk about what happened during work and pester you about your progress in other classes. (art class didn’t matter to them, only the sciences and math were ones they seemed to track. still, they would criticize you if you didn’t place first honors.)

with your parents’ oversight, something blossomed between you and hanbin . from there, there were more days you would get home later than usual. while you were still on top of your work, they took your late arrivals as a form of negligence.

all it took was one night for them to demand an explanation. the reappearance of him in the conversation had only caused them to reprimand you—hanbin’s not like you. he’ll only hold you back.

from that day on, you’ve learned to keep his name out of conversations. you’ll enjoy what you have with hanbin, even if it has to be kept under the wraps.

“how’s training?” you change the subject, trying to keep the attention off of your failed dreams to hanbin’s flourishing ones.

“well, it’s a lot,” he chuckles as he munches a piece. “you already know that it takes how many hours to get to the company, and the hours i spend in the practice room are unlike the trainings i have at school.”

as his eyes meet yours, you only shoot him an apologetic smile. it was never going to be easy; you two knew that before hanbin entered the doors of the company. yet, he still held on.

“you know, i never considered it before, but i like where i’m going,” he admits. “even if i’ve always had dreams to pursue dance, i want to make my family proud if i ever get to debut.”

hanbin knows how to persevere. regardless of all the bruises he gets from performing complex dance routines or the hours of sleep he longs for, he knows how to hold on. you wish you could say the same for yourself.

“and you will,” you reassure the boy, wrapping your arm around his shoulders. “who wouldn’t be proud of you?”

he holds your stare and your smile falters. for a moment, you don’t know if you touched on a sensitive topic. would he shrug your arm off? do you think he’ll shut you off, maybe cut your time together short? will hanbin get mad at you for something you didn’t know was wrong? would he be just like them?

“i want to make you proud.”

that’s enough to answer it all.

you shake your head. “don’t even doubt that for a second.” your arm finds it spot back to your side, and hanbin’s loops his with yours.

although he knows how to persevere, he never knows when to shut his ears from the shadows.

“i am proud of you,” you tell him. “always have, always will.” he can’t help but smile. all you can hope is that he’ll listen closely to your voice.

“i almost forgot,” he says out of nowhere.

“forgot what?”

as he tugs his arm away, his hand fishes for something in his pocket. “close your eyes.” you furrow your eyebrows. “just do it!” you follow his orders. “and keep them closed, okay?” you let out a hum.

before you know it, something wraps around your index finger. you would’ve opened your eyes, confused over the foreign yet familiar material, but they remain shut.

“okay, open.”

your gaze rests on your finger wrapped in yellow and blue. it’s a finger trap—and the other end is connected to hanbin. despite your tug, it still holds you two together.

it’s the warmth that fills your cheeks, the heartbeat in your ears, and your starstruck eyes that has him smile. “no matter what happens, we’ll stick together, okay? regardless of what paths we end up pursuing. all that matters is that we have each other.”

he’s filled with hope. hope for his dreams. hope for your relationship. hope for what the future holds for you two. you can’t help but hope as well.

all it takes is a nod from you to solidify the promise to the universe.

you two sit in silence, finishing up the popsicles as people continue to pass by. at one point, you heard mr. kim let out a curse over the drama he’s watching. the sun is about to set, wrapping you two in a golden blanket, and all that matters is the finger trap.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

it’s no surprise to you that the newsroom is quiet. while your peers are off to gather more information, you’re with lee chaeyeon of news as she tries to meet the deadline for her article’s first close.

“do you think dokyeom will be late?” you ask as you watch her rephrase sentences.

she laughs. “when is he never? minho’s always assigning him coverages.”

“that’s true.” your eyes drift to the hallway. “i’m just hungry. he still owes me food, you know?”

“over another bet? or you saving his ass?”

“over helping him with an article,” you reveal, earning a shocked look from her. “for some odd reason, he needed another writer to help out with a live coverage, and all the sports writers and sports editor were busy handling the other events.”

“holy shit.” chaeyeon continues with her work. “i didn’t expect you to work on anything sports-related.”

“yeah, but it helped that it was a dance competition. at least i know something about dance.” you only know who to thank. “i’m going to make sure i get compensated for that. i’m planning to raise it to minho and namjoon, anyway. that’s if dokyeom would fucking come and help in explaining the situation.”

with the mention of the tardy writer’s name, he’s scrambling through the halls with his backpack in one hand and a paper bag in the other. the moment he sees you, he shoots you an apologetic smile.

“speak of the devil,” you say as you stand up straight. “why do you always show up late? i helped you with the article.”

dokyeom finds his spot beside you as he sets down the bag on your desk. “i’ll have you know that wasn’t the only article i had yesterday. i was catching up on other ones that minho assigned me.” before he can plop down on his seat, he spots chaeyeon working. “damn, tough life at news.”

“no need to point out the obvious, doofus.”

“wow, harsh,” he replies to her insult. “just so you know, i bought food for us.”

“thank god,” you exclaim as you open the paper bag filled with takeout containers and sealed cups. as you pull them out one by one, you spot your usual order from the vietnamese restaurant around the corner. “oh my god, thank you for getting me this.” you take a seat before you pass dokyeom his food and utensils.

“yeah, i know. i’m just the best.” his shower of compliments for himself only has you rolling your eyes. “but thank you, by the way, for helping me out with the article. i needed an extra pair of hands and my own editor couldn’t stand in to help out.”

“it’s fine. just make sure you help me get compensated for that article,” you say before you open the container. as the smell of bun bo nam bo fills your nose, you can’t help but let out a quiet moan. “holy fuck, i’ve been craving this.”

“i made sure to get you some vietnamese coffee also.”

“yeah, i saw. thank you.” you split the chopsticks with one hand. you’re about to mix the bowl of your favorite food—

“is y/n here?” your editor calls out, causing you to let out a sigh before you stand up from your seat.

“yes?”

namjoon’s gaze lands on you. “can i talk to you for a bit?”

despite your grumbling stomach, you give him a nod and set your food down. as he retreats to his office, you glare at dokyeom who munches away on goi cuon. “i hate you.”

“hey, what did i do?!” you ignore his attempts to defend himself as you make your way to your editor’s office.

once you swing the door open, you spot namjoon whose eyes are stuck to the screen. “you can take a seat,” he says with no attempt to look at you. you sit across from him, hands folded on your lap, while he types away on his keyboard.

the moment he hits the ‘enter’ key is when he finally looks at you. “sorry about that. i was just replying to minho regarding your compensation for the article you worked with dokyeom. we both appreciate what you did. next time though, make sure to loop in minho or me before you two start working on beats not within your staffs.”

“sorry about that,” you start off. “dokyeom only asked for my help and i thought it would be fine since i’m familiar with dance, anyway.”

namjoon shakes his head with a small smile plastered on his face. “it is fine, just make sure to inform us.” you only nod.

“anyway, i’m sorry to have this meeting with you right now but i have to leave work early today, and i thought that you’d appreciate that i tell this to you now instead of tomorrow,” he says. you hum, curious about what he has to say. “i have a coverage for you, a very, very, long one.”

over the sight of your wide eyes, he can’t help but chuckle. “it’s 10 articles,” he says and your mouth gapes over the number. “well, one main article and nine profiles with very brief introductory paragraphs.” his attempt to ease your shocked state does nothing.

“namjoon, that’s… a lot.”

“yes, i know. i would love to split the workload but everyone else is handling other articles, and i trust you. i know i’m asking for a lot but i’ll make sure to help you out with them. it’s just that we’re working on a time crunch and i don’t know anyone else i can ask but you.”

the faith that your editor seems to have in you is like no other.

“profiles, like, those q&a transcripts?” you ask.

he nods before saying, “yes, and just a brief introductory paragraph for each profile. i’m just expecting you to put more work into the article about the group. i’ll make sure to help out with the profiles.”

namjoon’s trust should be anxiety inducing, enough to send you complaining, but you find yourself relieved. your mentor became your second-in-command; the mountain of workload transformed into a hill.

“okay.”

a relaxed smile appears on his face at your acceptance. “thank god! i was going to stress about this the whole day if you refused. i’ll make sure to send you the details about this once i’m done with my appointments, and then we can see how we’ll divide the work later on.” he types something. “we’re covering a k-pop group which is why there’s one main article about the whole group and then nine profiles.”

“yeah, i figured that out.” this isn’t anything out of your usual articles. “can i ask who we’re interviewing? maybe i can do some research on them while you attend your meetings.” you pull out your phone, ready to search up whoever your editor says.

“ah, i’m sure you’ll be familiar with them. it’s zerobaseone.” you still in your seat. “you know, the group formed from boys planet.”

“zerobaseone?”

namjoon looks at you, now met with your features that have transformed from wide eyes to scrunched eyebrows. “yeah. do you know them?”

you shake your head without a second thought. “no, i don’t think i do,” you whisper the last sentence to yourself. his narrow eyes look over you, almost dissecting you.

the walls surrounding you are painted in solid colors of pearl, almost untouched. yet, under the paint are cracks that spread like cobwebs. every burst is a testament to the earthquakes they’ve faced; no one should be able to see a single line of black amid the white sea. now, they’re filled with paste, and it should be enough to cover them all.

but for the first time, the paint has chipped and the paste has deteriorated; the different colors of cheonan seep through the cracks.

you clear your throat as you straighten your back. “i’ll be sure to research them.” you wave your phone at him, hoping to divert his attention, but his gaze remains on you.

a sigh leaves him. “okay. expect to receive the documents later in the afternoon.”

he doesn’t push any further. for now, the walls remain intact. (or appear as so.)

it was never going to be easy.

“honestly, i was losing hope as we practiced,” the youngest says through tears. as they huddle, they let out silent wishes for the upcoming years. before they blow the candle, they don’t forget to express their gratitude to the fandom who stuck with them through thick and thin.

a time of celebration turned into a moment to remember their struggles. these were pockets of their time that marked their spot in history.

“oh, everyone behind us is crying!” another member points out as the camera captures the team’s bittersweet cries.

and when you catch sight of the brunette who hides his tears behind his friend, the ache in your chest starts to spread through your veins. the video cuts to his low-hanging head as his members comfort him. they knew all of his hardships—you only know a fraction.

such a tender moment happened a year ago; it’s longer than the amount of time between this achievement and your departure. within those years, what did hanbin undergo? did his trainings waver his passion or did the fire burn just as bright as it did since he first auditioned? was he confident in his skills or was he still critical about every performance he had?

but most of all, what did he face? what did he learn? to hate? to love?

what did he go through without you?

you don’t forget to take note of their first win on your document filled with bullet points of information. while you were going to continue watching, a recommended video caught your attention. it’s a hanbin focus. you don’t hesitate to click it.

the video starts off with him checking up on the fans before the performance starts. as he mimes out eating, they answer his question with reassurance.

and there they come—his dimples appear.

it transitions to their group in their opening formation. as they await for the song to play out, hanbin’s familiar smile shifts into a dominant gaze.

in the same way the first notes draw people to listen, your eyes never leave the boy. his movements are fluid, like water droplets sliding off leaves. he commands the stage regardless of where he’s positioned.

hanbin is meant to be on the stage—no, every stage is made for him. every crowd is meant to cheer his name and remain captive to his talents, and every spotlight is meant to shine on him.

you rest your chin on crossed arms. long gone was the bowl cut and loose school uniform. he’s grown. matured, even. yet, the moments where his smile appears makes you realize one thing: the 16-year-old boy you knew still lives within him.

as their performance comes to an end, you don’t bother to move your cursor, letting the next recommended video play. and when his vlog plays out, you realize that a fragment of his identity is a whole of what you know.

what an honor it is to have known him for even a fraction of your lifetime.

his voice is a lullaby, the same one you used to fall asleep to, so you allow yourself to close your eyes. you let go of the responsibilities for just this moment, and allow yourself to be transported back into the warmth of his arms.

fall of 2017

out of all the seasons, autumn took its spot in being your favorite. clusters of green slowly morph into shades of oranges and browns. it’s a symphony of chirps that fills the silence. while the breeze brings you comfort after the heat of summer, it also reminds you of the looming winter.

it’s a shame that autumn does live up to its other name: a season of fall.

“you’re always like this,” your mother comments. you stand in front of your parents, slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, as they hold a sheet of paper they believe dictates your future. “always so sensitive. we’re just asking you what went different. why did your grades drop?” to them, a shift from a to b+ is a threat to your future.

while your feet stand on wooden floors, a flood starts to form. murky waves crash against your legs, but you do your best to keep your balance.

“answer us when you’re being talked to.” your father snaps you out of your thoughts. “what have you been doing for your grades to drop?” you want to answer but a single sound that leaves you may only lead to blubbers that your parents will scold you for.

with your silence, your mother sneers. “i knew we shouldn’t have let you do your own things. i told you so.” she shifts her gaze to him. “what did i tell you about y/n? you know they’ll only slack off!”

“i thought we could trust them. clearly, i was wrong.” your father’s glare raises the water levels, reaching your chest. you don’t know how to swim in the foggy ocean.

“i know why.” she crosses her arms. “it’s because of that hanbin boy, isn’t it?” she says his name laced with disgust.

you don’t think twice to defend him. “no, it isn’t!”

“don’t you dare talk back at me!”

“but i’m not! he’s done nothing.”

your father begins to raise his voice. “and that’s what’s wrong! that lazy boy does nothing for his studies. he clearly doesn’t care about his future.”

you always knew it would be a losing battle, but you’ll put up the fight to protect your best friend’s name. “that’s not true! he does care. he’s planning to do early childhood education for college, maybe become a teacher.”

“that job has no money. see, i can already see that you’re being influenced by him,” he argues back.

and as the murky waters rise, filling your lungs, your first instinct is to close your eyes and scream. “stop saying that about him!”

a beat passes.

“i don’t want you hanging out with him.”

“but—”

“shut up.” your mother’s words cause you to look up, meeting your parents’ faces filled with anger. “go to your room. now.” you’re nothing but a puppet for them.

was it even a battle if you always knew you were going to lose?

despite the safety of your room, you don’t let the tears flow down. you do anything to distract yourself; maybe a book will convince you that your life is only a figment of your imagination.

waves continue to crash against your body. if you let them take your body, would they send you far away from cheonan? from your parents? from the weight you were entrusted to carry since birth?

but would you allow the waves to send you away from hanbin?

your phone buzzes against the mattress. with tear-filled eyes, you see your best friend trying to reach you. you don’t think twice about declining his call and shutting off your phone.

as you curl in your bed, you hope the sea will swallow you whole—the slow, burning pain that comes with drowning won’t compare to the burns that haven’t healed. but you know that the blame rests on your shoulders. if only you had studied harder, cut off hours of rest for your work, then maybe you would be the perfect child your parents wanted.

were you wrong for allowing yourself to enjoy the small breaks between classes? was the time spent in the mart supposed to be for schoolwork? should you have found yourself a tutor? were you in the wrong for not working yourself to the bone? did you not work enough?

are you not enough?

then, a knock. your eyes snap open. like a stroke of light in the middle of the dark, hanbin is by your window.

you get off your bed to open the window. as the glass barrier disappears, he enters your room. “are you okay?” he spots your glassy eyes and his hands find their spot on your shoulders. “what happened?”

you break eye contact. “what do you want, hanbin?”

“you didn’t pick up your phone. and when i tried calling again, i couldn’t reach you,” he starts to explain.

you shrug off his grip on you before you take a seat on your bed. “i’m fine. my phone died.” as you feel the spot beside you dip, you look at your best friend. at the sight of his furrowed eyebrows, you know he doesn’t believe you. “i said i’m fine.”

“i didn’t say anything.” for you are an open book to him.

he opens his arms towards you—it’s your move to make. then, a tight-lipped smile shows on his face, his whiskers appear, and you allow yourself to fall. with his arms wrapped around you, you shut your eyes as you nestle your face into his neck.

breathe in. breathe out.

his hand finds its spot on your back, rubbing it in circles.

breathe in. breathe out.

“it’s okay, i’m here,” he says, and you allow yourself to crumble in front of him for the first time.

the tears hit hanbin’s neck like a light drizzle. your wails bring earthquakes into his world.

yet, his warmth is enough to dry up droplets, and his embrace protects you as you fall into the cracks of the earth and into the depths of the world. the flood starts to subside.

in your time knowing hanbin, how much did he know about you after all? had he always known of your strained relationship with your parents? did he hear about it from others or was he able to connect the dots?

because you didn’t know yourself outside of your parents anymore. did you like science because of your kumon classes? was your interest in writing birthed from a desire for validation from your parents?

are you nothing but an array of achievements and failures?

but your parents will never be satisfied; a standard too high is practically nonexistent.

hanbin moves so that you two can lie down. his arms remain wrapped around you as you hide in his neck. “i’m sorry if i wasn’t there for you when you needed it then.” his whispered apology causes you to shake your head.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” you blubber out to his neck.

“and you didn’t, as well.” his hand finds its spot behind your head. with every stroke, a tear streams down. “and i want you to know that i’ll be here for you.”

in your house, your room was the only space you called home. solace built by you.

now, your home is hanbin.

present -> two weeks before the interview, 2024

something about the newsroom feels odd to you. there’s nothing out of the ordinary aside from it bustling with journalists. the familiar sounds of printers and chatter from your workmates fill your ears. it’s a typical occurrence for your peers to meet their deadlines on the day itself. the tug in your gut doesn’t resemble ones formed out of your anxiety. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“where is dokyeom? i swear, this guy never shows up to the office.”

you snap out of your thoughts, looking over at chaeyeon who browses through her phone. as you shove a bill into the vending machine, a chuckle leaves you. “when is he never?”

“maybe if he finishes his coverages on time then he’d be getting enough sleep. then, he won’t be late.”

you side-eye your friend before you click on a button. “you know that’s not true.”

she sighs at the same time your bottle of iced tea drops. “yeah. apparently, if you have free time, you’re not a good journalist or some shit which i find stupid.” you grab your drink before facing her. “am i not allowed to do something else that’s not related to my job? i swear, this is why i’m single.”

“then date another journalist.” your joke earns a scowl from her.

“i’m never dating anyone in my field. a journalist dating another journalist is like,” she looks up to the ceiling as she thinks, “a long distance relationship with how much they’ll never see or have time for each other.”

a laugh erupts from you, one that may be too loud for your liking. “true.”

as you walk out of the breakroom with chaeyeon, you notice something in the corner of your eye: a brunette by the restroom. while you can’t see his face, you spot what’s in his hand and you halt in your tracks—a finger trap.

“hey, is there someone there?” your eyes snap back to your friend who looks at you in confusion. when your eyes drift back to where the brunette once was, he’s already gone. you shake your head before walking back to your desk.

the same gut feeling lingers. with a frown, you open up your article only to be met with a few comments that namjoon left last night. maybe your gut knew that you weren’t done with your work. thankfully, it’s nothing too major, and you can have them done within the next few minutes.

“there you are!” chaeyeon exclaims, causing you to look up from your screen to a panting dokyeom. “were you working on your articles again?”

“actually, i went out last night.” while you shake your head at dokyeom’s reveal, chaeyeon gasps. “yeah, i did! i actually had fun for once!”

as he nods proudly at last night’s events, she complains, “are you serious?! how come you have time to go out? i was just talking to y/n that we never have time to ourselves.”

“i’m in sports,” he points out as he shrugs his shoulders. “you’re in news.” at this point, you’re expecting the two to spiral into an argument, so you redirect your focus back to your article.

“hey, did you hear though? there’s a k-pop group in the building.” you glance at chaeyeon.

your other friend leans on the cubicle. “really? who?”

“no clue.”

dokyeom lets out a groan. “what type of journalist are you if you can’t find out?”

“yah!” chaeyeon smacks his arm, causing him to wince in pain. “says you who can never submit on time.”

“hey, i’ll have you know that minho has been understanding!”

“whatever.” she rolls her eyes before looking at you. “that means you’ll probably be handling them. i hope they’re cute so that you can finally have something going on with your life outside of work.”

a chuckle leaves you as you get back to work. “i’m never dating an idol. i’d get hunted down by their fans.”

“yeah, but can’t you dream a little? do you ever imagine what it would be like?”

the past plays in your mind. after school performances and interviews. broken-up popsicles. finger traps. a life you shared with hanbin then—one you still cling onto.

yet, you shake your head as you edit your article. “not even.”

it’s a life you’ll keep to yourself.

“what’s the update?”

the three of you look away from each other, spotting namjoon who comes to you with a smile. long gone were the sweaters that failed to drown out his figure and the boxy glasses that would rest on the bridge of his nose. now, he wears a dress shirt and trousers with hair slicked to the side. there were no frames for him to hide behind.

“ah, namjoon! you’re dressed so nice today.”

with dokyeom’s compliment, he can’t hold back on his smile. “thank you. are you guys done with your articles?”

as your friends nod, you add the finishing touches to the document. “and done! i just finished addressing your comments.”

“great. thanks, y/n.”

“do you have something?” chaeyeon asks your editor, causing you to roll your eyes. one thing about journalists is that they love to know everything.

namjoon nods before saying, “i just had a meeting with some possible interviewees.”

“is this the one with the k-pop group?” as dokyeom asks the question, you can’t help but laugh as chaeyeon looks at him in disbelief for spilling confidential information.

your editor chuckles. “yes.”

“can we know—”

“no, you can’t know.”

chaeyeon pouts at namjoon. “not even a hint?”

namjoon ignores her question and begins to walk off. “good work, y/n!” he calls out before leaving you three alone.

“man, namjoon never tells us shit,” chaeyeon complains as she leans on the table.

“to you guys, at least,” you argue with a small shrug.

still, the gut feeling remains.

something about the newsroom feels odd to hanbin. while he’s had his fair share of paranormal experiences, his gut tells him that there’s something in the office. yet, the tug isn’t one that speaks of danger. why does it feel like one of destiny?

“should we have a short break before we discuss the schedules for the photoshoots and interviews?” hanbin is snapped out of his thoughts by namjoon’s suggestion.

his manager looks at the group. “do you guys need a break?”

although everyone seemed fine with proceeding, he couldn’t shake off the feeling. maybe the leftover curry he had this morning went bad. “i’ll go,” he says as he gets off his seat.

namjoon slowly stands up. “okay, i can bring you there—”

“it’s okay! i saw the washroom on the way here,” hanbin says before walking to the door. “you can discuss the details without me first.”

with his manager’s nods, namjoon settles back into his seat. “okay then, here are some of the dates i have in mind...”

hanbin exits the room. he bites on the inside of the cheek as he thinks of what his gut could be telling him. is it the nerves for the upcoming tour? is he worried about the next comeback they’ve been preparing? or is he scared about what the future has in store for his group?

with his mind on these questions, he doesn’t realize that he arrives in front of the bathroom door. a sigh of frustration leaves him. the worst thing about gut feelings is never knowing what they’re trying to say.

he grips the handle, ready to swing the door open, until a familiar laugh hits his ears. one of the past. one he hasn’t heard in years. his muscles freeze.

when was the last time he heard that chortle? when was the last time he became the cause of it?

his eyes dart around the area for the source but no one else is here. he can’t help but shake his head in disbelief.

it should be stupid for him to think you two would ever reunite. in what world would you be in the same place as he is? it’s been 7 years. you could be anywhere around the world. yet, he fishes for something out of his pocket; the same finger trap he linked you to him rests on the palm of his hand.

he sighs before entering the washroom and shoving it back into his pocket.

maybe he’ll hold out a little longer.

winter of 2017

out of all the seasons, hanbin’s favorite is winter. snowflakes fall, filling the sky with stars that people can touch, and snow piles on sidewalks, letting him throw snowballs at his friends. despite the freezing temperatures, hanbin prefers this over nearly-boiling ones.

he can’t wait to share this season with you.

yet, the familiar, chilly breeze of the season transforms into whispers, and word gets around like thrown snowballs.

“is y/n really not going to school anymore?” hanbin looks up from his desk to see soojin standing in front of him. he tilts his head in confusion, causing her to roll her eyes. “are they not going here anymore?”

he frowns. “huh? what kind of rumor is that?”

“i don’t know. it’s what people have been saying,” she says as she crosses her arms. “i asked because i wanted to know if my competition’s gone, you know? and you’re the only one here who has an idea about their whereabouts.”

hanbin laughs in disbelief. “no, i was with them last week.”

when hanbin last saw you, you asked for space. with what’s been happening with your family, you needed time to process and cope with your issues, and he respected that. after all, he only knew a fraction of your relationship with your parents, and he didn’t want to intrude in anything you didn’t want him to be a part of. still, hanbin reminded you that he’ll be there if you need him.

“damn, that sucks,” soojin groans as her shoulders slump. “these stupid rumors.” as soon as she leaves hanbin alone, he shakes his head.

the bell rings. students start rushing into classrooms and teachers scold those who aren’t on their seats. ms. jeon enters the room, walking to the desk in front and setting her things down. “lee soojin, you’ll be in charge of attendance today.”

as hanbin’s classmate gets off her seat, he can’t help but look at your desk that still remains empty.

“you have to message us when you land,” your mother says as she fixes the collar of your coat. despite your nod, she clicks her tongue. “answer me properly.”

“yes, i will.”

once your father finishes placing the last luggage in the trunk of the taxi, he stands beside your mother. “don’t forget why we’re sending you there. we expect you to do better with no distractions.”

your phone buzzes in your hand. as you look down, you see a message from hanbin. as he asks about your whereabouts, the weight gets heavier—will you stand or crumble under it?

“who’s that?”

you stash your phone away as you look back at your parents. “nothing. it’s just an email from the school. they sent over the date for the orientation.” at the sight of their satisfied smile, you let out a small sigh of relief.

“well, go on.” your nod at your mother before getting in the car. with the windows still down, she adds, “don’t forget to get endorsement letters from the professors i sent over to you or else you won’t get to study abroad like we planned.” her choice of pronouns is funny; a plan that they crafted which never considered your input.

“okay.”

as your father commands the driver to go, your gaze remains on the two. it should be okay with you to leave cheonan; you’d be far away from your parents and experience an entirely different landscape to explore. it’s time you break away from the chains of this town. learn a life outside of what your parents forced you into.

yet, as the car takes its leave, the figure of your parents slowly shrinks. the distance from them should’ve given you the space to breathe, a relief you’ve longed for, but it only reminds you of your strained relationship. to them, it would be better that you’re out of their sight—and with your farewell, you never heard the three-word phrase.

the window rolls up. you try to hold back the tears, but the scenery of cheonan that you pass by births a storm within you. you didn’t want to say goodbye to home, regardless of how much you say you didn’t have a home in this town. every corner holds a piece of you in the same way you hold a piece of them.

the car approaches a safe haven you share. despite the snow that piles at the front, mr. kim’s convenience store is still open. you’ll never get to have his hotteok again or hear his favorite dramas play in the background. worst of all, you never got to say goodbye.

then, the familiar figure of your best friend exits the mart, and the storm transforms into a typhoon. the plastic bag he holds is filled with your favorite snacks, from the grape-flavored twin bar to a bottle of mr. kim’s homemade peach iced tea.

and in that moment that your car passes him, he pulls out his phone from his pocket, and you spot the familiar trap wrapped around his finger—the other end holds no one.

as quickly as you came into hanbin’s life, he disappears from your view.

finger traps were fascinating. if you tug hard, the contraption won’t let your fingers go. yet, if you allow the two fingers to meet, allowing the toy to loosen, it’ll let you go with no harm.

but your finger trap with hanbin was different. maybe it was already ripped to its seams.

interview

q: what made you decide on becoming an idol?

a: i’ve always loved dancing. growing up in cheonan, i always made time [for dance] whether it be [for] school competitions, talent shows, or even [choreographies] i wanted to try out. but i never considered becoming [an idol] until high school. a lot of my friends and family thought i was capable, and i’m glad they trusted me. it feels good to give back to them with every performance.

q: compared to your other members, you’ve spent a lot of years dancing and training to become an idol. what kept you going throughout your years of training?

a: my family’s support was one big thing that helped me [during my training.] every trip from my house to the company would last hours, and it drained me physically. so as the years went by, i started to question if all the time, money, [and] effort i was putting into an unpromised debut would be worth it, but my parents and sisters were always there to support and [take] care of me. but i’d also like to think my best friend was a major support in training years. i think they were the first one to [tell me that they saw me as an idol,] and at the time i brushed off the idea. but, look where i am now? so i think i owe a lot to them.

q: is there anything you’d like to say to those who’ve supported you as zerobaseone’s hanbin?

a: mom and dad, thank you for believing in me. i know it wasn’t easy to wait until midnight for me to come home or take care of me whenever i got sick from training. thank you for always supporting me in every performance. to my sister, thank you for helping mom and dad out at home. every day, i remind myself that you gave up so much just so i can pursue my dreams, and i want you know that i’m forever grateful for your sacrifices. to the rest of [zerobaseone], thank you for always allowing me to rely on you. i’m glad i can say i have brothers who i get to achieve my dreams with. zerose, thank you for your love and support over the years. i wouldn’t be zerobaseone’s leader or sung hanbin if it weren’t for you. and lastly, thank you to my best friend. i hope you’ll always be proud of me the same way i’ll forever be proud of you.

tag list: @kflixnet @blankjournal @somber-reads

#(off topic but op i really love your theme)#all these notes were made while i was reading btw. so they’re my reactions in real time #i thank you for writing this and i apologise for not being able to voice my thoughts any better than this mess of words. i tried.#🏷️ — fic recs #zerobaseone #sung hanbin #moni 🍠

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tcshi · 2 years ago

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reo mikage & nagi seishiro

⚠︎ : bored and away from a trip, a little bundle of video surprise was all reo needed to rebook a flight home earlier than planned.

⚠︎ : mean dom!nagi x sub!reader, unprotected sex (wrap it up irl ok?), masturbation, spanking, marks, consensual recording, polyamory w/reonagi, ALSO pro!athletes!reonagi so estimated ages are from 22-23, lmk if i missed anything ! :›

⚠︎ : excuse my crusty ass take on smut :› not my first time writing such piece but it was a year ago when i wrote a few of them for the very first fime :P this piece also focuses more on what reo sees in the screen hence why the details about how it feels are described very minimal - that and bcs i suck at writing smut 😋

reo couldn't wait to go home. that fact was for a certain as he plopped himself on top of his plush bed. he couldn't wait to go home back to nagi and back to you.

unfortunately, he was miles away on a trip with his family for a reunion. his flight was bound to happen two more days from now after a family party that honestly, he would really love to skip out.

but the persuasion of his parents for him to stay for a bit more longer was making him itch to leave earlier than necessary. he really wanted to see you and nagi, and he's been stuck here for almost a week now, bored and eager to go home.

as if sensing the boredom that wrapped him in an uncomfortable embrace, reo’s phone pings. he unlocks the message from nagi with nothing exciting in his thoughts, thinking that it was just probably another random update from his boyfriend or a question asking how he is, messages that comes as often from you as it does from your frosted-haired boyfriend.

but it was the attached file that piqued reo’s curiosity and without a second thought, he clicks on the video file attached to the rather peculiar message.

from: sei ♡

10:47 pm

;)

video file attached.

black screen greeted him first, before the unmistakable sound of your moaning reached his ears.

the phone was moved, showcasing the ceiling of the dimly lit room and nagi’s hand that was reaching for the small rectangular device was shown on the screen before the angle was adjusted yet again and placed conveniently against your dresser, next to your shared bed.

from the new perspective at which the phone was now placed, reo could finally make out your figure softly bouncing on top of nagi’s thighs, hair in a messy ponytail and nagi’s sticking against the hot skin of his forehead, both of you naked and very evidently going at it for a few rounds now.

“say hello to reo baby...” nagi’s soft whisper cut through the pretty sounds you make making reo’s cock twitch in his pants.

nagi pushes a thick strand of your hair away from your shoulder, placing it against your back before planting kisses on the skin of your shoulder and neck which were already covered in hickeys from his own doing.

you let out a whine, one that had reo scrambling to get his pants and boxers off.

“reo baby, hi~~” you smiled at him through the screen before it gradually faded into a whine as nagi held your hips down, thrusting himself into your pussy with disgusting squelching sounds sounding off from the speaker.

“f-fuck sei!” nagi nibbles on your nipple switching from one side to the other making you throw your head back, palms clasping behind nagi’s head as you pushed him further into your chest. “f-fuck yes! oh fuck-!”

reo’s already got a hand pumping his cock, matching the pace at how nagi’s abusing your reddened cunt, letting out groans and curse of his own as he continued watching the video.

“good fuck-” nagi groans, slowly halting his thrusts as you sent him a confused glance, chest heaving deep with each breath. your other boyfriend kisses your temple before pulling out of you completely. he soothes your confused stare by pushing you against the bed, back on the mattress and legs spread as he kneels in front of you, muscles taut and prominent against the dim room. nagi sucks on the skin underneath your left boob.

“come here baby, let me fuck you better.” nagi hooks your right leg above his shoulder and flicking away the strand of his bangs away from his forehead. nagi guides his thick length back to your pussy lips, smearing the precum on his tip against your clit eliciting a moan from you.

placing your other leg around his hips, you send nagi a playful wink, making reo chuckle a little as he watched the screen.

“then fuck me sei.”

nagi smirks, easing his cock back into your warm walls wiping away the smile on your lips as you bit them.

“yeah? you gonna make pretty sounds again?” nagi almost mocks, thumbing at your clit as he gave shallow thrusts that you pathetically met halfway. “put a show for your lovely boyfriend?”

you nod your head frantically, whining at nagi to go deeper. “yes - yes! wanna make reo happy sei please! so please fuck me already!”

nagi turned his head to the camera, shaking his head with the same cocky smirk before he placed his elbows to balance himself on top of you but not without spanking each of your tits.

“now, now, be good doll.”

the sound of thrusting, moaning and nagi’s dirty mouth was all that reo could picture in his head, tugging at his dick to match nagi’s thrusts with his eyes closed and perspiration forming all over his body.

reo was nearly shaking from edging himself a while ago, stopping himself from cumming when nagi adjusted your position on the bed and now, all he can see behind his closed lids is the way your other boyfriend is fucking you raw, right there on the large bed the three of you shared.

“feels good?” nagi’s voice booms through the speaker of his phone and it was almost as if he was talking to him too, coaxing him near his release with the skin clapping sounds pushing him near his climax. “god you feel so good wrapped around my dick.”

“mhn~ so good baby! so f-fucking good!” reo can see your tussled hair leaving a messy heap on the bed, tits bouncing at every thrust into your cunt and the moans that sparks all sanity to leave reo’s mind in a temporary haze.

and with the vivid picture set in reo’s mind, spurts of cum landed on his hand, stomach and legs, the warmth of it jolting him back to his reality as he fucks himself slowly, riding himself out his high.

he lies on his bed for a few more moments, easing his own breathing back to normal with yours and nagi’s video still playing in the background, the obscene sounds spurring his cock back to a semi-hard on but before he decided to watch the entire video and play with himself some more, he turns his phone off as not to miss any details and began searching for his laptop that was easily stowed away over the temporary desk of his hotel room.

reo rebooks his flight for tomorrow in haste clicks on his laptop, closing it carelessly when he was done before he sat on his bed, back against the headboard and phone in his hand, with a shake of his head and a small smile at his lips, he opens the video once more.

#☆ . ༄ marked : blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #reo mikage x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #reo mikage x reader x nagi seishiro #blue lock fanfiction #reo mikage fanfiction #nagi seishiro

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whyareyouhere66 · 2 years ago

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Imagine/Fic Links

So I already made a list of all the fandoms/characters i’m gonna write for, but I don’t actually have anywhere with all the fic links,

So I’m putting them here! Just to make it more organized, y’know?

no idea how often I’ll update it, so if there are some links missing then that’s why

ALSO- make sure to scroll because it is gonna grow a lot and you might miss something you’d like so just bare with me as you scroll through this-

These are the characters/fandoms I write for - link

The Outsiders-

Late Night [Angst, Sodapop and Steve friendship]

Mini Series - Grief: [CW: mentions of major character death (Johnny and Dally), no reader, no ships, implied violence/drinking]

Only Love Can Hurt Like This [Ponyboy Curtis]

Wish You Were Here. [Two-Bit Matthews]

To Where You Are [Sodapop Curtis]

Fire and Rain. [Darrel Curtis]

Let It Be. [Dallas Winston & Johnny Cade]

[Steve Randle in progress]

—

How They’d React to Your Friend Flirting With Them [HC] [GN Reader]

Sodapop Curtis -

Started With a Ring [Male Reader]

Vandalize [Fem or GN Reader]

Can’t Help Falling In Love [Male Reader]

Can’t Help Falling In Love - Part 2. [Male Reader]

Showering With Sodapop [HC] [GN Reader- NOT SMUT]

I love you. [Male Reader]

Snowed In. [GN Reader/ Reader using Fae/Faer/Faers pronouns]

Steve Randle

Wrong Direction [Fem Reader]

Dallas Winston

The One That Got Away [Fem Reader]

Anxious Reader HC. [Fem Reader]

Showering with Dallas [HC] [GN Reader - Not smut]

Darry Curtis

Coping Mechanism. [GN Reader]

Physical Affection [HC]. [GN Reader]

Just a little thought I had [GN Reader]

Let It Snow [GN Reader]

Showering with Darry [HC] [GN Reader- Not smut]

Ponyboy Curtis

Secret. [Fem Reader]

random Tim and Sylvia thing from when they were kids

The Mighty Ducks-

The Ducks-

The Ducks in a Haunted House [HC] [No reader, just an HC]

TV. [GN Reader, no romantic stuff but lots on Adam]

Charlie Conway-

Exile - Part 1 [GN Reader]

Exile - Part 2 [GN Reader]

Kenny Wu -

Homework and Cuddles [GN reader]

Dean Portman-

Reunion [Fem Reader]

Adam Banks -

Lessons on Ice [Fem Reader]

MHA -

Lies [Male Reader]

Lies pt 2. [Male Reader]

Too Late [GN Reader] tw! for blood/implied death

Tokoyami-

Nail Polish. [GN Reader]

Mezo Shoji

Dating HCs. [GN Reader]

Pulled Away. [Male Reader]

Neito Monoma

Just Can’t Help Myself. [Fem Reader]

Haikyuu-

Haikyuu Characters as Quotes From my Life [HC]

Total Drama Island -

Duncan-

Hanahaki Disease Part 1 [Male Reader]

Hanahaki Disease Part 2 [Male Reader] WARNING: hanahaki disease (duh)

Julie and the Phantoms -

Reggie Peters-

See You Again. [GN Reader]

The Sandlot -

Benny Rodriguez

Do It Again. [Male Reader]

Visitor. [GN Reader]

Rumors. [GN Reader]

Touch. [Male Reader]

Call Me A Snitch. [GN Reader]

Newsies -

Spot Conlon-

Idk U Yet [Prologue/Part1]. [GN Reader]

Romantic/Platonic HCs. [GN Reader]

Chubby Reader HCs. [GN Reader]. (I recommend combining this one with the other HCs just for one big thing of Spot HCs)

Jack Kelly-

Love at your Convenience. [GN Reader]

Mike Faist (actor)

Pleasant Distraction. [Fem Reader]

Found Family. [FTM Reader]

His Smile. [Fem Reader]

Racetrack Higgins

Romantic/Platonic HCs. [GN Reader]

Kid Blink

How you met/Asking you out HCs. [GN Reader]

Finch

Rooftop. [GN Reader]

Mush

Thank You. [Fem Reader]

IT 2017

Henry Bowers-

Untitled Lol. [Male Reader]

Harry Potter Fandom

Owe It All To You. [GN Reader x !Father Figure! Remus Lupin]

Draco Malfoy -

Perhaps, Perhaps. [Male Reader]

Marvel

Look What You Made Me Do [Male Stark !Vigilante! Reader]

[Almost] a Loss. [Dad! Loki x !Son!Teen!Reader]

DNA [Dad! Loki x !Son!Villain(?) Reader]

Outerbanks

JJ Maybank -

You Are Home [Male Reader]

Kook Prince [Male Reader]

Smoked. [Male Reader]

Lonesome [Male Reader]

Safe With Me [Male Reader]

So Say It [Male Reader] Bonus part

His Sweet, Sweet Words. [Male Reader]

Awake With You. [Male Reader]

Kiss It Better [Male Reader]

Love You Like a (drunk Love Song. [Male Reader]

Extra (various)

Polaroid. [GN Reader]

Thinking about… [Fem-coded Reader]

I’ll try to update this as much as I can, and again I promise there is more to come! My drafts are full rn man soooo-

Feel free to send in a request!!

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rubbleinrainbows · 3 years ago

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I've seen a few posts about how jiang cheng and wei wuxian have no chances of ever being the same pair of brothers they were before everything happened. That it's never going to be them standing up for each other, but standing on the separate sides of the room. Taking separate roads, only glances exchanged sometimes, burden of reciprocated fault too heavy to bear together. And as angsty and seemingly rational the idea may be—I don't thinks that's quite it.

(For the sake of convenience, I'll be referencing only the scene from the Untamed, when jiang cheng is captured by jgy and confronts wwx about the golden core. )

Jiang Cheng goes through all the phases of grief—first, angry at wwx turning out to be the misunderstood hero, shunned by the public as he sacrifices himself again and again, living out the Jiang clan's motto while all jc could do was live in his shadow.

Angry that after all the years he spent rebuilding everything wwx tore down by accident—his whole family just collateral damage of his arrogance—couldn't have happened without another one of wwx's sacrifices. That he couldn't even protect his nephew from it.

Painful desperation and unwillingness to accept it when Jgy tells jc he's partially responsible for wwx's fate.

After everything, all he can do is repeatedly shout at wwx, asking why he did it. He'd had everything, and just when jc had maybe hoped in the deepest part of his soul that his brother would prove to be a self fulfilling prophecy. Y'know. Out of spite, he gave it all away and lied about it so jc wouldn't suffer.

As such, accepting that hurts. Understanding that hurts.

True, before the knowledge that wwx wasn't just his irredeemable bastard brother who flew too close to the sun and JC had to watch from the ground, tending to earthly matters, their relationship might've ended at the hurt being the final straw. Instead, we are given a scene of forgiveness.

Jc allows wwx to get closer to him, even allowing him to touch his face and wipe his tear. Using visual symbolism, I believe this exchange is foreshadowing for the brother's reunion and building of something new out of themselves.

Someone may argue—left with no debts between them, they are perfectly free to part ways.

But is that it? Sure, debt and repaying it by all means is a theme woven throughout the whole story—screw the differences of the novel or show. However, no matter how often debt is a metaphor for love, we cannot equate such two things. Debt and love aren't synonymous.

So while Jiang Cheng and wei wuxian do not owe each other anything anymore (as wwx clearly states, telling him to forget all the mistakes they both made in wwx's first life), loving someone is not a job. Jc doesn't need a contract to love his brother despite everything that happened, because that's just not how the love between siblings works. Wwx is the same, and you cannot tell me he doesn't miss jc—for the love of god, he gave away his golden core for that man and that's not a thing that stops mattering when he dies.

In the end, it will take time. Jiang Cheng has to forgive wwx, and then himself for it to work and it'll be no small effort on wwx's part either; no one said anything about reforming bonds being easy. I'll even allow myself to use the golden cores as a reference, in that losing them is far too easy and reclaiming them often requires far too much effort for people to do it.

It's like I wrote before though—loving someone is not a job you choose, you're payed for, or that you quit.

In other words, even if they can part ways, in no universe would either of them choose to. If JC really didn't know about wwx's sacrifice, why waste 16 years of your life looking for your presumably dead brother who probably dispersed, when you could finally live without him in peace? With all the trouble he'd caused?

After all, when you start to love someone, it's impossible to erase that. And Jc is just human, seeking out other humans.

#the untamed #mdzs meta #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #yunmeng brothers #character study #character analysis

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lordleonster · 2 years ago

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Like a shaking star, his daughter makes it difficult for him to catch her. Both his arms and his eyes realize they are in want—to hold her just as he did when she was an infant, to shower her in lace and ribbons that made her bubble in childlike wonder. But she makes herself scarce, difficult to even come across in the peaceful hours of academy recess. At first, he thinks it's merely a coincidence—for he cannot always ask and receive to his own convenience. But in due time, a frown drops on his lips like rain, asking for a bowl to fall in. Asking for some kind of... warmth, or a shape to hold. Instead, he is met with a strange workaround—he'd have to ask the academy to introduce her. To him! Should family reunions require something so roundabout?

In some ways, he was glad they were tasked to the snow-scape beyond the academy walls. Hunting had been second-nature to him, and from the looks of it, Altena had inherited a natural skill in navigating the harshness of winter. His horse had been replaced, given that his trusty steed had passed in Aed without ceremony. The poor thing. As they traveled, a deafening silence made the air curdle, soured by something he could not quite understand, outside of her stiffened walk and haughty expression.

"Altena," He is not phased by her attitude—why would he be? He placed a time and place where they were all young, once, and as temperamental as the weather. All the platitudes in the world would not change how uncomfortable it was, to grow up. And let alone, to grow in the presence of a father who should have been dead. But it is in the stillness of the snow that he confides in her: "I've been looking forward to this. Haven't you? I apologize for not being able to catch you until today, but you must know it was not from lack of trying."

Though his eyebrows are as stern as always, they ease, just by peering at her long, brown hair, that matched one-to-one with his memories. "I've been hoping to see you for as long as I've been alive." And by no exaggeration, he might add. He meanders, with purpose, leading his horse through the snow to close the distance. Her wyvern takes a curious whiff—and he acknowledges it with a curt nod. Of all the things he learned to fear in death, wyverns were not one of them. That would be like being afraid of horses after fighting one battle on the warfront, after all. "Your steed is quite curious."

He feels odd. The snow feels heavier the more he speaks, as though it's weaving a coat thick enough to suffocate him. He could spin and spin, line after line—but he was hardly one for small talk. His old Belhallan friends would have spun out colorful stories or danced like charming princes to make their way through a conversation. But he... honestly, he doubted that he had to pull a line from their charismatics to get a word out of her. It didn't look like charm would really cut it here. So instead, he decides on sincerity. It rests easier on the heart, after all.

"I missed you." It's awkward. There's no real build up to it, but it crackles in the snow like a haze. "...I can only hope you know—hope you knew..."

"I wish you'd talk to me." It's awkward. Less like a king, and more like a father, waiting at the door. Waiting for a sign of life, in the snow.

Ok Boomer

#ok boomer #{ “i hope you make this hurt” erica says #{ what if i don't want to HUH what if i want his ego intact

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kotomori · 2 years ago

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The Banished and The Broken

Summary:

As someone who was born as an only child into a rich family, Steve could've had everything he wanted.

As long as he behaved himself.

As long as he sat up straight and spoke when spoken to.

As long as he blended in with the right kind of people.

As long as he was what everyone wanted him to be.

Yet ever since the first time fought a monster from another world and lived to tell in 1983, Steve has never been sure of what he wants out of life, if there is even a world that still has a place in it for a man as lost as he is. Three years later as he stares down the Devil who wants to break that world apart, he no longer cares about the stakes of his future but for the lives of those who changed him. He only has one priority left to fulfill as their protector: outnumbered or not he won't let them hurt his family.

*Author's note*

.Man am I late for this one....

Hi! :)

Not gonna lie to ya! Never thought I'd be here writing a Stranger Things fic. Then again I also said that about every other fandom I've written for on here so my word means nothing XD

Stranger things 4 was.....an experience. Did I love it? Volume 1 absolutely. Then volume 2 came upon us and.....what the hell was that?! Dont get me wrong, I love the way it ended with the upside down breaking into Hawkins. I loved Elevens arc in season 4 as a whole, I loved the Russian rescue mission and escape storyline which led to two of the most emotional reunion scenes I've ever seen. I loved that my favourite three characters (sans Eddie since hes only had one season hence he doesnt apply to this argument) had more screen time than they've ever had in the show. And by that I'm talking about Steve, Max and Dustin. I loved that Jonathan finally had a friend that wasn't Will or Nancy the same way I loved when Steve found a friend in Robin in season 3.

However....why were so many parts of volume 1 just completely forgotten about or rushed in volume 2? Mike telling eleven he loves her? Why was that a plot point? Why did he only say it when he was forced to say it? Why did Eddie have to die in order for the group to defeat Vecna? It would've take the bats just as much time getting back to the house as it did the trailer so they would've got him in time either way. Why did the Duffers pull a Two Days Later on us?!?!?

Another point I was confused about is why they conveniently forgot that Steve was literally mauled by bats....the scene where Eddie is explaining the warzone and Steve's just standing there bleeding through his bandages just like 'eh, just another Tuesday' made me laugh so much and then it's just never brought up again because apparently it was a way to introduce these bat things so that wed have insight into how one of the most popular characters would die....nah fuck that, imma change it.

Goes without saying Steve is absolutely my favourite character in the show. His character has by far had the greatest evolution and I cant wait to see how hes handling the aftermath in season 5. But I feel like they really missed some opportunities with him in season 4 and I'm just kind of projecting that onto this story because I like the character so much and hope you all like this story too :)

(Also side note but I'm honestly living for how the Duffers set up two potential LGBT couples with Rickie and Byler and then just threw the fruity fours great upside down adventures at us like XD I love the ship of Steve/Eddie, not sure I feel as into Ronance as alot of you but I think it's just because I like Robin way more as a character than I do Nancy, who honestly I have mixed feelings about her character.)

Also also, while this is a Steve/Eddie fic, that is not the sole or even the main focus of the story, its mainly about Steve's relationship with everyone, as well as some of the other characters with eachother, with a big ol dose of fluff on the side to cover up all the hurt in these poor kids.

Chapters 2/? Link to full fic available above :)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington headcannon #steve x eddie #stranger things #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #dustin henderson #max mayfield #steddie ao3 #angst with a happy ending #fanfic

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k-odyssey · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on tvn's Happiness (ep 11 & 12)

Tbh a love confession hits different when the characters have just barely escaped bloodthirsty zombies by saving each other. And one of them is, in fact, in imminent danger of turning into a bloodthirsty zombie.

This elevator scene is the culmination of so many things and that's why it's so good. 12 years of friendship and love. The happiest marriage of convenience. Over a week of anxiety and confinement and deadly chaos. Days of agony and fear, for Hyun.

On the one hand it's like, finally! She's saying it. And at a moment when Hyun really needs to hear it. And when it's really meaningful, cause it shows she loves him no matter what. On the other hand, they have no guaranty that they'll make it out of there alive, and he's already decided that this is goodbye. At least for now. The bittersweetness of it.

But I love that in this moment, Yi Hyun is finally letting his guard down and Sae Bom is the one who says she'll take care of him. Even if he won't actually let her (yet).

It makes so much sense that he would choose to stay behind but I hated every second of that separation scene. I guess it's fine to bite a serial killer under those circumstances? It was self-defense.

I did like the parallel between their first encounter on the high school roof where she saved his life, and his sacrifice on this roof to save her life.

The writer and her brother really came through. Plot-wise and as comic relief. Seo Yoon, too. She saved the day. With grenades. Which is not something you expect from a child character.

Representative lady just descended into madness?? Which was interesting to watch. I guess that's what happens when social status is all that matters to you and you define yourself only in opposition to others (poor, infected) but then the epidemic ruins your life, exposes you and takes your loyal husband.

Other surprise of the week: the mistress bashing #601's head with a golf club? I knew she was an opportunist, and pretty okay with murder being committed for her benefit. Did not realize she would do it herself?? I don't encourage violence but I mean, he literally did the same thing to his wife so.

Lawyer guy is such a coward and I was sooo happy to see his wife throw the ring at his feet as she left him behind. You go girl, he never deserved you. (I love that the kid knew who was trustworthy or not.)

The cleaners also just?? lost it?? I did not expect such scheming from that lady. But the older couple and their son had an unexpectedly heartwarming reunion.

Normally I wouldn't be into video confessions as I find them awkward but here it 100% worked with the plot and heightened the heartbreak. Nothing sadder than finding a love message when you don't even know if they're alive or not.

Also when I realized that life was pretty much back to normal outside my jaw dropped. People are dying in there and no one's come for them???

Sae Bom looks like such a bad bitch here, I was almost disappointed that she didn't need to fight her way out of that place. Although, technically, it's a good thing that she got help. And I like Lee Ji Soo a lot in the finale.

Han Tae Seok seems to know that he was wrong in many ways. But until the end, he would've broken any rule for his wife. Meanwhile, Sae Bom decides that she'd rather give Seo Yoon's mum the antibody, cause Hyun has her to take care of him. Which is so in character for her.

Anyway, the part where Hyun says "if he stays with his family he might be able to endure better"!!! They're on the same wavelength. 🥲 And this scene omg. The looks on their faces.

I was so happy to see them alive and well and in love at the end. But if it were me I would've moved the hell away from that building!! Don't they have PTSD from back then?? Did anyone really wanna live there after what happened?? So. many. murders.

Maybe I missed something, but I was wondering what the government was doing the whole time. And, as I've said, the science side of things was a bit shaky. But other than that, I really, really liked this drama. 10/10 would watch obsessively again.

PS: I loved the soundtrack. Wouldn't necessary listen to it outside of this but it worked so well.

#tvn happiness #happiness #kdrama thoughts #해피니스

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alicemitch09writes · 4 years ago

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(un)loving miya atsumu

fourteen.

loving miya atsumu

Dear Atsumu,

I hate how much your face is the first thing that comes to mind when I think about the word - ‘happiness’ and ‘love’. Happiness, because it radiates off your bones, no matter the situation, in court when up against strong opponents, thwarting plays with a setter dump or when you’re up serving, or when pulling off nasty quicks with your brother or any other player, off court when you fight with Osamu over the last ice cream at the convenience store, when you share a stupid joke with your dad, or even when you’re with the people you care about. Love, because you do everything with just the right to too much amount of love, pouring your everything in it, pouring your heart in the things that make you happy may it be volleyball, Osamu, your family, Mika- not a single wasted opportunity to convey your love and happiness. Nobody compares the way you do.

You’ve set a standard for almost everything, which is why you expect nothing for the best to be at the receiving end of both happiness and love.

I hope you know that to me; you are the embodiment of both happiness and love. Because I really hate how you remain the embodiment of these two words I have difficulty expressing.

Your name literally translates to 'to devour' and in a sense, you are someone who happily, readily accepts love and happiness on a daily basis, allowing it to fill you up to the core and share it with everyone.

You are everything that is everything – the sun after a stormy day, the sunshine in my veins, the kiss of the wind against my skin, the light to my darkness, my sunflower. You are everything to me, and to you, I offer, my whole heart, which you don’t have to worry returning, because it’s yours. Always has been.

- (Y/N)’s letter, 1 out of 13

"MIKA!" launching yourself at your big sister, engulfing in a hug, the two of you laughed. Breaking away, you held your older sister an arm's length, taking her in. "You're home! You're here!" The excitement was evident in your tone, a bit of confusion as well, at the joyful arrival of your big sister.

"Just thought I'd surprise you!"

Frowning slightly, you ask again. "But how about school?"

"I'm on break!"

"Alexander and Pien?"

"The family's currently on vacation in Spain," sensing another question coming, she furthers. "the parents were the ones who arranged this trip, because they know it would mean the world to me and I would never want to miss my little sister's big day."

The grin on your face softened, engulfing your sister into a hug again. "I'm just so happy you're here,"

"Me, too."

Despite everything that went down, before anything else in the world, this was your sister – your best friend by design. After months apart, talking to her virtually for a year, having her in person was such a delight. Seeing her home was probably the best graduation gift you could ask more.

Swaying into your hug, relishing in the feeling of her touch, Mika slowly opens her eyes, seeing the twins, finally remembering that they weren't alone.

"Oh, no! I'm so sorry!" dropping the hug, she turns to the twins. "Atsumu, Osamu, hello!"

"Welcome back, Mika-nee," says Osamu.

"H-Hey Mika-nee," Atsumu stutters.

Something unsettled in your belly, coming at a screeching halt at the reunion. You could feel Osamu's eyes on you. Balling your hands into fists, you swallowed that ugly feeling, wearing a smile on.

"Shall we head inside?" Nobody seemed to notice the slight crack in your voice, which you were thankful for. Lowering your head, your eyes easily found your graduation pin, a reminder.

Atsumu, however, seemed out of it. Even in the presence of his first love, he didn't seem the least happy to see her. In fact, he almost looked, dare you say, troubled.

While the three of you were taking off your shoes, the house filled with joyous noises from both families, you turned to the blond-dyed teen worriedly.

"Atsumu, are you alright?"

Is he alright? How was he supposed to feel? Mika was right there! Mika, the person he's been in love with since he was 9. Love, right? She's always been his standard, the perfect girl for some just as perfect as him. Boyfriend be damned. Mika was there. Mika was here. Shouldn't he be happy?

"Atsumu?" At the sound of your voice, he worked on a feeble smile, worrying you even more.

Snapping out of it, he quirks his lips up. Before you can say another word, his grandparents come barrelling down the hall to greet you three.

Atsumu's smile was worrying.

"How I've missed Japanese food!" Mika gushes at the table, eyes bright at the food on display – especially at the seafood, care of your uncle (of course).

Laughing, the twins' father turns to her. "What's wrong with Dutch food, Mika-chan?"

Aside from sushi, there was an assortment of dishes like tempura, sauteed vegetables, salad, grilled meat, roast beef and chicken, and two cakes. With a feast like this, calling for the occasion, it was enough to water anyone’s mouth.

"It's alright, but kinda bland." they laugh at that.

You sat next to your sister, Kaoru on your other side. Across you sat the twins, Atsumu directly in front of you. Catching his eye, he quirked his lips up – smile seeming forced.

Your mom was all smiles, lifting her glass up. “Well now, let’s make a toast to our graduates!”

"To our bright and wonderful children!” your uncle seconds, joyfully, loudly. “To Atsumu, Osamu, and (Y/N)! Cheers!"

"Cheers!" Everyone was clinking their glasses against each other before digging in.

The adults were usually doing the talking, exchanging pleasantries about this and that, while the youngins were on a world of their own. It only made sense why the (extended) table was divided into two – young and old.

Lifting his gaze, Atsumu could see you chatting up with his grandparents, a pleasing and polite smile on your face. As his grandma was sharing about her newest hobby, you were wiping Kaoru’s face clean, much to the younger boy’s displeasure.

“Atsumu, I hear you’ve been scouted by a pro-league?”

Suddenly called by Mika, he was suddenly on the spot. Normally, he would preen, just to keep those bright (e/c) eyes on him. When in truth, he wants another pair of eyes on him.

“Oh, uh…yeah, that’s right.”

“Pfft, what kinda energy is that?” booms his dad’s voice, ringing throughout the room. “Give it more life, Atsumu!” Beside him, his mom pats her husband’s arm, smiling per usual, but had a loving look in her eyes.

“What team are you joining?”

“MSBY Black Jackals,” he replies, staring at his plate. “they’re based in Osaka.”

Atsumu still remembers the day you approached him, shared with him how a scout agent had approached you first, then asked for Atsumu’s contact information. He was so over the moon after you told him that.

“Oh! So it’s close by!”

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice, you don’t have to worry about university and just continue doing what you do best. I’m jealous.”

Atsumu works on a faint smile, happy to hear it.

You watched the whole exchange from the corner of your eye, taking a bite of sushi before washing it down with soda, swallowing down the lump in your throat as well.

“Nee-san,” something pat at the corners of your mouth, Kaoru grinning. “your mouth was messy!”

Smiling, you could only pat his head in gratitude. “Thank you, Kaoru.”

“And how about (Y/N)-chan?” the Miya’s grandmother asked you suddenly, bringing the attention to you.

Now at the center of attention, you set down your plate. “Um…I’ll be studying at Hiroshima University.”

“Hiroshima! That’s four hours away from here?” whines the twins’ mom, to which your uncle and mom shrugs easily.

“Well, it was her decision.”

“Waseda was also in her list, but she opted for Hiroshima University.”

Nearly choking on his drink, the twins’ father turns to you. “Wa-Waseda!?”

“Dad, calm down!” Atsumu berates, embarrassed. Beside him, Osamu just helps himself to another serving, handing his grandfather another, too.

“Don’t underestimate Waseda, Atsumu! That’s one of the most prestigious schools in Japan!”

Atsumu knows that very well, because you told them about it. Just that…

“Well, she didn’t pass.” Huffs your uncle, but goes on to explain rather excitedly. “So she went for the next big thing – Hiroshima University!”

“Dad, didn’t we already tell you this?” Osamu frowns, rice sticking to his cheek. “We also told you she passed the exams.”

Their dad deflated at that, scratching at his cheek. “A-Ah, eh…you know your old man, he’s getting old and his memory’s failing him.” Everyone in the table laughs, even young Kaoru!

“Still, Hiroshima’s a long way from here, (Y/N)-chan,” their grandfather turns to you. “Why not join Osamu at Kobe University? Or Atsumu in Osaka at Kansai University?”

Shrugging, you reached over to refill his glass. “I wanted a change of pace, I guess. Also,” sitting back, you brushed strands of hair behind your ear, exposing your conch piercing. “I had a bit of epiphany when we had our class excursion there.”

The adults smile at your words, Mika, most especially.

“Well, I know you’ll do well there which is why we want you to have this,” from his pocket, the twins’ grandfather produced three envelopes – for you, Osamu, and Atsumu. To say that the three of you were shocked would be an understatement. “Here,”

Ever so carefully, the three of you took the envelope with both hands.

“Go on, open it!” says their mom excitedly, recording with their phone.

“OH MY GOD MOM, YOU’RE EMBARRASSING US!”

“Open, open!” their grandmother clapped her hands excitedly, sharing the same sweet smile as her husband.

Glancing at each other, the three of you seemed to share the same idea.

“On three?”

Nod.

“One,”

“Two,”

“Three!”

Outside the window, the wind blew, sending a draft it in (L/N) household. One glance and you were greeted by a world painted in pink hues, blushes of nature come in falling petals – spring has come alright.

In your subdivision, there was only one cherry blossom tree that was planted in the playground just behind your house. At the epicentre of your neighbourhood, like a heartbeat that connected each household to its beating. When spring comes, it blooms, shedding off its petals, scattering against the wind everywhere – for everyone to see.

A chance to bring spring into their homes, to enjoy moments like these without having to worry about leaving. Like a hanami at home.

“Ohhh.”

“…we got money.”

“Granny, Gramps, thank you so much!”

“Use the money wisely now!”

“I’m jealous,” Mika tells you, watching the twins. “you three got to share moments like these, have been for years. But now,” her smile falters a bit. “you’re off on your separate ways. Will you be okay?”

Your big sister will always be your best friend, one deigned to you since you were born and because of blood. But having friends of your own was another story, especially worth noting just how quiet you can be, which is why when they moved to Hyogo and were introduced to the twins, it made her feel settled. The three of you were inseparable, always together, a bond she envied.

At this point in your life, there was no denying the consequences of growing up.

“We all have our own different dreams and ambitions, so it’s only normal that we chase after it.” Taking a sip of your drink, your eyes catch on Osamu. “Osamu’s not as ambitious as his brother, but he’s just as competitive – especially when it comes to his future and happiness.”

“True, but a shame that he’s not going pro like his brother, they would be such a team!”

It would, years of watching them grow together was enough of a testament. The most powerful twins in volleyball.

“They’ll always have volleyball and each other. But when it comes to happiness, that’s another story.” Recalling Osamu’s soft gaze on the finished onigiri he made, the tale he shared afterwards. “Osamu’s happiness in with cooking and food.”

Humming, Mika takes her own drink, sipping in.

“And the thing with Atsumu is that’s he’s always looking forward, never once settling on the past knowing that it will hold him back. In fact, he’s always looking ahead that he tends to forget what he’s doing in present time.”

“It sounds like he’s taken to heart your club motto, huh? ‘We don’t need memories’.”

It was such a powerful motto – moving and inspiring all at once. From the moment your eyes saw Inarizaki’s banner when you were young to the moment you became manager, that motto has stuck with you the most. You love that motto, love its implication and even took it by heart.

“We can’t always be ruled by our past after all.” You set your drink down. “How else are we going to move forward?”

Atsumu stared at the ceiling before him, having given up tossing and turning for the past few hours. After the third hour, he threw in the towel – he was restless, unable to fall asleep from everything that’s happened today. It’s as though he found himself at an impasse – unsure of what he’s been holding on to, unable to comprehend how he should feel with everything going on.

Mika was home. Feelings he’s had for her…surfaced. He thinks. Atsumu broke into a sigh, sitting up, he was a mess.

Suddenly, he heard rummaging from below him, muted light glowing from below.

“’Samu?” he called out.

“Ah, shit.” Osamu craned his head, meeting his eyes. “Sorry, ‘Tsumu. Did I wake you?”

Shaking his head, Atsumu noted that Osamu was dressed up. “Where’re you headed?”

“Out.” He pockets his phone and wallet away.

“By yourself?” When his brother shakes his head, Atsumu shifts from his spot, asking again. “With whom?”

“…with (Y/N).”

Atsumu was silent for a while, coming to realization how Osamu sneaks out a lot in the past. It shouldn’t be a question and should be easy to tell who he usually hung out with late at night.

“Can I come?”

Osamu’s blinked at that. Atsumu waits, hopes. He watches as his brother looks at his phone, then back to his brother. Eventually, he exhales through his nose, wearing a half-smile as he nods slowly.

“Yeah, come on.”

Smiling, Atsumu feels excited as he gets down from his bunk and quickly changes. Following his brother's lead, ever so quietly the twins trudge out of the house, careful not to make any loud noises (which honestly, they shouldn't even bother for everyone in their family were heavy sleepers), door closing shut behind him. It amazed Atsumu how his brother does it all with practiced eased.

Spring evening was chilly, biting at his skin, nipping his nose. Good thing he thought of putting on his hoodie.

Together, the twins head out their house, bypassing their gate and turn, towards the (L/N) house next door where a figure waited.

Dressed in an oversized hoodie that stopped by your mid thighs, gazing up at the night sky in thought, in waiting.

"Yo, (Y/N)."

Lowering your head, (e/c) eyes widened slightly once realizing your best friend didn't come alone. At this, Atsumu raised a hand in greeting.

"Hey, (Y/N). Mind if I tag along?"

You shrug easily, standing to your full height. "Sure, why not."

Spring night was cool and crisp, biting almost – remnants from winter’s past.

Three teens walk along their quiet neighbourhood, cruising along houses for some few blocks until reaching a brightly lit establishment just next to the main road.

Upon entering the store, the cashier – a smiling, tired-looking woman, nods at Osamu and you, eyes shining in familiarity. A recurrence, it seems. Despite the wee hours of the night, the stillness of the silence, bright lights flooded the establishment with a multitude of goods lined up, budget meals prepped and ready, everything seemed liked a sight for any customer.

Following after Osamu, the two cruised through the aisles, his brother grabbing some chips and a seasonal onigiri, the twins nearly towering over. Reaching the end, he felt a chill, realizing he was by the frozen section, with you eyeing the selection with pursed lips.

"Aren't you full from all the food we ate earlier?" Atsumu laughs, standing next to you.

"Lest you forget, Osamu has a black hole for a stomach. I'm on my period, so I have cravings." Saying this, you stare at the selection of ice cream.

"How about curfew?" You were such a stickler for rules, this was so new to him.

Shrugging, you picked up strawberry and chocolate brownie. "Osamu and I sometimes pass off as adults. Plus, this neighborhood tends to be complacent when it comes to curfew."

He smirks. "So you're using that to your advantage, huh? Smart girl."

Your only reply was bumping your shoulder against his, putting the strawberry ice cream in his hands. Which he decidedly takes.

Over your meals, the three of you share laugh, meals, and talks. Unable to help himself, and taking a page from his mother, Atsumu takes a selfie to commemorate the moment, uploading instantly to his social media.

To any other bystander – or whoever sees Atsumu’s selfie, it was nothing more than a teenage hang out with your childhood friend and brother. Rather picturesque of perfect innocence, measured smiles, occasional banter highlighted only by the lights of the sleepy convenience store, saturated by the spring evening.

A moment that sent a lurch down each of your hearts at the knowledge that moments like these were numbered. Caught up in the moment, Atsumu desperately wished for time to freeze, wishing his life was always like this.

Nostalgia filled the night, between childhood friends – like that year of silence meant nothing. It was enough to choke Atsumu, bring him to tears with how much he's missed this. Memories from his past painted into his present with bright hues and ink, he wanted them to stay, etched on his skin - unready to have them washed away when the morning comings.

Late-night snacks ended up with the twins sneaking their game console to the (L/N)'s household, talks continue even as you three were playing video games until the wee hours of the morrow, filled with more talks that piled conversation over conversation, talking as though they had a clue – leaving you all breaking into fits of silly laughter.

Just as you landed second in Mario Kart, Osamu conked out first.

"I swear, he sleeps like a fucking log," Atsumu says, watching you carefully set Osamu's head on your lap, patting his head gently.

Smiling softly, you carefully take the blanket you snuck and tucked him in, and yourself, too. Atsumu stood to turn off the console and the TV, filling the room in darkness. However, the glow from the moon outside was enough to illuminate the living room.

"You'll be heading off to Hiroshima, right?" he whispers, reaffirming the question thrown to you earlier that day, you nod. "Wow,” sitting next to you, on the edge of the sofa, he settles in. “big step."

"I figured that I'd like to open my horizon, have a new pace."

Atsumu remembered the peaceful look on your face when they had their class excursion there, smiling at the memory and a bit on the history of the city.

"Like a fresh new beginning, huh?"

Nodding, eyes beginning to droop, Atsumu carefully brings your head to his chest, falling back. "Like you...you'll be off to Osaka...for MSBY Black Jack'ls" you slur. "Osamu's staying here..."

Humming, he brushes away hair from your face, listening to your voice against Osamu's snores.

"You seem t'be doin' fine," he almost laughs at how thick your Kansai was when you were on the brink of sleep. "'ve always been." Taking an inhale, through your exhale you say, "you don't need me, Atsumu, you never have." and then you slipped off to sleep.

How he envied the friendship you had with Osamu, the one thing that connected you both in the first place. Taking your left hand in his, fingers slotting together, scarred fingers touching against each other, he noses at your forehead, lips a hairsbreadth away from your skin.

“Oh, you have no idea just how wrong you are, (Y/N).” lips pressed the lightest kiss, the moon and the stars as his witness. “I’ll always need you.”

You must've heard him in your sleep, because you were smiling, adorably. It was the last sight he saw before Atsumu slipped off, as well.

Dawn broke out slowly, as it always did in Hyogo, light streaming, searching almost for signs of life in the living room. With the sun slowly making its way up, light follows upwards, eventually finding three bodies knocked out in the living room - sleeping rather awkwardly with two boys sandwiching a girl, peaceful, lost in silence. Somewhat, it was a familiar sight.

Waking up to the smell of breakfast, Atsumu woke with a start, blinking wearily as he took in his surroundings. Right, he snuck out with Osamu and stayed over at the (L/N)’s.

Lifting his head, a ghost of a smile found its way on his face when a mop of (h/c) came to view, your hand still in his. Strands of hair littered your face, which he quickly swept away, causing you to stir.

"Good morning, sleepyheads!" a cheery voice greeted from the kitchen. "Hope you like pancakes!"

Fresh out of bed, with her hair in a messy bun with an apron on was Mika, she looked pretty, adorable even. Atsumu should've been happy by the sight of this, captivated even. But he felt nothing.

At the mention of pancakes, Osamu sleepily lifts his head, in alert, eyes still pinched close. Slowly, you rose from Atsumu’s chest, having used it as a pillow last night, rubbing at your eyes.

“Mornin’ (Y/N),” he laughs.

Blinking your eyes open, with the sight of Atsumu in front of you, between his legs, realizing your sleeping position from last night, instantly your face heated, darkened. “A-Atsumu! A-Ah…Um…G-Good morning…” folding his legs back, he did a stretch, Osamu slowly coming to beside you. “Did you sleep well? Does your neck hurt? Your back?”

Your concern was honestly adorable – like your morning self, it made his heart warm.

“No worries, I slept great!”

True to his word, the rest of the morning went swimmingly over heaps of pancake and another selfie.

“I fear you’ll be taking after your mother in that aspect.”

“Wow, selfie whore.”

“SHUT IT, ‘SAMU!”

After breakfast, the twins had to head back home, to greet their grandparents while you started packing. When lunch came, the twins were back – freshly changed and all. At the sight of them, your mom couldn’t help gushing that ‘it takes me back!’ to which your uncle laughed at heartily, welcoming the boys in before they both left for work.

“Oi, Kaoru what’re you doing?” Osamu asked, watching how as your brother stood on a dining chair he grabbed, pushed it against the wall as he reached up, tying something by the window.

Squinting, you asked. “Is…that a teru teru bozu?”

“Yep!” he smiled, letting the doll face outside, getting another balled-up doll from his pocket. “Nee-san’s birthday’s in a few days, don’t want it to rain then!”

“Kaoru, aren’t you a little too old for superstitions?”

“I’m only 13!”

“Yes, but there’s no scientific proof that they prevent rain from coming. Plus, it’s spring, it’s not so hot of a season for rain to fall.”

Miffed by your explanation, he turned, nearly toppling over had he not righted himself quickly. “You don’t know that, nee-san!” Kaoru hopped off the chair, pouting at you.

“Yeah, what the brother boy said!” Atsumu seconded.

“Better safe than sorry!”

You could only sip on your drink in reply, hiding the smile. Osamu gave you a funny look, amused.

“Plus, it has to be sunny on nee-san’s birthday! We’re going to-“ before Kaoru could finish, Mika appeared, slapping a hand on his mouth.

“Hey, how about I make us pasta for lunch?”

Instantly, Kaoru’s face brightened. “Yay, pasta!”

“By the way, (Y/N),” she calls to you. “Reiki’s coming over with the pizza you like that his friend makes, the spinach one and garlic shrimp?”

At the mention of the aforementioned pizzas, your lips quickly quirk up. It was so hard to find those specific flavors around Kobe, the last time you had them was probably before Mika left. Thankfully, Reiki, being the social butterfly that he was, knew a lot of people.

“Your boyfriend has my many thanks,”

Mika laughs, making you realize a little too late on the words that left your mouth. Sliding your eyes to Atsumu, you were surprised to find that he seemed relatively fine, cordial even.

When Reiki came with the pizzas later, pasta ready and waiting, you all feasted, but not before Atsumu insisted on a selfie with everyone.

“I swear, you’re turning to Ma and it’s scaring me,” Osamu tells his brother with a disgusted frown.

“Watch your mouth, ‘Samu that’s still our Ma!” Atsumu angrily bites off his pizza. “Is it so wrong to capture moments frozen in time!?”

“Wow, that was a rather poetic way of saying it,” you noted, nodding your thanks at Reiki would gave you two slices each of the pizzas.

“Come on now, let’s not fight!” Reiki says calmly, undeterred by the twins. “Let’s just eat, yeah?”

A long-distance relationship seemed to work fine for your sister and Reiki. Clearly, distance makes the heart fonder with how lovey-dovey they seemed. A peek over at Atsumu, and you’d half-expect him to go batshit crazy. But no. If anything, he seemed perfectly fine.

“Atsumu, do you have a minute?”

As Atsumu walked off with your sister, you could only watch, lips quirking into a smile. For some reason, you felt fine with that, too.

It was probably when they first moved to Hyogo that Atsumu’s eyes fell to Mika, the ever-smiling, ever-kind oldest daughter. There were plenty of reasons to like her: she was pleasant, polite, pretty, smart, athletic, and kind. For years, Atsumu has always set her as his standard for his ideal woman, even assured himself that he was at her level (which shouldn’t be so hard, thanks to his genetics).

For the first time in the forever, he thought of finally confessing to her his feelings, that chance that he’s waiting for so long.

And yet, as the two enter the backyard, the door sliding shut behind him, Atsumu turns to Mika, with a question that’s been burning on to the back of his head for a while now.

"Why did you do it?"

"Huh?" Mika looks up in surprise, letting go of the door handle.

"Why'd you to talk to him?" Atsumu felt his patience running thin, anger building.

Mika's perfect face falls into confusion, exposing the cracks underneath. This was clearly not what she intended to talk about, but Atsumu didn’t care, he was leading this conversation now. Honestly, it feels like he’s finally seeing her for who she really is – for the first time, the rosy lenses he had of her were torn away.

Him, being their dad.

Pressing her lips together, a fist to her mouth, contemplating on her response. "...I just...I wanted..."

"A connection?" he finishes for her, an educated guess.

Mika nodded. "He's still my dad, you know? I just thought...I could get to know him..."

"And that hurt (Y/N) in the process," Atsumu threw out, rather impatiently, almost accusingly. "did you know that?"

Pain crosses over her face, bleeding through from her eyes down to the upturn of her lips, hands fisting on her chest.

"Maybe you wanted a relationship with him,” shaking his head, he thinks of you “but not (Y/N)." Of all his memories with you, one where he's caught your eyes on their dad, feeling his stomach twist at the longing in your eyes, hurt him the most. You may have had your uncle, but having your own father was a different thing. You told him that Mika was studying psychology, he couldn’t help but think how ironic that was.

"I'm not perfect, Atsumu."

Atsumu scoffed. "Don't I know that?"

He was an older sibling himself. Older by five minutes, he was still regarded as the oldest, has as much responsibility despite that minute difference.

"Older siblings aren't perfect," Mika says. "We make mistakes, we hurt people, even our siblings." She very clearly wanted to discuss something else, something that clearly wasn’t this. But now that Atsumu’s taken control, she felt herself lose rights.

"Did you tell him about our graduation?"

Mika fell silent, mouth pulled into a line.

That was enough of an answer.

Atsumu tried to imagine how the young you must have felt, the horrors you had to face, to witness, how your young, impressionable mind just paused and came to a screeching halt, to a horrible realization of how fucked up everything was now - he could only feel immeasurable pain, choking him. When that happened, did it also take away the life and spark in your eyes? The joy of life?

He loved his dad very much, his dad was one of the best men in his life who always encouraged him and Osamu to pursue their dreams, always at the frontline for them, and loved his whole family. Had he done what your dad did, he would also feel just as crushed. What he did was inexcusable – to you, to Mika, to your brother, to your mom. Scums like him didn't deserve a second chance.

"I can't believe you did that."

Without waiting for her to reply, Atsumu walked back inside the house, back to where his brother and you were.

Late at night, you stare up at the ceiling, hugging ‘Inari’ – the fox plushie given to you by the trouble children – close to your chest. Mind filled with thoughts, just swimming over you.

Earlier, Atsumu had walked back in the house, the same worrying smile from a few days ago, eyes losing its usual luster. Yet, he assured you that it was nothing, ruffling your hair affectionately.

Mika then walked back in the house, all smiles – but even she had a weary looking smile. Before you could approach her, Reiki rushed to her side and the two scurried to the kitchen. Thankfully, Kaoru, hadn’t picked up on this, busy trying to beat his two nii-sans in Smash.

Shifting your head to the side, to where Mika’s bed was, your sister was dead to the world, deep in her slumber – peaceful and calm. Lifting yourself from your bed, covers dropping, ever so carefully you dropped your feet to the cold floor. Still hugging Inari, you walked away from your bed and to one of the boxes, staring at the contents – some books, stationary.

Bending down, you dig through, careful not to make a sound. From the box, you pulled out a wooden picture frame, hand painted blue, with sunflowers sticking on the top left, a few petals on the upper and lower. And in frame was the photo of the Inarizaki Volleyball Club. It was taken the moment everyone returned from Tokyo. Smiling fondly, fingers smoothed over the sunflowers, taking in everyone’s smiles.

At the center of the photo was you, sandwiched between Atsumu and Osamu, wearing wide grins. When your juniors handed you the frame, you were so sure you’d break out then and there. But it didn’t end there, because Coach Kurosu – tears spilling down his face, gave you his gift, too. Gently setting Inari down, frame sitting next to him, you plucked a small, thick, black cloth.

Sitting crossed legged, you opened it up, smiling at the familiar kanji of the club’s motto.

‘We Don’t Need Memories’

“Such a powerful statement,” you whisper into the silence.

Kita once shared that he wasn’t a fan of the motto – being a man brought by the small things, on how doing the minimum on a daily basis is already enough of an assurance for any needless worries. Yet, it fires him up when he’s up with his team mates.

Coach Kurosu also mentioned, overly fond of the motto, that nothing should ever hold you back from the challenges that life will hurl at you.

Smoothing over the smooth kanji characters, a wave of memories rushed over you – first stepping into the gym, applying as manager the same time the twins had their try-outs, introducing yourself as manager before the twins engulfed you into a hug, seeing Aran again, meeting Kita and the rest of your seniors, meeting Suna, Ginjima, and the rest of the team, being there when the twins got their jerseys, their first official match, making your way to nationals, the twins debuting their dyed hairs, the incident, Kita’s captaincy, him berating you for resigning and convincing you to stay, the painful and cold second year, walking out during preliminaries, breaking down in the club room, having to tell Atsumu he was chosen for the Youth Camp, meeting Sho-chan at nationals, resigning only to be brought back, arcades with the trouble children, sunflowers given by the juniors on your birthday, training in Asano and Yoshimichi, training the new recruits, warmer days in the club, nationals with with Sho-chan, smacking Atsumu in the face, the retirement and turning over, graduation – so many great memories, good and bad. They were definitely the time of your life, if not, the greatest. A chapter that’s come to a close, but filled with so many turning points.

Patting the banner affectionately, a single tear slips down your face, landing on the banner, what a deep tangent you’ve found yourself in.

March 23, your birthday.

It fell on a Sunday, on a perfect sun shiny day, just as your family had expected.

On your birthday, it was decided that it would be spent at Sunflower Hill Park at Ono. Seeing as it was a special day, everyone had to dress their best – you included, being the birthday girl. Mika immediately busied herself prettying you up, even getting you to finally wear the dress that Kita had gifted you sometime back. It’s been gathering dust in the closet since he gave it, unsure on when to wear it.

“It’s just my birthday,” you grumbled, Mika immediately shushing you busily brushing your hair aside to work on your eyes, her face pinched into concentration.

“It’s not ‘just your birthday’, (Y/N).” she says, lighting brushing over your eyes. Setting down her eyeshadow palette, she picks up a blush set, instructing you to smile, exposing your dimples.

“19,” you say aloud, announcing to the world freely. “I’m at the peak of my adulthood.”

“You know, you’ve always been an adult all your life.” Mika teases, brush circling your dimples. “But that doesn’t mean you should be down on your birthday.”

“Studies show that it’s only natural to have birthday disappointments the older you get.” You rebuke, watching her frown cutely, setting her blush down, brandishing a mascara in her hand.

“And studies also show that you don’t always have to have that kind of mindset,” she rebukes back, twirling her mascara madly before taking out the wand. “Open your eyes and look up.”

Gulping, you do as she says, feeling the wand passing down your lashes.

“Birthday disappointments can also be stemmed from high expectations – either from childhood or from adolescence. And here’s the hard truth: you actually want to celebrate your birthday, but you just don’t know how to tell people.”

Capping her mascara, she instructs you to close your eyes, which you do, before you’re assaulted with a mist-like spray all over your face. When she tells you to open, you find yourself staring at yourself in the mirror – struck at the person staring back at you. Mika did a great job, highlighting your features, brightening your whole face, it was easy to see now the resemblance between you two.

“We’re not mind readers, (Y/N), we’re your family. And because we love you, we want to celebrate the day you came to bless our lives,” Mika smiles, smoothing your hair.

Helping you put on your dress, even lending you her sandals, she added some finishing touches like earrings and a sun brim hat.

“I look like those stereotypical animes shown in the summer.” You comment about your reflection in the mirror, to which Mika rolls her eyes at.

“Would you stop, you look beautiful!”

Taking her words with a grain of salt – seeing how pretty she was in her own dress, you smiled and the two of you walk out the room.

“Are you two done, now- Ah, how pretty!” coos your mother, pressing her hands to her mouth, eyes watering.

“Mom, you’re being dramatic-“

“My girls are so pretty! Especially the birthday girl!”

Beside you, Mika looks pleased with herself, especially at her work.

“Happy birthday, sweetie,” says your mom, taking your face in her hands, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

Swallowing down hard, fighting off tears that have strangely formed, you smile at her. “Thanks mom.”

“Alright, let’s go down now! Everyone’s waiting for us!”

Anxiety rose up, heart in your chest as you three descended the stairs, where you could hear people chatting about in the living room. Everyone was there – your uncle, Kaoru, Reiki, the Miyas, even the twins. It was Atsumu who saw you first, doing a double take, taking you in.

And then his mom squealed at the sight of you. “Ah!!!!! (Y/N)-chan, you look so pretty!” everyone turns to you, much to your horror. “Happy birthday, sweet girl!” she says.

“…thank you, Auntie.” Your voice was quiet, raspy.

Being the center of attention, everyone’s smiles on you was unnerving.

Self-consciously, you duck under their gazes, face burning.

To your surprise, your family had long planned this together with the Miyas. What made it extra special was the fact that it was just days after the three of you graduated and of Mika’s return. An outing of two families, in a field of little suns spread across the field.

At the sight of tall, bright yellow and brown flowers, your eyes sparkled in child-like wonder. Sensing your excitement, Mika, with her uncle’s camera slung around her neck, hooked her arm around yours, giggling and pulling you further in the park, leaving Atsumu and the rest to follow after.

The adults were discussing amongst themselves, discussing where they should set up, Reiki happily stuck around them, ever ready to help around, while Kaoru was running off to join his sisters. Alone with his brother, Osamu elbows him.

"Is something wrong with you and Mika-nee?" Osamu asks him, feeling the breeze against his skin.

On the way to Ono, with the twins, you, Mika, and Reiki, in Reiki’s car, there was a noticeable avoidance between Atsumu and Mika. However, the two easily played it off. Mika was busy chatting up with her boyfriend, Atsumu looked over your shoulder, as you answered birthday greetings.

Even way before that, the two of them were masterful in their way of seeming fine, but when they interacted, it felt rather stiff.

Sighing, Atsumu’s eyes found Kaoru, who was giggling as Mika was getting you to pose in front of flowers, you, clearly embarrassed, tried to talk your way out of it.

"I confronted her about their dad," Atsumu grumbles, hands in his pocket. Eventually, you caved in your sister’s whims, posing demurely, before Kaoru cheered you to try other poses.

Osamu's eyes widened. "Are you an idiot!? Why would you-"

"Did you know that she also told him about our graduation?"

Osamu stopped at that, at its implication, their eyes going to the older (L/N) sister, showing the photos to you.

"Damn."

"I know. Pretty shitty of her."

"Wow, 'Tsumu badmouthing Mika-nee, that's new."

Scoffing, he lifted his head to meet his brother’s. "What the fuck does that mean?"

Shrugging easily, Osamu explains, as their parents walk southward into the park, where an open area for picnic was. "Almost a year ago, you were nothing but praises for her, wouldn’t shut up about her on and on and on.” Breathing out a laugh, he shakes his head when he adds. “Heck, even if she farted you'd think it was cute."

Atsumu's face wrinkles, cringes. "That was before."

“Still,” walking ahead, he stares his brother down, feeling a chill run down his spine. “you never let us forget. Never let (Y/N) forget that.”

Up ahead, the (L/N) siblings were soon joined by Reiki, who took the camera from Mika, opting to take photos of the siblings. (Y/N), who was sandwiched between her older and younger sibling, all smiles for the camera.

“A year ago, it was as though your mission was to make (Y/N) feel so shitty about yourself, all because of your stupid little crush. It took her finally deciding to leave for you to snap out of it.”

Swallowing thickly, Atsumu vaguely remembered that moment of panic, like something had clawed into his chest. Immediately, he feels a sense of shame – for everything he had done to you.

"'Tsumu, you realize that you never said you're sorry to (Y/N), right?"

The hardest pill to swallow was realizing that despite the year he’s had, devoted to making up to you, it just wasn’t enough. Actions may speak louder than words, but just saying those words were just as important. Especially because it was worth noting that, sometimes, Atsumu’s actions can be contradicting to his words and may confuse you. You, who’s suffered quietly all this time, who forced themselves to power through, who unselfishly put others before yourself.

“I’m way past that now,” determination was thick in his tone, strong in his words.

Osamu felt proud to see it, loved to see it. They were nearing their parents – who finally found a nice picnic spot, just right next to the playground hustle.

"Didn't you say that Mika-nee was your one true love?" he couldn’t help but say, egging on his brother, never letting him down on his fuck up.

Osamu nearly fell back as Atsumu tackled him, slapping a hand to his mouth, lest anyone heard it. "KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, SHITTY 'SAMU!"

"Wasn't she though!?"

"I was a kid!" he reasoned out. "I didn't know shit!"

"Clearly still don't now!" Osamu yelled slapping his brother's hand away from his face.

"FUCK YOU!"

"Now, now, Atsumu, Osamu, no fighting on (Y/N)'s special day!" calls their dad, hands on his hips. Beside him was their mom, smiling as she took photos of the sunflowers all around them.

"Oh, oh, oh, sweetie, let's take a photo with the birthday girl!" hooking her arm around her husband's she didn't give him time to back out before dragging him with her, smiling sweetly at her sons. "And no fighting, Atsumu, Osamu, it's a special day!"

Speaking of special day, Atsumu’s eyes turned to the fields, where you were – feeling his heart settle at your familiar frame, your gentle expression as you gazed at the vibrant yellow sunflowers. He remembered that field trip when they were younger, remembered where your eyes were staring, dug through the display when no one was looking and snuck it in his bag, feeling giddy all over, remembered the smile that came to your face.

It was brighter than any of the sunflowers.

Under the clear blue skies, the sun was shining bright, smiling down on everyone – especially a particular group down at Ono Sunflower Hill Park, circling a girl dressed in white, balloons in hands, all wearing smiles as they sang to greet her.

Their singing echoed out in the field, the wind carrying on their love for the girl in the middle, the girl whose heart was just filled with love with everyone around her.

A simple white cake, decorated in the same flowers that surrounded them was presented to her, and a single candle stood alit, waiting.

When the singing dwindled down, the girl stared at her cake, closed her eyes, and then blew.

She was now 19.

What a lovely day to be loved, feel loved, and be celebrated by love.

Emboldened by his talk with Osamu, brought also by epiphany, Atsumu finds himself carefully approaching Mika.

“Mika-nee, can we talk?”

Reiki, having sensed the mood, excused himself, but not before kissing his girlfriend on the forehead and taking Kaoru with him away from the playground.

Squirming under his gaze, remembering his blow-up on her days before, she fixes him a pleading look. "Atsumu, look, I don't want to fight with you-"

"I'm not sorry for blowing up on you like that, Mika-nee.” He starts, meaning every word. “But I am sorry for intruding into your family business. I just care for (Y/N), she's..." he swallows thickly. "she's been through so much."

Mika’s expression softens, eyes shining. "You really care a great deal about (Y/N), huh?"

“Always have, always will.”

“I’m glad.”

Mika smiles sweetly at him, fiddling with her hands. “It’s just…he’s still my dad, what he did was unforgivable, but the idea of reconnecting with him,” she sniffles, wiping a tear. “how could I not? And then I thought, that maybe (Y/N) would be on board with the idea…” she shakes her head, laughing incredulously. “Clearly, I forgot that I can’t force it on her, can’t fix the trauma he did.” Her face pinches, pained and regret.

The old Atsumu would have rushed and comforted her, assured her that she did great. Emphasis on the old, the Atsumu now just stared, letting her wallow on her mistake.

Covering her face, she groaned into it, before fixing herself up, slapping her cheeks together. “Wooh! How embarrassing of me! Looks like I’ve got a long way to go!” she laughs. Atsumu can’t help but laugh with her.

Even now, her ability to smile through the pain, shoulder her burdens, amazes him. There was a reason he admired this young woman before him, but seeing her open up to her flaws made him admire her even more.

And then he felt it, the urge, something clawing at his chest, words that needed to be said.

“Mika-nee, actually,” the older girl looks up at him, waits patiently. “I…I like you.” Back when he was younger, he had envisioned the perfect confession – something almost like this, with the sun setting behind them, painting them in the afterglow. That was one of his two options for confessing, the other being in the letter he poured his heart in, with your help. “I liked you, Mika-nee.”

It feels freeing to finally say that, to let the person know how much they meant to them. Even if it were no longer the case.

She smiles, sweetly again. “I know.”

Atsumu looks up at her, surprised. Mika’s smile remains.

“E-Eh?”

“I received your letter,” his eyes widen, confusion crawling over. “(Y/N) snuck it into my things before I left for the Netherlands.”

You did that for him? You.

Looking back, his eyes could only widen, realizing that it had been during the incident. Atsumu is assaulted with guilt all over again, brought by your unselfishness, just unsure with what he could say.

“I always thought that it would be the two of you, you know? You three were thick as thieves, enough to rival the three musketeers. But you and (Y/N)? I always felt like there was a great bond between you two.”

“N-Nee-san…actually…I-“ Everything he did to you in the year following the incident came to mind, his self-hate rising, Mika deserved to know.

Instead, she gently shakes her head. “It’s not me you should be telling that to, Atsumu. It’s (Y/N).” taking his arm in her hand, she cups his chin, (e/c) eyes meeting his honey browns, smiling and squeezing on to him arm encouragingly. “Go.”

Coming to, he nods and quickly starts running. Before fully leaving the playground, Mika calls him. “Oh, and Atsumu? Thank you so much for your feelings!”

“Osamu,”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you told me about your first love?”

“…yeah.” He sighs, heavily. “The umeboshi to my onigiri.”

“That’s a funny analogy,” with your arm over his, you leaned against his shoulder as the two of you walked along the pat. “but very fitting for someone you love.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it off. What’s yours?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you look to the field.

“Ah, yes.” Osamu nods, following your gaze. “Sunflowers.”

Leaning against his arm, you murmur. “…he’s my sunflower, Osamu.”

Osamu doesn’t say anything for a while, watching how Kaoru and Reiki raced beside them. Two people missing from their group. “I know he is.”

“And you’re my chicken noodle soup.”

He snorts, looking down at you. “Why?”

“It’s my comfort food, remember? Also, you’re my best friend. You should feel honored.”

“Strange analogy you got there.” He waves at his grandparents, enjoying themselves watch the children play in the fountains.

“Not as strange as your umeboshi and onigiri,” you remind him, teasingly.

Rolling his eyes at that, he can’t deny the gentleness of your voice, its weight and wistfulness.

“Thanks for being my best friend, Osamu.”

Patting his hand over yours, he replies. “Always.”

Breaking away, you smile gratefully at him. He lets you walk off from him, taking a new path.

“Stop sounding like you’re about to die, (Y/N). S’not funny.”

Laughing, you could only tuck your hands behind you. “I’m just feeling nostalgic!”

“Where’re you going?”

“For a walk!”

“Geez, aren’t you tired of walking?”

“Nope,” and you walk further in the new path, Osamu watches you go, but doesn’t follow.

With all his heart, he wishes, for your birthday, all the best for you. Keeping his eyes on white, it slowly shrinks as you walk further and further, away and away, until you were out of sight.

Huffing and puffing, he looked around wildly, searching for (h/c) in a white dress. Atsumu almost cursed at how big of an area the park was, felt pathetic that he was winded out after some runs – he was a fucking athlete, god damn it! About to join a pro-fucking-league-

"Are you looking for someone?" a voice asked him, turning, Atsumu nearly sagged in relief when he found who he was looking for.

You.

"You," he says breathlessly, lips stretched into a wide smile.

Your face scrunched into a light frown, wondering, before producing a handkerchief in your hands, patting his sweaty face. “Have you been running around the park?”

“Nah, just now.” Your frown softens a bit. “Like I said, I was looking for you.”

Tilting your head to the side, confused, you asked. “Why?”

Atsumu opened his mouth, only to stop, realization getting the best of him. Shiiiiiiit.

Suddenly shy, he laughed it off, nervously, uncaring that people were looking at him funny. Concerned washed over your features, which warmed him from the inside, especially with you looking at him all pretty like that. But heck, even without the makeup, you were something else.

“Come on,” you opened a hand to him, an invitation.

Atsumu stared at it, at the scar on your middle finger. Placing his in yours, his larger hand over yours, the two of you began to walk hand-in-hand. You took him by the fields, deep in, as though to hide you amongst the flowers, to be one with them, to a secret place for you both.

For all his life, he couldn’t imagine having to miss out on the feeling, like everything he’s known his whole life is nothing compared to the bright, vibrant yellows and browns around him, in the girl dressed in white, leading him through. And he let you.

How is it that he’s never noticed? Why had he never thought of seeing you? It feels as though he’s led a life blind.

With a tug, the two of you exit the field and into a clearing, all Atsumu can focus on was your smile.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” you laugh, walking a few steps to the path. “walking across a sunflower field, I mean.”

Atsumu can’t keep his eyes off your smile, even as the both of you sit on the grass, facing the famed 'Sunflower Tower' made of Mikage granite.

The two of you found yourselves in your little hideaway, with nothing but the sky, the sun, the flowers, and the tower, and of course, each other.

“Sounds like something fresh outta a fairy tale,”

Nodding, you fold your legs, drawing your knees near. “Sunflowers are quite tall, after all. Tall and tough flowers.”

“Like me?”

Laughing, your turn to him, staring at him for a while. “Maybe. Especially with your blond dye.”

At the mention of his hair, he runs a hand through it. “…I’m, uh, thinking of keeping it.”

“You should,” your eyes follow his hands carding through his hair, dark roots slowly showing through. “it’ll be your signature look.”

Running a hand through the back of his hair, he fists them there, unable to look away from you.

You.

Amazing, smart, patient, kind, selfless, beautiful you.

“(Y/N)…” your name came easy through his mouth.

Tilting your head, letting strands of hair slip off your shoulders, you parrot back, “Atsumu…”

Just when did everything seem to feel different between you two? And just how long had he missed the way you look bathed in the sunlight?

Fidgeting a little, Atsumu could feel his strength leave him, being at the receiving end of your gaze. However, looking up, he also draws strength from them.

“I, uh, I kept them,” at your frowned confusion, he shyly – oh so quietly, adds, “your letters.”

Immediately, your face burns, feeling goosebumps run all over your spine. “Ugh,” slapping your hands over your eyes, you wish you could also slap the cringe away. “why.”

Atsumu smiles, despite your apparent horror, shrugging easily.

“It’s a reminder, I guess. A reminder that someone actually liked me. Genuinely and truly. Thought of me. Appreciated me. Written and practically poured her heart out in paper, when it’s the fucking twenty first century. Living proof that someone did that for me, but I was the asshole who humiliated her for something so genuine and heartfelt.”

You would’ve argued then and there, having seen the many love letters he and his brother received from his fan club over the years. And yet, the only one he recognizes are yours.

“Atsumu,” words were failing you, so you just sighed. “that’s behind us now.”

But the look on his face wouldn’t go away, eyes darkening – a dangerous storm brewing, festering.

"You can't return my feelings,” you say kindly. “that's not your fault neither is it your problem."

"Y-Yeah, but I could at least try to-"

"Atsumu, stop. Just, stop.” Turning to him, you take his hand in yours – the one with a scar, fingers rubbing comfortingly. “Please.” You’ve thought about it for a while, a long while, it needed to be said. “I'm not going to force you to like me back, it's not right and it's just wrong. Just because I liked you doesn't mean you're obligated to return my feelings when you clearly don't like me like that. That's that."

"B-But-"

"Besides, I've already accepted it – that my feelings can't reach you." swallowing down it all - the heartache and pain, you lifted your gaze and offered a smile. "If all you're worried about is me forgiving you, rest assured that I have."

"But I don't deserve your forgiveness!" he all but screams, shocking you, his eyes were wet and filled with so much remorse, pain, helplessness, and regret. "I've been an ass to you, (Y/N)! I hurt you while you were already hurting," he remembered having to listen to your cries, muffled behind your hands, the forced smiles, the pained look in your eyes, your back turned to him, his panic of not being able to find you during practice. The realization of the distance between both of you because of him. "I walked around you even though you were breaking from the inside. I might as well be worse than your deadbeat, asshole of a father because I wasn't there for you. I hurt you just as he did! I failed you! I-I-"

A gentle hand touched his elbow, shaking him, he looks up, meeting your kind (e/c) gaze. And that smile, that same kind smile that stretched to your eyes, reflecting an oh so loving gaze he knew he didn't deserve. Even without saying a word, you understood everything he wanted to say, all the sorries that's been resting on his tongue, heavy with the weight of his sins, of the burdens of hurting you, of the love he's had and continue to have for you.

He didn't deserve you.

You didn't deserve him.

But you both loved each other just as much.

"(Y-Y/N)," his voice was barely a whisper, wet and croaking. "I'm so sorry...!"

Enveloping you into a hug, he cries into your shoulder, repeatedly saying “I’m sorry” over and over again.

And you just hold him, caressing his head with your other hand.

“I’ll always love you, Atsumu,” your confession just tore at him, tears leaking more. “you will always be my first love, and that will never change.”

Atsumu hugs you tighter, cries harder. “I love you, too.”

When you let go, there was a smile on your face – a radiant, bright, reflected in your eyes that it brightened up your whole face. Like a sunflower greeting the sun, Atsumu found himself smiling, too. Released from the embrace, in his eyes, he feels his heart fill with a bittersweet sense of warmth and twinge.

Despite it all, it still felt good. It felt really good. Talking to you, settling things with you, loving you – it felt right.

Certain people come into our lives whether we like it or not, and you were no exception.

Sadly, just because you came into their life doesn’t automatically guarantee that they’ll stay with you forever. You can only have them for a time.

One of them may end up as your first love, but it's not guaranteed that they will be your last. They'll be just that - your first love, the first person you offered your heart to, but not the person who gets to keep it.

You were his forever person, the first love he realized too late.

end.

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