#to balance out all these mess-ups that have continually surrounded his solo work up to this point. all of which have been out of his control

[userkoo]

jungkook deserves better <3

[willowbird]

for the prompt thing andreil, 16(Au with vampire! Neil), Trope 4, dialogue 15 + if possible 39

Anonymous asked:

Vampire! Neil Au requester I meant 25 and not 15

Supernatural AU with a Vampire Neil, meet messy, “i know this looks bad, but i swear, it’s not" & “you confuse me.”

I'm not sure if this was what you were hoping for when you send me these prompts, but I rather had fun writing it so I hope you enjoy, Anon!

----

If Andrew was being completely honest, he really didn't mind his job. Sure, it wasn't all that impressive, but it also wasn't like he had someone around that he wanted to impress. It was easy, too, and no one bothered him. Well, no one bothered him because he had third shift, and the only people grocery shopping at three-am were literal vampires; and in a tiny town like Palmetto, there were really only a handful of those, none of which would ever have any reason to bother the short, scowly human stocking shelves over in the candy aisle.

Which was exactly what Andrew was doing when he heard the crash over in the refrigerated section.

Shifting the headphones off one ear, Andrew tilted his head and listened. There were a few more minor crashes, then a bumbling, scrabbling sound of things being kicked and jostled around. No screaming, though, so Andrew reaffixed the cup over his ear and got back to what he was doing.

"Cleanup by the refrigerators. Cleanup by the refrigerators."

Andrew lips moved soundlessly to Fall Out Boy, willfully ignoring the fact that refrigerators was in his section of the store and thus his responsibility should there be a call made to it.

"Cleanup by the refrigerators. Cleanup by the refrigerators."

Andrew juggled three snickers bars to the beat, tossing them onto the shelf just as the guitar solo started.

"Cleanup by the refrigerators. Cleanup -- Goddamnit Minyard get your ass over to refrigerators and clean the mess up."

Welp, he tried. With a heavy sigh, Andrew dropped the candy in his hands back into the box he'd been unloading, then gave two middle-fingers to the nearest camera.

The gruff voice over the intercom said, "Don't be a cheeky bastard, you little ingrate. Just do your damn job."

"Yeah, yeah," Andrew muttered to himself, rolling his eyes as he turned to head down the aisle. From all those crashes it was sure to be an epic mess. Maybe he wasn't as okay with this job as he thought he was.

Whatever Andrew thought he was expecting to see when he rounded the corner, it was not what he actually saw.

Because there, sitting in the middle of fallen displays and drenched in both blood and pink lemonade with an unconscious (dead?) human sprawled across his lap, was an annoyingly pretty disaster of a vampire.

Andrew stared at the tableau for a long moment, the tugged his headphones down around his neck and moved forward, surveying more of the damage as he got closer. Two of the displays near the fridges had been completely toppled, sending s'mores supplies and snack cakes as far out as lunchmeat on one side and paper goods on the other. There wasn't as much liquid on the floor as Andrew suspected there might be, the blood confined only to the vampire's actual person and only a small pool of pink lemonade leaking out of the nearest container. Upon closer inspection, the human appeared mostly unharmed and definitely alive, as he was breathing. He didn't have a drop of blood on him.

The vampire flashed fang as he gave a weak sort of smile. "I know this looks bad, but I swear, it's not."

"Uh-huh. Right." Andrew crouched down and picked up the carton of pink lemonade. It wasn't even opened properly. There were punctures in the side exactly the right size and distance to have been caused by pretty-vamp's fangs.

Andrew turned the carton to show the leaky punctures to the guilty vampire.

"I was thirsty?"

"Mm. What about the snack draped over your lap?" Andrew gestured at the guy, who was, admittedly, definitely a snack. He was significantly bigger than either himself or the vampire, with black hair and a small tattoo of a chess piece on the crest of one cheek.

The vampire did not seem to share Andrew's opinion. His pretty face screwed up in distaste, those damn-near cerulean eyes flashing with ire. "Ugh. No way. I only drink from Kevin when I'm on my deathbed."

"Is that your way of telling me that he's your boyfriend and you nip him every night, then?"

"What? No?" The blatant confusion on the vampires face had Andrew sighing. The vampire shook his head. "Look, I'm sorry about the lemonade. I was going to pay for it, but it couldn't wait." The skepticism must have been visible enough on Andrew's face for even this idiot to be able to read it because the vampire sighed and continued after just a short judgmental pause.

"I don't drink human blood. That brand of lemonade in addition to regular food can keep me going for weeks at a time without me having to go after animals either."

A vegan vampire, now Andrew had seen everything.

"Right, so why is your boyfriend passed out?"

"Not my boyfriend. The dumbass decided to go out while sick with moon-fatigue. He fainted."

Moon fatigue? Andrew looked back down at the man in the vampire's lap. That meant that 'Kevin' wasn't a human at all, but a were-something.

Instead of commenting on this, Andrew refocused on the vampire's face and said, "You sure you aren't dating?" Because it seemed pretty fated, a dumbass vampire who starves himself to the point where he has to raid the local grocery store for magical lemonade, hooking up with a dumbass were-somethingorother that resisted the change to the point where he got sick and then went out like that, thus necessitating the aforementioned situation where stupid starved vampire has to come rescue him. Speaking of... Andrew took another look at the carton in his hand and memorized the brand. There was no way he was ingesting anything that was able to keep a vampire off his bloodlust for weeks on end.

"Very," the vampire confirmed. Then he sighed and looked down at his friend for a moment before smacking him sharply enough that the sound even got a little echo. "Wake up, asshole!"

Kevin jolted awake with a lurch, then moaned and covered his face his hands. "The liiiiiights, they're so briiiiiight. Neiiiiiiiiiil where aaaaaare weeeeee?"

The vampire - Neil - rolled his eyes and gestured to the man in his lap. "See what I have to deal with?" He shook his head and shoved Kevin off his lap before standing. He was a little shaky as he rose, but managed to keep his feet. "Get up Kev. Thanks to you there's a huge ass fucking mess and if we ever want to come back again we're gonna have to help clean it up."

"Nooooooo."

"Yeeeeeees."

Kevin peaked his eye open, saw Andrew, and pointed. "Make him do it. Its basically his job!"

"I don't work here," Andrew said immediately, despite the violently orange vest he was wearing that sported both a name-tag and the logo for Palmetto Grocery.

Then a truly awful thing happened: Neil grinned at him. It was like the goddamn moon rising over an enchanted fucking lake, is what it was. Those blue eyes shined and his whole face softened. Two perfect dimples winked at him, his fangs flashing in a way that was both really sexy and kinda... cute. Even with the blood-spatter on his face the man was downright captivating.

Kevin woozily stumbling to his feet snapped Andrew out of his momentary stupor. The were looked from Neil to Andrew and sighed, shaking his head. "Tiny assholes. I am surrounded by tiny assholes." Then he turned and began to shuffle around, picking up boxes of Twinkies and stacking them in one arm.

Andrew turned back to Neil. "So if all you are here for is lemonade, why are you covered in blood?" It distantly occurred to Andrew that this probably should have been the first question he asked.

Neil shrugged. "Had to kill someone when I picked up Kevin."

Ah, well, that was that then. Andrew nodded his understanding and the two of them joined Kevin dealing with the mess. It was after Andrew had righted the display fixtures and Neil had started stacking all the boxes on them upside down that Neil looked over at him and asked, "Do you usually work nights?"

Andrew paused, blinked, and looked over at him. "Why?"

"Just curious. Kev and I are new to town."

"I am not a tour guide."

Ugh, no there it was again - that grin. This time accompanied by a short, bright laugh.

"Understood." Neil placed the last box on the top of the fixture, somehow getting it to balance on a single corner. Satisfied, he then looked back at Andrew, still fucking smiling. "I guess I'll see you around, then."

"You confuse me," Andrew said, almost without meaning to.

Another fang-flashing grin. "I'm a bit of a puzzle."

Andrew studied him for a moment, considering. He wondered if the idiot vampire even realized he was flirting with him. It sure seemed intentional - but he hesitated to give the dumbass that much credit.

"I guess I will just have to solve you then," Andrew finally said.

"Guess so." Neil then had the audacity to wink, and Andrew's ears turned pink. Intentional then, definitely intentional.

Luckily, Neil had turned to collect his friend, so probably didn't see his traitorous ears. The vampire looked back at him one more time, just long enough to raise a hand in farewell, before leading Kevin away from the refrigerators. Andrew tracked him with his eyes until they turned the corner, and were gone.

Well, if nothing else - Palmetto sure as fuck got a hell of a lot more interesting.

[aiimaginesbts]

Eternal Summer (M)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Genre: Loads of Angst | Fluff mixed in between | Smut | Childhood friends to lovers AU Warnings: Language | Alcohol | Masturbating | Rough sex | Public sex Word Count: 39k+ words

Disclaimer/Copyright

Summary:  Breaking up with my boyfriend leaves an empty spot on the overseas vacation that I had been looking forward to for a long time. I’m torn between abandoning the trip or going it solo when someone offers to tag along. However, having Jimin, my best friend go with me may not be the best idea — since my crush on him has never gone away.

Author’s Note: This is my fic for the ‘The Summer Bucketlist’ writing event hosted by @jamaisjoons​ with ‘Go sightseeing on a vacation’ as my prompt.

This grin just can’t be wiped off my face. While I’m aware that people passing by me are shooting me weird looks thanks to my humming, I don’t want to stop for their sake. I can barely hold myself from skipping down the street, lined with leafy trees on one side and boutique stores on the other – I’m that excited. The merciless rays of the late sun are welcome on my skin after weeks of slaving away even more than usual at work just so I can enjoy this long awaited vacation. It has completely paid off, since I’ve managed to settle everything I needed to with one day to spare. Everyone – myself included – expected me to be toiling away until the last minute. I even packed my luggage in advance, little by little, whenever I could, since I didn’t think I would have time to do it. So, with everything ready and time to spare, I head towards the only place I could think of going when I don’t know what to do with myself.

After making a stop at Se Hoon’s favourite restaurant to order take-out for dinner, I continue on my way towards his apartment. Since I plan to make this a surprise visit, he might still be working. Still, another glance at my watch convinces me that he will definitely be at home. Se Hoon prefers to work from home, so unless there’s work that he must settle at the office, he’s usually home by this time, even if he has to continue working there. It might mean that I’ll be shooed away while he finishes, but I don’t care. I’m content to just watch him as I eat my dinner. As long as I’m with him. We’ll be going together on vacation the day after tomorrow, but there’s no harm in starting early, is there? Plus, I’ve been too busy to see him lately. And the few scant times I could manage to get some time off, he would be busy instead. It seems like we’ve been missing each other for a while now, and I just miss being with someone.

Another fifteen minutes of walking and an elevator ride to the eighteenth floor later, I arrive in front of Se Hoon’s dark brown apartment door. I hesitate, wondering if I should let myself in or announce myself first. It has been a while since I’ve arrived here on my own, but recalling the times he got grumpy because he was interrupted to open the door for me way in the beginning of our relationship, I pressed the keys to unlock his door. No sense making him stop whatever he’s doing and come for me when I can open the door on my own.

Although I’ve been telling myself that I’m perfectly happy just to be in his presence this evening, my lips purse into a disappointed pout when I notice a pair of unfamiliar women’s black pumps at the entrance. It’s rare for Se Hoon to have visitors to his house, other than myself, but I suppose it’s safe to say that he isn’t done with work. At least his co-worker is willing to come over, so he doesn’t have to stay in the office. Otherwise I’d have arrived at an empty house.

Not wanting to interfere with his work by calling out, I kick off my similar, but lower, heels next to hers and start making my way inside. It has been a while since I’d had time to visit, but the surroundings are pretty much the same as I remember it from last time. Neither of us are the type of people to periodically arrange furniture, or make any changes at all, for that matter. Some people may find it boring, but I’m comfortable in its familiarity.

However, just a few steps in and my eyes land on an unexpected sight. A dark blue tie, adorned with a tiny white diamond pattern, lying on the floor. Se Hoon’s tie. I remember giving it to him for his birthday several months ago. Then a light pink shirt that I don’t recognise – I don’t pride myself on knowing Se Hoon’s wardrobe inside and out, but this shirt is way too small for him. My feet slow to a stop, but my breathing becomes laboured; like I’m running a marathon. Even though I scream in my head in denial, telling myself to turn around and not to continue looking, my eyes betray me by straying ahead, following the trail of clothes into his bedroom.

“Se Hoon?” I call out without thinking, but my voice comes out a croak, volume barely a whisper. The world I thought I had built solidly enough is crumbling under the soles of my feet. Familiar comfort no longer.

“Looks like our plane is here.”

Although my eyes are wide open and the world is bright, blinding even; the light from the sun is relentlessly shining through the gigantic glass panes of the airport, everything looks like a blur to me. I see vague shapes moving inconsequentially in my field of vision, but I can’t make out anything. The world hasn’t righted itself after it got thrown off its axis just yet. I’m dimly aware of where I currently am, of what brought me to this point. And yet in my mind, I’m still frozen in Se Hoon’s apartment two days ago.

While words cannot describe my feelings at the moment, I’m sure whatever combination of letters that the dictionary can come up with won’t be anything good. It doesn’t help that the voice that calls my name repeatedly in attempts to bring me back to reality is noticeably higher than Se Hoon’s. No, it isn’t even that. I wouldn’t be this bothered if it were anyone else’s voice. However, my best friend’s insistence that I return to Earth and get ready to board the plane throws my emotions into a jumbled mess. Forcing myself back to the present time, the surroundings gradually come into focus, like a camera lens finally being adjusted properly. “People are still getting off the plane, Jimin,” I grumble, sinking myself further into the chair in the waiting area petulantly. Maybe I don’t want to board this airplane after all.

This empty feeling has seeped in from yesterday. After a fitful sleep, I’d gotten out of my bed to stare at my luggage, all ready and packed for the next day. I wasn’t sure what time it was then; I’d rolled out of bed onto the floor and turning back to look at the small clock on my nightstand had felt like it would have consumed too much energy. All I knew was that dawn had not even broken yet, as the light blue curtains of my room, so useless at blocking even the smallest bit of light, were still dim. As my eyes slowly adjusted to the dark and started to trace the royal blue strips lining the white canvas, I’d thought about the times I’d chucked the things I wanted to bring into the bag. When I’d seen a shirt that Jimin had said looked good on me, I’d thrown it in there. The cap he’d bought me on a whim after he’d dropped by my office for an impromptu lunch. A pair of socks that Jimin had insisted matched with the pair that he’d bought, just because both pairs have a striped motif. Earrings that he’d helped me choose because Se Hoon couldn’t make it for our date that day. Perhaps he couldn’t make it because of that woman, and not because of work, like he’d claimed.

Hours must have flown by as I’d sat there brooding. Not even sure what I was thinking about – was it really all about Se Hoon? My mind feels empty, but I couldn’t believe that I’d just been blankly staring at the luggage in the corner of my room for so long. And yet I must have had, because when the sound of my vibrating phone grated my ears, making me jump out of my reverie, the room was already bright despite the drawn curtains.

Groaning from grumpiness and the aching of my back and ass from sitting in one spot for so long, I’d braced my right palm on the still-cool floor to twist my body and reach for my phone. “Ugh.” My fingertips had brushed against it, causing it to move forward and teeter off the edge of my nightstand. The next round of vibrations had led to a losing battle with its balance, but thankfully I’d managed to catch it before it made contact with the hard floor. The scramble to play hero to save my phone had left me on both my elbows, horizontal against the floor. By this time, the call had become a missed one. Probably gone to voicemail, but that hadn’t stopped me from glaring at the offending device.

Before I could even look at the screen properly to check who had called, I heard the sharp beeping of my front door lock keypad, quickly followed by the chime indicating a successful breach and the softer click of the door opening to the intruder. Then a call of my name greeted my ears, betraying the identity of the visitor and setting my frayed nerves at ease. In a split second, however, my shock had melted away, leaving mild irritation in its wake. At first I didn’t want to answer him. Let him search the whole place, I’d thought pettily, even while knowing that my bedroom would have been the first place he’d check, then changed my mind. “In here.”

Trust him to hear me even though I’d hardly raised my voice. His chipper, “’Morning!” had reminded me that he didn’t have a clue to what had transpired the previous evening, leaving me torn between two choices; remain in my miserable mood and risk him prying for the reason behind it, or put up a cheerful front. I’m supposed to go for the vacation I’d been looking forward to so much, after all.

In the end, my “’morning,” had come out as a sullen reply. Simply couldn’t be bothered with pretence when this guy was concerned. With my partner for the trip automatically cancelling less than twenty-four hours ago, he was going to unearth the source of my moodiness sooner or later, even if I’d pretended there was nothing wrong.

“What’s wrong?” He’d immediately quipped at my tone, joining me on the floor.

I’d narrowed my eyes at the luggage I’d refused to tear my eyes away from. Still, it was always annoying when Jimin would zero in on me like that.

“Just.”

Jimin had rested his back against the side of the bed next to me, keeping mum instead of answering. I’d always hated that he knew exactly how to handle me at times like these. Several minutes had passed as I’d stewed in silence, then inevitably worked out what I’d wanted to say, like he’d known I would. I’d let one or two more minutes go by, just to spite him, but in the end I’d relented with a resolved sigh.

He’d taken the cue to open his mouth. “Wanna grab brunch?”

Is it that late already? I’d thought, unwillingly softening just a bit more when he didn’t automatically repeat his first question. “Not now.” Holding fast onto my vast – though slowly depleting – reserves of gloominess and fury, I’d willed my stomach not to grumble just then. Under strict orders from my highly distressed brain, my stomach had cowered and obeyed, even as his question had evoked pangs of hunger. Another sigh, then, “I don’t know if I’m going tomorrow,” I finally gave in to the inevitable need to confess, if not my need to eat.

“What? Why?” He’d leaned forward in surprise. I’d wished he hadn’t. Despite not having shed a single tear, I’d had no idea what sort of expression I was making, or whether I had any control over it. Thoughts had been racing through my mind at uncontrollable speeds. Obviously I hadn’t used the time I’d had to think this all the way through. Should I tell him that I’d broken up with Se Hoon?

I hadn’t wanted to.

“Se Hoon has urgent business to attend to and can’t make it.” Ugh. Even uttering his name had made me want to spit and brush my tongue with a scrubber. Bringing my legs up, I’d buried my face in my knees, unable to bear the sight of Jimin’s brows furrowing with concern. Aside from the guilt I’d felt about lying to my best friend, the mix of emotions roiling inside me were – and still is – muddling. There was overwhelming outrage towards Se Hoon, which was not surprising. However, endless hours of pondering had made me realise that the nature of my grief was befuddling.

There had been no tears. Even after the shock of seeing Se Hoon in bed with another woman had worn off as I’d trudged all the way home, walking for about an hour instead of taking the subway, there had been no heartbreak over our failed relationship. When I’d finally reached home and collapsed on my bed, no burning tears had even threatened my eyes. Later in the shower, the only wetness had come from the metal pipes. I didn’t care about losing him. No, I’d thought, with Jimin’s presence solidifying my belief, I’m sad because I’m alone. Even when I was with Jimin – actually, because I was with Jimin – I’d felt so lonely. He made me feel hopeless. He made me feel like a loser. Especially now, I’d felt like I was worth nothing. No, I’d always felt like I was worthless when I was with Se Hoon, or with any of my other exes. That’s why I’ve always chased after a relationship. Because otherwise, I would be worth less than nothing.

It had made me all the more desperate not to let Jimin find out. Better to have him think that Se Hoon was being a jerk – which he was, and still is – by ditching me for work instead of finding out that we’d broken up. Jimin was sure to take great umbrage at Se Hoon – never mind that I  was the one who did the dumping – and would definitely demand to know the reason behind it. To tell him that I wasn’t even worth being faithful for… that would just take the ugly, miserable cake that is my life, wouldn’t it? I’d much rather die than come clean, so I’d pressed the truth as deep down as it could go, took a deep breath and turned to rest my chin on my knee, facing that frown painted on his adorably worried features.

“It’s work. You know how it is. Can’t be helped.” Tossed words accompanied by a cavalier shrug; hopefully passing it off as a small matter that I’d wanted it to appear like. There. It gave the impression that I had a responsible boyfriend, and I was being a magnanimous, understanding girlfriend. Plus, this way I could forge ahead with unloading my immediate problem to Jimin without seeming too pathetic. “But I don’t know if I want to go alone.”

“Hey, what’s the point of riding business if you’re going to zone out and queue with the people in economy?” Jimin’s irritated complaint as he swats my arm knocks me back to the present. Still in a daze, I let him grab my hand and pull me up and towards the air stewardess waiting to check the customers’ boarding passes without complaint, only having the presence of mind to hold my camera bag securely against my side. True, I was really torn between going on the trip alone or cancelling it altogether, but when I’d voiced my indecision to Jimin yesterday, I didn’t imagine that it would lead to this.

We zip past the long queue of people waiting to be allowed to board, all the way to the front. The sweet-looking stewardess takes a look at our documents and smiles, complimenting her rosy cheeks, made up carefully to look perfectly natural, ushering us in. As we stride towards the door to the aircraft, I can’t help but look at our connecting hands, then up towards his slender, but comforting back. Never in a million years would I have thought that he would actually offer to accompany me. In all actuality, ‘offer’ is too mild a word for what he did. After calling in to take a week off of work, then buying flight tickets while I’d showered, did he really think he left me with any choice?

He might have been right that not going just because Se Hoon couldn’t make it, after I’d worked my ass off to get a holiday, paid for the tickets and hotel, would be ridiculous. But I maintain that what he did in a span of less than thirty minutes – because it couldn’t have taken longer than that for me to shower – was the more inane of the two.

However, as we step inside the plane itself, past another stewardess welcoming us onto the flight, the reality of this finally starts to sink in. For the first time since I’ve become single, my face relaxes, and I can feel my whole body relaxing with it. While the cause of this current situation is unfortunate, the outcome is quite fortuitous. After settling in my window seat first, I glance towards Jimin, trying to get comfortable in the next seat over. I’m very aware that allowing myself to enjoy this, or even think about this, is idiocy of the highest degree. That it will just bring me more pain down the road. I know. Years of suffering had taught me that really well. Yet still, being the fool that I am, I don’t deny the giddiness of having Jimin come with me, instead of Se Hoon. Not to myself, at least. If it’s going to hurt me either way, might as well milk whatever joy I can get out of it, right? My future self will probably hate my current self later, so I apologise to her in advance in my head.

“Everything okay over there?” Jimin leans over the wide armrest to ask.

“Mm-hmm,” I answer simply, still half-lost in my thoughts. Sometimes I want to roll my eyes and laugh at myself. Whatever am I thinking, while Jimin is just trying to be a good friend? Imagination running wild can inject a really swift and powerful dose of euphoria, and goodness knows that my spirits need a bit of lifting, but prolonged daydreaming will not do anyone any good. Jimin is just a friend. Just a friend. Indulging in idyllic notions will just burn me in the end.

The process of achieving resolution is interrupted when the plane begins to move. It isn’t very obvious at first due to its size, but I notice it backing out into the runway. As it begins to pick up speed, I forget everything else; from depressing thoughts of being single, to silly fantasies. Turning to Jimin, I whisper excitedly; “My favourite part is coming!”

Before I can start to explain what it is, Jimin laughs and nods. “I know.”

Sitting back against the chair, I absorb the fact that Jimin remembers that I’ve told him before. It’s such a random piece of uninteresting information, but I suppose that’s what best friends pick up over the years. I’m sure I subconsciously collect seemingly useless information about him, too. Not wanting to miss it, I don’t comment any further, instead just grinning at him before shifting my attention towards the window. My heart rate picks up as the vehicle accelerates so rapidly that I feel myself getting thrown back into my seat, gaining momentum until it finally lifts itself up into the air. Sighing contentedly, I told Jimin; “It’s such a rush when the plane moves like that. Like our journey is truly starting, and we’re running towards it with all our might.” He just shakes his head with a chuckle at my childish delight. We’re already high enough that the view outside displays the landscape of Seoul city of buildings and cars. On any other day, I’d be down there somewhere. But not today. And while this may not have turned out exactly as I’d expected it to, I have no complaints about the arrangement now.

As though he’d picked up on my uplifted mood, Jimin asks jovially, “So, remind me, why did you choose to go to Malaysia?”

I remember telling him that I was the one who’d picked the holiday destination. This time, it’s not surprising that he remembers; the way my excited gushing about the trip had escalated as it had approached bordered on annoying, even I will admit that. “It’s a multicultural, multi-racial country, so there’s a diverse variety of things to explore,” I begin to explain, sounding like a tourist brochure, pause to consider, then confess. “Actually, we’re going to Penang, which is famous for having the best food.”

Even though his lips curl down, the way Jimin bites his plump lower lip and holds his shuddering body is a tell-tale sign that he’s not frowning; in fact, I know that he’s trying to hold back from laughing out loud. “Why am I not surprised?” Guffaws escape alongside his words, and I smack his shaking arms playfully.

“Shut up.” Although my pretense at affront is a tiny bit better than his attempt to keep a straight face, it’s impossible to hide the mirth dancing in my eyes. With impeccable timing, one of the stewardesses appears by our side to inquire about our choice of lunch. Ever a fan of chicken, I order without hesitation, whereas Jimin chooses pork as his protein.

“Mmm,” – is Jimin’s way of articulating the tastiness of his meal. “What’s the name of the place,” he picks up his boarding pass to sneak a peek at the name of our holiday destination before returning it into his seat pocket, “Penang food better top this.”

Of course, I have never been there, so I can’t guarantee anything. “If their food is that well known around the region, I should think that it’s better than airplane food.”

Both of us know that I’ve made a sound justification, and Jimin doesn’t have any comebacks. The journey grows quiet soon after, my full stomach encouraging my already heavy eyes to shutter closed. Our transfer in Bangkok, Thailand via Suvarnabumi Airport is a short, uneventful one, and from there, it’s a quick flight to our final destination. Watching the evening sky serving as the backdrop for the sun making a dramatic exit for the night is breathtaking. By the time we land, streaks of orange are all that remain of the sun’s waning presence, and a light smattering of stars twinkle, not to be outdone by the numerous city lights.

“So, are we going to take a taxi to the hotel?” Jimin wants to know our next move after retrieving our bags from the baggage claim carousel.

“Yep, but we won’t be using a taxi.” Armed with the WiFi device I’ve rented in advance, I breathe a sigh of relief as my phone connects to the internet successfully. Sometimes I feel a little ashamed by it, but I can’t stop the feeling of unease whenever I’m cut off and unreachable by phone. I keep imagining the worst things happening. “There’s an app people use here to call for a driver instead of using a taxi. It’s cheaper and easy to use.”

“Oooh.” As I open said app, Jimin looks at the screen of my phone over my shoulder curiously. Compared to Incheon and Suvarnabumi Airports, Penang Airport is very small, which I suppose is befitting of the size of the northern island. It makes the place seem especially busy, and we stand slightly away from one of the exits, doing our best to keep out of people’s way. There must be a lot of drivers on the app service, because one immediately takes our request. Ride secured, we make our way out of the building, looking out for a white car with the specified plate number.

Soon our luggage is secured in the trunk of the car, and we speed away from the airport. From the handy app, I find out that our tanned driver is a man named Hisyam. His fatherly manner and gentle way of speaking reinforces my instinct that he seems to be in his late forties or early fifties, a deduction I’d made upon seeing him. Our friendly responses when he’d initiated the standard questioning – where we’re from, and our purpose of coming here – encourage him to strike up further conversation. From my simple research about Malaysia before coming here, I know that being able to converse in English is enough to communicate with the locals, but I didn’t think that it would go so smoothly. I’d thought that it would be only mostly youngsters who are able to speak fluently in English, but despite his age, Hisyam sounds comfortable talking to us in the language. A comment on this from me has him explaining that many Malaysians can speak English well enough to be understood at the very least, which is a relief. It’s nice to feel so welcomed, especially since he has an eager and easy answer when I wonder where we should get our dinner aloud. “There’s a place that’s famous for its char kuey teow that’s not far from here. You have to try it!”

“Char kuey teow?” Jimin hasn’t eaten anything after our lunch on the flight earlier, and the mention of food, however foreign, quickly piques his interest.

“It’s stir-fried noodle,” he explains. “But the noodles are flat and made of rice. It’s a really popular dish around this region. I’ll drive you there first, if you want.”

Sneaking a glance at Jimin, I can see that he is also in favour of this. “Is that okay, though? Do we need to call another driver after we’re done?”

“I’ll just take some other requests until you’re done, then I’ll come back for you. There’s always people calling for service in this area,” he assures us. “This shop’s reputation is rightly deserved, I promise. So, don’t worry about me and enjoy yourselves!”

Good thing Jimin and I are able to decide on taking Hisyam up on his offer so quickly, because he really isn’t kidding – the restaurant is a mere few turns after that. It’s a place next to the large road, with most of the dining tables spread over an open space past the low fence enclosing the area of the restaurant. I suppose the cooking is done within the small building to the side of the restaurant. The tables and chairs are purposeful rather than decorative, but I know that sometimes a simple, humble place can serve better food than fancy ones. With Hisyam’s phone number saved inside my phone, Jimin and I take a seat at a table in the middle of the place. It has barely gotten dark, but more than half of the tables are already occupied by people who look to be locals. A good sign.

Thankfully the restaurant is well-staffed, and in less than five minutes, we’ve gotten our order in. “Smells good,” Jimin comments hungrily, eyeing the plates on the tables around us. I grin and stop myself from teasing him with the old ‘I told you so’ before I actually try the food. It arrives quickly, although I’m not sure if it’s soon enough for Jimin, who starts to dig in without even waiting for me. “Mmm!” His smiley eyes widen, with an extra twinkle as he swallows the char kuey teow.

If my reaction upon tasting it didn’t mirror his so much, I would have laughed at him. However, our driver’s recommendation has given us a great start to our trip – the char kuey teow tastes much better than I expected. Strips of rice noodles that look like a very thick piece of paper that had gone through a coarse shredder are coated with sauce. This dark sauce isn’t paste-like, yet not runny, either. It’s rich; probably infused with the flavours of the prawns and cockles that accompany the dish. The noodles slide down my throat easily, but chives and bean sprouts mixed in provides a contrasting, crunchy texture.

Our silence during the meal says everything about it. Neither of us are interested in talking; we’re too busy enjoying the food. Only after I finish the last bite do I come up for air to confirm what I already know. “How was it?” But Jimin can’t hear me with his body twisted away in his plastic chair. Even if he could, he’s too concentrated in his effort to attract the attention of one of the waitresses to pay me any heed.

Once the young girl has acknowledged Jimin’s call, he turns back to me. “I’m ordering another one. Do you want anything?”

Looks like Jimin had definitely enjoyed his meal. I did too, but my appetite is nowhere as big as his, so I add another order of milk tea to drink while I wait for him to finish his second plate. Less than half an hour later, we’re back with Hisyam, who is happy that his suggestion is getting rave reviews. “Your hotel is in the center of Georgetown, so it will take about thirty minutes to get there,” he informs us, explaining that Georgetown is in the northern part of the island, while the airport is somewhere down south. The three-story building that he points out sits at the end of the block, and he turns from the main road into a smaller one to let us off. He looks at the hotel in approval. “You chose a good place to stay,” he comments. “The last tourist couple I drove booked a famous hotel, but they didn’t know that it’s known for being haunted.” The corners of his lips twitch while his eyebrows scrunch in the middle, as if he still isn’t sure whether to laugh or sympathise with the poor people’s misfortune. “It broke my heart to tell them.”

“Oooooh, which hotel is it?” Pretty sure that I didn’t come across this morsel of information when I was searching for hotels to stay in, I wanted to know. However, Jimin protests, saying that he’d like to get some sleep tonight. He’s already going to sleep in an unfamiliar bed, and hearing a ghost story just before that is not going to help him sleep easier. Hisyam and I whisper conspiratorially, arranging for a private story time via message while Jimin unloads our bags from the trunk of the car.

Unfortunately for Jimin, this isn’t going to be our first disagreement for tonight. Not ten minutes later we’re standing at the front desk, arguing over sleeping arrangements while the staff looks on patiently. “I should get my own room,” Jimin insists again, his tone riding the line between firm and incredulous at my disagreement.

“Why should we?” This is not the first time I’ve said these words in the last few minutes either, but I’m unwilling to back down. “The room is huge, and,” grabbing his arm to turn him away from the listening employee, “it’s really expensive.”

“I just won’t take a suite, then,” Jimin says with finality, accompanied by an eye roll.

Truly upset now, I let my lower lip jut out in an infuriated pout. “Even a normal room is expensive, and our rooms won’t be close to each other’s, then,” I inform him. “Is sharing a room with me really that bad? I thought it would be fun. Plus, I already feel bad enough for making you come here with me without having you spend even more.” Even though I know that Jimin can easily afford whichever room he wants, even the suite that Se Hoon and I had decided to splurge on to enjoy together, I’m not exactly sure why I want Jimin to share a room with me so much. The reasoning that I’ve given him are all true. Having him spend so much money, on top of messing up his work schedule to go on an impromptu trip with me makes me feel really guilty, even if he’d done it on his own accord. I just hope that’s the main reason I’m so adamant that we share the suite, more so than the fear of having my crippling insecurity issues creeping up on me alone in the room I was supposed to share with Se Hoon.

Since Jimin and I have had sleepovers when we were kids and had even shared a tent when we went camping with friends in high school, I didn’t think he would mind. So when he’d neglected to ask which hotel we would be staying in, I didn’t bother to book another room. In hindsight, perhaps it was just an oversight on his part. He did only have less than twenty-four hours to prepare to go overseas, after all. However, if he’s this against sharing a room with me, perhaps he does feel uncomfortable about it. Sighing, I decide internally that forcing him to share when he isn’t willing would eat at my conscience even more, so I face the staff again as my hand reaches inside my bag, rummaging for my purse. “Could you give us another room? As close to mine as possible, please.”

“Fine, fine, let’s share.” This isn’t the effect that I had intended – I’m fully prepared to pay for his room – but surprisingly, this made him finally give in. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I minded.” Now that Jimin has agreed, I find myself at odds, feeling like I’d coerced him into saying yes. “Are you sure you don’t mind? I could just get another room if you really don’t want to share.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Nah, I just thought you’d feel awkward since you’re supposed to be here with Se Hoon. Are you sure he won’t mind?”

Oh. So that’s why Jimin had put up such a fight. The realisation makes me feel a little disappointed. I guess I’m a fool for expecting something else. Jimin had never been attracted to me, after all. Why would he care about sharing a room, other than concern over causing trouble in my relationship? If only he knew that he’s worrying about a nonexistent problem. “I’m sure. No worries.” Funnily enough, Se Hoon had been the one sharing his bed with another woman while we were still a couple, not me.

“I guess he thinks I’m a robot, too.”

“What?” I’m in the middle of confirming with the now-thoroughly-confused man at the front desk that we’re definitely not adding any extra rooms to our booking, so I’m not sure if I heard Jimin’s mumblings right.

“Nothing.” He dismisses me, taking our luggage and wheeling them towards the lift, leaving me behind to take the room key.

“Hey, wait! Oi!”

“Here are your room keys,” the young man at the front desk calls for my attention, and I turn around to take the two sets of cards from him. His, “I hope you enjoy your trip,” sounds more heartfelt rather than obligatory, sending embarrassed heat to my face. He’d obviously gathered that things are not hunky-dory between his guests… wait, he probably thinks we’re a bickering couple. At first I open my mouth, automatically about to launch into my go-to explanation that we’re friends, not a couple like I usually do back home, then I close it. There’s no longer a boyfriend who might find out that someone thinks that Jimin and I are in a relationship, and Jimin, that jerk, went ahead without me so he didn’t hear it. What’s the point of clarifying such a trivial thing to a stranger in a foreign land that I probably won’t ever see again anyway?

“Thanks.” Still slightly sheepish over our argument in front of the man, I quickly scatter away towards the lift. “Thanks for waiting,” I repeat the sentiment – but this time in a very different intonation that borders on the churlish – towards Jimin when I reach his side.

“Mm.” His non-committal reply doesn’t indicate whether he missed the sarcasm in my greeting or heard but doesn’t care to respond. It does nothing to improve my mood. I narrow my eyes at him, but he carefully avoids my glare, instead pressing the button to summon the lift, then keeping his gaze locked on the red digits changing from 2 to G. His reaction jolts me away from the displeasure I’d felt when he’d left the counter without me, back to the root of our argument. Uncertainty and guilt replace my ebbing anger.

“Sorry that you had to come all the way here to keep me company,” I begin my apology by addressing the sacrifice he’d made for me. “If it really bothers you, I don’t mind taking two rooms. I’ll pay for it. It’s the least I can do, after all.”

The lift doors open just then, and Jimin goes in without acknowledging my words, dragging both our luggage with him. I follow in and press the first-floor button. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not about to push it any further. I’ve said my piece. Of course, I’m still upset, but Jimin can be scary when he��s truly angry, and I’m not in the mood to deal with that right now. Not that I ever actually want to take on an incensed Jimin. But then, the lift has barely moved when he shifts to face me, his features not quite frowning, but nowhere near friendly, either. “Do you really not care about sharing a room with me? Se Hoon as well?”

“Yes, really.” Well, I really prefer it that way. Se Hoon doesn’t have a say in it, but there’s no reason to tell Jimin that. “No sense wasting money on another room when we’ll only use it to sleep, anyway.”

“You booked an expensive suite in a nice hotel just to sleep?” If I were still with Se Hoon, Jimin’s pointed question would have made me blush. However, all it made me think about is how Se Hoon fucked another woman two days before our vacation. There’s no doubt that there were other incidents before that that I’m not privy to. My blood boils at the thought.

“Well, right now I’d rather get herpes than touch him.” I reply acidly. Jimin might have done a lot for me, especially since I broke up with Se Hoon, but there’s just so much my self-beating, bruised heart can take. This time Jimin is the one doing the following, walking just behind me down the corridor until we reach the door to the suite. Holding the key cards up, I ask him one last time, “Are you sure about this? There’s still a chance to get another room.”

“No need, since you’re so sure,” his reply is slightly curt, but has lost most of the venom. I belatedly realise that he thinks I’m furious with Se Hoon for bailing out because of work, which must have had him softening towards me again. In reality, I’m far more pitiful than that, but I’ll take what I can get. Under his breath, Jimin mumbles again, “I’ll be sure to conduct myself like the saint you both think I am.”

The light musical notes of the door unlocking mask Jimin’s murmuring, so I only register his earlier response, taking it as a reconciliation. Opening the heavy wooden door, I fumble the adjacent wall for a switch, and upon turning it on, white light bathes the space to reward us with a very welcome sight. The entrance stretches and opens up to a spacious living room, decorated with black wooden furniture enhanced by splashes of red – small red cushions and red drawers. Simple white walls provide a nice contrast to the beautiful dark, polished timber floor. While I was looking for a place to stay while we’re here, I had seen some photos of the room, but seeing it in front of my own eyes is just breathtaking. From behind me, the sound of Jimin’s long inhale is audible as he takes it all in with completely fresh eyes.

Excited, I bounce further in towards the bedroom. On my left is a wooden door matching the ones I’ve walked through so far. The walls sandwiching it are also wooden with carvings, but the whole expanse is covered with glass. A peek through it reveals the bathroom, complete with a jacuzzi tub that had been promised in the hotel website in addition to a shower cubicle. The bedroom itself is as beautifully decorated as the living room. Majestic four-poster king-sized bed dominates the center of the room, matching the ornate tables and wardrobe well. Sliding glass doors lead to the balcony, and a large stained-glass window on the other side of the bathroom facing the bed completes the luxurious room.

“I’d be happy to just hang out here until the end of the trip,” Jimin comments in awe as he enters the room.

“I know,” I agree breathily, then compose myself before sending him a firm look. “But there’s food to be eaten.”

My honest statement invokes a helpless laughter from Jimin. “You’re not even pretending that you want to see the sights!” Just like that, all the animosity from before melts away completely. Jimin’s giggles must be infused with magic, drawing out a grin from me effortlessly every single time.

Finally, we collapse on the bed – Jimin resting completely on the left side of the bed, while I lay down partially on the side closest to the balcony with my lower legs dangling over the foot of the bed. If I let myself lay down properly, I know that it’s just a matter of time before I’m knocked out cold from the exhaustion of the journey. A bath in the tub sounds really nice, but it’s too much of a hassle for me now. I just want to sleep; but not with the day’s journey sticking to my body. After some time resting my tired muscles, I let out a loud groan and pull myself up. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Mm.” From the way Jimin lazily acknowledges my announcement, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already sleep-talking.

“Do you want to take one too, or are you just going to stink up the bed the whole night?” Poking the sole of his right foot sharply with my finger, I try to verify this with him before I lose him to sleep completely.

“Mmph.” This time he rubs his face against his pillow, perhaps in an attempt to give a more intelligible answer that fails. Opening up his eyes a crack, he asks, “Together?”

I’m not sure if he’s really lucid or not. But I refuse to let him – and myself – entertain the idea for even one minute. My honest answer isn’t good for the health of both my mental state and our friendship. “I’ll wake you up once I’m done.” Jimin responds with another vague hum that I take as a ‘yes’.

Just a little over twelve hours later, I’m sorely wishing for a nice soak in the jacuzzi tub, followed by a nice afternoon just chilling in the hotel room being blasted by the air conditioner. Jimin echoes my innermost thoughts, as if he can read them; “I swear I must have sweat out all the water in my body,” he complains. “Why did you choose such a hot place to go for a holiday? Don’t people run to cool places in the summer?”

“I think it’s the opposite,” I muse out loud. “People go to hot places to escape the bitter winter.” Right now, the freezing winter sounds good to me. It’s slightly past noon and the sun, which has been slowly creeping up on us since about an hour ago, has become downright menacing. Mentally I congratulate myself on forcing an early start this morning, despite both of us being too lazy to get up several hours earlier. The sky had just been kissed by the sun when we set out from the hotel, using the app to get another driver to bring us to Beach Street.

Despite the name, the street is a few blocks away from the jetty. We started our Penang street art hunt here. The UNESCO World Heritage Site is home to numerous street arts, painted by international and local artists. From what I’ve read, there are some very popular pieces that still survive thanks to restoration, but the art scene changes frequently as the old murals fade with time and new ones take the spotlight. Thankfully, the ones I’ve really taken a liking to haven’t disappeared. An early start gives us some advantages – not having to compete with other people for photos, and most importantly, cool weather for a pleasant walk.

Trusty digital SLR in hand, Jimin and I enjoyed searching for the murals, snapping pictures with them as trophies. To my delight – and Jimin’s amusement – many of these artworks on the wall are interactive. The bicycle that a pair of painted siblings ride on is an actual bicycle that you can sit on, similar to the swings a bit of distance away. Jimin declared that the painting of a realistic little boy walking a very-cartoonish dinosaur as his favourite, until he finds out that the artist, Ernest Zacharevic later made a series of paintings he called the ‘101 Lost Kittens’ project. Whilst indulging him in his renewed vigour to find all the lost cats, I noticed that the street art isn’t all that the capital of the island, George Town, has to offer. Narrow streets snake around terraced store fronts and as the morning aged, some of them started to open. Most of them look old, but many retain an interesting charm unique to each one, be it tiles with beautiful patterns covering the doorstep of the store, or windows and doors carved in cultural patterns that hide a rich history that I’m not privy to.

Dotted between these cramped stores are various eateries, cafes, bakeries and bars, many whimsically decorated, just waiting to surprise us as if saying ‘peek-a-boo’! It wasn't long before our stomachs were rumbling, and we chose our breakfast stop. We managed to get roti canai, a flatbread eaten with curry, which was one of my goals for this trip. Jimin tsk-tsked upon hearing that my goals are food instead of attractions, but even he was mesmerised by the sight of the cook twirling the bread dough expertly in the air. “Okay, this is good,” he relents after taking a bite of the savoury bread.

After filling ourselves up, we resume the search for Jimin’s kittens, but I don’t think we managed to get even halfway before we’re reminded that Malaysia is a country that has sunny and rainy days instead of four seasons. And today is definitely sunny. My trusty cap might be protecting my face, but it’s not doing much against the unforgiving heat. “Korea isn’t this hot, even in the summer,” Jimin insists.

“It’s more humid here,” I explain as my eyes rove about the walls, looking for cat paintings. The grey cat surrounded by red fortune cats has been my favourite so far, but Jimin got more excited about the giant depiction of Skippy, the orange cat.

“How come real cats don’t come in this size?” One would think that Jimin’s wish was an adorable one, but I imagined if it came true, and was horrified at the thought.

“They would eat us whole!” Terrified, I eyed the painting up and down, trying to gauge its size. It must be twice as tall as I am. “It would be worse than a tiger!”

Jimin had laughed at my seriousness, but it isn’t long before I’m ready to call it quits, and he’s right behind me. “Summers are probably more bearable in Korea because we’re in the air conditioning most of the time, while we’ve been out in the sun all morning here.” As if granting my wish, I spy blinds hung over a shop with white lettering written across it. A peek underneath tells me that this is probably a café, since I see wooden stools and tables taking up the storefront space. Without hesitation, I grab Jimin’s arm and lead him towards it. I don’t know what sort of store it is, but I know I could use some shade right now.

It turns out that it really is a café, thankfully. Jimin doesn’t need much persuading to agree on grabbing a bite to eat; it’s lunchtime anyway. We snap up some seats inside, where the air conditioning graces us with its mercy. The menu quickly tells us that this place specialises in bagels. Our bagels are perfectly toasty and crunchy after being reheated over a wood fire in an oven, and I take complete delight in the sour kiwi slices coated in honey topping yogurt in an adorable glass jar. Since I don’t eat as much as Jimin, I opt for a lighter salmon and cream cheese bagel. Although I’m doubtful of the bagel’s ability to satisfy Jimin’s appetite, he insists that the bacon and egg served with his bagel is enough to tide him over.

As Jimin inhales his food, then orders more after giving me a sheepish shrug, my attention keeps straying to one corner of the eatery where I watch a group of young girls snapping pictures amidst raucous laughter. Grabbing the opportunity to catch Jimin’s attention when he looks up from his plate, I gesture towards the corner with my chin. “Look, look. We have to take a picture there.”

By the time we’re done, the girls have gone, so I pick up a piece of white chalk on a nearby table to write on the small chalkboard they’d left behind. “Name… Park Jimin.” The texture of the chalk isn’t pleasant to my skin, but I ignore it to fill in Jimin’s height and the date, chuckling when I think about what to write in the last space. “Charge… laughing too much.”

“What?” My best friend states his incredulity as he lets loose the same charming laughter that I’m charging him with. “Laughter brings joy to the world! How could that be a crime?”

“Shh,” I ignore his weak protests, shoving the board into his hands and nudging him against the wall. He guffaws as I lift up my camera and snap pictures of him against a lineup board to take his mugshot. He then declares that he’s good to go for another search for the lost kitties. But it has been a long day, and with our energy already been sapped by yesterday’s journey, the afternoon is spent in more leisurely walks instead, with Jimin quietly indulging my sweet tooth by popping into trendy and yummy cafes instead of religiously keeping an eye out for more murals. I silently appreciate his thoughtfulness but don’t comment on it, knowing that it’ll give him a golden opportunity to tease me for eating so many sweets. Of course, it might just be him wanting to escape the heat without admitting it, even though the sun’s power seems to have diminished as it slips to the west. Yeah, that must be it, I think to myself, refusing to read more into it.

We’ve just exited another café, the bitter taste of coffee tampered by milk and sugar still lingering on our tongues, when Jimin points out something unfamiliar on the road. “Look, what’s that?” It’s a small cart, just big enough so that two people can sit on the seat underneath a grey shade. Behind it is a bicycle with one wheel, attached to the cart to drive the small cart with two more wheels on its side – like a tricycle – forward. I’ve never seen one in Korea, but I do know that this is a mode of transport in several Asian countries.

“It’s a rickshaw,” I tell him, miraculously pulling the name from my memory.

“Huh.” Jimin eyes it with interest. It doesn’t take a genius to see where this is going. “Wanna try riding it?”

At this point, we don’t even know where we are. It has thankfully cooled down now that it’s late afternoon, but my feet are weary from walking so much. Still… My eyes move from the empty cart, where the two of us can sit comfortably and give our feet much needed rest, towards the back, where the driver is sitting. “It would be nice to support his livelihood, but I’d feel bad asking him to bring us around.” I turn to Jimin, unthinkingly placing my heart in my eyes as I entreat him to reconsider.

Taking in the thin, old man resting his forearms on the bicycle handles as he waits for the traffic light to change, Jimin nods his agreement. “You’re right, I can’t in good conscience hire a man at least twice my age to do that.”

So it’s with mixed feelings that I open the map on my phone to determine where we are. When the phone loads, I sigh with relief. We’ve somehow walked all over Georgetown to end up almost next to our next destination, Chowrasta Market, which is in turn a mere 5-minute walk from our hotel. The large three-storey building looks ordinary from afar, but when we get closer, my eyes widen at the selection of goods in the shops on the ground floor. “Oooh.” Lines and lines of pickled fruits and local titbits remind me of some of the stalls in Korean markets. The vibrant colours of the pickled fruits match the packaging of the snacks, making me go crazy trying to decide what to buy.

Sensing that a lot of time is about to be spent choosing snacks, followed by a lot of money traded, leading to him carrying a lot of things, Jimin interjects. “Why don’t we check out the other floors first? That way we don’t have to carry our purchases everywhere.”

“Okay,” I agree readily, but also absent-mindedly, and he has to take me by the hand to lead me further in towards the escalator. The first floor of the market is nowhere near as exciting as the ground floor to me at first glance. There are some clothing stores, which don’t manage to catch mine or Jimin’s interest. However, as we walk towards the back of the building, a familiar musty smell greets my nose, putting me on alert. Even as we walk in its direction, I start to lean forward, trying to get a good look as soon as I can. “Are those… books?”  

They really are. Several tiny stores filled to the brim with second-hand books – so many that we can barely walk between the shelves. Some people may find the air stale and stuffy, but I see it as staunch, ancient guardians protecting hidden treasures. And some of the books are real treasures; with the help of the shopkeepers, we unearth books in every topic under the sun, some of them a little worse for wear, but the newer releases – like the Harry Potter series – look practically brand new. I don’t find any books in Korean, which isn’t surprising, but I do discover a first edition of a title in the Lord of the Rings series. It isn’t in the best condition, sadly, but it makes me wonder what else I could find had I had the time to thoroughly comb the enormous collection of books. We barely made a scratch before Jimin cautions me against bringing home too many things.

Since I know I won’t be able to decide which book to buy, I decide to not get anything. Pangs of regret echo silently within me as we leave, but then I remember that a plethora of food stalls are supposed to line the few streets next to the market. Picking myself up, I grab Jimin’s arms with an excited grin. “Hey, why don’t we walk a bit more to the food stalls?”

“More walking?” Jimin despairs at the thought.

“It’s just a block or two from here.” As we go down the escalator, I pull him towards the exit by his arm, boding no arguments.

“What about the snacks you wanted to buy?” Digging his heels in, Jimin gestures towards the goods in the small shops we’re passing by, desperately attempting to keep further steps at a minimum.

Sadly for him, I already have a plan of action in mind, and there’s nothing he can do to dissuade me. Shaking my head, I explain to him the logical steps that we should take. “We’ll be passing by this place again on our way back to the hotel. We can buy them then.” As an answer to Jimin’s subsequent whine of protest, I tell him, “Shopping on an empty stomach will make you buy more than you should. So we need to get some sustenance before we buy these.”

Jimin may be following my lead out of the market and opposite the direction we came from prior to arriving at the market, but his mouth isn’t about to admit defeat so easily. “How can your stomach still be empty after eating so many sweets??”

It doesn’t alleviate his disbelief when he’s informed that I’m looking for one stall in particular – a famous cendol stall. When his question of “What is that?” is met with my answer of “It’s a local dessert,” he scoffs in incredulity.

However, as soon as we cross to the next block, both Jimin and I are easily distracted by the shops lining the ground floor. At first the t-shirts with Penang’s attractions, including the murals printed on them as well as the colourful clothes draw our attention. As I start to thumb through some trousers with unusual prints hanging on a rack, Jimin ventures inside the shop then quickly calls me over. I suppress a groan. The shops, with their open fronts, are not air-conditioned, and while the temperature has become much more bearable now that the sun is starting to set, I’d rather stay where the wind isn’t just coming from the fans affixed to the walls. But it is worth it. Even though it’s just your typical souvenir – magnets, miniatures of the country’s famous buildings, and other memorabilia – for me it shows what the country’s people are most proud of. An insight to the people’s minds.

There are also bags and purses of different sizes, some bearing similar patterns to the clothes, while some are woven. “Is this what you want, of all things?” Having Jimin’s heavy arm suddenly drop around my shoulder as I examine a beige bag with red square markings makes me grunt and sag a little.

“What’s wrong with wanting this?” To be honest, I don’t actually plan to buy it, but now I’m tempted to, just to be contrary. Jimin really brings out the childish part of me sometimes; a side that I feel is too immature to show others. My head swivels around to stick my tongue out at him for good measure, but then I notice how close his face is to mine. I can just move my head forward a little and kiss him. Alarmed that this thought is the first that comes to mind, I look back down at the bag so quickly I get whiplash.

Jimin doesn’t seem to notice my reaction to his extremely close proximity, because I can feel him shrug nonchalantly at my verbal response. “Mmm, well, if you like it that much, I won’t stop you.” He ruffles my hair affectionately, earning an angrier “Hey!” than I would have normally given him had I not been so flustered, before I saunter back towards the entrance of the shop, right towards the pants that I’d been browsing when he first called me in.

Sensing a possible sale, or, in hindsight, an opportunity to play the responsible cupid, the shopkeeper who has been watching our shenanigans quietly all this while sidles up to me. “That is a good choice, miss. You should ask your boyfriend to buy it for you.” The woman is very young; probably a few years younger than I am, and her speech sounds a little different than Hisyam’s. I sense that she isn’t as fluent as our driver the night before. However, I can understand her perfectly well, and that’s all that matters.

Or perhaps it would have been better if I couldn’t catch her words, because they made me even more agitated. But before I can tell her that Jimin and I are not a couple, she grins brightly and takes my hand in hers, pressing something small into it. “Here, I’ll give you this. Stay safe!”

Curious, I open my hand to see what she has given me accompanied by that suspicious, conspiratorial look. Eyes widening with surprise and hackles raised, I panic; “No no! You–“

“What’s going on?” Jimin walks over, making me shriek in horror and push the condom back into the shopkeeper’s hands then cover them with the bag I’m holding. I’m not sure why I’m so perturbed. It’s not as if I’m the one suggesting that Jimin and I have sex, but damn it, I want to. And I’m deathly afraid that my best friend would somehow figure out my secret, inappropriate desire.

But of course, my startled and over the top reaction only serves to drum up Jimin’s interest. “What are you hiding there?” It isn’t difficult for him to push my hands – and the bag, my only saving grace – away and uncover the little ‘gift’ that the owner thought she’d thoughtfully given to me. What is up with her, anyway?! I thought this is a conservative country! Looking back towards the winking shopkeeper, I decided that she must be a really forward woman, or a foreigner, despite not knowing enough to tell. Either way, the cat’s out of the bag now that Jimin has seen it. Blinking several times blankly at the small packet, Jimin then looks quizzically at me, cocking an eyebrow.

“Oh God.” My mortified groan is muffled by the bag that I’d stuffed my head into, unable to bear the embarrassment.

Needless to say, we don’t buy anything from the shop. The steps we take forward are sluggish and unsteady, just like my emotions. Although Jimin had laughed it off as he’d simply told the shopkeeper that we’re all good the whole time he’d dragged me out of the small shop, his silence now clues me in on the awkwardness that he’s feeling, too. After the row we’d had the night before, I really don’t want this to go on. Must keep my feelings hidden. How hard can it be, right? I’ve done it all these years. No one had ever questioned my friendship with Jimin, so it must have looked easy on the outside. I hope no one would ever find out how torn and beat up I am on the inside.

“Sorry about that,” I broach the incident carefully, wanting to put it behind us instead of making it worse. “She suddenly shoved the… it into my hand.”

“Ah, no worries.” Scratching his head like it doesn’t matter to him, Jimin smiles, but he doesn’t quite look me in the eye. “She must have been desperate to make a sale.”

“That must have been the weirdest tactic I’ve ever seen.” I roll my eyes with a chuckle. Good. This may have started out forced, but it’s sounding more natural to my ears now. Just ignore that the woman had thought that Jimin and I are a couple, and more importantly, how much I want it to be true. We’re really close friends, it’s normal that strangers would think that we’re more than that. Just laugh it off and things will go back to normal. They always do.

Shrugging, Jimin tries to give her some credit. “At least it’s a fresh approach!”

I start to shake my head, but we reach the other end of the building, greeted by the sight of a long line running along the side of the next block, starting at a small, humble stall. “There it is!” I exclaim in excitement, recognising it instantly from the photos I’ve seen online. Jimin’s grunt when I grab his arm to join the line goes ignored, but he doesn’t complain once we’re there, even though I can’t even see the stall from where we’re standing.

Thankfully, the line moves up pretty rapidly. Once we approach the stall, we see why; the green droplet jellies and red beans are already laid out and ready to be scooped into the small bowl with the white coconut milk and brown syrup. The only wait time is caused by the man making shaved ice from the initial blocks with a green machine that takes up almost half their workspace. There isn’t much allowance for chairs and tables by the roadside, so after paying, Jimin and I join the other customers in standing while downing our sweet treat.

“This is sooooo good.” My compliment is backed up by my tilting the remnants of the bowl into my mouth.

“Want to get one more?” Jimin says gamely, and I grin at the offer. Obviously he’d enjoyed it as well, but I shake my head.

“I’d love to, but there are more treats for us to try,” I explain, motioning with my chin away from the direction of the cendol queue. Sure enough, just walking down the road has us stopping every hundred meters or so to check out what this stall or that restaurant had to offer. And not just the local cuisine either! We even come across a Harry Potter café that serves more than just Butterbeer. Penangites sure love their trendy cafes.

It isn’t surprising to hear a local complain over the prices of some of these delectable goodies though. “This much for sotong kangkong?!” A woman about my age gasps after paying the waitress for two plates of some squid dish. I simply listen to her talk to her friends one table away as we skewer our own squid and water spinach, enriched by the dark, savoury sauce that has my taste buds dancing with joy.

Jimin, who is eavesdropping on their conversation too, remarks amusedly, “Looks like we got conned.”

“Not surprising. This place is well known after all. I’m sure they marked up the price since tourists come here a lot,” I muse, unbothered but interested. “It would be nice to have a local show us the good and cheap places. I’m sure there are many that are unknown to us tourists.”

“Hmm,” Jimin hums thoughtfully, but doesn’t say anything else. For a few moments, I watch him in silence, waiting for him to express his train of thought out loud, but he doesn’t continue. By the time we start making our way back to the hotel, we’re so full that the walk is more than welcome. Not as welcome as the stop we make at the Chowrasta Market to buy some snacks – for souvenirs, but I admit to Jimin honestly that I can’t promise that at least half of them might be gone by the time we’re going back to Korea.

The food coma that we fall victim to continues into the late morning the next day, but it’s very well worth it. Both of us sleep so soundly that even the blazing glare of the sun can only make me moan tiredly, trying to shuffle into a better position to continue my slumber. Which is when I come to a realisation that jolts me wide awake.

Jimin’s arms and legs are wrapped around me.

No wonder I feel so snug and warm. It isn’t just all the food breaking down in my stomach. Jimin has hugged me on countless occasions before, but this feels different. More like what a couple would do, while I’ve always thought of our hugs as friendly. Or perhaps I force myself to think that way. I would use all my willpower to make myself pretend that this is the same as well, just for self-preservation. He’s just cuddling me in his sleep after all. It’s not like it’s intentional. Right?

I might have convinced myself, if I didn’t feel a definite, insistent hardness pressing against my butt. Yes, even that is unintentional I’m sure, but my dumb body can’t help reacting to it. Closing my eyes, I stifle another moan – not a sleepy one this time – as I feel how wet I’ve already become in reaction to him.

Against my better judgement, I arch my back, leaning forward and shuffling as subtly as I can into a better position. Tingles that spark like tiny electric shocks when my covered slit comes into contact with Jimin’s clothed morning wood has me stifling a wanton sound of pleasure. I’m not sure if he’s fully hard, but he feels like a good size. Any size would be good, as long as it’s Jimin. My hips rock back and forth, years of depravity leaving me utterly shameless. Unthinking about how wrong it is to take advantage of my unassuming best friend while he’s asleep.

My right hand dives down past the waistband of my shorts and into my panties, seeking the nub that would multiply the pleasure. “Hnn,” I bite my lower lip in an attempt to stop any further sounds from spilling past, while letting my eyelids flutter shut. The better to enjoy this — it is no longer a fantasy I indulge myself in when I’m pleasuring myself. If only I could have more. Deft fingers toy with my clit as I rub my pussy faster against Jimin’s cock. It’s undoubtedly growing bigger. It almost feels like it wants to pierce through the fabric separating us. Even though I’m really just dry humping him, moving by myself, it already feels incredible. What I wouldn’t give to have it inside me, giving my weeping pussy just what it’s craving. If only these fingers were his; flicking the stiffened bud while whispering in my ear, telling me to come for him...

As if answering my obscene prayers, a deep groan from behind startles me into a frozen statue. Belatedly realising the gravity of my actions, I yank my arm up and out of my shorts. Shit, what the hell am I doing??? However, taking a look at my hand; fingers soaked with my arousal, flowing all the way to my wrist, I have to gulp down another wave of desire. No, this is just too risky.

Heart beating deafeningly in my chest, I stay deathly still for a minute or two, hoping that Jimin hasn’t awoken and realised what I was up to. If he has, I don’t even know how to explain myself to him. Hell, I don’t even know how to explain myself to myself. Thankfully, he seems to be in a deep sleep. Even luckier for me, he just loosens his hold on me, turning onto his back with a deep sigh. Like a rabbit sprung free from a trap, I scoot out of the bed as fast as I can without waking him up. Once I climb off the bed, I spin around to look at him, making sure that he really is asleep. His face is positively angelic in his slumber. It would be painful for me to look at it if it wasn’t such a contrast to the tent that his hard-on is making out of the pristine white sheets. Sheets that would no longer remain unsoiled if only he had any interest in having his way with me. They would turn near transparent – if I’m already this wet from brushing against him and touching myself, what state would I be in if Jimin is the one touching me? If he’s the one rubbing against my clit frantically? If there was nothing separating us, if he’s actually inside me, stroking my inner walls with his hard cock? The beddings will be soaked through.

These traitorous thoughts make me whine out loud without thinking. The way I’m looking at him now is no way someone would look at a best friend. No; as much as I’ve convinced myself that I’ve been keeping my emotions in check, I haven’t been looking at Jimin as just a friend for a very long time.

And if he wakes up to find me drooling and mewling for him, there won’t be hiding it any longer. His breathing isn’t the long, calm ones of one in deep slumber. He could wake up anytime. So I hasten to the bathroom, willing my eyes not to stray towards his obvious yet unintentional arousal.

After swiftly divesting myself of my clothes, I hop into the shower, blasting it on full force. Two seconds later, I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from screeching and cursing at the temperature of the water. Somehow I’d managed not only to set it on full force, I had turned it on at the hottest temperature as well.

The cold shower I give myself after hurriedly changing the settings doesn’t do much to clear my mind. My body is crying from rebuffed desire. Clearly this sharing-a-room thing isn’t working out in my favour.

As a compromise to my physical needs that allows most of my pride to remain intact, I turn off the shower and get into the bathtub instead. Reaching for the hose, once again I turn it on full force, but this time only after checking the temperature. Uncaring if it’s shameless to do this when my best friend is asleep on the opposite side of the wall, I open my legs and direct the head between them. The intense pressure of the water hitting my pussy awards me with immediate relief from my pent-up frustration, immediately followed by building pleasure that had been denied from me in the bed just now. Keeping the steady jet continuously hitting my sensitive nub with my left hand, I reach down with my right to trace my slit. It’s completely drenched, and I know that it’s not all from the water coming out of the faucet.

My middle and index fingers slip past my entrance easily. Scooting down the tub to get into a better, lower position with only the upper half of my torso resting against the wall of the tub, I begin to move my fingers in and out of my warm depths. Pretending that it’s Jimin’s cock that I’d felt against my pussy, the memory still fresh, I burn the sensation inside my mind to last me for all time. Soon I’m panting and moaning, though still of sound enough mind to be careful not to utter his name out loud, but unable to stop the aroused sighs that fall out of my mouth at the thought of him doing all of this to me, and more.

The fantasy brings me to a climax in record time with a loud cry that I hope is masked by the sound of running water and thick stained glass. Just in case Jimin is awake, I try to clean myself up as fast as I can. If I’m lucky, maybe he’d still be asleep.

When I step out of the bathroom, he’s still on the four-poster, turned onto his side with his back facing me once more. However, I can see movement underneath the sheets that tells me that he is no longer asleep. Is he… masturbating? Even though it’s covered, I can see his right arm moving rapidly, almost desperately. His breathing is unsteady, just like mine was right before in the bathtub.

A part of me that must be sick and perverted wants to watch him. I stand rooted on the spot with my hand on the doorknob, fascinated, longing to see him pleasure himself. Dying to help him do it. Already my center is reacting again. I’m so ready for him. I’ve been ready for him for so long.

But before I can rationalise continuing to watch my best friend masturbate like a total creep, unthinkingly I release my hand from the door of the bathroom, causing it to close shut with a sharp click. Jimin immediately stills, confirming to me that my suspicions were right. The sound also brings me back to my senses. What should I do now?

In the end, I opt for the safe option, the one that I’ve chosen over and over and over again. Striding past the bed, I greet him as normally as I can. “Hey, wake up, we’ve already wasted half a day just snoozing.”

I’m sure that Jimin is going for a sleepy grunt, but it came out sounding more like a horny groan than anything else to my ears. To keep things from becoming awkward, I pretend not to notice it. Instead, I open the wardrobe in the corner of the room, giving him a chance to hightail it to the bathroom with my back turned to him. He grabs the opportunity readily. As he showers, I dress quickly then let myself out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind me. It’s so much easier to tell myself that he hadn’t heard my shameless moans while I was inside the bathroom if I don’t hear him making them either.

Since he doesn’t comment on it, I assume that he either really didn’t hear me in the bathroom, or that he’d rather not say anything in case I saw him and return the favour. I’m more than happy to just pretend nothing had happened. Especially the fact that I used him to get myself off, although I’m pretty sure he’s oblivious to that. Otherwise I doubt he’d let me go on for as long as I did. Masturbating is something normal, he’d probably spare me the embarrassment even if he hadn’t been caught doing it himself. But using your best friend for your own orgasm is something else entirely.

So, with me neglecting to say anything about sorting out his morning wood – which is completely understandable – and him either not knowing that he wasn’t the only one who got off today, or choosing not to mortify me by saying that he does, the afternoon is spent in peace at Batu Feringghi. It doesn’t cost us much to get a driver to bring us to the long stretch of beach less than half an hour from Georgetown. Going there on a weekday means that we’re spared from the throng of people I’m sure would flock the tranquil strip of sand and sea on weekends. The salty wind is refreshing on my skin; perfect after a proper rest the night before.

Even more perfect than the breeze hitting my face and whipping through my hair is having Jimin by my side, leisurely walking in a more or less straight line marked by the water kissing the sand. We’re close enough that the gentle waves wash over our feet every few seconds, but not too deep into the sea that we’re wet past our ankles. I want to go on like this forever, strolling next to Jimin, feeling like a real couple.

It isn’t long before the blissful walk morphs into a food outing though, as it has always been on this trip, when we spot a stall further up the beach and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows as he asks me if I want to check the food out. He knows me well, so I can see how he immediately thought that’s what I wanted. However, this time, I’d really rather just spend some quality time with him. No words or anything else needed. Just basking in his presence, soaking in the happiness I feel simply by having him here with me. Once we get back to Seoul, we’ll get caught up in the flow of our own lives again. With people we know all around us, we will truly go back to being just best friends. He will get a girlfriend, and I’ll probably find another boyfriend to fill in the emptiness that can never be satiated by anyone other than Jimin. Is it wrong of me to want to continue this make-believe game of being his girlfriend a little bit longer, even if it’s only in my head?

Of course, it’s not as if I can tell Jimin any of this out loud. Plastering a smile on my face instead, I jokingly praise him, “Wow, when did you learn to read my mind?” and start off towards the stall ahead of him. His, “Oy, wait for me!” is met with laughter, but it rings hollow in my ears. I bounce and skip along, but it’s hard to do so and maintain a steady foothold on the ground thanks to the soft sand giving way underneath my feet. My body feels unbalanced, struggling to remain upright despite – or perhaps because – of the jolly movements I’m forcing upon myself, parallel to the emotions I’ve been keeping inside me for so long. Always on the verge of crumbling, threatening to fall into the unknown, even as I put up a front of being Jimin’s happy best friend.

Blinking back tears, I clear my throat as I stop in front of the stall to read the menu. “What is this?” Pointing to a foreign word on the small white board propped in front of me, I ask the young guy, barely a man, manning the stall as Jimin steps up next to me, bumping my shoulder on purpose.

“Oh, uhm…” he looks visibly flustered, eyes moving all over the separated goods on his workspace as he tries to find the words in English to answer my question. He must be taking care of this place for someone. He seems new and a little inexperienced with customers. I feel bad for him, but I still want an answer, so I wait patiently, flashing him an encouraging smile.

Jimin is quick to take pity on him. “Well, all that matters is that it tastes good, right?”

Given an out, the young man breathes a sigh of relief, obviously feeling more at ease. “Miss, pasembur is a mixture of all these things,” he makes a sweeping gesture towards the ingredients laid out on the table in front of him, “covered with peanut sauce. Can you handle a bit of spice?”

Placated by his effort to explain, I lean forward to look at the dry stuff he has sorted out in different containers. Some shredded cucumbers and turnips, bean sprouts, fried tofu and a fried pancake-looking thing that looks crispy. “Yeah, I love spicy food!”

The ingredients just need to be put together in a large plate, and soon Jimin and I are sitting at one of the tables propped up around the stall under a leafy tree. Both of us take the chairs on opposite sides, so we can enjoy the view of the sea as we sip our coconut juice straight from the fruit. Halfway through our afternoon snack, Jimin muses, “I wonder how much weight we’ve put on since we’ve been here?”

His question makes the mouthful I have in my mouth hard to swallow. “Ugh, must you think about that? We’re supposed to enjoy our holiday with no worries!” I wag my fork at him grumpily, reaching for a glass of ice I’d asked from the boy to wash down the food with the cool, melted water.

My chiding rolls off of him like water off a duck’s back. “If I’m going to continue going with you for more food after this, I’m gonna have to make some space,” he says playfully, getting up with a gesture towards the small building that houses restrooms a few hundred meters away.

“Ew!” After sending a chuckling Jimin off by flinging what’s left of the ice in my cup at him, I turn back to the remnants of our food. The peanut sauce is only mildly spicy, but still very enjoyable. We’ve found out that the fried pancake-like thing is actually prawn fritters, but I like the turnip the most. Coupled with the heavier peanut sauce, the juice that flows into my mouth when I bite the turnip provides a refreshing, contrasting taste that reinvigorates my senses. As I try to pick out the turnip strips among the few other toppings left over, a man I haven’t seen before pulls the stool next to mine.

Confused, I give the surroundings a quick glance before turning back to him. Only one other table is occupied. The rest are empty. Even while sitting, I can tell he’s taller than many Malaysians I’ve seen so far. He’s fair-skinned, and although he looks Asian, he doesn’t look quite like a Malaysian – I’ve seen many of the main three races of Malaysians; Malays, Chinese and Indians – and I’m no expert, but there’s something about him that tells me that he’s a tourist, too. “Excuse me, why are you sitting here?”

“So I can take a better look at you, cutes,” he responds arrogantly, turning me off in a split second. Trying to find someone to hook up with on his vacation, I suppose.

Frowning, I pointedly continue spearing one of the small nuggets of the pasembur with my fork, uncaring of what I choose to pop into my mouth in a show of blowing him off. “Well, I don’t care to look at you, so please leave.”

As expected, he’s not going to give up so easily. “I came over ‘cause you look really bored, sitting here alone by yourself. The name’s Charlie. Why don’t you come with me? My room is just over at that hotel,” he points towards one of the ritzy resorts by the beach, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction by looking at it. “I’ll show you a fun time.”

“No, tha–“ I start to turn him down again, but he grabs my hand, uninterested in my response.

“Hey! Ah, uhm…” Before I can put up a struggle to get myself free, we’re stopped by the boy taking care of the stall. From the way his words are coming up in short stutters, it’s clear that he’s scared out of his wits. Yet he’s still standing up to the much bigger man for my sake. “The miss has a boyfriend!”

“Eh?” Charlie looks from the boy to me, then scans the open space. “Where is he then?”

“Uh.” Great. What am I supposed to tell him now?

But before I can think of a reply, he shrugs indifferently. “Just ditch him, then.”

Again, I start to pull away from him, but this time it’s Jimin who stops us in our tracks. “What’s going on here?” His tone is light, but I can sense the undercurrent of what I’ve named the Angry Jimin; the quiet man who speaks in a soft voice, hiding a dangerous persona that can cut a person with one cold look. In all the years I’ve known him, I can probably count the number of times I’ve seen Jimin like this with the fingers on one hand, but the departure from the usual Jimin that I know is so drastic, there’s no mistaking it when he’s truly furious like this. Even though I know that I’m not in the wrong, he has me shaking in my flip-flops.

Charlie, on the other hand, does not recognise the cue signalling that he’s in hot water. “Who are you?��� Then, making the same assumption as the boy, “what, are you her boyfriend?”

Afraid of what Jimin might say and its consequences – not just about Charlie, but I selfishly can’t bear to hear him say that he’s not my boyfriend, either – I wrestle away from Charlie’s grip, rushing forward towards Jimin to link my arm around his. “Yeah, he’s my boyfriend.”

My unexpected move confuses Jimin, earning a bewildered expression from him, but Charlie doesn’t seem to care either way. “Tch. Look man, don’t be such a spoilsport. I just want to borrow her for a couple of hours. Or do you wanna come join us too? I hate sharing, but I’m sure we can find someone for you, too. If you don’t mind ‘em ugly,” he laughs nastily, reaching out for me again.

However, Jimin snaps out of his bafflement quickly, and snatches Charlie’s wrist in a firm grip before he can get his hand on me. “Do not touch her.” Jimin’s icy voice intimidates Charlie, I can tell, as the latter hesitates for a moment. But he waves away the warning.

“Aw, c’mon. I–aaaaaaargh!” Charlie’s flippant tone hikes up several notches as his knees buckle, attempting to wrench out of Jimin’s grip, which has tightened so much that his hand is starting to bend at an unnatural angle. Once he manages to get out of it, he backs up several large steps, staying clear out of Jimin’s reach. “What the fuck, man! I thought we were cool! If you’re going to be such a stick about it, you could’ve just said something!”

Now that his switch has been turned on, Jimin is in no mood for any tomfoolery. “I told you not to dare lay a hand on her. Now. Fuck Off.” His words still come out composed and almost unaffected, but his normally smiling eyes now have a malicious glint to them, and even Charlie has learnt his lesson.

We leave the place soon after he does, after I thank the boy for standing up for me. Both Jimin and I know where we’re heading to next; I told him our plans before we headed out a few hours earlier, and I think that we’re walking in the right general direction, but neither of us are checking if we’re going the right way. When the heart is lost, does it matter where the body goes? I’m not sure what’s going on with Jimin, though. He isn’t checking if we’re going the right way, and he doesn’t seem to care, either. I’d ask him what’s bothering him if I wasn’t so preoccupied myself. Having him protect me like that made me ecstatic, even though I was also scared back there. But the aftermath is excruciating. Having him act like he’s my boyfriend, as short-lived as it was, only makes it more painful to face reality. He will be that for another lucky girl, one day, forever. But that girl isn’t going to be me.

While I’m musing on the thoughts that I’ve been burying for ages and plan to do so until the end of time, Jimin isn’t planning on taking the same approach. I should never have worried about asking him what’s wrong – he’s going to address it himself without any prodding from me. “You could’ve just told that ass that your boyfriend is back at home.”

Frayed nerves and a permanently broken heart immediately fuel the ire that rises inside me at his comment. Is that really important? “Do you really think he would have left me alone if I’d said that? He was trying to take off with me even with you there,” I bite off bitterly.

Jimin sighs, unable to argue with the validity of my statement. “I guess that’s true. I just wish I didn’t have to pretend to be your boyfriend to chase him away.”

“Why, is the idea of being my boyfriend that horrible to you?” No, wrong thing to say. I shouldn’t lash out like this. I’m only inviting trouble. But I can’t stop. Jimin might have not done anything wrong, but I still can’t help being resentful towards him for this. I can’t stop hating myself for still being hung up over him. He might not have meant anything hurtful by it, right now and back then, but it doesn’t stop it from eating away at me, turning me into an ugly monster inside.

At least he has enough wits to recognise that he’d put his foot in his mouth. “No, I didn’t mean–“

“Just stop.” I don’t want to hear it. I can’t bear it. His meaning is crystal clear. It always has been. Jimin just doesn’t see me as anything more than a friend. However, if I hear the exact words, I don’t think I can handle it. All of me wants to run far from him, but I can’t do that without appearing even more suspicious than I am now. So I settle for increasing my walking speed just short of a run, surprising Jimin as I leave him behind to cross the road. The few seconds it takes for him to wait for the cars to pass and lengthen his strides to return to my side grants me a bit of time to furiously blink my tears away, clearing my throat. I hope he’d missed the way my voice cracked just now.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Jimin pulls me to the curb, holding me by the shoulder to face him. “You’ve been acting weird. I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just–“

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” I throw out fake words meant to reassure him, using my phone as an excuse not to look at him. “Just checking the direction for the night market.” My thumb shakes with the rest of me, making it difficult to type, but I will myself to make it steady. I can’t break down now. Not after all this time, in the middle of the road in a foreign country, no less.

“No, you’re not.” It isn’t the same Jimin that had dealt with Charlie earlier, but I can tell that I’m trying his patience. Still, I can’t tell him. If I do, not just this trip; everything will fall apart. And I need Jimin more than I need air. If I can only have him as a friend, then I’ll take it with the heartbreak that comes with it.

“Just let it go. Please, Jimin,” I plead with him, finally tilting my face up towards his concerned one. The annoyance on his face crumbles when he sees the raw agony I know I can no longer hide. My watery eyes that betray a world of pain, even if he doesn’t know why. His hold on me loosens, then releases me, his arms falling limply to his sides. The last thing I want is to see him like this. It’s even worse because I’m the cause. But there’s nothing else I can do. “I’m sorry.”

“If you think it’s best for you, I’d do anything,” Jimin says, not asking for an explanation. “Just know that you can come to me about anything. Anything at all. I would always be there for you.”

I nod appreciatively, thinking to myself that he can’t be the medicine to the disease that he himself has created. “Thank you,” I whisper. We stand like that for a while, ignoring other people walking by us, some peering curiously at two foreigners just frozen there. Wiping my tears as discreetly as I can with him watching, I take a few deep breaths, determined to return to my normal self again – as normal as I can be, anyway – and get this day back on track. It has been a roller coaster so far.

The night market spanning along the main road and beyond are made of countless makeshifts stalls that light up the descending night. I can see just about everything I can think of here – from the standard souvenirs, to traditional clothes and bikinis, knockoff bags and watches, to paintings. Normally I would have soaked up the atmosphere, growing so excited that I’d border on crazy just trying to decide what to buy and ending up with more goods than I could carry, but somehow I can’t quite muster up the energy. It isn’t the fault of the vendors, who are friendly and inviting, but not too pushy. Nor is it because I’m turned off by the prices; although I do notice that things here are a little overpriced compared to some other places I’ve been to so far. As desperate as I am to return things to how it was before, I can’t get over Jimin rejecting me as a girlfriend. If he doesn’t even want to pretend to be my boyfriend, I can only imagine how much of a turn off it is to him to have it become a reality. And while I’ve known all along that this is how he feels, I’ve spent so long denying it to myself as I pretend on the outside that I’m all good with it. Without anyone knowing, I’ve allowed myself to fantasise being his girlfriend for too long. It’s just daydreaming, I’d thought. Just a fantasy. I know what’s real, I’d told myself. But I didn’t realise that it had made me hope that it would someday come true, and to be forced to face reality like that – it left me in a state of shock. Things are even worse, because I’m here with nowhere to run from him.

It certainly doesn’t help matters that many of the vendors assume that we’re a couple. While not surprising, it makes the air feel more awkward between us, and drives the knife deeper into my heart. I don’t need to be reminded that Jimin doesn’t see me as girlfriend material, no matter how much it may seem differently to everyone else. Every “No, no, we’re just friends,” I tell every friendly seller is a cruel admittance to the fact that I’ve been denying since we were young. Like a punishment for thinking that I can one day have more than I deserve. I couldn’t have been more wrong. And this whole day is just full of occurrences driving the point home, over and over and over. I want to cry my heart out in anguish. I want to scream my lungs out in frustration. And I want to run, to the ends of the earth, and fall off to a place where I can hurt no longer.

I’m sure Jimin knows that something isn’t right with me, but he doesn’t say or ask anything. While I really appreciate that he’s giving me space and keeping his distance so I can lick my wounds as best as I can in such a crowded place, a foolish part of me still hopes that he cares. His suggestion that we call it a night and get an early start tomorrow after popping for dinner at a food court wedged among the stalls is a very welcome one. At this point I just want to sleep and forget all this ever happened. The latter might be too much to ask for, but I can’t imagine that some rest would make anything worse than it already is.

 “When I said an early morning, I didn’t mean this!”

Jimin’s whining is ignored, although he doesn’t notice me giggle softly at his dismay. I’m glad that a few hours’ sleep is enough to restore the normalcy between us. At least that’s how it looks on the surface. My own feelings for him, now escalated to an irreversible state, have been repressed back inside me, where they have been kept carefully under lock and key for as long as I’ve realised them. And I tell myself that I’m okay with this. I’ve always known that Jimin will forever be my best friend, and only that. It was just my stupidity that kept embers of hope burning within that it might somehow change. As long as I can extinguish my impossible wishes, I can hold onto what I have – Jimin’s friendship. That is more than enough. It has to be. The alternative is to confront him with the truth, and lose him.

So I choose to maintain this delicate equilibrium. What happened yesterday should never come to pass again. I was careless, foolishly allowing my real feelings to surface. That mistake should never be repeated. Hopefully Jimin would think that I’m just still upset about Se Hoon, and leave it at that. Jimin has never been all that keen on talking too much about my boyfriends. The time we spend together has always been for just the two of us. We may chat about our partners once in a while, just to check in on the other person, but we never delved into it. I never cared to talk about my boyfriends when Jimin is the only one I truly wanted, and perhaps Jimin has never had much to share about his relationships, either. It would just be frustrating if I had to listen to him talk about them, so if he doesn’t say anything, I’ve never asked.

Addressing him from the front on the narrow dirt path, I point out, “It’s not that early, you know,” then yelp as I almost stumble over a root jutting out of the ground.

“Look out!” Relying on his animal-like reflexes, Jimin rushes forward and seizes me by the arms before I tumble to the ground. Wrapped in his arms, his sweat and slightly heavier breathing from the exertion of our exercise should be anything but romantic, but as I look up into his soft eyes, filled with concern, I can hear my heartbeat pounding erratically in my ears, and I know it’s not because we’ve been navigating this leafy terrain over the past half hour. Even in this awkward, uncomfortable position, with most of my body weight resting on him and both of us smelling way less fresh than daisies, I can’t help but notice how inviting his lips look from this close proximity. I’d give my whole fortune to be able to kiss them.

No. I’m letting myself fall into the same trap all over again. Before I do anything I will regret later, I clear my throat and extract myself from his embrace. Jimin lets me go readily. “Sorry,” I mumble to hide both my embarrassment and disappointment.

At first, Jimin looks as stunned as I feel, but my movements and apology snaps him out of it. “I told you that hiking is a bad idea,” he takes the opportunity to chide me for my choice, in the aggravating I-told-you-so manner only a childhood friend can manage. It automatically incites an immature response in me, pulling me away from my years-old worries, if only for a moment.

“It so isn’t! Just wait until we get there. Besides, it’s the perfect way to burn off all the food we ate.” Finishing with a loud huff, I turn around and continue on the narrow trail towards Monkey Beach, a stopping point on our way to the Muka Head lighthouse in Penang National Park.

We arrive at the beach just a little under an hour later. It’s already midmorning, and the sun has begun its work warming the sand and the water. I had my fill of the beach yesterday, and there’s still more hiking to do before we reach the lighthouse, but I can’t resist running my hand through the clear water and then splashing an unsuspecting Jimin who’d crouched down next to me. “Hey!” He scolds me indignantly as I erupt into laughter; my first uninhibited one since only yesterday, but it seems like forever since I’d last felt such unadulterated joy. The world just isn’t right when things are not going well with Jimin. It makes me more determined to keep everything just as they are. A life where I’m on the outs with Jimin just isn’t right.

If either of us thought that going to Monkey Beach was tiring enough, we’re in for an unpleasant surprise. While the trail to the beach was slightly challenging, it was mostly flat. From the beach to the lighthouse is a far less forgiving climb – one that would have knocked me out if I were in a worse shape than I’m in. Jimin, the fitter one of the two of us, insists that we would have gotten to our destination in less than forty minutes if I hadn’t stopped to catch my breath, but I pretend not to hear his annoying remark, choosing to roll my eyes and stick my tongue out at him when his back is turned.

Despite the journey that was more tiring than we’d bargained for, it’s well worth it now that we’re here. The lighthouse is an old one; there’s nothing really remarkable about its appearance. Our climb is really rewarded by the view that we see from the top of the lighthouse. Jimin makes his way up first, then calls out to me excitedly, and I give up on regaining my strength at the bottom of the lighthouse to join him. The narrow walkway surrounding the lighthouse peak offers us a fantastic view of the islands surrounding this one, and we stand there for a while, just taking in the endless stretch of the blue sea, trying to figure out where it meets the azure sky in the horizon.

The climb down from the lighthouse is significantly easier compared to going in the opposite direction, and we find ourselves back at the beach in no time. “Do you know that we can see turtles here?”

“Where?” The possibility of this gets Jimin on his toes at once, excitedly looking around the beach for any stray turtles wandering around. I can’t help but giggle at his enthusiastic response.

“I don’t know. I read that you might see them here. Maybe we’d have a higher chance to see them at one of the other beaches in the park. It’s a nesting place for the turtles, and the season is right about now.” My clarification disappoints him, and his shoulders sagging makes me want to pull him into a tight hug. “Do you want to go there and see if we can find any?”

At first he brightens up at the idea, then looks at me sceptically. “How far is it from here?”

“Uh…” As much as I like playing tour guide, I’m not actually sure of the answer to his question. “A little far, maybe? The way there uses an almost completely different trail, I think.”

That draws an easy response from him; “pass”. By the time we’ve walked all the way back to the park entrance, had a tasty lunch and got back to our hotel to shower, it’s already late in the afternoon. “The day just flew by,” Jimin remarks as we sit in the car, on our way to our next stop.

“I know, right? But this isn’t bad.” We’re on the main road, surrounded by buildings on our left and right, but we must be on the edges of the island, because I can see glimpses of the sea and the reddish-purplish dusky sky as the car zips by the gaps between the buildings. “It’s kind of relaxing when we’re not rushing from one place to another.”

“I wouldn’t call a morning hike relaxing though,” Jimin mumbles under his breath, earning a playful smack on the arm from me.

The easy-going mood and light banter continue even after we get to Straits Quay, a beautiful marina enclosed by a shopping mall. Perhaps too easy-going, as we indulge in some drinks after dinner. Having western food is definitely a departure from the norm after several scrumptious Malaysian meals, but I don’t mind the change very much. Especially now that the alcohol has made its way into my system – losing my inhibitions is making me tap into my repressed emotions more deeply than usual, and it’s confusing me. While I’m happy that Jimin is here with me, I’m also tired and angry at him for rousing my irrepressible hopes once more.

Without thinking, I’ve downed more than I can handle. I’ve belatedly realised that Jimin is keeping a modest pace, not imbibing even half as much as I have, but at that point, I’m beyond caring. “You should slow down a bit,” he warns me, and only then I put my mug down with a sigh, heeding his advice. “You okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” Although I’m starting to feel a little woozy, I still have a bit of wits about me yet.

Jimin stares at me, trying to judge if I’m still of sound mind. He must have been aiming for the delicate balance between loosening my tight lips and inability to think coherently, and I’ve fallen neatly into his trap. “Is everything going well with Se Hoon?”

“Why, do you think there’s trouble in paradise?” My answer is sharp and bitter out of sheer anger and defensiveness, instinctively seeking to protect myself even when I’m not in the best state to do so.

“I’m just concerned. I know you’re pissed because he bailed out of this trip at the last minute, but you seem more… prickly than I thought you would be,” Jimin hedges, expertly opening my precious treasure box of jealously guarded secrets. I’ve always worried that Jimin knows that I’m keeping something from him. He could always tell when there’s something I’d rather not tell him, and he usually manages to make me spill everything out. Everything… but my real feelings for him.

“And whose fault do you think it is?” I ask testily, not thinking that there can be more than one answer to this question.

“Se Hoon?” Jimin’s wrong answer makes me want to slap my forehead. At this point I’m not sure who’s the stupid one; him or me. Of course he would think Se Hoon is behind my irritable behaviour, but should I have clued Jimin in on my troubles in the first place?

“Not any longer.” His clueless answer bursts the balloon of fury blowing up within me, and I deflate in my seat. How can I expect him to put all the pieces together when I’m withholding so much of them from him? Jimin can’t possibly know that I’m hopelessly in love with him. Not when I’ve done everything that I can to hide it from him. But I’m tired of concealing things. I’ve gotten sick of it for a long time, and it has risen stealthily to the surface, slipping through my defences, biding its time until an opportunity comes for it to spill forth. Like right now. “We broke up just before we came here.”

“Oh.” His response is quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s indifferent, or sad for me, or feeling awkward from the sudden news bomb. “So it wasn’t some business thing that made him cancel the trip?”

“It was business, alright. A meeting with his colleague on his bed.” Funny, I should feel more upset about it, but I’m not. Whatever Se Hoon has done during the course of our relationship has never affected me much one way or another. Naturally he did please me and annoy me at times, but nothing he ever did got to me the way Jimin does. It’s the same for all my past relationships. I’m aware of that. But what else can I do but accept these pseudo relationships, since I can’t have the one I truly want?

Jimin’s brows shoot up upon hearing this, then crash down in a frown, accompanied by some colourful curses under his breath as he processes the information. “Sorry about that. Never liked the smarmy guy anyway. You can do way better,” he rattles off the typical sympathetic words that don’t do anything to lift up my spirits. “You could have just told me though,” he mumbles, almost as an afterthought, but I can tell that he’s offended that I kept it from him. Far from making me feel guilty though, his expectations that I share anything about my half-hearted relationships only serves to stab another wound in my already well-punctured heart.

“Guess I don’t want to feel like an even bigger loser in front of the guy who rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel.” A large lump lodges itself in my throat, obstructing my air flow, but the words come out anyway.

“What do you mean?” Leave it to Jimin to be stymied even after being told outright. “Who are you talking about?”

I don’t know what else I would have blabbed to him if a wave of dizziness didn’t strike me right then. Finally, something – alcohol in this case – saves me from my stupidity, even though it was precisely the same thing that led to my foolish confession in the first place. “Whoa!” Jimin reaches out to steady me, almost upsetting the glasses on the table in the process. “Okay, I think we’ve had enough.”

I’m not sure when or how Jimin paid for our drinks, but he must have somehow, because we made it out of the shopping mall and down at the seafront without anyone hounding us to pay the bill.

It’s hard to believe that this beautiful place is this quiet when the night is still young, but I suppose we have the weekday to thank for that. The sea breeze does wonders to whip me awake, and although I remain tipsy and a little unsteady on my feet, I manage to convince Jimin that I’m up to the night-time stroll without any danger of falling into the sea unsupported in no time at all.

The yachts lined up along the marina give the place a luxurious feeling, while the lights from the high-end apartments above the shopping mall illuminate the scene behind us against the darkness of the night and the mysterious sea before us. A white lighthouse marking the end of the yachts is clearly much newer than the one we visited earlier today. What it lacks in character and history, it makes up in pristine beauty, befitting the dreamlike scenery we’ve found ourselves in. While I’m not exactly in a romantic mood that this setting is obviously perfect for, I can still appreciate the atmosphere. Well, as much as I can while focusing on putting one foot in front of the other without losing my balance.

We turn right at the lighthouse, following the wide walkway past white houses surrounded by greenery; surely a picture-perfect setting had we seen it during the day. Lamps glow softly above us as we walk unhurriedly to the end of the straight path, both unwilling for the idyllic time to end. The silence between us is a companionable one. Jimin and I have never felt the need to fill them with idle chatter if we have nothing to say to each other. Or even when we do, sometimes, like we do now. I’m slowly becoming aware of the fact that I have said something I never should have, but I’m still buzzed enough to not care about the consequences.

However, Jimin, the more sensible of the two of us at the moment, isn’t content with letting things be. By the time we turn around to head back towards the shopping mall, I start to feel the weight of the empty air, filled with burning questions on the tip of Jimin’s tongue. In my heart of hearts, I don’t want to do it, but I look at him nevertheless; a silent permission for him to go ahead and say what is on his mind.

“When you were talking about the guy whom you couldn’t confess to, whom did you mean?”

Somehow I just knew that he’s going to zero in on that. “Does it really matter?” I sigh.

“Of course it does! I want to know who is stupid enough to reject you before you could tell him anything.” He pauses, trying to make sense of the whole thing. Of course he doesn’t know. He isn’t even aware that I know what he said, so long ago. Heck, he probably doesn’t even remember – people don’t tend to remember things that aren’t important to them, anyway. I want to snort in derision at his comment. He doesn’t even know that he’s talking about himself.

I shake my head; partly in mild disbelief, but mostly in hopelessness. The events of yesterday had solidified reality and brought me back down to earth. “It’s not gonna happen, so I’m trying not to think about it. Even if it’s just pretend, I just want to feel cherished, by the right guy, for once.”

Jimin stares at me intently, both of us standing so still we could be mistaken for statues but for our hair and garments swaying gently in the calm breeze of the night sea. I can tell that he wants to say something, to offer me words of comfort, but the agony that I’ve suffered for years must be showing on my face. A pain so deep that nothing he can say can make me feel better. Yet I wait. Hanging onto foolish hope that the source of my sickness can provide me with the remedy I need. An eternity passes by, and I know that there’s nothing he can do. So I give up, and step forward, alone. Perhaps this time I really can leave him behind.

But of course, my feet somehow get tangled with each other, and I start to trip. “Whoa!” Jimin’s quick reaction saves me in a very similar fashion to what happened less than an hour earlier, pulling me back against gravity. “Oof!” Like a big oaf, I stumble heavily into his arms, almost causing him to topple over. He manages to stay upright though, leaving me in a very awkward position; a heart-thumping position that I’ve always longed to be in, and also one that is counter-productive to my aim of forgetting him. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.” I’m not. Intoxicated, the closest I’ve been to outing myself in ages, in dangerous proximity to the man whom I can never have. Carefully, trying not to lose my balance again and to avoid making it look like I’m pushing him away, I extract myself from his embrace. Immediately my body cries out for the warmth of his body. It isn’t that cold, but my desire for his nearness transcends physical needs. Best to get out of this situation before I start daydreaming again. “Can we go back? I’m not feeling so good.”

Without protest Jimin agrees, helping me call for a driver this time, and soon we’re back in our hotel room. We take turns showering, the motions almost feeling like a routine at this point, like we’ve been living together for years instead of this being only the fourth night we’ve shared a room consecutively. Ever since the ride back to the hotel, we haven’t said much to each other beyond short, necessary things, like, “I’ll pay for the ride.” Rather than awkward, the silence is heavy. Jimin seems lost in his thoughts while I’m just trying to clear my head for the most part. When we lay down on the bed together, I’m more aware of his nearness than ever before.

Skin prickling and thoughts all jumbled up, I shift to rest on my side, facing away from him. Perhaps I can try to get some sleep like this, I try to convince myself even though I’m hyperaware of his presence behind me. Why is this so damn hard? Tears well up behind my eyelids at the futility of it all. Jimin is just a guy. Okay, he’s an amazing guy, and the greatest friend anyone can ask for, but he is still just a normal human being. With flaws. He irritates me at times. We get into arguments and fights. So why is it that I can’t let him go? Why do I still pine for him? Why can’t I fall in love with someone else? It’s not like all my past boyfriends were assholes like Se Hoon. There have been decent guys. Nice guys. Men who are just as good as Jimin. Maybe even better. Why am I not with them? Why didn’t those relationships work out?

A wet sob makes its way out involuntarily, inducing one more, then another. I hope Jimin is asleep, so he doesn’t hear me. Slowly, I begin to slip out from under the covers, trying to keep the pitiful noises wedging in my throat contained, at least until I can make my way to the balcony where I can cry my eyes out. However, before I can reach the edge of the bed, Jimin grabs hold of me from behind, pulling me back against his chest. “Shh,” he whispers soothingly into my ear, stroking me softly without demanding an explanation.

His gentle encouragement eases me to let myself go, drawing up the white blanket up to my face, cupping it as I cry in earnest, drenching the quality cloth with my tears. Although Jimin doesn’t know that he’s the cause behind my sadness, it doesn’t make his tender brand of solace any less comforting. For me, Jimin has always been able to evoke the most extreme emotions within; the highest bliss, the deepest pain, the best comfort. And even though I can’t let it go – perhaps I never will – the overwhelming agony eventually subsides. Tendrils of exhaustion begin to creep in on the edges of my consciousness, as they always do after a good cry. My eyes will probably be bloodshot and puffy tomorrow.

After finding a dry spot on the blanket to wipe them, I twist around in Jimin’s arms to face him again. None of the lights are on in the room, but the pinpricks of light from the lamps outside shine dimly through the thin inner curtains that have been drawn over the glass doors, softly illuminating the room like faraway stars. I can make out Jimin’s kind expression as he looks at me, plump lips curled into a tiny smile. “Thank you.” My gratitude comes in a soft voice, even though I can’t return his smile.

“Anytime,” he answers lightly. The arm that was wrapped around me lifts so he can caress the side of my face tenderly with his hand. His touch feels like heaven, and my eyelids flutter shut, wanting to savour and burn this kind warmth into my memory so I can relive it a million times in the future.

When I open them again, my sight is clearer than before, with all the moisture previously clouding them washed away like they have been wiped by the windshield of a car. Jimin looks so close. Over the course of our friendship, I thought I’ve seen all of Jimin, but this is different somehow. He has never looked so attainable. I’ve never wanted him as much as I want him now, right at the cusp of cementing the determination of letting him go forever.

Against my better judgement, I shuffle closer to him, but he doesn’t move away even though he’s now just a hair’s breadth away from me. We’re so close, our breaths are mingling together. His palm is still cradling my cheek. Perhaps I’m deluding myself, but he’s looking at me as if… as if he actually loves me. I’m not sure what came over me, but I lean forward, doing what I’ve always wanted to do but never had the courage to in all the years of knowing him;

I kiss Jimin.

Even though I can feel his surprise from the way his body stiffens and his lips part in astonishment, I keep my eyes squeezed tightly shut, afraid of his reaction now that I’ve taken the plunge. I don’t know what’s possessing me to make such a rash move after holding back for so long, and I’m sure I’ll live to regret it. Either from the embarrassment of being rejected, or from losing Jimin’s friendship. Maybe both. But right at this moment, I don’t care. If I’m never going to have him, the least I can ask for is one kiss, and savour it as much as I can before he pushes me away.

However… he doesn’t do anything of the sort. Quite the opposite, actually. Once he’s gotten over my unexpected move, his arms wrap around me once more, but this isn’t the tender hold meant to comfort me. No, Jimin is squeezing me with a strength that I’m not even aware he possesses, his hand cupping the nape of my neck so he can kiss me more passionately. His tongue teases my bottom lip; not making its way into my mouth, but rather content tracing my lips, as if getting to know every corner of it before going further. It’s like he’s turned the tables on me, leaving me in shock. But not for long. It’s impossible not to react when Jimin’s soft lips are melding into mine, his breaths fanning across my face, the sensations too real for it to be a dream.

It gets even more vivid as his body, much like his mouth, brushes intimately against mine, and I feel the unmistakable evidence of his desire against my stomach. My own body jumps to life immediately. I can feel my blood heating up with need, my leg hugging one of his so I can press my aching pussy against it, and I moan into his throat wantonly. The sound rouses Jimin from his trance, and finally he does what I’d expected him to do from the very start. Sitting up, he breaks the kiss, leaving me disappointed, befuddled and breathless. I hadn’t thought about how I would feel about his reaction – or rather, I didn’t expect that he’d only push me away after reciprocating my kiss, and thus have no clue what to think of it – but his fierce scowl has me trembling in fear. What have I done? Why is he like this?

 “Why did you do that?” Jimin’s voice is rumbling and low, a sure-fire mark of seething anger, and this time I’m on the receiving end. I open my mouth to explain, then close it again. No words will come out. How am I supposed to explain myself? Even if I’m honest with him about my feelings, I already know what his answer will be. While I’ve gone and done the stupidest thing possible, I still can’t bear to hear the rejection from him as he looks straight into my eyes. Seeing that no answer is forthcoming, he bites out, “Do not test me like this.”

He extricates himself from me none too gently, almost kicking my leg off of him so he can get out of the bed. Still trying to gather my wits, I sit up, wanting to call out for him, but he looks back at me, his eyes narrowed in fury as if anticipating what I will do and daring me to do it. I draw back like a frightened deer and let him leave the room. The door closes shut softly, but in the silence of the night following what had transpired, it’s as loud and final as a booming thunderclap in the sky. As much as I want to go after him, I know that’s not a good idea. Especially when I don’t know what to say. What did he mean by testing him? Me kissing him might have been a stupid decision, or even a drunken mistake, but it certainly wasn’t a test. I can’t figure him out. Heck, I can’t even figure myself out.

Even though I should be tired, sleep eludes me tonight. I can’t stop thinking about my unrequited love for Jimin, what happened tonight, the incident that occurred so long ago and all the time in between. With my exhausted body and my overloaded brain wrestling for control, I slip in and out of consciousness several times during the course of the night, but when the darkness is lightened by dawn, I’m still no closer to figuring anything out than I was in the beginning.

Jimin hasn’t returned to the bed, either. A blessing, perhaps, because I can’t face him right now. I’m not sure if I can look at him in the eye ever again. After taking a quick shower, I get dressed and make my way out of the bedroom. As expected, I see him passed out on the sofa in the living room. Guilt hikes up my conscience. I should’ve been the one to take the couch, not him. He hasn’t done anything wrong. But instead of waking him up to tell him to sleep on the bed, I tiptoe out of the room, praying that he wouldn’t wake up.

Yes, I’m running away like the coward I am.

At first I wanted to just leave, but I remember that we’re not in Korea, and my disappearing without notice could cause real panic. So I scribbled a simple note saying, ‘Going out for some fresh air. See you later.’ and left it on the small wooden table next to the couch Jimin was sleeping on before slipping out. It doesn’t diminish my guilt for abandoning him on a trip like this, but it does lessen it somewhat.

Not enough for me to enjoy the time by myself, though. Even though the nasi lemak highly recommended by locals and tourists alike hits all the spicy and yummy levels on the scale, the rich coconut rice accompanied by fried anchovies and peanuts, slices of cucumber, boiled egg and fried chicken – talk about decimating two generations in one go – is only enough to fill my stomach, not my happiness meter. I stay long after my food is gone, sipping the milk tea absent-mindedly until late morning, when I figure some of the touristy places must be open by now.

Using the handy app, I get drivers to take me around a temple and a museum, but as interesting and beautiful as they are, I’m unable to get myself to enjoy them. After ending up walking aimlessly and failing to take anything in, I accept the fact that I’m just wasting my time. Resolving to find a way out, I pop into the first café that I see. With a clear aim in mind, I try to focus, forcing myself to push past the dense fog of self-loathing and denial.

Yet still almost an hour later, I can’t think of anything to say to Jimin. Is there any excuse for acting as moody as I have been, lashing out at him, then getting stupidly drunk and making a move on him like that? On top of that, I even walked out while he was sleeping. He has every right to be royally pissed off at me. Knowing Jimin though, he’s too kind to be mad at me for long. He really is more than I deserve. Looks like I’ll have to be angry at myself for the both of us. And I think that I’m doing the job quite well on my own.

In the end when I pull out my phone, instead of a long explanation that Jimin deserves, I type, ‘Jimin, I’m really, really sorry. I wasn’t in my right mind. Please let me know how I can make it up to you.’

Before I can close the chat, a reply from Jimin appears on the screen. ‘When will you be back?’

I hesitate, wondering which answer would be the right one. Does Jimin want me to come back, or is he so angry that he wishes not to see me, at least for a little while? ‘Do you want me to go back now?’

While waiting for Jimin to type out his answer, I fidget in my seat, belatedly weighing my choice of words. Did I sound like an errant child who is being questioned by her parents about her whereabouts? Or did it sound like a desperate admirer finally being given the time of day? The latter is probably closer to the truth, I laugh deprecatingly at myself. Jimin’s reply, however, doesn’t fall within my expectations;

‘The sooner the better.’

Curiosity filling me to the brim, I quickly make my way back to the hotel. Why on Earth would Jimin want me to come back as soon as I could? Does he not want to do anything touristy by himself? Or does he want to scold me? Or… does he want to continue where we stopped last night? I shake my head in disbelief at my foolish dreams. As if he’d want to do that. Pushing me away and sleeping on the couch made his rejection painfully clear.

Heart threatening to burst out of my chest in anticipation and fear, I pause for a minute to take a deep breath before opening the door to the hotel room that Jimin and I share. “Sorry I–“

“There you are.” Jimin greets me with a smile that has my pulse racing. Memories of last night flood my mind just at the sight of him, but somehow Jimin is acting like nothing had happened. I should be relieved, but for some reason I feel dismayed. Did the kiss mean nothing to him after all? After pushing me away and going so far as to sleep on the couch, I thought my coming onto him had an effect – anger, frustration, befuddlement – something. Anything. I’d risked everything for that kiss. And for a second, I was sure that he’d kissed me back. It doesn’t seem like something that can be swept under a rug. I was expecting a severe scolding. A less sane part of my brain feeds to the hope that he would pull me into his arms and kiss me, just as passionately as we did last night. However, he’s just walking around the room, collecting things as he speaks. It feels anticlimactic.

“Have you had lunch?”

I shake my head. I’ve only had a cup of coffee at the café while I agonised over what to say to him. I haven’t given a thought about lunch. Looks like all that effort was just a waste of time.

“Good. Are you ready to go? Let’s grab some food together,” he says, swiping up keys from the small table where I’d left the note for him this morning.

“Uh, okay,” I reply stupidly, not really being given a choice, as Jimin strides past me to get the door. He is acting slightly weird, but at least he doesn’t seem outwardly angry at me. I’m not sure if this is better, but my instincts tell me to go with the flow, so I follow him out of the building without protest.

“Where are we going?” Instead of waiting at the hotel lobby to call a driver, he leads me to the parking lot next to the hotel. My bewilderment deepens when he presses a button on the set of keys and a silver sedan unlocks with a flash of lights and a friendly beep. “How did you–?”

“Rented it,” Jimin answers simply, opening the passenger door and beckoning me in. In my state of confusion, I thought he wanted me to drive, but then I remember that here the driver’s seat is on the right, not the left. “It’s not that hard to find, and I can just leave the key at the hotel lobby for the owner to collect later.”

“Okay…” It doesn’t really answer the question I have in mind, but I’m not even sure what I want to ask, so I suppose this answer is as good as any.

“Buckle up.” Before I can follow up on his instructions though, he reaches over my seat to pull the seat belt and strap me in. When his body brushes against mine, all the air whooshes out of my lungs, like I’ve been hit in the stomach. He may be able to do it but no, I can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. But I want to remain friends with Jimin more than anything else, so I don’t comment on it, even if I can’t act as nonchalantly as he is.

He has no problem driving on the opposite side, easing out of the parking and making his way down the small alley to join the busy main road with no issues. The only thing that might clue anyone in that he’s not actually from around here is his phone on its holder on the dashboard, displaying the directions to our destination on the navigation app. It says that we will take about forty minutes to get there, but not the actual location we’re headed to. “Where are we going?” I repeat my question from earlier. “Is it too far to get a driver to drive us there?”

“Hmm.” Instead of answering me, Jimin glances at the screen of his phone. “It’ll take us a little under an hour to get there, so I guess it is kind of far, or maybe too expensive?”

“Uh.” I’m not sure what to say to that. How am I supposed to know how much it’ll cost us to get there with a driver, or how far is ‘far’? A question better kept to myself, because I’m sure Jimin would find it ridiculous if I voice it out loud. Why ask when I’ve no idea what I want to get out of it?

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Jimin continues, seemingly knowing what I want to say when I don’t even know it myself, as usual. “I’d like to spend some quality time alone with you, just the two of us. It’s not the same when there’s a driver here.”

“Oh... okay.” My dead heart sputters weakly to life, but I tell myself not to read too much into it. Isn’t that what always gets me into trouble and hurts me in the first place? “It does feel a little awkward to chat between the two of us when there’s someone else there.” Yeah, that sounds like what a friend with no romantic feelings would say on the matter.

Laughing, Jimin nods, agreeing with my statement. “I totally get you! Even if we’re not speaking in English, I feel really guilty when we don’t include them in the conversation.”

“It’s the worst when the driver is totally quiet and unfriendly!” Relieved, I catch Jimin’s jovial, cheerful energy and run with it, happy that this car ride isn’t going to be as awkward as I was afraid it would be.

“What about those who play awful music?” Jimin challenges.

“No, no, that’s still not as bad as the ones who don’t play anything and won’t say a word!”

In this vein, we continue merrily all the way along the coastline of the island. “Look, Jimin, there’s an island over there!”

“Hmm?” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he briefly looks in the direction I’m pointing at. “Oh, that’s pretty close, isn’t it? I wonder what island it is.”

“Yeah, there’s a ferry making its way over there,” I inform him as I figure out the keywords to type into my phone to find out about the island. “Turns out it was a leprosarium, then became a quarantine station, and then a prison, but now it’s a resort.”

“Yikes, that’s weird.” Jimin cocks his head, unsure whether to laugh or disapprove. His sentiment echoes mine.

“I know, right?” Casting a look at the cluster of buildings I can see from inside the car, I try to reason the decision behind building a resort there. “Maybe there’s something that still draws people to it, even with its history.”

“Maybe.” His concentration back on driving, Jimin simply agrees with my assumption. “Maybe we can check it out next time.”

Next time? Just two words can make my mind race with endless possibilities, but I force myself not to think about them. It’s probably Jimin making polite conversation. I watch him steer the car smoothly out of the exit, gliding onto the spacious bridge that spans out almost ninety degrees away from the island. “You’re really good at this.” Grasping for a topic that would take my mind off his vague invitation to come to the island again, I comment on his superb driving skills on the left side of the road.

“Oh, yeah, it’s not my first time.” Even though he tries to play it off coolly, I can make out the smug smile yanking at the corners of his lips. It’s so easy to make Jimin happy — just a praise and he’d be on cloud nine. Like a cute puppy. I try not to laugh at the imagery. “Several of the countries I’ve been to also drive on this side.”

“Oh... really.” Just like that, the wind is blown right out of my sails. Are these the trips that he’d invited me to, but I couldn’t go either because of work or because I thought that going on one with him would be too much for me to take? Whom did he go with? Were other girls there with him? My jeans are too unforgiving for me to grab, so I clench my fists around nothing; the dull pain of my nails digging into my palm feeling like a punishment I very much deserve. I don’t have the right to ask or even think of any of this. The more I ponder on it, the more pain I’ll put myself through; I know this, I’ve told myself countless times, yet I still can’t stop myself from doing it.

Thankfully, just then, Jimin’s stomach roars past my troubled thoughts. “Have you eaten anything?” I ask him guiltily, remembering that I’d left him to his own devices just this morning.

“Yeah, just something light near the hotel.” He grins sheepishly, his right hand leaving the steering wheel to push his hair back to cover his embarrassment. Somehow he melts my soul with his cuteness when he makes such an expression, and when he concentrates on driving again, he makes my heart thump hard from how cool he’s become. Feeling flustered on my own, I whip my head to the left to turn my attention out the window once again. There isn’t anything out of the ordinary to capture my attention this time, so I’m left to the mercy of my self-deprecating line of thinking until Jimin’s poor stomach rumbles again.

“Maybe we should stop to get something to eat.” Really, I don’t need any more reminders of my childish behaviour from last night to this morning. I don’t know if I can feel any worse than this.

Chuckling apologetically, Jimin reassures me, “It’s fine, we’re going to a place where we can eat.”

Slightly irritated that I have to ask this a third time, I grind out, “and where would that be?”

“You’ll see,” Jimin says teasingly, darkening my mood, but I don’t retaliate — I shouldn’t be cross with him.

“Well, I hope it’s not too far from here.” Giving in, I simply cross my arms petulantly. “If I hear your stomach growling one more time, I’m gonna go deaf.”

As Jimin promised, it’s not too far after we’ve gotten off the bridge. “This is still Penang, you know,” he informs me as he veers left to exit the highway. “It’s not just the island; part of Penang is also on the mainland.”

“Really...” It’s interesting that he’s playing the tour guide now. All the top Penang attractions I saw on the Internet are on the island, so I’d missed this fact. I wonder what Jimin has found that makes it worth driving all the way here. It doesn’t look to be a bustling city like Georgetown. While not exactly rural, the town seems more relaxed, with two-storied shops and houses filling the landscape instead of towering buildings. After only a few turns, we enter an even less developed area, this one a village. Brick houses are mixed with ones made out of wood, with trees growing all over the place, lending the scenery on both sides of the road a more natural appearance, different from the carefully structured planning of the city.

Shortly after, Jimin turns right and pulls over by the side of the road. I peer over the dashboard to see what’s in front of us — it’s a dead end. “Are we here?”

“Yup,” Jimin quips happily, getting out of the car, and I follow suit. It really feels like we’re in the middle of nowhere. Especially since we’re at the end of the road, facing a river with a very narrow bridge that’s only wide enough for pedestrians and motorists to cross, giving the impression that there’s no way out.

However, the small shop on my left at the end of the row catches my attention. I can tell that it’s been there for years and years; there’s an air of homeliness, like it has blended completely with the surroundings, and it’s filled with people. Most of them are much older than Jimin and I — probably around our parents’ age, or maybe even older than that. From their relaxed, casual dressing, they seem to be villagers. A few men are chatting excitedly over white cups of coffee, but the other patrons are all eating, despite it being slightly late for lunch. Jimin and I sit at one of the two tables just beyond the threshold of the shop, which is the only one available. I shift in my seat a little, looking around for a menu. They’re usually displayed somewhere on the wall, or given on the tables, but I don’t see any. “Ah, you’re the one who called earlier, yes?” A middle- aged man comes over to our table, all smiles as he greets us.

“Oh, you remember me?” Jimin’s obvious surprise at being remembered has the man chuckling good-naturedly.

“Of course, we very rarely see foreigners all the way out here,” the man, later introducing himself as the owner, explains to us. “It’s not exactly a touristy place. There’s a university campus close by, and I bet not even half of them know about this restaurant!”

Neither of us know how to respond to that, but the owner seems more than happy with the customers he has. And from the lack of empty tables, I’m guessing this place is actually a local favourite — with the villagers, if not the students of the nearby campus. Small and out of the way it may be, but this restaurant has a certain charm to it. The menu turns out to be very simple; freshwater curry prawns, fried fish with three-flavoured sauce and stir-fried cabbage. We forgo the fish in favour of the prawns, which were caught just this morning, and is the signature dish, as well as the cabbage.

Thanks to the simple and limited menu, our food arrives at our table quickly. The owner recommended that we get bread to accompany our prawns instead of rice, and I’m glad we’d followed his advice. The slices of white bread are perfect for soaking up the curry, and the concentrated flavour married to the sweetness of the fresh prawns is nothing short of bliss. In his state of hunger, Jimin had ordered a daunting kilogram of prawns, and although it takes us a while to finish them, it’s not as gargantuan a task as I was afraid of when I first saw the plate. Washing down the food with some homemade sugar cane juice, I smack my lips happily at Jimin. “How did you find this place?”

“It was just a stroke of luck. I was scrolling through the phone while waiting for you to come back when I saw it.” It might have sounded like Jimin was trying to make me feel guilty if he didn’t say it with a nonchalant shrug and follow it with, “I was hoping to help you take your mind off of things.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what to say. It seems like I haven’t made such a blunder last night as I’d thought I did. He was so angry when he’d pushed me away then, even though he’d reciprocated the kiss for a bit. I’m sure I hadn’t imagined that. What was that all about then? Something tells me that it wouldn’t be a wise decision to ask, as much as I’m dying to find out. The last thing I want to do is to sour the mood once again, after Jimin had gone out of his way to make me feel better. It’s more than I deserve, after the way I’ve treated him. So I decide to just play along, ignoring the stronger feelings and questions burning away at me, like I always do. As long as I can keep being by Jimin’s side. The momentary lapse in judgement last night could have destroyed our friendship, but somehow we’re still here, eating and talking and laughing like nothing had happened. The enormous burden that the fear of losing Jimin had pressed on my chest eases off of it, now that I’m assured that things are back to normal. Although the niggling desire for something more remains there. Always there. “Thanks, Jimin.”

Jimin’s smile at my appreciation is more dazzling than the late afternoon sun behind us. The sight of it cements our friendship, now back to equilibrium. Our passionate kiss is to become a hazy, slightly drunk mistake, and will be swept under the rug to be forgotten forever, except in the innermost secret corner of my heart, where I tuck in the sweetest memories of myself with Jimin. Tiny, insignificant instances that are surely nothing to him, but are the most precious jewels of my life, to be taken out and admired whenever I’m at my lowest and loneliest. Or sometimes even when I’m not. 

A belly full is one of the easiest ways to make Jimin happy; next to praising him, and seeing him happy is definitely the simplest way to make me happy in turn. How can I not be, when presented with those bright giggles that eat up his whole body, always leaving his position on any chair in precarious balance, and scrunching up his face so adorably? Before I get lost in my thoughts of him again, I snap myself out of it by asking, “So, where to next, Mr. Tour Guide?”

My impromptu title for him jolts him into an upright position in his red plastic chair, immediately assuming a serious, business-like mien that has me in stitches. “Ahem,” he glares at me warningly, wanting me to play along. “Looks like we have–“ he takes a peek at his watch “–a bit of time left before dusk. But I think we should go soon.” Indeed, we had been sitting there for way past an hour, and the place is completely empty of other customers now. I wonder if the owner is keeping the shop open for our sake. Clearly Jimin is thinking the same thing, because he thanks the owner profusely as he pays for our meal before we leave the premises.

As Jimin skilfully manoeuvres the car out of the dead end, he playfully manoeuvres his way out of answering my increasingly insistent questions regarding our next destination. His refusal to tell me only digs my hole of curiosity deeper and deeper, however, I can’t help but laugh and wish that he doesn’t give in to my badgering. For Jimin to be this happily secretive; it must be a pleasant surprise, right? Despite myself, I’m starting to really look forward to the unknown evening plans.

Instead of going to the mysterious location, though, he drives us around the small town. As expected, there isn’t much for visitors to be interested in. “There is supposed to be a haunted mansion somewhere in here,” Jimin interrupts his tour-guide-like speech by breaking into an evil grin, the picture of the very devil with the dark orange and red hues of the sky colouring the background behind him. “Wanna go and see it?”

I don’t have to look at the rubber plantation on our left to imagine the horrors that await beyond the rows of rubber trees. “NO!” Finding Jimin’s raucous guffawing grating on my indignity, I pout petulantly at him. “Hmph. You laugh at me, but you don’t want to go either, do you?”

That was effective in getting him to stop. “You got me there.”

“Really, what would you have done if I’d said, ‘let’s go’? I bet you’d pee your pants!”

“No I wouldn’t!” It’s Jimin’s turn to be affronted. I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to keep myself from bursting with laughter. “I’d just say we don’t have enough time to visit it, because I’ve already made other arrangements.”

“Oh, have you now?” Every opportunity to tease him is a chance that cannot be wasted. “And is that really true?”

“No,” he admits unabashedly, drawing chuckles from both of us. Just like Jimin knows I’m not the greatest with ghosts, I’m perfectly aware of how easy it is to scare him. “The house has an interesting story to it though. It’s supposed to have ninety-nine doors.”

“Really?” Scaredy cat I may be, but I always love a good story regardless of the genre. Horror stories are always great – as long as I don’t have to watch, or heaven forbid, experience it myself. “I wonder how big it is, to have that many doors. It’s such a specific number though.”

Jimin shrugs, not knowing the answer to that and seemingly not caring enough to find out. “A witch doctor is supposed to be staying there now.”

“Oh?” Since Jimin has turned the car around, I peer at the trees now on my right, trying to catch a glimpse of the mansion in vain. “I wonder what happened to the owners.”

“Murdered, supposedly.”

With a shiver, I tear my gaze away from the shadows of the trees that had been hypnotically pulling me in. “Okay, let’s stop talking about it. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Aww, sorry if I scared you.” Letting the car move at a snail’s pace along the empty road, Jimin strokes my hair gently. Normally my instinct would be to swipe his hand away, perhaps with a warning to not treat me like a child. However, his touch is oddly soothing, so I simply sit back in my seat, enjoying the comforting touch. It’s not often that Jimin would treat me as preciously as this. Better set aside my ego and make the most of it.

In no time at all, we’ve arrived at a parking lot next to the river. I don’t see the curry prawn restaurant anywhere, and I wonder if we’re currently on the other side. I’m pretty sure we crossed a bridge at some point. Jimin leads me out of the car and up some narrow steps to a small jetty. Sitting down along one of the edges with our legs hanging over the side, we settle down to gaze at the beautiful sunset. “I was going to book a sunset cruise, but I wasn’t sure if we’d get here in time for that.”

“Sorry,” I apologise again in a small voice. Although it isn’t Jimin’s intention to make me feel bad, I can’t get over my guilt. I’m sure if the tables were turned, I’d be completely livid with him. So to have him treat me this kindly makes me feel doubly worse. “I don’t know what came over me.” At least that’s the truth. After managing to reign my feelings for Jimin in for so long, to have it all spill in the span of one night was beyond careless. It’s unbelievable.

Lucky for me, Jimin remains mostly oblivious to the whole thing. “It’s okay. I’d be out of sorts too,  if my girlfriend did to me what Se Hoon did to you.” Jimin tries to lay his hand on my shoulder, but I move away.

“Your girlfriend?”

“Yeah, I mean, hypothetically.”

“Oh.” My idiocy knows no bounds. I settle down again next to him, trying to play it off like I was just surprised that he had a girlfriend that I didn’t know of. It wouldn’t be the first time that he’s had one, but he had always told me about them. It pained me to listen, every single time, but I did anyway, because in a perverse way, I wanted to know about the girls that Jimin is into. Not that any of it matters. Nothing would change the fact that he isn’t interested in me. Even after everything that had transpired last night; after I’d told him that he’d rejected me before I could even tell him how I feel, after that kiss – especially after that kiss – he still doesn’t realise. That’s how little thought he has given to having me as someone more than just a friend. Zero thought. He just thinks that I’m unstable and vulnerable after a bad breakup and is trying to be a good friend. My wandering hand finds a small pebble on the dusty and less than clean jetty, and throws it into the river with all my might. That’s what I need right now. A good friend. Yeah.

All in all, I suppose I have to be grateful. At least things haven’t become awkward between us. I can even almost enjoy the gradual darkening of the sky as the wisps of colour dissipate into the overwhelming dark blues and blacks. Not far behind us, lights from the building next to the jetty battle against the darkness, illuminating the river and trees beyond. “What’s that place?” I wonder aloud.

“A café,” Jimin replies, catching me by surprise. I didn’t expect him to know. Peering at the two-story building curiously, I see waiters seating some customers at a table on the space on the first floor, which is left open to the elements.

“It looks nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.” There is a note of relief in Jimin’s voice. “I booked a table for us, for dinner later.”

“Didn’t we eat just a few hours ago?” Trust Jimin to want to eat again so soon. I can still taste the thick curry on my tongue as I laugh and shake my head at him.

“No, no, you got it all wrong.” He levels his serious gaze at me. “I believe it’s already been a few hours since we last ate.”

Trying not to spray saliva all over him, I curl my lips down in an effort to hold in my mirth. “Is that why we’re here, then?”

“No, actually we – oh! Speak of the devil.” His words are interrupted as our space is invaded by a man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a year. Despite his tired appearance, he’s still all smiles. “Mr. Jimin?” He inquires.

“Yes, that’s me,” Jimin confirms. “I was starting to worry that you’re not coming.”

“Sorry for being late! My wife was supposed to wake me up from my nap, but then between cooking and our son, I was forgotten.” Jimin and I exchange amused glances. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who thought that the man could do with some sleep. “But that’s okay, since it’s just the two of you today, I’d say we’re right on time. Let’s go.”

“Go where?” I whisper to Jimin as the man leads us down the jetty and into a boat, which can easily accommodate at least six people, but will apparently only bring the three of us tonight.

“You’ll see,” Jimin sits next to me and squeezes my hand, determined to not give anything away. If I was told that I’d be getting in a small boat with a stranger in the middle of nowhere, shrouded by the cloak of darkness a few days ago, I’d be alarmed. However, Jimin’s presence changes the experience into an exciting, mysterious adventure.

And we’re off.

The boat glides away from the jetty and the lights of the café, further and further into the ghostly arms of the shadows, barely making any noise. Soon, the river widens, and we can no longer see any signs of civilisation. Only the moon, a whisper away from being full, and the glinting stars offer any glowing relief to the endless blackness, made even darker by the trees lining the riverbank. “These are mangrove trees, called berembang,” our tour guide gestures to the crowding trees clustered together, shielding everything on land from view. I doubt I would be able to see anything but branches and leaves even if we came during the day.

But we’re here at night, and a different sight awaits us.

Our guide steers us close to the riverbank, and stops the boat. “Anytime now,” he informs us cryptically, and I take a look around. What are we supposed to see? With the meagre illumination from the moon and the stars, most of the trees remain in eerie shadows. I silently hope that we’re not on some ghost-hunting expedition. For a split second, I feel panic rising within, but then I remember that there’s no way Jimin would want to go for such an experience either.

Then I see it. A blinking light, so soft and unworldly that I thought I’m seeing things. Before I can pull on Jimin’s shirt to ask him if he saw what I’d seen, I see another small, flickering glow. And another. And another. Suddenly we’re surrounded by them; tiny lights that shine brightly, suddenly from seemingly random locations, making the trees around us glitter like Christmas trees. “Wow!” I whisper in awe.

“Fireflies,” Jimin breathes into my ear, his hushed tone pulling me in against him, unthinkingly wanting to be close to him in such a magical world that we’ve been suspended in. Their light joins the reflection of the stars in the river. Our very own stars on earth. With Jimin’s arm holding me tightly and the ethereal scenery all around us, it’s hard to tell if I’m awake or if I’m  in the most amazing dream I’ve ever had. The same gentle light from the fireflies that juxtaposes with the inky blackness of the night also casts an angelic glow over Jimin’s features, taking my breath away. There’s something in the atmosphere that makes me feel closer to him than usual, and that makes the whole experience even more dreamlike. My hand stretches out to touch the marvels of nature, but even if I can reach them, I can’t bear to actually brush against them for fear of hurting such minute, wondrous creatures, or bring myself back to the real world. So we watch them in silence for a while, until the tour guide breaks the moment by asking if we’re ready to go back.

It feels like time has stopped while we were on our journey, but in reality, only about an hour has passed. Part of me wanted to stay there forever, surrounded by glimmering lights, where real life feels so far away. To be with Jimin, just the two of us. The lights from the café next to the jetty, while not exceptionally bright, are jarring in comparison to the gentle twinkling of the fireflies. I almost refuse to get off the boat. However, all good things must come to an end, and I let Jimin help me out of the boat and lead me to the café.

“Are you hungry?” He asks after we’re seated at one of the tables on the open first floor.

“Mmm, not really,” I muse as I thumb through the menu. Majority of the food here is of the western variety, and although I do enjoy it, I’m still full of the prawn from earlier. Mostly I’m eager to hold on to the memories of the boat ride. Irrationally, I’m afraid that having a meal would distract me and cause the warmth of Jimin’s embrace as well as the magic of the fireflies to slip through my fingers.

“Neither am I,” Jimin sighs with regret, clearly wishing that he could fit some more food into his stomach. With an eye roll, I tell him that I’m not surprised – he ate the lion’s share of the prawns, and there was way more than what two people could normally eat. “Maybe we can share a cake.”

“Ooooh, cake!” His suggestion is met with enthusiasm on my part. Although I’m loathe to share my dessert with anyone, Jimin is – a very, very occasional – exception, and my stomach is panicking at the thought of being stuffed with more food, so I relent. The burnt cheesecake we choose makes me regret having to share a little. It’s downright heavenly; I can probably eat all the slices available if I don’t mind the button of my jeans popping right off. Thankfully, Jimin is fuller than I am, and gives up after about two small bites. “Are you sure you don’t want any more?” This is a treat that warrants opening up that extra stomach I know we all have for dessert, but at the same time, I slyly hope that he doesn’t take me up on my offer.

Shaking his head, he gestures for me to finish it. Quick as lightning, I pull the plate towards my side of the table gleefully. Now that I don’t have to share it with anyone, I can take my time to savour it. In my excitement, I don’t sense Jimin’s intent gaze on me until I’m about halfway through the slice. Realising that I must look like a complete and utter glutton, I pause and smile at him sheepishly, trying to wipe off any crumbs as inconspicuously as I can. Trying to cover my embarrassment, my mind races for something to say. “Thank you for such a great day.” I can’t believe I didn’t think about telling him this until now. He must have put a lot of thought into this, and at the last minute, too.

Those words bring the most tender expression I’ve ever seen grace Jimin’s face. My breath stills for a moment to give my brain a chance to process and commit the sight to memory. “Everyone needs to feel loved once in a while, right?” This is the first time I’ve heard him say such a thing so seriously, without it sounding like an off-handed comment. He always makes these sort of statements like it’s an insignificant matter, sometimes literally waving the words away with his hand in the air as he says them. However, the look in his eyes is intense, as if I’m the only thing he can see. It helps his words come across — I do feel very loved. Maybe not in the way I’m hoping from him, but loved nevertheless. At least that’s what I think, until he continues, “And if I could, I want to cherish you always.”

This is the problem I have with Jimin. Biting my tongue to keep from asking him to elaborate his statement, I try to not get my hopes up. He’s forever uttering things that make me feel special, while I know he doesn’t mean anything by them. His rejection from years ago is as clear in my mind as if it happened yesterday. Yet to this day I still can’t get over him, even after being forced to hear the bitter truth ages ago. “Thanks.” Lowering my gaze towards my plate to hide my tears, I stab at the cake. Suddenly the delicious dessert doesn’t look so appealing anymore. “You don’t need to go this far just because you feel bad for me though. I’m a big girl. I can handle a breakup or two.”

My statement, heavily injected with denial, is met with complete silence. Nervously, I lift my head, chancing a glance at him out of curiosity. His soft features have been rearranged to one of... anger? Frustration? He’s taking deep breaths, as if to calm himself down. At the moment, he’s about to burst into a tirade, which occasionally happens when I do something stupid that warrants a scolding from him. But this time, for some reason, he’s trying to hold it in. While I’ve never relished being reprimanded like a child, no matter how much I deserve it, funnily enough, I find myself eager to find out what he’s trying so hard to keep in. “I didn’t do any of this because I feel bad for you,” he grinds out between his teeth — even after cooling down somewhat, he’s unable to completely contain his vexation. If this is his tempered down version, what had he originally meant to say? “It’s only because you’ve broken up that I can do this. I’ve always wanted to indulge you. All the time if I could, but you’ve always had a boyfriend, haven’t you? I didn’t want to cause trouble.”

Okay, this is seriously maddening. How am I supposed to get over him when he frequently sends mixed signals through his words and actions? Sometimes I really want to grab him by the shoulders, shake him hard and demand him to treat me like a friend since he only sees me as one. I like to tell myself that he treats me differently than his other female friends when I watch him interact with them, but I cannot convince myself that this is true. I know I can’t look at them objectively. What if I’m fantasising by myself, fancying that he treats me better, when in reality he behaves similarly towards everyone, and I’m just seeing him with rose-tinted lenses? I really hate myself when I’m like this. When it comes to Jimin, my logic lays down the hard truth mercilessly, but my wishful side can never fully accept it, encouraging me to indulge in useless visions of us together. 

Out of reflex more than anything else, I laugh self-deprecatingly. If imagining being with Jimin would bring me the most pain, then I’ll just focus on everything else. Even if that may hurt me as well. Nothing can be as bad as being rejected by him. And thanks to my brain reminding me that he doesn’t want me everytime I fantasise about us, I’ve felt the pain of rejection again and again, even if it’s all replayed memories in my own head. “Being single sucks,” I try to make it out as a joke, stabbing at the cake, picturing Se Hoon’s face there and maiming him repeatedly. It’s nowhere near as satisfying as it would be to do it to the real thing. He’s the reason Jimin is here now, so close to me for such a long duration while I’m single and vulnerable. Fucking Se Hoon. “It just reminds me that I’m not good enough for the guy I really want.”

“That guy must be the stupidest person on Earth,” Jimin quips loyally at once. I keep my head down so he doesn’t see me roll my eyes at his ignorant statement. How can he be so dense? The most devastating moment of my life, doled out by the person I love most, my best friend, and he doesn’t even remember that he was the one who’d said that.

Jimin and I have known each other since we were in kindergarten, but I have no idea how long it has been since I fell in love with him. It’s just one of those emotions that builds up gradually, so subtly that you don’t notice until one day; BAM! You realise that you love him and there’s no turning back. But even back then, before the rejection,  we’d grown really close, and I wasn’t sure if it was wise to jeopardise our friendship by coming clean about my romantic feelings for him.

It turned out that my hesitation was for the best, because Jimin made his feelings for me crystal clear in our second year of high school. He doesn’t know that I’m aware of it, though, since I’d heard my name being mentioned by one of his friends as I was approaching, and quietly hid against the wall around the corner to eavesdrop on their conversation.

Jimin’s then-new-girlfriend was with the group, being harassed by one of his friends, Ji Woo. Although I can’t remember who she was, or even her face, I do remember feeling some satisfaction over the fact that Jimin’s friends didn’t like her. It was a feeling that I shared. “I’m surprised you’re with her, Jimin,” Ji Woo had commented, not at all caring that she was right there with them. “When there’s already a perfect girl for you.”

“Really?” Jimin had pressed the button on the vending machine, and I’d heard the loud clanking sound of his drink being dropped into the hatch. “And who is it? Must have walked right by me.”

“He means your best friend, you dumbass,” another one of Jimin’s friends, Ha Rim, had filled him in. His then-girlfriend had made an outraged sound at hearing Jimin’s friends promote me to replace her, but no one other than Jimin seemed to pay her any attention. They were acting like only thin air was present where she stood, which was a good indication of how annoying she was. I never understood what Jimin had seen in her. True, she was extremely pretty, but other than that, she had no redeeming qualities. Peeking out of my corner, I’d seen Jimin rub her shoulder placatingly as he’d chuckled.

He’d said my name in a disbelieving tone, as if the idea of me being his girlfriend was so ridiculous that it was out of this world. The way he’d said it echoed in my mind for many weeks after that. I could still hear it in my head sometimes. “She’s one of us, yeah? You don’t fuck a bro, that’s gross.”

“I don’t know if she’d appreciate you treating her like one of the ‘bros’, Jimin,” Ha Rim had rebuked him gently, but it didn’t change Jimin’s mind. He’d just shrugged, not willing to get into an argument with them.

“Whatever it is, she’s just not girlfriend material.”

I hadn’t stayed to hear anything else after that, since I’d fled from the scene, afraid that my sobs would break out and they would discover me. Since then I’d done everything I could think of to get over him, but nothing had worked. All my boyfriends were just distractions, temporary fixes to the gaping hole in my heart that could never be filled.

“How I wish he knew that,” I say cryptically. A savage laugh bubbles up my throat, hearing Jimin unknowingly call himself stupid, but I refrain myself. My rage over his befuddling attitude still manages to sour the delectable dessert, and I shove down the rest of it. Before the day is completely ruined, it’s better if we return to the hotel. 

Being the dense dummy that he is, Jimin doesn’t notice that anything’s amiss, and we get into the car to drive back without incident. The bridge back to the island isn’t too far off from the small town and soon we’re on it once more. “There’s another bridge connecting the island to the mainland, you know,” Jimin breaks the more-or-less comfortable silence with this little tidbit of information.

“I know. You can see it from this bridge.” It makes me look to my right, past Jimin in the direction of the first bridge, just to double-check if I can see it from here. I’m sure I saw it during the day, but it’s a completely different scene now that it’s nighttime. The orange lamps overhead lighting our way along the second bridge are dull, but the same ones appear romantic and beautiful after a stretch of darkness in between the two bridges, illuminating the first bridge. Is the view of the second bridge just as pretty if we were to look at it from the first one? I’m not sure, but I’m content with enjoying the view from here.

“Then do you know that this is the longest bridge in Malaysia?” Jimin’s voice draws my eyes back from the distance to the man being outlined by the scenery I’ve been staring at. Unlike the flickering glow of the fireflies, the bulbs shine relentlessly from afar, never giving up on irradiating Jimin’s face. While not quite the same view, these lights make him look just as dazzling as he had in the boat. A halo of soft backlight, juxtaposing against the night to bathe him in their radiance.

Although I’ve been staring at him like an idiot, or perhaps because I’m proving myself a veritable one, only when he calls my name does it dawn on me that we’re having a conversation. Well, sort of. I’m not really in a chatty mood, but he has been making stabs at sparking up a discussion. “Uh,” I grunt without thinking, then mentally hit myself for pushing myself further down the ‘being a dummy’ road.

“What does that mean?” Jimin laughs, sparing me a quick glance before turning his focus back on the road. The windsocks are blowing merrily in a perpendicular direction to the mostly straight lanes, and Jimin is taking care not to drive too fast. It’s hard for me to ensure that we’re not speeding when there are hardly any cars around to compare our speed to. I can almost believe that Jimin and I are the only ones in this world, on a never-ending road surrounded by the sea. “Do you know or not?”

“No.” My eyes shift away as I answer, since I have no idea what I don’t know. Which is a fair answer – either I didn’t hear what he’d asked me, or I simply got distracted and forgot. Both sounds highly likely. Sensing a risk of him further probing me on whatever topic it is and figuring out that I haven’t been paying attention, I roll down the car window, hoping some fresh air will clear my mind.

Boy, is that a wrong decision. A strong, unrelenting gust of wind immediately blasts into the car. Jimin’s surprised yelp is barely heard over the loud howl from the sea, exacerbated by the speed we’re going at. Before the window has even reached halfway down, I pull the tiny lever the other way, quickly closing it back up.

“What was that?” As soon as soothing quiet fills the car again, Jimin demands to know the reason behind my inexplicable actions. While he doesn’t sound angry, it’s obvious that he’s genuinely concerned. I can’t blame him, after everything that’s been happening since last night. “You’ve been acting really weird.”

My reflection on the window on my side of the car shows a frowning woman with mussed hair chewing nervously on her bottom lip, brows fused together in confusion and frustration. “I feel out of it. But I’m not sure why.” This much is true. After suppressing my feelings for Jimin successfully since I was in school, why are they surfacing now? If I’ve known that we will never end up together for just as long, why is the pain becoming unbearable now? How can one kiss cause my world to implode? The emotional roller coaster has wrung me out and left me completely bewildered. Everything is so jumbled up inside my head that I’m not even sure where to even begin unravelling the mess.

At first Jimin doesn’t respond, which is understandable. I wouldn’t know what to say to such a vague statement either. We eventually reach the other end of the bridge. The scenery morphs from a dreamy wonderland to cold reality, with factories lining up the side of the road, replacing the endless sea. “Who’s that guy?”

“What guy?” This time I’m sure I haven’t been wrapped in my own thoughts, yet I still can’t make the head or tail of whatever Jimin is asking. Maybe I’ve lost all my wits for the second night in a row, even though this time there isn’t a drop of alcohol in me.

“The one that you want,” he clarifies bluntly.

What am I supposed to answer? ‘It’s you, stupid’?

Not wanting to make the rest of the ride more awkward than it is, I shrug. “Just a guy.” Just the kindest, perfect, heart-warming, densest guy.

Up until he parks the car next to the hotel, Jimin attempts to wear down my defenses, unwilling to leave his curiosity unsatisfied since I don’t fly off the handle or directly ask him to stop. Truthfully, the urge to tell him is becoming stronger by the minute. The dam holding my feelings back has become strained without my noticing. Just one more drop of persuasion threatens to loosen my tongue.

After making sure that I’ve gotten out of the car safely and closed the door, he locks the car. However, when he starts walking towards the hotel, I follow him at a much slower pace, lagging behind. Alternating between looking at the ground and his lean back. It doesn’t take long for him to notice that I’m getting farther and farther away from him; my slowing and fainting footsteps are a giveaway. Unsurprisingly, he turns back, wanting to return for me. However, his approach only heightens my nervousness. “Do you really want to know who he is?” I blurt out when he’s about a meter away from me. If he gets any closer, I don’t think I’ll be able to gather the courage to say it.

Thankfully, he stops at my question. Sensing my vulnerability. Like a bewildered, terrified animal, wary of anyone getting closer. “Of course, if you’re okay with sharing with me.”

Before I can change my mind or rethink my decision, I take the plunge. “It’s you.”

“Huh?” Why is he acting shocked? I think angrily, unfairly. He has no right to be surprised by this. This is not supposed to be news to him. “I’m the one? That you’re not good enough for?”

“It’s you, Jimin. You’re the one I want to be with.” Damn it, my voice is already cracking. But now that I’ve started, I can’t stop. All the things I’ve bottled up inside have become hot and angry from the constantly added pressure of being kept secret for so long. At this point, I might hate myself more than I love him. I hate myself because I still love him. “Isn’t it laughable? Even though you already made it clear that I’m not good enough for you from the beginning, I still can’t move on.”

Horrified by the words rushing like waterfall from my mouth, I try to escape, but Jimin catches my arm as I stride past him. I would have stumbled if his grip wasn’t so strong. In contrast to his strength, the street lamp is enough for me to see that all colour has drained from his face. “I would have never said such a thing. When did I say that?” His challenging words come out in an intense whisper, like he can’t believe he ever did such a thing and yet unsure if he hadn’t.

“I don’t know. High school, maybe?” It’s too late but I still play it off as if it isn’t a big deal. Like I don’t remember every detail of that excruciating incident vividly. “I’m not girlfriend material, and you made sure Ji Woo and Ha Rim know that too. And.. someone-or-other girl. Whoever it was you were dating back then. Can’t remember her name.”

I didn’t think it was possible for Jimin to grow paler, but he does, and his hold on me loosens as well. Not wanting to hear an insincere apology years too late, or worse, an encore of how I’m not girlfriend material, I yank myself out of his grasp and practically run into the safety of the building.

Once I’m ensconced in the relative safety of our room, I sit on the edge of the bed and take three deep breaths before panicking. What have I done?! It doesn’t look like Jimin pursued me inside, but he’s going to come in sooner or later. What will I say to him then? How will I ever face him again?

Sighing, I let my body slump dejectedly. I shouldn’t have said anything. Ever. I’ve always known that, but all the pent-up emotions have accumulated for far too long, and under constant continuous stress on this trip, they finally spilled over. And I had to choose the worst time and place to do it — in a foreign country where I have no place to run to. Just as I’m berating myself for that particular bit of foolishness, I hear the outside door to our room open and close. Belatedly realising that I should have searched for a place to hide before agonising over my recent mistakes, I get into a frenzy, whipping my head around every which way, desperately looking for a hole to crawl into.

That’s how Jimin finds me with my arms stretched wide, holding the doors to the wardrobe open, and one of my legs inside the furniture. “Uh.” Not the first time a dumb monosyllable is all I can think of today, but still, way to go.

“What are you doing?” Seeing my crazy antics, Jimin’s tortured expression rearranges into a befuddled one.

“Uhm, nothing.” Climbing out of the furniture, I pretend that I walk out of closets every day of my life. It doesn’t help ease the awkwardness after I close the doors and lean on them, though. I don’t trust myself to not say any more stupid things, and it looks like Jimin doesn’t know what to say either. But he does have something to say, if the way he opens his mouth, pauses, then closes it again is any indication. Seeing this, I keep quiet, waiting for him to figure out where to start. I’m not sure if I’m going to like anything he has to say, but short of jumping out of the balcony, I don’t see any way to escape from him. I cast a longing gaze at the door leading to it, wondering if it’s at all possible.

After what feels like an eternity, Jimin hesitantly hedges, “Uhm, can we… talk?”

I nod, still not trusting my verbal communication skills.

Jimin walks further into the room to take a seat at the edge of the bed, less than two meters from the wardrobe, and I have to fight the urge to distance myself from him. He inhales deeply, loud enough for me to hear, and finally starts. “Look, I’m really sorry about what I said back then. I didn’t even remember that it happened.”

“Of course you didn’t. It didn’t happen to you,” I bite out. Even though I can see that he’s beating himself up over it, I can’t help but drive the nail a little deeper. It has been a wound that has always festered under the surface, never healing.

“You’re right.” Jimin’s ready admission makes me feel slightly bad for being mean over it. “I have no excuse. It was a horrible thing to say. And it wasn’t true at all.”

“It wasn’t?” Damn it, I’m not supposed to be happy about it! Getting my hopes up over just a few vague words is only going to screw me over again, but I can’t stop myself from being elated. Did I mishear him? Did I misunderstand him somehow? So many lessons and I clearly haven’t learnt anything at all.

With a shake of his head, he explains; “Back then I was a dumb kid with raging hormones, and all I could think about was fucking everything that moved. Heh.” He lowers his head and scratches the back of it sheepishly, aware of how immature and shallow he was. Involuntarily, I soften at his words and actions, with his hair getting messy from his vigorous haphazard brushing. “You’ve never been someone that I want to simply fool around with. I might not have been smart enough to realise how special you are back then, but I knew that much. I must have said that to get that girl to go out with me. You, not being good enough for me – that’s ridiculous. If anything, I’m not good enough for you.”

“Oh.” Despite wishing for something like this, now that it has become reality, I can hardly believe it. “So me not being girlfriend material–“

“Was not true at all.” Jimin leans forward to take my right hand, securing it in both of his. He turns up his eyes at me, silently pleading for me to understand. To forgive him. And my defences against Jimin have always been paper-thin. “Is still not true. God.” He hangs his head again in defeat, slightly pulling me towards him as he sags against the bed. “It can’t be more opposite than that. You’re the one I’ve been in love with for the longest time.”

“What?” I try to breathe, but the air is lost somewhere in my lungs.

Instead of answering, Jimin stands up. The sudden movement startles me, especially as it puts him just inches away from me. The warmth is not just from our connected hands now, but I can feel it radiating from his whole body in the coolness of the air-conditioned room. His words coupled with his nearness make me even hotter – probably even more than the scorching outdoors in Penang during the day. When he reaches up to softly caress the side of my face, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, I can’t be sure that I haven’t self-combusted. “You’ve become more than my best friend for ages. I might have even loved you since we were in school. Hell, I don’t know.” Taking another step forward, he closes the little distance left between us to lean his head against my shoulder. Facing this completely unexpected progress, I stand there stiffly, not knowing what else to do except trying not to lose my head. “I wanted to tell you so many times, but you’ve always had a boyfriend hanging around. Every time I swore I’d tell you once you broke up, but before I could work up the courage to say anything you’ve already found a new one. You never considered me, so I thought you just didn’t think of me that way. I guess I know why now.” Lifting his head, he stares into my eyes earnestly. I can’t look away even if I wanted to. His face is etched with regret, and yet I can see hope buried in his eyes. It mirrors the hope I’ve always felt. I just didn’t know that he felt the same way. “I’m really sorry for being a dick.”

A bubble of horrified laughter bursts out at hearing him describe himself as such. Trust Jimin to mend my bruised heart so easily, and break such a heavy moment by sort-of-playfully bashing himself. He deserves it, but now knowing that I’ve put him through similar anguish, I can’t stay mad at him for long. “It’s okay,” I say with a teary smile.

“Well, the cat’s out of the bag now. I love you.” He cocks his head, then asks, “You’re single now, right?”

Another string of gleeful laughter fills the room. “I am,” I confirm.

“Would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend, then?”

“I would.”

“Finally,” he sighs in relief, and my next round of giggles is lost somewhere between our lips as Jimin kisses me. If our first kiss was incredible, this one is a hundred times better. With no more doubts plaguing my mind, I can give all of myself into my love for Jimin. Just as he’s giving to me. At first he cups my face in his hands, tilting his head to deepen our kiss. In the hazy air of passion, it’s unclear who started to open up beyond the joining of our lips. I know he traced the line between my lips at some point, but I also sucked on his full bottom lip that has always, always caught my attention. Among his many flattering features, it’s the one that has always struck me as striking. A guy shouldn’t have such seductive, plump lips that no woman can resist.

Soon his hand is pressing me to him from the nape of my neck, like I’m not close enough to him. He needs to bring me closer. Our tongues dance with each other, within our mouths like they’re dark, dangerous ballrooms, before things get more intense, and these caverns morph into wet, sweaty arenas, where we wrestle out our lust. In a match that is a win-win for both players, where the energy only heightens, never ending. The palm covering my cheek moves so his arm can wrap against my waist, crushing me against him. Every part of my body is touching his, sending tremors of excitement from outside in. I huff against his mouth, out of breath, but past caring. I just want Jimin. More of him. All of him. And then some more.

From the looks of things, Jimin doesn’t want to let me go either. A tell-tale bulge is impossible to miss, but when I feel it pressing against me, a modicum of sense nudges against my muggy brain. Regretfully breaking the kiss, I pant out, “We should… take… a shower,” in between fighting my lungs for air.

Jimin’s groan ends in a whine that usually gets him what he wants. “Do we have to?”

“We should. I’m all sweaty.” Being outside most of the day has left me sticky. It’s one of those things that you can’t forget or ignore once you’ve noticed it, and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. What’s going to transpire between Jimin and I is a no-brainer, and I don’t want my first time with him to be when I’m smelling of sweat.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to sweat either way.” Unwilling to stop for something as trivial as cleaning up when we’re bound to get dirty again, Jimin slips his hand under my shirt, attempting to get me to agree with him.

However, I will not be deterred, even if my moan at his palm stroking the side of my body doesn’t sound very convincing. “Please, Jimin. It would make me feel better.”

This time Jimin’s groan is one of defeat. “Fine.” Honestly, I’m surprised that he relented so easily. I never really noticed how much he normally gives up for me. Perhaps I only notice when he’s whining like a child on the occasions where he really doesn’t want to give in, so I thought that he always gets his way. But if I really stop to think about it, he rarely pulls such an act – most of the time he actually listens to what I want, or outright asks me, and goes along with whatever I wish. Heart swelling with renewed affection, I nod without hesitation when he tugs against the hem of my shirt. “May I?”

Baring the tops of my breasts by removing my shirt, he can’t seem to stop himself from ogling them in my bra. Pushing so my back is against the closet, he dips his mouth against the skin available to him as his fingers fiddle with the clasp of my bra. Once the garment is loosened, he all but pulls it off, tossing to the floor, so he can move on to my nipples. “Jimin!” My cry for him is from pleasure, but he mistakes it as a warning.

“Just… for a little bit.” My right nipple pucker under the ministrations of his tongue, growing stiff more quickly than it takes for him to unbutton and unzip my jeans, dragging them onto the floor with my panties. It’s all happening so fast. I haven’t even processed the fact that I’m now completely naked before him, in the dimness of the room filled only by a lone lamp in the corner I’d switched on when I came in. He slips his knee between my legs, spreading them apart. What his words cannot achieve; lowering my defenses, is being threatened by the difference between the texture of his jeans and the smoothness of my bare legs.

And Jimin, that devil, knows this very well. Propping his leg up against the sturdy wooden wardrobe, he brings it into contact with my exposed center. The friction draws a moan from me instantly, and without prompting, I begin to rub against him like a deranged nymphomaniac, seeking traction from the rough material against my pussy. He hasn’t even touched me there, yet I’m already wet enough to lubricate my movements against his muscular thigh. Each stroke stimulates countless sparks that shakes my body like electricity. I know I should stop, but I can’t. Latching on to his upper arms, I lift my head up to look at him imploringly. “Jimin… please.” Right now I’m not even sure what I’m asking from him.

There must be something on my face that makes him look at me with blazing fire in his eyes, before swooping down to brand another soul-searing kiss on my lips. How am I supposed to hold myself back when he’s holding me so closely, when his hard muscles encourage me to move my hips even faster, when he takes my lips like he wants to inhale my very soul into his body? It hasn’t taken much, but I’m already trembling with my impending orgasm. “Fuck,” Jimin spits out, abruptly wrenching himself away from me. My feet land flat against the floor as I howl in protest at having my high yanked away from me.

He doesn’t listen to my objections. Instead he grabs my hand and pulls me in the direction of the bathroom, his free one working furiously to tear his own clothes off. His haste almost makes him trip at the threshold of the bathroom as he attempts to step out of his jeans. My horrified chuckle at this is met with an impatient, don’t-you-dare-laugh glare, which makes it even harder to hold back my mirth.

“Get in,” he growls so ferociously that I stumble backwards, laughter gulped down as my body follows the motion of his chin. Predatory eyes burn holes along my body, suddenly making me self-conscious of my nakedness, but not for long. My own gaze is fixed on him as he moves forward, the clumsiness from a second ago replaced by panther-like steps, only pausing to take off his underwear in a far smoother move than he did his jeans. For the second time, I gulp; on my saliva this time, upon seeing his erection spring out from its confines. While his length looks average, his girth has me excited and apprehensive at the same time. He steps into the glass cubicle, backing me up against the wall, and closes the door separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom behind him. The shower is spacious enough for two people to fit comfortably inside, yet I somehow find myself cornered like a trapped animal. “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asks edgily. “You wanted to shower, didn’t you?” He reaches around me to turn it on.

A stream of cold water hitting my skin makes me gasp, forming goose bumps that are soothed away once it warms to the temperature that Jimin has set. As incensed as I am by the unexpected shift in our relationship and Jimin’s enthusiasm, I’m comforted by having the grime and sweat of the day being washed away.

Jimin’s mind isn’t as easily distracted though. Pressing me up against the wall facing the shower head, he envelops my lips in another fervent kiss. I’m more than happy to give in to it, wrapping my arms around his neck, but instead of holding me, he extends his reach towards the soap, pumping a generous amount of viscous liquid into his palm. “Looks like I’m going to have to help you wash if I want to move things along,” he mutters against my lips.

His soapy palms move slowly down, from my neck, branching outwards along my clavicles then dip down to cup my breasts. My breathing grows heavy as he massages them. Moans start forming in the back of my throat when he begins paying attention to my nipples, flicking them almost playfully with his thumbs. He doesn’t remain there long enough for me, one of his hands continuing down my stomach to the apex of my thighs. “Funny, I’d say it’s wetter here than my whole body.” He rubs his fingers against my folds, as if inspecting them. I can’t argue; even though most of the shower water is hitting his back, my pussy is arguably wetter than he is, and I’m pretty sure it’s not from the pipes.

Without warning, Jimin pushes his index finger in, eliciting a startled gasp from me. “So wet,” he crows delightedly at how easily it slips in. “Do you think you can fit another one in here?” He doesn’t wait for my response before cramming another finger in, making me whimper in pleasure. “You like how it feels?” I nod, turning my face away in embarrassment. It doesn’t deter Jimin. He simply whispers in my exposed ear, “You want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

Yes. I want it so badly, yet to say the words is mortifying, so I nod again. Jimin tsk-tsks disapprovingly at my refusal to vocalise my answer. “Communication is key to a relationship, you know,” he teases, pushing his fingers in up to his knuckles, but refusing to move them any more. “How am I supposed to know what you want if you won’t tell me?”

This cruelly taunting side of Jimin is new to me. I can’t say that I hate it. Not when it’s turning me on so much. “Please Jimin,” I plead with him. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jimin puts on a show of considering my plea. Then he shakes his head, and I know that he never intended to do it in the first place. “No, I don’t think I will.” Leaning forward, he nibbles at my earlobe, telling me, “I’d rather taste you instead.”

Getting the full brunt of the jet of water from the shower when Jimin suddenly kneels at my feet, I sputter in surprise. Jimin uses my momentary confusion to spread my legs even further apart so he can bury his face between them. “Oh!” My hands fly to grasp at his wet hair, holding on for dear life as he goes all out from the get-go. Easily capturing my clit between his lips, he sucks hard, making my knees buckle and my previously unfulfilled orgasm rush back with a vengeance. “Jimin!!” He’s relentlessly alternating between flicking the tiny bud with the tip of his tongue and trying to suck it right off, and I can’t withstand his attack. Flick, flick, flick. And then suck, as hard as he can. In less than a minute I’ve lost completely, making him bear my weight as I cum violently. If he isn’t holding me up by the waist, I probably would’ve collapsed, maybe even slipped in the wet cubicle. Without missing a beat, he releases my clit to run his tongue along my slit, lapping up every drop of his victorious spoils and prolonging my orgasm.

Standing up, he maintains his hold on me, which I appreciate because I still don’t trust the strength of my legs. “You okay?” I can barely register his question in the hazy aftermath of my orgasm, but I manage to nod. Jimin pumps more soap to wash me with as I recover, then swiftly washes himself. Once he determines that both of us are clean enough, he turns the water off. “Can we go now?” He asks, wrapping his arms around me so he can rub his dick, which has grown slightly soft, against my belly. It’s unfair that he’s pushing his advantage like that. Just doing this is getting me aroused again.

As much as I want to get out as soon as we can, there is unfortunately one thing that we need to do first. “Jimin, we should dry our hair. Otherwise we’ll catch a chill.”

Relenting after letting out only one dissatisfied huff indicates that he agrees with me. It doesn’t mean that he’s happy with it. I smother a smile at his adorable childishness, which is a stark contrast to what he was just doing to me in the shower, and what he wants to skip all these small details to do to me in bed. By the time I’ve wrapped myself in a towel, he’s already by the socket next to the sink, hair dryer in hand. “Hurry, hurry,” he urges, pointing the device on full blast to my face.

“Ooof!” Instinctively squeezing my eyes shut to protect them from the powerful gust of warm air, I blindly swipe in his direction, hoping to smack Jimin for his immature prank and the mischievous guffawing that comes with it. Once Jimin directs the nozzle back towards his own hair and out of my face, I fix him a glare, which he returns with a Cheshire grin. He rakes his fingers through his hair roughly, anxious to be done with it. Sure enough, he finishes in record time. “Come on, let’s do you.” He tries to turn me around, but I refuse the offer, giving his messy job, with soft strands sticking up every which way, a pointed look.

“I’ll do it myself, thanks.”

Wisely deciding that handing me the hair dryer will be quicker than trying to argue with me, he relents. Then he leans against the wall next to the sink. With only a towel around his waist, looking like he has all the time in the world to just watch me do something as mundane as drying my hair. I turn towards the mirror, mentally instructing my eyes not to look at him. However, they’re not keen to follow orders, and flick towards his reflection every few seconds. It’s impossible for me to calm myself down like this. Especially not when I can see the obvious tent in his towel, threatening to part the cloth that’s barely covering him. It must have grown harder from the friction against my stomach just now, as well as the anticipation of what’s to come.

 “You can go ahead and wait outside.”

“Eh?” He starts to protest but stops when he sees my entreating look. “Okay,” he yields in a wounded puppy pitch. “But hurry, okay?”

I nod, only turning towards the mirror again after I see him closing the door to the bathroom. I’m glad that he’s giving me this bit of space to think. Even though I’m ecstatic by this turn of events, there’s so much to process that it’s overwhelming. And I’m hesitant to go all the way with Jimin without sorting it out. To me it’s a monumental thing. A really huge step. My sigh is drowned out by the loud whirring of the hair dryer, but the sound has become white noise.

So the incident that has plagued me for so many years turned out to be a misunderstanding. While it doesn’t excuse Jimin from what he’d said, there was never any truth behind those words. It had always baffled me that Jimin would think, much less say, such a thing. Even if he wasn’t interested in me, it doesn’t seem to be in line with Jimin’s personality to measure a girl’s worth so much as to label her something as horrid as ‘not girlfriend material’. The most is he’d think someone isn’t his type, and just move on. He’s one of the kindest people I know, but he isn’t perfect. I’m aware of that. We were young back then. It makes more sense that Jimin was only thinking about getting a girl in bed with him rather than weighing the consequences or fairness of saying something so hurtful.

Switching the electric device off, I gaze at myself in the mirror one last time, finding resolution. What matters now is the future. Am I ready to go forward?

The first thing I notice when I enter the bedroom is that Jimin has gathered all the pillows on his side of the bed, and is resting against them. Before I can wonder what he’s up to, he notices my presence and sits up, like a puppy waiting for his master to come home. It would have been heart-meltingly cute and endearing if he wasn’t gripping his erection in his right hand. Was he masturbating while waiting for me? The thought of it is more arousing than I’d have thought. Maybe there is something wrong with me. “Come here,” he beckons me over, and I approach him a little warily. He helps me atop the bed, manoeuvring my legs so I sit astride his lap.

This puts me face-to-face with him, but more importantly, he’s holding me so I’m sitting right atop his cock. I can predict a very speedy loss in focus. “Jimin,” I begin to ask, then moan when he grinds his hips against mine. “Jimin, are you sure about this?”

“A hundred and ten percent,” he responds, but his attention isn’t on me. Even in the semi-darkness, I can see his eyes are narrowed in the direction of our lower bodies.

Exasperated, I try again, wanting to make myself clear before anything happens that I may regret later. Damn, I’m cockblocking myself, but I know that I’ll be in a world of hurt if this turns out to be a temporary thing. I may be asking for too much, but I can’t do it. Not with Jimin. “No, not just this. I mean… are you sure about… going into a relationship with me? What if…”

Jimin looks up, his expression turning serious, and places a finger against my lips. “Stop that. We’ve known each other since we were kids, and I think I know you pretty well.” He briefly stops, waiting for confirmation, and I nod. No one knows me better than Jimin does. “You always overthink things, and when you’re not doing that, your head is filled with thoughts of food.” Even though his assessment is accurate, it doesn’t stop me from hitting him in the chest indignantly, but he only chortles. “It doesn’t matter what you lack. I still love you after all this time, and I’m confident that I won’t stop, no matter what happens. And about what I said back then…” Adopting a sober mien, he brushes my cheek lovingly, leaning closer to gaze into my eyes intently. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make up for it. Okay?”

“Okay,” I concede tearfully. There’s no one else who can put me at ease so easily. I wouldn’t say that the years-old scar has magically healed, but his touch soothes away all the pain. Closing the scant centimeters between us, I give him a quick peck. An innocent move, which Jimin changes immediately by drawing me into his arms, pulling me back in for a far more intense kiss. He pulls on my towel, already loosened by my movements, exposing my body to his touch. It’s like there’s fire in his fingertips, setting me aflame wherever he touches – from my hip, to the side of my waist, up to my breasts. Devilishly zoning in on my sensitive spots, sweeping back and forth over the stiffening tips of my chest. All night he has been giving me pleasure, and I want to return the favour.

Ignoring both the loss of the heady sensation from being in contact with his cock and Jimin’s growl of protest, I shift myself down towards the foot of the bed. Taking his half-hard erection in my hand, once again I marvel at its girth. Already I can’t wrap my hand completely around it. The thought of having it inside me is making me shiver in anticipation. Wanting to get a feel of it, I slide my hand up from the base, taking care not to be too rough with my dry hand. It’s enough to get Jimin to moan, the wild yet melodic sound instantly heating up my insides with lust. I want to make him feel good. I move down even further, lowering myself to do just that, but Jimin stops me halfway. “Wait.”

Surprised that he would keep me from sucking him off, I glance up at him, tucking my hair behind my ear so that it doesn’t obstruct my view. “Hmm?”

“Plenty of time for that later,” he exhales restlessly. Grabbing me by my waist, he lifts me up slightly, getting me off of him. Then he wiggles down the space between me and the mattress, comically moving to lie down on his back. It’s hard not to snort all over him.

“What are you doing?” Just how many times is he going to make me laugh while we try to get it on tonight?

“Getting what I want,” he pants, and I’m guessing it’s due to the exertion of his completely unnecessary action rather than being horny. Jimin is such an idiot sometimes. He ignores my eye roll though. “More importantly, are you ready for me?”

Instead of waiting for me to formulate a verbal answer, he reaches down to find the answer for himself. I jolt forward with a moan when Jimin swipes his fingers over my slit, then immediately rams two inside me. I’m sure I dried myself off after getting out of the shower earlier, but somehow I’ve gotten wet enough for his digits to slide into me without much resistance. “So wet already,” Jimin answers for me, even though the mortifying squelching sounds coming from my pussy makes it pretty clear that I’m ready for him. “I want to fuck you. Right now.”

Even though Jimin’s fingers are wrecking the best kind of havoc in me, I want the same thing. More than that, I want to make him feel good too. Before I can put my plan into action though, Jimin slaps the bed angrily. “Shit. I’m clean, but I don’t have a condom.” Scowling, he runs his fingers through his hair angrily, following it with a longer string of curses than I’ve ever heard him utter in my presence. I bite the insides of my cheeks so I can swallow the bubble of laughter back into my throat.

“It’s fine,” I reassure him. “I’m on the pill.” Although I haven’t slept with Se Hoon for ages, I kept taking them. Maybe I’ve continued doing so out of habit. Or maybe I was always unconsciously hoping for something to happen between me and Jimin, as far fetched as it seemed. Well, it’s clearly not as impossible as I’d thought.

“Thank goodness,” Jimin collapses back onto the sheets in relief, amusing me to no end. He doesn’t miss it, and shoots me a look that tells me he’s aware that I’m finding him funny. “I don’t think I can hold back at this point,” he warns me darkly, and I take it as a cue to continue. Bracing my hands on his chest, I sit up shakily. Reading my mind like he always does so expertly, he removes his hand so I can move my hips along the length of his dick. Up and down, up and down, covering him in my juices. I don’t know how he became this hard when I’ve barely done anything for him. But I’ll pleasure both of us now. Lining the tip of his cock with my pussy, I take a deep breath as I feel the bulbous head poking against my entrance. Then I face up to find that Jimin is staring at me with such scorching fire that I can feel my skin blister from the heat. He might just want this more than I do, although I can’t imagine a yearning any stronger than mine.

“Hnng,” I groan as I lower myself down slowly. Belatedly I attempt to figure out the last time I had sex in my head. Even before breaking up, Se Hoon and I hadn’t slept together for a while due to our busy schedules. I didn’t think much of it back then, and had thought that he didn’t mind, either. It turns out that he didn’t mind, but only because he was satisfying his urges with someone else. But I don’t want to think about that now. Not when Jimin’s cock is parting my flesh, its girth pushing my walls aside to make its way in. It’s not even halfway in yet I’m already breathless. The burn feels amazing, even if it’s making me mewl from the pain.

“Does it hurt?” Jimin asks through gritted teeth. “Go slowly.”

Unable to voice an answer, I bob my head in acknowledgement. Taking my time descending on Jimin magnifies the sensation of his cock stretching me out. By the time I’ve sheathed myself over him completely, I feel ready to burst. I’ve never felt so full and I tilt my head back as if to absorb the feeling. But I’m not the only one adjusting to this. Jimin’s grip on either side of my waist is slightly painful, betraying a strength that I wasn’t aware he possesses. “Fuck, so tight,” he grinds out like he can hardly stand the pleasure. “Fuck.”

After giving myself a few seconds to get used to having him inside me, I begin to lift myself up again, then sit back down on him, making both of us groan. I don’t know if I can ever get used to this. Still, I repeat the motion, impaling myself over and over his cock, hips accelerating as I get a sense of the rhythm. Jimin’s unconcealed moans spur me on; knowing how good I’m making me feel drives me to take it higher. But I’m not the only one determined to bring pleasure to my partner.

Even as I bounce on his cock, Jimin manages to reach for my clit, capturing it between his index and middle fingers in a ‘V’. Helped by my rapid movements, he pulls up, exposing my clit to the air. Tongue licking his lips, he looks at it like a delicacy that he’d love to devour. However, unable to do that, he makes do with his thumb. He alternates moving it in circular motions around the nub and grinding against it, all the while pinching it with his other two fingers. My hips stutter from his ministrations, but I don’t want to stop. I can’t, even if I wanted to. Not when he’s stimulating me like this. But I can feel the end approaching me rapidly, faster than I want it to. “Ji—Jimin, wait.”

I should’ve known that he’s not going to do as I say this time. “Give me a good reason to wait,” he challenges.

“I can’t take it.” My body is already shaking from its proximity. I’m about to crest the high, but I want to last longer. “Please, Jimin, or I’m going to come.”

“All the more reason for me not to wait, then.” Jimin takes my reasoning and tosses it out the window. In direct contrast to my request, he teases my clit even more, pushing me forward so I can’t stall it any longer. The knot growing inside me shrinks into itself, compressing impossibly before exploding like fireworks. With a cry of his name, I catch myself from collapsing completely on top of him by bracing my hands on either side of his torso. Jimin releases my clit to grab my waist, pushing me down against him, moaning as he feels my muscles contracting around him. “You’re so sensitive,” he remarks as I start to recover.

There’s nothing I can say to his comment. There’s nothing to say, really. I don’t recall ever being this receptive to someone else’s touch. It has been a while, I think, not wanting to admit that my sensitivity might have been caused by the person touching me, rather than the duration I’ve been deprived of such attention. Burying my face into the crook of Jimin’s shoulder, I inhale his scent; the perfect home to come to after falling down from my high. The realisation that I must be crushing him with my weight comes suddenly. I jolt up to move off of him, but he tightens his hold on my waist, halting me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, I must be heavy, and I–“ Jimin doesn’t give me the time to inform him that I can barely move, returning me back into place right above him and whispering;

“I’m not done yet.”

Digging his fingers in so deep I’m sure he’ll leave me with bruises, he pulls out of me, all the way to the tip. My sigh at the loss becomes a shriek midway when Jimin slams back all the way in without so much as a warning. He doesn’t stop there; in fact, that’s the speed that he’s setting for me. Pounding into me from underneath without mercy, without hesitation, without pause. My relaxed legs quickly grow tense again, as his rapid thrusting stokes a new fire in me. “Jimin, Jimin!” I call out for him in between gasps, every thrust knocking the air out of my lungs and every shred of intelligible thought out of my head, until his name is all that remains. My feet curl inwards, trying to withstand the pleasure but in futility. If he isn’t gripping me so firmly, I would have ended up sprawled over him. However, I have nowhere to run. Forced to take every single one of his hard thrusts. Each one making my lower body wrap tighter and tighter around him.

“Close.” Out of breath, Jimin manages to utter only one word, but he slips a hand between our bodies, closer now that I’ve crumpled over him under his rough pounding, leaving no question as to what he means when he pinches my clit between his fingers again. My body contracts until there’s no space left, and I can’t breathe. Whether my brain is hazy due to the lack of oxygen or because I’m on the verge of cumming, I don’t know. One moment later I climaxing again. Jimin doesn’t need to be told that; my cries of ecstasy and squeezing walls are enough to clue him in. He wraps an arm around my waist and seizes my right shoulder, holding me even more securely in place as his hips accelerates to a speed beyond my imagination. Panting and moaning, I latch onto his shoulders so I can receive his rough thrusts, each one knocking me several inches upwards. Unlike before, Jimin doesn’t give me time to recover, too focused on using my tightening muscles spasming around his cock to reach his own high.

It doesn’t take long, but I’ve regained enough sense of mind to register him sinking his face against my neck as he comes. Each of his grunts accompanying every deliberate, deep thrust, pumping his seed into me is so close to my ear, I can feel the hot air that comes with them. There is an odd feeling of being the one to comfort him as his body quakes. It’s like he trusts me to keep him safe at his most vulnerable, and I immerse myself in the feeling proudly for a while.

By the time Jimin rolls me over to the side, I’m starting to get drowsy. My legs twitch when his limp dick slips out a little, and my eyes flutter open to find that he’s staring at me. “What is it?” Absurdly, I feel a little shy. This is just Jimin after all. On the other hand, I’ve never been with Jimin like this before.

“Nothing. I just can’t believe this isn’t a dream.”

The relatable statement makes me grin. “I know. Me too.”

“It seems like such a waste to just… go to sleep.”

No way. “What do you mean?”

“You know, just…” He shrugs with all the innocence of a toddler, but it doesn’t fool me for one second. Especially when he nuzzles against my neck, then almost immediately switches to kissing and sucking the sensitive flesh. A pressure within makes me moan, feeling myself getting fuller as Jimin grows hard again. “I spent four nights in bed with you and I couldn’t even touch you. Do you know how difficult that was? I was about to go insane.”

The dawn of the following morning is slightly chilly, but that’s what makes it refreshing. Even though I greet the day with a yawn as I rest my forearms against the railing of the balcony, I’m feeling very content and reinvigorated. A light mist shrouding the garden before me gives it a cool, dream-like quality. Each plant has bountiful leaves – it’s always summer in Malaysia, after all – and each one is heavy with morning dew. I wish I could reach and touch the moisture with my fingers.

With time, my brain starts to function more efficiently, and I begin to think about the events of last night. Of course I’m ecstatic about finally being in a romantic relationship with Jimin, the man that I’ve been pining over for so long, but I’d be lying if I say that I don’t have any doubts. I’ve been so focused on getting over him that I never stopped to think what it would mean to have my best friend as my boyfriend. The obvious question is: what if it doesn’t work out between us?

Like Jimin said last night, he has known me for many years now. There aren’t many flaws of mine that he isn’t aware of. I’m quite confident that I know most of the things I need to know about him too. And just like Jimin, none of it has made me fall out of love with him. If anything, his imperfections make me love him even more. I can’t think of any reason that would make us break up, but it’s always a possibility. What would happen to our friendship should the worst come to pass? I hope we can still be friends somehow.

Just the thought of it is depressing enough to make me heave a sigh. There’s no point in speculating about the future. I already know that I can barely endure not being with him. It was torture to watch him with girlfriends when I so desperately, so selfishly wanted to fill that role. Now that my wish has come true, we just have to go forward and do our best. If it doesn’t work out, then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I’m not delusional enough to think that everything will be perfect from now on, but I hope for every rainy day we have to suffer through, there will be a sunny one that will balance it out. Smiling to myself, I enjoy this blissful feeling I never knew I’m capable of feeling. With Jimin, I’m sure my life will be full of happy days, like an eternal summer.

“What’s up with you?” A teasing, rhetorical question comes from behind, making me jump in surprise. I turn around to find Jimin leaning against the frame of the glass door, looking cool as a cucumber. But I see the laughter dancing in his eyes. “One second you were sighing, and the next you were grinning like an idiot.”

Feeling blood rushing to my cheeks in embarrassment at being caught entertaining my thoughts, I spin back to face the garden. “Nothing! How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to want to get a closer look at you.” Jimin approaches and hugs me from behind. He wastes no time sniffing against my neck like a little puppy. “Did you sleep well?”

“Mmhmm.” How could I not? After that second round, I was ready to nod off, but he’d recovered by then and had asked me if he could take me up on that earlier offer to give him a blowjob. How could I say no? And he wasn’t content to finish up in my mouth, either – no, he wasn’t as rough as he was the first time, but he still finished inside me. It left me exhausted and I went out like a light afterwards. I’m not sure what made me wake up so early, but I do feel well-rested, though quite sore.

“I’m glad.” I can feel and hear him smiling against my ear rather than see it. Although I’m not sure if he’s glad because I’ve gotten enough rest, or because the stiff shaft I can feel pressing against my back needs some attention. Given that he’s already tracing the crevices of my ear with his tongue, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter.

“I’m beginning to think that you’re a monster.” My complaint doesn’t sound very convincing since it’s followed by a keening moan. He’s quick to slide his hand up my thighs and under my bathrobe, discovering that I’m not wearing anything underneath. His sharp inhale lets me know how aroused he got from that revelation.

“I’m not usually this horny,” he admits, leaning me down to rest my upper body against the railing so my ass juts out. I can hear the shuffling of his slippers as he moves back, but before I can turn around to see what he’s doing, I feel his tongue running all the way from the bottom up to my asshole. My back arches from the unexpected jolt of pleasure, hitting me like a bolt of lightning down my spine. “Maybe we need to make up for… what, a decade’s worth of love-making?” Despite being sore, my pussy clenches at the ridiculous notion. A whole  decade? “Fuck, you’re so wet already.” The loud, wet sounds his tongue makes as he laps against my slit doesn’t leave me any room to argue. I only let out a whine when he reaches around to press against my engorged nub. “You’re swollen,” he says concernedly, contrasting with his unrelenting ministrations. “Are you okay?”

“If you’re worried–mmmnn–“ Against my better judgement, I push myself back against his mouth, craving for more. “Why are you doing this?”

Jimin’s reply is lost somewhere within my folds, but once his tongue pushes past my entrance, I stop caring about his answer. It’s amazing how easily Jimin unearths my most sensitive spots. Not just how putting pressure against my clit stimulates me more than circular motions, but also how a feather-like touch along the side of my body makes me tremble or that lightly nibbling my nipples makes me buck beneath him. However, a night of thorough attention has made all of me super sensitive, and I’m already on the verge of tears while my head is screaming for more. “Jimin, please,” I beg. “I need you now.”

Those words are all the encouragement that Jimin needs. Standing behind me, he lifts the lower part of the bathrobe up so he can press his insistent hard-on against my entrance. “No, wait, Jimin.” Remembering where we are right now, I begin to panic. “Let’s go inside.”

Of course, Jimin has never been one to listen to orders. “No one’s up yet,” he overrides my protest, and cuts off any oncoming ones by slamming his hips against mine, pushing his thick cock all the way inside in one stroke. Tears fall from my eyes and my scream breaks the stillness of the morning at the brutal insertion. “Shh,” he comforts me, raining kisses all over the side of my neck and shoulders as I sob. “Someone will hear us if you don’t keep it down.”

“Damn it, Jimin, you’re the meanest – ah! Ah!” I can’t even finish reprimanding him. How can I, when my body reacts to him so easily, and the fact that anyone passing by can see us, or other hotel guests can hear us turns me on even more? Taking a little mercy on me, Jimin grabs my chin, directing me to look back so he can kiss me, somewhat effectively swallowing my moans. The intense kiss matches the force of his thrusts below; slower than last night but with more strength. He lowers his hand to slip it inside my bathrobe, groping my left breast, using it as an anchor as his cock drives me to oblivion. Everything he does intoxicates me, making me drunk to the point I don’t know up and down, so that I no longer give a damn about anyone seeing him pounding into me in broad daylight. All I can think about is the tingling sparks of friction from every stroke of his cock sliding in and out of me, the tiny pinpricks of pleasure and pain like scorching embers feeding a bonfire growing more and more out of control within me. “Jimin,” I gasp when he releases my lips for air, “coming.”

He kisses me, then pulls at my lower lip. “Come,” he coaxes me with his fingers pinching my nipple, making me mewl, and with the short words his brain can muster in his state. “With me. Now.”

After several hard thrusts, Jimin brings me to my climax and follows me right after. He holds me tightly, supporting me so my shaking legs don’t suddenly give way from under me, although I can tell from his quivering body that he’s having trouble keeping himself up. The sturdy railing provides the support we both need, and we cling to it as we catch our breaths. A few minutes later, we’re still panting, but Jimin slowly sits down on the floor, guiding me to sit across his lap. I’ve hugged Jimin countless times before when we were still just friends, but I think after sex might be the best time for cuddling with him.

His comforting arms almost lulls me to sleep, but the gradually escalating heat of the rising sun brings me back to my senses. Opening my eyes, I ask drowsily, “What time is it?”

Jimin shrugs. “Who knows.”

Resisting the urge to follow his devil-may-care attitude, I climb out of his lap to crawl towards the table where I’d left my handphone. My eyes widen when I see the numbers on display. “Jimin! There’s less than three hours before our flight! We need to go, now!”

We get ready and packed in record time. Soon we’re begging our driver to drive us as quickly as possible to the airport, both of us still huffing and panting, but this time for a completely different reason compared to this morning. The young driver shakes his head in disapproval, but accedes to our wishes, driving at a speed I’m not sure is legal, expertly zipping in and out between cars. We earn a few honks, but I try to detach myself from the chaos, leaning back against the seat to try and calm my racing heartbeat.

“This is all your fault, you pervy animal,” I hiss at Jimin under my breath. “If we can’t board our plane you’re going to pay for both our tickets back home.”

Jimin’s smirk is charming and utterly unrepentant. “Worth it.”

Thank you for reading! As always, comments/asks/likes are very welcome :)

[golbrockstar]

Fun In LA

Colby Brock x Reader

Warning(s): None that I’m aware of

Summary: Colby Brock accuses you of never having any fun and decides it’s up to him to show you what fun in LA really means.

(Gif by @starrybrock )

You crept into the Trap House at the early hour of 8 am, taking in your surroundings as you balanced the tray of Starbucks in your hand and the bag of donuts under your arm.

The house was silent, confirming to you that all of its occupants were either still asleep or hadn’t made it out of bed yet. 

It wasn’t surprising to you, of course. The boys rarely woke up before noon on a regular day, but the fact that it was a Sunday and they had partied, according to one of their Instagram stories, ‘like fucking animals’ came into account as well.

You pulled your key out of the lock before you realized that they were right. The house was a mess.

You let out a quiet laugh and shook your head. You'd been the Trap Boys' assistant for a little over two months now and you loved them, of course. Corey insisted on teaching you how to dance even though you'd tried your hardest to convince him you couldn't, Jake could make you laugh by just walking into the room, if he was trying, Sam enjoyed your company and practically sang your praises when you helped him with the more serious stuff, and Colby very nearly relied on you to remind him to do stuff and would always be the first to joke with you and invite you to stuff.

You walked into the kitchen and were surprised to see the boy standing at the fridge. He had ridiculous bedhead and was only wearing a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. He turned to look at you when the donut bag rustled as you set it on the counter.

"You’re up early," You commented, picking up his cup. “Coffee?”

Colby let out a groan, shutting the fridge and taking the cup from you. "You're a goddess."

You laughed. "It's what you pay me for."

He rolled his eyes as he took a long sip, reaching for the donut bag and examining its contents.

“Got about every kind. I’m still not sure on what donuts are your guys’ favorites.” You said as you set your purse on the table.

“We’re not picky,” Colby replied, pulling out a chocolate covered donut and biting into it.

Conversation with Colby was always easy. He never took things too seriously, but also didn’t always feel the need to crack a joke. It was simple and you found yourself talking to him quite regularly.

“How was the party?” You asked, making your way around the kitchen to silently tidy it up.

Colby shrugged, watching you lazily. “Fun. Would’ve been better if you were there.”

“Ha ha,” You replied, tying up the old garbage and replacing it with a new bag. “You know that’s not my scene.”

“And I don’t see why not. Do you ever do anything besides work?”

“I enjoy my work.”

Your job was fairly easy and was always changing. Sometimes you’d be a cameraman, sometimes you tagged along to meetings, sometimes you helped them organize their bills or other expenses, and sometimes is was things as simple as putting gas in their cars. You never knew what to expect from them and that’s partially why you enjoyed the job so much. That and how fun all the people you got to interact with were.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Ignoring his comment and the way he was staring at you, you pulled another couple trash bags from the roll. "Since you’re Mr. bright and early today, you get to help me clean up.”

He shook his head at you but took a bag from your hands. "Seriously, you should come to the next one, have a little fun."

"I wouldn't know anyone."

"You'd know us."

"I don't really drink,"

"Don't have to to have a good time."

You dumped out two red solo cups into the sink and disposed them into his trash bag. "What do you want from me, Colby?"

"I want you to have some fun."

You scoffed at him, grabbing another four cups from the table.

"I’m serious, Y/N. When was the last time you did something a little dangerous or even just for fun?"

"I have fun with you guys all the time."

"You know what I mean."

You sighed, shoving a pizza box into the bag. He was staring at you with those piercing blue eyes and it was hard to ignore him when you knew he wasn't going to drop the subject until he got what he wanted.

"Not since I moved out here," you admitted.

"What?" Colby seemed taken aback by your answer. "You're kidding, right?"

You shrugged. You were trying to live in LA. You had to eat and pay your bills; you didn't feel like you had time for fun.

"That’s insane! You’re in like- the funest city and you’ve never even tried?”

You started making a stack of empty cups. “It’s not that I haven’t tried. I just...don’t know anyone out here. I’m not like you and Sam, I came out here all on my own on my own dime and before I had this job I was living off a barista and a bartender salaries. Fun didn’t come easy.”

Colby’s frown only deepened at your words. You could see the wheels turning in his head as you dumped the stack into his trash bag. You’d come to learn it was never a good sign when he was quiet.

“Colby?” You said cautiously, looking up at him.

His eyes were locked on you, focused and unwavering. The heat rose to your cheeks as you looked down at the floor and moved to grab your trash bag.

He grabbed it before you had a chance.

"Colby!"

"No, nope, unacceptable. I refuse to let you continue living your life like this."

You scoffed. "You're being ridiculous,"

He swung the bag out of your reach, holding it above his head.

"Colby! Seriously, I need to get this place cleaned up."

“No! Not until you agree to have some fun!”

“When?” You retorted, mildly annoyed with his antics. “With who? Where?”

“With me!” He exclaimed. “One month. Give me one month to show you how much fun LA can be and by then if you don’t ever want to have fun again, I’ll drop it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What’s your game, Brock?”

“No games or deal’s off, okay?”

You considered for a moment. You knew he wasn’t going to let this go. Plus he was basically your boss, you kinda had to do what he says. Not that you thought he would fire you if you didn’t agree, but still. Even so, a whole month of Colby trying to convince you to let loose and have fun. What could go wrong?

A lot. You thought.

But your mouth betrayed your thoughts. “Fine. Deal.”

Colby grinned, handing you the trash bag back. “Awesome. And as for where, let me take care of that.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“Only if you don’t trust me.”

“I’ve known you for, like, maybe three months.”

He let out a small laugh, a wide smile stretched across his lips.

“When do we start?”

“Tomorrow.” He confirmed. “Give me the rest of the day to figure out the details.”

You shrugged. “Whatever,”

He winked at you and disappeared into the hall, probably on his way to get dressed and hopefully brush his hair.

You sighed when he was out of sight, huffily shoving more cups into the bag. This was going to one eventful month.

[sims2bellaswan]

pas de deux IV [Bruno Bucciarati x Reader | Risotto Nero x Reader]

[SFW]

AO3 VERSION

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

You’ve worked your whole life to earn a place in the Rome ballet company, yet everyone seems to work against you.

Between the stress of working to match the other dancers to unforeseen romantic issues, problems just seem to pile up.

Trish sighed into her spot on the loveseat. The man next to her, clad in a daring purple, silk suit. The gold buttons reflected the warm lighting; their little black buttonholes making them akin to sunkissed ladybugs peppering his suit. His button down almost had an iridescent quality, picking up the light and showing it back.

He pulled his hand through his blond hair, watching Trish pick up a champagne flute. His eyebrow cocked in surprise, “Drinking tonight?”

“I hate doing these parties. This is exhausting.” She sipped delicately, an attempt to not make her annoyance seen.

“You can think of a better word than that.” He smiled, dimples puckering on his tanned skin.

Remembering her lessons felt like a pike to the gut. “Demeaning, boring, absolutely pointless?” She looked over to him, staring through her lashes and furrowing her brows. “You aren’t my teacher, Giorno. Can we leave my failed english exam out of work?” There was a certain sting to her words.

Giorno clasped his hands in his lap, balancing his elbows on his knees. “Wouldn’t want your new ducklings to see your attitude just yet, Trish.” His voice felt playful in comparison to her’s. He was teasing her, as friends do. “Nor, would Fugo be very happy to hear you complaining about his lessons.”

“Enough. I told him I would make it up when the season ends.” She finished her champagne, quickly. “I have a lot on my plate.” Her sentence was punctuated with a gentle sigh.

Giorno was a benefactor: Trish’s first sponsor and closest friend. He hosted galas, collected donations, and dealt with money. It seemingly came easily to him, considering how well off he’s become. Gossip will tell you his father is big in England, a big shot lawyer, but you neither knew nor cared about English legal talk. Hopelessly polite and endlessly caring, he had a brilliant public face. His golden record was well known in ballet circles in Italy. Every serious ballerina in the country dreamed of being sponsored by him.

You pressed on your abdomen as you walked to Bruno and his conversational partner. You couldn’t place at all where you knew his face and it was beginning to bother you. Should he be someone you should've known, you’ll be outed for not having done your homework. That would be the final embarrassment of the night and you would probably die on impact. Or, more realistically, bawl your eyes out at home.

Bruno’s hand instinctively went to the small of your back, lingered for a moment, then fell away. “Nero, this is a friend of mine.” He glanced at you, it was painted on your face how nervous you made yourself.

Taking the hint, you introduced yourself. Nero, as you had heard, shook your hand. His hand was callossed and his grip was tight. You shook your hand lightly after the fact, pins and needles would’ve picked up if he had held on but a moment longer.

The man was almost looked out of place. If it were not for how well he wore his suit, you would’ve thought he was wandering in from a passing wedding party. He wore a black suit with a small repeating pattern across the blazer, in a red foiled thread. Noticing little details, he was out of place to the point of button colors. While his hair, stark white and braided, had little golden beads at the end, his suit was entirely detailed in silver. An aged silver tubing lined the hems, which complimented the red in its warmness.

Releasing you of his grasp and momentarily giving you his attention, he betrayed no emotion. “Risotto Nero.”

Like a million alarms, bells and warning sounds went off in your head, you had to hold back your physical realization. Today was not your day for recognizing, like, really important people. This is Risotto Nero as in the ballet master for the Rome Company. You’re not kicking yourself nearly as hard as you were when you hadn’t recognized Trish. But, you still kicked yourself.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, uhm, signore Nero.” Your second language fled your mind under your nerves. You wanted to cry. Oh, cruel fate.

He hummed, giving you no sign of continuing.

Seemingly dissatisfied with your response, he turns his attention back to Bruno. You try hard not to be disappointed. The key word there is ‘try’. Biting at your inner cheek and embarrassment filling your gut, you had half a mind to catch his attention again and earn a positive response. Yet, the waver building in your throat and your fear of disappointment held you back. Oh, cruel fate.

Their conversation continued on, but it faded out from your ears. The blood rushing to your cheeks and the pain from your incessant chewing began to take the place of your ability to hear. You found no place to insert yourself so you stood beside Bruno silently. It wasn’t until Risotto had walked away that you had realized the conversation had ended. Though, your friend did not seem satisfied with its end.

Bruno’s gentle hand led you from the ballroom to the garden as the party began to die. Surrounding a luxurious pool were a few stragglers, ballerinas who were on the last bits of their conversations and donors hoping to catch a word of next year’s season.

“I ruined that.” You muttered, collapsing into a wicker chair. Tears bore needles at your eyes, threatening and fighting to slip down your cheeks. “I just gave the worst impression to the one person who could break this for me.” This time, with feeling.

His hand squeezed your shoulder. “He was an ass.” There is clear disdain in his tone. It’s quiet, but knowing him this long, the steel in his voice is clear as day. “You’re not the only one.”

That was a bit of a kick to the stomach, you weren’t the only one who made a terrible impression. So, Bruno agreed. You needed to get home before you cried.

“He has no care for his dancers, you know that.” Bruno gently reminded you, walking the minefield of your broken spirit carefully. He was right, you were well aware of the complaints Risotto received as a master. Ballerinas quit the company in pieces after dancing for him; he broke them. Trish was the exception that proved the rule. You held little to no chance.

“If I quit, it’s going to be because of him.” Those words were hard to get out. Three hours ago, you wouldn’t have entertained the idea of quitting, you had worked so hard. In for a penny, in for a pound. But now? It was an all to real end to your dreams.

The cab home was rough. You elected to take one alone so you could call your parents. You ended up not doing that, opting instead to have a silent sob in the backseat. Crying until your eyes were dry, you wiped what remained of the makeup you spent hours perfecting off your cheeks. Your hair a mess, your mascara running, you looked more like a victim of breakup than a failing ballerina.

A beacon amongst the rocks, your apartment was a safe haven in Rome. The warm lights buzzed with age as you flipped them on, casting off your shoes and coat as you fell onto your bed. You reviewed the night in your head a million, no, a trillion times.

It wasn’t a disaster. Not a complete one, at least. You met Trish. You met Ballet Master Nero, which was the low moment of the night, but it still happened. You’ll have a friendly face at the first rehearsal. You’ll have Bruno. You began to cry again.

Smiling past your tears and glancing at the clock, you groaned. Your smile faded when you realized just how late it had become. Swallowing whatever emotions were left, you padded like a hurt dog to the bathroom. Your nightly routine was lethargic at best, with brief intermissions of staring at yourself in the mirror. You felt exactly like you did when you had thought you failed the Diamond solo. Everyone knew, everyone saw, and no one wanted to tell you how pathetic you looked while you were doing it.

You really needed this sleep.

[rushingheadlong]

Star Fleet Project was recorded on April 21st & 22nd, 1983.

The full 28-minute album is available to listen to on Youtube, for those of you who may not have heard it before!

And since this little project of Brian’s often gets overlooked, I thought I’d use the anniversary of its recording to talk about what exactly Star Fleet Project is, why it was made, and what makes it unique!

Background

The inspiration for the project came from the theme song to a children’s sci-fi show that Brian’s son Jimmy watched. The show was called “Star Fleet” and was a British dub of the Japanese program “X-Bomber”. 

The dubbed show had a soundtrack composed by Paul Bliss. Brian had the idea to make a rock version of the theme song and, with a few days of downtime in Los Angeles, he decided to book time at The Record Plant studios and go for it. 

He enlisted the help of his friends Eddie Van Halen (guitarist, also provided backing vocals), Phil Chen (session bassist), Alan Gratzer (drummer with REO Speedwagon), and Fred Mandel (session pianist, who toured with Queen on the Hot Space tour). Although Brian knew all of the other four musicians, they didn’t all know each other.

Brian had the framework for the first two songs, but the recording process largely consisted of them playing off each other and just having fun with the music as Brian didn’t have any plans to release the songs they worked on.

Songs

“Star Fleet” is the main track and was recorded on April 21st. Brian describes it as having a sort of “nervous exhilaration” as the five musicians got used to playing together. Brian had brought a demo of this song into the studio, as he wanted to be respectful of everyone’s time by coming prepared. Brian had done some arranging of the existing verses from the original theme song and added extra material to the middle section to create the full song, which ended up being a little over 8 minutes long.

“Let Me Out” is the second track and was recorded on April 22nd. It was an old song of Brian’s that hadn’t been recorded before, although quite a bit of improvisation was added along the way and the final song is just over 7 minutes long. Eddie Van Halen broke his top guitar string in the final solo, which was left on the finished track.

Brian didn’t have plans for any more tracks, but the group continued to jam together on April 22nd and “Blues Breaker” was born. The song was inspired by the John Mayall and Eric Clapton album of the same name, and is dedicated to Eric Clapton. It’s the longest on the album, at nearly 13 minutes. It’s also the most spontaneous of any of the songs on the album, and is the only song that didn’t come from any preexisting framework.

Release

Brian initially put the final tapes away, with no plans to do anything with them. However he played them for a few people and at their urging agreed to release them, with the approval from the other musicians involved.

Brian honed “Star Fleet” into a slightly more proper track and Roger assisted by providing additional backing vocals, but generally the songs were left unchanged from their initial recordings and no overdubs were added except the guitar harmonies in “Star Fleet”. (As Brian describes it, “I haven't messed one scrap with the tracking done on the day. The rest is simply mixed 'naked'.”) If you listen closely you can hear everyone talking to each other at various points in the tracks, particularly at the end of “Star Fleet”.

Mixing was done by Reinhold Mack, and the three songs were released as a Mini-LP on October 31, 1983. A version of “Star Fleet” was also released as a single (edited down to 4:12) with an instrumental version of the track titled “Son of Star Fleet” as a B-side. 

Brian did eventually get in contact with Paul Bliss, the original composer, prior to releasing the album. Paul had written more verses to the theme song than just what appeared in the show, but these aren’t included in Brian’s song as he had no knowledge of them at the time he was recording. Paul Bliss later released his own official soundtrack for the Star Fleet show in 2009.

Brian also got in contact with the original Japanese company who made the TV show, and they shared footage with Brian that was included in a promo video for the single. It is... certainly a site to behold...

Solo Album or Not?

At the time, Star Fleet Project seems to have been accepted as Brian’s first solo album. There’s even interviews with Brian as late as 1998 that refer to Another World as his third album, placing Star Fleet Project as the first. 

It’s worth remembering, however, that Brian had no intentions of making an album out of these tracks. Even after agreeing to release them he didn’t work them into something more polished and didn’t go back and record extra material to make a full LP. These weren’t recorded under any sort of contract and the fact that they were released at all is more due to happenstance than anything else.

The general consensus among fans today is that Star Fleet Project does not count as Brian’s first solo album, and it’s generally described as just being a “project” - when it gets remembered at all, that is. However it would be true to say that “Star Fleet” (the track) was Brian’s first solo single, even if the events surrounding it’s creation and release are rather atypical. 

Finally, if there’s any lingering doubts about Star Fleet Project’s place in Brian’s career, Brian himself certainly didn’t seem to consider it a solo album. He released it under the credits “Brian May and Friends” and specified in the liner notes what he thought it was:

What you have just picked up is not your normal kind of album. Not an album which has been "thoughtfully pieced together by a coordinated band as a balanced and polished listening experience." Not a Queen album. Not a solo Brian May album. It is a record of a unique event.

More Information

VHND.com has a write-up about the project and the recording sessions HERE.

QueenVault.com has reproduced the liner notes which you can read HERE.

Queenpedia.com has reproduced a 1983 interview with Guitar Player discussing the project which you can read at the bottom of the page HERE.

And finally, a brief TV interview with Brian from 1983:

Photo Sources

1-3: Album covers and inner sleeve, from discogs.com 4-5: Brian May and Friends, VHND.com 6-7: Brian May and Friends during record, scanned from inner sleeve and edited by me. Please don’t repost without credit. 8: Brian May in a Star Fleet shirt, tumblr post by @ure-gonna-loveme-when-u-seeme (original credit unknown) 9: Brian May in a Star Fleet shirt, Screencap from interview linked above 10: Brian May in a Star Fleet shirt, QueenPhotos.wordpress.com

[unstoppableforcce]

what we do now that it’s over ( 3.5 )

alt. title : I must fix what the war broke 

a finnpoe series but this half chapter is Rey-centric. our boys will be back next chapter. read on Ao3

a warning ! Kylo ren/ Ben Solo is discussed. he’s certainly not my favorite guy, but I can’t ignore him either. it’s not R*ylo but Rey and force ghost Luke talk about him - r.e.

It was only Poe and Finn who trekked back once the sun began to set. After at least ten minutes of Poe first explaining, then repeating his explanation of the path to follow to get back, he gave in to Rey’s pleads to stay out there alone for longer.

He warned her of the larger beasts who could creep up from behind without so much of a sound, of the bugs that could bite without even being seen, of the many dangers of getting lost out there with no water or food… She made it very clear she understood and still opted to stay. He left his handheld communicator out there with her despite her protests, insisting that if she had a problem, she had to call.

She was his guest after all.

With one final word of agreement, a nod of reassurance, and a gentle squeeze of both Poe and Finn’s hands, the two of them trekked back to the house and she stayed with the tree.

The setting sun left a rustic orange glow over it all, cascading through the trees, finding every space between the canopy of leaves and dousing the jungle in warmth. As if she needed the extra heat while out there.

She settled into the base of the tree, dragging her fingers mindlessly over the roots which surrounded her, encapsulating her in the aura created by the behemoth-like power the bark contained. It was real. It was tangible when she was there. For the many nights she spent keeping herself up wondering, she could feel it here. It was real.

Such a simple reminder to restore a faith she didn’t even realize was dwindling since it all ended.

That night on Exegol, the power she felt as all the Jedi spoke to her… She hadn’t felt it since then. And she thought that was okay at first, she thought it was because she had restored the balance, that she had ended the tension and what came after was meant to be this quiet. But she couldn’t even convince herself of that.

Not when it all came rushing back through her, sat next to the tree. And now all she could wonder was if she was broken without the direct connection, why she couldn’t feel it until she got here.

Her fingers grazed the roots then moved to grab a few of the fallen leaves and flowers, her fingers mindlessly twisting them together.

“You did everything right.”

The voice came like a whisper in the wind. At first, she didn’t think she was actually hearing it, thought it was just her desperateness playing a trick on her. But it came again.

“You cannot blame yourself.”

She was sure it was real now, her head lifting from the mess of roots and knotted flower stems in her hand to search the now red-hued jungle around her. There was less light, but it was somehow warmer than before as the crimson tore through the leaves and branches, dousing her in an almost unsettling color.

The red, not like blood but brighter. Like the red of the battle of Crait. From what she had seen as they flew away, from the dust she brushed off Finn and Poe the second they ran aboard the Falcon.

It was a color she could only associate with the emptiness she felt as Luke left.

It was his voice, she knew that for sure.

“I don’t blame myself.” She shot back, using the thick root on her left to boost herself to her feet, scanning for the source of the sound.

“It really doesn’t do you any good to lie to me, Rey.”

He emerged from behind the tree, blue and flowing forward as his mere presence made the aura surge tenfold. The red didn’t cut through him, it only glowed around him, and for a second, he almost looked as tangible as the force felt.

The strength coming from him, he didn’t need to be physical to be real, she could feel him as if he was really there.

“I’m not lying.” She tried to counter, holding her ground and he encircled the trunk and moved closer.

“You are. You blame yourself, you shouldn’t.” He had such a soft curve to his face. After it all ended, she looked back through some of the old archived footage, some of the clips of him, Leia, and Han. Seeing him so young was almost shocking, but he hadn’t changed.

Seeing him again now, she was certain of that. He had been roughly the same age after the battle of Endor when he ended his war. She could only wonder what she would look like when that old, would she wear it as well?

Would her eyes be as soft even though the horrors she’s witnessed, everything she’s been a part of?

“He knew what he was doing.”

She caught the tears before they could come out. She could still feel his hand, the touch of warmth which brought her back. The memory made her resent the heat now, it felt almost mocking.

“There was no redemption for him, Rey, not after everything he had become.” Luke continued, stepping closer.

She wanted to reach out to him. But she couldn’t. He was real, he just wasn’t there.

“He gave his life for me-”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t have considered doing the same for him? Had the tables been turned?”

She couldn’t lie, he had already told her that. He could see through her as easily as he had the first day they met. Upon first words, she felt as if she had known him for ages, she imagined he felt the same.

“You would have been wrong to, but you would have. That’s just who you are.” He argued, gesturing for her to take a seat back down where she had been and him doing the same across from her, onto one of the larger roots.

“He came back for me…” She fought stubbornly, pointing into her chest because she had nothing else to do with her hands and she had to manage something.

Luke gave her a look, somehow superior in its ‘all-knowing’ but soft in its fatherly downturn of his smile. Her hands went back to playing with the flowers she had discarded.

“He did. And saving you was his last full measure of devotion to you and to the Force.” Luke nodded but stopped after a few slow beats of his head. “But that didn’t erase it all, everything Kylo Ren did still bled onto his hands.”

She knew that. She couldn’t imagine a world where she brought him off of Exegol and tried to explain it all to someone like Poe who had suffered so much at his hands for years in the Resistance, or Finn who was stolen from a family he’ll never know to fight his war for him as an expendable number. She couldn’t explain that Ben was someone else because even she knew it wasn’t entirely true.

He became better. Coming to save her, that was his redemption, in Luke’s eloquent words, ‘his last full measure of devotion’. But that was his path.

And she knew that, and maybe that was why she felt so guilty. To know that someone’s path existed just to save her, that he gave his little remaining life for her. He may have been what he was, but she still felt it, she could recognize the situation for what it was and still feel for him.

She didn’t know how to explain that to Poe or Finn. She barely knew how to explain it to herself.

And with how warm they had been to return to, holding on tight to them as nothing else mattered in the world… They had become everything, they mattered to her, she couldn’t bring herself to say what she had to say about Ben to them, she couldn’t explain it.

It was guilt. Luke was right. She blamed herself for so many things.

“I don’t know how to explain what it is that I’m feeling.” She repeated her thoughts aloud to Luke, hoping he had some further realistic Jedi insight.

Maybe he could throw a rock at her and tell her she was overthinking things. Anything to snap her from this strange force funk.

“You don’t have to.”

She glanced back to him, eyes desperate and reddening with the set of the sun, a fallen purple beginning to set over them, redder than blue, but a mix of the two all the same.

“What you feel is real to you, you don’t have to explain that to anyone.” He continued, pointing to her chest with a steady hand. “Ben and everything he gave to you, lives within you. You keep him with you as a dyad in the force. That’s yours alone.”

“Finn and Poe-”

“Are two of the best of them, but people keep things for themselves. You don’t exist for them, you exist for you.” Luke continued with a sigh as he glanced around at something she couldn’t see, she tried to follow his stare but came up with nothing. “Kylo Ren and Ben were the darkness in the force, everything wrong with him lives on just as everything right does. It’s a balance. The light is in you just as the darkness is, as it always has been.”

“How do I feel it all again?” She sighed, “After Exegol, after coming back… It’s harder than it’s ever been.”

“Well.” He shrugged with a laugh, “You were a natural, of course having to put work into it is going to feel hard.”

She wanted to laugh, but her chest felt too heavy.

“You used the force of a thousand generations. I don’t know how to put it simpler than to say you’re tired, you need to rest, to take it slow and easy. It will come back as you do.”

She nodded, already beginning to feel it just by being there.

“You need to find a new way to channel it. Without the war, you need to find somewhere else to focus it.” He explained, standing up and dusting off his legs even if he wasn’t even physically sat in the dirt, just to manage a laugh from her. “I think you already know how, too.”

“Finn?”

“Smart girl.” He pointed, gesturing for her to come back to her feet. “He’ll need training, and you’ve got everything you need to do just that.”

His hand ghosted over her heart, tapping a few times and she could feel the vibrations of it all even without him making contact.

“I don’t know how I’d do this without you. I wouldn’t have been able to manage it on Exegol, we wouldn’t have won-”

“Nah, you’re managing just fine.”

She wanted to argue otherwise, but he was so confident, she immediately felt caught off guard by it all, a faint voice in the back of her head mentioning she may be wrong.

“The war is over, and you’re allowed to feel everything you’re feeling. Not just you, all of you. There’s a lot that comes with the shift from battle to quiet.” He added.

“How’d you manage it?”

He smiled, wry and incomplete. “The wrong way. We all did. But you’ll do better.”

“How are you so certain?”

“Because you are better.”

He faded out with the night, but he wasn’t ever really gone, not when he could still feel him.

She walked back to the house with a warmth she couldn’t explain, even as the night fell and the wind began to chill, the warmth was there, inside of her.

[cosmi-trashbin]

Thoughts on Moon and Eclipsa as Queens

Think of the wand as thematically tied to Star’s role as the princess of Mewni. While the wand transforms into a design that best fits and reflects the personality and aesthetic of the current wielder, it’s also tied to the heavy responsibility, expectations, and history of Mewman royalty. A Mewman queen benefits from being imaginative and creative, but she’s limited by the expectations of her role as queen and the needs of her kingdom. The tie-in book showcased that most queens had difficulty walking on this particularly shaky tightrope: Every one of them was molded by the current status of their kingdom, their perspective on what it took to be a proper queen in some way, shape, or form, and how much they personally cared about/were invested in their role as queen. Some weren’t fit for the crown period because of how flighty or selfish they were. One queen was totalitarian. And some queens did what they felt was absolutely necessary.

Discussing Queen Moon

Queen Moon was an example of the last category: She was thrust into the role at a very young age and molded herself into the idealized picture of what she believed a proper Mewman queen should be. She followed every rule and mandate as closely as she reasonably could. She’s elegant, coiffed, and stern, but fair. She tries to be calm and collected for the sake of her people; to maintain a comfortable, but efficient status quo for her kingdom. But, a problematic part of maintaining this status quo was either burying and/or upholding the previous policies/effects of previous queens in regards to monsters.

Though, as the series has continued, viewers discover that Moon isn’t entirely rigid or unsympathetic. The bumbling, doofy King River is an example of the warmer, more tender side of Moon’s personality. River is a terrible king, but his importance as Moon’s partner shouldn’t be understated. His kind words, goofiness, and warm personality played a big role in helping Moon settle into her role and responsibilities as queen; he’s her ongoing emotional rock and moral support. The reason I bring this up is that it’s an example of Moon trying to balance personal happiness with being queen. She could have picked a king that was beneficial for strictly political relations or even specialized in overseeing a specific part of the kingdom. She even could have chosen to stay an independent, self-sufficient queen (ala Solaria). Instead, she chose to take on River as a figurehead while she runs the kingdom. It’s the one decision that she, arguably, received a lot of criticism for. In short, there’s a breathing, feeling person behind the crown.

When Queen Moon relates to Buff Frog on the common ground that they’re both parents, it shows a shift in her thinking. She’s not an unapproachable, unsympathetic figure. This is further showcased when she tries to reach out to Ludo and even tries to help Eclipsa with Meteora. Moon knows what it takes to be an effective and liked ruler, but apparently, she’s also willing to change and adopt new ideas. Moon was definitely willing to work on means to improve relations between Mewmans and monsters. She might use her reputation/influence as queen to slowly and carefully convince the people this is a very needed, very positive change for the kingdom.

The caveat is the controversy surrounding Moon and her lineage as the “imposters” in the royal bloodline. The first two episodes of season 4 reveal that Moon has become the poster child for the Piefolks’ very open, blatant contempt towards Mewni, if not all Mewmans. They readily hand-wave and mock River and Star for being ‘full-blown’ Mewmans while praising and aggrandizing Moon. Confirming that Moon is Piefolk validates their prejudices in some kind of twisted, backwards way. Of course they want to keep Moon herself around to push and fuel propaganda (which could lead to Piefolk trying to ambush and overthrow Eclipsa).

River’s comments about ‘dirty peasants’ and Piefolk comments about Mewmans bring up questions about what other peoples have race tensions/conflict with Mewni and what kind of impact/fallout Mewni’s class system has had. Mina Loveberry’s introductory episode pokes at some of these ideas, too. Since Mina was a super-soldier during Queen Solaria’s reign, she’s a living relic of previous Mewni sentiments and ideas: She approached Earth with a very imperialist, Manifest Destiny kind of mentality. “Mewmans are superior, so it’s our right to conquer!” Star’s response is indicative of how much Mewni has changed since those times. At the very least, Mewni royalty try to approach most kingdoms and peoples with some measure of decorum, diplomacy, and respect. The sad thing is that this approach was rolled out by the time there was a deeply cut, ingrained series of ideas such as “Monsters are inferior” and “Certain peoples are and always will be lower class by default.” 

In short, Queen Moon’s rule was the textbook definition of what’s expected of a Mewman queen. Without the context of her personal new revelations about Buff Frog or Ludo, her reign was the last example of a classic Butterfly queen.

Discussing Queen Eclipsa

When Eclipsa was next in line to be queen, she was already high-key rebellious by dating monsters in secret and practicing “controversial” magic. In some ways, her role as queen was peripheral to her personal pleasure and hobbies. She had very progressive ideas and the potential to dramatically overhaul then-current kingdom policies, but it feels like she couldn’t or didn’t act on them. It’s a bit ambiguous what her personal take on being queen is, but she seems content with the idea of just being able to live a peaceful, quiet life with her baby and monster husband. When she encountered rampaging and fully realized Meteora, note that she was trying to talk Meteora down and explain the delicate, complicated mess behind why Meteora couldn’t just stomp in and declare herself queen. Eclipsa was willing to help stop Meteora despite the fact that Meteora, technically, was the rightful royal princess. She realized how different current circumstances were in Mewni and what has to happen to keep the peace.

When she was an upcoming queen, Eclipsa was already locked into bureaucratic obligations when she was expected to marry Prince Shastacan. Her chapter in the official spellbook reveals that Globgor gave her an ultimatum: Run away with him or stay in Mewni. She chose to run away with Globgor and, presumably, start a new life among monster society until she was caught by the Magic High Commission. Globgor’s ultimatum shows that Eclipsa was forced to chose sides at the time. Globgor is the unknown variable for what Eclipsa’s reign would have been like. While I don’t have a lot to work with for determining the nature of their relationship, I get the impression that Eclipsa would insist on them being equal in regards to ruling; either that, or Globgor is the more assertive, dominant party in their relationship.

By herself, Eclipsa seems to just be going with the flow. She opened Mewni to monsters and her reign so far has been reshaping Mewni’s culture and encouraging a melting pot between peoples. Though, beyond that, the concern about dissatisfied peoples like the Piefolk or even the continuing tensions between Mewmans and monsters has been brushed under the proverbial rug. Eclipsa isn’t dumb, but she needs some pretty intensive PR to back her up. As far as Mewni is concerned, she’s an unabashed monster lover and would pick monsters over Mewmans in a heartbeat. In short, she’s going to be viewed in pretty black and white terms without the gravity or nuances of her personal story and circumstances. From the episode titles released thus far, Eclipsa’s definitely going to work on just that. But, again, the atmosphere surrounding Eclipsa’s current reign is tied pretty heavily to what Globgor is like. He has enough importance in Eclipsa’s personal life that she’d weigh his opinions and her happiness with him that she might not act as rationally as she would solo.

Ending Thoughts

There’s so much emphasis on the balance between a queen’s personal life and her role as queen. For Moon, there’s glimpses of the role being a mandate or obligation. In the episode where Moon was wandering around the pure magic dimension, viewers see a surprisingly carefree, almost childlike side of her. Moon was allowed to “cut loose” for an episode and it poses the question of what she’d be like if she weren’t bogged down with royal responsibilities.  For Star, there’s been hints at what personal hobbies and freedoms she feels like she’d have to give up as queen. Her mom gave up everything; Star is fighting for a balance between her eccentricities and living up to expectations. For Eclipsa, the biggest issue was her decision between duty and following her heart.

Most of Star Vs. queen characters’ stories study the pressure of being born into a position of power and responsibility. Having a list of previous queens to compare and contrast opens the floor for discussing the importance of having the right person in a prominent political office and how their personal morals affect what they do while in office.

[milliejenkins]

Solo #18

Even with copious amounts of alcohol in my system, I suddenly feel completely sober and pissed.  My brain works at 100 miles per minute with every step I take as I’m guided through a ‘Staff Only’ door and led down a deserted corridor with various doors leading off of it.

“Why does management want to see me?” The security guard walking in front of me doesn’t respond so I look back to the one walking behind me and raise an eyebrow. He doesn’t respond either, instead he points forward, silently telling me to watch where I’m going, but it’s too late.  I connect with the back of huge ape up front and stumble back in my heels, only just managing to keep my balance. There a distinct sound of chuckle behind me and my head whips round but before I can get any words out I’m ordered inside the office “Management will be right with you. Take a seat.”

I don’t take a seat.  I’m ready for an argument and an answer to my question of why the hell I’ve been brought here away from my birthday celebrations and away from the nice guy at the bar.  My arms cross in front of my chest and my eyes a drawn to the movement on the screens beside the large desk.  I smile as I spot my girls on one of the screens and then frown that not one of them seems to have noticed I’ve disappeared. 

The click of the office door closing and footsteps walking toward me doesn’t have me turning around, instead I continue watching the screen as I talk to the person I assume is management “Do you make a habit of dragging people from their birthday celebrations?”

A hand splays over my stomach and I’m pulled back into a solid body. I gasp in shock but that familiar scent of aftershave stops me from struggling free out of the hold. I stand perfectly still as a set of lips press to the top of my head and that oh so sexy voice whispers low enough that I can only just hear it and sends ripples of pleasure down my spine “Only when it’s someone I really want to see.” I turn around to face him, my arms instinctively wrapping around his broad shoulders. Wes’ lips presses against mine, his tongue teasing them apart and seeking entry in to the warmth of my mouth as he mumbles playfully “Trick or treat. Give me something good to eat.” I’m backed up towards the desk and groan when the curve of my ass connects with edge and I’m lifted effortlessly only to be placed on the surface. His mouth breaks from mine and caresses down my neck towards my cleavage allowing my eyes to move over to the monitors once more and my voice comes out as a hoarse whisper that’s laced with amusement “Have you been watching me all night?”

“Mmmm it’s my club. I’m not sorry. You know I enjoy watching you, Emilia.” It’s my turn to watch him now as he kisses over the material of my costume and drops to his knees, looking up at me with a salacious smirk when his finger hooks into the gusset of my bodice, pulling it to the side and my tights are ripped out the way along with my panties “But now I want my treat.” He doesn’t wait another second. His head moves in and his skilled tongue drags up my centre leaving me speechless and wanting more. It’s my turn to watch him now. I place one hand on the back of his head and tug on his hair at the same time I push against him greedily. His eyes lock on mine as he continues to take his treat. Wes’s lips and tongue move sensually like he’s savouring every kiss, every taste of me and he shows no signs of stopping until I’m a quivering mess. He slips a finger inside me, hooking it around my sweet spot and I can feel my orgasm building rapidly. This man knows exactly what I love and what I need .. just like he knows when I need it. My eyes close and my head falls back. I’m close .. so fucking close ...

“WES!” The rattle of the office door causes my eyes to spring open, my head to snap forward and Wes to stand up in front of me. The handle to the office rattles again “Wes! Open the door.”

His hand clamps over my mouth and he curses under his breath while shaking his head from side to side. His other hand raises up and presses a finger to his lips, quietly answering the question I haven’t yet been able to ask “It’s my wife.”

Dread fills me. I look over to the monitor where I can see the woman on the other side of the door, impatiently tapping her foot. There she is; Natasha Tucker. Of course she’s gorgeous. Even on the small screen of the security camera I can see she’s fucking perfect. 

I push him back in a blind panic, slipping off the desk as quickly and as quietly as I can, tugging at my poor excuse for clothing. I turn a full 360° wondering why the hell this is happening and where i’m supposed to hide when two large hands grip the top of my arms and I’m turned towards a door I hadn’t noticed that’s located behind the desk “In there. And stay quiet.” I roll my eyes at the ridiculous instruction which earns me a tap on the ass as I’m guided thru the door and it’s closed behind me. 

I’m blind in the dark until my eyes adjust to my surrounds but rather than move around, I stay perfectly still with my ear pressed up against the solid barrier and listen closely. 

I hear the distinct sounds of heels on the floor outside and a mumble of voices. I don’t really care about the conversation ..  instead I’m listening for sound of movement. In particular the sound of heels coming towards the door I’m hid behind. 

The exchange between Wes and his wife doesn’t last long and it’s not exactly a loving one. I hear various words “Deal”, “Charlie”, “Trouble”, “Money” .. and then I stop breathing. The heels move closer and I start to back up until Wes’s revelation stops Natasha from coming any closer.

“Lights busted in there. You’ll have to use the staff room or toilet.” His voice is casual and a little exasperated. I hear an exaggerated sigh then she responds.

“Fine. I’ll do that. Don’t expect me home early tonight.” 

“I’ll try to contain my disappointment?” I hear the sound of kissing and close my eyes suddenly feeling like I’ve just been punched in the gut. 

“Goodnight Wesley.” The sound of her heels clicking across the floor fades and the office door slams but I don’t move. I wait until the door is opened from the outside. 

Anger rises up within and when the door is finally opened seconds later I storm past him and make my way to the very door his wife just went thru, my voice a loud whisper “This is not ok!” 

“Em-“ 

“No Wes! I accept that I’m the other woman .. but we can’t be doing this when your wife is in the same fucking building!”

I manage to open it no more than half an inch before a hand slams against it, closing it again. There’s a loud sigh behind me and Wes’ body presses against my back as his mouth positions at my ear “I didn’t know she was here, I swear.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the cool wood. I don’t want to give in .. I can’t give in ... this is not ok.  He sucks on my

earlobe and growls in my ear “Give me my treat, Emilia.” It takes every ounce of self restraint I possess to not let him have his wicked way with me. Clearing my throat, I straighten up and shake my head “Hallowe’en is over. I’m out of treats.”

I tug forcefully on the handle and watch, almost disappointed, as his hand falls from the door allowing me to exit the office. 

[applegelstore]

Orchestra AU thoughts in three charming parts

A few people voiced their interest, so I figured I could explain what’s actually behind the orchestra AU idea, since this one isn’t exactly a crossover with some other franchise, and therefore you can’t guess any context from what you know about the other part of the crossover :,D Feel free to skip, it’s just text, but if you wanna talk orchestra AU with me, please go ahead! Warning, way too long post ahead (why did I spend an entire afternoon on this?):

PART 1 (basics)

The AU as such is the one where nothing hurts and everything is musical jokes (or musical sex jokes in Zaveid’s case) and shameless geeking. And it’s actually supposed to be a cross-Tales thing. With Rollo probably following Ludger wherever he goes like a dog, and nobody ever minds. And Phi probably following Velvet around, and nobody minds that, either.

So far I’ve deduced the ensemble from official material as follows:

Jr. Conductor: Cress

Jr. Jr. Conductor: Phi (in training, probably. THEN AGAIN CRESS SHOULD STILL BE IN TRAINING, TOO, HE’S 17, LIKE 90% OF ALL JRPG PROTAGONISTS EVER)

Solo Soprano: Tear, Lailah (not official, but try to fight me on these ladies)

Solo Bass: Zaveid (come on, he’s bass)

Solo Piano: Mikleo (this isn’t official either, but you can try to pry the “Mikleo plays piano” headcanon from my cold, dead hands)

Violin: Mint, Ludger, Sorey


Viola: Alisha (I guess it’s supposed to be another violin, BUT IT LOOKS SO BIG)

Cello: Velvet

Double bass: Richard

Flute: Milla, Mikleo

Clarinet: Rose (and probably abusing it to stab people)

Trumpet: Jude, Elize, Dezel

Trombone: Eleanor

Percussion: Rokurou, Luke, Edna

As you can see, we don’t have a FULL orchestra yet, but we also have a fuckton of games left.

PART 2
 (what most of you are here for. The Sormik spinoff)

…Everything was plot- and painless, until my unhelpful brain decided that we need some Sormik spinoff, some sort of plot, and also some fantasy/dark fairytale shit because I always fall for that. Also there’s the thing that we never learn in the game who the heck Mikleo’s father is, so there was room to fill with AU material. So, some of you may know that I’m a huuuuuge Seventh Wonder fan. If you didn’t, now you know. Seventh Wonder are super duper fucking amazing, and Tommy Karevik is a god. …Ah pretty ripped hipster teddybear god. Okay, back to topic. So there’s this song, King of Whitewater, which is about a water spirit luring in children (…and their relatives) with beautiful violin melodies. From this general theme, my unhelpful brain deduced the following, dark fairytale-ish concept:

When she’s still young and naive, Muse meets the very lonely water spirit. Eventually, she feels pity for him and falls in love with him. But sooner or later she misses a normal human’s life in a normal human town, and when he doesn’t let her get away and turns violent, she runs away, highly pregnant. She refuses to tell anyone who’s the father; the only one he trusts is Michael, who agrees to help her raise the child, too. They hope everything will be well. Yeah, you all know who that child is. Anyway, the water spirit is pretty heartbroken, and that makes him even more violent, and also feel betrayed for that yet unborn child. And from that day on, starts luring in little children who never see the light of day again.

Muse doesn’t know about this. And leads a normal life, believing she escaped.

All is fine until someday during a scouting trip in the woods between Camlann and Elysia, little Sorey and Mikleo get lost in the woods and accidentally find a mysterious (TM) lake. It’s surrounded by mist so thick they can hardly see anything, but all the time, soothing, beautiful violin music plays. Because that’s how the spirit lures in children. Because he wants his child back.

To which little Sorey of course violently disagrees, but it’s not like two little children had much of a chance to escape, so Mikleo talks the spirit into a compromise: stealing children isn’t okay, no matter the circumstances. At least wait til I’m of age. And please stop killing other children in the meantime. The spirit agrees and lets them go. Sorey is of course a crying mess. Somehow through his tears and apologies he manages to promise Mikleo that the spirit won’t get him. And Mikleo trusts him. Problem is that the spirit isn’t exactly stupid either, so he enchants the children so they forget everything that happened instead of like, running for help. Oh, except the song (which is the violin solo in King of Whitewater btw). They never forget the song. They just forget how and where they learned it, and ever since that scout trip it’s their personal thing that they often play for fun, believing it to be some kind of nursery rhyme. And nobody ever suspects a thing.

Everything is perfect. Everything is beautiful. They grow up to be smart kids and with wonderful grades in school. They become marvelous musicians. They meet wonderful friends in high school. Of course they eventually start dating.

But then Mikleo’s 18th birthday draws near and for a couple of weeks, things get weird. He gets nightmares in which he drowns or gets lost in the mist, nightmares in which Sorey dies or simply gets missing, nightmares that he can’t make sense of. He hears the song all the time in his head, failing to remember where he’d learned it. The morning after his 18th birthday party, he wakes up in Sorey’s arms and everything ought to be great and perfect, but somehow it isn’t. He asks Sorey whether he remembers the song they learned as kids. Or how they learned it. What’s it called, even. He doesn’t know, but he remembers the song and plays it for Mikleo. And suddenly, bit by bit, Mikleo remembers. So does Sorey, but much slower.

Sorey leaves for college and Muse and Michael are already gone for work, but Mikleo stays in bed because he’s tired. Sorey has a bad feeling about this (TM) but leaves him be. Mistake. When he gets back home, Mikleo is nowhere to be found.

AND HERE’S THE PROBLEM. I’m stuck here. I have not the slightest idea how to fix this and stop Mikleo from getting lost in a lake in the woods for the rest of his life. Sure, okay, Muse and Sorey violently disagree, BUT WHAT ARE THEY SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT IT. Violent violin battles are some of the less ridiculous “solutions” that have come to my mind so far.

If anybody knows how to give this thing a happy ending that doesn’t involve any deus ex machina moves from any end, I’d be grateful.

The worst thing about this is that experience tells me that I’d have zero trouble to actually leave Mikleo lost in the forest for the rest of his life if this was one of my original stories. Most of them are made of pain and suffering, seasoned with cute animals and super-natural shit for balance.

PART 3 (random Sormik related tidbits)

-Camlann is a tiny, mountaineous town which they love very dearly -they have to travel quite a bit each morning for high school and college (the former where they meet the rest of the squad) and later on to study some music or history related, they still visit their families often because they like it so much -I kinda want Selene to retain her maiden’s name and make it Shepherd for the sole purpose that Zaveid can then continue calling Sorey Sheps -also I came up with this bit about their living situation -shortly before Sorey and Mikleo start dating, they borrow the keys to a concert rehearsal room at some point, so they can practice their grand piano/violin duet a bit (Mikleo only has a piano at home, not a grand piano). It’s gonna be part of a huge concert thing, so it’s only one part of the show with an entire orchestra and occasionally other solos or duets -a hurricane cuts off all public transport for the evening and the entire night, and it’s also goddamn dangerous not to have a roof over your head for the time being -so they’re trapped in the rehearsal room until morning when the storm has subsided and public transport is also working again -once they’re too tired to actually practice once the evening gets late (like. very late. more like middle of the night/morning), they abide their time watching the storm through the rehearsal room’s hugeass windows -at some point, sleepy hormone rushes favor the confession and kissing bit -they have fond memories of thunderstorms afterwards -when she eventually hears about the thing, Rose is hollering with laughter because she probably had bets going that it would take them getting locked up in a room to finally confess and make out after years of mutual oblivious pining. She wasn’t entirely wrong, and probably made lots of bucks with her bet -anyway, when they finally perform their duet weeks later, the entire audience agrees that their duet was one of the evening’s highlights, and Sorey probably spends all evening smiling like an idiot and happily holding Mikleo’s hand -considering that the whole thing could be shamelessly crossover-y, I might get flutist!Milla giving flutist!Mikleo kindly big sister advise feelings (no, not relationship advise, because she’s the worst at that. Hey, not everything has to be Sormik-related) -not sure whether she’s still a vessel for Maxwell, but if lake spirits are a thing, why shouldn’t Maxwell be a thing -fun fact: I hate suits.

[oneweekoneband]

Ninety One, “Yeski Taspa Bii’,” from Qarangy Zharyq, released as a single June 2017

We’ve talked about the social and political significance of Ninety One recording in Kazakh, but we haven’t yet discussed the implications of their not recording in English. And yet it’s clearly something the group and Juz Entertainment has been thinking about, since all four of the Qarangy Zharyq singles were posted to the official YouTube channel with built-in English and Russian subs, as well as the lyrics printed out in Kazakh, Russian, and English.

How much non-fluent fans should care about the nuances they’re missing is going to remain an individual decision. For my own part I think generally you’re better off finding a translation, if you can; there are certainly songs for which having a translation at hand has influenced my perception of the song, positively or negatively. But I also will freely concede that lyric comprehension is sometimes beside the point. Any English-fluent listener who enjoys Duran Duran, whose lyrics are legendary in their total muddle-headed-ness, has no business getting pissy about translations.

(You own the money, you control the witness / I leave you lonely, don’t monkey with my business / You pay the prophets to justify the reasons / I heard you promise but I don’t believe it / That’s why I did it again, and I love that song but WHAT.)

Now: “Yeski Taspa Bii’” is not one of those songs for which lyric comprehension is beside the point, and not just because presumably AZ and ZaQ (again) worked hard on the lyrics. There is a lot going on, maybe even more than in “Su Asty”: a throughline that melts away when the rapping starts, and sections that sound as if Bala were sent into the recording booth to do a kazoo solo sans kazoo, and also a particular minor key that somehow grips my heart and twists it, and thus every time Alem starts with that Ескі таспа жиі nonsense I want to bang my head against a wall.

(also God help us all, five music videos in and now Alem reveals that he actually does know, quite well in fact, how to look at a camera. Congratulations, good sir. Now leave me alone so I can wail and rend my garments in peace.)

“Yeski Taspa Bii’” is ambitious, and possibly a mess, and even if it is a mess I am incapable of dismissing it, and I want to poke at it and prod at it and make it make a little more sense, a bit more of a case for itself. And thus, after the jump, some rudimentary, ill-informed attempts at translation.

Let’s just take Ace’s opening verse, for now:

Original Kazakh (Cyrillic text):

Байланған тілім сөйлемейді, Айналама неге сенбеймін мен? Кімге кіммін? Білмеймін, бермейді бір мұң тыным, Бермейді тыным мұңның үні күні-түні

Official provided English translation:

I got tongue-tied as if I numb why my environment seems deceitful. Who am I? I do not even know what sadness does not give me peace, that sadness haunts me day and night.

To my ear, as a native speaker of a watered-down version of Classical Southern American English, three of the four translated lines are hard to sit with: the missing verb in “I numb,” the double negative of “I do not even know what sadness does not give me peace,” the fact that American English speakers generally use “deceitful” to describe actions rather than settings. Of course there will be differences in reading between English speakers, native or not; and in trying to translate the verse into something that reads as less confusing and more illuminating of AZ’s and ZaQ’s intentions I’m of necessity imposing my understanding of English. Translating is politically difficult, too, it turns out. (You’re all shocked.) Fortunately I have the official provided translation to balance against, without having to worry that I’m speaking over Ninety One.

Google Translate has been letting me down but let’s give it a chance:

Linked slices speak, Why do not believe in and around? Who am? I do not know, not one of sorrow, peace PAIN tone rest not day and night

...go home and think about your algorithm choices, Google Translate.

Okay, let’s back up a bit. What is this song about? It’s a breakup song, sure, but there’s a lot going on here to contort the narrative. There’s that repeated non-kazoo interlude, for one thing, that cuts hard against the singers’ wallowing in their own misery; the music credit this time around goes to Alem and Bala plus Boss Yerbolat, and I find it hard to believe that all three of them heard that distorted sample and said, “Yes! Romantic misery!” Meanwhile there are multiple repeated mentions of time and of music, but the chorus’s “Your music heals all my wounds” leads to AZ’s laments over a “dusty record” that warps and stains as it plays. Not to mention a seeming thread of self-loathing. I mean. Why should I carry the corpse of happiness? There’s more than mourning here; there’s annihilation.

The video actually does less to help explain the lyrics’ intentions than I expected. Occam’s razor says that Ace’s scenes represent the idealized past and the other four are acting out the wall-smashing, milk-spilling, clothed-shower-taking misery of the present. Or the girl dumped the other four on her way to the beach with Ace. Or, given that she looks sad and wistful first, the self-loathing is her internal narration; maybe she’s the one whose psyche was laid waste by a bad breakup, and Alem and Bala represent the first stage of her showing her mine-strewn internal emotional territory to sympathetic new man Ace, AZ and ZaQ the second stage. (Or it’s the group lamenting the difference before the more innocent time of debut and the present, filled with tour bullies and entitled fans.) That’s a reach, admittedly, but you see how the video doesn’t actually help explain whether the sadness of the lyrics is just sadness or something more corrosive. Corpse of happiness may be overstating the case. Or may not.

Back to I do not even know what sadness does not give me peace: is the double negative supposed to be there? Is the narrator simply too sad to find peace? Or is the narrator saying that his inner turmoil is so great that mere sadness would be a relief?

So what I’m going to do next is try and translate word by word, paying attention to the repetition of бермейді бір мұң тыным in the third line and Бермейді тыным in the fourth. This is actually more difficult than I thought it would be: Kazakh-English dictionaries are not plentiful even on the so-called World Wide Web. (I miss Babelfish.) In the end I used Translatos, Glosbe, and Meta.ua. And got:

Байланған = tied, linked, strung together Тілім = tongue / slice / language Сөйлемейді = Meta.ua has this as “cannot speak,” Glosbe thinks it’s closer to “unable to lie.” Айналама = surrounded (there may be an implied speaker in this: more like “[I am] surrounded”) Неге = why, what was the cause of Сенбеймін = don’t believe Мен = I, me, my, mine Кімге = to whom Кіммін = who am I Білмеймін = I don’t know Бермейді = Meta.ua says “gives not”. Glosbe and Google Translate say “does not”. I’m guessing it might be closer to denoting that something does not happen than a verb in its own right. Бір = one Мұң = longing, sorrow Тыным = rest, peace, tranquility Мұңның = of sorrow Үні = sound / voice / noise Күні = day / date Түні= night

So there’s a link in the third and fourth lines of the idea of sorrow, the idea of peace, and the negation of Бермейді -- hence the double negative of the official translation. Also there’s the potential of a contrast between the not-speaking of the first line and the use of үні in the fourth. Given all that, here’s my shot at a translation that would read as more “natural” to a native American English speaker:

Tongue-tied, unable to speak, Why is everything around me a lie? Who am I? I don’t know. There’s no peace to be found, No rest from this pain that screams day and night.

If I had more time I’d continue this exercise all the way up to the corpse of happiness, but I think one verse is enough for y’all’s purposes. Obviously the rhythm’s all off, with the one-syllable English words more plodding than the original, and the repetition within Білмеймін, бермейді бір мұң is completely lost. And just perusing the Wikipedia entry on the Kazakh language gives you an idea on how much I’m not taking into account.

So to summarize: “Yeski Taspa Bii’” is a powerful song in its own right, but more so to Kazakh speakers; emo is emo in any language; even if you can’t understand the words there’s plenty of symbolism to go around; and translation is hard! Fortunately, next up you get to meet someone who’s better at it than I am.

introductory post / all Ninety One posts

[anjali-k]

Why I quit my job and moved to middle-of-nowhere Tennessee

No, that’s not Tennessee. That’s 24-year old me, sitting on a remote beach in Malawi, accompanied only by backpacking gear and a taxi driver I befriended all of 3 hours ago. This was everything I had dreamed of. In high school, I had made a pact with my best friend that we would never end up with “regular jobs”, i.e. sitting in an office, answering emails, etc. The truth was, that’s exactly where I ended up. So this “achievement” of traveling all by myself, to a remote part of Africa, was my way of compensating for the lack of excitement and thrill in my life. This moment was everything I wanted: Instagram-worthy natural beauty and the adrenaline rush of the danger of being a solo female traveler. Stuff I had only seen scrolling through my social media timelines, except this time I was living it.

Then why was I so damn miserable? 

I was sitting there, staring at the pristine water, surrounded by cheerful laughter of other tourists. I had a smile on my face too, but inside, something just wasn’t right. How could I be at, what I thought was, the pinnacle of FREEDOM, and be feeling so utterly trapped? I began writing on the notes app on my phone (my not-so-secret digital diary) about a whole host of feelings: fear, that at any moment the taxi driver could turn on me; guilt - it took a lot of effort to make it to Malawi both monetarily for me and emotionally for my parents; was it worth it? 

Did I just travel halfway across the world just to feel alive? 

This was over a year after I completed the Inner Engineering program. But it was not my first time feeling this way. I enrolled in this program suspiciously curious about meditation & Sadhguru. My brother had taken the program a few years ago and I had scoffed at the idea of a “Guru” and frankly, it disturbed me to see my brother in a “meditative” state. As a person of Indian origin, growing up largely outside of India, I was deeply insecure about anything that came out of my culture. I barely understood it, but I was desperately trying to fit into the American definition of what is acceptable and “cool”. This meditation and guru-following did not fit that definition. 

But then the senior year of college happened, and when it started to hit me that the 4-year party that is college was drawing to a close, I began to feel a bigger and bigger question mark about what the hell I should do with my life. This overwhelming feeling led me to meditation apps, and eventually Sadhguru and his free online guided meditation - Isha Kriya. This made feel a bit calmer although I must admit his voice haunted me a bit. I kept up with the practice, somewhat in shameful secret, for a year. This was followed by me registering for Inner Engineering Online, a 7 session online course. I started the course with a prejudiced yet seeking lens, but what I heard in those videos surprised and humbled me (a bit). I must confess I slept through some of the sessions & had to ask for many extensions to complete the course. Six months later I attended an Inner Engineering Completion program and was initiated into Shambhavi Mahamudra Kriya - a 21-minute meditation/yoga practice. Throughout this whole time,  I had no excitement or craving of seeing Sadhguru in person - I considered myself way too intelligent to be sucked into, what I thought was, guru mania. I remember leaving the initiation feeling a bit unsettled - deep inside I knew I had experienced something beyond the “normal”, but I just didn’t want to come to terms with it. 

2 years after my initiation, I volunteered for the Inner Engineering program with Sadhguru in Toronto. By this time, Sadhguru had kind of taken over my Youtube suggestions. I would watch him for hours, hoping to get an answer to the same question that started plaguing me in college: what the hell should I do with my life. Every expectation of life I had, continued to fall flat: dating, career, money, partying, all seemed overhyped, so I started relying more and more on the one aspect that stayed as stable as a rock - Shambhavi Kriya. My Isha volunteering involvement only intensified when I moved to Atlanta & closer to the Isha Center in Tennessee. 

I always thought a spiritual path would be that of intense focus and commitment. The truth was my experience of life became like a whirlpool. I started binge-enrolling for any and all Isha classes I could find. I came out of relationships, my time partying got replaced by Isha volunteering & I started gathering fellow meditator friends my age. It was a thrill finding like-minded young people whose idea of fun was not limited to taking shots and twerking at the club. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed a good twerk sesh, but I enjoyed the diversity of switching from partying to meditating. It felt like I was on the “right track” - whatever that was.

Setting up dining at a local Inner Engineering program in Atlanta. Almost everything in Isha is volunteer-run. Everything as in from cooking, cleaning and running a foundation of over 9 million volunteers with programs in almost every part of the world. 

Visiting Isha Institute of Inner-sciences in Tennessee with family & friends. 

The Storm Before the Calm

I got accepted to Peace Corps, serving as a Business advisor in Uganda - a dream of mine for many years. But I had also started considering volunteering for Sadhguru’s river revitalization initiative - Rally for Rivers in India. Around this time, I had also started volunteering at the Isha center in Tennessee. Volunteering at the center on the weekends was the extra-curricular hobby that made me seem interesting and profound to the average tinder date but also kept me feeling alive without having to go too far. Although it felt like I was taking a commendable step by volunteering my weekends, the truth was all the same tendencies that had lead to disappointment in the past, were beginning to show their head here too: ego, competition, jealousy and compulsive flirting, to name a few. At the end of an advanced program at the Isha Center in Tennessee, Sadhguru said: “if America meditates, the world will meditate... just the young people need to stand up.” This stuck with me. But I still wasn’t convinced how this would fit into the “cool” caricature I had built of myself. Building businesses in Uganda or talking to farmers in remote villages in India to help save the rivers - these were worthy of Instagram fame. Moving to Tennessee to get well-fed Americans to meditate? It just did not have the same ring to it. My parents, who had poured their lives into my life & education, were not too thrilled with any of my choices since they all involved quitting my cushy corporate job at General Electric. This decision-making time felt like I was sitting on a swinging pendulum.  In the midst of this, I also fell in love.

The most advanced program Isha offers is called Samyama. I seriously considered taking it this year but everything about how I approached it was about checking another program off the list. I didn’t really know why I wanted to take it. My love affair crumbled in the most dramatic way around this decision-making time. Life felt like hell for a few weeks, but somehow the situation also served as the best compass. In the middle of what felt like a tornado, many things became clear to me: I was in no way prepared for an undertaking Samyama; Both Rally for Rivers & working in Uganda were only opportunities I was considering because they served my ego under the pretense of being compassionate. What I really needed was balance & clarity, not of the world outside, but the mess that was inside. 

It was finally time to listen to the Guru. 

And Now, Yoga... 

I often hear people talk about the day they learned Shambhavi Mahamudra Kriya like a turning point in their life. In my experience, I couldn’t really say it was. Sure, the sinus issues that had bothered me since childhood had largely disappeared and I felt more in control of my own happiness but these didn’t feel like transformational changes. I now realize that this was largely because I practiced the tool of Inner Engineering, I volunteered for Inner Engineering, but I did not actually live Inner Engineering. 

How to perform any task without getting identified to it? How to purify the intent behind an action, thought or word? How to become responsive, not reactive to the life around you? How to make someone aware that very way the walk, eat, think, breathe is at the crux of their experience of life? 

In May 2019, I took a month-long sabbatical & trial-tested long-term volunteering at Isha Institute of Inner-sciences in McMinnville, Tennessee. During this time I cooked, cleaned, helped coordinate programs for hundreds of participants and soaked in the energized space of the center. 

At the end of the month, I couldn’t imagine leaving. 

On July 16, Guru Purnima, a day that is recognized as the first day Yoga was imparted, I started a 7-month program at the Isha center called Sadhanapada. This is a focused dedicated program, designed by Sadhguru, to bring higher levels of balance, clarity, and intensity to those who are seeking. The program involves almost 6 hours dedicated to Yoga practices & at least 6 hours of volunteering each day. In my limited understanding, the intense schedule is purposefully structured in such a way that there is only time for our classical Yoga practices & activity in a variety of areas based on our skillset and need for growth. For these 7 months, all of us 25ish participants, are taking up a focused effort to keep our tendencies, likes, dislikes & need for companionship aside. It is time to invest in ourselves. Ourselves - the only thing we can truly control.

Children’s program at Isha Center includes live demo from Tennessee State Parks!

Africa themed night at a Children’s program.

Me in front of the Abode of Yoga - energized meditation space.

That one time a friend, Madeline, visited me at the Isha center.

Yoga programs aren’t all sitting with your eyes closed...

A typical morning/evening in the Sadhanapda program.. (6 hours of Yoga a day!)

Got to take a quick hike on my 26th birthday...

What do I hope to get out of this? 

This is a question I have asked of almost every single decision I have made in my relatively short adult life. This program, Sadhanapada, is the first time I simply have no hope. The problem with expectations is that it inherently sets a limit on what is possible, and when you’re dealing with a movement that aims to take you to your highest potential - I would like to keep all my options open, even the ones I don’t know exist. 

The one thing I can say is that the most enriching experiences I have had are when I expect nothing but put my everything into it. This was true when I volunteered for a dance marathon in college to raise money for pediatric cancer. It was true when I was Business Manager at my college newspaper and didn’t care how late I stayed up simply because I cared deeply about the product. It was true when I fell in love - not just romantically, any time I simply gave myself to a friend’s happiness or an act of gratitude to my parents. 

In the past 3 months, my ability to be joyful has been truly put to the test. In one day, I probably experience more than I did in a whole month before I started the program. It’s hard to explain to someone who has not been here but as a volunteer, you are simply willing to do whatever’s needed - that means in one day you could be gardening, followed by being in the kitchen, followed by helping coordinate programs across the country, the list goes on and on. This is all in one day. But we are constantly guided to do absolutely everything in total awareness - this includes waking up, eating & all the activity we may be involved in.

Being a full-time volunteer is a state of being. Fully on and willing. So far, it’s been a liberating experience - a lot less time is spent calculating what I can get out of every situation.   

What the hell do I do with my life? Wrong question. 

How the hell am I experiencing life? The process continues...

[set--suna]

Danger and Dreams

Whoa what’s this?? Something that isn’t Persona 5??? Listen. Fire Emblem Echoes has been messing with my emotions. And I got this au idea for like, a more futuristic Valentia but it’s not super advanced, just kinda. Also I have it more developed than that but I’m not gonna put it all here. And I haven’t finished Echoes yet so it isn’t done either. Anyways, I was like “Shit, this would be sick” so I wrote it. And then it got gay. Everything I write goes gay and I hate it. But whatever. I wanted to put it here so here it is. P.S. it’s long.

–

The forest was dark as ever on this lovely evening. Leaves rustled in the breeze and birds chirped and small animals scurried around through the underbrush. Python could hear a creek bubbling to his left. Some land was still lush and green like this and not taken over by technology, he appreciated that.

His comm crackled to life in his ear with Clive’s calm commander voice, “Alright, Python, those brigands are camped just ahead on the stream. There should be only five of them, according to our reports from the village. They did take a girl hostage, so be careful.” There was silence over the line for a moment. The gurgling of the creek seemed to grow louder. “This is your first solo mission, Python, are you ready?”

“I’ve seen too many battles, of course I’m ready,” Python responded sarcastically, scanning his surroundings for signs of the enemy.

“Then good luck out there. Contact us if things get rough,” Clive signed off.

Python grinned. Ha, things getting rough, unlikely. He crept closer to the stream, all his senses heightened to their best. He could hear the crackle of a fire and see it’s light from his position. He wrapped a hand around his bow and took breath. Yeah, he was ready. He silently made his way towards his target.

–

“Why couldn’t I go with him again, Clive?” Forsyth asked, leaning back in his chair as the man finished his talk with Python.

“It’s only five brutes, Python can handle them with ease,” Clive answered simply and spun to face Forsyth. He leaned against the control panel and shrugged. “He’s a talented archer, despite his work ethic. They shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.”

“But…! Clive!” Forsyth whined, unable to argue with his commander’s valid point. “What if something does go wrong?”

Clive chuckled and moved from his resting place. He placed a hand on Forsyth’s shoulder and squeezed it as he walked past. “Then he’ll make the right decision. Python knows how to handle himself, he’ll be fine. Now if you’ll excuse, I need to discuss our next big mission with Alm.”

Forsyth frowned at Clive as he strolled out. He sighed – or more so groaned – and ran his hands down his face. He rested his cheek on his hand and stared down the control board. Worry stormed in his gut and made itself welcome there. “Only five brutes”, Clive said. But that’s what made Forsyth so worried. How could only five brutes ravage an entire village?

He sighed and stared at the screen in front of him. It tracked Python’s location, represented by a red dot moving along a stream. He had to have faith in Python. He could be worried, too, though.

–

Python could clearly hear the vulgarness of the brigands from where he was now. He could also fully see their uncleanliness. They joked dirtily and sloshed around the wine in their bottles. Even the way they spoke was disgusting. Python could also see the girl they kidnapped. She looked scared out of her damn mind. Knowing nasty brutes like these, they probably planned to sell her off. It left a bad taste in Python’s mouth.

He glanced around in search of the perfect spot. He grunted in approval when he saw it, a nice oak tree towering above the others. That would do. He crept across the tree line, eyeing the thieves the entire way. Once at his destination, he readied his legs, and jumped. He effortlessly latched onto one of the lower branches. He hauled himself high enough to swing one of his legs over the branch in order to straddle it. He checked on the ugly men below him. Yep. They were too drunk or just too dumb to notice anything.

He crouched on his branch, slowly standing to keep his balance. Grabbing onto the branch above him, he continued to climb. He reached his desired height quickly. The brigands were still clueless, possibly drunker than the last time he had bothered to look at them. From his position, he could shoot them with ease and drop from the tree without breaking his ankles.

Python pulled his bow off his shoulder. He took an arrow out of his quiver and notched it. He closed one eye and took aim. The bowstring tightened and stopped stretching right on the edge of his eye. A familiar sensation sparked inside Python. It could simply be called excitement.

“Easy kill,” he muttered as he released the arrow.

He grinned as the arrow slid into a thief’s chest. He planted another just in case before his pals could react. They ran for the weapons, and Python picked off another. Three left. What an easy mission.

“There!” one pointed at Python’s exact position. Ok. Maybe brigands handled their alcohol better than he thought.

Python’s eyes widened as one picked up a vase and chucked it at him. He ducked and slid out of the tree, listening to the vase shatter against the trunk above him. He landed with grace; in a crouch, one hand on the ground, the other holding his bow. The brutes stared at him skeptically. He just flashed them a grin and notched another arrow. They realized the situation and ran at him. He sent an arrow into one of the guys’s shoulder.

One swung his axe in Python’s general direction, he swiftly jumped out of the way. He loaded another arrow and shot the aggressive one in the leg. The other one he had shot pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and jabbed at him with a lance. Python deflected the point with his bow and swung it around to smack the man in the jaw, knocking him out cold.

The leg-shot bandit lunged at him again, reaching far with his axe. It was far enough to scratch Python’s side, to which he responded with shooting an arrow into the guy’s stomach. He pulled it out immediately, to Python’s surprise, and shoved the archer backwards.

Python stumbled and fell on his back. The graze on his side stung. Then the uninjured crook towered above him, swinging down his axe. Python rolled out of the way, the axe managing to cut his arm. This gash was nastier. The man swung again, but this time Python was ready. He caught the axe in his bow and used all his strength to flip the guy over him. He spun up on his knees and shot an iron-tipped arrow into his opponent’s skull.

He was alerted of the other brigand approaching by his ragged breathing. Python jumped to his feet and pulled an arrow out if his quiver. He ducked under the axe he swung and pivoted on his foot, stabbing the arrow through the man’s chest. After catching his breath for a moment, Python pulled the arrow out and let the bandit fall to the ground. Then he walked over to the knocked out guy, and replanted the arrow in his chest. He took in his work of five dead men around his feet. Mission complete.

Then he caught the eyes of the girl they kidnapped. She wasn’t too young, old enough to understand the direness of her situation and what just happened. In fact, she looked pretty impressed as she shook the piece of cloth off of her mouth.

Python slung his bow around his shoulder as he made his way towards her. “You all right?”

“Yeah, peachy keen,” she responded. Python appreciated her sarcasm. He kneeled down to slice off the ropes binding her with a borrowed axe. “Never thought an archer could take five disgusting brutes.”

“Never thought a girl just kidnapped and almost sold on the black market could be so snarky,” Python countered, offering her hand.

She took it with a nod, “Fair enough. But I’ve seen enough near-kidnappings and murders in the city. They don’t phase me much anymore.”

“Understandable,” Python acknowledged. He dropped the axe and looked around. He dug into one of the various sacks scattered around and luckily found some bandage. He took the time to fix himself up a bit then turned to the girl. “Grab a sack or two, we’re heading out.”

She shrugged and complied. They were able to carry all six sacks of stolen things. The girl handled the more fragile things. Python managed to turn on his comm with his shoulder while they walked, “Hey, it’s Python.”

“Python!” Forsyth’s voice answered him. Why wasn’t he surprised? “Clive has a meeting with Alm, what’s your status?”

“Five bandits dead, one girl saved, six bags of stolen shit being returned, and one Python barely injured,” he summed, staring at the village lights ahead of them.

“That’s better than very injured,” Forsyth sighed in relief. “I’ll send a ship to the drop point and update Clive on how things went. The ship’ll pick you up in half an hour. Nice job out there, Python.”

“Did you doubt me, Forsyth?” Python feigned offense.

“N-No! Of course not!” the soldier exclaimed, causing Python to chuckle lightly.

“See you when I get back,” Python bid him farewell and shoved his shoulder in his ear again, successfully turning off his comm.

–

“See you,” Forsyth said quietly, watching their connection shut down.

It was then the doors behind him slid open. He swiveled quickly, only to relax when he saw it was Clive. The man looked slightly more stressed, but still had the signature Clive charm. He walked up to Forsyth and crossed his arms across his chest, “Any new updates?”

“Yep. Python’s fine. He handled it and rescued the hostage. He’s returning the stolen items now,” Forsyth reported happily.

Clive gave him a knowing look, “What are his actual injuries?”

“I do not know,” Forsyth admitted slowly, lacing his hands behind his back. “He only told me he was ‘barely injured’.”

“Make sure he gets proper treatment when he returns, you can handle him better than I can,” Clive sighed. He bid Forsyth goodnight and headed for his quarters.

Forsyth’s shoulders sagged. It was awfully late, but he couldn’t sleep just yet. He didn’t think he could even if he wanted to. He was always worrying about Python when he wasn’t around him. It was almost like his job.

–

An hour later, Python arrived back on base. Forsyth sucked in a breath when he saw two bloody bandages on the archer’s side and arm. Python tilted his head as he approached.

“What’s with the grim look, pal?” Python asks casually.

“How bad are those?” Forsyth questions immediately, pointing at the bandages.

“This one, not so bad,” Python answers, pointing at his side. Then he points to his arm, “This one is definitely worse.”

Forsyth shook his head, “Ok, come on, we’re going to see Silque.”

Python frowned, “Really?”

“Yes.”

Python’s shoulders sagged. He hated being treated correctly, for some reason. It was most likely his lack of care for many things, sadly including himself sometimes. But just like him, he rambled on about his accomplishments all the way to med bay. Forsyth had to admit, he was impressed. When he expressed so, he was graced with Python’s rare and barely seen genuine smile.

Silque was always present in the med bay, ready for any situation. She was organizing all her stores when they arrived. Upon hearing her doors slide open, she instantly turned around. Her expression was barely ever without a kind smile.

“Ah, Python, welcome back. And hello to you, Forsyth,” she greeted warmly.

“Greetings, Silque,” Forsyth responded politely.

“Hey,” Python waved, less politely.

Silque slid around her check up table to analyze Python’s injuries. She carefully unwrapped the bandage around his arm first, and the wound underneath made Forsyth wince. There was a clean cut short ways across his forearm, which was still bleeding. It was also quite deep. Forsyth was really starting to worry about the slice on his side.

The cleric gestured for Python to sit in her patients chair, so he obliged. Forsyth leaned against a wall as they moved onto his side wound. After waiting for Python to remove his shirt, Silque peeled off this bandage. This cut was less grotesque than the one on his arm. It was just a break of the skin, the kind that bled fast but only a small amount of blood. Silque did her job of properly treating each wound with a grace only someone like her could have when treating wounds. The gash on Python’s side was dealt with, so Silque moved on to the nastier arm wound.

“This is going to need a few stitches,” Silque diagnosed calmly, turning slightly to open a drawer and pull out the right materials.

Python winced as she started her work after cleaning his cut. Forsyth’s mouth twitched, as he forced himself to not grimace at the sight. Watching medics fix gashes and broken bones was never an easy thing to witness for him. But soon enough Silque was done and Python’s arm was mostly back to normal.

“You needn’t worry about getting them removed, they’ll dissolve as soon as it’s fully healed,” Silque explained as she went to wash her hands.

“Thanks, doc,” Python replied, putting his shirt back on.

“It is my only way to repay my gratitude to you all and Mila,” Silque insisted, her smile still as warm as ever. “Make sure to see me if you need anything else.”

“Of course, Silque. Farewell,” Forsyth bowed slightly.

Python waved his goodbye and the two exited the med bay. They had no where to go, so they walked aimlessly in a comfortable silence until they reached a cliff overlooking the nearby city. Python sighed and fell back from his sitting position.

“Don’t you hate how the world is now?” Python asked, eyes on the sky.

“Why do you ask that?” Forsyth countered, confused.

“Everything’s just so… shitty,” Python decided on a word. “Valentia wasn’t like this when we were kids, was it?”

Forsyth looked away, focusing on the city instead, “No, it wasn’t. There were no brigands or terrors and nobody was in danger of dying except for of old age. We were advancing in society and here we have stopped.”

“The world was a better place ten years ago,” Python stated like no one could tell him he was wrong. “Dreams could be achieved then. I’ve found that now dreams are nearly possible to achieve.”

Forsyth raised an eyebrow, “And you know this how? I thought you haven’t had a dream a day in your life.”

“… Little ones,” Python answered, his expression turned somber, “but I think I mostly learned that from you. You dreamt of so much as a kid. And now look where we are. Stuck in a war nobody wanted to fight.”

“Python, the Deliverance was my dream. It still is!” Forsyth waved his hands around for emphasis. “I want to help people. The Deliverance is the best way of doing so. We still are helping people, we are saving them from the horrors of this war and letting them live normal lives. This is my dream, and I’m living it to the utmost I can.”

Python sighed through his nose. He twisted to lay on his side and look directly at Forsyth. His expression said he didn’t fully believe the soldier.

“Really, this part may be rough, but it’s still my dream,” Forsyth assured him. “What about yours? You said you had little dreams, what are they?”

Python shrugged and fully sat up, staring down at the city, “I don’t know. Living long enough to enjoy my life. To at least see you do something useful with your life.”

Forsyth felt his face grow warm. Python admitted he cared about his dreams. He also noticed how close their faces were.

“What about your little dreams?” Python asked.

Forsyth was lost for words. He hadn’t thought about those. Did feelings count as dreams? Cause he had a lot of those going on right now.

Python stared directly into Forsyth’s eyes. Forsyth stared back. He looked like he wanted to do something, say something, but he couldn’t. So, Forsyth followed his dreams. He leaned forward and carefully planted his lips on Python’s.

He really didn’t expect Python to kiss him back. He really didn’t, but Python did. Forsyth’s hands grasped at the grass, being his way of expressing his surprise. Python’s hand came up to cup Forsyth’s cheek. They broke apart, neither necessarily needing to breathe, but feeling like then was the time.

“I guess we had the same dream,” Python muttered, a small smile on his face.

Forsyth felt the grin spread on his face before he started laughing. He stopped himself and nodded, hand reaching to place itself on top of Python’s.

“Yeah, it looks like we did.”

[starfishies123]

I did the things!

I’m not sure if I broke any of the contest rules by only submitting part of a whole, but I’m going for it anyway  #BetoMotsuMay  @classica-mozart

Favorite Episode(1): 7 probz (for the angst) but honestly, 22 for the LOLz 

Favorite Musik(1): Holy, um...all of them?!

Entry: Fanfiction - though I’m going to post the final chapter only and then you can follow the link if you want the rest of the story because it would be a super sized post and nobody wants to deal with that

See the full story HERE  on AO3  :D

                                 CHAPTER 6 - BEST PICTURE "I asked you if we could start rehearsals next week, and you said yes." Schickeneder hissed threateningly as he lowered himself onto the chair, blocking Wolfgang's path. Mozart had emerged from the darkened study with trembling hands and wide eyes. Upon hearing the insistent knocks on the door, he had taken to hiding, fearing it was the return of the masked man - here to collect on his unfinished commission. "You can..." Wolfgang grinned sheepishly, looking down at the stack of ruffled papers - sketches of the brooding Requiem. "Then let me see it, where is it?" He narrowed his eyes angrily, watching Mozart fidget nervously with his golden hair wild, eyes darting about the room. "It's all right here-  in my noodle" Mozart tapped his finger against his temple, before punctuating the air with a sharp giggle, "It's all just scribbling, bibbling - bibbling, scribbling!" Emmanuel growled in irritation and leapt across the desk to grab Wolfgang by the shirt collar. Shaking him angrily as he began to curse Wolfgang's devil may care attitude, he nearly lifted the man right off the floor. "Jeez Motes, you really know how to make friends don't you?” Liszt snorted, watching Schickeneder defend the ludicrous fantasy libretto to Constanze who had managed to pull the two men apart. Wolf shrugged with a frown and muttered, tracing patterns on the duvet absently "I like my friends now..." he hummed, swallowing a giggle as a subtle pink rose in his cheeks. Beethoven smiled quietly to himself and bumped against Wolf's side in subtle appreciation.Schubert grunted and cleared his throat suggestively, glancing over his lenses at Mozart with a raised eyebrow. "....You're ok too Schu-san" Wolf added plainly and flashed his brilliant grin.Schubert grimaced at the obnoxiousness of it all, "Thank you?"He was not sure if Mozart's comment was deserving of thanks, or any acknowledgement for that matter, how does one respond to a statement like that anyway, was that a compliment?  He contemplated this for a moment. After all, Franz knew he needed to at the very least, tolerate the creature.If Senpai was close to him, then he had to find a way to swallow his pride and play nice. If only for Senpai. Franz frowned at the thought. Even if the man was a complete idiot... "Speaking of which.." Schubert whispered to himself, focusing back on the screen. He watched as the Mozart character escaped his apartment to traipse out to a woodland cabin in the late hours of a winter evening.Surrounded by bawdy women, he drunkenly played accompanist to a raucous party of scandalously dressed opera divas. Sneaking home in a stupor the following morning, Mozart arrived to find his apartment stripped bare and his wife Constanze was nowhere to be found. "Lies!" Wolf hissed as Frau Weber lectured his character on his irresponsibility.She claimed she had given her daughter money to go to the spa, to regain her health. She continued to berate Wolfgang about his treatment of her daughter and his childish behaviour as music from the Queen of the Night aria flooded the speakers. "Stanzi was sick with her last pregnancy and she went to Baden to rest because I sent her there myself! She never ran away." Wolf huffed, crossing his arms defensively. "Did it help?" A quiet voice from below the edge of the bed questioned, the amber eyes blinked curiously. Mozart tilted his head, for a moment before realizing where the question had come from, "The spa? Well, no, not really - Franz was a difficult birth." "Your son was named Franz?" Schubert raised his eyebrows in surprise "For the few months I knew him" He said woefully, regretting having brought it up. "Shit" Chopin muttered, perching his chin atop his knees as he hugged them tightly. Panning to the Bird Catcher's scene, the film featured excerpts from the now completed singspiel, The Magic Flute. As Mozart performed from the celeste during Papageno's solo, Salieri looked down from his private box in surprise.He noticed a concerning, dizzying sway, and a sickening grey tinge to the young composer's normally fair complexion. Collapsing mid phrase, members of the orchestra dragged him unceremoniously off stage. As is the custom in live theatre, the associate director quickly took his place at the keyboard and the aria continued as planned. Beethoven sighed heavily watching as Mozart's limp body was dumped into a waiting carriage. When the news of his death had reached him as a young man back in Bonn, he was devastated. Leaving behind his wife, two young children and a mountain of crippling debt, Mozart's death had shaken him. Extinguished so young, it made Ludwig question his own mortality. What legacy would he leave behind? Who would look after his brothers? Who would mourn him?He looked to his friend mournfully, knowing that the film was nearing it's unfortunate end, he only hoped Wolf was ready to see it. His expressive, sparkling blue eyes were now threateningly dark. Pitying the turmoil he knew Wolf was wrestling, Ludwig squeezed the small hand empathically.   The jesting and shenanigans ceased, it was as if the descriptions of the driving ostinato and surging chromatic passages had drawn the air from everyone's lungs. The audience was at full attention as Salieri scribed the fierce masterwork in the shadowy bedchamber of Mozart's deathbed. Laying in a feverish sweat and barely lucid, Mozart dictated the final movements of his nearly completed Requiem Mass with Salieri struggling to keep up. His monumental genius and gift for composition, now immortalized in film. "Trumpets in D" Wolfgang instructed, as if reading from a fully complete score in his own mind.... When night regrettably gave way to morning, Constanze had finally returned having travelled overnight from Baden to Vienna. Eager to be reunited with her husband, she marched in to her bedchamber only to find him gravely ill and struggling for what would be his final breath.Salieri stood awkwardly by his side, claiming allegiance and straightening his rumpled vest, having slept on the child's bed. Feeling bitter tears prick his eyes, Wolf swallowed thickly. It was too much. The image of the young boy playing with his father's purse, his wife's frustration, the weight of their financial woes - the unfinished work piling at a dizzying rate. He did not want to remember any of it.He did not want to watch any further. Being in the centre of the bed, surrounded on all sides - he had little room for escape. He squirmed uncomfortably, feeling embarrassed by the overwhelming re-enactment of his final moments. His eyes jumped to the others, noting everyone was too engrossed in the final scene to notice his growing panic. When Constanze turned back to her husband who now lay still, she realized he had passed. His eyes staring up coldly, lips slightly parted - as if to leave route for his spirit to drift away. She shook and cried, clutching his lifeless body as Salieri stood perfectly still, an expression of absolute horror etched on his grave face. Had he caused this? It was not wholly clear. Beethoven closed his eyes, shutting out the final images and dropping his head in defeat.The plain coffin was loaded onto the funeral carriage in the pouring winter rain. A sense of anguish began to build they quietly absorbed the sorrowful melody of the Lacrymosa. A solemn Ludwig grunted and blinked his eyes open in confusion as he was suddenly bumped from his grim thoughts by Wolf who was already nearly in his lap. "What - " Ludwig frowned at the spontaneous invasion, uncrossing his arms to balance himself. He was nearly knocked onto his back by the flail of arms and legs as Wolf squirmed, and settled into a pathetic bundle between his legs. Leaning near his ear the tormented creature whimpered, "I don't want to watch anymore"  his normally boisterous voice now almost inaudible above the film.Wolf drew himself up against his friend and pressed his cheek to the broad chest. He drew a shaking breath as a fat, hot tear escaped, rolling down his cheek and staining Ludwig's shirt. Frowning, Beethoven's rueful eyes met those of his house mates as if to plead for help. He tentatively reached to cradle the trembling mess, feeling the dampness on his shirt front begin to grow. In that moment he decided that he didn't care who saw, or what anyone else thought of the intimate gesture for that matter, it was clear that Wolf needed him. Reaching to wipe a stray tear from Wolf's pale cheek, Liszt smiled encouragingly at him and placed a hand on his leg, squeezing gently. She too, ached for him. "Poor dear" she cooed, looking to Ludwig helplessly. "Before his time..." Schubert offered peacefully, watching Ludwig tuck the mess of pink hair under his chin. This time, he could not bring himself to feel jealousy. As the credits rolled, most began to quietly make their way out - excusing themselves awkwardly, nodding and muttering along the way, leaving Beethoven to mend the shattered soul in peace. Not knowing what to say, he simply held him, squeezing the lithe body against his own. He pressed his chin to the pink mess of hair, watching the credits continue, appreciating the slow melody of the piano concerto, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I used to play this one regularly." He hummed, his low voice making his chest rumbled against Wolf's tear stained cheek. After a long pause, he added, "It's probably my favourite." Wolf nodded in acknowledgement just as he hiccupped. Squeezing his eyes shut, he sucked in a sharp breath, willing the tears to stop. Wiping his own tears bashfully, he struggled to slow his breathing as he blinked back the salty wet mess. "Number 20 - It's so deceptive. People misjudge it's beauty." Beethoven chuckled to himself, in his one sided conversation, still holding Wolf firmly. "The exposition. One would think it's almost childishly simple. It's easy to overlook it, if you don't really understand Mozart's music." He scoffed, shaking his head at his own statement, pink hairs tickling his nose "but then you get to that damn dark middle section, and things get complicated. Nobody would expect that - a minor modulation!" "It took me weeks to perfect it" He admitted lowly "All storm and stress." He mused, sensing the slowing of breath and the drying of tears as he carried on the description of the work. "But then, somehow, almost like magic - it's back to Mozart again, and you're so dizzy you don't even know how you got there, but you're so thrilled with the ride that you don't question it." Wolf pulled back and looked at him questioningly with sad, reddened eyes.His mouth was small and downturned, his cheeks a rosy, blotchy mess. Beethoven grinned, cupping the swollen cheeks in his hands and pressing his forehead to his own. "It's kind of like you isn't it?"   Wolf's lashes fluttered closed, grazing Ludwig's thumbs as he held him, "It's a beautiful story Bärchen" he whispered softly before kissing him gently. "Come" Ludwig dug up the blankets invitingly, ushering him under the covers, tossing the laptop onto the bedside table and snapping off the light. "Plus..." Ludwig crawled in behind him, pulling him tightly against his middle and resting his chin on his small shoulder, "I really liked the music" Smiling in the dark, Wolf sighed, allowing himself to be lulled to sleep.Favorite Character(1): Mozart and Beethoven fo sho - but really, they all have merits

[caveartfair]

The 20 Most Influential Artists of 2017

It’s a daunting task to name the individuals who most profoundly shaped and inspired the global art world in 2017. Decades ago, creative scenes were relatively tiny and cliquish, but the ongoing explosion of interest in contemporary art has meant more of everything: more artists; more galleries and museums; more biennials, art fairs, and unconventional projects; more excitement and energy. Still, there remain artists whose vision and influence find them towering above the crowd. Here, Artsy’s editors offer up our take on the 20 who continue to have a pervasive, undeniable impact on artistic production and culture at large.

B. 1962, Paris. Lives and works in Paris and New York

The single most ambitious work of contemporary art created in 2017 wasn’t in Venice’s Giardini but in a disused ice rink behind a Burger King in the German city of Münster. Enabled by the rink’s coming demolition, Huyghe (pronounced hweeg) was given carte blanche for After ALife Ahead: He excavated its floor and installed panels into the roof that opened and closed according to a musical score. The composition was based on the triangular patterns present on the shell of a venomous sea snail, placed in a tank on a central island of concrete left in the carved-out rink’s center. Human cancer cells multiplied in an incubator on the far side of the rink, while an augmented-reality app let viewers witness pyramid-like representations of those cells be spawned, most of which eventually fly out the rink’s roof openings. (For a deeper look at the mechanics of this complex piece, read Artsy’s coverage here.)

Huyghe, who this year won the Nasher Prize, has been a revered figure of the conceptual art movement known as Relational Aesthetics since the ’90s, though popular recognition of the 55-year-old artist has sometimes lagged behind that of peers like Philippe Parreno. After ALife Ahead marked the culmination of several experiments and preparatory works over recent years. And it continued the unique brand of environmental installation in which viewers themselves become actors within the work (each exhale of CO2 caused the cancer cells to multiply more quickly) that he used to acclaim at Documenta 13 in 2012. There, Huyghe’s contribution involved a surreal, living sculpture garden (complete with a pink-legged dog) hewn out of a compost heap in Kassel’s Karlsaue Park. Huyghe’s installations strike a canny balance between his viewers’ simultaneous participation in and subjection to the system that he creates—a system that, once set off, is also outside of his control. The results, with their infinitely intertwined elements and cascading effects, create environments that mirror the complexity of our own, a fact that has earned Huyghe his status as one of the most important artists of his generation.

B. 1939, Philadelphia. Lives and works in New Paltz, New York

Schneemann is a touchstone for the feminist art movement in America during the 1960s and ’70s. But it took over half a century for the Body Art and performance pioneer to get the recognition she’s long been due. This year she netted the prestigious Golden Lion lifetime achievement award at the Venice Biennale, and in October, MoMA PS1 opened “Carolee Schneemann: Kinetic Painting,” the first comprehensive survey of the artist’s 60-year-long career.

The exhibition features over 300 works, beginning with her rarely seen bright and brushy semi-abstract paintings from the 1950s and ephemera from her Fluxus-inspired collaborations from the 1960s—including her famed Meat Joy (1964), a pivotal work that features men and women rolling around in raw meat and fish to a rock soundtrack. More recent installations from the early 2000s showcase Schneemann’s ability to easily shift from painting and performance to digital media, as seen in More Wrong Things (2001), which intermingles footage of major public disasters with archival footage from the artist’s own archive. It loops across 14 screens suspended from the ceiling, with a mess of wires and chords charting a chaotic, networked relationship.

Along with peers like Judy Chicago, Mary Beth Edelson, and Rachel Rosenthal, Schneemann was part of a second wave of feminist cultural discourse that challenged taboos about the female body and sexuality while subverting the long-held (white) male gaze. Her more recent work continues this legacy of speaking out against oppressive and outmoded social norms. Consider Precarious (2009), which relies on a rotating mirror system to implicate the viewer into a cage-like setting, surrounded by video projections of prisoners, animals in captivity, and Schneemann dancing. And as the charming 78-year-old made clear during a recent conversation with uberfan Ragnar Kjartansson at the New Museum, she’s continuing to innovate and explore new avenues of artmaking—including collaborating with her cat.

B. 1961, Los Angeles. Lives and works in Los Angeles

With every passing year, Bradford’s art grows larger, his themes more ambitious. For “Tomorrow is Another Day” at the 2017 Venice Biennale, he transformed the American Pavilion into a decaying wasteland, host to a giant, festering, abscess-like form. Visitors to the pavilion (which the artist, speaking with the New York Times, noted loosely resembles a smaller-scale White House or a Jeffersonian plantation) found Spoiled Foot, a thickly textured, malignant red-and-black outgrowth composed of layers of paper, canvas, and varnish with the familiar skin-like pockmarks that so often feature in his paintings. It nearly consumed the front gallery space. Elsewhere, palimpsests of peeling paint and paper reinforced the sense of moral bankruptcy emanating from Bradford’s metaphorical representation of the United States.  

Just months later, he unveiled Pickett’s Charge, a vast, site-specific work in the American capital, at D.C’s Hirshhorn Museum. A 360-degree mural, or “cyclorama,” the piece reimagines the 1883 Gettysburg Cyclorama, by French artist Paul Dominique Philippoteaux, which placed visitors at the Battle of Gettysburg during the American Civil War. Recreating the panorama in abstract form—using digital printouts of the original painting, blown up and reconfigured—Bradford updated the immersive mural in a contemporary vocabulary, capturing the weight of this history and asserting its continued relevance.

Next September, the artist will be taking his Venice Biennale presentation to the Baltimore Museum of Art and combining it with a monumental new “waterfall” work—his series of paintings-turned-sculptures composed of cascading ribbons of painted and dyed fabric suspended from beams. It is set to be his most impressive iteration to date, and will continue his ongoing preoccupation, in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, with themes of water and flooding; this particular “waterfall” will extend dramatically from the museum’s second-floor galleries down into the lobby, like a biblical torrent.

B. 1978, Paris. Lives and works in New York

There are never enough hours in a day, or so goes the tired adage of the perpetually busy. Henrot must agree. In addition to her inclusion in nearly a dozen group shows across the globe this year—including “The Message: New Media Works” at the Hirshhorn Museum in Washington, D.C., and the National Gallery of Victoria’s triennial in Melbourne, Australia—the 39-year-old French-born, New York–based artist netted her first major solo exhibition in her hometown of Paris this fall, a sprawling exhibition at the Palais de Tokyo that takes as its theme the days of the week. “Days are Dogs” divides up the 64,500-square-foot space into seven sections to question the arbitrary structure of how we mark time and ritualize our lives, as perhaps best exemplified in Saturday, a stark 20-minute film that immerses viewers in the Sabbath celebrations of the Seventh-day Adventists, who observe the Sabbath on Saturdays rather than Sundays, like most other Christian sects.

Henrot’s career has been gaining steam since she won the Silver Lion award at the 2013 Venice Biennale for the video Grosse Fatigue, a visually snappy meditation blending scientific facts and creation stories through items in the Smithsonian Institution’s archives; a subsequent companion installation, The Pale Fox, which debuted at London’s Chisenhale Gallery in 2014, explored our collective obsession with objects.

“Days are Dogs”seems almost like a mini retrospective for the artist, who has gained a reputation for poignant, essayistic multimedia works that interrogate the stories we tell ourselves, whether through ancient myths or everyday objects. Henrot shines through as an artist truly unafraid to blur media and categories of making, whether she’s placing abstract sculptures in a rural field, creating a series of comically bulbous “telephones,” or experimenting with drawings and paintings that explore everything from the lives of animals to the dregs of her email inbox.

B. 1957, Beijing. Lives and works in Berlin

Ai has swiftly become the art world’s conscience when it comes to the plight of displaced peoples around the world. (The artist himself spent his childhood in exile from his native Beijing, as a result of pressure put on his father, a poet.) He has fervently dedicated himself to raising awareness of the global refugee crisis. Last year saw the occasional misstep—a self-portrait in the pose of a drowned Syrian infant refugee, reenacting a viral news image, raised a bit of ire—but that was followed by four concurrent gallery shows across New York City, all adeptly addressing the sheer scale of the global refugee crisis.

In 2017, the artist unveiled his largest work to date at Prague’s National Gallery: Law of the Journey, a 70-meter inflatable boat sculpture filled with 258 sculptural figures intended to call out the “shameful” politicking in Europe and abroad that ignores the plight of millions seeking shelter on other shores. He also made his first foray into film with Human Flow, which debuted at the Venice Film Festival in September: a visually stunning and emotionally wrenching documentary that follows the migrant passage of millions across the globe, with Ai’s camera turned on Berlin, Calais, Gaza, Turkey, Bangladesh, Jordan, and the U.S.-Mexico border, among other locations. (The film snagged an Oscar nominee for Best Documentary.) Ai then brought this issue home in New York with a 300-piece exhibition, “Good Fences Make Good Neighbors,” on view through February 11, 2018. The city-wide public art project includes banners of refugees strung above the Lower East Side’s Essex Street Market; portraits of New York immigrants installed on bus shelters in Harlem, Brooklyn, and the Bronx; and, most notably, a much-Instagrammed large steel cage sculpture constructed under Washington Square Park’s iconic arch.

B. 1954, Zanzibar, Tanzania. Lives and works in Preston, United Kingdom

Himid made history this year when she took home the 2017 Turner Prize, Britain’s most prestigious art award. The artist is not only the first woman of color to win, but at 63 she is also the oldest awardee thanks to the Tate’s announcement earlier this year that artists of any age can be considered. Himid is known for her darkly witty yet challenging works that explore black identity and creativity, the legacy of colonialism and racism, and institutional biases against women and people of color.

Take, for instance, her range of traditionally fashioned British crockery works festooned with scenes of slavery, or her well known “Negative Positives” series begun in 2007—for which she paints decorative patterns over large swaths of pages from newspaper The Guardian that feature black subjects, underscoring the often unconscious stereotyping lurking in the accompanying text. (She pursued a similar approach with the New York Times for a recent show at New York’s FLAG Art Foundation.)

Though prolific, Himid’s work has been under the radar for decades. But she took the U.K. by storm in 2017, with exhibitions at Nottingham Contemporary, Spike Island in Bristol, and Modern Art Oxford, as well as a site-specific commission for this year’s Folkestone Triennial: a human-scale jelly mould installed on the seaside town’s beach that plays on the connection between the rise of sugarcane plantations and the popularity of jiggly British tea-time treats.

B. 1968, Remscheid, Germany. Lives and works in Berlin and London

While Tillmans’s visionary artistic practice has been progressing since the 1980s—including figurative and abstract images, made using both analog and digital technology—the past two years have seen the artist reaching a new level in terms of critical and popular recognition. The once-prevalent ghettoization of photography apart from the mainstream art world has thankfully continued to break down, thanks in no small part to creatives like Tillmans. (And part of what makes his images exciting in the white cube context derives from his signature installation philosophy—which experiments wildly with scale, and can happily pair a professionally framed photo next to one that hangs loosely from clips).

Tillmans was the first non-Brit to win the prestigious Turner Prize in 2000, and this year was the subject of further English accolades when Tate Modern mounted its major survey exploring work made since 2003 (a period ripe with digital and abstract experiments, as well as a focus on political issues, like the invasion of Iraq). However, it was a major retrospective at Switzerland’s Fondation Beyeler, concurrent with Art Basel in Basel, that had his name on everybody’s lips. The exhibition’s 200-odd works spanned the artist’s career from 1986 to 2017, ranging in scope from still lifes and candid portraits to non-representational texture-and-light studies, Xerox-manipulated images, photographs made without a camera at all, and a brand new audiovisual installation. The masterful exhibition suggested that Tillmans is still capable of transforming his practice with ease, not to mention the field of photography in general.

B. 1983, Enugu, Nigeria. Lives and works in Los Angeles

Through her collage-based paintings depicting intimate, personal scenes, Nigerian-born, L.A.-based artist Akunyili Crosby is pulling focus onto a larger trend, what’s become known as “Afropolitanism”: the shifting multicultural identity of African citizens and members of the African diaspora as they move to more urban centers across the globe. The artist’s career has risen rapidly over the past few years, culminating this year with a highly coveted MacArthur “Genius” grant.

Her works—mingling acrylic, textiles, Nigerian magazine cut-outs, photographic image transfers, and other media—are currently on view in New Orleans’s Prospect.4 triennial, and are the subject of two concurrent exhibitions this fall at the Baltimore Museum of Art and the Tang Museum at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs. Akunyili Crosby creates densely patterned scenes that explore moments of personal reckoning that span generations, from her grandmother’s isolated upbringing in a village to the artist’s own Western, urban life. Akunyili Crosby’s latest works, as seen in Baltimore, take a decidedly heavier turn, however, exploring the implications of casual racism faced by the artist as an immigrant in America.

B. 1983, Paris. Lives and works in Paris and New York

In September, a 70-foot-tall baby was spotted crawling across the arid borderland between Mexico and California. The brainchild of 34-year-old French photographer and street artist JR, Kikito—as the gargantuan black-and-white toddler is affectionately named—peeps curiously from the Mexican side of a fence erected at Tecate, roughly 45 miles southeast of San Diego. JR is known for his deeply humanist, architecturally scaled outdoor works that often appear in areas of socioeconomic disparity or cultural contention. These include Women are Heroes (2008), which featured the eyes of local women smattered across the sides of buildings in Rio de Janeiro’s oldest favela, and Wrinkles of the City, a collaboration with José Parlá for the 2012 Havana Biennial that included depictions of elderly Cubans who lived through their country’s revolution in the 1950s. His habit of surreptitiously muralizing public walls has prompted some to call him the French Banksy.

Thanks to the help of Tecate-area residents, Kikito went up in a matter of days after President Trump’s decision to repeal Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), which offers legal protection to some who entered the U.S. illegally as minors, often with their parents. It’s hard to disassociate the image of a giant child behind an imperious metal barricade from the contentious presidential mandate. But the work also effectively makes light of Trump’s campaign promise and Executive Order to build an expansive, high-security border wall, making the existing stretch of wall at Tecate seem flimsy indeed: surmountable by a baby.

2017 also saw JR install a 150-square-meter mural at the Palais de Tokyo, take over the Renzo Piano pavilion at Château La Coste, and notch a show at the Paris location of Perrotin. He also debuted Faces/Places, a documentary created with legendary 89-year-old Belgian filmmakerAgnès Varda. It documents their interactions with the rural France people whom the unlikely duo meet while traveling around the country creating portraits of those they encounter. The understated and poignant film—in which Varda likens JR to a young Jean Luc-Godard—won the L’Œil d’Or award when it premiered at May’s Cannes Film Festival, and it was met with critical acclaim when it was released in October (and later landed on the shortlist of Oscar nominations for Best Documentary).

B. 1945, Newark, New Jersey. Lives and works in New York and Los Angeles

The “Pictures Generation” member has been a pioneering influence for decades—her work cropped up in the influential 1973 Whitney Biennial, and she had a solo at MoMA PS1 in 1980—but it continues to resound in an age of political division and sloganeering. Kruger has remained faithful to her own best format: appropriated imagery mixed with brash, in-your-face, Futura text. But this instantly recognizable style is as impactful as ever, translated by the artist into an endless variety of contexts, including on billboards (a format the artist has worked in since the ’80s). Prefer your Kruger in wearable form? There was a wicked t-shirt available at “Anger Management,” a pop-up store organized by Marilyn Minter and hosted by the Brooklyn Museum between September and November. The artist’s fashion-ready messaging was as acerbic as ever: “Admit nothing. Blame everyone. Be bitter.”

In 2017, Kruger closed out a retrospective at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, D.C. and, at Sprüth Magers in Berlin, presented FOREVER, an installation for which she plastered a borrowed Virginia Woolf text across the walls and floor to dizzying effect. In New York, for the 17th Performa biennial, Kruger went all out, commandeering a school bus, a skatepark, a MetroCard design, and a billboard for components of an interconnected project that jabbed at the streetwear brand Supreme (whose logo cops Kruger’s signature typographical treatment). The centerpiece of her participation was Untitled (The Drop), billed as the artist’s first foray into performance, in which the only performers were store clerks, offering Kruger-branded schwag (skate decks, hats, hoodies) to a consumer audience. Not everyone was sold on the affair, but it certainly got people talking outside the normally hermetic confines of the art world. Like a number of feminist artists who came of age in the 1970s, Kruger’s work has gained wider acclaim this year, becoming a calling card for progressive politics at a time when those values are under attack.

B. 1955, Newark, New Jersey. Lives and works in Chicago

The prevailing memory of the 2017 Whitney Biennial will likely be the outrage over Dana Schutz’s painting of Emmett Till, but it would be a shame if that overshadowed Pope.L’s strange, complicated, and typically irreverent 2017 work, Claim (Whitney Version). A large, pink-colored cube, the installation was festooned with pieces of bologna, as well as small photographic portraits of what the artist claimed were Jewish people. (“Fortified wine” was also used as a material.) The enigmatic work proves especially complex amidst the current resurgence of identity politics, and in June, it netted the artist the coveted Bucksbaum Award.

Since the 1970s, Pope.L has developed a layered practice that combines performance, video, painting, and sculpture. Some of his most iconic works were acts of endurance in which the artist donned various costumes and crawled for great lengths; at 62, he’s still making the same sort of sacrifices, and still taking risks. For Documenta 14, he unveiled Whispering Campaign (2016–17), a sound piece sited in both Kassel and Athens for which performers whispered lines from a script into mini headsets that were then broadcast via speakers placed in offbeat locales around the cities. Also in 2017, at the Detroit alternative exhibition space What Pipeline, the artist launched a simple but loaded project: He took lead-damaged water from Flint, Michigan, bottled it, and sold the results as a kind of unhealthy readymade. “Flint Water” turned the gallery into a sort of factory or store, with 100% of the proceeds going to a charity (a signed bottle of Flint’s chemical tap can still be yours for $250).

B. 1929, Matsumoto, Japan. Lives and works in Tokyo

Kusama’s career spans seven decades, but 2017 might have been her biggest year yet. The prolific 88-year-old Japanese artist’s immersive installations bridge Pop Art and Minimalism, putting her on the map by the middle of the 20th century—and helping make her one of the highest-grossing female artists at auction today. Meanwhile, Instagram has provided a new platform for a younger generation of fans to engage with Kusama’s glittering, mirrored installations, giant polka-dotted pumpkins, and energetic abstract paintings. (For even younger art lovers, 2017 also saw the publication of a children’s book about Kusama’s life.)

The artist kicked off this past year with an attendance record-shattering solo exhibition at Washington, D.C.’s Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden that will continue to travel North America through 2019, while another major retrospective, “Life is the Heart of a Rainbow,” originated at the National Gallery of Singapore in June, and travelled to Australia’s Queensland Art Gallery in November. In October, a five-story museum entirely dedicated to the artist’s career opened in Tokyo. Kusama is closing this monumental year out by storming New York with a solo show at Judd Foundation’s SoHo space and two concurrent exhibitions spanning both of David Zwirner’s Manhattan galleries. Blockbuster-worthy lines have greeted her fan-favorite “Infinity Mirror Rooms” at Zwirner’s West 19th Street location, while its East 69th Street outpost showcases 10 new paintings that harken back to Kusama’s “Infinity Net” canvases from the late 1950s and early 1960s—bringing an illustrious career full circle.

B. 1977, London. Lives and works in London

2017 was a year of transcendence, artistic and otherwise, for British artist Mirza. Known for his kinetic, sculptural assemblages that exude sound and light, the artist kicked off the year with his first solo show in Canada at Vancouver’s Contemporary Art Gallery, titled “Entheogens,” debuting a series of new works emulating the psychedelic sensations of plants like peyote and magic mushrooms. He then realized a hefty commission from the Zabludowicz Collection, commemorating the 10th anniversary of its London space, a show which quickly became the talk of Frieze Week. The resulting four works respond to or otherwise intervene in visitors’ experience of the building and the artworks within it; one of them, a sensory deprivation chamber, aims to create an altered state of consciousness for participants.

Mirza also started working on a large-scale outdoor sculpture inspired by megalithic structures like Stonehenge for Ballroom Marfa, to be unveiled in the winter of 2018. The institution’s most ambitious commission since Elmgreen & Dragset’s now-iconic Prada Marfa from 2005, stone circle will be situated in the remote high desert grasslands of West Texas. There, eight black marble boulders integrated with LEDs and speakers will emit electronic sound and light. A ninth “mother” stone (festooned with solar panels that help power the piece) creates a sound and light score activated each month by the full moon, making stone circle a suitably mystical experience for the new millennium.

B. 1978, Giessen, Germany. Lives and works in Frankfurt

At this year’s Venice Biennale, Frankfurt-based Imhof’s minimalist, goth-inflected performance Faust drew the longest lines—and ultimately netted the German Pavilion the illustrious Golden Lion Award for Best National Participation. (If you missed it in Venice, you can relive the experience with our own 360 video.) The 39-year-old artist considers her choreography-based practice to be rooted in drawing and painting, but she’s become better known over the past decade for her gruellingly long and sometimes uncomfortably voyeuristic performance works.  

Faust was no exception. Lasting roughly five hours, performers clad in black athleisure and denim casualwear performed a choreographed sequence of dancing, climbing, and crawling over—and under—raised glass floors and partitions, occasionally interjecting some sort of communication ranging from banging on a wall, yelling, or just mindlessly checking their phones. At the prompting of a rhythmic beat, however, the performers would march in formation, like militarized normcore fashion models. Imhoff managed to make fashionableness into something foreboding, no less so because the performance was staged in a Nazi-era building surrounded by fences and guarded by Dobermans. Faust was touted as a masterpiece of modern-day angst, ceaselessly investigating the power structures both past and present that dictate our lives and enslave us with their promises of freedom and self-expression.

While certainly not as high-profile as the Golden Lion, Imhof also scored the 2017 Absolut Art Prize, which comes with a nearly $120,000 budget to stage a new performance, this one to be set in the harsh desert of Death Valley, California.

B. 1965, Bristol, United Kingdom. Lives and works in London

“Undoubtedly one of the worst exhibitions of contemporary art staged in the past decade,” wrote Andrew Russeth of ARTnews, reflecting on “Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable,” Hirst’s two-part blow-out at both locations of the Pinault Collection in Venice that opened in April. That level of critical vitriol directed at the 52-year-old artist is representative of the consensus among members of the art press and the vast majority of those in the inner circles of the art world. But, more so than any artist, Hirst has purposefully cultivated a different and much larger audience, hoards of whom lined up outside the Palazzo Grassi and Punta della Dogana to see his entirely for-sale show.

Hirst’s Venetian outing, as well as its critical reception, generated some welcome and uneasy questions: What sort of audiences matter in 2017? When is appropriation cultural theft? Is it even possible to discuss the line between art and commerce with a straight face anymore? “Treasures from the Wreck of the Unbelievable” was crazily dramatic, uneven, at times knowingly stupid, blatantly spectacular—and also undeniably entertaining. Trying to unpack it in the context of the so-called serious art world would be a bit like comparing the later works of Shakespeare with Season 16 of Law & Order: SVU.

The show presented a postmodern jumble of references, styles, and materials. One of its hallmark works was Demon with Bowl (Exhibition Enlargement) (2014), a several-story-tall painted resin sculpture of a headless man with an action-hero physique; a time-lapse video of its piece-by-piece completion suggests that it required a level of effort on par with a small Hollywood film. Elsewhere, much tinier faux-artifacts were presented in vitrines, aping the style of a natural history museum. The whole conceit was bound together by a fiction of Hirstian proportions—the sculptures supposedly being the reclaimed booty following a shipwreck. Whether you loved it or hated it, the outing affirmed that the brash, take-no-prisoners artistic ego is alive and well.

B. 1976, Buenos Aires. Lives and works in New York

The Argentine-born, Israeli-raised, New York-based artist says her goal is “to make work that’s as accessible as possible, while being intelligent.” Rottenberg, primarily a video artist and sculptor, squeezes thorny subjects (labor, globalization) through her distorted, technicolor lens. The resulting films and their whimsical, immersive environments are undeniably odd, cerebral, and fun, as evidenced by a standout installation at the 2017 Skulptur Projekte Münster. The centerpiece there was a film, Cosmic Generator, shot on both sides of the United States/Mexico border, as well as in China. As is her style, Rottenberg combined quasi-documentary footage with dreamlike sequences—like a scene in which tiny men, dressed as tacos, burrow through underground tunnels before arriving to be eaten at a Chinese-Mexican restaurant.

In December, Rottenberg opened an exhibition at the freshly reopened Bass Museum of Art in Miami, bringing her eccentric vision to the broad audience in town for Art Basel in Miami Beach. There, a new version of Cosmic Generator was joined by sculptural installations (incorporating emergency food supplies, ceiling fans, and inflatable palm trees) and a second video, NoNoseKnows, which debuted at the 2015 Venice Biennale. It imagines the globalized economy as a fleshy machine, powered by raw muscle (and mussels), absurd actions, and more than a few bodily secretions. Rottenberg cannily mixes footage of actual labor (women scooping and sorting pearls out of shellfish) with surreal moments (a drab bureaucratic office where a woman sneezes out plates of pasta).

Much like Pipilotti Rist or Ragnar Kjartansson, Rottenberg has earned popular acclaim while resolutely following her own passions and curiosity, which often involves engaging with communities other than her own. In an art world that might scoffingly consider “accessible” a dirty word, she continues to prove that brainy and big-hearted aren’t mutually exclusive.

B. 1974, Camp Springs, Maryland. Lives and works in Berlin

Over the last decade, American artist (and 2017 MacArthur “Genius” grantee) Paglen has been probing the technology behind governmental surveillance and data collection, and how it alters the world around us both psychologically and physically. Paglen uses his unique skill set and background—he trained in both photography and geography, and had an itinerant childhood on military bases across the U.S. and Germany—to document obscure military installations, satellite launches, and hidden National Security Agency locations. He’s also evinced a curiosity for how technology can be put to less nefarious aims: an exhibition at New York’s Metro Pictures this past fall, “A Study of Invisible Images,” explored his research into computer vision and artificial intelligence’s applications for artmaking.

Things are only looking up for Paglen in 2018, which promises to be literally astronomic for the 43-year-old Berlin-based artist’s career. Paglen is turning his sights skyward as he works on completing the world’s first space sculpture, with support from the Nevada Museum of Art. Set to launch in the spring of 2018, the mirrored inflatable, dubbed Orbital Reflector, will be visible in the night sky for roughly eight weeks before it disintegrates. Although he’s already traveled to extremes for his work (including to the depths of the ocean, where he captured images of internet cables buried on the seafloor) the artist’s low-orbiting satellite is a feat unprecedented in contemporary art. Soon thereafter, Paglen will be the subject of the Smithsonian American Art Museum’s exhibition “Sites Unseen,” the first major survey of this pioneering artist’s work in the U.S., opening in June.

B. 1970, Euclid, Ohio. Lives and works in Los Angeles

Long a touchstone for and key figure in the Los Angeles art community, Owens got an overdue East Coast spotlight with a major survey at the Whitney Museum of American Art that opened this fall. There are plenty of artists who continue to expand the field of contemporary painting, but few do it with such verve, playfulness, and rigor. The Whitney’s entire eighth floor, for instance, is given over to a multi-part sculpture in which Owens enlarges and remixes drawings and a short story appropriated from her own son, who is in middle school.

Another installation pairs artist-designed wallpaper with an interactive component: Text a question to a dedicated number, and pre-recorded audio answers play in the gallery space. (I asked “What is art?” A rather blasé voice answered, “I don’t know, but his gallery moved away from there.”) Owens was previously lauded in the (somewhat controversial) 2014 Museum of Modern Art survey “The Forever Now,” and her turn at the Whitney—which follows inclusion in two of the institution’s biennials—should cement her future as a kind of godmother for younger talents.

Meanwhile, back home in L.A., she continues to oversee 356 Mission, the art space that she co-founded with Wendy Yao and Gavin Brown in 2012. It’s been a point of contention this year, as protestors in the Boyle Heights neighborhood have turned their ire on it (as well as other venues) for being the advance guard of gentrification. But, despite the pushback, the artist-supportive venue has undeniably become a centerpiece of the city’s art scene, holding exhibitions with the likes of Seth Price, Maggie Lee, Wu Tsang, and many others.

B. 1937, Bradford, United Kingdom. Lives and works in Los Angeles

In his 80th year, the venerated British artist is still pushing the boundaries of painting, most recently unveiling a series of vividly colored compositions of interior and outdoor settings with wild fun-house perspectives and peculiarly shaped canvases. (He’s also recently made much-publicized forays into digital painting using apps on his iPad). Best known for his depictions of crystalline swimming pools (and the attendant Californian lifestyle), Hockney has for some six decades experimented with media and subject matter of all kinds—including landscapes, still lifes, and nuanced and life-affirming portraits of friends, often painted in pairs. That tonal range has been on view in his retrospective this year, beginning at the Tate Britain in February—where it broke attendance records—before going on to the Centre Pompidou this summer and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where it is on view through February.

The exhibition confirms Hockney’s position as one of our greatest living artists and one whose influence on painting cannot be underestimated. Drawn to Los Angeles’s intense light, abundant vegetation, and unabashed pleasure-seeking, the artist has long excelled as a colorist, incorporating garish Fauvist hues into his work and mastering the technicalities of his materials. Hockney has explored how paint can be manipulated to create different textures and degrees of luminosity—as well as exploring a catalogue of perspectival and compositional effects, from a near-Cubist flatness and angularity to a greater depth of perspective and receding space. He is also celebrated for having expressed queerness in his work long before the Culture Wars, painting supple male nudes in the shower or swimming in sun-soaked L.A. bliss.

B. 1954, Glen Ridge, New Jersey. Lives and works in New York

The self-portrait pioneer had her share of shows in 2017, including a multi-decade survey at Mnuchin Gallery in New York and her retrospective, “Imitation of Life,” which moved from the Broad in Los Angeles to the Wexner Center for the Arts in Columbus, Ohio. Throughout her career, Sherman has kept pace with changing trends. And it was her canny transition to Instagram that unexpectedly caught the art world’s attention this year, as she began using simple apps like Facetune to unnerving effect. Another favored tool, Perfect365, is a go-to for social-media users who want to add digital makeup effects to their selfies. (“It’s like having a glam squad in your pocket!”, the app’s marketing claims.) While the original intent of these programs was to help users cheat a sort of artificial beauty, Sherman exploits them to different ends—as a meditation on self-presentation and how we show ourselves to the world.

Sherman isn’t alone among an older generation of artists who are hooked on the image sharing app (count photographic icon Stephen Shore among them), but her account is unique in how it extends her practice into a more casual space. “I feel pretty,” she comments, annotating a way-close-up selfie in which her shocked eyes pop in surprise over a comically distended mouth. In other posts, she seems to inhabit the role of a high-society alien—her skin jaundiced or purple—as she indulges in various luxuries and then pays the price (in one case ending up, horrifically shriveled, in a hospital bed).

For W’s annual art issue in December, Sherman contributed an Instagram-style selfie for the cover. “They’re just fun, like a little distraction,” she said regarding her social media postings. Still, the buzz that sprung up around this “little distraction” in 2017 is a testament to Sherman’s ongoing influence and relevance. She remains a star that nearly any young artist—especially those engaged with identity, beauty, and the self-portrait—must reckon with.

from Artsy News

[sentrava]

Fa La La: The Ultimate Christmas Gift Guide

It’s my favorite time of the year, you guys: It’s officially socially acceptable to listen to Christmas tunes around the clock, plus I have a valid excuse to spend hours scouring the Internet in search of great gift ideas for you to give your loved ones! (I may also have shopped a little lot in the process. Oops.)

Note: Some of these featured products are from our sponsors, while others are affiliate links that will earn me a small commission. 

So without further ado, here’s what I’m digging this year:

FOR THE NOMADIC SOUL

Have a friend or family member in your life who is only satisfied when doing something new, exciting and/or unique? (I know a little something about that!) Well, Tinggly has the cure that ails them. I’ve always been a fan of giving experiences instead of mere stuff, and this is the perfect solution: You can gift your loved one a personalized box that contains a voucher to a bucket list kind of item that most people only dream of. Dinner with a NASA astronaut? James Bond sightseeing tour in Thailand? VIP helicopter over the Vegas Strip? Yoga retreat in India? Tango lesson in Buenos Aires? Tinggly has something for every taste. I also love that you can choose your box by theme: birthday, Christmas, wedding, couples and more.

FOR THE SUN BUM

True story: I allot more space in my luggage to sunglasses than I do to anything else, as heaven forbid I be photographed in the same shades over and over again! But I can’t help it: I’m always outside doing something fun, and if there’s one thing fashion-wise that I care about the most it’s what’s on my face. And I love the selection of women’s sunglasses available at Sunglass Warehouse. I’m a huge fan of Aviators—bonus points if they’re mirrored—and Sunglass Warehouse has so many different kinds of Aviators in stock, many available for under $20. (With as much as I change out my shades, I like keeping my cost per item as low as possible.) For those shopping for the holidays, Sunglass Warehouse is offering 40% off one pair of shades from now through Nov. 30 with the code SPENDLESS40.

FOR THE TECH-HEAVY TRAVELER

We’ve all been there before: You’re traveling all day and your iPhone quickly depletes of all power. It’s near impossible to locate an outlet at an airport, and even my backup battery usually dies well before my travel day has ended (a nightmare scenario as I rely on it for ride-sharing when I finally reach my destination). Which is why Lynktec’s Reeljuice 5X Power Bank + 10 Watt Rapid Wall Charger is my new favorite thing; it’s got four feet of retractable charging cord, and it gives me FIVE full charges before it needs to be re-powered. No more fighting my fellow fliers for coveted outlet space at the airport; in fact, I can even charge my phone while I fly. I’m giving one of these bad boys away down at the bottom of the post, but you can also get 25 percent off (site-wide!) with the code LUNATICATLARGE25.

FOR THE SCIENCE GEEK (OR THE TWEEN)

This Lock Pick Beginners Box is at the very top of my DIY-loving husband’s own list, and for good reason: It gives you the tools (literally and figuratively) that you need to learn how to pick locks, with two different sets of practice locks that have clear sides so that the trainee can see what’s going on behind the scenes with the mechanisms. This is the perfect present for a dude—what husband/boyfriend doesn’t love tinkering?—but also would be a fantastic and affordable option for your fidgety, problem-solving tween.

FOR THE PHILANTHROPIST

You guys know my love for St. Jude runs deep. It’s just so cool what they do there: On top of being one of the top research facilities in the world, St. Jude also ensure that its patients don’t have to worry about a thing (like, for example, cost or lodging for the family) other than getting better. I donate to St. Jude periodically throughout the year, but I’m loving their new initiative, This Shirt. All you have to do is sign up to donate $20 to St. Jude monthly, and you get this exclusive Tee that all your favorite country artists (and your favorite blogger!) are wearing. Because helping others is really the reason for the season.

FOR THE ETERNAL STUDENT

Alert, alert, self plug coming! Kristin Sweeting and I are headed to Portugal next July to teach the ultimate writing, photography, marketing and business workshop—and we’d love for you to join us! We’ve extended registrations through Dec. 31 and have a handful of spots left (and a really amazing group attending so far!). Come learn the ropes of the biz with us while surfing, roaming, doing yoga and exploring Lisbon’s charming surrounds with us in your downtime. Bring your significant other or business partner or come solo. Just think of it as continuing education, a tax write-off and a vacation all rolled into one! As a Christmas special, I’m including two one-hour coaching sessions for anyone who signs up by Dec. 15, one by Skype prior to the trip and one in Portugal.

FOR THE AT-HOME COOK

We’re always experimenting in the kitchen, and try to eat as clean (i.e. no processed food) as possible, meaning that adding herbs and spices is clutch for our style of dining. I’ve had a subscription to Raw Spice Bar for the past year, and I love that every three months, a collection of six individually packaged, freshly-ground, seasonal spices arrives in my mailbox and that I don’t have to commit to buying the entire spice jar before I know I like it. You can even customize your diet to Paleo, vegan, vegetarian, healthy or “eat anything” and, of course, buy more from the Raw Spice Bar shop if you like what you tried.

FOR THE HEALTHY DINER

I’m all about collecting cookbooks, even if SVV is technically the chef in our household. My current favorite is A Beautiful Mess Weekday Weekend, which just came out this month and compiles even more healthy, vegetarian recipes than Elsie and Emma post on their blog. If you already own ABM, may I suggest the following: Laura Lea Balanced, Body Love and Cravings (maybe technically not healthy, but who doesn’t want to look like Chrissy Teigen?!).

FOR THE NEW HOMEOWNER

Earlier this year, my interior designer friend Kendall Simmons and her husband Kane launched Salut Home, a thoughtfully curated collection of home goods and accents, and I drool over all their colorful offerings every time the email hits my inbox. My current obsession? Their new collection of Leah Singh pillows (all things Leah Singh, really)—they have 96 styles in stock! And bonus, they’re on sale for Black Friday (use the code LEAH20), or you can sign up for their newsletter and receive a promo code for 10 percent off.

FOR THE SHUTTERBUG

While I’ll never fully replace my DSLR, ever since my mom gave me the Canon G7X Mark II for Christmas last year, it’s replaced my Canon 6D in my purse as my daily camera. It’s still got the manual settings so I can play around with the exposure, but is small and compact and great for videos. (Check out the travel videos I’ve been making for evidence.)

FOR THE BIG KID IN YOUR LIFE

For SVV’s last birthday, I got him a Phantom 4 Pro+ drone, and he loves it. He was a former aviation tech in the Navy and daydreams about flying all the time. Coupled with his penchant for photography, it was the perfect gift (and has come in handy on many a work project for us, too!). I think the P4 Pro is great for someone who does photography professionally; however, if your loved one isn’t that well-versed in drones yet, I recommend a cheaper, lighter model like the DJI Spark as a starter drone.

FOR THE ADVENTURER

I’ve had five different GoPros since I got my first one seven years ago, and the quality has improved significantly. After watching some of my YouTubers film exclusively with the GoPro Hero 6, I’m adding the newest model to my wishlist for our upcoming ski adventures (and it finally comes equipped with an LCD screen, too—you used to have to buy those a la carte).

FOR THE DOG OWNER

I bought a pair of travel pillows from the entrepreneurs behind Doggie Duffel, and I’m intrigued by their latest (fully-funded) project that’s essentially an all-in-one travel kit for your pup. Ella doesn’t have one of these yet, but I think I know what she’ll be finding under the Christmas tree…

FOR THE ART LOVER

I’ve been a long-time fan (turned friend) of Leslee Mitchell’s, and every time her gorgeous photography pops into my feed, I mentally bookmark it for the next time I’m doing a room makeover. I recently snagged several of her toy car prints, and I’m absolutely in love! Any giftee would be lucky to own a series of prints from this talented artist.

FOR THE SPORTY GIRL

Pretty much all my travel apparel comes from Gap Fit or Athleta—after all, I’m a girl who places comfort above style, but with most athleisure, luckily you can have both!—and a few pieces I’m loving this winter are: this metallic sweatshirt, this jersey keyhole top, this pullover hoodie and these black, leopard-print leggings.

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  FOR THE VINTAGE LOVER

Wish you’d grown up in the 70s? (Me, too.) You can embrace a bygone era with this sleek record player in a portable brief case that doubles as a CD player and has USB ports. Bonus: It comes in five different colors!

FOR YOUR FRIEND WHO WORKS FROM HOME

You know that girl who works in her coziest pajamas and barely leaves her computer desk all day long, except to refill her coffee/water/bourbon glass? (AHEM.) Welllll, how much would she love to upgrade from her ratty old PJs to this amazing unicorn onesie? (Really bad, I’ll tell ya!) For one that’s a bit more subtle, Nordstrom currently has this beauty on sale.

Stocking Stuffers Under $50

Savannah Bee Co. body products. I was stoked when I recently spotted Savannah Bee’s entire line, like this body butter, for sale at Target!

Geometric rings. Psst, SVV, looking for something small to get me? Start here.

Paddywax candle. My favorite candles are those that you can reuse the container as tabletop decor after it’s burned out.

Herb mill and grinder. As someone who’s very lazy in the kitchen, I love any tool that does the hard work for me.

S’well bottle. My cousins gave me one of these nifty canteens two years ago, and it’s been a game changer in my travels as I no longer have to abuse the planet by buying bottled water.

Stocking Stuffers Under $20

Taylor Swift’s reputation album. The Old Taylor can’t come to the phone because she’s out there SLAYING it with her new album. Man, this one is going to rack up the awards, and it should be in any music lover’s repertoire of tunes.

Flamingo ornament. I’m a sucker for all things flamingos and also ornaments, and Nordstrom at Home has a whole lot of cute, travel-themed ones, many of which are on sale.

Vintage maps. SVV and I are map lovers to the core. We own more than 30 globes and a number of vintage maps, but those are tough to find, which is why I like this Etsy store, which has both domestic and international city prints.

Monogrammed copper wine stopper. Because who doesn’t want their initial atop their vino?!

Twist Magazine’s winter issue. Launched by my good friend Keryn, this new travel publication is a gorgeous glossy that’s the perfect stuffer for the family traveler.

A taco holder. What taco lover doesn’t need this in their life?!

Stocking Stuffers Under $10

Sheet masks. I’ve been addicted to sheet masking for a year now, and while the TonyMoly variety pack is my go-to order, I’m equally as obsessed with these reindeer and penguin masks from Target.

eos holiday lip balm. I keep an eos in every bag I own, and I just popped this trio of holiday flavors (peppermint mocha, vanilla bean, ginger) into my shopping cart!

A manatee tea infuser. Or if manatees aren’t your thing (you crazy), there’s also a sloth, shark or loch ness monster.

iPhone charging cords in myriad colors. Show of hands if you, like me, are always on the hunt for that missing iPhone/USB/mini-USB cord?

The Oregon Trail Card Came. Because kids these days don’t even know what it’s like to ford a river and then die of dysentery when you’re almost there.

Pop socket. This little doodad changed my life—and made me stop dropping my iPhone altogether. I didn’t know how I’d feel about it, but I love it.

Rare earth magnets. We bought these to tack things to our wall on our four-month RTW cruise, and they’ve been a game-changer on actually keeping all of our cards and photos up on the fridge. They never fall, like, ever.

Since it doesn’t feel like the holidays until I start giving away gifts, I’m giving away one big C&C stocking stuffer grab bag, full of some of my favorite things, including the Lynktec charging station, a selection of Raw Spice Bar spices, and plenty of other stocking stuffers for you to give your family and friends (or keep for yourself—I won’t judge!). The value of this box o’ fun is currently over $300—also brimming with music, beauty items, and other odds and ends I’ve purchased and wanted to share with you—though I’ll likely continue to add to that as I finish my Black Friday shopping.

All you have to do to enter is tell me your favorite holiday tradition. Don’t have one? Tell me what’s the top of your Christmas wishlist! It’s that simple. Leave a comment below, and I’ll randomly choose a winner of this bag o’ fun on Dec. 1.

PIN IT HERE

Fa La La: The Ultimate Christmas Gift Guide published first on http://ift.tt/2gOZF1v