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chickensarentcheap · 1 year ago

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In a Heartbeat- Part One

FANDOM: EXTRACTION

PAIRING: TYLER RAKE AND ESME DRUMMOND (ESTABLISHED OFC)

WARNINGS: angst. Big time angst.

SUMMARY: Dhaka nearly ended everything before it even began. In it’s aftermath and with Tyler’s life teetering on the threshold between life and death, Esme is about to realize just how strong she can be. And that love happens when it happens. There’s no rules. No rhyme or reason. No timeline.

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48691714/chapters/122826046

Tagging: @tragiclyhip @youflickedtooharddamnit @munstysmind @secretaryunpaid @arrthurpendragon @karimac @ninjasawakenedmystar @starryeyes2000 @kmc1989 @timbradfordsboot @themaradwrites @asirensrage @residentdormouse @thesirenrealm @ocappreciationtag @occommunity @thebewingedjewelcat

My tag list is OPEN. Just let me know if you’d like to be added :)

*****

Author’s note: This is a little three-part companion piece to the Tyler and Esme series. However, it follows the timeline of Extraction 2 and contains canon events from the movie. So there are slight spoilers ahead! You’ve been warned :) You do not need to have read any of the other fics to understand this one.

This has been a ‘thing’ in progress for a while now. Something wanted to write about Tyler’s time in the hospital and Esme’s decision to give up her life as she knew it to stick around and support him through it. I think @tragiclyhip had probably heard about my plans for this about a dozen times in the past two years alone LOL. But the hospital scenes in E2 encouraged me to finally get off my butt and write it.

A huge thanks to @tragiclyhip for the incredible story cover and to @youflickedtooharddamnit for coming up with the perfect title! Love you guys :D

*****

She’s used to it now. The steady hums and beeps of the machines that keep him alive.

Every new day is like the one before it. Four months of repeating the same actions from morning until night. And despite the sterile confines of the Intensive Care Unit, she’s managed to settle into a familiar and somewhat comfortable routine; on a first-name basis with many of the nurses and support staff, and the ‘on-ward’ coffee shop baristas able to recite her usual order from sheer memory. Extra large tea. Three milk. No sugar. A toasted bagel with peanut butter for breakfast. A fruit and yogurt parfait for lunch. A bowl of soap or a salad for dinner.

Sometimes both.

Her brain is saturated with mundane and useless details; ridiculous little tidbits of information that help keep her sane and functioning. She knows it’s forty-seven paces to the private washroom, another hundred and ten to the kitchen and common area set up for patients’ family members. And that the vending machine by the communal laundry room is temperamental; every third quarter is only accepted if you first vigorously rub the edge of it along the metal slot.

It’s as far as she’s gone. She hasn’t dared to venture beyond the ward; filled with a sense of dread that the moment she steps foot outside of it, the worst will happen. As if the shadow of death is just lingering in the corner; licking its lips as it anxiously and patiently awaits her departure. Feeling as if she can somehow ward it off if she stays nearby; not giving that cold and unforgiven hand a chance to get close enough to grab hold of him. And she’s determined to fight the demon off as long as she possibly can.

Whether that’s weeks or months. Or even years.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself,” Nik had lamented, attempting to cut through that wall built with immense stubbornness and unshakable paranoia. “You can’t let yourself get rooted to this place. This SPOT. This isn’t what he would want.”

She’d wanted to tell Nik that perhaps she didn’t know Tyler as well as she thought she did. After all, she’d never been privy to the sides of him that existed beyond being mercenary; at her beck and call whenever a job required ‘the best of the best’. Was it through her own disinterest? Did she simply not care about the human being and only the seemingly fearless ‘gun for hire’? Or was it Tyler’s doing? A case of not allowing or wanting her to get that close? A defensive mechanism perhaps; weighed down by layers of trauma and loss as he somehow tries to prevent himself from drowning in an angry, unrelenting sea of guilt and regret.

And she’d found herself irrationally angry at Nik’s mere suggestion; that somehow she knew him THAT way. After all, Nik hadn’t experienced those five days in Dhaka. Not in the way SHE had. It hadn’t been Nik sharing a bed with him; her body that his mouth and his hands roamed and expertly and effortlessly drove to the heights of a passion she’d never experienced. She hadn’t been the one he’d been kissing; her face cradled so delicately within the confines of rough, calloused palms. And it hadn’t been her that he had opened up to; openly talking about the death of his son and the horrible decision he’d made in the lead-up to his last weeks on earth. Nik hadn’t served as his confessional; her heart breaking as he poured out his entire heart and soul and trusted her with his deepest and darkest -and damning- secret.

Instead, she’d stayed civil; appreciating the friendship and the help too much to let her hurt feelings and wounded pride destroy her one and only support system. Remaining calm and quiet as she reminded Nik that the intimacy between herself and Tyler had extended far beyond the physical; they’d confided in each other and found a shared level of trust and faith that neither had ever experienced with another. They’d made plans; mused about visiting each other’s respective home countries and then taking some of their payouts and travelling the world. Making no concrete plans; instead packing lightly and choosing destinations on the whim. It would give them a chance to get to know one another; concentrating on nothing but each other and seeing if they could make something -something good, something permanent- out of the five-day whirlwind they’d experienced in Dhaka.

They’d been excited. Optimistic.

And then the world opened up beneath them and swallowed them whole.

******

Every morning begins the same.

Stirred awake by the arrival of the day shift nurse; a young woman fresh out of college that possesses both enormous compassion and remarkable wisdom. The only one that doesn’t look at her with a mixture of pity and irritation; who doesn’t sigh in annoyance when she’s asked the same questions during EVERY vitals check and who always has something positive to say instead of the usual doom and gloom. Always feeding into the hope that Esme so desperately clings to; sharing stories of patients who’d been through worse and had ‘been under’ much longer, but had one day come out of things and gone on to live healthy, successful lives.

She sees how the others look at her; the way they huddle together at the nurse’s station and whisper as she passes by. As of yet she hasn’t addressed the issue or called them out; too lost in her own little world powered by fear, worry, and stress unlike anything she’s ever known. But she has daydreamed about it; the moment when she’ll finally have enough and stand up for herself. How satisfying it will be to see their shocked and embarrassed expressions when she addresses them in Arabic; one of the six languages aside from English that she’d long ago mastered during her time in the Corps. And she’ll let them know that she isn’t the weak little girl that they view her as; that she is a grown-ass woman who isn’t delusional or crazy for clinging so desperately to any sign of hope.

Yes, it’s true; she and Tyler HAVEN’T known each other for long. Only a week if their initial meeting and the twenty-four hours of mission planning were taken into consideration. But she isn’t pathetic for fighting for the best possible care for him. Or for holding onto the optimism that one day she WILL get more time with him. That he’ll fight his way out of the coma and begin that long road of healing.

Sleep hasn’t been her friend since Dhaka; plagued by bloody and brutal nightmares that replay those desperate moments on the bridge. The events disjointed and out of place, but extremely vivid; witnessing him taking the bullet to the neck and seeing the fear and panic immediately take over his face. The terror in his eyes as he attempted to get get to safety; a hand clasped tightly over the wound as blood seeped through his fingers and trickled down his arm. Her screams as clear as the day they’d escaped from her mouth; repeatedly calling out his name as fought her way out of Nik’s protective embrace.

It’s so real when it happens; as if she’s transported back to the exact place and the exact time. Able to smell the mixture of spent gunpowder and spilt gasoline and the polluted water wafting up from the river. Feel the oppressive humid and choking humidity; the sun ferocious as it pounded down upon her, and the cement so scorching that when she kneels upon it burns her skin through the fabric of her pants. The weight of his much larger, stronger body as it lays upon her thighs; a fear and desperation in his eyes as he clung desperately to the front of her t-shirt and struggled in vain to speak through the damage done to his body.

And the blood. So much blood.

Pouring through her fingers as she attempted to cover the wound and keep pressure on it. Her entire body and her voice trembling as she tried her best to remain calm; repeatedly assuring him that help was on its way while trying to succumb to the fear that no one was coming to save them. They’d be left behind with no possible means of escape. And Asif’s remaining men would find them; either putting bullets in their head to kill them immediately or leaving Tyler there to die while dragging her back to days, weeks, even months of sheer hell under their boss’ roof. Trying to ward off the thoughts of the ‘worst case scenario’, she’d instead focused on doing whatever it took to keep Tyler alive. Tears streaming down her face as she apologized for having to cause him more pain in order to help him, then proceeding to push two fingers through the bullet wound in an attempt to pinch off the flow of blood right from the source.

Asleep or not, she can still hear the strangled scream he’d given; see the way his eyes briefly fluttered and then rolled towards the back of his head as he lost consciousness.

It’s a sound…and a sight…she will never forget.

*****

She isn’t in the mood for being social. Normally she’d cheerfully greet the nurse and then force herself out of bed; her back and her neck aching from a night on the rickety folding cot as she made her way to Tyler’s side. It’s a mixture of things; the hope that she’ll be told of even the smallest improvement in his condition and a lingering fear…a paranoia…that someone will further harm him. That news of his survival will prompt the need for revenge; Asif sending someone under the guise of a nurse to perhaps put something…some kind of toxic…into his IV line to ‘finish the job’.

It’s absurd, of course. And a sign that she’s truly starting to lose it.

This morning she ignores the nurse’s arrival and opts to stay in bed; completely wrapping her body in her blankets as she rolls onto her side. Despite the sunshine that pours into the central courtyard, her mood is dark and troublesome; she feels empty and incredibly lonely and wishes she’d simply died that day on the bridge. It would have been so much easier; if death had just claimed them both instead of banishing them to a wasteland of fear and dread. Scared every time she even goes to the bathroom or to take a shower that something terrible will happen; her absence being the precise time that his body decides to give up the fight and move onto a far more peaceful, pain-free existence.

She doesn’t entertain those thoughts often; managing to hold onto that shred of hope that carries her from one day…one hour…one hour…one second…to the next. But every so often the doom and gloom creeps in; the times when she considers all the negativity that the doctors have been spoon-feeding her for months. The way they’ve gently pressured her to simply move on with her life; she hasn’t known him that long and surely his loss wouldn’t be THAT big of a tragedy.

They insist they know what’s best for BOTH of them; a peaceful demise for Tyler and her finding a way to forget that he ever existed. And when she refuses to budge and reminds them that she’s calling the shots, they change their tactics; speaking of massive brain damage and considerable loss of cognitive function IF he comes out of the coma. Issuing warnings that he’ll likely need one-to-one care for the rest of his days; someone that can help feed him and dress him and get him in and out of the shower. Is that really the kind of life SHE wants?

“I don’t care if I have to take care of him,” she’d angrily informed them. “I don’t care if I have to help with ANY of that. If I have to spend the rest of my life helping him to the bathroom, I’ll do it. In a heartbeat.”

It’ll be days before they approach the subject again. Allowing her time to ‘cool down’ before once more bringing it; the badgering to turn off the machines and let ‘nature take its course’. And they meet the same brick wall time and time again; unable to win the battle against her stubbornness as she digs her heels in even deeper.

Her eyes close as the nurse’s footfalls grow closer; smelling the aroma of freshly brewed tea as a cup and placed upon the window ledge. And she remains perfectly still as a hand is placed upon the top of her head; a fleeting yet affectionate and concerned moment before the blankets are tucked protectively around her body. Her chest immediately tightens and tears threaten; it’s been decades since anyone -outside of romantic partners- had shown that level of care and concern. Her own mother had been void of any kind of love and tenderness for her; showing nothing but the utmost disdain and showing no interest in bonding with her daughter in any way, shape, or form.

Yet here was a woman -younger than Esme herself- in possession of such tenderness and compassion; willingly accepting the role of caretaker in regards to a non-patient.

A complete stranger.

She wants to bury her face in her pillow and cry; let out all of the emotions that have been weighing her down for the last five months. A multitude of so many things; guilt and hopelessness and emptiness beyond anything she’s ever experienced. A stark contrast compared to what she’d felt in Dhaka; behind closed doors when the job could be temporarily forgotten and they’d become nothing more than two broken and lonely people finding solace in each other. It had been the first time -in what seemed like decades- that she’d ever felt that connected to someone; able to be honest and transparent and not feel pitied or looked down upon. Her ex-husband had destroyed her; mentally and physically. And she’d sworn that she’d never…ever…trust a man again; refusing to hand over her heart only to have it ripped from her chest and thrown on the ground and stomped upon.

Tyler was different.

Even with the mountains of baggage and his extreme self-loathing, he had shown a genuine interest in not only her, but in her interests and the things she had to share. Whether it was in that bar in Dhaka the first night -when they’d shared pitchers of beer and lost count of the number of tequila shooters they’d pounded back- or two days later; when they’d found themselves caught in a mess of tangled sheets and sweaty, naked limbs. Surrendering to an intense sexual attraction in the midst of the craziness and unpredictability of the job; unabashedly using one another for not only physical pleasure, but as an escape from the profound emptiness that haunted them both. And they’d somehow segued so seemingly and effortlessly into something much more meaningful; quickly trusting and opening up to one another and forming a unique and powerful bond within the confines of that dirty little hotel room.

He hadn’t been the least bit ‘put off’ by her backstory or the emotions she showed while sharing it; an infinite amount of patience and understanding in both his eyes and his touch. Making her feel ‘seen’ for the first time in her entire life; able to truly be herself and not feel judged or ridiculed for it. She was finally wholly and completely accepted. By a man with even higher and thicker walls built around his heart and soul.

And above all else, he’d made her feel wanted. Needed. Beautiful. Desirable. Looked upon as if she was the most incredible woman in the world.

How could she possibly give it…ALL OF IT…up?

****

Waiting until she hears the soft click of the door as it closes, she tosses off the blankets; yawning noisily and rubbing at her stiff neck and shoulders as she swings her legs over the side of the cot. She’s slept in worse places; off-the-grid caves and huts and bombed-out towns in both Afghanistan and Iraq. With not even the tiniest bit of comfort that the pencil-thin cot mattress provides her with; memories of using layers of broken down garbage boxes or piles of dry and withered leaves and even just the rocks and sand as a foundation to rest upon.

But she’d been younger then; fresh out of university and full of life and energy and possessed by an unshakable lust for adventure and danger. The intel field was her specialty; her tiny size and ‘girl next door’ looks and ‘apple pie’ personality opening doors that were inaccessible to others. Earning a well-respected and rock-solid reputation as she easily and effortlessly wormed and weaved her way into the tightest of circles. Surrounding herself with dangerous and shady characters that were enabled and empowered by even more deadly and vicious leaders.

It had been those experiences and their accompanying successes -along with her tumultuous, failed marriage- that had eventually led her to Nik.

And that little rundown shack in the Australian outback.

Shoving her feet into a pair of nearby Crocs, she gathers her messy, dark tresses in both hands; fashioning them into a ponytail that she secures with an elastic she keeps around her left wrist. And taking a single sip of tea, she returns the cup to the window ledge before approaching the bed; snagging that chart that hangs from a hook on the footboard and quickly scanning through the notes that the nurse had left behind. She’s not sure what she’s actually looking for; perhaps the smallest bit of information that signals some kind of change in his condition. It’s that hope again; the little shred she clings to when she’s at her lowest. Not a praying person by any stretch of the imagination, but always begging to some higher power to give her a sign…no matter how minuscule…that things are on the upswing.

Today is NOT the day.

Returning the chart to its resting place, she moves to the side of the bed and lowers the safety railing; frowning when she notices the awkward placement of the pillows meant to keep his upper body well supported.

“I’m just going to fix something real quick,” she says aloud, then carefully slips an arm between him and the bed; the back of his head cradled in her palm as her free hand fluffs and realigns the pillows. “I don’t do this? You’re going to have a hell of a stiff neck when you get up.”

It usually gives her a sense of normalcy; talking to him as if he’s going to respond. Helping to keep her sane; imagining his accent, what he’d say in return, and what his facial expressions would look like. In some ways, those five days in Dhaka had felt like a lifetime; feeling closer and more connected to him than people she had known for decades. Even for her entire existence. Able to read him so easily during both the quiet and more intimate times; every emotion and feeling laid bare on his face and especially in his eyes. But today she almost feels foolish; the pit in both her heart and stomach open and raw and allowing the negativity of all of the naysayers to ooze and fester.

Attempting to keep the darkness away, she places a knee on the mattress; allowing her to get closer to him as she navigates her way around all of the tubes and the wires connected to his body. A hand resting on his chest as she presses a series of kisses to warm, smooth skin; the middle of his brow, the bridge of his nose, the corner of his mouth. Her eyes briefly closing as she rests her forehead against his temple and breathes in his scent; saddened that the familiarity of sandalwood, cedar, and slight citrus have long been replaced by the sickly, almost sweet smell of hospital.

Antiseptic. Illness. And lingering death.

The latter she refuses to consider. And she forces away the tears as she pulls back to look at him; her fingers moving slowly and adoringly through his hair. It’s so much fuller now; a testament to just how long it’s been since they escaped death on the bridge. The longer top strands continuously falling across his forehead and into his eyes; the shorter ones now tumbling down and curling over his ears and skimming the nape of his neck.

It’s so hard to see him like this. The change more apparent with every passing day. His skin gray and sickly; replacing that slight tan that had once given him colour. Dark circles taking up residence under both eyes and his lips painfully dry; his cheeks becoming hollow under the thicker, darker beard. And the loss of weight and muscle tone clearly visible; the hospital gown slipping off sharp, pointier shoulders and hanging loosely over a once broad chest and chiselled stomach.

But he’s still Tyler. The man that she’d been quickly and unabashedly drawn to the moment she’d met him. Nothing could EVER replace that person; those brilliant blue eyes that attempt to mask the pain of his past and the lingering humanity he possessed, that tightly drawn mouth that betrayed his sadness but -when she lightly teased him and flirted with him in the hotel bar- had transformed into a slow, almost boyish smile. Who tilted his head to the side while listening to her drunken rambles; shy and withdrawn at first, but the liquid courage consumed through the evening bringing out a more talkative and charming side. Surprisingly well-read and intelligent; a man that had seen, done, and experienced the worst yet hadn’t let it completely tarnish his spirit. Not as empty and hollow and dead inside as he believed; his laugh and the way he teased her and the moments when his fingertips intentionally brushed against hers paying testament to a man who was still very much alive.

Who could still FEEL.

“Good morning,” she greets, and places another kiss at the corner of his mouth, smiling as she lightly and affectionately tousles his hair. “First thing we’re going to do when you get out of here? Cut this mop of yours. I mean, it’s not THAT bad; it’s starting to grow on me and I guess it is kinda cute. But I DO have my preferences.”

She carefully lowers herself into a sit; folding her legs in her lap before taking one of his hands in both of hers. Tightly squeeze before using her thumbs to lightly massage his fingers; paying extra attention to each misshapen knuckle before moving down to his wrist. Last week he’d shown a small response to the ministrations; his fingers giving a slight twitch and his heart rate climbing several beats. It had given her a newfound sense of optimism; further fuelling the hope that he was fighting his back. Until the neurologist told her it was likely involuntarily; a common and unexpected hike in the numbers and nothing more than random nerve ‘flinches’.

She waits for it now; eyes on the monitor, anxiously chewing on the inside of her cheek.

Nothing.

“I don’t care what they say,” she informs him, and turns his hand over; setting it on her thigh with the palm facing upwards. “I know you meant to do it. It wasn’t just something random. It was totally intentional. I know it. I know YOU.”

For several minutes she sits in silence. Listening to the beeps and the hums of the various machines as her fingertips glide over his palm; alternating between repeatedly tracing slow, methodical circles and gently picking at the calluses at the bottom of his thumb and each finger. Such big, beautiful hands; able to inflict both immense pain and mind and body-numbing pleasure. Capable of not only taking a life in the most bloody and gruesome ways, but also possessing a tenderness unlike anything she’s ever experienced. Moments when he smoothes hair away from her face and loops wayward strands behind her ears. Or he cradles her face in his hands as he kisses her; her mind and her pulse racing from the juxtaposition of rough, battered skin and smooth, soft lips.

She’s looking at the monitor when she both feels and hears it; the slight bump of his leg against the side of her thigh and the quiet rustle of the skin against sheets. For a brief moment her heart stops and she forgets to brief; eyes snapping away from the numbers displayed on the screen to his face. Hoping and praying for something more; the flutter of eyelashes or the twitch of his lips or even the slightest murmur or mumble from around the tube held securely in his mouth.

“Do that again,” she implores, and tightly squeezes his hand in both her own. “I know I wasn’t imagining it. And I know it wasn’t what the doctor said; something random and involuntary. You MEANT to do it. I know you did. So do it again. Please?”

She returns to massaging his hand; focusing once more on fingers and wrist as a form of encouragement. Alternating behind studying his face for any subtle change and glancing back at his left leg; silently begging and pleading for it to move once.

“Tyler…” Sighing, she tightens her grip on his hand; tears burning her eyes, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice. “...you need to give me something here. I’m not expecting much; I don’t expect you to open your eyes or squeeze my hand or anything big like that. But I need SOMETHING. ANYTHING. That lets me know you’re in there. That you’re not going anywhere. That you’re fighting your way back.”

She wants to break down but refuses to give in to the darkness; adamant to not surrender to her own issues and weaknesses. That’s the last thing he needs; sensing and hearing the pain and the desperation in her voice. Right now he needs her to be the strong one; the steadfast rock that he can depend on.

“I’m worried,” she admits. “They’re really getting on my ass now. About taking you off the machine. I can only fight and argue so much before they bring out the big guns. They’ve already threatened it; taking me to court and getting an order to halt all your care. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let them just give up on you. I WON’T let them. But I need your help. I need you to show them that this isn’t a lost cause. That I’m not just fighting a losing battle. So if you could just do SOMETHING…just something really small…to show them that you’re still here. I know you don’t want to die. A man that wants to die doesn’t talk about the things we talked about. They don’t make the plans we did. So please…” She’s unable to contain the tears that slip down her cheeks. “...Tyler…help me. I need your help. I need YOU.”

She waits for several minutes and then issues a heavy, dejected sigh. The optimism quickly fading as he remains motionless; stuck somewhere between the living and dead, frantically searching for the correct exit. And she uses the back of her hand to swipe at the tears that glisten upon her cheeks; silently scolding herself for a moment of weakness during a time that calls for courage and strength.

“I’m going to let you rest,” she says, and slips off the bed. “I’m going to go and have my tea and do my yoga and then take a shower. Once that’s done, I’ll be all yours. But for now…” Her voice trails off as she feels the movement against her hand; the light and feathery brush of a finger along the side of her wrist. And it feels as if she can’t breathe as she glances over her shoulder and down at the mattress; choking back a sob -one of immense relief- at the sight of his hand partially covering hers.

The hope returns.

“I knew it.” Placing a hand on the top of his head, she tunnels her fingers tunnelling in his hair as leans over him. Her eyes closing as she presses a kiss above his left eyebrow and then nuzzles his temple with the tip of her nose. “I KNEW IT.”

*****

She’s asleep when Nik arrives in the late afternoon; awkwardly slumped forward in the bedside chair with both her hands clutching one of Tyler’s and her head resting on his forearm. And she’s stirred awake by a hand passing gently over the top of her head; sliding down her hair and settling in the middle of her back. The fatigue is crippling; emotional and physical exhaustion unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. But the moment that morning has kept her spirits uplifted, and she glances up at Nik and gives her a sleepy smile in greeting.

“You’re going to end up in traction falling asleep like that,” Nik teases.

“Guess I dozed off. I meant to just rest my eyes, but…”

“You need to sleep. Properly. You can’t tell me you’re getting enough rest on that thing,” she nods in the direction of the cot. “Let me get you somewhere to stay. A hotel. An air BNB. Somewhere close by. I know you won’t come as far as my place; even a half-hour flight is way too long. Just let me…”

She’s made the offer several times over the past five months; gently suggesting one of the finer hotels or even a short-term apartment rental. Willing to pick up the tab; the weapons dealing gig and the mercenary business leaving her with a healthy share of disposable income. Despite a fairly lavish lifestyle.

Yawning, Esme smoothes wayward strands of hair from the side of her face. “I’m fine here. I don’t want to leave. I CAN’T leave.”

“He’d want you to take care of yourself. You can’t pour from an empty cup.”

“My cup is nowhere near empty.”

Nik arches an eyebrow and stares down at her pointedly.

“It’s not,” she insists. “I know my own cup. I know how much it can take. I’m fine.”

Nik relents. The heels of her simple black pumps click noisily against the polished tile as she heads for the small sitting area; setting her purse and a small duffle bag on the sofa before shrugging out of her trench coat and draping it over the back of one of the armchairs.

“I thought you wouldn’t be back in until sometime next week,” Esme says, as her friend joins her at Tyler’s bedside; pulling over an extra chair and sitting down across from her. “Didn’t you have business in Brunei?”

“I got home last night; I was able to wrap things up quicker than I anticipated. I thought I would come by. Check on things.”

“Things have been good. Well, as good as they can be, I guess.”

Her entire body stiffens as she watches Nik engage with him; the way she smooths his hair away from his eyes and continuously brushes her thumb across his forehead. She tries to tell herself that she’s reading too much into it; the softness of Nik’s face and the tears shimmering in her eyes and tenderness in the way she touches him. She knows of their past; a strictly physical ‘arrangement’ that had gone smoothly until Nik developed feelings and suddenly wanted more than he was willing to give. His brutal honesty had caused friction in both their friendship and their work life; Nik understandably hurt when he’d informed her that he didn’t feel the same way. And never would. If she wanted something like THAT, she’d have to find it somewhere else.

She wonders now if there’s some kind of residual anger on Nik’s behalf. Maybe even some jealousy. It would be a bitter pill to swallow; the man that you wanted not feeling the same way in return. Who’d told you that he’d never be ready to commit to ANYONE that way. Only to do a complete three-sixty less than a year later.

“Any change?” Nik addresses her, a hand now resting on top of one of Tyler’s.

“No.” The lie rolls easily off of her tongue; not in a hurry to share what had taken place earlier. She needs more proof; more instances of voluntary and meaningful movement and interaction before she confides in Nik or even thinks of taking the information to the nurses. She’s been ignored and ridiculed before; excited about progress he seemed to be making only to be told it was ‘all in her head’.

Nik smiles. It’s meant to be comforting. Reassuring. But it’s laced with pity. “Maybe soon.”

*****

They sit together in the seating area on the opposite side of Tyler’s room while a personal support worker tends to trimming his nails and beard. And she has to struggle to hold back the urge to tell the woman to leave; much preferring to do even those tasks herself. It makes her feel useful; helping with even the most basic of needs. As if she finally has some kind of purpose in life; someone that she can nurture and care for and feel as if she’s achieving something meaningful.

Something GOOD.

Perhaps in a way, it’s a form of seeking absolution. A chance to prove that she’s deserving of forgiveness for all the wrongs she’d committed in the course of the last few years. She’s done some questionable things in the name of the job; the lying and the conning and the forming relationships and bonds with people only to lead them to punishment and certain death. The mercenary word is a double-edged sword; a life spent hunting down the most atrocious of people only to find yourself resorting to the most atrocious of behaviour to bring them to justice. And not a justice that involves due process or human rights or judge and jury. But one that included horrendous violence and bloodshed.

And an enormous payout.

Nik has brought food from home; Khoresht-e fesenjan, Persian rice and Sangak bread. Admitting -somewhat sheepishly as she loaded up two plates with the various offerings- that Yaz had prepared it. His interests extending far past soccer, TikTok, and pricey designer clothes. And they engage in small talk as they eat, Esme listening as Nik shares the details of her recent business trip to Brunei. Taking on an extremely high profile client in the weapons dealing department; someone needing to protect themselves and their family -via an army of heavily equipped bodyguards. And for a brief moment, she considers the surreality of the conversation, wondering when -and how- her life had gone off the beaten path and found its way HERE. In this business. Her closest friends…HER FAMILY…gun runners and mercenaries.

“I’ve been doing a little searching,” Nik announces, as pushes her empty dishes and containers of food aside; laying sheets of paper on the top of the coffee table. Images that she’s printed off the internet; different angles taken of a small cabin -situated mere feet from an icy lake- surrounded by towering pine trees and snow-covered mountains. “And l found a little place. It’s perfect.”

“I didn’t realize you were looking to add to your collection of houses,” Esme chides. “Doesn’t really seem your style. Unless maybe it’s for the job. A place to hide people away. A safe house.”

“It’s in Austria. Gmunden. On the outskirts of town. Remote. Peaceful. And it’s not for me. Or the job.”

“Nik…”

‘I know you think I’m overstepping. And maybe I am. But I care about you. And I’m worried about you.”

Leaning forward, Esme scoops up a handful of pictures. The cabin and its surroundings remind her of home. Or what USED to be her home. Raised in a small town in Colorado situated at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. She hasn’t been there in years; estranged from an abusive mother and five older brothers. And she hasn’t had the desire to return; enjoying life in that small little apartment in Prague; settling down in the Czech Republic after troubles with The High Table had caused her to flee New York City.

She sighs as she tosses the photos onto the coffee table. “I can’t afford this.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a gift. From Yaz and I. Somewhere YOU can recuperate. Mentally.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need a place to hide away. It’s beautiful and I’m sure I’d love it there. And I appreciate the offer. I appreciate EVERYTHING you’ve been doing for me. For US. But…”

“You don’t leave the ward. You barely leave this room. You haven’t seen the sun in nearly five months.”

“I see it every day.” She gestures to the wall of windows that give a view of the central courtyard. “Unless it’s raining, of course.”

“You haven’t felt it on your skin. You haven’t breathed in fresh air. You haven’t seen or spoken to anyone NOT connected to all of this.”

“I’ll get a chance to do all of that when this is all over. When it’s all behind us. Once he’s better and he’s out here and we never have to see this place ever again. Once that happens…”

“And if he doesn’t?” Nik gently challenges. “Get better? Get out of here? What then?”

“He WILL. He’s going to open his eyes and he’s going to get off that machine and he’s going to breathe on his own and…”

“You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that he won’t. Why are you giving up on him? Why is everyone in such a hurry? Why does everyone just want to wash their hands of him and count him out? Why…?”

“No one wants to do any of that. But some of us…as much as it hurts…are being realistic. We are being truthful. You’re hanging on to this very thin thread and it is getting thinner every day. We care about YOU. We’re worried about YOU. This isn’t healthy. This vigil you’re holding. Having hope is one thing, but THIS?”

“He’ll be fine,” Esme remains steadfast. “He’ll come out of that coma and he’ll be alright. It’ll take some time, but he’ll do it. He’ll be Tyler again. Why won’t anyone believe me?”

“Look at him! Do you really think this is fair? Leaving him like this? Do you really WANT him to be like this?”

“It’s not permanent. He’s not always going to be this way. This is just temporary. He’s going to be fine. He’ll get back on his feet and…”

“He has a machine breathing for him! Keeping him alive. I know you think you’re doing what’s best for him…”

“I AM. I AM doing what’s best for him. I’m the only one that is. I’m the only person not giving up on him. The rest of you are so caught up in just pulling the plug that…”

“Esme, I care about you. You’re my friend. You’re the closest thing that Yaz and I have to other family. And I am not saying these things to hurt you. I’m saying them to get you to open your eyes to what’s really going on. This isn’t living. He’s not doing this on his own. Machines are doing it for him. How long are you willing to leave him like this? A couple more weeks? Months? Years?”

“Just until there’s a sign. Until something happens where he shows that he’s going to be okay. I just want everyone to give him a chance. To prove you all wrong.”

“It’s been five months. Since you got here. And there’s been no sign. Not even the slightest. Not a twitch of his eyes or his fingers or…”

“His MRI last week showed brain activity,” Esme reminds her friend. “THAT’S something.”

“Then take him off the machine and…”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He needs more time. Just a bit. To get a little stronger.”

“You won’t do it because you’re afraid of what’s going to happen. Keeping him on it ensures he stays alive. There’s no guarantee that he’ll breathe on his own once he’s off it, and that’s what scares you; the fact he might die. As long as you keep him hooked up to that vent, he stays alive and you don’t have to face the worst-case scenario.”

“He just needs a little while longer. Once he’s a bit stronger, I’ll do it. I’ll tell them to take him off. I will. I promise.”

“You said that two months ago. You made that same promise.”

“And he’s improved. Even the doctors have said so. That there’s some sign; that things are functioning okay and there’s some healing going on and…”

“But there’s not enough. He’s nowhere where he should be IF things are working properly. How long are you willing to prolong this? To leave him this way? Another month? Two? Half a year? A year?”

“I don’t know. As long as it takes, I guess.”

“Esme….” Standing, Nik pushes the coffee table aside and then kneels in front of her friend. “....look at me.”

She vigorously shakes her head in refusal.

“Look at me,” Nik sternly repeats, and takes her face in her hands; the light pressure of her fingernails in the other woman’s cheeks enough to force eye contact. “I am NOT saying these things to hurt you. I’m trying to get you to see what you are doing to him. And yourself.”

“I’m doing what he’d want.”

“You don’t know that. You haven’t known him long enough. To know what he’d want in a situation like this.”

“I know what happened. In Dhaka. In that hotel room. You weren’t there. I WAS. I know the things we talked about; the plans that we made. And he’d want to go through with those. So I’m giving him a chance. To get better. So he can have those things.”

“So he can have them or YOU can have them?”

“What’s wrong with wanting them? With wanting time with him? It’s what we talked about; travelling the world, spending time together, getting to know one another. What’s wrong with wanting that?”

“You’re wanting them at his expense.”

“That’s not true. I just want everyone to give him a chance. That’s all I’m asking for. Why can’t you give him that? A chance? He deserves that. He paid his dues, Nik. He’s made his amends. Now give him a goddamn chance. Please.”

“I have been. For months.”

“If it’s the cost you’re worried about, I can find more money. You don’t have to pay for EVERYTHING. I can get it somewhere. I know Tyler has some; at his place in The Kimberley. I don’t know where it’s kept or how much there is exactly, but I know it’s there somewhere. He told me about it. Keeping a million stashed away. You know, for a ‘rainy day’. All you’d have to do is look for it. It’s not like it’s a big place and if it’s not enough, then…”

“I don’t care about money. I don’t want any from you. Or him. I said I would take care of things and I am. No matter how much it ends up costing That’s not what this is about. This is about YOU. And the decisions you’re making. I know you want to believe they’re what’s best for Tyler…”

“They ARE what’s best for him. I am doing what he would want.”

“You don’t know that. Not really. And I think if you were to be totally honest with yourself, you’d admit you’re really doing what’s best for you.”

“That’s not fair, Nik. I know you think I’m being selfish and that I’m…”

“I don’t think that. And I’ve never said it, either. I think YOU think it; when you really stop and you get a chance to realize what exactly is happening. I think you feel that way about yourself. Do you feel that way? Selfish?”

“Sometimes.”

“And then it makes you feel guilty; when you realize you’re doing it more for yourself than you are for him. You’re trying to hold off the inevitable. But for how long? How long can YOU live like this? Staying in this room? Putting your life…a REAL life…on the back burner? How long?”

“As long as I have to.”

“You think Tyler would want that? For you? This kind of life? Do you think he’d want you to spend years like this? That would make HIM selfish. And we both know that he’s not a selfish person. He’s selfless if anything. And he would not want this for you.”

Esme glances towards the bed; the PSW having long departed, leaving him in that lonely, terrifying void between life and death. It’s heartbreak unlike anything she’s ever known; watching someone waste away and become nothing more than a shell of themselves. He deserves so much better; his willingness to sacrifice his own life in order to save her and Ovi had earned him a second chance. An absolution. And despite his inability to interact with her, these last five months have brought them closer together than any amount of travelling could have ever possibly achieved.

******

“You love him.” It’s a statement. Not a question.

She chews on her bottom lip; shaking her head as she looks back at her friend. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do know. But for some reason, you don’t want to admit it. Especially to yourself.”

“There’s no way you can feel it this soon. Love. It takes longer than this. WAY longer.”

“It takes as long as it takes. Whether it’s a quick process or a long, drawn-out one.”

“But we’ve only known each other for a week. It’s not like you can count any of the time after Dhaka; he hasn’t actually been able to put anything into it, you know? It’s all been pretty one-sided; the time we’ve spent together here, the conversation, the bonding. It’s not like he’s been able to take part. Through no fault of his own.”

“I would say that under normal circumstances, perhaps a week IS too soon. But these are hardly normal circumstances. Look at everything you’ve done for him; everything you’ve given up. Do you really think just anyone would do this for someone? A person they barely know? Abandon their entire life…their entire being nearly…to stick by their side? Through all of this?”

“I don’t want him to be alone. Regardless of the outcome. He deserves so much better than that. I know he’s made some mistakes. But he doesn’t deserve to pay for them for the rest of his life. Or WITH his life? I wasn’t going to leave him here, Nik. I was going to let him go through this by himself. And I especially wasn’t going to let him die alone.”

“Because you love him.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m just grasping at straws or if I’m just imagining that we had something really good…really special…in Dhaka. Maybe I’m reading too much into it; the things that happened between us, the things we talked about. Maybe…”

“You’re not. You were there. You know what was said. What happened. In that hotel room. And you know what your heart is telling you. You just have to believe it. TRUST it.”

Heaving a shaky sigh, she blinks back a flood of threatening tears. “It scares me. Feeling this way.”

“Why? Because it is so soon?”

“The last person I trusted? The last person I gave my heart to? They broke me, Nik. Physically. Mentally.”

“Tyler isn’t Mark,” Nik reminds her. “He’s not even close to being him.”

“I told myself that I’d never get this close to anyone ever again. That I’d learned my lesson. That it was just better if I stayed by myself. Didn’t get attached. You don’t get hurt that way, you know? I’ve gotten used to fighting my own battles. Protecting myself. And then I met him and everything changed. I changed.”

“You love him.”

Nodding, a hand swipes at the tears that manage to escape. “I love him.”

“You should tell him.”

“I don’t even know if he can hear me. I want to believe he can; that all those little times he’s reacted to my voice weren’t just something random. Some muscle twitch or nerve reaction. I want to believe that they’ve been intentional; that he’s listening to me and he understands what I’m saying. That he’s fighting his way back. To ME.”

“Do you really want to take a chance? Not saying what you need to say? What if he CAN hear you? And understand what you’re saying. Do you really want to hold back? Because what if something happens and you never get the chance to say those things to him?”

Esme gives a dry laugh. “I mean, I guess it’s kind of better this way, right? Saying them while he’s like this? Can’t get rejected when the person you’re pouring your heart out to is in a coma.”

“That wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t reject you. Unconscious or not.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I DO know that. I also know you’ll regret it; if he doesn’t make it and you never told him. Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t let yourself live with that kind of regret. It’s a horrible existence, believe me.”

“I just don’t want it to blow up in my face. When he wakes up. I don’t want him turning around and saying, ‘I’m flattered. But thanks and no thanks.”

“I know Tyler. More than he even realizes. And trust me when I say that is NEVER going to happen.”

“So just spit out? Hope for the best? Hope he can actually hear me?”

“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing for the last five months? Hoping for the best?”

Esme nods; sniffling noisily as she uses the front of her t-shirt to clear excess tears from her face.

“I know you’re scared,” Nik sympathizes. “For a lot of different reasons. But trust me when I say that there’s no reason to add THIS to your list.”

“I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. Stay behind on that bridge. Stay here. I’d do it time and time again. No questions asked. You know that, right? That I’d do it a million times over?”

Smiling, Nik reaches out to loop wayward strands of hair behind her friend’s ears. “I know.”

#Tyler and Esme series #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction #Tyler Rake fanfic #Extraction fanfic #Tyler Rake x OFC #Chris Hemsworth #Extraction #Extraction 2 #Nik Khan #Esme Drummond #Esme Drummond-Rake

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mmriesoftvat · 11 months ago

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as i sit writing this post, reflecting on this past year, i can't really think of too many positives. the majority of 2023 was a blur of depression, anxiety, self doubt, and friends lost. i can't even begin to get into the many shitstorms i was dragged into or that happened under my nose. i have so many regrets about a lot of things, and i can't say i'm sorry to see this year finally end.

that said, the things that did make this year tolerable are my friends. they are the people that managed to keep me from drowning completely, gave me a hand and pulled me ashore. i do not say that lightly, either. i know i made mistakes on my end, and fed into some lies and drama on other ends, but if not for my friends to guide me and support me in my lowest of lows, i don't know if i'd be the same person i was before. my friends are my rock. i owe so much to them. from them listening to me sob and bawl over vc and vent my frustrations, to them pointing out where i slipped up and helping me fix it. my friends have done SO MUCH for me this past year. i was able to repair friendships and make amends with other people because of this support system, and it's with these people, that i can flip the middle finger to 2023 and enter 2024 with my head held high.

i am not a perfect person by any means. and this past year really highlighted what i need to fix about myself, but it also showed me how strong i can be when it feels like all odds are against me. i'm still learning a lot about myself along the way, which is why i'm excited to make 2024 an even better version of me. i want to be kinder, more patient, and understand things from all perspectives before i make a decision, and i want to pour even more of my love and heart into my writing. my goal for the new year is to even finally get started on the fanfictions i've been talking about all year!

but my ultimate goal overall, is to let the people i care about exactly how much they mean to me. i wouldn't still be on tumblr if not for them, and i know past experiences have taught me the most valuable lessons in that you CAN'T take friendships for granted. online friendships are just as valuable and real as friends you know offline. we may not see each other in person, but that bond is still so strong and unshakable, it's real, and it matters so much to people. it means so much to me.

i love this community, i love the people in it. we all have different goals and hobbies and even writing habits, but we're all here on the same website, forming bonds with people and having a blast with the same game. i can't imagine being anywhere else (and i've tried!). here's to 2024, and here's to a new year, new start, and hopefully something far more welcoming and warm for all of us to enjoy.

happy new year my friends!

#ᴮᴿᴮ ᴱˣᴾᴸᴼᴿᴵᴺᴳ ᴼᵀᴴᴱᴿ ᵂᴼᴿᴸᴰˢ / ooc #new years #it's still the 31st here and a whole day before the new year #but i've been wanting to get this off my chest for days #it needs to be said #i'll reblog this a few times over today for visibility #but i love you guys so much #i mean it #this place is one of the most fun places to spend my internet time on #i'd be lost without it

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therealnightcity · 2 years ago

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💘 🎥 for Hiro 😻

💘💔 for Ares

💘🏩 for Avi

Spicy Character Asks for @dreamskug 🥰💕

Hiro:

💘: What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

Hiro says I love you through actions or gestures, even without words. A soft hand slipped into someones, or a fleeting brush of fingers, tucking their hair behind their ear. Sometimes he says it in soft kisses, or smiles, intended only for the recipient, that say more than words ever could--eyes that hold trust and affection. He's very physically affectionate, even platonically--sitting close enough that legs are brushing, curled under the same blanket, and shoulders touching. Other times he says it through cooking, something he seldom does for himself but enjoys doing for others, sees it as worth the time and effort, and a way he can show love through actions, without ever saying it.

🎥: Who is my muse’s celebrity crush?

It isn't something Hiro thinks of often, usually preoccupied with people in front of him, or what's tangible, than imagining a celebrity in their place. If he had to pick one, he'd lean towards rockerboys, like Kerry Eurodyne or Johnny Silverhand--the rebellious, arrogance has a level of appeal, even if he hates to admit it. There's something he can't help but admire in the audacity, and how upfront they are, almost unapologetic--even if they can be unlikable at times, at least it's genuine.

Ares:

💘: What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

Ares says I love you through favors, through listening to people, and remembering the little details about them. She remembers what they like to eat, or places they want to go, or experiences and tries to provide them with those. She says I love you through listening to them, making them feel heard, and supporting their passions. She also says it through quality time--being present, relishing moments spent together, and making them count. Ares loves deeply, like the other two siblings, even if they have different ways of showing it.

💔: What was my muse’s first heartbreak?

Ares first heartbreak was not romantic but platonic, and it was realizing that she wouldn't be happy in a traditional nomad lifestyle. She needs to be able to put down roots, more than would be required for a life on the road, and she knows it's not for her. This being said, she misses the community, and feeling like she's part of a family. Isolation is no life for a nomad and she craves connections, whether platonic or romantic--someone who's company isn't as fleeting as the rest have been.

Avi:

💘: What are the ways my muse says ‘I love you’ without actually saying it?

Avi says I love you through actions, although more indirect than the others. His words are silky, often political or manipulative, but his gestures are rarely such. He does favors, takes risks, without expecting them in returm, even if might put him in harms way, or otherwise inconvenience. There's a protectiveness that makes itself known, and unshakable loyalty if it has been truly earned. Avi shows love through vulnerability, one of the few times he lets his guard down, and himself seen as he is, and not the carefully crafted figure he shows to the rest of the world.

🏩: What was my muse’s first time like?

Avi's first time was with another man when he was in Arasaka. There wasn't love there, but there was physical tension and it was a release of that. It felt forbidden but that made it all the better. They didn't see each other again after that, but it had embedded itself in his mind, temptation he tries to ignore. It's not as if he doesn't have desire, he does as much as anyone else, but he sees it as something that comes secondary to business, at least its what he tells himself, and would like to believe.

Thanks for asking, these were so much fun to think about~ ✨✨

#character asks #oc: hiro oda #oc: ares tanner #oc: avi kaiba #cyberpunk ocs #character headcanons

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si-y-am · 1 year ago

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Something I'm tired of talking about

Hey. Been a while, I guess?

I haven't been a writer for a long time but I've been a mother, a girlfriend, a wife, an artist and a friend but never did I became a priority, especially to you.

For the longest time of begging you to please, defend my ass every damn time someone tries to destroy me, you always tell me that you can't recognize it, you always overlook it.

I've tried my best to understand you in everyway possible, capability to understand, your reasons, things that somehow makes more sense. I'll always admit that I'm not a perfect partner but I tried my best to look out for you, to defend your name in every fucking situations. I always knew you were special and I was right but little did I know that I also overlooked that you treat me like shit. I've always been so blind to EVER think of you being like this but realizing all this bullshit that has been happening...

It's clear. I know where I belong. I know where I stand and I definitely know what to expect and that's enough reason to leave. Believe me, I tried leaving too.

I've gone weary of this relationship, for all the things that I have done to improve you as an individual, this is my limit.

And to Morrice,

I wanted to take a moment to express some of the thoughts and emotions that have been weighing heavily on my heart lately. Please know that this letter comes from a place of love and a desire to communicate, not to hurt or accuse.

Over the course of our relationship, I have found myself grappling with a growing sense of sadness and disappointment. It has become increasingly clear to me that I don't feel prioritized or defended when it comes to your interactions with your friends. I understand that friends are an essential part of life, and I would never ask you to compromise your relationships. However, I had hoped that in our partnership, we would be each other's advocates and champions, especially when the need arises.

There have been moments when I've felt as though I'm left to fend for myself in social situations, where I could have used your support. It hurts to think that, in those instances, it appears you prioritize the opinions of your friends over the emotional well-being of our relationship. Please understand that I don't expect you to side with me blindly, but a simple show of support and understanding would mean the world to me.

I want our relationship to be a sanctuary, a place where we can rely on each other for love, comfort, and protection against the outside world. I long for the feeling that we are a team, that we have each other's backs, and that our bond is unshakable. Right now, it feels like that trust has been eroded, and I'm left feeling vulnerable and alone.

I know that it's not easy to balance the expectations of friends and partners, but it is my sincerest hope that we can find a way to prioritize each other's feelings, especially when it comes to matters that affect our relationship.

I will give you the absolute best and the whole damn world if I can, all I ask in return is for you to treat me the way I wanted to be treated and defend me.

But it's honestly too late, I'm so tired of having to explain that you HAVE to defend me or even love me.

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letters4amira · 1 year ago

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06th June, 2023

My heart overflows with the memories of the time we've spent together. There have been moments of pure joy and moments of heated arguments. But despite all that, I love you more than words could ever express.

I know at times, I may come across as nagging or pushy with my reminders, and my ceaseless worrying (probably) annoys you. But let me tell you that it's only because I love you so much. I can't bear the thought of anything happening to you, and I want you to be safe always.

Our misunderstandings and small fights are inevitable in any relationship. But every time we fight, we learn more about each other, and our love only grows stronger. We learn how to understand each other better, how to communicate more effectively, and how to compromise when necessary.

There is no denying the fact that we are imperfect beings. We may make mistakes, say things we don't mean, and act in ways that may hurt one another. But these imperfections only serve to make our love stronger. For it is in those moments when we mess up, that we learn to forgive and be forgiven. To apologize and make amends. To love each other despite our shortcomings.

Our disagreements, as trivial as they may seem, never change the way I feel about you. If anything, they help us grow stronger together. I am proud to be in a relationship with someone as wonderful as you. We've built a foundation that's not only built on love, but also mutual respect, honesty, and support.

What I cherish the most is the love that we share, which transcends everything else. I love how we have created a little world of our own where we find comfort in each other's company. I love how we dream together. I love how you accept me for who I am and encourage me to be a better version of myself.

I want you to know that my love for you goes beyond the trivial things that may come our way. It's a love that is deep-rooted and unshakeable. It's a love that can weather any storm.

Love is more than just a feeling; it's a choice we make every day. And I choose to love you unconditionally, even when things are not perfect. I promise to stand by you through thick and thin, to support you in your dreams and to cherish every moment that we spend together.

My love for you is beyond measure. I know I may not always express it well, but I hope that this letter and all the previous ones convey the depth of my love for you. You are the love of my life, and I can't wait to see what our future holds.

You are everything to me.

I love you so much my pretty wifey ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✧˚₊♡

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yehet-me-up · 4 years ago

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Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes!

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself.

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone.

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table.

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive.

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water.

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it.

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny.

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan.

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real.

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.’ But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand. He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder.

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take.

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door.

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.’

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure.

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always.

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen.

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh.

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting.

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in.

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing.

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there��s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp.

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court.

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit.

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you.

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you.

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands.

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride.

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop.

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up.

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space.

#jongdae fanfic #chen fanfic #exo fanfic #exo angst #exo fluff #exo au

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strawberry1212 · 4 years ago

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The healthy masculinity of Seongyeom in Run On

“Masculinity” itself is a difficult concept, but in this post I intend on using the word less in association to a person’s gender, and more as a characteristic that both women and men can embody. For example, I think Mijoo has masculine characteristics such as assertiveness, and Seongyeom has more feminine characteristics such as doing nurturing acts of service towards those he cares about. I believe a well rounded person has both masculine and feminine qualities, and one set of qualities should not be prized over the other (as masculine qualities are routinely over-valued in our society). (This is a complicated topic, so any discussion on gender/gender expression is appreciated and I am willing to learn!)

The typical toxic masculinity

Seongyeom’s healthy masculinity stands out starkly in a Kdrama sea of toxic masculinity. I have made a list breaking down toxic masculinity tropes in Kdramas, but essentially Kdrama Male Leads (ML) draw their masculinity from dominance over others. This is usually in the form of being in a dominating position over the female lead (FL), such as being her boss, being above her in a high school social hierarchy, or she is under some contract to serve him. He also usually dominates society at large, being the son of an heir, a CEO, etc., some position where he benefits from the capitalist exploitation of others. The scenes that showcase the ML’s masculinity are when he asserts dominance over the FL through wrist grabs, backing her into a corner, etc., or when he flaunts his wealth (the typical scene in an upscale store, “we’ll buy everything from here to there”), and provides these Grand Romantic Gestures via his wealth (helicopter rides, renting out a whole restaurant just to talk to her, etc.). He knows what he wants, he goes after it, and he gets it, the “it” often being the objectified FL. As viewers we are supposed to swoon over the fantasy of being dominated by this rich, hot man.

Seongyeom’s healthy masculinity

Now enter Seongyeom. Seongyeom does not really seek to dominate anyone--instead his masculinity stems from his defense of those weaker, and his commitment to his values. He is strong because of his goodness, rather than the typical male lead being soft/good in spite of his masculinity.

The core plot point is his relationship to Woosik: although him beating up Woosik’s bullies is a display of more typical masculinity, his overall protection of Woosik was not in that act of violence, but in his persistence to be held accountable for that act of violence. In the toxic sports world where violence was not held accountable, Seongyeom’s protest was not to commit the act of violence, but to openly admit it and force others to hold the act of violence accountable. He repeatedly states that non-defensive violence is not ok no matter what, breaking with the traditional toxic masculinity that a guy fighting for the girl or some other “valiant” reason is therefore okay.

Seongyeom has a rare integrity, and his unshakeable commitment to this integrity is what impresses his masculinity upon the viewer. The hallmark moment of his protection of Woosik is again, not in beating up his bullies, but in boycotting the race, and coming forward about the violence and demanding to be held accountable. This action was peaceful, but incredibly courageous. He is protective (a typically masculine trait) of Woosik, but not through violence or abuse of power, but by having the courage and integrity to do the right thing.

When he protects/supports Mijoo, it is also not in a possessive way. I think a prime example is when Mijoo gets sick: it’s a classic Kdrama trope, girl gets sick from overworking, guy arrives to save her. Any other Kdrama would have him arrive just as she’s fainting and catch her. Using his wealth, he would get the VIP room of a hospital for her. But Run On is different. Mijoo is able to get to the hospital herself--she doesn’t need saving. However, he arrives to stay by her side supportively, and when the old ladies are annoying her, instead of using a combative method, he is his normal, gentle self, and charms them into being more quiet.

The drama’s handling of Seongyeom’s privilege

A cornerstone of toxic ML masculinity is his position of immense wealth and power. Interestingly, Seongyeom also comes from a background of wealth and power. However, rather than fetishizing it, as kdramas tend to do, Seongyeom is clearly separate from his family’s background. This is established from the fact that rather than simply being a CEO inheriting his family’s company, he has made a name for himself as a runner, having his own profession, with his own unique skills. The drama generally refrains from ostentatious displays of his wealth, and his actions for Mijoo are acts of service and time (bring her a glass to drink her soju out of, taking the driver job for her, moving close to her so she has to walk less, and overall being a kind, supportive little bean to her), rather than servicing his immense wealth to her .

More importantly, it is how the drama handles the emotional impacts of Seongyeom’s privilege. Usually wealthy, but lonely backgrounds are used as an opportunity to excuse the male lead’s disrespectful behavior, to explain away his shitty personality, and also as an opportunity for the cheerful and kind female lead to “heal” the male lead. I cannot stress how much this trope disgusts me, as this “broken man just needs the right, patient woman to fix him” narrative is the kind of mentality that keeps women in domestic violence relationships. It is so harmful, and also serves to put down other women (I need to prove I’m different from other women, I understand him, I can change him, I will succeed where other women who were too shallow to understand his scars have failed, etc.). Seongyeom is far from a jerk male lead, but he still has emotional difficulties from his upbringing, primarily that he is inexpressive. Jerk male leads are also inexpressive about their emotions, and usually heap verbal abuse upon the female lead, but it is just brushed off as a “quirk” that the girl must put up with because she knows, ultimately, through his Grand Romantic Gestures, that he loves her. In Run On, his inexpressiveness is instead treated as a real problem that he must work through. He journals his feelings to work through them, and undergoes difficult discussions with Mijoo about his tendency to put up walls. It is shown as part of his growth, rather than something Mijoo must just accept.

Mijoo is key to Seongyeom’s healthy masculinity, because so much of toxic masculinity is based off of the female lead’s passive, objectified state. The toxic trope of Power Imbalance cannot work because Mijoo is a financially independent, career-driven adult. The One-sided Pursuit trope also cannot work because Mijoo is always willing to put in her share of the effort in the formation of their relationship. She meets him halfway, and maintains open communication of their problems so that there is no space for weird toxic male jealousy/noble idiocy tropes, etc.

As I’m writing this I realize maybe why I like Seongyeom so much is not just because of his healthy masculinity, i.e. healthy ways of being protective, strong, etc., but also because of how in touch he is with femininity, and vice versa with Mijoo both being a blend of masculine and feminine qualities. I really love this drama so much, and I can’t wait for the episodes to come <3

#kdrama #kdramas #run on kdrama #jtbc run on #ki seon gyeom #oh mi joo #im siwan #shin saekyeong #feminism

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all-about-seggs · 4 years ago

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A/n: Ive been obsessed with the whole Haikyuu boys as Husbands thing so here's a shorter version of it with the guys I see as husband material-

P.s. I also did an extended version for this here so anyone who wants can check it out!

Haikyuu boys as Husbands and their love -

Ushijima's love is pragmatic,coming from a traditional family, somewhere along the way he ends up seeing marriage as an natural milestone in his life that he's sure to cross. His stern voice giving you advice may sound like scoldings but your stoic and somewhat awkward husband just wants the best for you and is not afraid to step in when your problems overwhelm you. Religiously gives you goodmorning and goodnight kisses everyday without forgetting. On days when you two can't be together he makes sure to text you your usual greetings. It's the connection he craves and your marriage built on a solid foundation of trust and support is something he cherishes throughout his life.

♥️

The marriage between you and Tendou is a perfect mix of deep understanding of each other's feelings and the usual silly antics of your husband that never lets your days become boring. All the years of being together had given Tendo enough time to reach to the depths of your brain and how it thinks. Whatever your troubles are, your husband is the first in line to be there for you. Your biggest cheerleader, he makes sure to be exaggeratingly supportive making his love unconditional, as he gives you his everything.

♥️

Perhaps it's a bit of an exaggeration, but going by Nishinoya's version, he had what you call a 'love at first sight'. Fitting as it seems for someone like him, his love may have began as an infatuation, it soon exceeded the bounds and limitations of this superficial attraction and melted into something more grounded, unshakeable in its being. You know something changed in Nishinoya when the naturally free spirited crow made you his home. Coming back to the place he now belonged to no matter where he flew, never failing in expressing his never-ending passion for you.

♥️

There's always been something mechanical about Kita's way of living, day in and day out, repeating his actions untill he's mastered even the most mundane task of his life. His love is the same, steady in its altruistic ways that showed his commitment is for a lifetime. Each day carries a serene atmosphere that makes you feel at ease, your comfort in each other's presence being your biggest vice. Though the harsh words of his logical side may sting, his actions after them are soft and endearing as he cradles you to his chest, promising you a better tomorrow.

♥️

The ever strong Iwaizumi's love is as tender as the look in his eyes when they meet yours. He now knows what weakness is, everytime you get hurt, each drop of your tears brings sinks his heart down to the depths of his stomach, all the raw emotions he feels for you makes his love genuine . Any bystander may think his love is rough and tough, just like the rest of him but the ones who are closer knows how the gruff Iwaizumi turned into a mushy puddle when you entered his life. The steadfast marriage between the two of you is just a result of the solid communication you two have built over the years, listning to each other even with all the emotions swirling within, is what made your relationship complete.

♥️

The love Akaashi gives you is always quite in its nature, a man of few words, he often coveys his deeply seated feelings for you through actions, using it as his primary love language. His silent love gives you just enough space to not feel smothered but his presence always close enough so when you reach out to him, Akaashi's sturdy arms snugly joins you both together. Without you knowing, his support becomes such a huge part of your life you may even find yourself being dumbfounded at the speed and accuracy of his actions that help you make it through the tough times. Through and far sighted, he is someone who sees through his decisions till the end, your marriage being one of those and it will be something he takes pride in forever.

♥️

Always being the more prudent out the the two, Osamu not only surpassed his twin in being compassionate, but his brain was clearly wired to follow a more down-to-earth way of living, making his consummate love for you seem as instinctive as breathing. Spoiling you with not only his delicious food, but his kind words as well, whenever and however you want to be comforted, he's right there with both your comfort food in hand and a gentle smile on his face. Never the one to lose his temper on you, he considers you his soul mate, his partner and a best friend and therefore his patience is something you can always count on.

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fieldsofbone · 3 years ago

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i can’t articulate this the way i want and the sentiment has been discussed in far more eloquent words by far more insightful people but: no one really tells you how your first healthy relationship after a string of abusive/bad ones (or first ever) will illuminate the tears in your heart and cracks in your self-worth

for YEARS i’ve been made to feel like what i was asking for was too much; that i felt too much, cared too much, was too invested in my partner, was giving too much and expecting too much in return. and then i meet someone who so effortlessly communicates his intentions to me, shows up for me, makes time for me even and especially when he’s busy, and is immediately transparent about where he’s at in the relationship (i.e., telling me point blank he’s not talking to anyone else, he’s ready for a relationship, calling me his significant other, etc.), and does so so effortlessly? with the instinctual ease that caring for others should carry?

that’s fucking terrifying! holy fucking shit! you’re telling me all this time all i was asking for was a baseline of attention, care, and attentiveness that any healthy human dynamic requires? and i was still made to feel as if i was demanding the universe? (and what’s more is that now i feel like i CAN ask for the universe!)

one of my biggest fears and anxieties in relationships is the notion that anyone who gets to know me in my unfettered entirety won’t want me anymore; this unshakable, unrelenting, suffocating belief that my whole self is fundamentally unlovable… and then i’m met with someone who SEES me as a whole person, exactly who i am; who wants to know everything about me—even the mundane shit i keep to myself because i’m plagued by a nagging feeling that i must always be interesting and funny and beautiful and compelling and PERFORMING—and god damn!

maybe i’m NOT too much! maybe it’s possible that someone can love me in the same way i love them; with unconditional support and adoration and unfaltering positive regard… and maybe i deserve that. we all do.

#for those of you playing the home game: the ‘good thing’ i’ve been alluding to is a person #ugh i’m just GOD!!!#don’t get me wrong these fears are still ever present and deafeningly loud #but having them consistently disproven and done so EFFORTLESSLY is genuinely life changing #i don’t know if this makes any fucking sense #z

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 3 years ago

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HALESTORM: Behind-The-Scenes Footage From Making Of 'Back From The Dead' Video

HALESTORM has shared behind-the-scenes footage from the making of the official video for the band's new single, "Back From The Dead". The track is taken from the group's upcoming fifth full-length album, due in 2022. Directed by Dustin Haney (Noah Cyrus, Luke Combs) and produced by Revolution Pictures, the clip features frontwoman Lzzy Hale and the rest of the band in a morgue and cemetery somewhere between life and death.

Lzzy says: "'Back From The Dead' is about survival, not in a physical sense, even though I know we all have been touched by death especially these last few years. This song is personal and written from a mental health perspective. I wanted to give myself and the world a hard rock song we could shout out loud as the gates opened again. I was on the edge of this world getting completely lost in oblivion, but even though it was the harder of two choices, I didn't just let the darkness and depression in my mind dig me an early grave. I didn't just sit and let it take me. I've erased my name from my headstone, so save your prayers, I'm back! I hope this song, as I pass it on to you, reminds YOU of your strength individually and that you are not alone."

She continues: "The video was so much fun to film! Dustin Haney is an amazing director. Dustin and his team really helped bring my words to life and the video is one of the most cinematic pieces we've done in years! I hope this song, as I pass it on…reminds YOU of YOUR individual strength and that you are not Alone. Raise your horns!"

By breaking rules, bucking trends, and busting down doors, HALESTORM has surged through rock 'n' roll on a singular path without compromise or apology. Along the way, the Pennsylvania-bred and Nashville-based quartet — Lzzy Hale (vocals, guitar), Arejay Hale (drums), Joe Hottinger (guitar) and Josh Smith (bass) — has collected a Grammy Award, scored successive number ones at radio, garnered multiple gold and platinum certifications, and performed to sold out crowds on five continents.

Going against the grain again in 2021, the band weathered the flames of chaos in 2020 and returned stronger than ever with their most empowering and undeniable anthems to date.

"Throughout the pandemic, I was writing a lot of melancholic and hopeless songs about the ups and downs of the world," admits Lzzy. "I've been in this group longer than I haven't been in it. We've always had shows. Even when I was 13 years old, we had a couple of bowling alley gigs once a month. This was the first time I didn't know if we would ever play again. However, I started to use music in the same way I did as a teenager—to get myself through this situation that was plaguing us all. I sidestepped and said, 'Let's keep our heads up, get our attitude back, be a light in the dark for a second, and celebrate the fact we're surviving and there's hope for the future.' So, we started to write songs that were a reminder to ourselves of who we are and what we're capable of. That became the mission statement."

In a way, it's always been the mission statement…

Since roaring to life in 1998, HALESTORM has uplifted audiences with a combination of sonic ass-kicking, provocative songwriting, and unshakable hooks. The four-piece received a Grammy Award in the category of "Best Hard Rock/Metal Performance" for "Love Bites (So Do I)". The song also minted them as the first female-fronted band to hit #1 on the Active Rock radio charts. Thus far, their discography spans two gold albums "Halestorm" and "The Strange Case Of..." , a platinum single "I Miss The Misery", and two gold singles "Here's To Us" and "I Get Off". Between surpassing one billion cumulative streams worldwide, they've notched two consecutive Top 10 debuts on the Billboard Top 200 with "Into The Wild Life" (2015) and "Vicious" (2018). The latter represented a critical high watermark with Rolling Stone citing it as "a muscular, adventurous, and especially relevant rock record." In its wake, "Uncomfortable" emerged as their fourth #1 at rock radio and earned their second Grammy Award nomination, while Loudwire christened HALESTORM "Rock Artist Of The Decade" in 2019. Not to mention, they have supported everyone from HEAVEN & HELL and Alice Cooper to Joan Jett on the road.

Even as the world went dormant during 2020, Lzzy remained prolific. She lent her voice to collaborations with everyone from Dee Snider of TWISTED SISTER, IN THIS MOMENT, APOCALYPTICA, and Mark Morton of LAMB OF GOD to EVANESCENCE, Cory Marks, and Mongolian phenomenon THE HU. Additionally, she joined forces with a trio of legends — Corey Taylor of SLIPKNOT, Scott Ian of ANTHRAX and original SLAYER drummer Dave Lombardo — for the theme song to Netflix's "Thunder Force". Plus, the group contributed a cover of THE WHO's "Long Live Rock" to the documentary of the same name. Expanding her presence across television, she hosted the AXS TV "A Year In Music" series, joined the cast of Hit Parader's "No Cover" as a judge, provided the singing voice for Bella Thorne in the Prime Video hit "Paradise City" and launched her own show "Raise Your Horns" on Rolling Live. On the channel, she appeared in Mike Garson's David Bowie tribute with a performance of "Moonage Daydream" alongside Broadway star Lena Hall. She also participated in the platform's Ronnie James Dio tribute, supporting the Stand Up And Shout Cancer Fund.

At the same time, she remained a huge proponent of encouraging the dialogue around mental health. She participated in a Grammy Mental Health panel and empowered the next generation of rock musicians as the keynote speaker at the Little Kids Rock Modern Band Summit. She also made history as Gibson Guitars' first-ever female ambassador.

"I've learned a lot about myself through all of these different projects," she admits. "I said 'yes' to various adventures, and it made me a better artist."

Working out of her home studio in Nashville, Lzzy and the band channeled this renewed spirit into the music at the onset of 2021. Collaborating with Scott Stevens of THE EXIES, the musicians hit their stride and cooked up the single 'Back From The Dead'. Dramatic distortion and drums rumble as she screams, "I'm back from the dead!" HALESTORM come out swinging as punchy verses give way to a call-and-response chorus shocked to life with a searing solo and thunderous groove.

"We needed a reintroduction," she exclaims. "We needed something that simply said, 'Hey, we're back'. The live show is the time we feel as truly alive as we can be. When you walk out on stage with your guitar strapped on, your guys are next to you, and you have an audience looking at you, it's everything. We're celebrating the fact we're all back together again. Whatever it is that was trying to destroy that part of myself and my bandmates that our fans need couldn't do it. It failed miserably. We're fucking back."

From the moment the band graced the stage at a secret Nashville gig, they were indeed "back," albeit louder, heavier, and emboldened by an unbelievable year. Amped up to jump back in, their tour schedule took shape with festival dates followed by a co-headline run with EVANESCENCE in the fall.

Readying their fifth full-length album, they're delivering the soundtrack for a world ready to roar again.

"We've lost a lot of people, but we can start healing again," she leaves off. "I appreciate the little things even more. I don't only feel this confidence in myself, but also in every one of my band members. We're not the same people, none of us could ever be. HALESTORM is my source of my joy. It's my connection. It's the closest thing to my religion. We're moving forward. With this next album, I hope we're able to create a greater sense of community. We have a beautiful opportunity. When you listen to it, I want you to feel like you can walk through any fire."

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#lzzy hale #Halestorm #Back From The Dead

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anika-ann · 4 years ago

Text

Attached: Hurtful Words Pt.3

Type: (mini)-series, Modern-college-professor AU… aka the wrong attachment AU ;)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6420 + 280 (you’ll see)

Summary: Graduation day, yay! Says no one, ever.

Except for Penny, who practically drags you to enjoy one of the most important days of your lives. You go along, just because. Hell, who knows - maybe you’ll like it in the end.

A/N: Attached: Hurtful Words is an addition that loosely followes the Attached series. You don’t necessarily need to read the mini-series as a whole, but you will understand much better.

Warnings: mentions of name calling and humiliation,swearing, some angst and lots of talking and maybe... ;)

Story masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

You had been through several phases of dealing with what happened and they came and went and came and went, one blending into another, other times changing so sharply and quickly as if you flipped a metaphorical switch.

But what stayed for the majority of the time was that you simply had no idea what should you do.

One moment, you were certain that this was a sign from above telling you to break things off with Steve, because no matter the beautiful moments you had shared, continuing the relationship was an epitome of asking for more trouble and even though you had never met a guy so close to your dream man, you wondered if it was worth it.

The next minute, you mentally yelled at yourself and called yourself a dumb ungrateful bitch, convinced that this was in fact a trial, an ordeal by fire; a test you had to pass so your relationship came out stronger from it. Your faith was rock-solid that Steve was it, because after all, he was the closest guy to your dream man that you had ever met.

Your emotions were bubbling, the order of stages of grief all messed up, a mixture of self-pity, anger, resignation, denial---shame.

And shame seemed to be a theme that stuck, because the longer you were stalling and leaving Steve’s kind supportive and pleading messages without reply, the worse you felt, ashamed to reach out now, after such a long and pointed silence. Because Steve hadn’t relented, keeping in touch and very obviously staying convinced that you two could push through; the stark contrast of your doubts and his unshakable belief was breaking both your heart and mind.

How did you even deserve him? He stood by your side, at least as much as he could… while his name was in the poem too and he was probably dealing with so much shit right now and yet he didn’t cease reaching out while you left him in a lurch and really, you must have been the worst girlfriend ever.

If you even still were a girlfriend… though Steve appeared to still consider you one and it was making you want to tear your hair out, frustrated with your own stupid overthinking ass.

Penny, bless her, was there the whole time, loyal by your side instead of drinking herself into oblivion in a celebration of her bachelor degree. She was there as well when you received a text yesterday morning, followed by longer-than-usual silence.

I know this has little chance of reaching you, but know this: say the word and I will leave you alone to the point of not going to the ceremony at all despite my presence being formally half-required. Or I’ll be there and stay away. Anything you want, anything that helps you to enjoy your special day. You deserve to celebrate such a great success and I’d hate to be the reason for you to miss out on a memory that will last a lifetime. You deserve the world, sweetheart; and if you don’t want to me to be the one who gives it to you, I’ll have to accept it. Congratulation.

The text had to be split into three separate units, but the message was clear and you had a good thorough cry at it, your shaky conviction growing firmer and earning a solid base.

He had hit a nail on the head – you had been considering not going and then definitely going and then not again, back and forth for various reasons, but mostly because of him; too excited, too hopeful and too scared to meet him.

And to think you had been once afraid of facing him after you suspected that he had read your smutty story about him… this was so much more terrifying than that and now you were biting on your lips, slightly redder due to the lipstick you had applied for the ceremony, and you glanced up to meet Penny’s narrowed eyes in the mirror.

“Don’t you bail out on me now. You promised yesterday that you’d go,” she reminded you, half-concerned, half-strict.

You sighed, knowing fully that she spoke the truth.

“I know. It’s just…”

It’s just that I haven’t replied to Steve, AGAIN, and I don’t know if he’s gonna be there. And what I am going to do if he is.

And what I’m going to do if he isn’t.

Penny charmed a supportive grin, walking to you and putting her hand on your shoulder, squeezing it in comfort until you managed to swallow your nerves for a brief second and return the smile weakly.

She squealed and pulled you to her side, a happy twinkle in her chocolate-coloured eyes.

“We did it, girl! We fucking made it to the end of bachelor studies! And we’re gonna enjoy every moment of that mummery that comes with it!”

You couldn’t but snort, amused at her exclaim, while tears burned in your eyes, a mixture of nerves, grief and happiness.

“Yeah. I guess we should.”

“That’s my girl!”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

For all you wanted to enjoy this day with your friend since your family wouldn’t be able to make it, the first thing your eyes searched for in the crowd getting ready for the ceremony was a broad figure with blond hair, a beard and the most beautiful eyes you couldn’t but fall in love with.

Your stomach, tight from nerves and anticipation, dropped to your feet and you had to focus on keeping the tears at bay.

Steve wasn’t here.

The professors were always seated together, expected to hang out in a group – which somehow provided them safety from both students in the gowns and the few individuals who didn’t understand the dress code and arrived in jeans and sweatshirts – and you couldn’t see Steve among them. You even caught a sight of Bucky; and if Steve wasn’t with him, well, then it was clear that he decided to stay home.

Home. You had felt at home with him too, but that was over now.

What did you expect though? You ignored him for almost a week and even a guy like Steve, so amazing and understanding, would lose his patience with such inconsiderate and downright bratty attitude.

Your heart weighted a ton, heavy in your chest, pounding anxiously at the thought.

Was this how you parted ways? Just… fading away? Two lovers, two people in love – and you had realized over the past few days that Steve must have truly loved you – falling apart for the lack of communication? What a cliché.

But really, how could you have kept your hopes up that he would show up? Because it was sort of expected from the professors? Please. Because he had asked you to let him know if you didn’t want him here… and you hadn’t responded? Again? Right.

Yes, you hadn’t requested that he stayed away – then again, you hadn’t exactly begged him to come either. All that because you let yourself fall into the pit of doubts and allowed them to eat at your soul and ruin your relationship with the best man you had ever met instead of holding onto him for a dear life.

You guessed it served you right, more so now, in this very moment.

Because right now, your resolve and faith that you had been meant to be with Steve felt more solid than ever. By the laws of human nature, by its very essence, you were certain of what you wanted the moment you understood that you lost it.

A tug at your hand snapped you from your gloomy self-depreciating thoughts, your head automatically turning the direction the intrusion came from. Penny’s face came into view and she frowned as she saw you blink away tears.

“Hey! No brooding today! Today is a great win of our lives. You hear me?” she scolded you lightly, her eyes twinkling with true happiness and you gulped, nodding obediently.

“Right. Sorry. You’re right of course.”

“Damn right I am.”

You charmed a pathetic smile for her and looked at the other students in the black gowns to distract yourself from one single thought – Is it a win? Or is it the final prove of my loss?

You desperately tried to believe Pen and forced yourself to focus on the bright side, on what you were supposed to be delighted for; you finished your bachelor studies. Yay!

Yet, despite your best efforts, the ceremony and the speeches from the professors and the officials of your university, all the ‘mummery’ as Penny called it, happened in a strange haze.

Perhaps that was how everyone felt, drunk on euphoria instead? You guessed. You thought you might have smiled at some point, fuelled by a brief moment of true victory.

You stood there among other students, your eyes on the stage where Sharon Carter, a student at the top of your class, walked to the stand to give a speech.

You weren’t exactly friends with Sharon – you talked sometimes, more of a common courtesy exchanged simply because you were classmates. Still, you were mildly curious about what she had to say; she was marked a great student for a reason and she tended to have the ability to catch attention and awake something in others when she talked. An excellent choice for the speech – however, you caught yourself nervously toying with the cap of the case with your diploma, feeling fatigue of the past days catching up with you.

God, you wanted to go back to your whining and misery, not because you revelled in it, but because in the safety of your dorm room, you didn’t have to put up a front of a student excited to graduate. Not that you were any good at the pretence.

“Good morning, everyone. Mr. President, Mr. Dean, Professors… and most importantly, students. For some of us, the journey ends here – we are about to leave the not-so-safe space of the university and try our chances out there, in the open and much more dangerous world,” Carter started, a mild smile on her lips. “That said, it doesn’t mean that our school days were exactly easy.”

“Oh, you had no idea,” you mumbled under your breath, a pang in your ribcage reminding you just how harsh university space could be – not just because of the professors and their impossible tasks.

And they said high-school was the nightmare.

You noticed several people muttering under their breath too, for various reasons. For a brief moment, you felt shame – the pain others had been through could have been even worse, because illness and death had little regard for waiting for when it was more convenient. Who were you to complain?

Then again, you felt like you suffered enough too, your pain just as real as theirs.

Sharon looked around the audience and took a deep breath, her smile turning almost wistful as if she could hear your thoughts.

“While I’m up here, I would like to do something… a bit unconventional. I know this day shouldn’t be dedicated to one person and that is not what I want to do, but I have to speak up. After all, that is what history taught us – that we have to speak up. I want to talk about something everyone who stands here know – sadly, because it was perfectly wide-spread at the university.”

Whispers rose in the crowds along with your pulse skyrocketing.

Fuck. Fuck, she wouldn’t.

Right?! This was something else she was talking about, something you had missed, because you were too busy sulking.

You grabbed Penny’s hand at your side, squeezing harshly and shot her a panicked look, wordlessly pleading her to tell you this was not happening and you were just projecting, imagining this was some nightmare coming to life.

She gave you a side-eye and beckoned her chin to the stage again. Your breathing picked up, your knees feeling weak.

Oh my god, oh fucking shit this was happening.

Why the fuck Sharon wanted to open this can of worms publicly?! Did she hate you?

Granted, you weren’t paying much attention to other people’s faces, but you were hopeful that the mess was slowly dying down and people weren’t necessarily staring at you.

Now, the small circle of people around you who obviously knew where you were, glanced at you pointedly.

Hadn’t your ears been ringing and your panic rising, you might have found it weird that they were smiling at you – and not in a condescending or malicious way.

“Come on. Listen to what she has to say,” Penny whispered to your ear and you eyed her, shocked to find her smiling as well.

A terrible realization hit you like a train.

“Wait, you knew about this?” you hissed angrily, your stomach somersaulting. The actual FUCK?! “You knew she was gonna talk about that? What the hell? Why?!”

Was that why she made you come here?

“Oh honey, you have no idea what was happening these past few days, do you? Just listen.”

Huh?! What the fuck did Penny meant by-

“I just want to remind to the people feeding bad blood that the girl I’m talking about – a smart young woman who had accepted her diploma today, one of us – she earned her degree. In fact, she probably had to work even harder, because that’s the policy, a sort of a reverse favouritism. The records of her exams are much more detailed and she was under scrutiny, she had to prove that she was nothing the self-proclaimed experts were calling her.”

As outside your body as you felt, in this surreal moment where Sharon Carter talked about your dirty laundry during your damn graduation ceremony, the word ‘whore’ still popped in your mind in angry red letters and chased tears into your eyes, the humiliation you had felt when you first spotted the poem overwhelming you again.

“She had to face every evil glare people sent her way, glares she faced for something as simple as being in love. And just so you know, I have it from a reliable source-“ she pretended to cough while saying Penny’s full name, “-her roommate, that for the long months she’s been with her favourite man, it was in fact Professor Phillips whose name she was whispering in her sleep, because we all know he’s a real hard-ass; my condolences to Professor Rogers.”

Chuckles erupted in the crowd and you felt your lips twitch involuntarily. More and more people were turning to you as their colleagues elbowed their ribs to subtly point in your direction.

You lowered your gaze, embarrassed by so much attention – a positive one, it seemed.

When the hell did that happen?

“Also, all kudos to Nelson and Murdock, who accepted our request and are now suing the hell out of the Expert One and Two, possibly Three, for defamation and possible attempted assault.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

A breathy “Wait, what?!” fell from your lips.

“They offered to do it for free, but I think that a small donation never hurt anyone. You’ll find the link on the forum dedicated to our girl. You’ll find the link to that forum in your inbox if you haven’t already.”

There was a forum dedicated to you?! To hate you or to support you? How could you… not know about that?

Probably had something to do with how you shut off the whole world… social media included. Hell, especially those.

And the people who wrote the poem and sent it to everyone on uni could actually… be sued? It was that serious? From the legal side, not yours, you were sufficiently ruined about that you had no doubt-

“Let’s clap for Nelson and Murdock as they wave at us. Thank you, gentlemen!” Sharon called out and everyone’s head turned to a pair of lawyers you couldn’t hope to see – but you really had to in the future, because what?!

However, you did reluctantly join the deafening applause the people present dedicated to them.

Seriously, what was happening?

“Why I’m saying all this… I know she’s here with us today, because she deserves it just like everyone else. I would like to invite her to stand to the very left of the crowd. Please, come on, our brave soul.”

Sharon’s eyes unmistakably found you as if she knew where you were standing the whole time – which she probably could. Because of Penny. And obviously, few others.

Penny nudged you with a grin and you gulped as several onlookers sent you encouraging smiles.

You felt your face burning with all the eyes on you, your head spinning.

Oh god, oh god-

“Go,” Penny whispered to your ear. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

I’ll like what exactly?

“Uh-huh, sure,” you mumbled but gave in, your shaky feet carrying you outside the line of chairs to your left – it was probably no coincidence that you didn’t have to cross the aisle, already standing on the left half.

Everything was planned, that you were starting to understand… but to what end?

“You see, I want her to understand that maybe two or three people in this damn school made a fuss, but there’s quite a lot of people who don’t think any less of her, of people who are in fact happy for her and Professor Rogers. Also, I want her to be easy to find for later purpose,” Sharon explained as you reluctantly approached the aforementioned spot.

For later purpose? Easy to find?

A hunch slowly crept up your back and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted it to be true or not.

What were the chances it was something else though?

Pretty big, in fact. Because you had no clue what a surreal world you had found yourself in and how, but it seemed like everything, even the most absurd thing you wouldn’t even dare to think about, came to life here.

“You know, the best thing about her story is that… it’s a story of all of us. I mean, not in such a great detail, gosh, we wish to own a heart of such fine man, but…” More laughter erupted from the crowd and you choked on the sound ripped from your throat, something between a chuckle and a sob.

Wasn’t that the truth…

”But in the end, there is no great difference. We’re standing here today, because we pushed through. We stand here today, because this is our story of love and passion – for things, for people. It’s a story of working hard and losing sleep for something that truly matters to us. It’s a story of fighting off sticks and stones and overcoming obstacles, of fighting for our future,” Sharon said ceremonially, her voice fuelled by true yet not theatrical passion. One corner of her lips rose in a sad smile as she lightly shook her head, sending her blond hair flying. “And folks, I hate to break it to you, but it ain’t always gonna be easy. But the fact that we’re here today, in these ridiculous outfits we secretly love because they are a testimony to our success… it tells me that the future might not be the worst either.”

Sharon Carter made a pregnant pause, eyes searching in the sea of faces watching her, until her gaze fell at someone near you and her lips spread in an almost cheeky smile, one you hadn’t know she was capable of.

Before you could try and see what was the cause – even if the rapid beats of your heart already seemed to know the answer – she delivered an explanation.

“Isn’t that right, Professor Rogers?”

Hushed voices and shocked exclaims reached your ears, but you couldn’t quite hear them over the pounding of your pulse in your temples.

A tall figure with broad shoulders cladded in an unfamiliar hoodie was making its way to you, the crowd parting like a sea with each step he took. Even though he did, he didn’t have to lose the hood for your benefit – you had inspected his body thoroughly on many occasions, you knew his gait, and until now, you had believed that you were aware of every hoodie he had in his closet, because you had borrowed each and every one of them at least once when staying at his place... often.

Ruffled blond hair appeared first and then everything you had eyes for was his lips, curved in a hesitant smile and the beautiful eyes, so deep you could drown in them.

Your fingertips tingled with anticipation, your chest heaving in quick shallow breaths full of anxiety.

The expression on Steve’s face was unreadable – and yet, just seeing his face after the series of unfortunate events, was enough to chase tears into your eyes and for your feet to twitch with the unstoppable urge to run to him.

It was only the fear of his reaction that prevented you from making the tinniest move.

A pointed clearing of a throat sounded through the microphone, but you couldn’t tell if it worked on people, if they turned their attention to the person on the stage or kept watching your reunion. Reunion with Steve – who naturally hogged all your attention and as he approached you, his presence assaulting nearly all of your senses.

A sight for your sore teary eyes.

The barely audible yet deafening whisper of your name.

His natural scent mixed with his cologne and the detergent he used – even standing two feet away, you would swear you could smell it, perhaps a mirage created by your wishful memories.

The ghost of his skin and hair tickled your fingers as you had been running your hands through his hair and beard and roamed his body so often that you could practically feel it even now.

Half of the things you sensed must have been a figment of your imagination; yet, they felt very real, as did the rapid staccato of your heart hammering in your ribcage, the butterflies both pleasant and unpleasant occupying your stomach.

“Now, let the lovebirds figure it out and listen up, people…”

“Hi,” he greeted you softly, a single caress of his voice encouraging the flipping of metaphorical wings in your stomach.

“Hi,” you replied automatically, unable to think about anything better to say.

What were you supposed to say?

You had already made your peace with him not coming… to a point. You forgone all hope; so now you were desperately unprepared for him showing up, all casual-looking in jeans and a hoodie and so damn gorgeous as always.

An attempt at a smile graced his lips, his hand rising to the back of his neck in his typically bashful gesture as he self-consciously looked around.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea they would make such a fuss. I just followed the instructions and showed up-“

You heart sank to your gut; your body, warming up in his presence alone as he was your personal sun, suddenly felt cold with the metaphorical bucket of icy water his words provided.

He came here because someone told him to – someone who planned this stunt, this ridiculous and utterly stupid show. What was next? Were you supposed to kiss for the audience?

The same nausea you remembered feeling when seeing the poem hit you all over again; Steve didn’t want to be here.

He wasn’t here for you, he wasn’t here because he wanted to set things right.

The pain erupting in your chest was shocking and burned like a flame fed on gasoline. You truly were over and his words-

“No, wait, that came out wrong!” he hurried, crossing the short distance between you in three long steps and you would have taken a step back, hadn’t your feet rooted into the ground. “I came… I’m here because I wanted to see you. I missed you, sweetheart.”

Tears rolled freely down your face, the endearment sending a shiver down your spine, the admission sparking a warm light within you again.

You met his gaze, your knees shaking slightly in weakness, threatening to give out as you feared what exactly you would see in his eyes.

You could melt right there when you were met with the same softness he always observed you with, a blue-green sea of wonder and love, tainted with reluctance and regret.

You pressed your lips together in effort to stop your jaw from quivering.

Regret you were more than familiar with; conflict, sorrow, self-pity, anger, resignation, shame… those were the other emotions which you guessed he could read on your face.

His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

“I’m not here to guilt trip you. Actually-“ Steve started again and finally, as his hand disappeared in the front pocket of the hoodie, you found your voice, interrupting him.

“I missed you too,” you sobbed, covering your mouth as soon as the pathetic sound left your lips.

Steve’s own lips parted in awe, his gaze somewhat lighting up with a new hearty emotion.

But once you started talking, finally, finally speaking up, the dam broke and the waterfall of words couldn’t be stopped.

“And I’m sorry, Steve, I’m so sorry for shutting you off like that, you didn’t deserve that and you were probably in a small personal hell too, I don’t even know if your job was affected and how are doing and it’s not right, I wasn’t supposed to ignore all your calls and texts, I was supposed to-“

“-reach out when you’re ready,” he finished for you, completely differently than you had intended.

It shut you up effectively.

“Look… I understand. It was tough and it still is and if you want this to be the last time we ever talk-- then it will,” he rasped, his voice breaking towards the end of the sentence, your heart squeezing painfully at both the premise and at hearing him hurting.

God, how much he must have been hurting for the past few days and now he was talking about understanding you and forgiving you for ghosting him and still offering you an out and--- Jesus fucking Christ, you were going to drown in your own tears.

And Steve reached into that damn pocket again and even if you had no idea what was there, you had a hunch it was some kind of a gift – either a parting gift or something for your graduation and you simply couldn’t--- you didn’t care for some materialistic shit right now-

You just needed to feel him again.

Taking one single step at a lightning speed, you let the diploma case fall to the ground and threw your arms around Steve’s neck, burying your face in his chest, drawing a surprised huff from him.

A box dug into your stomach, the content of the front pocket, but you didn’t give a fuck.

Not when Steve’s arms sneaked around your waist and shoulder with no hesitation, engulfing you, his nose burying into your hair—and cursing when the cap got in his way.

You chuckled madly into his hoodie, your fingers clutching the fabric when his daring lips awkwardly found a way to your temple.

You felt like you were touched by an angel, delighted laughter that shook both of your entangled bodies ripping from your throat along with a sob.

“Shit, Steve, I’m so sorry, I missed you so much, please forgive me, please, please, please-“

“No way. Nothing to forgive-“

“Like hell it isn’t-“

“It hurt, but I get it. I truly do,” he whispered frantically, his hands moving to push you away just enough to frame your damp face with his big warm palms. “You just needed time to process what happened.”

You nodded and then lowered your gaze in shame – because you were incredibly embarrassed for your further cowardice, sobbing like a stupid five-year-old. “And then I—I was scared that you wouldn’t care anymore- that it was too late-“

God, now when you said it out loud, it sounded even more pathetic, but that was now, in his arms, when everything made so much more sense-

He shook his head, causing you to look up again just in time to see the flash of hurt in his brilliant irises disappearing. With a brief smile passing his lips, he held your face more firmly in attempt to maintain eye contact.

“No. It would take a whole lot more for me to stop caring and there still would be no guarantee it would work,” he promised, gaze so intense that you couldn’t but believe him, no matter how unreal his words sounded. “You are not what they called you and you are mine, as long as you want, because I love you. Okay? I love you, because yeah, I still think you’re really freaking amazing.”

You chuckled at his choice of words, your heart bursting with their message. The heavy burden resting upon your shoulders dropped at last – and you felt as light as a feather, bound to the man staring into your eyes as if they were the last thing he wanted to see should he turn blind the next second.

He still loved you. Steve still loved you and both your heart and mind were enamoured of him, overwhelmed with his declaration.

You were not good with your words – in fact, in that moment, you were certain you forgot all the words in English language and in every other language you had ever tried to learn too.

There was only one language left to use then; the universal one that could fit thousands of words into one single second.

You let go of Steve’s hoodie, grabbed his face instead and pulled, rising to your tiptoes in hope to reach his lips with yours.

Luckily for you, he got the message before you could pathetically kiss only the patch of skin under his chin and allowed you to move him as much as you wanted.

And by Gods, did you want, finally adding the fifth sense into the play. Taste. You missed how he tasted and how his beard scratched against your sensitive skin-

Your tears spiked your kiss with salt, but neither of your cared as you pushed through the seam of his lips, letting him know what you desired before passing on the lead to him, an open-mouthed kiss full of desire, longing and raw emotions causing you to forget all about your surroundings until a low wolf-whistle sounded on your right, bringing you back to reality.

You parted involuntarily, foreheads resting against each other, warm tears still rolling down your cheeks, but now getting lost in your content smiles.

“I love you, Steve. I love you and if you love me too, then we belong together and whoever thinks otherwise can shove their opinion where the sun doesn’t shine,” you echoed his words from almost a year ago, words that stuck with you, because they were true.

You and Steve, you were the ones who mattered. These were your lives, your relationship, and you had done nothing wrong.

Because you loved each other.

Steve’s mouth caught yours for a short moment, nothing but a nip at your lips – a silent agreement followed by a warm smile, mirroring your own.

“Will you let me give you a little something now?” he whispered, sounding slightly amused as that would be the third attempt that day and the urge to slap his arm for being cheeky felt like a surge of pure life into your veins. The familiarity made your heart sing.

You glanced up at him, retreating and eyed him from head to toe in an appreciative and yet teasing matter. “Haven’t you already? How do I unwrap you, mister?”

Steve chuckled and pulled out a rectangular box, holding it out for you.

“Here. Congratulation to your bachelor degree. And know that if you don’t like it, we can always pick something else.”

You were only human – and curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back and the curiosity was killing you now as well. You bit down on your lip, not quite succeeding at masking your excited smile; even if you weren’t exactly deserving of a gift from Steve at the moment, which he would probably argue with, you couldn’t deny that you were touched by the gesture and who were you kidding, you did enjoy receiving a gift. And it was your graduation ceremony, you deserved to celebrate in every way imaginable.

You carefully took the box from Steve, tender fingers caressing the bow stuck on top. Hesitating only a second, enjoying the brief intoxicating anticipation, you lifted the lid.

Your breath got stuck in your throat as you revealed the necklace.

The chain, probably silver, was very delicate, carrying a simply decorated heart with a winding line in the middle, as if the heart was broken. Despite the symbolism, you couldn’t but revel at its beauty.

“Steve,” you breathed out shakily, unable to tear your gaze away from the jewellery, tears, dried at last, threatening to escape your eyes again. “This is… so beautiful. So much-“

You lifted your gaze, only to meet his twinkling eyes. “You like it?”

You nearly choked at the absurdity of the question. Liked it?

“Steve, it’s—like it? It’s breath-taking. You shouldn’t have- that’s-” Shit, this must have been so expensive- but you had seen it now and you loved it and you didn’t want to part with ever. “-but I absolutely want to keep it now.”

Steve chuckled lightly at your antics, but you took no offence since you were being a bit greedy.

You reached out to brush the pendant with the softest of touches – and sucked a breath in fright when it fell apart, causing you to realize for the first time that the heart could be divided in two, each part having its own loop on the chain.

“Oh,” you let out in surprise, your mind racing. Now that definitely was symbolic. Not a broken heart. Two parts of one heart. “That’s… does this mean one half is for you?”

As you asked the question to make sure, you looked up to Steve’s face, only to find a blush creeping up his neck.

“Uhm… I mean-“

“That’s so cute! And cheesy. So sweet though! I guess we do fit…” you mused, a goofy smile from the swirl of emotions today a testimony of how mushy the lovely and meaningful gift turned you. Steve’s blush deepened, but a delighted smile spread on his lips, eyes soft, so you assumed he was simply happy you liked it. “And we do complete each other.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Steve whispered, clasping your free hand in his, caressing tenderly before bringing it to his lips and dropping a barely-there kiss on its back.

“Would you wear it?” you queried, slightly nervous. “One of the halves I mean.”

It might have been his idea, but did you read him correctly?

“If that’s what you want. Give me your half and keep mine,” he offered, one corner of his lips higher in a cheeky and yet tender smile.

“You got a deal, Stevie. Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it, sweetheart. I was going to give you a key to the apartment officially, kneel on one knee and all that-“

“WHAT?!”

He wanted to do what?!

“-to ask you if you want to move in permanently, but I understand that we’ve been through a lot, you’ve been through a lot, so while the offer stands, I don’t want you to feel pressured or-“

Oh really? Then why did he even tell you about it?

Your heart felt like beating its way out of your chest, the widest grin spreading on your lips. Staring at Steve as he was stuttering, you couldn’t decide whether he was nervous about asking, trying his luck, or was teasing you, knowing all too well what you were about to say.

Oh god, your head was spinning, again-

“Yes!” you blurted out before you could think twice, shocking the stammering mess of Steve into silence.

“Really?!” he shot back in awe, his lips left parted in genuine surprise – and his expression was pure relief.

“Yes. If you mean it – and God help you if you don’t-“ And you were serious, if he was messing with you now— he wouldn’t, right? Steve wouldn’t joke about such important topic, about your life together.

“Of course I mean it-”

You squealed, closing the box you had nearly dropped in shock and hugged Steve as tight as you could, causing him to huff for the second time that day. Oh you were never letting go of him!

The crowd you entirely forgot about cheered and you jumped away from Steve as if burned, horrified that they had been following your reconciliation and displays of love this whole time-

And then you noticed the graduation caps in the air, a tradition celebrating the success of your year. You grinned at the image, catching Steve’s gaze.

“Go on,” he encouraged you, mirroring your grin when you reached for the square cap, swinging and sending it high in the air.

A yelp escaped you as you found yourself in the air as well in a blink of an eye, nestled in Steve’s arms as he laughed madly, pure delight shining from his eyes; and love. So much love.

You barely caught the cap, not really caring for it when in the arms of your man. You dropped a kiss to his lips, earning one in return and a few more, as you couldn’t get enough for each other after such a long time apart and so much unnecessary heartbreak.

You rested your foreheads against each other, tender meetings of lips, brushes of noses-

Steve winced and hissed in pain, causing you to withdraw and frown as you studied his face.

“Sorry, just… my nose…” he mumbled, seemingly embarrassed, “...tender.”

“From…?” you questioned, absolutely baffled. Steve sighed, but just one glare from you told him that you were not letting it go. You didn’t want him in any pain – you both lived through more enough of it in the past few days.

“Bucky punched me.”

“What?!” you blurted out, shocked to the core, and you braced yourself on Steve’s shoulders, your gaze automatically flickering through the crowd to find the culprit.

Why the heck would Bucky-

“Long story, tell you later,” Steve promised with a peck to your lips, signalling that the conversation was over. For now.

You had better things to do after all. So you only smiled in agreement – you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for some reason.

Wonder what that could be? Maybe because it finally feels like today is a win?

“I’m sure you will.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦- Bonus: -◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

It was the day after her own graduation when the blond was sitting on a park bench, light summer dress with cherry blossoms gently swirling around her knees, absentmindedly swiping through the apps on her phone, looking up every now and then to smile at the image of families enjoying the weather and freedom of summer.

She merely paused in her idly actions when the redhead woman she was waiting for seated herself next to her on the other end, sliding an envelope with a promised reward her way.

“As promised,” the redhead said disinterestedly, barely on a lower volume than a normal conversation would be and tugged a loose strand of her hair behind her sunglasses. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

The blond smiled softly, reaching for the envelope and subtly hid it in her purse. “Same. It was rather fun, actually.”

This time, a smile broke on the redhead’s lips as well, cocky, satisfied, but by any means false.

“Well, I heard you’re staying for your master’s. You contact Danvers if you want any more of that fun, da?”

“You better count on that, Rushman.”

“It’s Romanoff, actually,” the redhead smirked, side-eyeing the blond as she rose to her feet again, ready to go where her orders would take her. She spent one more glance at the other woman though; she had carried out her task perfectly, in a way that seem very natural. She’d make a good addition to their growing team and since Natasha was anything but unpolite… “Looking forward to working with you in the future, Carter.”

Sharon Carter felt a surge of pride and couldn’t but return the courtesy before the woman would walk away from her life for god knew how long.

“Feeling’s mutual.”

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Attached masterlist

Attached: Words Lost in Translation

S.R.masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

Thank you for reading ♥ We’re over 40k into the series, so thank you if you stuck around :-*

Lemme know your thoughts?

You might have noticed a to-be link for another addition to the Attached series called Words Lost in Translation. It’s more of an idea in my head, very little of the actual story written, but it will hopefully involve a bit jealousy… and smut. Just FYI.

Stay happy and safe!

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