#who thinks she can just do whatever she wants and gave me a deadline

[drawthething]

"To leave the warmest bed I've ever known."

[cosmos-coma]

Sleep Deprived

A/N: still alive!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1005

Warnings: Unedited, Toot-Rotting fluff :)

Summary: You are far too nice and cannot seem to say no when the team keeps asking you for favors. Now you're ridiculously sleep-deprived and Bucky is determined for you to finally get some rest. (Grumpy Bucky X Sunshine Reader)

Bucky Masterlist

Buy me a Coffee?

_____

Kindness had always been something you prided yourself on; your willingness to help and be patient with others had almost always done you well, but sometimes you were just too nice

First, it was helping Nat go through her old paperwork late one night; she had been in an absolute rush trying to find this old file before the deadline and you didn’t even think of refusing. Then it was Tony, who all but forced you to fill in for one of his lab techs in an overnight experiment. Then Steve wanted help with some confounded modern technology that Sam swore he didn’t have the time to teach him. 

On top of it all you had hardly been sleeping the last few nights anyway.

Where you once felt vibrant and bright was now filled with far-distant gazes and tired smiles. Not that you really noticed, right now you were only focused on opening your eyes again after each agonizingly heavy blink. 

“Y/N are you sure you want to come?” Steve asked, “You look like you could use a 90-year sleep…” he commented with a quiet huff of laughter. 

You barely even registered the joke, instead just smiling sleepy on instinct to his small laugh, “I’m sure, I really do want to go. I promise I’ll be okay once we get going” you assured. The team had been planning this outing for weeks now and you swore you wouldn’t miss it. Not only that but you really didn’t want to miss out on a chance to spend a little more time with Bucky outside of work. 

He had snared you at the very first moment and he didn’t even know it. His bright blue eyes had turned away from their conversation, a small frown on his lips from whatever had just been said, and turned to you instead- jolting you with a force you couldn’t have foreseen. Ever since then your heart had been hooked, its strings unwillingly tangled by the smallest interactions.

Not you’d ever admit that to anybody.

“Doll, I really think you should consider staying home and getting some rest…” your heart thrummed as Bucky spoke, his arms crossed over his chest as he gave you a look. 

But you only held up your hands, smiling your assurances as you spoke, “I can last a few more hours..! I’ll take a nap as soon as we get back, but I’m sure I’ll last.” 

The other members of the team only looked at each other, sharing doubtful glances but nodding nonetheless- if you really wanted to go they weren’t going to try and stop you. 

“Alright then,” Nat said with a shrug and stood up, “let’s all head out then.”

Everyone stood up at once and you followed suit, your vision swimming as you stood up far too fast. “Whoa.. um, I mean… Whoo! Yeah, let’s do this…!” You took a staggering step forward. You refused to look like you couldn’t keep up and so you pushed through, giving yourself no time for recovery. 

Thankfully there was still one person watching you. Bucky stood up to follow, lingering by your side as the others moved on ahead. He’d tell himself it was purely to watch over you, but he couldn’t deny the lingering urge to be near you. Ever since your first day at the tower when you flashed your annoyingly bright smile at him… he knew he’d never be able to think of anything else. 

You stumbled but quickly caught yourself, your breathing ragged and worn as your body begged for rest. “Doll, please-“ but he didn’t have a chance to finish as you stumbled towards the ground yet again. 

Strong hands shot out to catch you, your body almost completely limp in his firm grasp. “Oh I…” you started, struggling to keep your consciousness and your breath, “Sorry… I’m okay….”

But Bucky only frowned and shook his head,  his hands scooping you up bridal style and he turned to the rest of the team who had stopped to turn back, “You guys go ahead. We’re gonna stay here and get some rest.” He said as he walked back toward the couch, acting as if holding you against his chest was the most natural thing in the world. 

“You don’t have to do that, Bucky…” you mumbled against his chest, your body more than happy to sink into him. 

“Shh, yes I do…” he spoke quietly, the whole room settling into a calm quiet as the rest of the team headed out the door, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself, Doll… I know you want to be nice, but you’re only gonna wind up hurt.” He chided as he took a seat on the couch and laid back against the armrest. 

Thanks to your lack of sleep you had no shame in rolling on top of him, your cheek squishing against his chest as you let out a tired huff. “I’m not.. good at saying no…” you murmured with eyes closed, sleep coming on fast in your comfortable state. 

The grumpy ex-soldier grinned despite himself, your sweet smooshed face stirring something in his old heart. He pulled a blanket off the top of the couch, draping it over the two of you as you seemed to be in the last thralls of consciousness.

“Bucky…?”

“Yes, Doll?”

“Will you be here when I wake up…? Please..?” Your soft voice asked, your fingers curling around his shirt in an effort to make him stay- but he didn’t need any swaying. 

A grin, as bright as your own, broke through his expression, and he nodded quietly, “I’ll be right here, Doll. I promise you….”

---

And he kept his promise. 

Hours later the rest of the team had finally returned, initially boisterous and full of laughter, they were quickly quieted down by the sight before them. 

There on the couch you and Bucky continued to lay, his strong arms wrapped firmly around your frame with his sleeping face tucked into the top of your head. 

_____________________________

General Bucky Taglist:

@writingmysanity @simpxinnie @goldylions

If I missed or accidentally tagged you lmk! Wanna be added General Bucky taglist? Please ask/DM me!

[moni-logues]

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (afab, she/her)

Genre: angst, friends-to-almost-lovers?

Summary: No matter what you do, no matter what he does, you can't not love Namjoon. His girlfriend can't stop it, his baby, a thousand miles between you, your fiancé. Nothing makes it any less painful. Nothing makes it go away and nothing can give you the happily ever after you both want.

Word count: 20.7k

Content: INFIDELITY, pregnancy, baby, marriage, divorce, morning after pill, mild smut, lots of angst, not a happy ending, member pov

A/N: for @kkaetnipjeon who likes to hurt Namjoon as much as I do. unbeta'd * * *

Namjoon was late. 

“I really should go,” he said, taking his phone from the table and slipping into his pocket. 

You laughed. 

“Yeah, you said that twenty minutes ago.” 

“Oh, well, sorry for enjoying your company. Fuck me, I guess.” 

“Exactly. It’s all your own fault.” 

It was. When it came to you, time went out the window. Even when he told himself he only had an hour, or two, or times when he actually had somewhere to be, you were just more fun. He tried to leave. He really did. Always said, up front, he had to be gone by 2 or 4 or 7. Always pushed it a little. ‘No, I’ve got a little more time,’ he always said. He always had a little extra time for you it seemed.  

Today, he was only going home to his girlfriend; it wasn’t a hard deadline which made it all the harder to enforce.  

He pulled himself up from his chair, thanked you for the coffee that you had paid for, and made it home. 

* 

“Joon?” Hayeon called as soon as he’d shut the door behind him. “Can you get that please? I have my hands full!” 

Somewhere in the apartment, her phone was ringing. There was no contact information on the caller screen, just a number he didn’t recognise. 

“Hello?” Namjoon said into the phone. 

“Oh, uh...” 

The pause went on for long enough that Namjoon was halfway to hanging up when the man on the other line spoke again. 

“I’m calling for Hayeon?”  

As if it were a question. 

“She has her hands full right now; I can take a message.” 

Another long pause.  

“No, no, that’s ok.” 

“Shall I tell her you called?” 

“No, no thanks. Bye.” 

They hung up first. Namjoon shrugged and carried the phone into the kitchen, where Hayeon was up to her elbows in washing up. He put it on the counter beside the sink and gave her a quick kiss on the temple. 

“I’ll dry,” he said. 

“Who was calling?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Some guy-” 

And Namjoon hadn’t thought anything of it. Would probably have forgotten all about it, except that Hayeon paused, just for a second, her body frozen with tension before she shrugged it off herself.  

“He didn’t want to leave a message or anything,” Namjoon finished, watching his girlfriend a little more closely. 

“Weird.”  

“Yeah, weird.” 

And he would have forgotten it. In truth, had forgotten about it, but then he got out of the shower and heard Hayeon speaking on the phone. 

“-ere you thinking? Why would you call this phone?” she hissed viciously, her voice quiet but her anger clear. 

She had her hand cupped around her mouth, shoulders rounded—defensive, protective—as she stood, leaning against the fridge, her back to Namjoon.  

Namjoon was not interested in spying on his girlfriend. He turned into their bedroom and got dressed, content to ignore whatever that was. 

As he lay in bed, though, he found he couldn’t ignore it. It was one thing to get a call from someone you didn’t know – spam, voice phishing, a genuine wrong number – but those people didn’t usually ask for someone by name, by first name alone, as if they knew you. The way Hayeon froze when Namjoon said it was a guy. Whatever secret conversation she was having when she knew he wouldn’t be able to hear it.  

He was not a suspicious man. Had no reason to be. He and Hayeon had been together for so long, the thought of there being anyone else was inconceivable. They were Hayeon and Namjoon; they came as a pair. Never one without the other. It just was. So there was no way, he concluded, that she would be cheating on him. Yet he could think of no other reason for her behaviour.  

He took Hayeon’s phone from her bedside table and pressed his thumb against it to unlock. It didn’t. He tried again. And again. He tried enough times that the phone refused biometric unlocking entirely and prompted him for a passcode. Well, he knew that, too, so he typed the numbers in—incorrect. When had Hayeon changed her passcode? Had she removed his thumb print? They’d always had—and almost never needed or wanted to use—access to each other’s phones. Now he did not.  

He looked down at Hayeon, sleeping peacefully, face squished into the pillow, lips pouting. He rolled his eyes: she wasn’t cheating. It was an absurd conclusion to come to on the scant evidence he had. Evidence! It wasn’t evidence. It was nothing. He kissed her carefully on the forehead, and settled down to sleep. He would forget all about it.  

* 

It came into his head when he got a call himself from an unrecognised number (it turned out to be someone offering him a new credit card). He remembered it again weeks later when Hayeon asked him to change the music on her phone and he, once again, couldn’t unlock it. 

“Oh, it’s been doing that to me, lately,” she said, when his thumb was denied entry. “I think it’s the screen protector or something.” 

She came over and unlocked the phone herself��worked first time.  

But, for the most part, he forgot about it. 

* 

Spring was meekly peeking from behind the curtains of winter and it was the first day warm enough to allow eating lunch outside. So Namjoon took himself out of his desk chair and walked to the nearest green space with a bench. They called it a park though it wasn’t really, but it was enough for Namjoon. It had been trapped for too long in construction, with scaffolding at all sides, precluding entry, but late last year, the buildings surrounding it were finally complete and the park was free to enter again. This had come as quite a relief to Namjoon, who loved the city, but loved nature, too. A relief it was to have green grass under his feet, sun on his face, nature’s fractals everywhere he looked. He liked it all the more for its contrast to the beige-grey buildings, the chrome, the chaos of the city. The traffic noise was loud and unceasing but the birds sang, too.  

He was halfway through his sandwich when he spotted Hayeon. He reached into his pocket for his phone, to call her, to say ‘I see you!’ and watch her look around herself in confusion until she saw him. Until she smiled and came over and they had lunch together. He abandoned that idea when he saw a man come up behind her. He touched her lightly on the lower back and they walked together.  

Probably nothing, he said.  

Then he remembered the phone call.  

Probably nothing, he repeated to himself. Still, he watched them until they were out of sight, out of the park, probably finishing their own lunch breaks, heading back to their own desks. 

* 

Namjoon had decided that he had to ask. He had to find out because he’d started adding things up and, well, he was usually very good at maths but he didn’t like the answer he’d arrived at. 

The phone call. The way his thumb no longer unlocked her phone. Her changed passcode. That guy. The way she was always on her phone these days, but jumpy about it. Her increasing disinterest in him; how much quicker she was to anger; how things that had always playfully infuriated her now genuinely pissed her off. She had claimed work stress, having started a new job last autumn. Was it? 

He couldn’t go in half-cocked. If he was going to confront her, he needed better ammunition.  

That was why he was digging around at the backs of drawers, rooting around in every bag she owned, hunting for some unidentified smoking gun. Something that would confirm everything.  

The bedroom carefully ransacked, he was still empty-handed. She had told him she would be working late that evening, so he decided to do the good-boyfriendly thing and take her dinner. That is what he would say, anyway, assuming that he would find her there. 

* 

“Hayeon? She’s already left for the day,” the receptionist told him. 

“Oh, really? Do you know what time she left?” 

“Mm, one second.”  

There were security gates just three feet from the desk, into and out of which everyone who entered the building would swipe their access cards. The computer would know, down to the minutes and seconds, when she left. He had familiarity on his side—people knew him, knew he was Hayeon’s boyfriend, would share this sort of information with him. He was lucky.  

“It was 5:15. Early today,” she said.  

“Right, ok, thank you. Must have got our wires crossed.” 

He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. 

[13:04]  Hayeon: remember I'm working late today, babe. Have dinner without me! 😘 

Not a smoking gun, but getting warmer. 

* 

He checked bank statements—his, hers, their joint account. Nothing really seemed off. Nothing jumped out at him, but he kept looking, whittling down anything he could twist into infidelity until he was left with only a handful of transactions.  

The nails. True, she’d only started having them done recently. She and Namjoon had been together for years and she’d never gone to the expense or effort. Also true, her salary increased, which meant her disposable income had increased. It was a popular thing to do. Didn’t necessarily mean anything. 

Some expensive perfume. See above. 

A store name he didn’t recognise until he searched online and discovered they sold lingerie—amongst other things. He tried to remember the last time Hayeon had worn anything sexy. He couldn’t. A piece of information was trying to float to the surface of his brain, and without being conscious of it, he followed it into their bedroom and her underwear drawer. He’d fished around in here not long ago, looking for something like a burner phone, or condoms (that they hadn’t used for a long time, since Hayeon switched to hormonal birth control). He hadn’t been looking for lace or satin so hadn’t seen it, but there it was. Lingerie. That he’d never seen before, though she’d had plenty of opportunities to wear it since she bought it: Christmas, New Year, Seollal, Valentine’s day, White Day just passed.  

It wasn’t a smoking gun, but he was getting hot.  

* 

He might not have gone to any effort at all, in the end. Looking back on it, he had had to laugh. She must have been trying to get caught. After months of hiding it all so successfully, maybe she had got complacent.  

Namjoon had arrived home to an empty apartment—Hayeon was away for the weekend with some friends. That was what she had said. Namjoon ordered dinner and lounged in front of the TV. He luxuriated in the space and the silence. The world was his own. Unshared. There weren’t many moments like this. 

His phone buzzed. 

Jang Yijeong: Hey, man hope youre good 

Jang Yijeong: idk if this is weird and i might be totally mistaken, i only met her a couple of times but 

Jang Yijeong: im in jinhae with my girlfriend and  

Jang Yijeong: is this your girlfriend? 

Jang Yijeong: [attached a picture] 

Well, it certainly looked like Hayeon.  

Namjoon’s screen was interrupted with more messages. 

Jang Yijeong: my girlfriend says its weird for me to take photos and shes probably right and im way off and this is just a weird thing to do! 

Jang Yijeong: maybe im mistaken! Hope so, dude, but thought you should know if not. i know id want to know 

Namjoon stared at the photo and then at the second one Yijeong sent. It was her. Undoubtedly. He would know her face in twenty pixels but the photos were clear as day. Hayeon holding some other man’s hand. Hayeon posing for a photo, kissing his cheek.  

A third arrived. Well, he’d wanted a smoking gun. They didn’t get much more smoking than a video of your girlfriend kissing another man. All this time that he’d been actively searching for evidence of this and now, here it was, presented to him on a platter. All this time, he’d been looking for something that—he realised now—he didn’t want to find.  

He was furious. Livid. Could feel the vein in his temple pulse as adrenalin coursed through him.  A smoking gun. A man kissing his girlfriend. His girlfriend kissing a man who wasn’t him. 

He sent a text back before he could forget. 

Namjoon: that’s her. Thanks man 

He put his shoes on and went straight out. Hayeon didn’t know he knew. Namjoon decided, through a red haze of rage, that there was about to be a lot more than Hayeon wouldn’t know.  

* 

“Are you ok?” you asked, opening the door to Namjoon, who had shown up unannounced, sounding agitated.  

Everyone had always told him you liked him. Liked him. They said it was obvious. They told him to be sensitive when they thought he’d overstepped in some way—with you, with Hayeon in front of you. He had never been sure if he believed them. You and he were just friends. Had always just been friends. You’d never said a word to him of anything different. Now, he was going to find out for sure. 

“What would you do if I kissed you?” he asked. 

He didn’t wait for an answer. Before your face had rearranged itself from shock to confusion, he was kissing you. He half-expected you to slap him, push him off, ask him if he was crazy (he just might have been at that moment), but you didn’t. You kissed him back. Snaked your arms around his neck, opened your mouth when he brushed his tongue against your lips. More, you pulled him forward, into your apartment, so he could kick your front door shut, so he could follow you into your bedroom.  

Namjoon didn’t stop to ask questions. Neither did you. He put his hands on a new body for the first time in almost a decade; for the first time, touching someone who was not Hayeon. He learnt that your skin was soft and your mouth was sweet. He discovered the pitch to which your voice raised when he found just the right motion. He found his own body responded to yours with swift alacrity. He discovered different things that other people did, that you did, which Hayeon did not. Found that he preferred them. With adrenalin surging through him, he found the newness exciting; he was hungry for it, desperate to learn how to use your body, how to make you tick, how to time the implosion carefully so that you came as he sank his teeth into the soft skin around your nipple.  

He did not forget, in all this rage, in all this lust, to use a condom.  

Spent, but not in any way sated, Namjoon lay for two seconds on his back next to you, before rising to clean up the evidence. 

“I’m sorry,” was what he said to you when he sat down on the edge of the bed, his back to you. 

“It’s ok,” was what you said back. 

It wasn’t what you wanted to say. You wanted to say that it wasn’t ok. You wanted to have said no back at the front door. To have not let him kiss you, not let him into your house, into your body. You wanted to be the sort of person who would have said those things.  

But you loved Namjoon. Had loved him as long as you’d known him. Had known also all that time that he would never leave his girlfriend for you. Would never leave his girlfriend full stop. Sometimes you were at peace with that. Found that it was ok, really, didn’t much bother you. Other times, you ached with it, burnt with it, cried from it. And he had shown up at your front door, asked to kiss you, kissed you and what else could you have done?  

You would have liked to have been a better person, but there he was, finally doing the thing you had wished he would more times than you could count. So you didn’t say no and you didn’t ask questions. You just kissed him back, poured as much of your love as you could from your mouth to his, your body to his.  

Did he know? How you really felt? He must have known. Why else would he have come? Why else would he be apologising to you now?  

“Hayeon is cheating on me.” 

You closed your eyes, tried to swallow the tears that pricked in your eyes. Of course, it wasn’t about you. You weren’t suddenly the object of his affections; you were subject to his hurt, wounded pride, betrayal, anger, what else? When he fucked you, just now, on the bed where you still lay, was he thinking of her? Of course, he was.  

Was it not also true, though, that you knew that? That you knew, when he was kissing you, that it wasn’t about you. Couldn’t have been about you because you and Namjoon had been friends for years and he’d never once as much as hinted that he might have wanted to kiss you—as much as everyone knew that you wanted him to. Did you let him touch you, did you touch him, thinking that it meant something? Or did you take your scraps eagerly, desperately, like a stray dog, not asking what they were or where they came from, just eating hungrily, quickly, until they were gone? 

“I’m sorry,” you offered him. “That sucks.” 

Namjoon stood and redressed. You lay still on the bed, watching him. Waiting. For something. Anything.  

Before he turned to leave, he inclined his head slightly towards you (not looking, not looking at you, naked still, uncovered, for his eyes).  

“Could you-... I mean... would i-” 

“Relax, Namjoon. I won’t tell anyone.” 

The relief washed out of his body on a sigh. He nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

* 

If you had been a better person, you wouldn’t have let him kiss you even once. Definitely would not have let him fuck you whilst he was still in the maelstrom of reacting to finding out his girlfriend of nine years was cheating on him.  

Definitely definitely would not have let it happen again. And again. And again.  

Because it kept happening. He kept coming. To you. He said it was only you. You had no choice but to believe him because you wanted him to come again. Even as the door shut behind him on his way out, you wanted him to come back. 

You told no one, as you had said you wouldn’t. You betrayed nothing, except all your morals and principles, except Hayeon (who was kind of your friend, too). You found it hard to look at yourself in the mirror: hair messy; purpling bruises on your breasts from his teeth, yellow and green bruises on your thighs from him in times before; still flushed, heartrate still high, skin still warm, sticky with drying sweat.  

You never told yourself that it would be the last time. That this time you would put your foot down. You knew you wouldn’t. Couldn't. You had opened the floodgates and here was the deluge: the feelings you had known you had done your best to hide from now dancing in the spotlight. You loved him. Oh, you loved him. Would have done anything for him. Including and not limited to fucking him behind his girlfriend’s back and keeping it a secret. 

He never spoke about her. Never once said he was going to leave her, was thinking of leaving her, wanted to leave her. You knew he never would. They had grown up together: all the way through school, spinning in the same orbit. When they got to taste independence and adult life at university, their friendship had become something more. Then her parents had died in a car crash that almost killed her, too, and Namjoon knew he would never leave her. That was how the story went, how his friends told it.  

So you kept your mouth shut and your legs open. Told yourself you a thousand lies to make yourself feel like maybe you weren’t the worst person in the world for it.  

Namjoon would have told the story a little differently. Hayeon had almost died in a car crash that almost killed her, too, and that was when he knew he could never leave her. He was the only family she had left. She was the only love he had ever known; he her only love. He would not, could not, abandon her. Even if he wanted to. Even when he wanted to.  

He told himself this was why he hadn’t confronted her about cheating yet (that, and of course, he had gone and done the very same thing. Done it over and over again, so many times that he didn’t even think of Hayeon when he was with you anymore. That it wasn’t about her anymore). Because, despite how they may have appeared, despite what anyone might have said about them as a couple, they weren’t perfect for each other. She wasn’t his soulmate. He couldn’t blame her for cheating when, frankly, if he’d been honest with himself, he wanted out, too. He wanted out but couldn’t bring himself to pull the trigger, to be the bad guy, to break her heart when he was the one who had to put it back together all that time ago. There was tragedy between them that would last forever; to Namjoon, that meant they had to, too.  

You were something entirely different. All his friends’ words resounded in his head after the first time. How much you cared for him. How sad it was, how well you bore it, this unrequited, doomed, desperate love for him. He had expected this to make you weak, somehow, to make you feel too soft, too pliable, too malleable under his hands.  He felt bad the first time, for using you, for burning you up in his roaring rage, but then he came back to you and you opened the door as if you knew exactly what he wanted—because you did know exactly what he wanted—and let him in. He had expected to feel as if he was taking advantage of you, of your weakness for him, but he didn’t. You weren’t pliable and malleable and pathetic. You didn’t get on your knees and prostrate yourself, offer yourself up on a platter for his delectation.  

He loved the taste of your moans in his mouth. He loved the smell of your lotion, faintly lingering on your skin as he kissed, licked, and bit his way across your body. He loved the hot, wet slip of your tongue, the tight, slippery clutch of your cunt. He even loved the way you were careful, dug your nails into his back, into his thighs for a microsecond before releasing him, leaving no marks. Sucked on his skin so his eyes fluttered closed and his breath caught, but not so that the tell-tale bloom of burgundy and purple would give you away.  

“I should go,” he said quietly, lying naked on your bed, sweat dry, heart rate steady.  

“Yeah, you said that,” you replied gently, naked next to him, on your side, head propped on your hand, watching him, taking him in, the man you loved and could never have outside of these moments.  

He turned to look at you, eyes catching his, and he felt desperate suddenly. Desperate not to leave. Not to go back to his house made of straw, house made of lies, to a girlfriend who maybe didn’t love him anymore. To a girlfriend he didn’t love, whom he hadn’t loved—he was sure—for some time. To a girlfriend he wouldn’t leave.  

So he left you. Returned home, with heavy feet and a heavier heart. Returned, angry, frustrated, all his old fury bubbling up again, a rolling boil threatening the edge of the pan.  

“We need to talk,” he said in greeting to Hayeon, who was making tea in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, we do.” 

His surprise made him pause for a second—was she about to confess everything? 

“I know we haven’t really talked about the future much recently,” she began, leaning with her back against the counter as the kettle rumbled slowly to a boil. “Things have been crazy with work and I feel like we’ve just been kind of missing each other, y’know? But that’s why I think this will be great. This is a good thing. A really good thing.” 

“What is?” 

And nothing could have prepared him for the words that followed. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

A cloud of steam rose from the kettle beside Hayeon, the noise of the water roiling inside grew louder. So did Namjoon’s rage. So did he sense of betrayal. The injustice (of what? He couldn’t have said, could barely manage conscious thought). The inescapability of a child. His child. His anger surprised him, the strength of it, the speed and ease with which it rose inside him. He bit down on his tongue to stop all of his worst instincts taking control of it. He reminded himself this was as much his fault as hers. Then he wondered if it was. 

He did his best to school his features into neutrality, to keep his voice level when he spoke. 

“How do you know it’s mine?” 

To her credit, Hayeon did not immediately launch into a wounded, defensive howl. She did not cry big, fat crocodile tears. She flinched, swallowed, opened her mouth and closed it again. She took a deep breath, eyes shut, and looked at him again, nodding silently to herself, but she didn’t lie. She knew Namjoon too well for that. Knew him well enough to know that he knew. And that was when it crystallised inside him: the knowledge that their relationship was fucked. Was fucking over.  

“How long have you known?” she asked. 

“How do you know the baby is mine?” 

A crease flashed across her face – concern? Anger? – and was gone again in a second. Part of Namjoon wanted to have this fight. To force a showdown and make her confess everything she’d done and who she’d done them with. Maybe he would confess, too; maybe he’d tell her all the things you did to him, all the things he did to you; maybe he’d tell her just how much you wanted him.  

He didn’t, because most of him just wanted this to be over. 

“You’re the only person I’ve slept with without protection.”  

Her voice was small, eyes downcast, her fingers picked at her fingernails, at the skin around them. Namjoon was furious at himself for the tiny spark of pride that ignited within him at her words. Sure, he was being cheated on but that guy never got to fuck his girlfriend raw.  

He was pathetic. Pathetic, too, the way he thought of you, of what you would do or say. Would you end it all? Refuse to see him again? Would this change things? A sliver of panic slid down his spine at the thought, his fingers grasping air when trying to grab the life rope. 

“You’re definitely pregnant?” 

She took three pregnancy tests from her pocket. All different brands, all positive. 

“I took three more at work earlier,” she said. “False positives are extremely rare, apparently.” 

Namjoon looked at the tests, unseeing. What he was seeing instead was a closing door, a lid on a coffin, a baby growing inside his girlfriend that neither of them had planned, neither of them had expected. Neither of them had wanted.  

Namjoon didn’t come over for a while. You saw him, socially, as you saw your other friends, and he seemed tense. There was something hiding behind his smile that you were sure everyone else could see, too; it couldn’t just be you that noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes, didn’t last quite long enough to be genuine. That noticed that he was checked out of conversations. That noticed his jaw tense, just a little, when Hayeon was around, when someone mentioned her name.  

You hadn’t seen him, one-on-one for a couple of weeks when he messaged you. 

[20:31]  Namjoon: can i come over? 

As if you had ever said or would ever say no.  

He had fire in his eyes again, when you opened the door to him, but it wasn’t blazing, raging, out of control. This was a rich, deep smoulder; darker, burnished light glinting at you. He didn’t ask any questions, just took your face in his hands and kissed you, far more softly than you’d expected. More slowly. He shut the door behind him, but he didn’t drag you to the bedroom; he wrapped his arms around your body and held you close to him; he rolled his tongue into your mouth and gave a quiet, contented hum when it met yours.  

It wasn’t always urgent and hurried with Namjoon. It wasn’t always needy and aggressive and high-geared. It often was, but not always. Never, though, had it been like this. Slow. Intense. Your bodies pressed together; fingers twined in fingers, twined in hair; lips brushing lips, brushing skin. It was indulgent. Wanton, with his mouth between your thighs as you whined, as your breath caught in your throat; with his head clamped between your legs as you writhed, squirming as you came, your body contorted with pleasure and your face the perfect picture of ecstasy. And later, with his length stuffed down the wet tunnel of your throat, when he was lost for words and could only moan, could only utter slurred vowels that sounded like your name. When he came for the first time and whispered quiet praise to you. When he came for the second and held you so close you could feel his heart pound. It was the kind of sex people had when they had all the time in the world and nowhere else to be—no one else to go home to. The kind of sex that made you fall in love—as if you hadn’t already. The kind of sex you assumed he had with Hayeon, had assumed before now that he would never have with you.  

When he came for the final time—sitting against the headboard with your backside in his hands, with his hair in yours, with his tongue in your mouth—and you moved to get off him, he held you tight against his chest. Whispered, ‘just give me a minute’. He cradled your head as it rested against his shoulder. He rubbed your back. He sighed heavily, closed his eyes. 

“Hayeon’s pregnant.” 

“Fucking hell!” 

You sat up with a start. You had known there was something. You had never imagined it would be this. Namjoon smiled grimly. 

“Uh, congratulat-... um-” and you didn’t know how to continue, how to ask the question on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t need to because Namjoon had already heard it, seen it coming. 

“She says it’s mine-” 

“You asked?” 

He nodded.  

“So... she knows you know.” 

Nodded again.  

“And...” 

“And she’s pregnant,” he repeated with a shrug that looked effortfully casual. “She’s agreed to a paternity test, though she says I’m the only one who...”  

He cleared his throat, as though this was awkward, as though you weren’t sitting with his cock, soft now and still inside you.  

“She’s on birth control, so we don’t use other protection.”  

You stood, trying to understand how you felt. Trying to understand how Namjoon might feel. He moved, too, disposing of the used condom, cleaning up, pulling his boxers back up his legs.  

“You’ve always wanted to have a kid,” you offered, not knowing if he wanted this kid, at this time, with this girlfriend. 

“Yeah,” he said, but he was still facing away from you, so you couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell what myriad things his one word might be saying.  

“Is that why...” 

But you didn’t finish the question because you didn’t need to ask it. Of course, that was why he hadn’t come to you for weeks. Of course, this would change things. It already had. It was a child—there was no question of keeping it or not, you knew that—and they would be a family.  

Namjoon sat at the edge of your bed and spoke the words you were thinking. 

“What about this?” 

“This?” 

“Us?” 

You laughed. Laughed because tears pricked in your eyes and the only other alternative was crying.  

“Is there an us?” 

And he couldn’t answer because he knew as well as you did that there wasn’t. That, whatever you were, it wasn’t real, wasn’t lasting, wasn’t love. Not for him.  

“Why do you let me come?” he asked, sounding as sad as you had ever heard him, no hint of recrimination, accusation.  

You laughed again, weaker, wetter, tears on your waterline.  

“You know why,” you answered thickly. “You know and everyone else knows, too. You know how I feel about you, Namjoon. Beggars can’t be choosers. They can be pathetic and cruel and selfish and wrong, but they can’t be choosers. I don’t get to choose, Namjoon. To love you or not love, to be with you or not be with you. I'll always say yes.” 

You bit your bottom lip as it wobbled, as the tears made tracks down your cheeks.  

“Doesn’t it hurt?” his voice a mere whisper. 

“Of course it hurts,” you whispered back. “It hurts you too, doesn’t it?” 

Namjoon was a father. 

A baby boy, 7lbs 7oz, born (unlike most babies) on his exact due date, in the final days before Christmas. Namjoon laid his eyes on the bloody, screaming gargoyle that was his son and his fate was sealed. A love the likes of which he had never known burst his heart apart. That was his son and he found he had no interest in a paternity test. Biology wouldn’t take anything away from him, couldn’t change what he knew he felt. The request for a paternity test was in Hayeon’s medical notes and it was done without anyone having to mention it. Two days later, results confirmed that the probability of Namjoon being the father stood at 99.9999%. He threw the letter in the bin. 

He had tried to tell himself throughout the pregnancy that he’d stop. He’d put an end to it for everyone’s sake. To see you was equal parts joy and heartbreak. To have you, knowing you weren’t truly his. To love you, without telling you. He kept so much from you during that time because you were his friend but you were so much more than that now and you didn’t deserve to hear him talk about the baby his girlfriend was carrying. You didn’t deserve to see his excitement, despite everything, his wonder and awe and anxiety. You deserved far more than he could give you.  

So he told himself, after the baby was born, he’d end it. It would be a fresh start, a clean slate. The baby, brand new, didn’t have to know anything of his father’s sins, his flaws, his shame.  

* 

Namjoon ushered you into the apartment with the baby asleep in his arms.  

“Ohh,” you cooed, almost silently. “He’s so cute.” 

“You don’t have to whisper,” Namjoon told you, his voice loud in the silence. “He’s out like a light.” 

You followed him to the sofa and sat next to him, staring down at his son.  

“I didn’t really know they were so small,” you said. “So much smaller than I was expecting.” 

“Right?” Namjoon smiled, couldn’t stop himself. “He’s light, too. It’s almost like there’s nothing there at all.” 

“Yeah, they lose weight after being born, don’t they?” 

Namjoon blinked, exhaustion slowing his brain, so that he took a few seconds to process the question. He didn’t know you knew anything about babies.  

“Yeah, about 10%,” he answered, watching you carefully, trying to gauge what you felt about this child and balance it against what he thought you felt about children as a concept. “He’s 5 days old now so he’s stopped losing weight but it can take a few weeks to gain it back. Want to hold him?” 

You looked surprised then but nodded tentatively. Namjoon still wasn’t used to this manoeuvre; he and Hayeon hadn’t quite nailed the transfer yet but he was getting better. Slipped his son into your waiting arms without too much physical awkwardness. You were quiet as you watched him sleep; Namjoon watched you watch him, felt his heart drop into his guts and those guts start to churn.  

“His name is Hajoon,” he told you. 

You were the first of his friends to be told. He saw the moment of tension in your body, the bob of your throat as you swallowed. You smiled, unable to tear your gaze away from the baby, so he couldn’t see your face properly, couldn’t look you in the eye and see into your soul.  

“Hajoon. Kim Hajoon, nice to meet you,” you whispered.  

Namjoon let his head drop, not sleeping but not quite awake. Minutes passed, he couldn’t have guessed how many. Then he felt your hand on his leg and he opened his eyes. 

“How are you?” you asked with a grin. “You must be pretty wrecked.” 

He nodded. 

“Hayeon is so jacked up on hormones that she’s fine. She’s sleeping right now but she said she honestly doesn’t feel tired most of the time. She feels normal. Whereas I am the most tired I have ever been. I don’t know if I will ever feel normal again.” 

“I expect you won’t. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?” 

You turned back to his son and Namjoon saw your smile drop, saw it twist into some kind of sad resignation. He didn’t argue that it hadn’t changed.  

“I have news, too,” you announced quietly, Hajoon still snoozing. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, I got a new job.” 

“Oh, that’s great!” 

“In Hong Kong.” 

“What?” 

“I’m moving to Hong Kong.” 

“Why? 

“I got a job.” 

Thinking for Namjoon was like swimming through molasses; he was sure he had somehow misunderstood.  

“You’re moving to Hong Kong?” 

“Yeah.” 

“When?” 

“Just after the new year.” 

“Shit.” 

You laughed and it was generous of you. Words wouldn’t come to Namjoon. He knew he should be saying things like: congratulations! That’s amazing! What a great opportunity! I’m so happy for you! He could only think things like: don’t go. What about me? I’ll miss you. Please don’t leave. 

“Obviously I wanted to meet Hajoon first and, y’know, let you know. I’m going to tell everyone else at drinks tonight.” 

“Right... Yeah...”  

“It’s a really good opportunity for me.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“I think I’ve been coasting at work here; it was time for something new.” 

And Namjoon didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself. He didn’t care. He didn’t care how great an opportunity it was; any opportunity that put a thousand miles between the two of you was not worth it. Not for him. 

He knew he wasn’t allowed to think that. He didn’t get a say. He didn’t get the privilege of being heartbroken by this. Not after everything he had done. Not after deciding that he was going to end things himself anyway.  

But he did think it. And he was heartbroken. He could feel it, cracking in his chest, trying to contort itself around this new knowledge, your approaching absence. He could feel it, fighting with his resolve, losing. His heart, so full, fit to burst, overflowing with love and gratitude because his son had arrived safely in the world; his heart, torn in two, slivers and shreds of it going with you to Hong Kong... Would they ever return? 

He opened his mouth to say something he shouldn’t. He hadn’t planned what but if this was the last time he was going to see you (and it probably would be because you were leaving in a week and he had a newborn baby), he couldn’t let you go with everything unsaid like this.  

Hayeon opened the bedroom door and walked out, rubbing her eyes, looking a little dozy, hair mussed and face pillow-creased. 

“Oh hi,” she said with a smile, seeing you on the sofa.  

“Hi,” you returned, standing. “Congratulations. He’s beautiful.” 

“Thank you, we certainly like to think so.” 

“I was just heading off.” 

“You were?” 

“You were?” 

Namjoon and Hayeon simultaneously; Hayeon politely curious, Namjoon urgent, panicked. 

“Yeah, you know how it is this time of year. Lots to plan for.” 

“Of course. It was nice to see you; thanks for coming.” 

Hayeon approached and took Hajoon from you, turning back towards the kitchen, while Namjoon stood by and wondered how he could stop you leaving. His apartment, Korea, his life. 

“Well,” you began. “I guess I’ll go. Congratulations on the baby, really. I’m really, really happy for you. You’re going to be a wonderful dad.” 

It was testament to his exhaustion that tears stang in Namjoon’s eyes. He wasn’t really a crier. Certainly not in front of other people. But he couldn’t swallow down the lump in his throat—the lump of words stuck there, that he wouldn’t say, couldn’t say; the words he wished he could transmit to you without saying them aloud.  

You stepped closer with your arms out and he enveloped you, crushing, too tight, too hard, too long. The smell of your hair, the lingering scent of perfume on your neck, your fingers lightly gripping the hair at the nape of his neck the way you always did, the slight overbalance of your weight against his as you rose onto your toes.  

Then, too soon, far too quickly, you pulled back; you said goodbye; you walked out of his apartment and his life. 

* 

Namjoon heard Hajoon stir before the crying started because he wasn’t asleep anyway. He should have been but he didn’t want to go to sleep and wake up in a Seoul that didn’t have you. Even though you had already gone. Had left this afternoon after a raucous bottomless brunch that Namjoon saw the photos from but hadn’t been able to attend. If he didn’t sleep, the world wouldn’t settle into its new formation; the city wouldn’t bend and twist to cover the gap you had left. If he didn’t sleep, he would go mad enough to truly believe it hadn’t happened. 

So he heard his son and went to his cot in the nursery, picked him up, checked if he needed changing, held him close to his chest as he looked out of the window at the city, newly empty or so it seemed.  

Hajoon began to cry, a sweet little mewling racing into full-bodied screams. Namjoon prepared a bottle, one-handed, as he had already learnt to do, but Hajoon didn’t want it. He wanted to kick and scream and Namjoon couldn’t blame him.  

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said quietly, his own voice breaking, tears rolling down his cheek. “We can cry it out together.” 

Namjoon sat in the outrageously expensive rocking chair they had bought but not, at that point, yet used, and he and his son cried their hearts out.  

Hajoon settled before Namjoon did, crying himself back to a newborn’s dead sleep while Namjoon’s breath still shook, came in snatches, tears dropping from his cheeks onto Hajoon’s swaddle. He didn’t put him back into the cot; he rocked, slowly, gently, intent on spending the rest of the night there.  

Hayeon crept in just as Namjoon’s eyelids were dropping.  

“Hey, why are you awake?” he asked, voice thick and groggy.  

“I had to pee. Thought I’d check on him. And you.”  

“We’re fine. Go enjoy some sleep.” 

“Ok.” 

She hesitated at the door and Namjoon wondered what she’d heard, what she’d been woken by but he was too tired to follow the thought to its end, to worry what she might know or suspect. He rested his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, sleep coming swiftly this time. 

* 

The next morning, Namjoon handed Hajoon to Hayeon for his second breakfast, and was stopped in his tracks on the way to the bathroom when she asked him, 

“Did you love her?” 

Like a punch in the gut. ‘Did’ was the wrong question. He had loved her and loved her still. There was nothing past about it; it was all too present, all too painful.  

Could he tell her that? He hadn’t known that Hayeon had known about you, but it didn’t surprise him. It didn’t surprise him that she knew and didn’t confront him about it, that she was willing to let it all be swept under the rug for the sake of their family. Guilt ate at him, suddenly, sharply. Maybe they could both benefit from a little bit of honesty. 

“Yes.” 

“Hi.” 

“Hi.” 

It had been almost two years. Two really good years: you thrived at your job, had made good friends, had established a real, proper life for yourself. And had hardly missed Namjoon at all. That was your story and you were sticking to it.  

His social media were rarely updated—the occasional story of his son, ‘now listening’ songs that you did your best to ignore when you were doing well, that you did your best to decode when you weren’t. It made things easier that he wasn’t there every time you picked up your phone. It made things harder, gave you all sorts of space to imagine his happiness. You knew the big facts: he was happy; his son was beautiful; he and Hayeon were still together. As they would ever be.  

Her instagram was busier. Hajoon. Namjoon. Friends. Family holidays. Hajoon. Namjoon. Namjoon. Hajoon. Namjoon.  

You couldn’t unfollow her; you were supposed to be friends still. So you prodded your bruises, picked at your scabs, looked so closely at photos of him you could have recreated them, pixel for pixel.  

Now he was here in front of you and you had to face the devastating reality that he had the same effect on you as he ever had. You had never seen Namjoon and not loved him.  

“You finally made it back here.” 

That surprised you and you wondered how it was possible that no one had told him. Of course you’d been back to Seoul before now. You just hadn’t seen him, hadn’t wanted him to know while you were here. You hadn’t expected your friends to keep their mouths shut. You were grateful that they had.  

You shrugged.  

“Guess so... Happy birthday.” 

It was pure rotten luck that meant your visit for Chuseok coincided with this. That gave you no excuse at all to not attend. Whilst Namjoon was the birthday boy, it didn’t mean you had to spend any time with him. He was popular and there were more than enough people filling the space; you could avoid him easily. You’d ripped off the plaster, seen him again, said hello and acknowledged him. That was enough.  

You thought. He was somehow always in your line of sight. Somehow waiting for the bathroom at the same moment you needed to go. At the bar buying another drink as you stood there, emptying yours. With every encounter, you grew surer that this had been a mistake. You shouldn’t have come. You should have pretended to be stuck in Hong Kong, pretended your family were visiting you instead, pretended you’d died, who cared? You just needed to get away from him.  

How had the bar become so crowded? Why were there so many people and why were they all in your way? You forgot your manners, left them somewhere on the bar, and pushed, feeling claustrophobic in their presence, in the clinging love and pain that was suffocating you again.  

“Woah, hey!” 

An arm grabbed at you; you struggled, pulled back. 

“Let me go!” 

“Where are you going?” 

Jimin. Interfering. 

“I’m going home. Let me go.” 

“What’s going on? Are you ok?” 

“I’m going home! Don’t try to make me stay.” 

“Good lord, girl, I'm just asking if you’re alright.” 

“No! I’m not! This was a stupid fucking idea! Now let me go!” 

He did. You ran. Ran into him, Namjoon, literally; the force of your body against his sent his drink sloshing over the rim, soaking you and he both. Namjoon laughed. 

“Someone’s keen.” 

Was this funny? Could he really laugh? You thought later of all the witty putdowns you might have thrown his way, something cutting and sharp that would show him just how over him you were, how unbothered, that he had no effect on you whatsoever. In the moment, you just looked at him pleadingly, trapped, unable to look away, to move, to continue your trajectory out of the bar, out of the city, out of the country, back to Hong Kong, where you were safe, where Namjoon was not.  

“Are you ok?” 

No. God no. Was it that obvious?  

Namjoon took you by the arm and steered you to the back, outside where it was dark but still close and muggy. Where there were fewer people. Where you could be alone. You covered your face with your hands, regretting whatever number of drinks it was you’d had that night.  

Namjoon said your name, soft and sweet and concerned, his hand on your arm.  

“How’s Hajoon?” you asked, abruptly, anything to avoid a real conversation.  

Namjoon could not stop the smile that stretched his face wide. You were happy for him, you really were. Happiness was all you’d ever wanted for him so you’d got your wish. If only you had been more specific. 

“He’s so funny,” Namjoon began. “Kid never sits down for a minute. He’s really into tools at the moment—tries to hammer anything long and thin into anything wide and flat. He’s making a mockery of our deposit.”  

“Can’t believe he’s going to be two soon.” 

“It’s scary how quickly the time goes. It feels like yesterday he was brand new.” 

It felt like yesterday to you, too. How raw you felt, how fresh the wounds you’d moved a thousand miles to lick.  

“I’ve missed you,” he said and you physically wilted.  

“Have you?” 

His face fell, softened. He looked at you for a long time, a tiny crease between his eyebrows, a tiny twitch in his jaw.  

“You know I have.” 

“Do I?” 

“Don’t you?” 

“I don’t know, Namjoon.”  

You looked at each other. You wanted him to say something, to fix this, to do something that would mean you could stop loving him, stop missing him. You wanted him to throw his entire life away and kiss you, then and there, onlookers be damned. You expected he wanted no such thing.  

“Hong Kong is treating you well?”  

“Yes, it is.” 

“Good. I’m glad.” 

You didn’t want him to be glad. You wanted him to be cut to ribbons. You wanted him to feel skin-stripped and naked.  

“I was on my way out,” you said, when no more words passed between you, when you were standing in an endless silence. “I really should go.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, I have to go.”  

“It was good to see you again. Don’t leave it so long next time, yeah?” 

“Yeah, sure.” 

And you stumbled away from him, through and out of the bar, walking as fast as your feet could carry you back to the subway.  

* 

You made it back to your parents’ house, took your make-up off, and brushed your teeth. You made it all the way back to the bed you slept in when you were still a child. Then you cried. Then you curled yourself up in a ball and cursed yourself for this. For being this way. For not letting him go. For somehow still being in love with a man who had never been yours and never would be. For all the things you did two years ago, for how many times you did them, for every opportunity to be the better person you didn’t take.  

It was close to midnight when your phone began to buzz. You stretched yourself across the bed and checked.  

Namjoon. 

You put your phone back down. It continued to buzz. Then it stopped. Then it started again. On and on and on, even when you shoved it under the spare pillow to stop it juddering against the wood.  

It stopped. Two short bursts followed: a message. 

[23:58]  Namjoon: please pick up. I'm outside 

You did not pick up. You exchanged your sleep shorts and vest for a T-shirt and joggers, slipped your feet into slides, and snuck out.  

He was waiting underneath the lamppost three metres away.  

“What are you doing here? Did you get the last train? How are you going to get back?” 

He shrugged. 

“I had to see you.” 

“Why?” 

He almost laughed in his surprise.  

“Why? Because two years ago, you moved a thousand miles away, and you’ve been back here so many times but this is the first time I’ve got to see you. You’ve been avoiding me even from Hong Kong. You were avoiding me all night; every time I tried to talk to y-” 

“We talked.” 

“No, we didn’t. Not really. Not properly.” 

“Well, what do you want to say to me? What’s so important that you came all the way here to tell me?” 

He looked lost, maybe even hurt. You fought the urge to push on his bruises, too. It would only make you feel worse.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.  

“I have missed you.” 

He took a few steps closer to you, within arms’ reach now. He lifted a hand, brushed your cheek with his thumb.  

You took a step back. 

“Namjoon.” 

Plea or warning, you weren’t sure.  

He returned your name, closed the gap between you. Before you could move back again, he held your arms, held you still.  

“I have missed you,” he repeated as if it meant anything. “Of course, I’ve fucking missed you—Jesus, I...”  

He moved closer, cupped your cheek in his hand.  

“You just fucking left,” he whispered. “Just like that. Dropped the bomb and didn’t stick around to observe the wreckage-” 

“Namjoo-” 

“I was a wreck. I think I cried more than Hajoon did! One second you were there, and then you weren’t. You didn’t even warn me. I didn’t know you were looking for jobs in fucking Hong Kong!” 

“So what if I had told you? What would you have done? Would you have stopped me?” 

“Maybe!” 

“Namj-” 

“Maybe I would have stopped you! Or at least I would’ve tried.” 

“For what? To what end? Were you going to leave her? Leave your newborn baby? Drop your own bomb and destroy your whole life? You know you weren’t going to. I knew you weren’t going to.” 

“Bu-” 

“Have you left her, Namjoon? Hayeon? Did you leave her?” 

“No,” he answered and you could taste the reluctance in it, the bitterness, see it in the way he refused to meet your eye. 

“Still together?” 

“Yes.” 

“See? We were never going to make it out alive. For all intents and purposes, we never were. Never were anything at all. We existed and left no mark. Move on.” 

“No mark? No mark? Is that why you’ve all but cut me out of your life? Is that why you had our friends – my friends – lie to me whenever you visited? Because it’s left no mark on you? What we were?” 

“What we were was nothing!” 

You were trying not to shout on this quiet residential street, where houselights were off and traffic noise was no more than the sound of water rushing.  

“You’re not going to leave her, Namjoon. You and I both know it. You’re never going to leave her. That means there is nothing for us. We aren’t an ‘us’. Never were. There’s nothing between us. Understand that.” 

A beat passed. 

“What would you do if I kissed you?”  

His name was on your tongue but before it could make its way out, he did just that. Kissed you as he had done two and a half years ago, without waiting for an answer. And just like that day two years ago, you wished you could have said no, wished you could have done something other than kiss him back, than uncross your arms and wrap them around his neck. Your chest felt as though it would cave in, your heart collapsing in on itself—too heavy, too full, too wounded to sustain itself.  

He tasted a little drunk; you could still smell the beer that you had made him spill on himself earlier that evening; his hair was shorter now, short even, nothing to grab at the nape of his neck like you always used to.  

“See?” he asked, a little breathless, lips still touching yours. “How can you say there is nothing? It’s not nothing. This isn’t nothing.”  

“Namjoon.” 

You hated yourself for the way your voice broke. You pushed him away, extricated yourself from his arms, scrubbed a hand over your face.  

“No,” you said, sounding surer than you felt. “No, god, no, we can’t do this.”  

You shook your arms, paced in a tight circle, tried to blow away all the Namjoon-sized, Namjoon-shaped, Namjoon-scented cobwebs in your heart and mind. 

“Namjoon, in about one minute’s time, you’ll be going back to your girlfriend and your son; in four days’ time, I’ll be going back to Hong Kong. Can’t we just leave it at that? Please.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“There isn’t any other option and you know it. Go home, Namjoon.” 

You turned around and did just that, shutting and locking the door behind you, shutting and locking the door on your heart that housed your love for him, too.  

You didn’t know how you would be able to come back again. This had taken everything you had. 

Namjoon married her. Hayeon. His mother’s taunts had moved from ‘when are you going to make an honest woman of her?’ to ‘when are you going to give Hajoon a little brother or sister?’ so he’d married her just to put it all off, to stop people asking. They’d organised it quickly—there was nothing like a spring wedding in Korea. Cherry blossom everywhere, warmer weather, unlocking as he locked himself down. 

He did it a little to convince himself, too: that they were happy. That he was happy. That they were a perfect family unit, the stuff happily-ever-afters were made of.  

He wasn’t unhappy. He loved his son more than anything in the world and got no greater pleasure than the moments when he would stretch up his tiny arms to be lifted, to wrap them around Namjoon’s neck and cling to him like a koala. The pride he felt when Hajoon learnt something new, when he finally said a word correctly, when Namjoon saw him do something he had no idea he’d learnt already—applying lip balm like his mum, reading a book (albeit upside-down) in his dad’s reading chair.  

Hajoon had started going to nursery. He would begin going full-time next term and everyone kept telling him that it must be great having his time back. Having his freedom back. 

Free? Was that what he was supposed to feel? Free, knowing that his son was in the care of other people, people he didn’t know; free, worrying about whether his son was making friends or being bullied or learning enough; free, sending his baby into the world, watching that world expand around him, watching his baby understand that there was so much more than Mummy, and Daddy, and their little house? Free?  

He’d never felt more trapped.  

He set a timer on instagram on his phone and, every few days, would ignore it a hundred times just so he could look at you. Now you were free. Free to travel (most recently, Malaysia, but also the Philippines, Australia, Fiji, amongst others). Free to love (your boyfriend, Namjoon had suspected from your stories, and then had it confirmed by his friends). Free to be anything but his.  

* 

“Congratulations,” you said, with a smile that looked too big to be insincere. “I’m sorry I missed the wedding. You didn’t really give me much notice, though, so that’s on you.” 

Namjoon tried to return the smile.  

“Yeah, sorry about that. We just kind of decided, wanted to do it quickly, y’know? It was pretty overdue.” 

He watched you carefully, desperately hunting for clues, sure that he used to be able to read you much better than this.  

“Of course. You had perfect weather for it, too. The pictures were beautiful.” 

“Thank you... Your boyfriend seems... nice.” 

He knew that that smile was genuine. He had watched you, with him, in the minutes since you’d arrived at the restaurant and sat down opposite him, and you really did seem happy. He really did seem like a nice guy, which made Namjoon hate him. Made him hate himself a little, too. Because he had locked himself into a loveless marriage. Because he couldn’t have you. Because of everything that he had done to you.  

“Yeah, he is. I’m really happy.” 

“Good.”  

And then Namjoon felt like he needed another drink, though the first courses hadn’t arrived yet.  

* 

He stumbled outside, onto the roof terrace of the obnoxiously lit, trendy bar the group had chosen. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go anywhere but home. He wanted to go back three years ago, more than that now, and make different decisions. So many different decisions. He wondered just when exactly it was that his life had started spinning out of control. It wasn’t you. Wasn’t Hajoon. Wasn’t even Hayeon cheating on him. Did it go all the way back to the accident? The one that he was convinced had tied him forever to Hayeon, had made him family, an exclusive club of one.  

He had loved her. He absolutely had loved her. She was his first love. He knew that they had been happy once. Once. For a long time. He had never confronted Hayeon about her cheating, as she had never confronted him. When she was pregnant, Namjoon assumed that, whatever sort of affair it had been, it was over; she’d never given him any cause to think otherwise, nor any cause to think something new had started in its place. A blip. Maybe that’s what it was.  

It wasn’t over for him, though, was it? It wasn’t a blip for him. It was the sharpness he felt in his chest when he saw you. The low swoop of his stomach when he pictured you, all those miles away, happy without him. It was the way his brain automatically turned on the fantasy of his life with you whenever he stopped, even for a second. What you could be. What you could have. He knew it was a fantasy, but when he saw you, in person, when you were right there in front of him, radiant and fresh and just as beautiful as you had always been, he knew it could be real, too.  

“I’m the search party,” you said in way of greeting, sitting on the stool opposite him. “Jin went to search the toilets, too.” 

“Found me.” 

“Are you ok? Just wanted some air?” 

Namjoon laughed. Air was the least of his concerns.  

“Are you happy?” he asked, demanded.  

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure?” 

He saw you put your guard up, saw the way it fell across your face just as it was starting to look sad, concerned. Saw it turn that face neutral, suspicious. 

“Yes, Namjoon, I’m sure. Are you happy?” 

He tipped his head back and sighed at the sky. 

“No.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” 

He scoffed.  

“Fuck that.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re sorry to hear that? What are we, coworkers? Surely you have more to say than that.” 

He wanted you to be happy that he was miserable. He wanted you to understand. He wanted you to take him in your arms and make him not miserable.  

You bristled beside him, sat a little straighter. 

“What do you want me to say, then?” 

He felt desperate when he looked at you, dead in the eye, your eyes doing their best to keep him out.  

“You want me to tell you to leave her,” you continued. “You want me to say, do it, Namjoon. Leave your wife and be with me. Come and be happy with me... I’m not going to do that. You know I’m not going to do that.” 

“Why not?” 

You laughed. It hurt. 

“There are a hundred and one reasons, Namjoon. First and foremost: you don’t actually want to be with me-”  

You held your hand up, pre-empting his interruption, holding it there until he shut his mouth, until he gave you the slightest nod to say fine, ok, he’d be told off. He’d take his lashings. 

“You never wanted to be with me, Namjoon. Be honest. That first time, when you found out Hayeon had cheated on you and you came to my house? I could have been anyone. It wasn’t about me at all. It’s still not about me. Do you know what that does to a person? 

“I’m not blameless: I let you. Sat myself at your feet and ate the food you dropped. I knew it wasn’t about me and I let you have it anyway but do you not understand what that did to me? How hard it has been to build myself back up? How difficult it was to love you when you were my friend and how much more difficult once you were more than that? How much it hurt me every single day? Reduced me to nothing. No self-respect, no self-esteem, just a gaping wound where my heart should have been because, every time you came, I ripped it out and handed it to you.  

“Why do you think I left? You must know. You knew how I felt about you and you knew you didn’t love me and then I come back here and you try to open it all up again. You knew why I had been avoiding you, so why did you follow me? Why? Why do you sit there, indulging in your misery, and try to drag me down too?  

“I’m not doing it, Namjoon. I've spent too much fucking time getting over you. It’s not fair for you to do this to me.” 

He sat. He took it. With his head down, empty glass in hand, he acknowledged the truth of almost everything you said, felt his shame outgrow his pride, felt tears (that were always too close to the surface these days) burn in his eyes.  

“I love you,” he said, lifting his head to look at you. “I love you.” 

“No, you don’-” 

“I do. You’re right, I’ll admit it: to start with, it wasn’t about you. You couldn’t have been anyone but it wasn’t about you. Until it was. It wasn’t about Hayeon; it wasn’t about anything but you and it’s been you ever since. I loved you then and I love you now.” 

You covered your face with your hands, fingers pressing into your eyes. You shook your head. 

“You can’t say that to me, Namjoon.” 

“Why not?” 

“Becaus-”  

You stopped, tears spilling down your cheeks, lips pressed tight to stop the wobble.  

“Because I’m over you, ok? I have a boyfriend.” 

“And I had a girlfriend. I have a wife.” 

“Exactly! GOD-” 

You stood, started pacing in front of him, hands shaking at your sides. 

“You have a wife, Namjoon! And a son! What are you doing? You can’t say this shit to me, ok? You can’t. I won’t let you; I don’t have to listen to this.” 

His hand had wrapped around your arm before you’d taken your first step. He turned you to face him, held you too tight, held you still. There had to be something he could say that would at least make you stay to talk a bit longer. There had to be some way he could get through to you. That he could convince you he loved you, if nothing else. You turned your head away, closed your eyes, face tight as if anticipating impact. Your hands still shook. 

Namjoon saw your fear and instantly his hands fell back to his side. You tentatively opened one eye, swivelled it to look at him, not asking permission but checking if it was safe. You took a big step back from him. 

“Uh, guys?” 

Both of your heads whipped around: Tian was standing in the doorway, looking a little surprised, like he’d walked in on something he shouldn’t have.  

He had. 

“Um, the group is ready to head to another place; I was sent to round you up. Everything ok?” 

You nodded, turned quickly to swipe the tears from your eyes, and then smiled at your boyfriend, walking with a skip back to him. 

“Of course!” you answered, suddenly perky. “Where to next?” 

Namjoon sent a text to Hayeon. He was going to go home early and relieve the babysitter. He had a headache. 

You had been determined to pretend it had never happened. You took your boyfriend’s arm and smiled at him, rejoined the group, and walked to the next bar, aware of Namjoon’s sudden absence. You didn’t want the entire night ruined because of him. 

Your efforts were in vain. You excused yourself to the toilet once your order had been placed and tried some deep breaths. Tried some grounding techniques. Tried to will your heart to slow, your tears to stop pricking behind your squeezed-shut eyelids.  

It should not have been like this. You had been sure. Confident. Smug, even. Tian was a great boyfriend and you liked him a lot. Loved him, even. You had looked at Namjoon’s wedding photos with a pit in your stomach but then you had gone to dinner with Tian and had a lovely time and reminded yourself that there were people in the world (at least, there was one person) who wanted you around, who was prepared to say it, to live it, to love you out loud in front of everyone. You deserved that, you reminded yourself. You were happy.  

But your heart still raced and your stomach still churned and your heart still called for Namjoon: wanted to check if he was ok, wanted to run to him, wanted to tell him to leave his wife. That was the worst part: you wanted to do all the things you’d said you wouldn’t, all the things he wanted. Instead, you had to go back out to your boyfriend and your friends and pretend you were fine. That you were where you wanted to be. 

* 

Because Tian was a good boyfriend (he was and it hurt you all the more now that you knew you weren’t over Namjoon. Might never be), he picked up on your mood, asked if you would mind going home a little early, because he felt tired.  

“It was Namjoon, right?” he asked, as he shut your hotel room door and slipped off his shoes. 

“What?” 

You sat down heavily, not ready for the rigmarole of getting ready for bed. 

“You said you left Seoul because of a bad relationship.” 

You had said that. Had told Tian that you needed to take things slowly because you weren’t confident you’d glued yourself back together securely enough. So he had taken things slow, really slow, with you, because he was kind and patient and deserving of a far better love than you could give him.  

Your body sagged. You nodded.  

“Are you ok?” 

You held your arms open to him and he pulled you up into a hug. He stroked your hair and rubbed your back. 

“Yeah.” 

Pressed so close to him, you could feel the tension build in his body. 

“I was talking to Hayeon; she said they’ve been together since university.” 

“Yeah.” 

You felt him nod and he said nothing more for a few minutes; he just held you close and you finally found your heart begin to slow, your panic subside. 

“I’m going to wash up,” he whispered, pressing a kiss into your hair.  

You undressed, put pyjamas on, and swore to yourself that this was an end to it. No more. No more Namjoon. It was done. There was a man in the bathroom who accepted you, loved you, didn’t cheat on you (hadn’t cheated on anyone), and you loved him. Namjoon was in the past; Namjoon didn’t even live in the same country as you; this didn’t have to be hard (though making these declarations in his absence felt easy, easier than holding to them in his presence). 

It wasn’t long before you were back in Seoul again. Namjoon found excuses not to see you. He knew the things you said were right. He didn’t want to know it. Didn’t want to face it.  

Had not wanted to face anything difficult in his life for a long time, he realised.  

Then, one day, he checked your instagram and there it was: an engagement post. A diamond ring on your finger. Two smiling faces.  

* 

He carried the heartbreak around as rage, impatience, irritability. Scolded his son for making a mess (as if that weren’t what kids were for), snapped at Hayeon so many times, she snapped back. It wasn’t their fault. It was his. All of it, his. 

* 

“I’ve been thinking,” Hayeon began, sliding into bed next to him. “Hajoon is almost four now-” 

And Namjoon thought it was going to be about school or extra-curriculars or maybe she was just being very efficient about planning for his birthday. The moment she said the words ‘little brother or sister’, he stopped hearing anything at all. A light-headedness rushed through him, roaring in his ears.  

“I want a divorce,” he said, cutting her off mid-sentence. 

* 

And that was how it was. Long talks. Lots of tears. A better understanding of one another than they had had for years. An easing. A settling. No longer the feeling of walking on eggshells. No longer the weariness, the misery, the emptiness of their relationship echoing in their bed.  

They were polite and civil and organised. Agreed the splitting of the assets. Agreed 50-50 shared custody of Hajoon, who didn’t understand and found the transition, when Namjoon first moved out, difficult but adjusted quickly (as children are wont to do) and continued to thrive. There were still legal things to be finalised, a long process made longer by paperwork, but the practical things were achieved quickly and their separate lives began. 

Namjoon, sitting in his new apartment, much smaller than the old one, much neater, quieter, cried. He cried a lot. Some of it was sheer relief. Some of it was terror of something he had never known. Some of it was regret that it had taken him this long. Some of it was heartbreak. Some of it was because he didn’t know what else to do now. Didn’t know if he could fix it. Didn’t know if there was anything left to fix.  

Because it wasn’t about you. Not really. Or not entirely. It was about Namjoon doing what he should have done years ago. It was swallowing a bitter pill to cure his ills. Not just his, but Hayeon’s too, and Hajoon though he was too young to have them yet – preventing his future ills, making it so he didn’t grow up with a fucked-up view of what a relationship was, what it was supposed to be.  

It was better for everyone. It was. After the initial surprise, everyone else agreed, too. His friends finally confessed that they’d wanted to ask him for years, was he happy? Did he want this? When he had got a little too drunk and said things they didn’t know how to take and they had just let them drop, should they have picked him up on them? Had they done badly by Namjoon for not pushing the issue? He wanted to be angry with them. To say, ‘why didn’t you tell me?! Why didn’t you make me leave?!’. But it wasn’t their fault and, if they had said those things, he’d have hurt them, too. So he reassured them; it wasn’t their fault and they couldn’t have fixed anything. It was Namjoon’s problem and he had to be the one to realise it, to do it. That it had taken him so long was his own fault and no one else could have made it happen any quicker. 

“I left Hayeon, did you hear?” 

And you didn’t know what you had done to deserve this. Didn’t know quite how it always ended up you and Namjoon alone. You and Namjoon having this conversation. Namjoon digging up the past, expecting to find life in it, expecting to find what he had convinced himself it was, not what it had actually been.  

“Yeah, I heard.” 

You moved away from him, out of the room, without a backward glance. 

You had heard: a message coming in whilst you flicked through a bridal magazine. You were getting married and you shouldn’t have cared. It should not have opened a crevasse inside your heart. It should not have seen a tiny butterfly of hope flit from that deep wound. It should not, in turn, have made your blood boil. You should not have put the magazine down, hands shaking with rage. You should not have cared. 

You did.  

It made you furious: that he’d finally left her when it was too late; that your reaction to the news was hope. That, after all this time, since the moment you fucking met him, he had this hold on you, this choking grip that would not let go. You’d moved a thousand miles but it stretched across the ocean, eternal, endless. You decided to make your fury endless, too. 

* 

“How are things with you? How’s the wedding planning?” 

“Leave me alone, Namjoon.” 

* 

Your name. You ignored it. 

Your name again. You left the room. 

* 

“Are you just never going to speak to me again, is that it?” 

“No, Namjoon, that’s not it.” 

“Then what?” 

You turned to face him, exasperated, terrified. 

“Then what do you want me to say? I know you and Hayeon are getting divorced. Of course, I know that and you know that I know it, so why ask?” 

His face twitched, in surprise, confusion, irritation. 

“Well, don’t you want to say anything?” 

“No, I don’t. Enjoy your divorce. Goodbye.” 

* 

Then, weeks later, a letter arrived for you. It languished in your postbox for almost a fortnight, because you received post so infrequently that you almost never checked it. Somewhere underneath piles of leaflets and advertising was a handwritten letter addressed to you. You didn’t recognise the handwriting but it didn’t matter because you knew who it would be from. Knew it in your guts.  

You were grateful that Tian was out, that you had time to sit and read it properly.  

You may want to burn this, it began, but please at least read it first. I have a lot to say and I know you won’t let me say it to your face—I may not be brave enough to say it to your face after all this time—so I have written it down. I wrote it once and scrapped it, wrote it a second time and tried to make myself sound resolved and wise and like I knew, at any point, that I knew what I was doing, but I can’t hide from you and you already know all my worst traits, every bad thing I've ever done, so I’m just going to state things plainly and show myself as I am.  

I love you. I’m not sorry for it. I’m sorry for all sorts of things but I won’t apologise for loving you, not now, not ever.  

You were right, when I came to you that first time, it wasn’t about you. It was about Hayeon and my own ego and a destructive need to fuck things up (I’m good at this, as you already know). It was not about you but I need you to believe that it couldn’t have been just anybody. I came to you because I was wounded and hurt and angry and I knew you would ease that pain. I liked you and trusted you; you were my friend.  

I hadn’t known what I was going to do. I didn't have a plan. I don’t think you will believe that, but it’s true. Everything I had, everything I was, as a person, a human, a half of that whole, was tied up with Hayeon; we had been together for so long, even before we were together-together, and I felt as though she had spat in the face of that. She had. She had denigrated and undermined the foundation of our lives—hers, mine, ours. I was angry and I wanted to do something I couldn’t take back. I wanted something that was mine and mine alone. I wanted something that had nothing to do with her (though, of course, unavoidably, it was to do with her, that reaction in me, that impulse). I felt I would never forget the images of her with another man and I wanted something that I could think about, when that image came to me, something that would replace it, would remind me that I had something of my own, too. I had something special with someone special. You.  

So you see it could never have been anyone. I am glad that it was you. Looking back on it, it feels inevitable, that I came to you and that you let me in. I am grateful to you. Despite everything that I have done and you have done, everything we’ve said, I am grateful. Even if you rip up this letter, if you burn it, tear it to shreds and soak it in water, I am grateful to you.  

I have done everything wrong. I see that now. I have done wrong by everyone: me, Hayeon, you, even Hajoon, though he is still so young and understands so little, I hope it doesn’t affect his future. I am sorry for that. Please believe me: I am sorry.  

In my first draft of this letter, here I wrote all the things I wish I had done or said. There were a lot of them. I won’t do that in this one, though, because it doesn’t matter now, does it? I can’t take any of it back. I can’t make better choices in the past. I can only make better choices for the future.  

So I separated from Hayeon, a thing I should have done many, many years ago. We are both much happier now. She has a boyfriend, I don’t know if you know. He is a good man and he is kind to Hajoon and I thought I would be jealous, would be inclined to find fault where there was none, but I haven’t. Hayeon and I get on better now than ever. Co-parenting is sometimes hard and often complicated, but we are better parents because of it. We are able to be better people because of it. And Hajoon gets to see his parents happier than they were; Hayeon and Minho can show him what a happy relationship is like.  

I know you are happy. I am as happy for you as I can be, though I am also sad and lonely and I miss you more than I have any right to. I know and I accept that I have done so many things wrong and I have hurt you, not just once but repeatedly, and I am sorry for that. Truly, deeply, eternally sorry. I love you. I will always be here for you if you ever need anything, even from a thousand miles away.  

Now this letter is in your hands, to be dealt with however you wish. So am I. 

Yours always,  

Namjoon. 

It took you a long time to read. Because you hesitated over reading it, unsure if you really wanted to know what he had to say. Because your eyes were blurry with tears. Because there were never enough nails in this coffin. Namjoon, wherever he was, whatever he did, you loved him. Had never stopped, not for a second since you started. Since you met. Since your heart fell at his feet. You’d done everything you could to fight it, to hide from it, to kill it. It would not be suppressed. 

* 

Namjoon never received a reply from you. What would you have said? What could you have said? There was nothing in the letter you hadn’t really already known. He knew everything you could say, too. So you hid the letter in a diary and tried to forget its existence. 

Minho had proposed to Hayeon. She had said yes. They were planning a wedding—a proper one this time, a big event with everyone they knew in attendance, not the tiny, family-only, rushed job that she’d had with Namjoon. Namjoon tried, in his worse moments, not to be happy for them, but there was no denying that they were a beautiful couple and Minho was great with Hajoon (as were his parents, who didn’t seem to care that their son was marrying a divorcée with a kid). In the absence of a father, Hayeon had asked Namjoon if he would walk her down the aisle; he had been unexpectedly touched and was genuinely looking forward to it. He loved her, in a sweeter and deeper way than he had before, and he was so glad that, whatever he might have done wrong, she had this happiness now.  

You had been invited. You had RSVP’d yes. That had surprised Namjoon because, according to everyone else, you had fallen off the grid. Responding to messages vaguely and intermittently, socials all dead. Despite the fact that you were supposed to be planning your own wedding. He tried not to worry. Tried and failed. Tried and failed, too, not to be anxious about seeing you again.  

Would you be happy? Would you want to speak to him? Would you still be angry? Would you ignore him and walk away as you had done before? How had his letter been received? He still didn’t know. As far as you were concerned, it seemed, Namjoon did not exist, but you wouldn’t be able to avoid him at the wedding.  

* 

 “Look at you,” Namjoon cooed, beaming at Hayeon, in her dress and veil, clutching her flowers tightly.  

“Do I look alright?” 

“You look beautiful.”  

“I’m really nervous, is that weird?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“I don’t remember being nervous when we did this.” 

Namjoon laughed. 

“We didn’t exactly do this. A quick trip to the district office isn’t really a wedding.” 

Hayeon smiled but didn’t laugh. 

“It felt like a wedding at the time, though. I liked it.” 

Namjoon nodded, knowing that he couldn’t lie and that she would see through it if he did. 

“I’m really happy for you,” he said instead. “Minho is a good guy and I’m glad you found him.” 

Her eyes sparkled with tears she tried to blink back, tipping her head as if to tip them back inside. 

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice watery, too. “We’ve been through a lot and I’m so grateful to you for everything, especially Hajoon, and divorcing me, and being friendly to Minho. You know I could never have said yes to him if I didn’t know you would be supportive. You’re still my family and I love you.” 

They hugged, careful not to smudge make-up, not to step on her dress. 

“I love you, too,” Namjoon said, a lump forming in his own throat, grateful that something good had come from all his mistakes, that they hadn’t ruined her the way they had him. “Ok, shall we do this?” 

* 

He looked for you as he walked down the aisle. Waved back at Hajoon waving from the front row, but scanned the crowd for you. Couldn’t pick you out on the short walk to the altar. Tried not to be obviously distracted as he stood at the front, next to Hayeon, handed her off to Minho, who looked as handsome and happy as he ever had.  

He spotted you, towards the back, eyes determinedly forward while everyone else let their gazes roam: Hayeon, Minho, the flowers, the other guests, the gardens outside. His heart squeezed. It was a wedding, for fuck’s sake. If he didn’t take this opportunity, on this of all days, he would be a bigger idiot than he thought. 

* 

You weren’t easy to catch, though. He knew you were doing it deliberately. Maybe that should have stopped him. It didn’t. 

It was long into the night, booze flowing, disco dancing, when he finally caught you, waiting for the bathroom.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting through the niceties, which would only have given you a greater opportunity to tell him to go fuck himself. 

“No. I have to pee.” 

“Ok, you can use the bathroom in my room.” 

You scoffed. 

“Nice line.” 

“It’s not a line. I want to talk to you.” 

“No.” 

And you stalked off, apparently no longer in need of a bathroom. 

* 

He caught you again, outside this time, leaning against the wall, looking up at the sky.  

“Wondering when is an acceptable time to leave?” he asked, not sure if he was joking or being kind of a dick. 

“Oh, I’m long past that, no worries. Not that anyone would have missed me even if I’d left early.” 

“I’d miss you.” 

“Don’t start.” 

Namjoon moved closer, touched your arm with just his fingertips. Spoke softly, tried not to sound as desperate as he felt. 

“Please can we talk?” 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Then you said yes. Well- 

“Ok, you talk,” is what you said. “What is it you have to say to me, Namjoon? Got some magic words that’ll fix my life? Because that’s pretty much all I want to hear. If you’ve got some other shit to say, I’m not sure I’m interested.”  

“How’s Tian?”  

He thought he was treading lightly on safe territory but you whipped your head around to face him with rage in your eyes. 

“Are you fucking joking?”  

Your voice was strained with anger.  

“What?” 

“Fuck off, Namjoon!” you shouted. “Just fuck off!! Forever!!! Ok? Fucking leave me alone!!” 

But he wouldn’t. Should have. Might have on a different day, if he were completely sober, if he were a different person. 

“No.” 

And you looked angrier still.  

“You can shout at me if you want,” he continued. “And kick and scream and whatever, but you can’t just avoid me and ignore me for the rest of time. Even if you live in Hong Kong, you have family and friends here and we’re going to fucking work this shit out. Ok?” 

He couldn’t read the look on your face, then, but you weren’t arguing or walking away, so he took you by the hand and waited for you to pull it back. When you didn’t, he wasted no more time and led you back inside, up the stairs to his hotel room, where you could kick and scream to your heart’s delight and it wouldn’t ruin the party.  

When he shut the door and turned to you, your face had settled into something mean. 

“You know I don’t live in Hong Kong anymore, right?” 

No, he did not know.  

“Uh, no.” 

“You know whose fault that is?” 

He felt like it was probably his, though he wasn’t sure why. 

“No.” 

“Of course you don’t! Because it couldn’t possibly be your fault, could it? Couldn't possibly have anything to do with you! Because nothing is your fault! You’re just a fucking bleeding heart, aren’t you, Namjoon?” 

He didn’t really know, now, what he had been expecting. Could see that maybe his hopes had clouded his judgement. He had told you you could kick and scream but he hadn’t realised that you really were going to. You weren’t usually this angry and he had no idea what you meant: not living in Hong Kong? Then where? Seoul? And he didn’t know, hadn’t known; no one had told him? 

“That’s not what I think at all,” he answered, voice calm, trying not to respond in kind, not to let the strength of his own feelings escalate this. “Lots of it is my fault but I didn’t even know you had moved back here—when? When did that happen?” 

“As if you fucking care!” 

“Of course I care! I love yo-” 

“DON’T!” 

With a finger raised against him, shaking lightly. 

“Don’t you fucking dare with that shit, ok? Stop fucking lying to m-” 

“It’s not a lie! Why would I lie?” 

“Because you can’t love me! Don’t you get it? We were nothing! Nothing! A fucking distraction for you and nothing m-” 

“Now you don’t.”  

Namjoon could feel his blood heat, feel the anger rising in him. He didn’t want to be angry with you; he didn’t want to have this argument but how could you still be saying this? Still be saying that what you had with him was nothing? It wasn’t nothing to him and he knew it wasn’t nothing to you.  

“Who’s the one lying now?” he asked. “You know it’s not nothing. If it were nothing, you wouldn’t be here spitting fucking feathers at me! Tell me: why are you back?” 

“Why do you think?! Because I fucked it, Namjoon! Because of you! Because it’s always fucking you! Jesus Christ, I moved a thousand miles away and it’s still you! Still you that I let fuck up my entire life over and over again like some insane moron! And you stand there, have the fucking gall to ask me why? How? What happened? You happened, Namjoon! You fucking existed and we met and then it was all fucked!”  

“Sorry.” 

You wiped your eyes, forgetting about your make-up, smudging it, smearing it—remembering too late to be delicate, swiping a finger carefully beneath your lashes.  

“I really fucking hate you sometimes.” 

“Yeah, I hate myself sometimes, too.”  

“I don’t want that.” 

“I don’t know what you want.” 

You didn’t answer that. Namjoon didn’t expect you to, not really.  

“Can I talk?” he asked.  

You shrugged, staring into the floor as if it might serve answers. 

“Ok, well, I’m sorry you’re back, I guess.” 

You scoffed, no heat in it. 

“Ok, maybe I’m not that sorry, I don’t know. I’m sorry you’re miserable; I'm sorry you hate me. I’m sorry that Hong Kong didn’t work out. Did... Is Tian with you here?” 

“What do you fucking think?” 

“Ok, well, sorry for that, too, I guess. Or not sorry, not really, because we’re both here now, aren’t we?” 

“Don’t, Namjoon-” 

“Don’t what?” 

“Don’t suggest we get ‘back together’. We’ve never been together. There isn’t anything for us to go back to.” 

“I don’t know why you keep saying this! Why are you trying to deny what we had?” 

“NAMJOON!”  

Angry again, arms raised, a resurgence of energy.  

“For fuck’s sake, STOP!” you continued. “We had a-, god, I don’t know, an affair? We didn’t have a relationship. Did we date, Namjoon? Did we tell our friends? Do they even know now?!” 

It hadn’t really occurred to Namjoon to ask. At the beginning, he had assumed they did not know because that is what he wanted to believe. Now, he assumed they knew—surely they did? Could they not have known? They were always a little skittish when it came to you; were they the same when they talked to you about him? They had to know. How could this thing, which had dominated more than five years of his life, have passed them by unnoticed?  

“So we weren’t anything,” you continued. “It was all a mistake. A mistake that I’ve somehow let ruin everything. I think I'm worse off than I was when I left for Hong Kong in the first place.” 

You looked up at him. 

“Do you ever wish you never met me?” 

“No, never.” 

“Oh.” 

Namjoon chose to assume that those words were just anger, not a reflection of what you really felt.  

“I’m not sorry we met. I can’t be. Even if I’m sorry that you’re miserable, that I’ve caused you pain, that I’ve fucked so many things up for you. I'm sorry for those things but I’m not sorry we met, I’m not sorry I love you.” 

“Stop it, Namjoon. You don’t love me and I’m going to tell you why.” 

You steered him into a chair, sat him down, sighed heavily. You sagged, all your energy wiped in an instant. You looked tired. Looked older than the bright, young thing you had been when all this started—which of course you were. You both were. Older but not necessarily wiser, Namjoon thought. 

“Before any of this started, I was in love with you. We all know that, right? I loved you and couldn’t have you and that was fine. Not fine but it’s how it was. Then you caught Hayeon cheating and you needed to do something destructive, isn’t that what you said? Something you couldn’t take back. Me. And then it kept happening because, despite appearances, you and Hayeon weren’t meant to be but you were too much of a fucking coward to ever leave her and then she got pregnant and there was no way you would leave your kid. So you trapped yourself in a relationship you hadn’t wanted for a long time and I became your escape. 

“You can say it was about me or it became about me or whatever else you want to but that’s not true. It was about me being not-Hayeon. It was about you having something that she didn’t know about and couldn’t touch. Having something that was just yours. Something that made you feel like less of a trapped fucking loser.  

“Then I, for once, did the right thing and I left and you had all the time in the world to idealise and fantasise about what we had and what we could have had if only everything were different. And it took you so long to leave Hayeon that now, when you could have been dating and looking for someone who would make you happy, all you have to cling to is me. Memories and fantasies of me. Because you’re still a fucking coward, Namjoon. You don’t want to meet someone else because it’s horrible and scary. You want me to say yes so you can welcome me into this fantasy life you’ve created for us. Except that it doesn’t exist. I’m not a fantasy! None of this is! It’s not real! You don’t love me; you love the idea of me that you’ve concocted! You love the dream life that you have spent years perfecting! 

“But that’s not real! That’s why I keep telling you we’re nothing! Because we are! Dreams are nothing, fantasy is nothing, we are nothing!” 

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?” 

“NAMJOON! FUCK!” 

“Answer the question.” 

You might have been right, at least partly, but you were also partly wrong. You appeared to have forgotten that, before anything sexual happened between the two of you, you were friends. Good friends. You enjoyed each other’s company, made each other laugh, lent a shoulder or a helping hand when needed. Maybe Namjoon had spent a little too much time thinking about you but he would never, ever accept that you were nothing.  

Death by a thousand cuts. You felt shredded. Slashed to ribbons. Somehow still so raw after all this time: wounds where there should have been scar tissue, rough and ugly but stronger than it was. It beggared belief that you could still feel like this. That you managed to fall in love with another man, that you agreed to marry him, and then still let it all be ruined by the thought, the possibility, the memory of Namjoon.  

It hurt that he kept insisting you were something more than a fling. Because if it were true, why didn’t he leave her? Why did he stay? For all that time? Why did he let you go? If he cared so much now, why not then? Why was it not worth the leap, the fear, the risk? Why were you not worth it?  

Now it was easy. He was single and he knew you. Too well. Knew that, even after all this time, there was space in your heart for him. You hated it. You loved him. You knew if he kissed you, there would be no pushing him away. You had put a thousand miles and five years between you and it hadn’t worked.  

You took a deep breath, attempted to steel yourself for the thousandth time, feeling wrung out, brittle and fragile. 

“You don’t get to ask me that, Namjoon. You don’t get to kiss me. Not anymore.” 

He ducked his head—you weren’t sure if it was a nod—and then he looked at you, thoughtful, for a moment. 

“Ok. I understand.” 

He stood and when he took your hands in his, you didn’t have the heart to snatch them back. His hands were warm—always were—and having let him hold them, you had to fight the urge to squeeze. 

“I love you and you don’t believe that. I get it. If you’re back now, back in Seoul for good, I would like the opportunity to prove to you that I do love you and that there is something worth having here. Can I do that?”  

* 

You stood in your hotel room, trying to breathe deeply, trying not to lose it. Because what had you come back for, if not this? Namjoon at your feet. If you were being honest with yourself, wasn’t that why? Why you called off your wedding, left your fiancé, left the country, and came running back? Because Namjoon was single now and telling you he loved you and wasn’t that what you had always wanted to hear?  

When he was in front of you, right there in your presence, you couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand him being there, not being yours, not being so close to you you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t stand that you couldn’t stand it. Felt every fibre of your being tight and twisted with the effort of refusal.  

When he wasn’t in front of you, his absence clung like cobwebs. Sticky, piling up immediately after you’ve brushed them away. When it was just you and your broken heart and your confusion and your hurt, you wanted him. As much as you ever had. But you couldn’t let him.  

You took off your make-up and stood under the shower, letting the water wash over you, trying to let it relax you, but your brain wouldn’t stop. Your brain wouldn’t stop asking questions and your heart wouldn’t stop telling you to just let him. To go back to him.  

You wondered if coming back was a mistake. If you should have just married Tian and stayed in Hong Kong. If you should have broken up with Tian anyway but stayed in Hong Kong. Because if you had stayed, you wouldn’t be here. If you hadn’t come back- 

Who were you kidding? If you hadn’t come back, you would still have been wrestling with this. It wasn’t over. Hadn’t been over. You ran away to avoid a messy ending but it also meant you avoided a conclusion. Closure.  

What if you didn’t want closure?  

As you stepped into your pyjamas and drew back the bed covers, you asked yourself: if you have come back for Namjoon, why are you pushing him away? If It's not over, why can’t you let it be something? 

You were asking yourself why he wasn’t willing to take a risk, to have taken it so long ago, but there you were, not taking the risk for him. Was he worth it or was he not? If he was worth leaving your fiancé for, was he not worth the risk now? Worth breaking down the walls you’d carefully constructed around his place in your heart? 

And maybe you were tired. Maybe it was watching his ex-wife marry the man she loved—a thing you hadn’t been able to do. Maybe it was foolishness or maybe it was you finally doing the right thing.  

You slipped your feet into slippers and padded back to Namjoon’s room. You knocked. Waited. Knocked again. Were sure he wasn’t going to answer, were turning away from the door, when it opened.  

He looked like he had been sleeping, eyes small and squinting in the light, door only half-opened, half-hiding his almost nakedness. He looked surprised and then confused.  

You didn’t let yourself stop to speak, to explain yourself. You pushed gently against the door so he would stand back, so you could reach out and take his face in your hands, so you could lean up onto your tiptoes and kiss him.  

He didn’t resist, didn’t pull back, didn’t stop to ask the questions you were sure he wanted to. He wrapped his arms around you, pulled you closer, let the door close as he walked you both carefully into the room.  

It reminded you of the beginning of the end. When he had come to you and said nothing but kissed you deeply and slowly and fucked you like there was no one else, could never be anyone else. Fucked you like he had never fucked you before and then told you that Hayeon was pregnant.  

This felt like that. Slow and full and heavy with the weight of things unspoken, years of unexpressed pain, joy, love, pleasure. It felt like a dream, like a memory hazy with age, like a veil drawn between you and reality, because that was all it had been for so long: remembered, dreamt, imagined. Now real, now warm, flushed in your hands, soft beneath them. Now everything you had wanted and tried not to want, yours for the taking.  

* 

When it was over, when you lay in his arms, when you felt his breath shift, about to speak, you tensed. 

“Don’t,” you asked quietly. “Please don’t say anything.” 

A pause. 

“Ok.” 

He kissed your head and you felt it anyway: everything he wanted to say. I love you and what does this mean and are you ok and what happens now. You didn’t have any answers for him, didn’t want the questions asked. You just wanted to stay there, warm and sticky and sleepy and with him. Safe, in the dawn hours, from the world, from the daylight, from the morning after.  

* 

You woke to the sound of knocking at the door. For a second, disorientated, then immediately overfull. Namjoon slipped out of bed and tied a hotel robe around himself.  

“Daddy!” 

“Joonie!” 

His son. 

A gasp you tried to hide beneath the covers. Heat in your face: fury, embarrassment, shame. You’d never wanted kids; had always taken the relevant precautions to avoid it. Until last night. Over-tired, over-wrought, whatever the excuse, you cringed silently to yourself, trying to feel disbelief that you would be so careless. Trying because, well, it was Namjoon and when did you ever do the right thing, the sensible thing when it came to him?  

Not ever. 

You listened to their conversation, grateful that Namjoon was keeping him at the door, with a growing sense of panic. There was still time, but the sooner the better, which meant you had to get out, get home, get to a women’s clinic. Your head was swimming, heart hammering. The second you heard the door close, you jumped out of bed, gathering your clothes, hastily putting them on, tripping over your pyjama trousers, crashing into Namjoon. 

“Whoa- hey, what’s going on?” 

“I have to go. I have to go.” 

And you left with no more explanation, running to your own hotel room, throwing everything haphazardly into a bag, throwing your key card at the reception desk on your way out.  

* 

You considered, for a second, if pregnancy might not have been the easier option. You lay on your floor, breathing carefully, eyes closed, trying desperately not to hurl. It had been more than a couple of hours since you’d taken the requisite pill, so you could be sick reasonably safely, but you weren’t sure you’d make it to the bathroom in time. The cramps were unlike any you’d experienced before. Breathing was about all you could manage.  

You had told Namjoon, as you sat anxiously on the subway, that you would explain later. You had left him on read when he asked if he could come over. You didn’t have the headspace to think about the conversation that would ensue if he did. Could only think about the possibility of pregnancy; swore you could feel it already happening inside you; could not stop the horrifying fantasy of what it would mean if you were pregnant, if you had to carry a baby, raise a child.  

There were worse people to do it with than Namjoon, but you didn’t want to do it with anyone. Ever. So now you were useless on the floor, sicker than a dog, listening to the insistent buzz of your phone on the coffee table. You knew it would be him, weren’t deliberately ignoring him, just couldn’t move enough to pick up.  

* 

Still prone, still cramping, slightly less nauseous than you were, you stretched to grab your phone that had buzzed itself to the edge of the table. You called Namjoon. 

“What the fuck, dude?”  

You probably deserved worse than that. 

“I’m literally on my way to your apartment right now. Jimin gave me your new address. Are you even going to let me in?” 

You took a careful breath, focused hard on speaking, slowly and evenly. 

“I’m not... deliberately ignoring you... I just haven’t... been able to get to... my phone, ok?” 

“Are you ok?” 

“No.” 

“Shit. Uh-” 

“It’s fine... I’ll text you... so you can let... yourself in.” 

“Do you want me to bring you anything?” 

“No, thanks.” 

“Ok, I’ll be over as quickly as I can.” 

“Ok.” 

* 

Namjoon’s footsteps across your apartment were heavy and loud but his arms were strong and he lifted you onto the sofa, pressed a hand against your forehead. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m stupid.” 

“Ok, sure, but what’s going on? Why did you bolt? Are you dying?” 

“All good questions.”  

You wanted to answer, to explain, but you were too distracted by trying to ignore the pain—the cramps, the headache, the nausea that was returning again as your stomach started to hunger.  

“Sorry... I just... It’s bad.” 

“What’s bad?” 

You gestured to the coffee table, where you had left the box and its prescription.  

“Oh.” 

You had closed your eyes, couldn’t see Namjoon’s reaction, see what he was expecting from you.  

“So you’re not... And we didn’t... Right.” 

“Sorry... I just... I just forgot... I wasn’-” 

“Yeah, no, it's fine. It’s not like I brought it up either. Guess we both should’ve been a little more careful.” 

You heard him sit in the armchair perpendicular to yours. 

“Didn’t help being woken by Hajoon either.” 

“Actually, that was what made me realise.” 

He laughed. 

“I can’t have another kid by accident. People will start thinking I’m some kind of stupid.” 

“Start?” 

You heard the quiet snort of breath, saw in your mind his rolled eyes. 

“That’s why you ran out though? No other reason?” 

“As soon as I realised... I couldn’t think of anything else... I panicked. I'm sorry.” 

Namjoon didn’t respond and you were happy not to talk, grateful that he wasn’t forcing a difficult conversation on you.  

After a minute or two, you heard him stand, start opening cupboards, moving about your apartment. 

“What are you doing?” you called as loudly as you could manage. 

“One sec.” 

He moved around. He boiled the kettle. He gently lifted your t-shirt and lay a hot water bottle across your abdomen. You sighed. 

“Oh, that’s nice... How did you know?” 

“You know I was married.” 

“Oh shit, really? ... Had no idea.” 

“I suppose now isn’t a good time to talk.” 

You shook your head.  

“Do you want me to go?” 

You shook your head. 

You wanted a lot of things. Were surer now than you had been before that you couldn’t have them.  

Because if there’s one thing a potential pregnancy scare can do for you, it’s making it really clear to you whether or not you want kids. You hadn’t had any doubt about that before now, but you had forgotten to account for Hajoon. The light of Namjoon’s life. His child. His and Hayeon’s son and now Minho’s step-son. You didn’t want to be a step-mother, not a mother of any kind. Didn’t want to worry about the school run, moving to the catchment area of a better school, the germs and illnesses kids brought with them, the homework, the patience required, the eternity of it, the endlessness, the life that will never again be just yours. 

You knew Namjoon wanted kids. Not one kid. Kids. Wanted Hajoon to have siblings. Wanted to be a dad more than just once. Wanted a great, big brood of them.  

You knew, too, that he knew you didn’t want that. Any of it. You didn’t know if he had accounted for that. If all his fantasies had included babies anyway. If he thought you would change your mind. You knew you wouldn’t, not even for him.  

* 

Namjoon stayed for the remainder of the afternoon. He made you rice porridge (the Namjoon you had known wouldn't have even known where to start). He refreshed your hot water bottle. He rubbed your back. He sounded sad when he said he had to go. 

“I have to go and get Hajoon from Hayeon’s parents. They’ve had him since yesterday and it’s getting late for his dinner.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

Namjoon wished he had said more. Maybe you couldn’t have talked but maybe you could have listened. He had thought long and hard about what he’d say, though most of it flew out the window once he realised why you’d left in such a rush. He was surprised you’d taken the risk; frustrated with himself for not having checked, for being reckless. He’d done that before and it had cost him you last time, too.  

He knew you didn’t want kids—and it wasn’t exactly how he’d have chosen to have another one, either—but he was surprised by the strength of his hope, impossible as it was, and of his disappointment. He thought about Hajoon, the single greatest joy in his life. You would be an amazing mother to him, to any child, if you wanted to be.  

You didn’t want to be. 

As he sat in your apartment, watching you rest, watching the sickly pallor of your face be replaced by its usual glow, he thought about the future and everything you said last night. About his fantasising, about how unreal it all was.  

He was so sure. Had been so sure. About all of it. You. Him. How right you would be, were. How easy it would be. How happy you would be. Now it felt like a house of cards. He didn’t want to ask, anymore. Didn’t want to hear you say that his son was the reason you couldn’t go through with this. Didn’t want to feel the twinge in his chest that said he wouldn’t choose—as if choice would even come into it. Between his son and anyone else, there was no choice. Hajoon always.  

Maybe you were right, because in his fantasies, he would never have to choose. In his fantasies, sure, you didn’t want more kids, but you loved the one he had already. Hajoon with four loving parents. Overflowing with love.  

He thought about you doing it reluctantly. Saying yeah ok, we’ll be together, I guess I can be a step-mum, if I have to. If you have to. If you have to. It made him sadder than he had words to express. 

* 

It was days before he found the courage to contact you. He noticed that you hadn’t contacted him either but he was grateful for it, because he wouldn’t have been ready to have this conversation. He wasn’t sure that he was ready, but it had to happen. Sooner or later. Might as well be now. Before anything else could be said. Before he saw you again and faltered, his weakness overpowering his strength. 

“Hi,” he greeted you simply, opening the door to let you in. 

“Hi.” 

It was awkward, though much less strained than it had been in years past.  

He offered you a seat and you took it. He took the one next to you. Neither of you started. You looked at each other. Namjoon took the time to study your face, as if it were the last time he’d see it: the slope of your nose; the swell of your lips; the tiny mole underneath your right eye; the slight dampness at your hairline because Korea was as hot and humid as it had ever been; your eyes, looking sorry, looking sad. Eyes that had been so often angry with him, sad, frustrated, guarded, now open and soft and sparkling.  

He loved you. As much as he ever had. Maybe more now because it was ending, because all of his dreaming couldn’t save it. Because it had taken this long; he had thought you were inevitable, but he could see now that this was. That heartbreak was. That it had taken him so long to get his shit together that he hadn’t seen this coming. He had spent all his time pretending to be happy in a relationship that wasn’t, then wishing for you, waiting for you. He had spent no time preparing for this. Preparing for the possibility that there would be no you. That this could end in a way that wasn’t the two of you together, forever.  

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. The things that needed to be said. But you weren’t saying them either. He swallowed, fidgeted, preparing to say something, though he didn’t know what. 

“We both know, right?” you asked, voice quiet.  

You didn’t need an answer. You knew. He knew. The world knew. 

“It’s Hajoon, isn’t it?” he asked. 

You physically recoiled, eyebrows drawing close. 

“Namjoon... It’s not... Don’t put it like that. It’s not Hajoon; Hajoon is great, cute, wonderful. It’s all kids. It’s that you want lots of them and I want none.” 

“I don’t have to have lots-” 

“Namjoon, you want lots. Aren’t we past denying ourselves what we want?” 

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”  

“Not in the long-run. Look at what happened with you and Hayeon. You denied that you wanted out and look how long it took for you both to be happ-” 

“I’m not happy. I’m not happy right now. This isn’t what I want.” 

“You know what I mean.” 

He ran his hands through his hair, swore through gritted teeth. When he looked back at you, your eyes reflected the tears in his. 

“But I love you.” 

You nodded, looked down. 

“I love you, too.”  

It was the first time you’d said it. Namjoon wished he could have been happy to hear it. Not heartbroken.  

“And there’s no way-” 

“You know there isn’t.” 

You laughed to stop yourself from crying, because he knew you and he knew that was what it was.  

“Just think if we’d actually stopped to fucking think about this at any point in the last five years, we’d have saved ourselves this mess!” 

Namjoon couldn’t laugh, couldn’t raise a smile.  

“I don’t... I don’t want this to be over.” 

“Well, it barely started so-” 

“You think that makes this easier? Is it easy for you?” 

You scoffed, your breath hitching. 

“Does it look like it’s easy for me, Namjoon? I’ve actually been in this a lot longer than you have, don’t you forget.” 

As if he could. As if he had ever forgotten that there were years of friendship behind you, friendship that could have been more. If only he had seen. If only he had had the guts to end things with Hayeon before he did. Before any of this.  

Though it wouldn’t have changed this ending, would it? At some point, you’d have ended up here. Inevitable, the word resounded in his head and he hated it. Hated that it was true. Hated that he could roll the die a thousand times and it would never show your number. That he could shake this magic eight ball a thousand ways from Sunday and it would never show ‘yes’. 

You had been so close. He couldn’t decide if he was grateful or not, that you had one last night. That he had fresh memories stinging in the fresh wounds of his heart. Was he grateful that it had come to this: you, giving in; you, letting him in; you, loving him, letting him love you, only for it to fall to pieces? Would he have rather you kept pushing him away, acting as if you didn’t love him, as if he couldn’t love you? Would that have been easier? Would he always have wondered? Would he have let it ruin the next ten years of his life?  

“We can’t-” you said, wiping tears from your cheeks, blinking hard. “We’re toast.”  

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it’s easy. Not sure I’m that bothered.”  

And he hated himself for the sarcasm but he couldn’t bring himself to be sincere. Sincere was the tears on his water line, the embarrassing break in his voice.  

“Namjoon.” 

You stood, arms wide, welcoming. Like you hadn’t done for so many years. He went to you, wrapped you up, held you close, for the last time—it would be the last time like this he knew. He hiccupped, breath trapped in his throat. He tried to breathe you in, remember every tiny detail: the exact shade of every strand of hair, the notes of your perfume, the exact weight of your body against his, the slight tug of the hair at the back of his neck; he swore to himself that he would commit this to memory, never forget it. 

You drew back and took his face in your hands, rested your forehead against his nose, kissed him. One last time. If he could have frozen the moment, trapped it in amber, kept you just like this: sweet and soft and warm and his.  

The beep of Namjoon’s door lock sounded, followed by the whir of unlocking. 

“Dad!” Hajoon cried, thumping his bag down, throwing off his shoes.  

He was supposed to be at a sleepover, out for the night. 

“Changho got sick so I had to come home!” 

You sprang apart, both wiping tears, sniffling, trying to look presentable. 

“He got sick?” Namjoon asked, voice thick. 

“Yeah! His dad made me come home.” 

“Oh, that’s too bad, buddy.” 

Namjoon knelt towards his son, picked him up and placed him on his knee. He saw you turn away, collect yourself. Saw you, as Hajoon recounted the glorious story of what happened when a kid ate too many sweets and then went too fast on the roundabout, gesture towards the door, move towards it without a word. He heard the lock let you out, then lock you out. Could do nothing to stop you with his son on his knee.  

[thecuriousbeauty]

Traitor- The Present

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Synopsis:y/n is a hard working painter, trying to make the ends meet. She lives with and takes care of her sick Uncle, the only one she has for a family. She has dreams to make it big, and when the desperation for money strikes, she has to make a choice. Walk away after listening to an incredible deal that would fix all her problems, or take up the deal. A top secret, risky deal, which involves meeting Harry Styles.A man once rumored to be a dangerous secret weapon of a leading mafia. artist!y/n x mafia!harry (he's also a doctor)

Word Count: 5,134

Warnings: Mentions of violence. Smut, fingering, slight spanking, dirty talk, possessiveness.

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"It's been two weeks, y/n. You have two more weeks. I suggest you start doing your job instead of roaming around with him all day.", Romania's voice makes y/n flinch. She was back in the building, sitting in front of Romania. Hans and Oliver were standing beside her like last time.

"I'm gaining his trust. You would know if you have real friends. Even if he remembers, he's only going to tell me if he trusts me enough! And for that, I need time! You can't keep a deadline for things like that.", y/n scoffs out a laugh.

"We give the orders here, Miss y/l/n.", Hans says smoothly, lips curving into a smile. "You agreed to work for us, and you have our money."

"Don't lose hope in yourself, y/n.", Romania says more calmly. "You have made more progress than any of us have. He talks to you, he acts like a human around you. And you have already given us important information about what he remembers and doesn't. That is great."

y/n fiddles with her hands. "I have an idea. I'll tell you that in the fourth week. This week, I want you to really try, okay? Whatever you need to do for that.", Romania tells her and she nods. "You said you'd kill him if he didn't remember. He has two weeks to live if I can't do it?"

"You got that right.", Romania nods with a sigh. "None of us want that, y/n. But it is necessary for our business, and for Harry's safety. He can easily defend himself if he remembers who he was, but if he doesn't, only a matter of time before someone nabs him and makes him suffer for everything he did."

"What did he do?", y/n asks curiously. She knew she was not supposed to ask, but she did anyway. "What did Harry do that people want to make him suffer? It wasn't just gold smuggling, was it?"

"Wouldn't you like to know.", Hans drawls, chuckling as he drank from his big cup. "That's none of your business, y/n. The less you know, the better."

y/n didn't believe them. Harry wouldn't hurt a fly. She looks up at Oliver. The man of less words. He looked at her with his stoic expression, his caramel brown eyes looking at hers as Hans and Romania conversed with her. 

"You would kill your best friend?", she asks him.

Oliver's stone cold expression changed for just a second, into something like sympathy, before it returned to how it was. "If my best friend isn't in there anymore, he's already dead.", Oliver answers. She always got a chill when he spoke. He gave her a final look before walking away, into another room. 

"There he goes, you made Olie angry. Lucky your limbs are still intact.", Hans says, making Romania glare at her. "No one here will hurt you, y/n. He's just joking. Hans thinks he's funny."

"Huh." y/n didn't think they would hurt her, but at this point, she was just confused. She didn't feel safe anywhere anymore. 

"I need more information. Tell me something about him at least. His relationship with Reagen? Something about her?"

Romania leans back on her couch. "They were in love. Love like you've never seen before. Harry would do anything and everything for her."

"Something more personal."

y/n felt something inside of her that made her twist. Was it jealousy? 

"During a mission, Harry ended up being locked in a warehouse and the enemies put it on fire. Reagen killed all of them, before running straight into the fire. We warned her not to go inside. That she could die. But she didn't care. She found Harry, and rescued him before he could die. Reagen wasn't afraid of anything. She didn't have anyone. Harry was her world. They had plans of stopping all this and moving to somewhere remote, away from this. Where they could be in their own world. That night they were smuggling, that was their last mission. They were both going to leave that life behind after that night."

"And they did. But in different ways than they thought.", Hans completes with a sad sigh.

y/n didn't know how to feel after listening. They were like Jack and Rose, Romeo and Juliet, Cathy and Heathcliff. y/n wished they had their happy ending.

"I-I'll try harder.", y/n tells them. Harry at least had to remember the love he had for her, even if it hurts. The love should overcome the pain in his heart.

"Thank you. You can go, the meeting's over. Update me, as usual.", Romania dismisses her. Hans got up to walk her out. y/n thought he was the most annoying out of the three of them, but he was the one that she didn't think five times in her head about something before blurting it out. It was easy to talk to him.

"How close were you to Reagen?", y/n decided to bite.

Hans runs a hand through his straight blonde hair, humming. "Quite a lot of question today."

"I'm curious."

"I was the youngest to be recruited.", Hans tells her. "And I'm not the type that keeps my mouth shut. Much like you, I asked a lot of questions. I got into trouble for that with some of the others, but Reagen? She treated me like a brother." 

y/n looks at him as he stands opposite of her as the elevator goes down. "Reagen taught me a lot of things. She protected me. She was friendly to everyone, always smiling through all the shit she has been through. She was the strongest woman I knew.", Hans looks down, like he was trying to control his emotions. "S-She didn't deserve to die. I miss her."

y/n was good at comforting people. She laid a hand on Hans' shoulder, squeezing it gently. Whoever he was, goon or not, the pain of losing people must be horrible. y/n couldn't imagine what she'd do if Uncle Luke left her. 

y/n steps away when the elevator opens. They get out of the elevator, and Hans walks her to her car. "Is that all, Miss y/l/n?"

"I have more questions, but I don't think you'll answer them. None of my business, is it?", y/n repeats his earlier words and Hans smiles. "Smart. And it's for your own good, y/n."

Hans opens the door of the car for her. He looks straight into her curious yes. "Just finish your task soon, okay? Please. It's all in your hands."

y/n figured there was a deeper meaning to that, and she obviously couldn't ask him anymore questions. He sounded more desperate in his last sentence. 

"Bye Hans.", she says, starting her car.

"See you, Miss y/l/n.", Hans gave her a nod, and watched her drive away before walking back. He wished that she would succeed in her task. He did not want to see anyone's blood being shed. He did not want to see death. He had seen enough.

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Movie nights had now been something Harry and y/n did frequently. Today was one such night. Uncle Luke had been doing well. His doctor told her that his blood sugar had been down when she took him to the hospital the day after his fall. Uncle Luke even wanted her to call Harry to apologize to him when y/n told him about the incident.

Harry had waved it off when y/n told him about it, saying he has seen it in Alzheimer's patients before. He didn't seem too convinced, but y/n let it go.

"What's your dream?", y/n asks Harry. They were on his couch, and she was leaned to his side for support. Not only for support, he was really warm. y/n was always so cold. Maybe she should ask him about that, she thought. 

"Dream?", Harry hums. "I've never really thought about it. All I think about is moving on to the next day. And my life is pretty stable now. I like it. What about you?"

"You're so boring, you know that?", y/n nudges his ribs and he chuckles, before looking down at her to listen to what she has to say. "I want to find someone who'll treat me like a princess and then run away with him."

"Oh?", Harry laughs at her serious expression. 

"Yes. I want to find a good place that can take care of Uncle Luke, a place where he is happy. I don't think he's happy with me. He's taken care of, but he's far from happy. He's lonely. Once he's settled, I'll fly to Italy with my person and live my life there. Of course I'll visit Uncle Luke once every month, make sure he's content."

"Italy.", Harry murmurs, a dreamy look in his eyes. y/n purposely put in Italy wanting to know if he remembers his life he planned with Reagen, before their accident. They were going to settle in Italy, if what Romania told her was right.

"Have you been to Italy?", she asks, feeling his warm hand rubbing her side gently. 

Harry closed his eyes and nodded. "I think so."

"You have? Did you go alone?", y/n pipes up.

"No..I had someone with me..I-I don't know who. It was nice, warm and beautiful. So beautiful."

Harry looked so peaceful as he tried to remember the memory. It must have been a good one, because he didn't appear to be straining and flinching while he tried to remember, like he had when she tried to ask him about his past before. 

"Was it your lover?", y/n pushes it. Harry opens his eyes, they were looking dark and stormy green. "I said I don't know, y/n."

She nods, patting his shoulder. "Sorry. Do you wish to go there again?"

Harry gives her a small smile. "I think I'd like that. I don't want to go alone, though."

"You'll take me with you?", y/n's eyes glint in excitement. "You'll take annoying little me with you on holiday?"

Harry laughs, pulling her into his body, fingers digging into her sides as he tickles her. He loves to hear her giggle. "You're not that annoying. And I never said anything about taking you, I could take anyone."

"I got you to admit! And you have no friends except me! Ah-stop!", she says while giggling and squirming on the couch as he attacks her. 

He tickled her until she's gasping for breath, cheeks flushing red, and a beautiful smile on her lips as she looks at him. She was trapped under Harry's body. Harry leans in, one hand on her hip and the other hand gently moves her hair out of her face. y/n feels her heart, beat out of her chest as his fingers touch her skin. 

His eyes move to her plump pink lips, and hers move to his. They're so close, y/n can feel Harry's breath on her face. He looked like a sculpture, his features were all perfect. His beautiful prince like hair, his sharp cheekbones, his smile. She felt like he came straight out of Olympus. She doubted if he really was a Greek God. Maybe Apollo? Apollo is the healer. But Apollo is full of sunshine. Harry had this eerie mysterious air clinging to him.

Harry leans closer, and y/n's hand moves to the back of his neck. Just a taste. She wanted to know what he tasted like. She knew it was wrong. She shouldn't be doing this. 

But she couldn't resist, and neither could he.

Harry closes the space between them, his lips enveloping hers. y/n's eyes close as they kiss so desperately that their whole body curves into one. Their foreheads pressed together, and she felt like she was dreaming. She had to be, right? 

Harry left her breathless again, this time not from tickling as his lips lift away from hers, his eyes searching hers. "H-Harry, we shouldn't-", she begins to say, and he kisses her again, biting down on her lower lip, then soothing it with his tongue as his hand travels to her hair. 

Fuck it, y/n thinks, and pulls him down on her with the hand on the back of his neck, parting her lips to let his tongue explore her mouth. She needed this. Harry's fingers slipped inside her shirt, travelling up from her stomach to her chest. His large hand cups her left breast over her bra, and he squeezes, making her moan into his mouth. 

After the attack of his mouth on her lips, leaving both of their lips red and swollen, he moves his lips down to her neck. 

"Can I?", he whispers, fingers finding the back of her bra, and she nods arching her back so he could take it off. Her fingers reached for his shirt, and he lifts his arms for her to take it off and she throws it somewhere in the room, ecstatic with pleasure as Harry's lips attach to her neck again. 

y/n knew Harry was a well built man. But she didn't expect to see the perfectly sculpted abs he had hidden beneath his shirt. She felt up and down his chest and his abdomen, he felt firm, but his skin felt soft. She moans as Harry's fingers roll her nipple before giving it a pinch. "P-Please Harry.."

"What do you want baby?", she hears Harry's hoarse whisper and sees that his eyes are darker, with lust. 

"Y-You..", she whispers back, and he scoops her up, her legs tucking around his waist as he walks them to his bedroom. He pulls off her shirt, leaving her breasts open to his attack as his lips find hers again. He smooths his hand over jeans clad ass, giving a hard squeeze to one of her cheeks before laying her down on the bed, her back hitting the bed. 

"You are gorgeous.", he mumbles, eyes raking over her breasts before his fingers reach for the button of her jeans. 

"Y-You too.", y/n offers the compliment back, cheeks reddening as he gives her a wink. She raises her hips so he can slip the jeans of her. He attaches his lips to her right nipple, while his left hand palms her other breast and his right hand runs down her leg, feeling her smooth skin. y/n's fingers rake down his back, loving the feeling of his muscles under her touch.

"Will I find you wet, darling?", Harry asks once he's happy with the assault on her breasts. y/n was already going to the edge. This man was making her crazy. 

"Why don't you find out?", y/n whispers back smartly, and he hums, bringing his hand to cup her heat, before parting her panties, and slowly moving a finger over her folds. y/n moans, her hips bucking into his hand. 

"Hmm..you're dripping.", Harry chuckles, feeling her sleek wet folds. Her thighs were starting to get covered in them too. 

"H-Harry..", y/n whimpers, begging him to do something. 

"Want me to take care of you, baby?", Harry grazes his teeth on her nipple, hearing her moan out a yes, before slipping his digit inside her. He quickly takes her panties off, and removes his finger making her groan. 

"Let me see you baby.", he says, spreading her thighs apart. "Such a pretty pussy. You're gonna let me ruin it?"

She didn't answer, quite mad that he pulled his hand away and he placed a sharp slap on her thigh. "Answer me."

"Fuck..yes, ruin me.", she gives him a smile that makes him groan, and two of his fingers slip inside of her, fucking her hard and fast. She gasps, hands curling over the sheets. 

Harry's fingers expertly find her g-spot, and she feels herself slipping over the edge. "I-I'm gonna cum.."

"Yes, baby, let me taste you..", Harry watches how well her pussy takes his fingers. y/n reaches her high, and cums all over his fingers. Harry brought it to his lips and wipes them clean while y/n comes back to Earth. 

"I-I think I saw heaven.", she whispers, and Harry smirks. "Not yet, baby."

y/n brings him back for a kiss, tasting her on his lips. "I want you inside me."

"How do you want me? Nice and soft? Or hard enough that you can't walk tomorrow?", he murmurs in her ear, placing a soft kiss on her earlobe.

"Hard. Don't you want to ruin me?", she challenges.

"Challenge accepted.", he twists one hand around her hair. "Turn around."

y/n turns around, and whimpers with pleasure as his rough hand squeezes and feels her ass. He slips a pillow beneath her hips and she hears his jeans come off, and the rip of a condom as he slips it over him. 

She turns her head to see. He was big. So big. She was scared whether all that was going to fit inside her.

"I-Is it gonna fit?"

"We'll make it fit.", Harry leans over her body. "You ready?"

"Yeah."

He pushes into her, holding her hip with one hand, and his dick with the other. He gives her some time to adjust, slowly pushing in until she was full and he was all in. 

"Y-You can move.", she strains out, groaning into the pillow. "Please."

"I want you to scream for me, y/n.", Harry whispers. "You'll always remember how good I make you feel, won't you?"

"Yes.", she hums. "Are you all talk or are you gonna do something?"

She screamed as he began moving in and out of her fast, and rough. She held onto the bed rest, and his hand pressed her face into the pillow. "You love to talk, don't you? Try talking now, baby."

She yelps as his hand comes smack down on her ass, before it rubs away the sting. "You drive me fucking crazy. Why are you doing this to me?", he grunts, before pulling her face up by her hair. 

"H-Harry..", she moans out his name. "That's right. That's the only name that will ever come out of your mouth, you understand? After I touch you, no one else is allowed to. You're mine, you've always been mine, and this pussy is mine, isn't it?"

Tears of pleasure run down her cheeks, as she moans in reply, and he gives her hair a tug. "Shit, you feel so good. So tight. It's been long isn't it? Since this little pussy has been to use?"

"Uh huh..", she can only make sounds at this point. Harry flips her over, holds her legs open and fucks her mercilessly. "So pretty, you look so pretty like this, cumming all over my cock."

His lips met hers, and he kissed her softly, in contrast to what his dick was doing. "H-Harry..I need to cum.", she manages to let out, feeling herself slipping over the edge again. 

"I won't l-last any longer.", Harry moans, and they both release together. She feels him clench inside of her, before letting go.

y/n sees stars. She feels the waves of pleasure go through her like she has never felt before. She felt like she was on fire. A fire of pleasure. It was too much, but it was so good. It was wrong, but she couldn't help it. It felt so real, so right, like it was always meant to be. 

______________________________________________________________

y/n wakes up with the same dream. She was expecting to wake up in her little bedroom, but she was in someone's arms. Someone's strong arms were wrapped around her middle, soft breathing fanning down her neck. She moved her hand to cup Harry's cheek, feeling the rough but softness of his stubble under her palm. 

What had she done?

She made a promise to herself that she wouldn't let her feelings grow and she wouldn't take it any further than friendship. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought about what she was doing. She was hurting someone else's feelings. Harry obviously felt the same way about her, but he doesn't know that she's just a pawn in someone else's game. 

It no longer was just a game for money. Harry was in her life now. Harry was important to her. She couldn't do this anymore. Next meeting, she would tell Romania the truth, that she's developing feelings for Harry and that she can't do this anymore. She'll fall on her feet and request for some time to return all the money she had been given. She'll promise to keep her mouth shut about everything she'd learnt, and she'll leave the country with Harry. Somewhere they cannot kill him. He didn't deserve to die. 

Then she thought about Reagen. Would she be cursing her from above for taking her man? Or would she be happy that he found someone else? Did Harry once kiss her like he kissed y/n?

All these thoughts kept y/n awake until the early hours of the next morning. She fell asleep when it was 4 am, when Harry pulled her closer with his arm around her waist, left a soft kiss on her temple and buried his face deep in her neck. This was home. This felt like home.

y/n woke up a few hours later, to the smell of bacon. She looks around Harry's room. This was the first time she was in it. Of course she didn't get time to observe it last night. A guitar hung on the wall, and his room was plain. No pictures. 

She thought to look into his bedside drawers to find something. Something that told her that this man was not the man she was believing him to be. She quickly rummaged through his drawers, finding only papers, phone stuff, nothing interesting.

Then she finds a small velvet box. She opens it, and gasps when she sees the diamond ring glinting back at her. It had to be an engagement ring. She hears footsteps and quickly puts it back, getting back in bed.

"Good morning.", Harry smiles at her, still shirtless but wearing grey sweatpants. He looks beautiful in the sunlight, his morning skin glowing. 

"Good morning.", she replies back, her voice coming out a few pitches higher because of the surprise of what she found. "I smell breakfast."

"Yes. Come on, let's eat." Harry leans down to cup her face and give her a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. "I'll be right there.", she tells him.

Harry nods, and leaves the room. y/n breathes a sigh of relief, glad he didn't notice that she had totally searched his room. She freshened up in his bathroom, she had worn just his shirt for the night. It came up to her thighs. 

y/n had a splitting headache from everything. Her sleep deprivation, her constantly running mind, her guilt, her feelings for Harry, she wanted to scream.

y/n joins Harry in the kitchen, and he had already plated both of their plates. Bacon piled high on a plate of toast, and a runny egg. Just like how she likes it. He had poured coffee out for her too. She likes to drink coffee in the mornings. It helps to keep her awake for the rest of her day. She takes a sip of her coffee, and sighs. "That's perfect."

Harry smiles, pulling the chair back for her to sit. "What's on your list for today?"

"Same old. Cafe, studio and back home.", y/n replies. "You?"

"Same old. Hospital, patients, back home.", Harry says in the same tone, and it brings a smile onto her face. "Staying over tonight?", Harry asks hopefully.

"Um..I don't know Harry, I'll have to see how Uncle Luke is, I did leave him alone last night.", she says, and Harry nods, understanding. He moves one hand to place over hers. "Just so you know, I haven't been so happy in a long time. I'm glad you came into my life, y/n. I'm not just talking about last night."

y/n feels even more guilty, but she paints a smile on her face. "I could say the same for me." She was honest about that. Harry brought a change in her life, a breath of fresh air. Breakfast was delicious, but y/n didn't have an appetite.

Maybe because you're eating up other people's futures and trust, said her mind voice.

"Are you okay?", Harry's voice makes her look up at him as he stands in front of her. He had just finished eating and washing his plate. 

"Y-Yeah, just a headache..", y/n mumbles, bringing a hand to her forehead. Harry gently lifts her chin up and brings her hand down, before his eyes scanned her face. 

Did he know that she looked through his things? 

"Did you sleep well last night?", he asks, thumbs rubbing the skin under her eyes. 

"Um..no, not great, I had dreams.", she decides not to lie entirely. He must have understood from her face that she didn't sleep well. 

"The same dream you had that day?", he asks, and she was surprised he remembers about that. He pulls back her lower eyelids, like they do at the doctors. 

"Yeah.", y/n couldn't help but let a small smile escape. "What do you think, Doctor?"

"I think you should get some help about your sleep schedule. You always look tired, love. I noticed it before, but I didn't ask you. Are you getting at least five hours of sleep every day?"

Definitely not. y/n shakes her head and Harry sighs. "That's not good."

"It's just stress..Harry, I'll be fine.", y/n takes his hand as it left her cheek. "What are your dreams about?", he asks, his eyebrows furrowing together.

"It's the same thing always. Blood, broken windows, I hear people running, crying, and a gunshot.", y/n describes to him. "It's weird."

"Huh.", Harry thinks about it while he goes to rummage through his medicine cabinet. "Why do you think you see the same dream over and over again?"

"I think it maybe something about my parents.", she shares, she had never shared this with anyone before. "I'm not sure."

Harry nods, coming back with a small white pill and a glass of water. "Here, for the headache. Wake me up next time, okay? And you should see a Doctor."

"Can't you help me, Doctor?", she asks, and he smiles. "I can help you relax but I can't prescribe you sleeping pills without an actual appointment with you."

"How can you help me relax?", y/n was whispering before she could stop herself. 

"Want me to show you in the shower?", he asks, kissing her. 

"Please." y/n puts her arms around Harry's neck, letting him scoop her up.

______________________________________________________

"I can't do this anymore.", y/n tells Sania as they chat while they had their breaks. "Why do they think I can get him to crack? Honestly, I don't even think he's the guy they want. They're obviously mistaken."

"You think so because you slept with him?", Sania asks as she sips her caramel mocha.

"Sania! No. I've known him for almost three weeks now. He is a good man. A good man who helps people. I've seen him for who he is, and last night.." y/n takes a breath. "L-Last night, I confirmed it. That was real, Sania, we have feelings for each other. It wasn't just sex."

Sania squeezed her friend's hand. "Babe, I get it. But I suggest you don't get too attached to him. What if he really does remember stuff? We don't know what he did in the past. He's probably still capable of doing those."

"He wouldn't hurt me.", y/n spoke confidently. She saw his eyes. Those eyes would never dream of hurting her. He genuinely cares about her. "I'm the one who's hurting him. I-I really can't do this anymore. I-I'm gonna tell them."

"What? You're gonna tell Romania and those thugs!?", Sania's voice travels a bit too loudly, and y/n hisses at her to keep her voice down. "What can they do? Romania said she wouldn't hurt me."

"You believe that?", Sania asks. 

"I shouldn't have believed you.", y/n snaps. "It's you who set me up with them and got me into this fucking mess."

"Oh yeah? I only tried to help you, y/n. Aren't you better off? Would you have met Harry if it wasn't for this? Look, I didn't know this was going to get so complicated. I wouldn't have dragged you into this if I'd known. You had a choice to walk away y/n, don't blame this on me."

y/n sighs, closing her eyes and opening them again. "I know, I'm sorry. I just don't know what to do."

"You have one more week, y/n. Try your best. We'll see what happens later. Hang in there for now."

"Romania said she has some plan for the last week which she's sure should make him remember."

"Then you should wait.", Sania agrees. 

"I'm still gonna try talking to Romania."

Sania nods, rubbing her thumb over y/n's hand. "Wanna go grab dinner? Girl's night. You need one."

"I'd like that."

One more week. Little did y/n know that the fourth week was the one that was going to change her life forever.

[solarmorrigan]

Yessss!!! I love love love the newest chapter with Jeff! I feel like he was the perfect one to approach Steve, I’m so glad that Steve knows that he wasn’t the only one seeing that he and Eddie were dating.

Melvald’s was the perfect neutral territory for it to happen, too. Steve wouldn’t retreat in public so that was the perfect place for Jeff to sneak up on him. I hope they have a little baseball/hockey date with the rest of the Corroded Coffin boys sans Eddie, I just want them to also be friends with Steve.

Also, even if Robin doesn’t feature in the chapters I’d love to know how she reacts in your mind to first, Steve’s conversation with Eddie and second, the Melvald’s conversation. I’m sure she has so many opinions on both!

The best parts of my days are when I get the notification that you’ve posted a new chapter, thank you so much! 💖💖

Okay, sorry, I've been sitting on this until posting today's update (and also because I was thinking), but see-

Robin's been at work for maybe two hours when Steve pulls up. When he comes into the store, she tries to joke that she knows he said he'd be back to pick her up, but her shift doesn't end for another six hours, and he gives her a little smile, but she can tell he's upset

(Not as upset as the last few days, but definitely a bit shaken up)

He says he's just going to sit in the break room for a bit. He doesn't really want to bother her, he just wants to know she's nearby. Of course, there's a zero percent chance Robin isn't going to abandon the counter to check on Steve (it's a weekday morning, who the hell is going to come rent a movie now?), and she follows him back to ask what happened

(She's spent the last two days with him, in spite of his insistence yesterday that he was fine. She thinks they were supposed to be having "space" today, but she doesn't feel like she needs it. She's fine being attached at the hip if Steve is)

Steve tells her that he'd gone to pick up his stuff from Eddie's place, and after her flurry of offended questions about why he hadn't waited for her, she demands to know what Eddie's done now

Apparently, he wants to make things up to Steve. Wants a second chance if Steve is willing. Wants to romance Steve (Robin snorts at that, and Steve cracks a smile, too). Robin insists that isn't good enough. It's too little, too late. But Steve-

She knows that look on his face. She knows Steve

"You're considering it," she says

Steve shrugs. "It's not like he did this on purpose. He wasn't trying to, like... hurt me, or whatever."

"He wasn't not trying, either." Robin scowls

Steve shrugs again. "I can't make him suffer forever."

"It's been two days, Steve."

"I asked him to think about it for a couple of weeks. Just... be sure about it, y'know?"

Robin sighs. She guesses that's better than immediately folding and saying yes. She knows boundaries are hard for Steve, especially when it comes to the people he cares about; giving them deadlines is easier than giving them hard limits. It's... an improvement, even if she doesn't like it

"You don't have to give him a second chance, you know. I know you feel like you screwed up, too, but you don't owe him anything," Robin reminds him

"I know," Steve says, but she wonders if he really does. "Anyway, I'd feel like a hypocrite if I didn't hear him out, y'know?"

"What do you mean?" Robin asks

Steve gives her a tired little smile. "You guys all gave me a second chance. It would kind of suck if I didn't do the same for someone else."

Robin knows then that Steve is going to say yes to Eddie. She won't be able to talk him out of it; she can only hope she won't have to pick up the pieces again at the end

[reluctanttrabbit]

hehe first mutual ask, a question to you and any other Vanny fan that comes across this..

Do you know what it is about Vanny that's so appealing to you?

I love the idea of her so much and I just cannot figure out why to put it into words. Something about the potential of her design and plot. bnuny.. i love seeing bunny but I don't fully understand what it is in my brain that makes me like her so much, I wasn't even really a rabbit person before getting back into sb lol

YAYAY FIRST MUTUAL ASK!

hmmm tbh i just woke up so my wording/reasoning here might not be the best just bear with me lmao

i feel like the thing thats so appealing to me about her is like. the lack of her? because you see her almost nowhere in security breach and she has at least 3 voicelines. back when SB first came out i watched markiplier play it and instantly got hooked. but i remember not drawing or liking vanny as much as the others??

i think my obsession with her really started when i watched those cut content videos by tetrabitgaming and watched all the pre-release trailers. bc then i was like "woah wait she was supposed to be important" and thinking about that potential she could've had. i totally understand that it wasn't on steel wool studios and they had a deadline that playstation gave them or whatever but ALL THE TIME i wonder what kind of game we could've gotten if that deadline wasn't there. everyday i wake up and hope for a security breach remaster 😭

also her backstory is an important factor because like. wtf do you mean this character was planned for 3 years just to be shafted. wdym shes "been" in 2 other games wdym she used to be a 20-year old who just wanted to do her job??? wdym she now has this rabbit virus guy in her head??? wdym shes basically the next killer of the franchise bringing in a new era??? like dudeee its just so interesting theres so much you can do with her!! and yet literally everything that they wanted to explore with her got cut or scrapped and it makes me so mad!!!!

actually i think that might be my reason why i like her so much LMAO because im mad she cant be the character she was supposed to be

idk i just really like stupid patchwork bunny girl :3

[peachymilkandcream]

Ready Or Not|Part 7|Yandere Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: So I figure this series will either have 10 or 15 parts to it since this was meant to be more of a short series and not a super long one, hope you enjoy and comment to be added to the taglist!)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

================================================

"What do you mean you found her? What did you do?"

"What I had to. That doctor aided Evelyn and many others like her in fleeing the island."

"But how? Since The Rumbling our island has been closed off to essentially everyone. Where would she even go?"

"Some obscure country far East, they didn't get the affects of The Rumbling that everyone else did. Aside from a slight housing crisis they seem to be doing better than most."

"And how did she get there?"

"Our dear friends the Azumabitos decided that they'd let her board one of their ships in return for a chunk of my money."

Clearly Erwin found a little amusement in this. "So she stole from you too?"

Levi grimaced. "Yeah she did, little bitch made off with whatever cash I had lying around."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to make the proper arrangements so I can go after her."

"And then what? She'll just find a way to get in contact with the sympathizers again and start this process over in six months."

"Not if I bring in the whole family."

Now Erwin is silent, contemplating. "On what charge?"

"Espionage, smuggling a dangerous weapon, money laundering, terrorist threats, hell, even slavery if I can spin it right."

The Commander thinks on this for a moment before replying. "And you think while there you could bring all of them and Evelyn back to Paradis without issue?"

"I'd stake my life on it Erwin."

"Very well then, I'll make the necessary arrangements."

===============================================

To his credit Erwin moved quickly, gathering supplies and men in a short amount of time to ensure Levi could set off before the day was over.

Sailors shuffled around trying to meet the deadline of setting sail, rumours of what would happen should the Captain be delayed fresh in their minds. Everyone had heard whispers of the bodies crying out for justice in their shallow graves under Ackerman manor.

Levi approved of this, a healthy dose of fear kept lazy asses moving, and gave him the respect he deserved.

"Captain? We're ready to depart."

"Good work cadet," He checks his watch. "With ten minutes to spare."

"Sir? Ten minutes before what?"

"Before I showed you what happens to those who make me wait."

The cadet pales, gaining a satisfied smirk from the Captain as he boards first, his eyes determined on the sea before him.

He would find her, it wouldn't be long now until fate brought her back into his arms. Then he would never let go, if his wife was determined to make a fool out of herself he'd ensure she never stepped free again until that rebellious spirit was broken down into dust.

"Enjoy your last days free my love, it's only a matter of time before I find you."

[cabinofimagines]

Trust and Tribulations

I can't believe we're pulling it off, and here we are. Pairing: Platonic the seven + a bunch of other ones x reader Word count: ~1.1k Warnings: Bad puns, hatcanons from me and Danny -Asnyox < prev. - next >

As the midterms were still ongoing, the monthly meeting was half in real life and half via Iris message. You, Nico and Will had ventured out to Percy and Annabeth, whereas Hazel and Frank called from Camp Jupiter. Jason and Piper joined you from Piper’s house and Leo joined from the Waystation with Calypso. 

I don’t know whether you have ever been on a call with multiple friends, but simply said it was chaos. After everyone was in the IM there and said their hello’s a silence slowly seeped into the conversation. 

“So, has everyone gotten their invites?” Frank softly asked, “You know, as we all knew that Halloween was coming up, just checking whether everyone got the invites now.” He was clearly looking for any facial reactions as he made his statement. Percy was quick to give one of panic, and then school it back.

“Grover gave us one yesterday, he mentioned Apollo delivering them?” Percy looked around at the people in the IM. 

“Yeah, he loves helping Meg out. He also told us that you all seemed like you’re dying, so how’s that going?” You asked as most people in the IM except for Leo suddenly looked more tired. 

“Halloween this year is very on brand with the scare factor,” Percy said, “Saving the world? Easy. School?  The scariest of all. Luckily I got my wise girl here helping me out.” he pressed a kiss on Annabeth’s cheek as she smiled.  

“It did take us by surprise,” Hazel bumped into the conversation, “Frank and I had been very busy with Preator duties and then suddenly Apollo was there.” She laughed as if she was embarrassed, “I genuinely was about to fight whatever he was bringing, luckily it was only the invite.” 

“You could’ve brought it better though!” Frank exclaimed, “We have a quest from Apollo,” he impersonated Hazel, “It scared me half to death!” Hazel laughed at her boyfriend's terror, before shaking her head, “Sorry Frank, just wanted you to know how I felt when I opened the door.” 

“Do we know who else is coming?” Piper asked, “Is Reyna invited? Are there going to be more satyrs because it is in a grove?” 

“Coach Hedge is coming,” Nico said, “Don’t know about any other satyrs though. I do think Reyna is coming, if Artemis lets the hunters partake in the celebrations.” 

“Cool,” Piper nodded. 

“Anyways,” Percy drawled out, “How’s the costumes going? As clearly nobody forgot Halloween was happening. We just ran into uh, a problem with ours.”��

“You forgot, didn’t you?” You accused Percy, “Unbelievable.” 

“We might have,” he admitted, “but we’ll have to figure something out, we can’t disappoint Meg like that.” 

“I mean, it’s on her for sending out the invites that late.” Annabeth stated.

“It’s a Halloween party, on Halloween.” You said, “You knew this was coming all year, don’t blame her for your own tardiness.” Annabeth glared at you. 

“Well, I have a plan.” she said. 

“You did not yesterday.” Percy retorted, “Better yet, you wanted to fake sickness because of your construction deadline on friday.” 

“Are you underestimating me, seaweed brain?” You were glad you were not Percy right now, because Annabeth looked like she was ready to go for the kill. 

“... no?” Percy gulped. 

“I don’t have a costume yet either,” Will tried to break up the tension.

"Yes, you do.” Nico interjected, “I have you covered in my costume plans.” Will looked at him questioningly, and after a moment it seemed like he realized something. 

“Wait, you are still doing the thing?” Will asked and Nico nodded quickly, “Seriously? Then who…?”

“Can’t tell you, it would spoil the surprise for the rest of the people here.” Nico smiled crookedly, “Besides, you know you can trust me right?”

“I am not so sure anymore, my sunshine.” Will looked at his boyfriend skeptically as Nico let out a laugh.

“Love you too.”

“Speaking of costumes,” Hazel said, “Leo, could Frank and I borrow some hats from you? We’ll tell you the specific ones later.” 

“Of course! I should bring spare hats to the party anyways,” Leo grinned, “You never know how many people will come with bad costumes that my hats can fix. If a certain couple needs hats as costumes too,” Leo pointedly looked at Percy and Annabeth, “they just have to ask. I know you all love my hat collection!”

“No, thanks.” Annabeth grumbled, “I have a plan.” 

“I haven’t even thought of getting a costume yet,” Jason looked awfully guilty. 

“Jason, do you want to do a costume with me? I need someone to finish my mys-tree costume” Leo lit up. 

“Yes?” Jason hesitated, “Was that a tree pun?” Leo ignored his comment.

“That is such a re-leaf. Our costumes are gonna have so much chemis-tree together, trust me!” Leo’s grin got wider with each pun, “Fir sure we are going to have the pinest costumes at the party.” There was a mix of groans and laughs. 

“You’re not dressing us up as trees are you?” Jason looked scared. 

“Nope! Good guess though.” 

“Well,” Piper bumped into the convo, “Good things come in trees, so do you have room for one more?” Leo shook his head. 

“Sorry pipes, I don’t be-leaf I do but I can always lend out my hats.” 

“Maybe we should get the hats, Annabeth-” Percy whispered but Annabeth elbowed him.

“No way, seaweed brain. Some of them might be cursed, and besides that I have a plan.” 

“What plan?” 

Ignoring the lover’s quarrel, Piper turned to Calypso.

“You don’t happen to have a bunch of time to help me with my costume?” 

Calypso shook her head. “No, I’ve been so busy with (Y/n)’s costume that I have yet to start my own, sorry.” 

“No worries,” Piper seemed to start thinking, “no worries,” she mumbled. 

After some more discussion everyone realized the time, and as most people in the calls had deadlines to make (and costumes to get) you ended the meeting. You looked at Will and Nico as you smiled. 

“I think most people are royally screwed trying to get costumes this close to Halloween.” you laughed and Nico nodded.

“Luckily we’ve been preparing.” He said and Will sighed. “At least I know I won’t be a tree, poor Jason.”

[shinagawa-division]

ARB Birthday Special: Sumire Shinomiya

~~ November 6th ~~

“Your pretty empire took so long to build, now, with a snap of history’s fingers, down it goes.”

Login Lines:

“Wha-? Eh? Oh, what the hell, did I fall asleep? Shit, I didn’t think I was that tired. Hah, I need to get back on my schedule, I’ve let Malphas convince me to sleep in more way too many times. So? What do you want?”

“Oh…it’s that time again, fucking yippee-no, no, I need to be positive, I promised Aiko that I would genuinely try to enjoy my birthday this year. Thanks for the gift.”

Voice Lines:

“I don’t get what the big deal is about, so I’m 21 now, am I supposed to be happy? I’ve been doing the same adult shit I’ve always been doing when I was younger and I’m still gonna continue to do it now that I’m actually “of age”.

“If there’s one thing I’m looking forward to, it’s always whatever the Den has planned for my birthday. They get so excited around this time of year and they’re so…loving towards me even though I haven’t done anything to deserve it. Still, who am I to ruin their fun? Nothing makes me happier than to see my family happy and enjoying themselves.”

“Speaking of, I should pay a visit to Yosuke, it’s been a while and I’m starting to run low on Zenith, the nightmares are starting to come back.”

“A-AHHHHH!!! I GOTTA GET READY! Why am I freaking out?! Jiro’s taking me on a fucking date! That’s why I’m freaking out! Hnngh, I can’t mess this up, do I dress cute? But it’s fucking cold outside, what if we go to the park or something?! But I don’t want to over bundle, he’d think that I’m not interested! Ughhh-“

“Aiko and Seizou wished me a happy birthday earlier, Aiko is as excitable as always, it’s always a pleasure seeing her so happy and not only that but Seizou seemed to be a tad bit livelier, he even gave me a present. Hard to believe that this is his first time celebrating my birthday…well, first time celebrating a birthday in general, he seems to be in the spirit, I’m proud of him.”

“Heyyyy Ritsuko, weird seeing you out of your lab, I’d say you were out and smelling the roses but you don’t strike me as a flower kind of woman. Haha, I’m joking I’m joking, hm, thanks for the mini lesson, I’ll keep that in mind next time when I suffer from deadlines. Oh, thanks, I keep forgetting about that, no, it’s fine, I don’t necessarily hate it, I just…don’t care for it. Ha, I knew you’d understand. Aww, thanks Teach! Now I’m curious about what you got me…”

“Oh sweet! You actually did it! This? Well, I’m afraid it’s another stop secret project of mine~ Hehehe, well, I couldn’t take all the credit but what’s done is done and now I can finally fucking breathe again, I’m sure Miho will bounce back from that, she’s already been diving into her work as usual, besides this is actually for her, I made one comment and Aiko’s really been taking her “matchmaking business” seriously, I tried to get her to tell me what she needed this for but she’s tight lipped, but thanks again.”

“Oh, hey Miho, how’s it going? You seemed to be in good spirits? Ohh, work stuff, of course, well it’s good to see you out and about, not to bring up any unwanted memories but I was worried that you wouldn’t leave your room. Pffft! Haha, yeah, I guess you're right, you get what you give! Oh sweet, what is it?"

"Oh cool! These are really cute, thanks Miho! Look, I'm not a huge fashion buff but as long as it's creepy yet cute and in black and purple, I'll wear it. Thanks again, oh, you're heading out? Ah, well good luck, thanks again for the gift!"

"Malicious! Feels like I haven't seen you in forever! Seems like you're going out more everyday, I missed you, my spider! Hm? No, I'm not mad, in fact, I'm glad you're getting out more, you used to be so antisocial and broody back then...well, you still kinda are. Hey! Don't throw my gift away! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Now give it here!"

"Aw, Mal, this is so nice! And so us, haha, black and purple all the way! Eh? There's more? Inside...oh! OH! Awww! This is so cute! Look at us, the whole family all together! Yeah, I had a lot of fun that day, this...this is really sweet, Mal. Thank you so much."

Ritsuko Lines:

“Hello Sumire, a good day to you. Yes, amusing, but even I like to clear my mind from time to time, nothing productive can be done if your mind is in every which way all at once, you’d be best to remember that. Anyways, I’ve came to wish you a happy birthday, I know you typically don’t care for things like this, not that I blame you, but as my most precious and important apprentice, it is my duty as your mentor to reward you for your hard work, as such, I have come with a present.”

“I’ll admit, I was caught off guard with your request, I was wondering what was going on in that dark little head of yours until I remembered the scandal that took the country by storm, don’t give me that, I know it was your doing and as much as I wished Miho didn’t take so much damage from it, I am certainly impressed with your work not to mention relieved that we won’t be seeing that insignificant worm anymore. Aiko, hm? Who only knows what she had planned, happy birthday, Sumire.”

Miho Lines:

“Happy Birthday, Sumire. Yes? Pray tell, why would I not be? Ah. Right. That. Well, that's old news, you know I don't like dwelling on past matters when there is always work to be done. Besides, I believe that man has bigger fish to fry what with that 'Dead Pool' still circulating about, but enough about that, I wanted to give you your present, here you go."

"I'm glad you like them, I made sure they were made with great quality. I absolutely refused to buy anything from that harlot now that she's starting her own fashion brand but that's neither here or there, I noticed that it was your style so I got it for you. Now if you excuse me, I have a meeting to get to, have a good day."

Bonus! Malphas Lines:

"Oof! Well, hey there to you too, c'mon Sumire, I wasn't gone for that long. Yeah, well, I'm finally starting to live life more as "Masuzō" than "Malphas", is that...wrong? Are you angry? Oh, good. Look, if you're gonna act like a brat then I might as well throw your birthday gift away, yeah, that's what I thought."

"I thought you'd like it. Can't go wrong with good ol' black and purple, the family colors. That's not all, it's a locket, open it, I put something inside. Neat, yeah? This was from when we all went on that picnic Aiko forced us to have, it...was a good day, I enjoyed it. Happy Birthday, Sumire."

[thebreakfastgod]

Alien: Romulus Review

I liked it! As an Alien fan I thought that this was the best Alien movie that's been released in a while. Alien: Romulus takes place chronologically right after the first movie, and before Aliens. It follows a crew that wants to get off their mining colony planet which is owned by the Weyland-Yutani corporation, and make their way to the planet Yvaga. Our main character, Rain, thinks that she qualifies for a travel permit, but is denied. Then, Rain and the crew she works with decide to steal their own cryosleep pods from a defunct space station that is in orbit above their planet. The Remus & Romulus station is abandoned for reasons that are completely unknown and cannot be guessed :)

I thought the movie had really good tension throughout. You of course know that whatever is going to go wrong is going to happen on the space station, and with this knowledge comes the fear of what exactly is going to happen next. There was also lots of foreshadowing that I picked up on, and some that was not so subtle. Sometimes the camera would settle just perfectly on something in frame and I could tell it would come up later. The planet they are on has a large set of rings that are in the background of all the space shots, and once the crew dock their ship on the station they are informed that there will be a collision with the rings in 38 hours. One of them says, naturally, “We should be in and out in 30 minutes,” which knowing that this is an Alien movie just made me excited for whatever crazy and horrifying shit was yet to come. This deadline of the collision heightens the sense of urgency for the crew & the audience. This deadline quite literally looms large in the background of establishing shots, and at the beginning of the movie I thought to myself, ‘I can't wait until the ship is all the way over there’. The collision is inescapable, unlike the way that characters might override a self-destruct or something similar. The round shape of the rings reminded me of an analog clock that is counting down the minutes, and by the end of the movie the asteroid field was a visual feast.

I loved the music, it reminded me of the original in a really good way. It sounds classic to the alien franchise, and still like a really good modern movie soundtrack. It heightens the tension and creates a pervasive sense of dread and uneasiness. There was a big moment right at the end where the score and visuals gave me goosebumps. I also thought the visuals of this movie were incredible, and multiple shots had me noting how good they looked, and how they enhanced the mood of the film. The editing/pacing I noticed also had me really engaged, as the switching perspectives from where different people were separated always had me chomping at the bit each time to find out what happened to them. I didn’t find that one perspective outweighed the other in terms of how interested I was, which can happen sometimes.

The stand out performance is David Jonsson as Andy the synthetic. He’s my favorite and absolutely the best character. He is introduced to us telling terribly cute and cheesy dad jokes, and accompanies Rain to the market while she applies for a travel permit. He is a previously broken/disconnected Weyland-Yutani droid who was refurbished by Rain’s dad and given the operating directive to “Do whatever is best for Rain.” He is brought along for the mission because as a WY droid he can communicate with the ship's operating system. Ideas about being “real” or “alive” are explored with Andy, and that is something I looove in media involving robots. In canon he is not a human, yet is still constantly dehumanized by those around him. Rain cares about Andy and saves him from death, and he does the same for her, so what does it mean to be “real”, anyway? Rain views Andy as her brother, and infantilizes him, because as a repaired android his operating systems don’t work exactly as they’re “supposed” to, and because of this she treats him like a child that can’t be trusted on his own. I think that this is an obvious allegory to him being disabled/autistic, as he is shown to not understand human social cues, is easily overwhelmed, and has a stutter. He also will seize if knocked too hard and must be rebooted throughout the film in order to regain normal functioning. 

Partway through, in order to gain access to higher clearance doors, Andy gets a processor component from the android chief science officer of the Romulus station, which turns out to greatly improve his knowledge of the ship, ai, and motor controls. This disc also makes him an autistic supergenius, because now he is rational and calculating, he speaks extremely clearly with almost enhanced enunciation, and he moves in a way that is more “like a robot”. He also instantly does what I want someone to do in any Alien movie, he tries to KILL the person who was face-hugged. In Alien movies, the characters always want to help their friends (like, obviously.) which always leads to them inadvertently letting the alien gestate and chest-burst. It felt so satisfying to have a character who knows what needs to be done and will not hesitate to try and accomplish it. He knows that even if they have to kill this party member, it will be saving all of their lives. Insert Family Feud meme here. KILL!!!!!

There are also questions explored with Andy about the synthetics being able to harm humans. One of the other party members who is a total dick is given a bit of backstory where his parents died after being sealed into a collapsing mine. It was a synthetic who gave the order, and androids are not allowed to harm humans, but in order to save a dozen other miners, three people had to die.  This is almost immediately paralleled in the situation on the ship, where if Andy is able to kill the infected crew, it will save all of them, but the humans won’t allow him to kill her. Upon receiving the science officer disc, Andy also receives a new operating directive, which explicitly does not have Rain’s best interest in mind. There is such a fascinating interplay between the Andy that is trying to help Rain and protect the humans, and the Andy that has motivations set by the corporation. Once he becomes a corporate droid he instantly becomes way more sinister, and I loved Jonsson’s performance of this switch, it was absolutely captivating and I was most interested in what he would do in each scene. 

I did think it was kind of weird that the only Black character was a non-human robot, and I also know that the autistic robot  trope is both disliked and embraced, so I’d love to hear if other people have opinions on those things. 

The movie also had a tongue-in-cheek attitude about the Alien franchise, because the movie seemed to know that it was a better movie than the past few that have been made. There were multiple references to the original three movies, when Andy saves Rain from a Xeno he says, “Don’t touch her, you bitch”(Aliens), and there is a reference to that iconic shot from Alien 3 where the Xeno gets close to Ripley’s face. Also right before the climax of the movie, Rain is in her little sleep shorts and a tank top pajamas getting ready for hypersleep, and suddenly there's still an alien threat and she now has to get in a spacesuit and throw it out the airlock, which is exactly like the original. But it was fun, and the final monster was fucking wild. I liked how it all led up to the final confrontation of Rain vs. Monster and the shot of it getting pulled out the airlock was fucking awesome. It followed the first person perspective of Rain being dangled out the back of the ship in zero g. There are a few other scenes where the characters have to deal with zero gravity, and I really enjoyed how the camera would also stop being affected by gravity and take the audience with it.

Unfortunately, I thought that the main character Rain was pretty forgettable. She is just not the powerhouse of a character that Ripley was, and she is supposed to be the new modern stand-in for Ripley. She is trying to accumulate enough work hours on this mining colony to be approved for a travel permit to leave, and the rest of the crew are also trying to leave for Yvaga. Her parents are also dead so that the movie doesn’t have to worry about that. It just kind of felt to me that she is a blank slate audience stand in and all the other crew members are also a bit one-dimensional because the movie knows they’re going to die. 

Some jumpscares also felt extremely cheap to me, although there are some that are earned. I feel like I just could've done without some of them. Like, at one point the characters are trying to be quiet and sneak through a section of the ship, and a random dead body of a crew member comes down from the ceiling for a jumpscare. It felt so on cue that a guy sitting next to me in the movie theater said “jumpscare”!

But overall, I thought that this was a fun romp of an Alien movie. I enjoyed seeing it in the theater and will probably watch it again at some point. I had only seen a couple of trailers before going, and went in mostly blind, only knowing that there's a new Alien movie out! I was a little worried that it was gonna be bad but was so wonderfully surprised and pleased with this movie. You should check it out if you’re interested and if you got this far thanks for reading my review of something hope you enjoyed <3

[aspecpplarebeautiful]

Hi Hello I am having such a crisis and have literally no clue who else to talk to so here I am! (Side-Note before I actually start: your blog is very very cool and has been such a great help to since I figured out I was aspec)

So basically I figured out I was ace a few years ago (I’m a minor btw) and then about a year later that I was aro. I have been pretty stable in my identity since and am out to my close friends (and mom but only the ace part), even rejected one of said close friends because of just that (which was really difficult because I really really really like him and did not do not want to hurt him but like I just can’t see myself having a romantic relationship with him, or anyone for that matter, at all). Anyway I met this girl at school yesterday (we only started talking today though), we’ll call her Marie for simplicity’s sake, and she’s really pretty and nice and funny and soo cool. I’m pretty sure she flirted with me and it actually felt good (all other instances of flirting by guys and gals alike have felt sooo weird ngl) yet I stellt felt that strange disconnect feeling I always get when someone flirts w me just like, quieter? I’ll probably only see her tomorrow and then not again for a long time (or maybe even forever) if I don’t actively reach out to her (she gave me her number btw) and I’d really like to be friends… now, thing is I think I have a crush???? Maybe??? I dunno???? I think I would like to be with her in theory but as soon as I imagine myself kissing Marie or even holding hands I get a cringing uncomfortable sensation… On top of that I don’t even know if she likes girls, so I might not even have a shot at all. And even if I were crushing on Marie and she liked girls and liked me I dunno if I would be able to have a relationship with because a) I suck at communicating b) I’m a nervous wreck that just randomly ghosts people for weeks on end despite wanting to text them and c) I think the guilt towards the friend who confessed to me would kill me

I’m sorry if I bothered you w this but I really needed someone to talk to and maybe you might even have some words of advice

So the number one thing to remember is that you don't have to have everything figured out right away. Based on this alone, a lot of things are possible, and things will be more clear as you gather more experiences and things progress in general. Right now it does sound like you're still repulsed at the idea of doing romantic things with Marie, it's impossible to say if that may change in the future or not unless you personally have a strong feeling about it.

Could it be a crush? Maybe? It is possible to get crushes but not want to act on them, or be too repulsed to act on them. Or to experience romantic attraction but not the full range or romantic desire to go with it. It's also possible to experience other types of attraction that isn't romantic or sexual, but if you're not aware they exist it can be easy to mistake them (squishes for example is a type of platonic crush where you want to be close or important to the person you're attracted to, and can feel a lot like a romantic crush except that it doesn't feel romantic at all).

I get where you may feel like you're on a deadline because you may not see Marie again after today, it's up to you if you want to try and stay in contact, but if you have the capacity to experience these feelings with one person, it's likely you will again (or if you don't, it's a hiccup and you don't have to worry about it). So whatever choices you make, you will figure things out eventually.

Try not to feel guilty if you want to explore your feelings here even though you turned your friend down. It hurts to reject people, but it's always the right choice if you don't feel like you can reciprocate how they want, and it's the kindest choice in the long run. But that doesn't bar you from exploring your feelings or even trying a relationship at some point in the future if you ever end up wanting to, you will still have done the right thing turning down someone you didn't feel right entering a relationship with. These things are complicated.

Hopefully this is helpful, but if you want to dig into something more or have more questions, feel free to send in another ask.

All the best!

[inspired-by-the-music]

Sudden Rain, Chapter 2

Kyungsoo's POV

“Oh, hell no!” Eunbi’s brother, Chanyeol, belted when she tried to sit next to me in the back seat. “You are not leaving me in the front seat, Eunbi. I am not your chauffeur!” Eunbi rolled her eyes, and Chanyeol said, “Grandmother told you to stop rolling your eyes at me!” 

“She also told you to stop yelling in front of guests,” Eunbi retorted. 

Chanyeol blinked at her. “Alright. Sit up here with me, and we’ll call it even.” 

Eunbi looked at me as if to ask for permission, and I nodded. “Go ahead. I don’t mind.” 

So, Eunbi obeyed her brother, and we headed to their grandmother’s inn. Uncomfortable with the silence, Chanyeol glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Hey. Where did my sister pick you up from?”

“Don’t ask like that.” The tips of Eunbi’s ears turned scarlet as she cut her eyes at Chanyeol. “You make it sound like I invite strangers into your car every other Tuesday.” 

I answered, “We met in the airport gift shop. My flight was grounded because of the storm, and Eunbi told me about your grandmother’s inn.”

“Is that right?” Chanyeol grinned at me before turning to Eunbi. “So you can do something for the inn! Who knew?” He winked at her; she stuck her tongue out at him. Looking at me through the mirror, Chanyeol said, “Grandmother will be happy to welcome another man to the inn.”

Before I could ask what he meant, Eunbi turned around in the passenger seat and explained, “Most of the people who visit the inn are women.”

“Elderly women,” Chanyeol added.

Eunbi assured me, “That’s not a requirement to stay or anything.” She told Chanyeol, “There’s no reason why Kyungsoo shouldn’t feel welcome.”

“Kyungsoo?” Chanyeol gawked at Eunbi. 

She turned her attention out the window and said, “You should keep your eyes on the road.”

Initially, Chanyeol obeyed. As we carried on down the road, I noticed his glances in the rearview mirror became more frequent. The suspicion in his glances lessened as the curiosity crew. “So, Kyungsoo—” I squirmed—“what brings you out to the middle of nowhere?”

Although my work felt like a taboo topic in this corner of the universe, I figured I owed him answers as payment for the ride. Straightening in my seat, I started, “I, um—”

Eunbi came to my rescue. She scolded, “Stop being so nosy!” “I was just wondering!” Chanyeol scowled at her. “Don’t you want to ask him something? Like what he’s doing here of all places?”

Eunbi shrugged. “He told us that his flight was grounded because of the storm.” Then, I strained to hear her whisper, “Why do you have to question miracles?”

I couldn’t understand what she meant, but her frown made me frown. I stared down at my hands pressed flat to my rain-soaked pants. 

“Before that, I mean,” Chanyeol muttered. “Aren’t you a little curious about where he was going before his flight was grounded?”

I suppose I wanted to hear her answer. My hands balled into fists, and I leaned forward in my seat. I didn’t think I was interesting, but I was surprised that Eunbi hadn’t asked anything about me before inviting me along. 

“I don’t want to bother him with a million questions,” she finally answered. “Besides, it’s very rude to talk about him like he isn’t here, so cut it out.”

“Whatever,” Chanyeol huffed as he pulled into the inn’s parking lot. 

The inn was a relatively small building. It couldn’t have hosted more than ten rooms. It looked more like a home than a place of business. 

Once we were out of the car, we dashed onto the front porch. There were three front doors, and Chanyeol barrelled through the middle one. He beckoned for me to follow, but I followed Eunbi to the left door because I had to tell her, “It wouldn’t bother me.”

She gave me a bewildered expression as she dug her keys out of her yellow raincoat’s pocket. “What?”

“If you asked me a million questions,” I spoke over the rain, “it wouldn’t bother me. Ask me whatever you want!” 

I prepared myself to answer a question about the book tour and the manuscript deadline because that’s all anyone asked me about anymore. I wasn’t ready for anybody to ask, “Are you happy?”

But Eunbi did. 

Clutching my rain-stained notebook, I wheezed, “What?”

Eunbi observed, “That is not a yes.”

I think I would have tried to say, ‘Yes, of course, I’m happy!’ if I had been able to catch my breath. 

Before I could catch my breath, Eunbi said, “Goodnight, Kyungsoo. It was enchanting to meet you.”

She had almost closed the door when I cried, “Wait!”

She looked at me from her side of the open door, and I couldn’t lie. I couldn’t tell her that I was happy, but I couldn’t tell her the truth either. Her gaze was expectant, though, so I said the next thing on my mind. “Do you have plans tomorrow?”

“No.” Eunbi shook her head. “The weather’s supposed to be awful, so I’ll be here all day.”

Although Junmyeon’s voice in the back of my mind screamed for me to take the opportunity to write, I dared to ask, “Do you think we could talk tomorrow?”

I think— hope—she had to bite back a smile to ask, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything,” I suggested. “Everything.” “I don’t see why not,” Eunbi decided after a few moments of silence. Silence, except for the sound of rain hitting the earth. “I think you should get checked in. Chanyeol isn’t exactly the most patient person.”

I glanced into the door Chanyeol walked through. He stood beside a coat rack, back pressed to the wall, tapping his foot. 

“Right.” I started to walk away, but Eunbi called my name. 

When I turned to face her, she smiled at me. I realized that she had been giving me half-smiles all day. “Goodnight, Kyungsoo,” she said again. “It was enchanting to meet you.”

Only then did I notice that night had fallen around us. Standing at the edge of the front porch, I looked up at the sky and wondered if the stars were sparkling behind the storm clouds. I knew that they must have been, but it was hard to imagine. 

I returned Eunbi’s smile anyway. “It was enchanting to meet you. Goodnight.”

. . . 

After I closed the door behind me, I shed my rain-soaked jacket and hung it on the coat rack. Chanyeol pointed to a sign on the wall. It warned: “Danger! Oxygen in use. No smoking or open flames!” The bold red, black, and white sign stood out against the surrounding photographs and framed cross-stitch patterns. 

I hadn’t seen a cigarette in over a year, but I nodded at Chanyeol as he walked behind the check-in desk. I set my notebook down on the desk and dug my wallet out of my back pocket. “I’m not sure how long I’ll have to stay.”

“During an April storm?” Chanyeol squinted at the computer screen after frantically typing. “This website is taking forever to load. But I can tell you from experience that when it rains around here, it pours. You’ll probably be here for about a week.”

“A week?” I hollered, surprised. “That’s ridiculous!”

CRASH. 

I flinched at the noise. 

Unfazed by my outburst, my wide-eyed and slackjawed stare, and the CRASH, Chanyeol nodded. “I’d say a week at least. You’ve heard or read what they say about April showers.” 

“No.” It wasn’t easy to frown while Chanyeol smiled. “I haven’t.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “A big city writer like you hasn’t heard or read that April showers bring May flowers?”

My face flushed. “Big city writer?” Based on the consumer reports Junmyeon shared with me, Chanyeol didn’t look much like my average reader. 

An elderly woman attached to an oxygen machine rounded the corner, calling, “Chanyeol!”

Chanyeol jumped and reddened. He looked like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but she looked too sweet to punish anybody. Her smile was brightened by a soft pink lipstick. Her smile melted something in me—the block of ice in my chest that I’d grown aware of after Eunbi asked, ‘Are you happy?’

The woman told Chanyeol, “You and your friend are being a little too loud in here. Ms. Oh got started and dropped your mother’s vase again.” “Grandmother, you promised to tell her to leave Mom’s vase alone.” Chanyeol frowned as he rummaged through the desk’s drawers. “I can only glue the vase back together so many times before Eunbi starts to notice the cracks.”

“I know, I know.” The woman sighed. “You know how Ms. Oh is. She thought it would be nice to bring a few sunflowers from her garden for Eunbi’s party.”

Gripping a bottle of super glue that he fished out of a drawer, Chanyeol said, “Well, that is nice.” His frown persisted. 

It was unlike me to interrupt a family conversation, but I asked, “Eunbi is having a party?”

Her grandmother turned to face me. “You know my Eunbi?”

“This is Kyungsoo,” Chanyeol told her. “For the record, he’s more like Eunbi’s friend than mine.” 

Bowing, I explained, “I met Eunbi at the airport gift shop after my flight was grounded. She told me about your inn and, well, here I am. It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am.”

Chanyeol and his grandmother studied me for a moment. They looked similar. They shared the same wide brown eyes, arched eyebrows, and dimples around their mouths. Chanyeol towered over her by at least a foot. 

“I always figured Eunbi would have good taste,” her grandmother said just loudly enough for me to her.

“She usually doesn’t,” Chanyeol said flatly. “I guess there’s just something striking about this guy.”

I blushed. Even the tops of my ears burned. “I think she just felt bad for me. I was having a rough day before we met.”

Chanyeol grinned. “My sister will love to know that you blush while talking about how she made your day so much better.”

His grandmother swatted him in the gut, and he wheezed. She said, “Go fix your mother’s vase. I better not catch you teasing this young man again!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Chanyeol held the super glue in one hand and his stomach in the other. He left me alone with his grandmother. 

“Don’t mind him,” she said while shaking her head. She walked behind the desk, opened a drawer, and handed me a key. “You’ll be in Room 2. It’s up the stairs, the first door on the left? Yes, the left.” 

“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, “but I haven’t paid for my room yet.” 

She said, “Don’t mind that.” 

I shook my head. “I have to mind that, ma’am. Also, it’s my fault that your friend dropped that vase. You should let me pay to replace that too.”

“That’s very generous, but the vase is irreplaceable.” My face paled, and she must have noticed. She hurriedly explained, “Eunbi’s mother made it for her when she was away at art school many years ago. My, that must have been seventeen years ago!”

I asked, “Is Eunbi’s party a birthday party?”

“It is,” she nodded. “You’re invited to join us if you’re not busy! We’ll gather in the dining room around six o’clock for dinner and cake.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I asked, “What should I call you?”

“Grandmother, Grandma, and Granny are all okay.” When I blinked at her, she added, “I’ll answer to Ms. Park.”

“Thank you for your hospitality, Ms. Park,” I said. “You really have to let me pay for my room. Please?”

“Alright,” she sighed, “but I’ll only accept your payment by the day.” 

After I paid for my room, Ms. Park led me into the dining room. She introduced me to the six elderly women who gathered around Chanyeol as he glued his mother’s vase back together. 

“You’d love my grandson!” Ms. Oh told me. “Chanyeol, don’t you think he’d love Sehun?”

“What?” Chanyeol grimaced as he looked up from the vase. “Oh. Yes, of course, ma’am.” When Ms. Oh looked away, Chanyeol met my eyes and shook his head.

I excused myself and went upstairs to find my room. The walls were yellow. The floors were old; the wood creaked when I walked. Above the bed, fitted with a red patchwork quilt, was a framed cross-stitch pattern that read: “Murphy’s Law: Nothing is as easy as it looks. Everything takes longer than you think. If anything can go wrong, it will.” That’s what it was supposed to say, anyway. “Murphy’s” was misspelled as “Murph’s.” I laughed. 

On another wall hung a painting of a sunset reflected on a lake. I sighed. It reminded me of the afternoon I proposed to Soo-Ah. I remembered that I had forgotten the mid-summer heat of that love. It was lost. It truly was. I wanted to miss it. 

As I sat on the foot of the bed, I noticed a folded piece of paper sticking out of the floor. I picked it up and read: “I can’t sleep. If you find this, please write back. —Eunbi”

I wrote back: “Are you sleeping yet? If not, please write back. —Kyungsoo”

She wrote: “It’s hard to sleep when it rains like this. How do you like your room?”

I wrote: “I like it a lot. I’ve never been good at home decoration. The “Murph’s Law” cross stitch is my favorite thing haha. 

She wrote: “Hey, don’t make fun! Cross-stitching isn’t easy!”

I wrote: “Did you make it?”

She wrote: “Maybe…”

I wrote: “You did!!! That makes me like it even more.” 

She wrote: “Stop making fun! We can’t all be great artists!”

I wrote: “I’m not a great artist. 

She wrote: “It’s not cute to fish for compliments.”

I wrote: “Sorry. Will you forgive me?”

She wrote: “Hm… Alright. What are we talking about tomorrow?”

I wrote: “Do you really want spoilers?”

She wrote: “Not when you phrase it that way…”

I wrote: “I haven’t decided on any topics yet. I just want to talk with you. Meeting you today was a surprise, the good kind.

She wrote: “I think the same way about meeting you. I’m looking forward to seeing you again! I’ll try not to disappoint.” 

I wrote: “Disappoint? That’s impossible.”  We wrote to each other throughout the night. At one point, I was bold enough to return her question: ‘Are you happy?’ I fell asleep on the creaking floor while waiting for her reply.

[pairofsunflowers]

on the morning we were leaving the place our shakespeare through performance class performed Henry V for the last time, we were all saying our tearful goodbyes and my professor/director hugged me and tearfully said i was the heart and soul of the play (which made me even more choked up than i already was) and that maybe the reason they didn't take me last year (it's a relatively small class you have to apply and interview for to get in, and i'd applied and interviewed last year and i really really wanted it, but i didn't get it) was because the universe knew that they would need me this year. and i keep thinking about that. that's crazy... and in a way i think he's right. like. okay, for context. the previous professor/director/program coordinator passed away this past september, but he'd still directed the previous spring and summer classes. my mom passed away at the end of october and the application for this year's spring class was due a couple days after she died. i turned in the application apparently a day late (i still maintain i turned it in On the deadline, not past it, but whatever.) but my (future) prof let it slide and squeezed me in and i got to be in the class for the spring semester and it fucking changed my life, i can't hype it up enough. things were obviously hard for me after my mom passed, and i had a breakdown thinking i wouldn't get in the class, and then this semester i got the news an immediate family member of mine was going to be deported. in personal matters, it was the worst year of my life. but this class gave me friends and experiences and a passion that saved me this semester.

Henry V is one of my favorite plays of all time now and I have SUCH an affection for the character of henry and i could Literally talk about him as a character for hours if you let me. I got to star in this play and perform one of the most iconic and well known shakespeare monologues ever (once more unto the breach). and..... if i'd gotten in the spring class last semester....... i probably wouldn't have done it this year. not because you can't take the class again, you absolutely can and it's not uncommon to do so. but because i would have had the (wonderful, lifechanging) experience already, and the professor i would have done it with, james, would have passed only a month before my mom and then my mom died right before applications were due. i probably would have been too broken and depressed and sad to do it, and rationalized it as saying i wouldn't want to do it without james and without my mom to see it and i'd already experienced it once so whatever. it's fine. but because i hadn't gotten it last year, and i still really really wanted to do it, and unfortunately i'd never gotten the pleasure of getting to know james so his passing didn't hurt me emotionally, i just barely fought past the brokenness and depression i did feel after my mom passed to submit an application and i got in.

all this to say i remember feeling really really sad last year that i didn't get in the class. but. in a way, the universe kind of always works out, huh? like idk maybe not but that's what i like to believe for the most part, personally. it's that one pic of the dog begging for boiling water on the stove and the caption was like 'god when he sees what i'm praying for to happen.' if i'd gotten it last year, more likely than not i wouldn't have done it this year, which is almost inconceivable. who the hell would have played henry in act III..... that's MY role. and there's so many people in this year's class that i'm friends with and adore that i wouldn't have gotten to know if i didn't take the class this year. my director called me the heart and soul of the play and gave me so many compliments whenever he gave me notes. and in another world, i was never in Henry V. that's just so crazy! i guess everything works out down the line!

[fangirlsovertoomanythings]

I got involved in a hackathon (it's part of an elective process to get a job) these last 14 days, of which tomorrow is the deadline to send in a project, and to be quite honest I've spent most of this time thinking myself a failure. I don't know much of what the others are doing and all of my attempts of helping end up making other people stop to help me out in my own endevors. Two of my squad colleagues gave up and now it's just the three of us. One of the remaining people stole half of my tasks and didn't warn me. Plus, there's the issue that my computer is 7 years old and can barely run all of the necessary technologies at once and I don't know if I'll be able to code anything else until the deadline arrives

And yet today, when I was reporting the task stealing behavior of that guy, the woman that listened to me just. Literally asked me if I would be able to follow a real life project, in the case that I would pass. She didn't tell me I would pass, she just asked me hypothetically. She told me that a computer wouldn't be a problem, because I could get a corporate laptop in the occasion of my approval, she just really wanted to know if I thought I'd be able to follow a real life project as a learning experience. And then she implied that she was rooting for me because I was trying to impose my presence in a mostly male-dominated hackathon and that I was a beginner who just,,, genuinely tried to dive in React despite my lack of experience. And then she just told me that if I try again either in 6 months or next year, depending on when the next hackathon happens, she was SURE I'd enter

It just feels so weird that, as far as I've come to notice, the organizers took more notice of how much effort I put into than how much I can actually get done. I still don't know what they are evaluating, if soft or hard skills, but whatever it is it seems they like, don't hate me or find me incompetent. And that's what I've been feeling about myself, so it's weird people who are SUPPOSED to judge me aren't agreeing with that notion

[gemofglimmergrove]

“Princess Gemini, is that you?”

Gem freezes in her tracks. She shouldn't have, she has places to be, the next full moon could be tonight. She's already wasted apparent days passed out and she doesn't want to find out what happens to her when she can't meet her patron's deadline an—

“Oh, our little Gem, it is you!”

Then she realizes she recognizes the voice and then next thing she knows, she's face to face with her former ladies-in-waiting.

“Maddie? Birdie?” Gem tilts her head and she can't seem to stop the giddy grin that's on her face once she's walking towards them.

They stand right outside an open door of a house that she assumes is theirs, their new home and it looks as cozy as the other houses in Sanctuary but with a lighter palette. And Gem just wants to jump in their arms like she were a child again but she settles to sprint towards them. When she reaches them, she's reminded of the time that's passed when she has to lean down to hug them both. Maddie's hands cup her face.

“Oh, look how our little Gem's grown! I could've sworn last time I saw you, you were just barely taller than Dot," she remarks and Gem chuckles as she pulls away from her grasp.

“You must be wearing those heels, aren't you? Do you still have that pair we gave you on your birthday?"

“I do, yeah,” she replies, tucking some hair behind her ear and peers inside their house, “where's Dottie? Is she still with you?”

“Oh, of course, of course.”

“Why, she was scolding us about opening the door to you just a second ago!” Birdie steps back inside her house to call, “Dot! We told you, it's just our Gem! Look at her!”

“Oh, do come inside, dear. We still don't know if it's safe out there, quickly,” Maddie ushers Gem inside, grabbing her hands and leading her inside.

Gem gulps at the reminder of her last encounter before she fell asleep, she nods. “Yeah, yeah, me neither.”

“Gem? Oh, my little Gem.” She's nearly a whole head taller than Dottie now, it's clear when she reaches up to cup her face as well, her thumb softly rubbing her cheek. “Our princess looks like a queen now.”

She chuckles, almost bitterly. “Not yet, no.”

“Soon enough, dear, just look at you now.” And Gem doesn't think she can take how much admiration is in her voice. “Come, I've made pie and brewed some tea.”

Gem hasn't heard Dottie say those words in a while and it still fills her with that same childlike excitement as it did before. She thinks that she must've changed the recipe somehow to make it taste even better than it did in her memory.

“Well, looks like someone missed my cooking.”

“Oh, I ha–”

Gem nodded, quickly swallowing. “Right, sorry.”

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” she reminded softly.

And in a matter of minutes, it's like Gem is a child again and she's snuck into the kitchen after a long day and the chefs give her a snack as she talks about her day. Her old handmaidens' kitchen is much smaller than the kitchen at the castle but it brings Gem the same warmth when she's seated between the women who practically raised her.

“Careful, it's hot,” another reminder slips from her lips as Gem is about to sip her cup of tea.

“Oh, never change, Dottie.”

Their conversation is like the cherry on top of it all. Inside this humble abode, in a flourishing empire, surrounded by people that taught her so much, care for so much. It's in moments like this Gem forgets what she is, any burdens on her shoulders, whatever duty that need be fulfilled can't occupy her mind, not when it feels so at peace.

“Oh, oh, Gem, I've also learned how to bake!” Birdie shares proudly.

“She's learned how to not burn my dang kitchen and make semi-edible cookies,” Dottie adds.

“Hey!”

“Well, I've taken up crocheting,” Maddie mentions, “I'm working on this big blanket right now. Big enough so someone can stop hogging the whole thing at night.”

“Oh, when it comes to Birdie, if there's a will, there's a way.”

“Might as well make it the size of our bedroom then!”

They share a hearty laugh at the table. Gem smiles as she sits and appreciates how in a world constantly changing, she can still find things of the past sticking around.

Like how Maddie's dimples are still present when she laughs, Dottie still has a habit of snorting when she laughs and even Birdie still can't hide her own smile when she tries to act offended. And how they can still have this light banter and fun conversations while Gem is content to sit and smile because they're smiling.

“I've missed you guys,” she admits when the laughter dies down.

“We've missed you far more, dear.”

[berenwrites]

Beyond the Battle - Chapter 29 - Stranger Things - Steddie

Beyond the Battle­: Action & Consequence

Click here for All Posted Chapters

Summary: Steve hits things with a bat or gets hit depending on who you ask. He definitely does not have anything to do with the psychic stuff. That is El’s domain. However, as Vecna is defeated, the rules change.

Pairing: steddie (Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson)

Other Relationships: Steve & Robin, Steve & Dustin, Eddie & Dustin

Rating: Teen

A/N: Multi-chapter story, updated regularly. Honestly not sure how many chapters it will have yet because it's still a bit hand wavy in the middle, but definitely more than 12. Thank you to my beta for find my mistakes and to all those who read/like/reblog.💖 Follow #st:beyond-the-battle for updates.

Also on AO3

Chapter 29.    Deadlines

It took a few tries as Steve did his best to split his healing instincts between El and Will. It wasn’t that it was too much for him, more that if he wasn’t careful one or the other would grab his attention and he’d find himself focusing on one, rather than both. However, no one could accuse any of them of being quitters.

Eventually he found the balance. He wasn’t really sure what changed, but something shifted in his awareness and it suddenly made sense.

“You did it,” El said, beaming at him as he blinked open his eyes.

He smiled back. It was a small victory, but he’d take what he could get.

“One more try?” he asked as he dabbed his nose.

He wanted to be sure it wasn’t a fluke.

“One more try,” El said with a nod.

If there was one thing they shared, it was a need to be sure. Once he had this down, he could worry about what would happen when El and Will needed to use a lot more force.

They set up again and he reached for the balance point.

“Okay,” he said and waited for El and Will to slip into the Void.

Their combined power tickled down his spine and he couldn’t help smiling to himself as his own abilities answered as they were needed. It was almost peaceful for a while, and then something happened.

Steve felt Will’s power spike. He reacted without thinking about it, smashing through that invisible barrier and curling his own energy around the injury forming before it could become anything serious. However, the moment it was done he opened his eyes.

“What was that?” he demanded as Will blinked at him and they dropped hands.

It only took him a second to realise Will seemed as confused as he was.

“Are you okay?” he asked, much more gently as his momentary panic passed.

“I … yes,” Will said, glancing at El.

“What happened?” Joyce asked from where she had clearly been watching them closely.

“I wasn’t trying to do anything,” Will told his mom in an obvious attempt to stop her worrying.

“But something happened anyway?” El asked, although Steve was pretty sure she had to have felt something going on, just not quite in the way he had.

“Whatever it was, I had to heal you directly,” he added, “so I guess at least we know that will work.”

As Steve grabbed a Kleenex for his nose, Will’s hand went to the back of his neck.

“Mindflayer?” El asked, eyes going wide with alarm.

Will quickly shook his head.

“No,” the kid said firmly, “just it kind of felt the same, except for, y’know, the existential dread.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” El asked her forehead crinkling as she tried to understand.

“I’ll try,” Will replied. “When we were in the Void, I felt something and I kind of reached for it before I thought about it, like it was instinct.”

“Like me and healing?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, maybe,” Will said with a nod as he thought about it. “It felt natural.”

Steve gave him a nod, that was how he experienced what he did best. Everything else took far more thought and direction.

“And what happened then?” El asked.

“I think I saw the house, only it was like a monochrome echo, but everyone in it was a bright spot,” Will did his best to explain. “Like I was looking through walls to the people, even though I knew the wall was there.”

“You saw everyone?” El said, sounding surprised.

“Kind of,” Will replied. “It only lasted a moment because I was so shocked it threw me out, but it was like I scanned the area or something.”

“Like radar?” that question came from Wayne, who Steve had had no idea was paying attention to what they were doing.

Hopper had most people fortifying the house as well as they could, just in case.

“Yes,” Will said as that description seemed to click.

“Did you see the whole house?” Steve asked.

“I think so,” Will said with a nod, “most of it anyway. Everywhere there are people. I think I could draw it.”

Steve stood up and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen from the dining room table and the discarded DnD game. He handed it to Will who leaned on the coffee table and began drawing away immediately. It only took him a few minutes before Will pushed the paper away and let everyone see it. Steve was amazed to see a perfect plan of his home, including parts he knew Will had never been into, with dots for everyone with their initials next to them.

“That’s amazing,” Steve said.

“I cannot do that,” El said, “I must focus on who I wish to find. It is good, Will.”

She gave Will a big smile.

“There’s one thing you’re not seeing,” Will said.

“What’s that, Will?” Joyce asked.

“I wasn’t trying,” Will replied, looking over at his mother. “That was just what happened. What if I could scan further?”

“You’d be able to tell us how many men the colonel has outside and where they are,” Steve caught on immediately.

Will nodded.

“There might be a way out,” Joyce said, eyes lighting up with hope.

“And it’ll give us more of an idea of what we’re up against,” Steve added, because he wasn’t sure going outside would be a good idea, not with snipers in the equation.

If their resident geniuses couldn’t get a message out there might be no choice, but he was hoping the cavalry would come rescue them. It was a faint hope, but he was trying to look on the bright side. He really was fed up of those who were supposed to be the experts in these things arriving too late to be of any use.

“We don’t have much time,” Will pointed out, glancing at his watch, “let’s try. El if you watch, you might be able to do it too.”

El nodded and reached out to them both again. Steve took her and Will’s hands and let his consciousness fall into what he was beginning to think of as healing mode. First came the crackle and the warmth of slipping into the Void and he reacted automatically to smooth over whatever that caused within both El and Will. He had a moment to regroup, before he felt Will squeeze his hand. In sync with his younger friend, he matched Will’s power with his own, healing as Will pushed and did what he needed to do.

Steve had no idea how long it lasted as Will’s fiery energy flared through his awareness. His focus was not time, or what Will was doing. His only aim was to keep Will fit and healthy as Will did it. He was so intent it took him a second to realise he was no longer needed, only coming back to himself when Will dropped his hand.

He opened his eyes to find Joyce had already placed more paper around the first piece on the coffee table and Will had picked up the pen. Not wanting to interrupt, he watched as Will started to draw quickly. The more he saw, the more his suspicions were correct as Will placed dots all around the house while filling in familiar features like the pool, the edge of the woods, the drive and more.

“I couldn’t see them clearly,” Will said when he finally sat back, “but I think this one and this one might be snipers.”

He ringed two of the dots.

Steve counted, there were twelve other dots.

“And I think this is the colonel,” Will added and drew a cross over one of the marks somewhere behind the armoured car.

“We cannot get out without them seeing us,” El concluded out loud exactly what Steve had been thinking.

“What’s that?” Hopper asked as he walked back into the room with Steve’s mom close behind him.

“The position of the men outside,” Joyce replied.

Hopper looked at El.

“Will has discovered a new part of his abilities,” El said.

“We’re surrounded,” Hopper said, looking at Will’s drawing.

None of them could disagree.

“The deadline is almost up,” Will pointed out. “What do we do?”

“We sit tight.”

Steve was surprised when his mom spoke up. He along with everyone else looked over to where she was standing.

“They want us playing their game,” his mom said, hands on her hips in an all too familiar gesture, “so we don’t play. They have no way of knowing what weapons we may have, or what El is capable of. All they know is less than two weeks ago, El took down an interdimensional threat with the help of a good number of those in this house. If I was this colonel, I’d be sweating no matter how many guns were on my side.”

“He tried to take out El so she wouldn’t be a threat,” Hopper agreed, nodding.

“So, you think he won’t do anything even when his deadline runs out?” Steve checked.

Hopper and his mom both nodded.

“If we do nothing,” his mom said, “the standoff will likely hold, at least for a while.”

“Give us time to get that message out,” Hopper said.

“And I can keep an eye on what they’re doing,” Will added. “In case they try a sneak attack.”

It was all tenuous, but Steve prayed it would work because he really didn’t know how it would go if the agents outside broke in. They had El and they had Will, but they were powerful kids, not machines. He mentally cursed his own inability to be as proactive as they were. Moving a ball bearing less than an inch wasn’t exactly useful in this scenario.

“Right,” he said, standing up and walking over to the snack table at the other end of the room.

He picked up all the candy bars and brought them back to where El and Will were sitting.

“Fuel,” he said and sat back down again.

It was his job to keep them going, and by God he was going to do it. Both El and Will dutifully picked their candy bar of choice.

“You too,” El said as she unwrapped her Milky Way.

He gave her a small smile and grabbed a kit-kat, hoping that he didn’t look as anxious as he felt.

The twenty-minute deadline came quickly and was marked by the high-pitched sound again.

“Your time is up,” the cold announcement came, “send out the girl.”

Will and Steve had been sitting opposite each other, hands joined, waiting for the deadline for the last thirty seconds.  The moment the message came, Steve closed his eyes and focused completely on Will. They had decided El would remain on alert just in case anything did happen, while Will scanned the outside. If it became an attack, they would change tactics.

“No one is moving,” Will said after thirty seconds of so.

“Send out the girl.”

The announcement came again.

“I’d like to show him ‘send out the girl’,” he heard Hopper say, even as he concentrated on his task and Will continued to keep an eye on those outside.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Hopper finally decided some time later. “We called their bluff, let’s hope it lasts.”

Steve opened his eyes as he felt Will slip back into the real world.

“Can you manage a new scan every fifteen minutes?” Hopper asked.

Will shared a look with Steve and he gave a small nod.

“Yes, we can,” Will replied.

“Good,” Hopper said, clearly thinking things through. “Right, let’s get everyone in here in case the stalemate doesn’t last. We’ll have a better chance if we’re all in the same place.” No one chose to argue with that logic.

End of Chapter 29

Chapter 30