#why are so many of you doomed to be forced apart even in death | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

astraystayyh · 2 months ago

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u either hate me or want me to go into cardiac arrest because HOW COULD I COPE WITH THIS FEEDBACK???? HOW 😭😭😭😭😭😭 i cant tell u how happy it makes me that you dont just read my fics but truly read them. you allow my characters to live in your heart and mind and that’s the biggest privilege for me. thank you thank YOU for making writing so enjoyable, reading ur feedback is easily top best thing about this entire process.

NOWWW to actually respond,, truthfully i tried to search for an equivalent for déchirure in english but tear imo doesn’t convey the feeling of being ripped to shreds, in french it feels more raw, even when u pronounce it this combo of letters have a sort of blunt force in them, like something being teared apart not by choice but by a sick twist of fate (like our mc and hyune) that’s why i picked it!!! :p thank you for asking 🥹

THANJ YOUUUU 😭😭😭😭😭 no this is my favorite compliment i try to put sm thought into the characters and for u to pick up on that!!! on the floor rn…. i originally intended for the mother to apologize but then i realized that someone like her would still think that they did nothing wrong. in her mind, she was a mourning mother trying to make her late daughter’s memory live through her new one. but it doesn’t work like that. it still hurts. maybe she apologized later on, maybe she didn’t. still i think it would be too late anyway. so that’s why i left it at that. (also the dad just faded. anger is hard to carry)

also u calling it movie… im going insane. if one of my fics ever get adapted into a movie ull be front row PROMISE.

the characterization of mc hurt me a lot 💔 i mean i tried to make her as realistic as ever and i think the anger being directed towards someone who isnt here anymore helped her cope :(

i get u for the slightly rushed part 😭😭 it’s partly because i wanted the “good” parts to be short because there was this sense of impending doom, in a way, haunting them. like they both believed this happiness will end sooner or later and it did pass by quickly on both of them. but also because i wanted to post the fic because it’s been so long and i dont think tumblr dot com loves fics that are longer than 20k 😭😭😭

also SO HAPPY U PICKED UP ON THE DETAILS 😭😭😭😭 i love a good full circle moment. and i thought ending it in a graveyard would be nice. mc lived a good life loved by hyunjin and she has someone waiting for the day they’d meet her again. this was her biggest fear– to never be loved, because she grew to believe she hasn’t deserving of it—but she was. so i thought :D that sounds good. death doesn’t have to be a horrible depressing thing in this fic anymore 😭 also yes the olympics were my inspo i actually got inspired by many things while writing this fic u can tell it consumed my mind KANSND

i love YOU thank you for reading and for being so attentive to every detail and for being here in my life. like genuinely i appreciate your presence and existence more than i can describe. i hope u are always happy and healthy!!! i love you, my favorite reader :p

La déchirure

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known.

pairing: figure skater!hyunjin x ballerina!reader.

genre: angst. slowwww burn. heavy and recurrent grief. healing.

warnings: mc has a bad relationship with her parents. grief is a prominent theme here so please be aware. some allusions to sex but no smut. description of injuries.

word count: 21.8k

author’s note: heyyyy…. haven’t posted anything in 3 months i feel so shy AJNSJD i say this about every fic but this fic is truly my baby it took me so long to get it done and i poured my heart into it. so please if you enjoyed reading pls pls pls let me know. it means the world and more to me. happyyy reading!!! also thanks to @hyunverse for indulging all my brainrots about this fic i LOVE YOU

Your bare soles are bleeding across the graveyard. You don’t remember when your sandals slipped away from your feet, nor when your body decided to bring you here, heels scratched from the tiny rocks littering the ground.

But the pain doesn’t register in your brain, not yet. You’re only paying attention to the last name written on the tombstone— your last name, to be exact.

Right now, more than ever, you wished your first name was engraved beside it too.

You’ve memorized this graveyard like the back of your hand, know what sound the tree branches make during spring— gently swaying, like a melancholic flute, aching because flowers refuse to bloom upon them. And during winter too— even sadder, angrier, perhaps to mimic the sound of the souls left alone in the graves to fend off the cold.

Though you’ve never approached this tombstone before. You always remained a few feet back, each time your parents brought you to your late sister’s grave— every Sunday, for the past eighteen years of your existence, without fault.

You don’t know the person they’re mourning.

You don’t know the person they wish to mold you after.

Somehow, in a sick twist of fate, the course of your existence was set in stone before you could draw your first breath into this universe.

She looks just like her sister, your mom whispered in awe, tears brimming in her waterline as she beheld you close to her bare chest.

That is what your grandmother recalls about your birth, the rejoice of you being an exact copy of your sister’s features. There was nothing in her, in everyone’s memory about you. Everything orbited around your sister, the way the planets chase after the sun. You were, after all, born to replace the void she left behind.

You sometimes wonder, is your physique the first setting stone of your pain? Had your hair been lighter, darker than hers, your lips smaller, plumper, would your parents be forced to look at you, behold you for who you are, learn to love you for who you would be?

The question first popped into your brain at age five— maybe less intricate, a feeling that pressed against your ribcage: your parents don’t love you a lot, do they? You are now eighteen, the question has yet to desert you.

You’ve always been aware of this reality— there are more pictures of your sister than of you in your house. Your parents always spoke of her, the perfect little girl, whisked away by a terrible sickness, at age seven.

And she loved ballet.

So, you had to love ballet too.

You weren’t given a choice, per se. At age four, you were thrust into a ballet class with little oblivious girls; just like you. Flushed cheeks and glossy eyes as you all tried to follow the teacher’s instruction. It wasn’t easy, it never got easier, year after year, only more challenging, only harder on your body.

Bigger bruises, sprained ankles from time to time, you’ve lost count of the injuries this art has inflicted upon your body. But thankfully, you ended up loving it too. You loved how graceful it made you feel, how the music seemed to whisk you away to an enchanting world, how the applause roared each time you came first in a competition, all eyes on you alone.

Or so you hoped, you prayed. You wished to dance better, harder until all your parents could see was you. Not the daughter that came before you.

It was hard to admit at times, certainly something you never said out loud. But surely, yes, you were jealous of your deceased sister.

How could you not be when it seemed like you were competing with a ghost, someone whose absence weighed more than your presence?

Snippets of your life flash before your eyes as you stare at her grave. Pirouette, arabesque, plié, tendu— those are words engraved within your mind, ones you breathe in more than oxygen. You hear them in the voice of your ballet instructor, Jihyo. She’s a woman in her forties, though she looks older from the harsh lines framing her face.

Her voice is high-pitched, her hair always tied back in a sleek bun you’re sure pains her brain, her words are harsh each time she corrects your posture.

And she’s the only person who believes in you.

She’s not nice, she has made you cry more times than you can count. So, you knew when she leveled her eyes to yours when you were nine, when she told you, “I see something magical in you”— that she was telling the truth.

You wanted to prove her right, because for once, someone saw something in you, not in a ghost, not in ground-up bones.

In you.

You feel an uncontained anger swell within you, waves of relentless hurt swarming you as you fall to your knees.

You worked hard. You worked so hard. Between classes and ballet practice, the days strung you by like a puppet and sometimes you didn’t have enough time to breathe.

Your entire life revolved around ballet. spin, point well, adjust your posture, you can’t stop now. Suddenly it’s two a.m. and you only get four hours of sleep before your classes begin. You didn’t have time to socialize with your peers, to have a crush on the sweet guy in your maths class, to giggle at an arcade with your friends. Soon after you were in your ballet class, even more spins, points, arabesque.

But all of your exhaustion dissipated today. All of it seemed okay, for the first time in your existence, perhaps, the breath that escaped your chest wasn’t heavy. It was light, it was airy, it was one that yearned for the next, for the days that will follow, tinted with happiness, for once.

“I got into Julliard”

That is what you told your parents an hour ago, voice brimming with uncontainable happiness, tears dripping down your eyes in an uncontrollable flow.

Your mother’s eyes became teary in an instant. You thought the past was past you now. You’ll forgive eighteen years of coming second in your mother’s heart. Surely, she will only see you now.

But then her eyes set on the portrait of your sister on the wall, her tone desolate when she whispered—“she would have loved Julliard too.”

You don’t remember what happened after that. What curse escaped your mouth from the years of barely contained bitterness, when everything lashed out like venomous poison on your parents.

You remember screaming, lots of it, something breaking too, you don’t recall if it is you who threw the vase or your father. The latter seemed more plausible— he was always bound to these sudden bouts of anger. Effects of grief, consequences of your sister’s absence. Her, yet again, poisoning your life.

You remember feeling like a stranger in your home, a nobody, someone they’d kill in an instant to bring her back.

It was no longer a feeling, though. It was a fact. Your father cemented it loud and clear for you— “I wish she never died so you would’ve never been born.”

A pin-drop silence followed. Your father was always bound to bouts of anger, you knew that. He always regretted it afterward too, just like he felt in that instant, scrambling to apologize, to cup your cheek and say he didn’t mean it.

For how long has this thought festered in his brain, taken root in his veins, and flashed before his eyes each time he looked at you?

For how long did your parents wish you were dead instead?

You don’t remember how you got to the graveyard. You don’t recall when it started pouring heavily on you. You only register the rain because the earth is wet as you clench it between your fists, as you punch the ground under which your sister is buried.

You are crying, sobbing, a hysterical mess, you don’t know what you’re yelling, who you’re calling out for, what you’re trying to achieve by punching her grave.

Unearthing her body and burying yours there instead, perhaps.

“What are you doing?” a stranger’s voice startles you, cutting through the fog in your mind like a thunderbolt.

You don’t reply, simply turning around to look at the man standing a mere inches away from you.

“Do you know her or are you just desecrating her grave?” he asks calmly, as he brings a pink umbrella over your head. You realize that you’re drenched from head to toe, your feeble pajama does nothing to fight off the cold filtering between the fabric and your skin.

You are freezing. You fear there is no place warm enough for your soul, not anymore.

“She’s my late sister,” you say, voice raw, scratched like a broken record.

“She died young,” he says, looking at the dates engraved on the tombstone.

You feel so horrible, for a millisecond.

She was only seven.

Her grave is too small compared to your body.

But the anger quickly comes back to blind you. You invite it into your heart, push away the sadness and welcome the rage instead. It is the only thing comforting you in that instant.

“Did she do something to you?” he asks, his voice contrasting nicely against the heavy shatter of rain. It reminds you of the intro of your ballet music, soothing.

“No,” you admit, a bit shamefully. But all sense of guilt dissipates at his next question— “then wouldn’t she be sad seeing you do this?”

“What about MY sadness? MY anger?” you shout, lips trembling like the branches above your head. the storm picks up with your rising voice, the rain’s pitter-patter mimics the chaos inside your brain.

He remains silent and you can barely grasp the expression on his face, concealed by the umbrella’s shadows. You imagine that this conversation must have bored him, so you turn around yet again, your heart pounding angrily against your skin.

But then, he kneels beside you, his umbrella completely discarded. You don’t dare to tilt your face towards him, so you simply stare ahead, your breath caught in your throat— what is he thinking of your most vulnerable state?

“I am rage,” he says, his voice permeating your being softly, the storm seems to calm down too to follow the ebb of his voice. “It means I am alive, or better, I am life, according to Armand, a modern art painter. You are alive today, and you get to be angry. That’s not something anyone here can enjoy,” he points out, taking a fleeting glance at the graves surrounding you.

“You get to do something with that anger. But this, this won’t cure it.”

He’s young, roughly your age it seems, but he speaks as if he beholds a wisdom beyond his years. You wonder what he went through to understand rage doesn’t fix anything. You wonder if he has ever been this angry, too.

Did he move past it? Or did he drown the anger deep within the wells of his soul so he wouldn’t confront its ugly face?

The question roams in your head as you watch him place a bouquet of red lilies atop the grave. You didn’t even notice the flowers at first, your view was too distorted by tears to grasp anything beautiful.

“You’ll catch a cold,” the guy points out, smiling at you, or at least attempting to since the grin doesn’t reach his eyes. His words come out slower, as if weighed down by a sadness only he can feel.

He is in a graveyard after all, the flowers were meant for someone else than you.

“Wait here,” he says, quickly getting up and jogging out of the graveyard.

What a silly request, you think, it’s not like you would dare move. Your feet are aching and you have nowhere else to go.

He returns a few minutes later, a hoodie in his hands that he promptly pulls over your head. The warm fabric engulfs you in a cloud of roses and musk. “I tried to warm it up with the car’s heating,” he says sheepishly, and you blink slowly at his kindness, a pink tint blooming across your cheeks.

“Thank you.”

His eyes fleet to your bare, bleeding feet, and you fidget in place, trapped by a bout of embarrassment.

“I have spare shoes in my car. Do you want me to drive you home?” His voice is gentle, as if speaking to a wounded animal, too bruised by the hands of humans. Tears spring to your eyes once more, you wish the earth could crack open and swallow you whole.

“I don’t want to burden you.”

“You won’t,” he says, and as if sensing your hesitation, he adds, “I promise. Leaving you here is what would burden me.”

You are very tired as he drives you to your place. You speak once when you ask him if he wasn’t there to visit someone, he says that it’s okay, he can come back tomorrow.

You only dare look at him at the last red light before you arrive at your address. He’s beautiful, black strands sticking to his forehead, a tiny pout pulling his rosy lips forward. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, contrasting beautifully with the mole on his cheek. Then, by his jaw. Another at the beginning of his neck. You wonder if he has a map of ebony stars trailing down his chest.

You don’t know why this stranger instills such safety in you. Why would you rather stay in his car than set foot into your house once more. You dread what will await you behind those doors, you don’t think your heart could handle another tear at its tender flesh.

You don’t think you could handle looking at your parents and only seeing strangers.

But you know this safety has something to do with the way he placed the lilies atop the grave; as if it beheld someone dear to his heart and not a stranger. How he made sure you got home safely, how he didn’t seem to care that you dirtied his front seat and the carpet below your feet.

He looks like a good person.

You wish to tell your good news to a good person.

“I got into Julliard,” you quickly let out as soon as he parks. You don’t allow yourself time to regret your confession.

A breathtaking smile overtakes his face, the thunderstorm outside pales before the sun shining in his features.

“Really?” he asks cheerfully, and you nod, a tiny smile painting across your lips. “Mm. Really.”

“That’s amazing!” his grin further widens, his eyes disappearing into two lovely moon crescents. “I know I’m just a stranger but, I'm proud of you,” his voice softens, “I mean it. I hope you’re proud of yourself too.”

It takes you a few seconds to answer, you wish to bask further in the sound of his voice, to store his words into your memory, to revisit his kindness on nights that are too cold.

This was all you’ve ever wanted to hear.

“Thank you,” you smile softly. A moment of silence passes, you find yourself missing this stranger before you even leave his car. You wish to carry a piece of his memory within you, a souvenir of who he is— “I'm Yn, by the way.”

“Yn,” he repeats, his voice tender. “Nice to meet you, Yn. I’m Hyunjin.”

Four years later.

“You need to work on your landing more, but the rest is good.”

“Thanks, coach.” Hyunjin gives Jihyoun, his lifelong mentor, a thumbs-up as he loosens the laces of his ice skates. A dull ache is throbbing through his legs, like the faint buzz of bees circling roses.

His body is weary, every muscle reminding him of the sheer effort he’s poured into perfecting his routine for the upcoming figure skating competition— the most important one of his life, by far.

“Are you leaving now?” Jihyoun’s voice pierces the delicate silence and Hyunjin nods, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. “Just gonna take a breather.”

“I’ll head out then,” Jihyoun says, patting his back gently, “make sure you get some rest.”

Hyunjin waits till his coach is far out the corridor to release a relieved breath. A familiar silence wraps around the ice rink like a comforting cloak, the stillness sits beside Hyunjin like an old friend. It is here, amid the soft hum of machines and the chill of the rink that Hyunjin feels most like himself.

A few minutes trickle by, slow and silent. An uncomfortable feeling nudges at Hyunjin’s rib as he remains as still as a statue; he knows he’s on a losing bet to make time stretch forth, hoping that the sun outside will pause in its descent— a few more moments before the darkness completely sets in Seoul. Because the night will surely string along with it the next day, and the next day is one Hyunjin isn’t ready to face.

When does he ever?

But the sun always sets and rises once more, even if you dont wish for it to.

With a sigh, Hyunjin grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He makes his way to the vending machine upstairs, in the dimly lit corner near the dance studio. He drops a few coins into the slot, punching the number for his usual drink. But it gets stuck—of course.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his forehead against the cold glass before frustratedly kicking the machine.

“I am rage,” a voice suddenly teases from behind.

Hyunjin is quick to distance himself from the machine, startled, and admittedly, very embarrassed. His shame morphs to surprise when he sees you standing there.

Your lips curve into a gentle smile, and your eyes sparkle with quiet amusement— that light, however, dims slightly when he doesn’t immediately respond.

It takes all of Hyunjin’s will to act like he doesn’t recognize you.

“You get to do something with your anger, but this won’t cure it.” You quote, your voice softer now. “You know, you told me this, near the graveyard…” You point vaguely behind you, each word growing quieter as if you’re no longer sure if that scene was real or a figment of your imagination.

Hyunjin nods in recognition, and you relax, the tension lifting from your shoulders.

“Miss Julliard,” he murmurs, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. Your grin brightens at his words and Hyunjin notices faint smile lines tracing your lips and eyes. It seems as if you’ve laughed quite often for the past four years. The thought brings him a strange sense of comfort.

“What did the vending machine do to deserve this?” you ask, tilting your head with playful curiosity.

“Stole my money,” Hyunjin mutters.

“You’ve got to hit the side when that happens.” You show him, tapping the machine with an experienced hand. His drink clatters down, and he shoots you a thankful grin as he bends to retrieve it.

In those brief seconds, with his head bowed, Hyunjin begs his heart to slow its frantic beating.

“What are you doing here?” you ask once he stands.

“I’m an ice skater,” he says, and your eyes widen with genuine surprise.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Yeah… I guess it is. Are you back from Julliard?” His voice is softer now, more tentative, reminiscent of the day you met.

“For a little while. Just a few months. This studio—” you glance around, “—it’s where I used to train before I went away.”

“I see,” Hyunjin nods, “I train upstairs, in the ice rink. Because I’m an ice skater,” he repeats, before closing his eyes in embarrassment as your giggles spill forth. No shit Hyunjin.

“I’ll see you around then,” he quickly mutters, eager to end the conversation, before turning around and hurrying away.

He’s almost by the stairs when your voice calls out his name, urgent, pressing.

“Hyunjin!”

His body freezes before his mind orders it to—he’s not the only one who remembers, then.

“Did you eat dinner?” you shout, a little out of breath.

“No,” he admits.

“There’s a place nearby that makes the best kimchi stew. Want to go?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s my treat.” Your smile has slightly dimmed, and you’re unconsciously scratching the skin by your nails. Even from afar, Hyunjin can discern a shadow looming in your eyes, a plea unspoken.

“Are you lonely?” Hyunjin’s question comes out before he can stop it, blunt and raw. He’s always been honest, maybe too honest for his own good. Time has taught him that every moment matters, that each second slips away faster than you expect, and that it’s better to speak the truth before it comes back to poison you.

Your smile falters. “I just… don’t want to go home. not yet,” you confess quietly.

“So you’re using me?” he teases, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. You roll your eyes, muttering “Never mind” under your breath as you start to turn away.

“Fine,” he sighs, pushing off the wall. “But I’m craving sushi.”

…

Hyunjin’s eyes are more worn than the last time you’ve seen him.

Four years ago, they were puffy, soft with exhaustion, their brown dulled like the last flower clinging to life as fall sets in. But now, the lights have gone out completely, like a bloom crushed underfoot, its color bleeding into the cracks of the pavement.

You steal glances at him between spoonfuls of kimchi jjigae (he silently followed you to your restaurant), watching for any sign of recognition. But he doesn’t seem to remember your name, nor the day at the graveyard as much as you do.

The thought strips you of embarrassment and clothes you in sadness instead.

Hyunjin has written your name into his diary more times than he’d care to admit, even less so to you.

He has always walked this earth alone, a stranger even to his own emotions, especially his grief— no one understood how his mother’s death consumed him whole.

It is true that only one body was laid to the ground many years ago. But Hyunjin’s soul followed hers into the ground when he was just fourteen.

His sadness made sense to his teachers, his classmates, and even the distant relatives who only came around occasionally. But no one grasped the depth of his anger—at the universe for taking his mother when he was still a child, at the illness that wore down her bones, at himself, mostly, for still breathing when she no longer could.

That rage had devoured him, tore through his flesh with its canine teeth. He only saw its reflection once—when he met you.

Hyunjin didn’t know who or what you were mourning that day at the graveyard. But he remembers your screams on his way to his mother’s grave, raw and stripped down to the marrow. It was as if he had stumbled upon his younger self, begging his mother to dig through the earth and hug his frail body once more, just once more.

“How long have you been skating ?” you ask suddenly, your gaze flickering over his face. He blinks slowly, as if to bring his consciousness back to the present moment.

“Since i was a kid, nearly two decades now,” he says.

“Do you like it?” it is a harmless question, a natural succession of the one that came before it. But nothing was ever that simple with Hyunjin, because ice skating reminded him of his mother, and his mother was the wound that had yet to stop bleeding.

“I do, I really do,” he speaks softly, a fragile smile curling his lips. He waits till you both finish the first bottle of soju to ask— how have you been? and it’s your turn to frown slightly. He notices the tightening of your fist around the spoon, the subtle tremor in your hand. You, too, carry an ever bleeding wound.

“I’m okay.”

The next question slips from him without thought, “are you still as angry?”

You remain silent for a few seconds, holding his gaze as the question settles between you. His cheeks flush, and he almost apologizes for his bluntness, but then you speak.

“Was I ever angry? I think I was just very sad.”

Snippets of a younger Hyunjin flash through his mind. The numerous brawls he got in with his classmates, the way he pushed away anyone who tried to show him kindness— He was all thorns, keeping others from reaching the tender petals beneath.

Tears spring in his eyes, unbidden, and he bites his lower lip. He understands what you mean perfectly, you understand what he feels perfectly too.

“I feel as if my heart is too tired now to bear such big anger,” you say with a smile. “Have you worn out yet? That’s what I’d like to ask.”

“Aren’t you afraid of the answer?” he pauses, adding in a quiet whisper, “I am.”

The chandelier above dances across his glossy eyes. You’ve never been optimistic—life hasn’t allowed you that luxury. But a small part of you wants to offer Hyunjin hope, to breathe life back into his weary heart, even though you no longer believe in hope yourself.

But no words of reassurance come. So instead, you offer something much simpler, much more realistic. “Let’s ask it another time, then,” you smile, pouring each other a new round of drinks. You quickly down three shots before laying your head on the table.

“Are you sleeping?” Hyunjin asks with a quiet laugh, the sound light, like a melody played softly on piano keys.

“It’s fine,” you wave a hand in the air. “The owner knows me. He’ll wake me when it’s time to close.”

Both of you are running from home, or what’s left of it. Hyunjin watches you, your face softened by fleeting peace, so different from the grief he’s etched into his memories.

Far more beautiful, too.

“Then wake me up, too,” he sighs, resting his head beside yours.

His eyelids close instantly, lulled to a nice sleep by the buzz of the fridge and the soft hum of your breathing.

Many minutes pass by— quiet and uninterrupted. Hyunjin finds that the next day has come much slower in your company.

…

The first time you saw Hyunjin figure skating, you were drawn like a moth to a flame to the music echoing from the ice rink.

You recognized the swelling violin of Can You Hear the Music, and paused by the entrance, torn between stepping in and turning back. What if it wasn’t Hyunjin? Worse, what if it was, and he didn’t wish to see you?

Still, your feet betrayed your hesitation, inching forward. You stood at the door, watching in quiet awe as Hyunjin leaped into the air, spinning with perfect grace. He landed effortlessly on one foot, the other extended behind him in a flawless arc.

The lights danced over his body, his flowing white blouse trailing his movements like a siren’s voice pulling in sailors. His black hair floated weightlessly with each spin, strands resting delicately against his forehead.

For the past four years, you had struggled to feel human. The world tasted bland, as if your heart had lost its ability to savor anything. You were afraid you’d lost the capacity to be amazed—by sunsets, by poignant art that once moved you to tears. So you chased after beauty, desperate for the feelings it could still stir in you, a fragile reminder of your humanity.

But watching Hyunjin skate— that gripped your heart more than anything else had in years.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” a voice startles you and you turn quickly, caught off guard by a man standing beside you, a bottle of water in hand and a kind smile on his face.

“Yes, he is,” you reply quietly.

“I’m Jihyoun, Hyunjin’s coach,” he introduced himself, extending a firm hand.

“Yn,” you hesitated, glancing at Hyunjin, who was still absorbed in his performance. “An acquaintance.”

Jihyoun nodded, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You followed suit, unable to tear your gaze away from Hyunjin as he spun, cradling his chest as if holding a memory close, his body lowering toward the ground in a quiet ache. It was a pain you knew all too well.

As the music softened, Hyunjin stilled, closing his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. You were about to slip away, retreating like a shadow escaping the light, but Jihyoun would have found you weird, perhaps he’d think you were a stalker. So, you remained there.

“Hey, coach,” Hyunjin waved, skating toward you both. Anxiety flickered in your chest like a match that refused to light up—you regretted coming now. You had shared a meal just days ago, but Hyunjin hadn’t asked for your name, nor did he seem to remember it. Maybe you held onto his memory more warmly than he held onto yours.

“Miss Julliard,” Hyunjin greeted with a soft smile as his eyes landed on you, and just like that, your worries dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

“Julliard? That’s impressive,” Jihyoun whistled, but you shook your head. You often forgot how prestigious your school was—perhaps because no one ever celebrated your acceptance in it.

No one, except Hyunjin.

“Have you eaten?” Hyunjin asked, gliding to the edge of the rink, his blouse clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

“No,” you shook your head. He nodded nonchalantly.

“I’m craving kimchi jiggae again,” he tipped his chin towards you, “we can go again, if you’d like.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you grinned.

“Okay. Wait for me.”

…

Hyunjin’s routine has always been quite simple.

He’d work out in the morning, the rest of his day lost in practice, his nights reserved for painting or reading, sometimes pouring his thoughts onto paper. It was a life untouched by turbulence, a pattern he rarely swayed from— until you wove yourself into it.

For the past two weeks, you always came to see Hyunjin at the end of his practice. Some nights you’d go eat dinner at your usual spot; sometimes you’d simply buy a drink and find a quiet refuge on the rooftop, watching the city lights twinkle beneath the stars.

There was a strange sense of comfort, he had found, in two bruised souls sitting with one another— an unspoken understanding of what your tongues had often failed to express.

But you hadn’t come to see him in two days.

It’s past one a.m. when Hyunjin finally exits the practice building. He pauses outside, turning back to see that the lights are still on in the dance studio.

He hopes it is you dancing there.

With a faint sigh, he takes the stairs two at a time, not wanting to dwell on the fact that, for the very first time in a while, Hyunjin, the ever lonely man, is seeking someone else’s presence.

When Hyunjin pushes open the studio door, he finds you sitting on the floor, knees tucked to your chest. Your tutu encircles you the way petals would hug a stem— layers of soft tulle in pale pink, contrasting delicately against your sheer tights and pointe shoes.

You appear just like the water lily he sketched only yesterday—soft pastels and an unmatched delicateness. His cheeks flush at the comparison, and, in a hurried attempt to leave, he fumbles, catching his shirt on the doorknob and bumping into the door.

He’s frozen in place, wincing when you call out his name in surprise. Does he have to embarrass himself each time he’s around you?

He turns slowly, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “Miss Julliard,” he waves, and you grin in return, your eyes warm, “What are you doing here?”

The words are lost on him as you run over to him, stopping mere inches away from his figure. His fingers twitch for his sketchbook, a sudden urge seizes him to draw you.

“You didn’t come by yesterday so I came to see you,” he explains, voice soft like a summer breeze.

Your grin brightens like the sun. “Ah, did you miss me?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes playfully, walking past you to sit on the floor.

Did he miss you? no he didn’t, but his heart did ache, just a little, at your absence.

“Why did you look so defeated sitting on the ground?” he asks instead of replying, leaning against the mirrored wall.

You sigh, taking your place across from him, “practicing this dance is so hard, I got sick of it.”

He nods, understanding the frustration that stems from being a perfectionist, always chasing ideals in your work.

“You know what helps me? Performing to a song I love. Reminds me what I love about the sport.”

You hum, before a mischievous glint sparks in your eyes. “There is this one song.. From a barbie movie.”

He blinks in surprise, laughing as you dash for your phone.

“Barbie?”

“Yes! The 12 dancing princesses. My mom made me watch it to convince me to take up ballet.”

“Is that so?” he grins, placing his chin atop his palm.

“Yeah, she wanted me to follow my sister’s footsteps,” you say, and he thinks back to the small grave you were both kneeling next to. “I wonder if I wouldn’t have become a ballerina if I didn’t watch it,” you muse, before clearing your throat.

“Anyways,” you force a smile on your face, as a whimsical melody streams through the loud speakers. Your grin turns childlike as you stand onto pointe, your raised foot grazing the knee of your supporting leg.

You glide across the floor as if you are floating, your tutu catching the soft glow of the studio light. Your leaps are as light as air, and you slide to Hyunjin grabbing his hand to pull him up, drawing him into your orbit.

You laugh, spinning around him, your movements fluid and free, yet your arms frame your figure with a rehearsed prouesse. He can’t help but laugh with you, the warmth of your presence filling the room, the music wrapping around you both like a spell.

You’re a blur of pink and light, you appear like an angel dancing to the tune of childhood memories.

As the song reaches its end, you twirl one last time before bowing gracefully. Hyunjin claps, the sound echoing in the quiet studio.

“I haven’t danced to that in years,” you say, catching your breath. “I probably looked ridiculous.”

He shakes his head, his voice steady and sincere. “I think ballet would’ve found you anyway. It’s like you were born for it.”

Hyunjin is used to the cold bite of the ice rink, that is where he feels most like himself. But he is somehow drawn to the warmth of this particular studio—no, not just the studio. It’s the warmth you bring, the way your smile lights up the space at his words, that makes him feel, for the first time in a long while, that he could have a friend. That he doesn’t need to walk down the path of life alone.

…

You’re lingering at the doorstep of your home, keys gripped like a lifeline in your trembling fingers. It always takes you three heartbeats to open the door—one to shut your eyes, two to fill your lungs with air, and three to prepare for the tidal wave of hurt waiting on the other side.

You push the door open and slip inside, peeling off your shoes like a shadow trying to leave no trace. With each step, the house pulls you in, a black hole swallowing the warmth that once flickered in your veins, devouring any trace of light.

Dinner with Hyunjin still burns faintly in your chest, like the lingering heat of a fireplace after the flames have died. He makes you laugh a lot, because he’s clumsy, and a peculiar fan of weird debates. You had just spent an hour discussing whether humans have two buttcheeks or simply one.

But you wither down inside this home, your joy punctured like a balloon drifting too close to the sun.

The walls have permeated your sadness, they echo the killing sentence your father cast into your heart four years ago, a wound that festers no matter how much time has passed.

Hyunjin asked you a few days ago why you were back to Seoul. You told him you were competing in the Seoul International Ballet Competition, and he said that he was preparing for the Olympics selection. He then laughed, saying how strange it was that after a month of seeing each other every day, it was only now that you’d shared this.

You tried to laugh with him, but the sound felt like a stone sinking in your throat. Guilt gnawed at you, not because it was a lie, but because it wasn’t the whole truth. The ballet may have brought you back, but something else called you home.

At times you wonder if you had made the right call by answering it.

“You’re home,” your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet as you enter the kitchen. You nod, humming absentmindedly.

“I made pasta, it’s in the oven. And I bought that drink you like,” she says, but her words are too sweet, too forced—like the artificial flavor of apple in fizzy drinks.

“Thanks,” you whisper, barely loud enough to carry the word across to her.

“I’ll grab it for you,” she says, moving toward the fridge. But when she opens it, her hands falter, hovering over empty shelves. “That’s strange… I could’ve sworn I put it here.” You grip the counter tighter as she flits from cabinet to cabinet, her search growing frantic.

“It’s fine, I’m not thirsty,” you murmur, but she continues, finally pulling open the dishwasher.

“Ah, silly me,” she says softly, retrieving the can with trembling hands. You keep your eyes low, unwilling to meet hers. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice as fragile as a cracked vase, “I forget so much these days.”

And just like that, she slips out of the kitchen, leaving behind a gaping hole in your chest that threatens to swallow you whole.

You hate it when she forgets in front of you, because it shatters the illusion. You see her now, as something frail, crumbling under the weight of time. Her mind, like a worn-out book, is losing pages faster than you can salvage them.

And the cruelest part is that it forces you to forgive her—to hold her in the softness of your heart, knowing that one day she’ll forget who you are entirely.

But has she ever known who you were to begin with? Has she ever dared to ask?

Has she ever cared to?

…

The first time Hyunjin spoke about his mother, you were both lying on the grass underneath a starry night.

You had been rambling about a specific bagel from New York that you missed, while he hummed absentmindedly, his thoughts entangled in memories like marionettes tugged by invisible strings from the past.

He hadn’t meant to ignore you; so when you turned to him, playful mischief dancing on your lips—“Are you listening to me?”—he could only offer a sheepish grin in response.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, and he bit his lip, worry knitting his brow.

Hyunjin had never had anyone to speak to about his mother; her memory resided in the pages of his diary, the strokes of his paintings, the rhythm of his dances—never out loud, never to another soul.

But he suddenly felt an insatiable urge to speak of her; thorns pricking his throat, his skin growing feverish as he fought to form the words he longed to speak.

“What’s wrong?” you pressed, your tone shifting to one of concern. He thought you wouldn’t mind if he shared her memory, but what he would even say? There was so much to talk about, so much he admired, so much he missed.

“My mom…” he started, his voice tentative. He had your full attention now, he could tell by the way you fully turned around to look at him. “She used to make the best kimchi stew,” he confessed, closing his eyes in slight embarrassment. Is this really what he decided to speak about?

Still, he pushed through. “She made it for me whenever I was sick. I don’t attach it to bad memories because it was delicious, and I could feel that she made it out of love, out of concern.” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I hadn’t eaten it at all since she passed away. I couldn’t bring myself to. Until you took me to that restaurant.”

His eyes glistened as they settled on you, “So thank you for taking me there. I think you would have liked her kimchi stew.”

Your eyes widened slightly, dewdrops brimming in your waterline before you smiled softly. “I’m sure I would’ve.”

He cleared his throat, somehow emboldened by the tenderness of your gaze. He thought that her memory would be safe within the confines of your mind. He thought that he wouldn’t mind sharing her with you. “She was the best figure skater I’ve ever seen.”

“Was she? Is she the one who inspired you to become an ice skater?” you asked, curiosity lighting up your expression. He nodded eagerly. “Yes, she was graceful with her moves; it felt as if she floated atop the ice. The media dubbed her the best figure skater of her generation,” he spoke, pride swelling within him as he noticed the admiration in your expression.

“It was always just her and me, so I’d stay late into the night watching her practice. That was my favorite pastime. She’d always buy me the food I wanted afterward, as a thank you.”

“She sounds like a good mother,” you said, and your words morphed into fingers pressing on his tender bruises.

“She was. She is.”

“Tell me more,” you smiled, and so he talked, and talked and talked. He shared everything he could recall: their weekly picnics beneath cherry trees, birthday candles they’d blow out together, the medals she dedicated to him, and her silly jokes that had once filled their home with laughter.

He spoke of her kindness, her joy that lingered even until her last breath, the love that she beheld for this life and her art, and him. He didn’t mention her illness; it was a mere passing moment, never defining her, never stripping her from the passion that bound her atoms together.

When he finished, he found his cheeks damp with tears, but his heart felt lighter than it had in years. The air around you was sweeter, for once, it wasn’t fourteen-year-old Hyunjin weeping over the memory of his mother. The ache had softened.

His last words hung in the air, echoing softly in the stillness of the empty park. You didn’t speak; instead, you gently placed your palm atop his.

It is his very soul that twitched at your touch.

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, a foolish question, perhaps.

Your reply was even more obvious, simpler.

“Comforting you.”

“I…” he hesitated, eyes darting furiously over your face, then your hand resting upon his, then your eyes once more, watching him patiently, leaving him the space to retract his hand or intertwine your fingers with his.

“I’m scared,” he finally admitted, the shadows of his fears looming large. It terrified him even more to utter such words, yet he knew you wouldn’t use them against him; you understood what it felt like to be deprived of comfort— somehow that only saddened him even more.

“What if… What if I forget the coldness of her fingers wrapped around mine?”

“Your mom loved you, Hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hand to feel warm.”

Something shifted within his heart, atoms rearranging themselves to spell out a simple truth for Hyunjin— your mom would want you to be happy.

He nodded, willing his fingers to slip in the empty spaces between your fingers. You squeezed his hand—once, twice, thrice—each pulse a silent invitation for your warmth to seep through his veins, to permeate his bones and sink into his heart.

He could get used to this, he thought. He wants to get used to your warmth, he realizes.

What does that mean?

…

Hyunjin has always known who he was, memorized to heart the architecture of his personality.

He knew he loved art, that he found solace in learning about artists past who, like him, seemed to have sculpted their solitude into something lasting.

He knew he loved painting, he knew he hated egg plants, he knew he’d rather die than not achieve his mother’s dream, for him.

But something within him was shifting—unraveling.

His eyes are drawn to the entrance of the ice rink, like a compass needle to true north. His neck craned almost instinctively as the clock looms over 11 p.m.— the time you usually come by to the studio.

“Don’t worry, she’ll drop by,” Jihyon’s voice cut through his trance. Hyunjin startled, his cheeks blooming with the soft pink of a rising dawn.

“What are you talking about?” he mumbled, but Jihyon only grinned knowingly.

“Miss Julliard,” his coach teased. Was he that obvious? Did you notice it too?

That nickname clung to you both since the first time he uttered it near the vending machine. You never corrected him, never offered your real name, and he never asked—though he knew it well. He had thought of you often over these past four years, wondered if you had been well, wondered if you had ever moved on or if you still carried the anger, the heartbreak as if it were your own spine.

He felt guilty that he had found comfort in your pain all these nights past.

Did that make Hyunjin selfish? Or lonely?

“Don’t stay up too late,” Jihyon said as he waved goodbye.

“Don’t worry about me.”

Jihyon lingered by the door, as if wishing to say something else, but he simply sighed before leaving.

It feels odd now for Hyunjin to stand in the stillness of the ice rink, feeling like a hollow shell without you. The quiet is no longer familiar, nor comforting, not when he’s grown accustomed to your giggles spilling all over the place.

What does it mean, he wondered, when the heart learns to beat to the rhythm of someone else’s presence? When the mind begins to archive every detail, every smile, everything that the other person has ever loved?

Like clockwork you jog into the studio, waving at Hyunjin from afar. He skates over to you, leaning against the railing as he smiles, it is natural for him to smile at you.

“How was practice?” you asked, and he shot you a thumbs-up, his fingers drumming against the railing.

“Isn’t your competition next week?” you ask and he nods, “Can I come watch then?” you say and his heart stutters at your request.

“You can, if you want to, if you don’t it’s okay too, you actually don’t have to,” he mumbles, his words rushing out, until you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him

“I’ll be there, I have to make sure everyone cheers for you when you win,” you grin, self-assuredly, as if you have never doubted that he’ll qualify for the Olympics.

His heart grows limp at your words, his limbs losing their strength as your finger lingers upon his lips. He gently grabs your hand, moving it away, goosebumps rippling across his skin at how soft your wrist feels.

This isn’t normal.

“Should I bring pom poms? Actually, should I make them from scratch? What’s your favorite color?”

“Will you actually come?” he whispers. Hyunjin has never had anyone cheering for him in his competitions, except for his coach, but he was obligated to do so, in a way. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to smile at someone in the stands anticipating your win.

Somewhat, you sense the gravity of hyunjin’s question, the vulnerability it entails, one he doesn’t try to hide. He has never attempted to hide his emotions from you, now that he thinks about it.

“Of course I will,” your voice softens, your playfulness melting away. “I promise. I…” you point your pinky to him and he chuckles quietly, “I pinky promise.”

You kiss your thumb pad and signal for him to do the same, he shakes his head before following your lead, pressing both your thumb pads together.

“There, sealed forever.”

You quiet down, before giggling for a reason that eludes you both.

“Have you ever tried ice skating?” he suddenly asks and you nod, “I know how to skate, but not how to do all those fancy spins of yours.”

“Do you want to try?” he smiles and you lighten up, “Actually? What if I fall?”

“I’ll be there to catch you.”

A few moments later, you were both on the ice, Hyunjin spinning around you as you found your balance. “This feels so different from ballet,” you chuckle and he grins, “do you like it?”

“Yeah, i do.”

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching for your hand, and you don’t hesitate, your fingers intertwining with his as he leads you across the rink.

Can you hear the music starts playing on the loud speakers and Hyunjin laughs, turning around to look at you.

“I’m scared,” you giggle happily and he shakes his head, “Let go of your fears and hold on to me.”

And then, without warning, he spins you, the motion sending your hair flying around you like wings unfurling in the wind. he’s spurred by the emotions this song alone can bestow on him. Can you hear the music?, it asks. Yes, he can, now more than ever, is his answer.

He wraps a secured arm around your waist, lifting you off the ground as he traces wide circles on the ice. Your laughter can be heard over the music, shouts of exhilaration ripping through you as you lift your leg to a ninety degree, as if doing ballet on ice.

He twirls with you in his arms, as the music hits its crescendo, before finally putting you down, his arm still around you, your chests almost brushing against one another.

You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been, Hyunjin can decipher the specks of light in your eyes, can hear the booming sound of your heartbeat in his chest. Your hand wraps around his bicep as you catch your breath, and Hyunjin is wrapped in a cocoon of your scent.

He doesn’t wish to break free, he wants to remain in the chrysalis woven by the notes of your perfume.

It’s a few hours later, Hyunjin laid on his bed, a pillow tightly pressed to his face. He wasn’t a stranger to late-night thoughts strung along by the twilight, but he had never thought before of this—of your lips, how soft they looked inches away from his, how it’d feel to press them on yours, to move slowly, tentatively, and then ravenously, hungrily, achingly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, further burying himself under his covers. Hyunjin wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of thoughts, he had never pursued someone, never had the time nor the energy to do so. Never had anyone grab his attention, in the first place.

Until you.

“Do I like her?” he murmurs to no one but himself, before shaking his head forcefully. “Go to sleep, Hyunjin,” he mutters, willing his eyes to shut closed, sewed so tightly together images of you cannot slip through his eyelids.

But to no avail.

He groans, kicking the covers off before heading to his desk. There, he opens his diary, grabbing a pen as if to write a new entry. But his fingers itch for the buried notebook from four years ago, the one he eyes from the corner of his eye.

He sighs softly before digging it out of its place, his fingers expertly going to his entry the night he came back from the graveyard. The night you met.

He remembers coming home slightly distraught after dropping you off, he had lingered by the door a bit, hearing echoing screams, a door being slammed, then an eerie silence once more.

Hyunjin had been too immersed in his pain to afford absorbing others’ sadness. A sponge that is too saturated, unable to welcome the woes of any other being.

But you had managed to crack through his defenses, frayed yourself a passage through the small gaps forgotten, shed sunlight on parts of himself he had thought were rotten, lost beyond salvation.

He felt an excruciating sadness for you, for your anger, for your sadness, for the way it consumed you whole, because he knew what would follow—when a body burns up, all that is left after is ashes, scattered everywhere, mingling with specks of dust, meaningless, a heart that serves no purpose anymore.

He never told you, he is unsure if he ever would, but it was the fourth anniversary of his mother’s death when he met you. He had planned to spend the night in a willowing state of sadness, an incapacitating one that didn’t allow for his limbs to move, similar to the first anniversary, then the second, then the third.

But he had spent the rest of it sketching your tearful eyes as you looked up at him, as you cowered away from his words, as you relaxed in his car.

That is the image he finds in his diary entry. But now that he thinks about it, he didn’t skillfully depict the moles scattered on your face, the crease near your eyes, or the way your hair reflects the sun’s light. He didn’t capture the arch of your eyebrow or the way beauty seems to reside in every nook and cranny of your face, seems to pour out of your pores like the sun brushing against a waterfall the way timid lovers do—magical, beautiful.

He sees you in a whole different light, now.

Hyunjin runs a tired hand through his hair, before grabbing his sketchbook. In the hours that ensued, in which he tried to do your beauty justice, erasing and retracing the shape of you time and time again, numerous questions ran through his mind, racing against time to find answers.

Does he like you? No, too simplistic of a question, too dim to encapsulate what knowing you feels like.

Is his soul drawn to yours?

Perhaps. Yes. Most definitely, his heart whispered.

Would he be a fool if he ever confessed it to you?

It is his mind that answered then. A bit forcefully, in fear, in warning: yes, a thousand times yes.

…

There are places in your parent’s house that you always stray from, the way oil stirs away from water. One, the vicinity of their bedroom, two, the living room— the ones in which you are most likely to stumble upon them. Three, the attic, in which you will most likely brush against ghosts from the past.

But somehow you found yourself exactly there, tonight.

It's 10 p.m. The sun has long sunk below Seoul’s horizon, leaving behind a sky awash in an exquisitely deep blue, so inviting you almost wish to disappear into it. Today was your rest day, no dance studio, no late night escapades with Hyunjin.

You find yourself missing his giggles and how they would linger in your mind long after you part ways.

The attic is still, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of your feet as you fumble for a light switch, your hand sweeping along the dusty wall. It flickers on, weak and golden, and you squint as the air, thick with age, coats your lungs.

Old furniture crowds the room, remnants of a life you left behind four years ago. You’re surprised they kept your bed untouched in your room, one last string tying them to your memory.

Your eyes sweep over old paintings, broken suitcases, and wooden shelves, a hand mixer—useless now. And then, you see it, the reason you climbed here.

Your mother had once mentioned a box, in passing, filled with things your sister wanted to leave for you. Your mother wasn’t pregnant with you at the time nor did she intend to, but she’d entertain the idea to make her favorite girl happy.

You kneel and pull the box to your lap, the cardboard soft and weathered under your fingers.

“She was so kind,” your mother had said, too many glasses of wine in her system, her words loose and unguarded. “She gave up her favorite toys for you, before you were even born.” You never asked why they were never passed on, deep down you already knew the answer. She never deemed you worthy of having them.

Inside, you find a small doll with golden hair and big glassy blue eyes, its pink dress dotted with strawberries, a swan hairpin missing some crystals, and tiny, delicate ballerina shoes, pale pink, unused, small—so small.

And then, a note.

Your heart stumbles, the bile rising fast to your throat as you grip the worn paper in your hands.

Your sister had always been a myth, a memory passed down to you by your parents. An elusive figure you have only seen in photographs, until now.

You’ve never had words that she addressed to you.

The paper crinkles as you unfold it. You can somehow hear the rush of hot blood in your veins—uncomfortable, deafening.

The words blur together as your eyes skim over the paper. You catch fragments— to my future sister—then something about how she wants to play with you, urging you to hurry, come quickly, before I break all my toys.

Your vision wavers, the small, careful handwriting barely legible through the haze. I left you my favorite doll and hairpin. So simple. So kind. I also left you my new ballet shoes. You don’t have to like ballet but if you do that would be awesome.

I would love to dance ballet with you.

The note crumples in your hand as your heart lurches, body jolted upright as if struck by lightning. You stumble out of the attic, discarding the box as the walls close in on you. They press, like the past, against your ribcage until you feel like you might suffocate.

You’ve carried resentment like a stone in your chest, a tide pulled by the moon, ever present, ever rising. You resented her because her memory haunted you, grew larger than life as you did. But she never asked for that. She was just a child, a seven-year-old who loved you before you even existed.

How horrible are you?

Guilt is bitter on your tongue, sour as acid, and you swallow hard against it, tasting the metallic tang of regret. You don’t think as you barge into your parent’s room, blinded by feelings too entangled like vines to tell apart.

“What’s wrong?” your mother asks, sitting in a bed too big for her alone. You throw the crumpled note at her.

“Why did you never give me this?” you demand, and her eyes widen as she skims the lines, a sheen glazing her pupils.

“I…” she stammers, and you laugh—a hollow, jagged sound—as your hands press against your forehead, fingers digging into the migraine feeding off your pain.

“You know I hated her, right? I– I hated a child, my sister because I never felt loved by you,” you choke, voice fracturing, “how– my god how pathetic is that?”

“i’ve always loved you,” she says, voice tentative. but it is too meek of a reply, too hollow before the depths of your abandonment.

“I’ve never, NEVER felt once loved by you! YOU made me feel as if I was competing with a ghost. She wasn’t here but she was everywhere and I was never enough to fill her shoes!”

“I was a grieving mother!” she yells, standing up to face you, her face flushed and her hands trembling. “Do you know how terrible it feels to lower your child into the ground? Do you know how horrible I felt covering her grave when she was scared of the dark, when she hated the cold? She–” her voice cracks like fragile glass, unraveling as tears spill over her face, “She kept telling me that she didn’t want to leave us, that she didn’t want to die. How am I—“ She sobs, the sound raw, torn, “how am I supposed to forget my baby’s last breath? how am i supposed to be a perfect mother to you when I couldn’t protect her?”

“i never wanted a perfect mother.” you murmur, eyes shutting tight, chest heaving with hiccuped breaths. “I never said you had to forget her. But I was right here. I was alive. I was breathing, hurting, waiting for you to see me, to love me.” Your voice breaks, you sound like your seven years old self and you hate that. “Did I mean so little to you?”

You smile sadly before her silence, your shoulders dropping low. You are too tired for an offense, too tired to tear down her defenses. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t always a good child. I’m sorry that sometimes I threw tantrums. I’m sorry for all the ways I failed you. I know I’m not perfect. I hurt, I stumble, I make mistakes. I am filled with resentment. I choke with it, and sometimes I hurt others too. But I try. I always try to make things right. And I apologize if I do.”

Silence thickens between you both like browned sugar, though this moment is anything but sweet. You remain quiet, hoping for your salvation to come in the form of two words, two simple words— I’m sorry—that is all it would take to soothe your heart a little.

You wait, and wait, and more seconds pass as the silence stretches longer and your mother refuses to meet your eyes. And slowly, slowly the hope withers within you. You know she isn’t apologizing tonight. Maybe not ever.

“Forget it.” you whisper as you leave the room and hurriedly walk out of the house. You need something strong, something to burn away the ache, something to scald the memory from your bones, to forget.

It’s nearly midnight when Hyunjin finally steps out of the training building. The air is crisp, cool against his flushed skin, but his relief is short-lived as his eyes land on Sohee, the owner of the kimchi jjigae place nearby, hovering by the entrance.

Hyunjin’s frown deepens—something feels off.

“Ah, hyunjin,” the fifty something quickly jogs up to him. “The security guard told me you still hadn’t left.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yn has been drinking for the past hours, she looks.. Sad. And I’m worried she can’t get home safely.” Sohee’s tone sets off the alarm in Hyunjin’s mind.

His worry tightens into a knot in his chest as he steps into the narrow restaurant. His eyes immediately fall on you—your cheek pressed against the table, five empty soju bottles scattered around you

He crouches in front of you, his heart twisting as he takes in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks. What happened?

“Hey,” he whispers gently, afraid to jolt you awake. You stir, blinking groggily, trying to piece together your surroundings.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe, barely a whisper, and his heart softens at the sound. He nods, offering you a small smile, though concern darkens his eyes. “What’s wrong, hm?”

His words unlock something deep inside you, and your face crumbles like a porcelain vase breaking apart. The tears come swiftly, welling in your eyes until they spill over, your lower lip trembling like fragile branches in a storm.

“I’m a—I’m a horrible person,” you choke out between sobs, your voice trembling as much as your body. Your eyes squeeze shut as your shoulders quake, and Hyunjin’s hands move instinctively, gently covering your tightly clenched fists.

“No, you’re not,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady, as if trying to hold you together with his words alone.

But you shake your head fiercely, a sob tearing from your throat, raw and unrestrained. “I’m a horrible sister,” you manage to whisper, your words barely audible as you wipe at your eyes, only for the tears to fall faster, harder.

Hyunjin watches you break, his heart aching with every tear that slips down your face. He feels weird, feverish, as if your pain has somewhat transferred to his heart. He glances at Sohee, who quietly steps out of the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet, dim light.

With a soft sigh, Hyunjin gently cups your face in his hands, his palms warm against your tear-streaked cheeks. His thumbs trace slow, soothing circles across your skin.

“You didn’t even get to be a sister, how could you be a horrible one?”

“I hated her for so long when all she wanted was to dance with me. I hated a child for so long, I’m a-a horrible person.”

Hyunjin tentatively licks his lips, thoughts jumbled in his mind like wires. His heart is beating so fast as he wraps an arm around your back, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You seem to melt in his embrace, tension loosening off of your back as he gently pats your spine.

“I don’t think you hated your sister. You hated how your parents treated you. Those are two different things.”

Your tears are unceasing, trickling down his skin as you sob more and more. He doesn’t mind the dampening of his shirt, he would never mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

“Humans aren’t straightforward lines, we bend and twist and stray from our paths because our hearts are too frail and sometimes we carry emotions too heavy for us to bear. Sometimes we are pushed to feel certain things when we’ve never wanted to go through them.”

He never stops patting your back gently, his hand traveling from the top of your hair to the base of your spine. “A bad person does not worry about being a bad person. I’m sure your sister knows you love her. You have nothing to feel horrible about.”

Your tears are unyielding and Hyunjin feels as if it isn’t enough— to press your body to his hoping the rhythm of his heart would calm down yours, to think of words of his own doing to soothe your pain. He has not had to comfort anyone in so long, he doesn’t know how to stop your ache. He wishes he could soak your sorrow into his heart instead— he’s used to it, he can handle your pain and his, at once.

He’s racking his mind furiously for things to comfort you. In his memory he stumbles upon the poem of Mary Oliver that has held his hand in the dark.

“Would you like to hear my favorite poem?” he asks, in a whisper.

He feels you nodding against his chest, and he peels himself away from you, painfully, like removing a bandaid from a wound that has yet to scab.

Hyunjin’s eyes are wide and glossy as he peers into yours, as he looks beyond your irises and gazes at your soul, as he recites to you, with a steady voice like a current that doesn’t fall prey to the hazards of storms— “You do not have to be good.” He smiles softly. “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.” The verb strikes you like a thunderbolt. “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

It passes him like a vision, a flash of white that blinds him, him holding your cheeks but without tears, him cupping your face, in the mornings and in the nights, because it is you his soft clueless flesh aches to love.

It’s gone as quick as it came, his words come out much slower, much more disoriented as he continues— “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”

“I want to tell you,” you hiccup, your cheeks are all rosy, delicate red veins protruding the white of your eyes. Your lips are all swollen from how hard you bit them to muffle your sobs.

“I will listen,” he reassures. Hyunjin stays true to his words. He drives you to his place, there, atop his couch, lit by a flower shaped lamp casting warm shadows on you both; you felt safe, a vanilla tea in hand, to talk, to tell Hyunjin everything, how you felt and how lonely, excruciatingly lonely you have been for the past years.

And he listens, he listens well, nodding, holding your hand when it shakes, wiping your tears when they slip from your face.

You feel a sense of gratitude swell in your heart, as if a hundred tulips bloomed in your chest at once. You feel safe talking about your biggest fears to Hyunjin, handing him your heart on an open palm, bruised, bleeding. He would wrap it in a gauze for you, he would keep it safe till you can heal it once more.

You doze in and off sleep on the couch, you can feel Hyunjin placing a warm blanket atop you. You swear he sat by your side for a long while, his hand gently patting your hair and threading through your locks.

You resisted the urge to pull his hand, to beg him to climb near you on the couch and have him encapsulate you in his hold once more. It would be too much for him to bear. Too much of you to ask. Too hard for you to handle a no.

Because even in your drunken state, with a heart weighed down by alcohol and ten thousand stones of grief, when Hyunjin cupped your cheeks in his larger, warmer hands, when he peered into your soul with his brown glimmering eyes, when it looked as if he could mirror your pain, as if he could understand the guilt, as if he could hold your hand through the grief— for one second, for a fleeting instant, it was all forgotten.

The grief became a simple myth in your mind, a distant memory, something you could brush away as a bad dream slipping away with the march of time; simply because he was there for you through it.

…

Hyunjin is beautiful.

This isn’t new knowledge for you, per se. You've known it from the moment your eyes met his, through a veil of relentless rain and the sting of unshed tears. Even then, you recognized it—he was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen.

But somehow, you’ve managed to tuck this knowledge away, placed it in a forgotten recess of your mind. You had found other things to like about Hyunjin, things that wouldn’t be weird for a friend to admire— and Hyunjin made that an easy feat for you.

You enjoyed the poems, all the ones he’d recite to you from time to time. You loved watching people’s eyes turn to behold him, and him unaware of this magnetic aura coating his porcelain skin. You felt warm hearing his bright and unrestrained giggles, seeing traces of happiness carved into his eyes, watching his lips stretch into a wide grin that seemed to swallow the world whole.

But there are moments when it’s harder to forget. Like now—when Hyunjin stands before you, slipping on the finishing touches of his performance outfit. His sky-blue top clings to his frame, bedazzled with pearls and diamonds that cascade like teardrops, swooping around his small waist and hugging his broad shoulders. The fabric melts into his black pants, carving his silhouette like a chiseled statue.

There are only ten minutes left before his turn on stage. Last night, over quiet spoonfuls of miso soup, Hyunjin told you to please stay backstage with him, his voice so soft it felt like a secret only meant for you. And how could you refuse? Hyunjin wanted you close—Hyunjin asked for you.

He is nervous, you can tell by the slight tremble of his hands as he struggles with his earring, the delicate hoop slipping from his grasp. It falls, and before you know it, you’ve stepped forward, picking it up, your fingers steady as you help him clasp it into place.

His gaze is heavy on you, and your heart beats a little too fast. You avoid meeting his eyes—he’s too close, too vulnerable of a setting for you.

You finish, stepping back, but Hyunjin’s hand finds your wrist, gently tugging you close again. He doesn’t let go, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve. He bites his lip, lets go of the plush flesh before biting it once more, then he confesses. “i’m scared.”

Your fingers find his wrist, settle above his wildly beating pulse, a small part of you selfishly wishes it is because of your proximity. Your thumb gently swipes across his soft skin as you say, “you’ll do amazing. I’m sure of it.”

He nods, though something flickers in his eyes, something unsaid that lingers between you. He swallows it down, offering you a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you after.”

“Okay,” you grin back, “I’ll see you with a gold medal.”

You’ve seen this choreography countless times before, memorized every twist, every subtle motion of his body. But watching him perform, under the harsh, burning lights, is like witnessing something new.

Hyunjin moves with a grace that defies reason, a dancer molded by the music, his body bending to its rhythm, his face crumbling as the music swells.

Hyunjin glides around as if he is one with the ice, he glows, like the sun on stage, mesmerizing, dipping low with the music and soaring high with its rhythm. Your hand is on your chest as you watch him deliver the killing move, a deep dip, head thrown back, his body a perfect arch on his knees.

He finishes, under the roaring applause of everyone around. You’re first to stand on your feet and the entire arena follows, giving Hyunjin the standing ovation he deserves, the only one of the night. He bows deeply, a hand on his heart as he soaks in the praise.

You feel like throwing up as you anxiously await the results to show up on the screen. One minute of silence passes by, then, you see it. His name comes in first.

Hyunjin won. Hyunjin qualified for the Olympics.

He’s already skating towards you, and you’re moving, rushing down to meet him. You wrap him in a tight hug, feeling his chest rise and fall with quick breaths.

“How was it?” he asks, laughter bubbling in his voice. You find it to be such a silly question.

How could he be anything but extraordinary?

“You fucking did it, Hyunjin,” you say, the words leaving you in a rush. He tips his head back, laughing, his happiness so pure it aches. You reluctantly pull away from him as Jihyoun comes to congratulate him, pulling him too for a hug.

“Proud of you son,” he says and you can see Hyunjin’s eyes well up with tears. you wish you could kiss them away, the tears and the sadness, will it to desert his heart, kiss his smile and happiness, learn the taste of his joys and sorrows.

Oh god.

The thoughts submerge you like you’re doused in gasoline, and being near Hyunjin is the crickling match that will set you on fire.

“There’s an afterparty to celebrate the man of the hour,” Jihyoun grins, patting Hyunjin’s back in a fatherly manner. You can feel the pull of the crowd, people waiting to shower him with well-deserved praise, like waves gathering to meet the shore.

“Are you coming?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft as his gaze lingers on you. You hesitate, and he pouts, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I want you to come, please.”

“Okay,” you smile, though your feet are already inching away. “But I left my phone at home. I’ll go get it and come back.” That is the truth, or maybe just a shadow of it.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Hyunjin, ever the considerate one. His kindness cuts deeper than he knows, a dull blade slicing against your fragile skin. You hate how you pull his thoughtfulness to somewhere tainted with shadows. You hate how your mind cannot accept that someone could care for you. What if he pities you, still? It asks. What if he only sees you as the selfish girl sobbing at her sister’s grave?

How could someone like Hyunjin, radiant as the sun pay attention to a mere rock floating in space, aimless, too unimportant to even be given a name?

“No, it’s a quick drive. Enjoy your moment.” You flash a smile, hoping it covers the tremor in your voice. You quickly slip away before Hyunjin can notice, your pace quickening as his brow furrows behind you.

You’ve never dared to truly like someone. The harsh truth is that people like you, who were born sipping grief in their mother’s womb, only end up accustomed to its metallic tang on their tongues.

It’s been thirty minutes since you left and Hyunjin’s eyes keep drifting toward the door, pulled by some invisible force. Jihyoun is talking, excitedly introducing him to someone new, someone important from the sound of it. He hears snippets of the conversation— Switzerland, the best coaching center, a guaranteed win, but the words are distant, like murmurs underwater.

His mind is a whirlwind of paranoid thoughts as Hyunjin redoes the calculations: it was supposed to be a fifteen minute errand, at most. Where are you?

His heart feels tethered to a storm as he steps out, muttering a feeble excuse to Jihyoun, feet moving before his brain catches up. The air feels heavy like trying to inhale metal, only to end up crushed from all sides.

He searches the parking lot, scanning the faces mingling there, but he finds no sign of you. His feet keep moving, driven by instinct, by a chilling feeling pulling at his heart, desperate to glimpse you.

Then he sees it—flashing lights up ahead. His world dims as he watches a man on the phone, gesturing frantically toward a car. A car that’s all too familiar. Yours, crumpled like a piece of paper, flipped on its side, crashed against a tree.

A loud ringing floods his ears akin to the buzzing of a hundred angry bees, at once. His legs buckle, his hand slamming against a nearby car for balance, but it feels like the earth beneath him is giving way. His eyes squeeze shut, his back turning away from the wreck. Not again.

Please, not again.

His throat burns with bile, and it feels like nails are clawing at his chest, ripping his skin open and exposing his heart. It’s pounding wildly, erratically, like it’s trying to escape the cage of his ribs and splatter on his feet.

He can’t turn around—he’s too afraid of what he’ll see. But he has to. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his vision spotted with white as he stumbles forward. He taps the man’s arm. He struggles to find his voice as if it were never his to begin within. “Did someone get out of the car?” he whispers, broken, pleading. The man shakes his head.

Hyunjin rushes to the window, desperate to find you, to see you breathing, but the glass is tinted, hiding whatever lies inside. Without thinking, he throws his fist against the window. Once. Twice. Again. And again. His skin splits, blood dripping down his knuckles, but he can’t stop. He pounds the glass until it shatters, only to find nothing within.

“Hyunjin?” A voice, so achingly familiar, cuts through the haze. He spins around, breathless, and there you are—limping, disheveled, but alive. You’re breathing.

In an instant, he’s in front of you, his eyes wide, frantic, searching yours as if they behold the answer to every fear, every prayer he has ever uttered. His hand trembles as it cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, needing to feel your warmth. His gaze flickers over your body, checking for any trace of life-threatening injury, his heart lodged in his throat.

“Are you okay?” His voice is raw, stripped bare.

“I am,” you reply, and your words are his salvation. A sigh shudders out of him, pulled from the deepest parts of his soul, as if he’s been drowning and you’ve finally pulled him to the surface.

He falls to his knees, palms pressing into the ground. Tears spill from his eyes, hot and heavy, streaking down his face like rain in a storm. You kneel beside him, and his arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you close.

His fingers weave through your hair, pressing you to him, needing to feel you, needing to know you’re real. His body trembles as he buries his face in your hair, his tears soaking through your shirt, inhaling your scent, grounding himself in you.

“Yn,” he breathes, your name the only thing that could express the magnitude of his relief. He holds you tighter, the words tumbling out like a prayer, “I thought I lost you. My god, I thought I lost you.”

It takes a while for you to process his words, to understand the scale of his fear at the thought of losing you. Those are foreign notions for you, a sight you never thought you’d grasp one day. A sight you never deemed yourself deserving of.

“You’d care this much if I died?” Your voice is a whisper, small, uncertain.

Hyunjin’s bloodied hand smooths your hair, his eyes red, chest heaving. “Yn, I…” He squeezes his eyes shut, voice breaking. “Yn, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry,” your lower lip quivers at the sight of his tears, somehow seeing him sob leads to your own unraveling, as if your emotions are tied by one red string. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you,” you apologize, you the forgotten one, the ghost in your own home, apologizing because for once, your absence did hurt someone, because for once someone would miss you if you were ever gone.

Hours later, you’re in Hyunjin’s home, tucked into the safety of his bed. You’d refused to call your parents, not wanting them to know what had happened, how close their wish had become reality.

The ambulance had taken you both to the hospital, where they patched Hyunjin’s wounds and checked you for a concussion. You repeated, over and over, like a broken record— “The brakes stopped working, and I jumped out of the car.” Hyunjin spoke for you when you grew tired.

“How are you feeling, Yn?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft, as he hovers over your figure. Your name sounds sweeter from his lips. It sounds as if it was always his to pronounce.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I ruined your night.” Your apology is quiet, but he shakes his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shut closed as his lips caress your skin, as if wanting to drown out all the other senses, useless, needing to focus solely on his touch.

“If you’re okay, that’s all that matters to me.”

He goes to leave, but you catch his hand. You don’t overthink your next words, you think you’re long past that when it comes to him. “You called me by my name. I thought you didn’t remember it.”

“I never forgot,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve known who you were since the moment I saw you. I… I thought about you a lot for the past four years, Yn. I think about you now too,” a pause, “for different reasons. Sweeter reasons.”

He remembered. He has come to know you and he still thinks of you.

“Me too,” you smile softly, “I think about you so much it feels as if you’re all I’ve ever known,” you confess breathlessly. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and his do the same.

Before you can think, you’re standing on your tiptoes, your lips resting on his, unmoving, driven by a desire so raw it blinded you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You pull away, stumbling back.

But his hands find your waist, pulling you back. “Can I do that again, Yn?” His voice is soft, and you nod, dazed. How could you ever refuse him?

His mouth returns to yours, slow and deliberate, like a melody reuniting with its refrain. Sweetness spills from his lips onto yours, a blend of honey and wildflowers and something that is entirely his. His breath surrounds you, intoxicating, pulling you into a world where all you wish is to melt into him, to slip beneath his skin and flow through his veins.

Fireworks bloom behind your eyelids, explosions of colors you’ve never seen before, as if the universe itself has unraveled in the space between you both. His hands cradle your face, thumbs tracing circles along your cheeks that send a thousand butterflies flapping their wings throughout your being. Your fingers weave into the silk of his hair, a breath of relief escaping you as you touch him the way you’ve longed for.

You’re still kissing him and yet you already ache to do it again, again and again, till you forgive the world every cruelty it has inflicted into you, if it allows you to hold his warmth a little longer, to keep your sun cupped between your palms.

“Is this what happiness feels like?” he murmurs against your lips, a smile threading between your breaths, your teeth grazing his in the closeness. You laugh softly, your foreheads touching softly, “I think it is. It tastes so sweet.”

“Mm, I think I need to taste it again, to make sure,” he teases, his lips finding yours once more, playful and hungry. Time loses its meaning, minutes slipping away like sand grains between your fingers. By the time you part, your heart has memorized the rhythm of his breath and the weight of his lips upon yours, as familiar now as your own pulse.

…

“So, how do we do this?”

Your laughter echoes softly down the corridor. Hyunjin has you pinned against the wall near the skating rink, his right hand braced above your head, the other hovering over your waist—yet, it’s that mere sliver of air between his fingers and your skin that ignites a wildfire within you, burning bright with longing.

“Wouldn’t it be strange if we just walked in, holding hands? I mean, Jihyoun knows me, but…” Your voice drifts away like chimney smoke, dissolving into the background of Hyunjin’s thoughts. He’s no longer listening—he’s observing. Memorizing. His gaze skillfully captures every curve, every shadow of your face, as if this is the last dawn he’ll ever witness. As if, by morning, he’ll be blind, and this moment is his only chance to engrave you into his memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice soft, almost reverent. Your words falter, fading like the final notes of a song only he remembers. He leans in, his lips brushing your cheek with a tenderness that paints your skin crimson red.

He smirks, satisfied by the effect—perhaps, he thinks, that is how the sun feels as it kisses the horizon goodnight, leaving the sky a blushing mess.

“You were saying?” he teases, and you roll your eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “I was saying that it would be—“ But his lips find yours once more, plucking the words from your tongue like petals from a flower.

In the dim glow of the corridor, the world around you fades to an afterthought. It feels as though you exist only for this, only for him— to kiss and to be kissed by Hyunjin.

“Finally!” Jihyoun’s voice shatters the moment, ringing out like a bell, pulling you both apart. “Thank you for kissing him, Yn. Now he’ll stop with the longing stares at the door.”

“What stares?” you laugh, the sound bubbling sweetly up your throat. Hyunjin scratches the nape of his neck, shrugging innocently when your eyes meet, as if he has no idea what Jihyoun is talking about (though he knows all too well).

Hyunjin catches his coach’s eye over your shoulder, a wide smile tugging at his lips. Jihyoun once told him that he seems to bloom around you, like a flower starved of sunlight, finally nourished. The thought warms him—knowing that the people closest to him feel your presence like a balm to his soul. His mother would have loved you too, he’s certain of it.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hyunjin whispers later, as you’re leaving the practice building, his arm draped over your shoulder, yours wrapped around his waist. Natural. Familiar. Like two rivers flowing into one.

“I don’t have anything of mine there,” you pout, and Hyunjin stops, cupping your cheek, his nose grazing yours in a gesture so tender it makes your heart float within your ribcage. “That’s part of my secret plan—to get you in my clothes.”

“Oh, what a very secretive plan,” you giggle, stealing a quick kiss. “And what would we do tonight?”

“Sleep together.” You raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head, flushing crimson. “I mean—sleep, actual sleep, not that I wouldn’t want to make love to you,” Your laughter rings out, as his forehead finds its hiding place against your shoulder, embarrassed. “I just want to hold you close. That’s all.”

Your sweet Hyunjin.

“I want that too, Hyune.”

Hyunjin has never been much of a writer, his forté has always been to express himself with his body, spell out words out of the movement of his limbs. It is more evident as he opens the door to his apartment, with you trailing behind. As he looks at both your shoes sitting side by side near the entrance, your accessories resting next to his in the bathroom.

He lacks the words to explain how right, how natural it feels for him to have you in his space, for you to fill it with the music of your voice and the fragrance of your perfume. As if it has always been his reality, to walk home with you, to watch you slip into his clothes, to brush his teeth next to you, to lay atop the bed with your warm eyes staring at him instead of a cold wall.

“Do you believe in fate?” you suddenly ask, your thumb trailing alongside his neck, pausing right where his pulse beats. He has never been aware of the weight of life against his skin until he knew you.

“I never did, I didn’t want to believe in something pre-written for me. Wouldn’t that confine who I am, who I could be?” he muses and you nod softly, inching closer to him. “But somewhat,” he trails off, lifting your hand to his mouth, peepering the sweetest kisses alongside your palm and wrist, like dewdrops caressing leaves. “I believe in it now, because of you.”

“I think I was meant to find you that day in the graveyard. I think what I feel for you is too grand to be a pure coincidence,” he confesses.

“And what do you feel for me?” you ask, your voice soft, curious.

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gently twirls a strand of your hair away from your eyes, before tucking it behind the cuff of your ear. He presses his forehead to yours, like two pages of a book meeting one another, then he exhales slowly, like a man who has found peace after a lifetime of searching.

And in a way, he has. He can stop looking frantically for something that would stitch his soul up, he has found you, now.

“I used to resent hearing my own heartbeat. At times it felt like a punishment, because existing felt like a chore. I wanted the sound to quiet down, I didn’t want to hear anything, nor feel anything anymore.”

“But now,” he pulls you closer, your legs intertwining with his, like roots seeking comfort in one another, “it’s reassuring to hear, because it means there is still life within me to love you in it.”

Love. The word has long felt like a thorn ingrained into your skin. You have always recoiled from it, less from repulse and more in fear— if the people who were put on this earth to love you, didn’t, then weren’t you meant to remain unloved for the rest of your life?

But looking at Hyunjin now, at the way the word rests gently on his lips, rolls off his tongue with such ease, with such certainty, you don’t want to run.

You want to stay.

It is when Hyunjin traces maps along your skin with his lips, as you drift down the constellations of moles on his chest, as you find yourself lost within everything that makes up his being— his scent, his sounds, the weight of him pressed against you— that you find your words to reply, to breathe your first I love you to him.

And in that confession, another realization comes, though this one is bitter, sour, like a chilling premonition: if Hyunjin were ever to leave, what would be left of you after?

…

Hyunjin has never been fond of the concept of time, minutes seemed to march differently when it came to him— seconds stretching out like thin threads, nights unraveling in restless turns, sleep plucked right off from his eyelids.

But with you, time softened, as the hours spun forward, swift and gentle. Around you, Hyunjin no longer felt the weight of passing days on his heart.

Hyunjin didn’t feel the two months of happiness you bestowed upon him slipping from his grasp.

He was lost, adrift in the gentle tides of your being—swept by the melody of your laughter, cradled by the softness of your curves. He often wondered if he was deserving of this happiness, yet never lingered long enough to find an answer. He selfishly accepted the joy you gifted him, for once.

Your belongings filled the empty nooks of his apartment gradually, corner by corner—your satin pajamas settling just above his plaid ones, your skincare nestled near his on the bathroom shelf, your favorite mug clinking against his in the dishwasher.

In some way, it mirrored how you’d seeped into him, like sunlight breaking through the longest of nights— threads of the sun illuminating what was once lost to darkness.

He’d steady your chin to help with your mascara, your doe eyes looking up into his. You’d brush his hair, pressing gentle kisses along his shoulder blades. He’d do your laundry. You’d make his coffee each morning. He’d brew your tea each night.

You didn’t have much time to talk during the day, both of you engrossed in the practice of your respective arts. Yet, the knowledge that you were just a floor above him, close if he ever wished to see you, was enough to soothe his heart.

It was at night that you bared yourselves to each other, in ways that went beyond the tender grip of his hands on your waist, or the slow trail of your fingers down the curve of his back.

In the hush of the twilight, you’d unfold softly, revealing the hidden layers within—you’d share your dreams and hopes, and the moments that shaped you, letting the fragments of your pasts settle in the safety between you both.

“I think I know my purpose now,” you whispered one night, and he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “What is it?”

“I think I kept ballet at a distance because loving it felt like surrendering to my parents’ dreams, like I’d be becoming what they always wanted me to be.” You paused, your voice a little softer, a little braver. “But I do love it, Hyunjin. I want to be the best at it. I want to honor my sister through it.”

His gaze softened, as a tender smile blossomed in his lips. “You already do.”

Some nights were less sweet, tangled with heavy grief and unshed tears, yet it felt easier to walk through them if you were there holding his hand.

“Would you go into her room with me?” he asked quietly one night, his gaze locked on his mother’s bedroom, its door sealed for a decade. He had never dared to enter it once more, afraid it would further cement the notion that she was gone.

That truth felt easier to confront with you near.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “Whatever you need.”

The room was just as he remembered, only stuffier with dust and heartache. Time hung in the air, dense and unmoving, clutching at her last moments alive, unwilling to let go.

He looked to the bed, and he could almost see the shape of her there, frail and thin, her clothes too loose over a body worn out with sickness.

You held him close, steadying him as he took in each familiar corner: their photos framed with gold on the desk, her countless medals hung on the wall, her perfume and hairbrush untouched on the vanity, her rings resting in a small seashell container.

He walked slowly to the vanity, his fingers reaching for the ring he had loved most—a thin band of gold, crowned with a small emerald, dulled by time. Gently, he wiped away the dust with his shirt, before turning to you and slipping it onto your finger.

“Keep it,” he whispered. “It will live again through you.”

In the days that followed, you helped him breathe light and air into the room once more, sweeping dust from the framed certificates and photographs, polishing the medals until they shimmered as they once had. You washed the linens and her clothes, packing them carefully for a donation to cancer wards—something he never found the courage to do, until now.

Grief no longer felt like a knife lodged into his heart, its metal rusting with the passing of time. He saw its true face now—a soft ache, a quiet longing, a thicket of thorns that can only grow from the roots of love.

Your voice floated in his mind that night, echoing like the bells of a long standing cathedral. “your mom loved you, hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hands to be warm”— would want you to be happy.

Happiness swept into Hyunjin like an endless, gnawing hunger—an insatiable ache that demanded to be fed. He was ravenous for joy, longing to sink his teeth into it, dip his tongue into its sweetness and let it spill all over him.

When an exoneree tastes freedom after decades of longing, it is the small breeze, the waves lapping hungrily at his bare feet that make his heart twitch. So it was with Hyunjin: the small joys swelled within his ribcage, vast and boundless. His heart strained against his chest, eager to burst free and feel it all.

Somehow, Hyunjin’s biggest joy came from watching you dance— the principal dancer of your competition team. Whenever he had a break, he’d choose to slip away from the ice rink and climb the stairs at a hurried speed, slip into the dancing studio and sit in the corner.

There, he’d watch you, leading the group of dancers you’ll perform with. You stood in the center, beckoning the attention of everyone around. Beautiful, so beautiful.

How foolish of him it was to try to deny it. How foolish of him to think that there was any outcome but to fall for you.

You always caught his eye across the mirror, your face breaking out in a wide grin, as you waved shyly at him, the strictness melting off your features and morphing into something warm. He felt special in a way, to be the sole recipient of such a breathtaking smile. He felt as if he could write hundreds of poems about that alone.

That smile feels even more precious as you stand on stage at the Seoul International ballet competition, seconds before the light would turn on and you’d begin dancing. In the split second of darkness, it is him your eyes sought after in the crowd, it is him you wink at, before switching into your professional mode.

You aren’t as nervous as he expected you to be. Somehow your facade only slipped when five minutes before the stage you beckoned hyunjin in for a hug. “Do you need anything?” he asked as he kissed your temple softly, tightening his hold on you.

“I just need to hug you for a minute. It helps me calm down.”

Hyunjin had always known you were a stellar ballerina. You were humble with your achievements, speaking of your art as if you don’t have years of practice to attest to your expertise, as if you hadn’t gotten acclaims nationally and internationally.

Still, seeing you on stage made a different pride bloom in his heart. You are the rightful star of the night, the swan of ballet as the media had dubbed you— delicate with your movements, spreading your arms like the unfurling of their feathers, spinning delicately into the air with a grace that made his breath catch in his throat. You were mesmerizing.

You didn’t simply move, or dance, that would be too simplistic to encapsulate how you breathed life into this art. Into him.

And it is hyunjin’s arms that you run into, scurrying down the stage steps, an overflowing bouquet in your right hand and a gleaming trophy held tightly in the other.

“You won, my love,” he shouts, ecstatic as you throw your arms around his neck, as he cradles your waist, spinning you around like how he always orbits around you.

He puts you down, leaning in to kiss you with no second thought, your eyes closed as you savor one another, as your lips move as if commanded by the stars, to part only to meet again, and again. Till your cheeks are both flushed and all he can taste is the strawberry in your lip tint.

Your eyes lock on his, your pupils widening till they swallow your irises, mirroring your breathtaking grin. Hyunjin felt as if the sun had left the sky and lodged within his chest.

But what Hyunjin failed to understand is that, for souls like his, happiness is only a fleeting passenger. Even then, it isn’t meant to be swallowed whole; it is to be eaten bite by bite, back hunched, hidden from the harsh glare of the universe. Perhaps this is the price he pays for defying the sadness that shadows him—his own eager canines sinking into joy, ultimately tearing it apart.

…

“I think I’ll go to Switzerland.”

It takes a few seconds for Hyunjin’s words to settle into your mind, for the syllables to unfurl slowly, like a wave gathering its strength before inevitably crashing on the shore.

Once, Hyunjin had spoken of a figure skating center in Switzerland, one that Jihyoun praised endlessly—the pinnacle for skaters reaching toward gold.

“Will you go?” you’d asked, and he’d only shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.” The conversation had dissolved then, lost in the press of his body against yours, in the paths his fingers traced down your stomach— dizzying enough to make you forget the sound of your own name.

But you should have known—some things cannot be buried beneath the covers. They always resurface, haunting, inevitable.

You draw in a deep breath, your gaze settling on your congratulatory bouquet. The flowers have started to wither now, despite the sugar cube Hyunjin dropped in the water.

Were they a trigger for the slow withering of your relationship, too? Did the fall of that first petal set the course for your own undoing?

“Okay,” you nod, biting your lip anxiously. “When will you go?”

“In three days. Or else I’ll miss the deadline to join.”

Oh.

You remain silent, feeling as though barbed wire coils around your throat, each metal spike pressing deep into your flesh. He steps closer, his warm hands cradling your cheeks. It takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

You suddenly imagine a life untouched by him. The thought fills you with a horrible urge to weep.

“I know it’s sudden,” he murmurs, voice low, “I tried to delay it as long as I could, but Jihyoun kept insisting, saying it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I don’t want you to feel abandoned.”

You shake your head, as if to push that thought away, as if the notion itself is meaningless.

“I’ve always known we wouldn’t stay in the same place forever. I have to go back to Juilliard soon, too. I just… never thought it would happen this fast.” You sigh softly, a tender smile slipping across your face as you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. “But you’re meant for grand things, Hyunjin. If Switzerland is where you’ll find them, then I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I love you,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, a gentle, aching gesture. “We’ll make it work, right?”

He searches your eyes, pleading, his brows drawn into a worried knot.

“Of course, we will.”

It is the first time you lie to Hyunjin.

“I love you,” he repeats, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the counter.

“I’ve only known love thanks to you,” you murmur. That much is true.

Hyunjin kisses you with hunger, his hand tangled in your hair, his body moving with a fierce rhythm—passion and love dripping from each one of his touches, each one of his spilled i love you’s between broken whimpers and moans.

He loves you tonight like he has something to prove. As if his fingertips must be etched upon your skin, as if his name should be the one carved deep within you, the one found if you were split open to your soul.

Lying against his bare chest, you feel his breath rise and fall beneath you, the tip of his fingers sketching aimlessly upon your skin. Yet, you sense as if there is already a rift between you both. As if the news of his living has seeped between your bodies— the distance has already laid its claim, separating you both.

…

You’re back in New York, slipping into the rhythm of your classes like a puzzle piece wedged into place, not quite fitting, yet you force it to. You spend each waking moment practicing your final dance at Juilliard—The Sleeping Beauty—the ballet that will close this chapter of your life.

Your apartment has remained unchanged; the conversations with your classmates are as futile as ever. And your heart still pulses, aches for Seoul, for the warmth you found there, in Hyunjin.

Winter settles in, snow gathering in quiet drifts along the streets. Two languid months slip by, time dragging its feet, as if too wishing to remain right where you left Hyunjin. You lose yourself in the pursuit of a perfect performance. And yet, the praise of your professors and peers no longer fills you as it once did.

It all feels hollow, empty, when you can’t remember the last time you and Hyunjin spoke, actually spoke, the way you used to.

You’d already seen this scene unfold in your mind the day he broke the news—more vividly still as he walked away in the airport. You had known the first few days would be good—frequent calls and texts, sharing the smallest details of his new life and of your familiar one.

But then, the silence would settle in, as it has. Because you and Hyunjin are both perfectionists. Because without your art, both of you are left with nothing but shadows of yourselves— hollow shells calling out in agony to what truly pleases your souls.

You’re afraid to say it out loud, but Hyunjin’s face is blurring in your memory, details softening as though sketched by an impressionist’s brush. All that remains clear are the shadows under his eyes on your last video call, dark circles carved deep into his soft skin, his exhaustion bleeding through the screen as he struggled to stay awake for you.

There is no one to blame, and somehow, that only hurts you even more. You could sacrifice your hours of practice, and so could he. But then the guilt would come, ravenous, gnawing at your soul. And guilt is a hungry being, soon enough it won’t be satiated by you. Soon enough it will turn to your love for Hyunjin.

And you couldn’t afford that.

You miss him most on days like this, when nothing seems right from the moment you open your eyes. The city’s chill feels sharper, as though mocking you, reminding you of the warmth you left behind.

The wind bites as you step into the night, wandering aimlessly, your feet carrying you to nowhere in particular. Tears hover at the edge of your lashes, but you refuse to let them fall.

There’s no grace in the way you don’t allow yourself to cry, no mercy in how you hold yourself together. You've always been a performer, haven’t you? Even your pain feels like a scene you must perfect. Is it tragic enough? Does it carve deep enough to justify being felt?

You bite your lip, numb fingers pulling out your phone. You type out Hyunjin’s contact— my love. Your last message to him was two days ago.

With a sigh, you press call. He answers on the final ring.

“Hi, my angel,” he says, a bit breathless. Probably mid-training.

You force a smile, hoping he won’t hear the tremble in your voice. “Hi, baby. Practicing?”

“Yeah.” He hums. “Are you outside?”

“Im going for a walk.” Your voice quiets as the lump in your throat tightens, a chain wrapping around your words, binding you.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asks gently, and you nod though he can’t see.

“I am,” you lie. “I just miss you.” The confession slips out before you can stop it, and the weight of it crushes you. You miss him so much it’s killing you.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. You feel like throwing up. You have to make it quick before your courage betrays you.

“I think we should end things,” you say quickly, biting down so hard on your lip that blood beads up, sharp and metallic on your tongue— just like your words.

“What?” he whispers, and you hear his faint apologies, the rustle as he moves to someplace quieter, someplace where you can break his heart without an audience.

“Why do you want this? Don’t you love me anymore?” His voice is small, fragile, and you feel the tears welling in your eyelids, but not yet.

“You know there’s no one I love but you,” you say, drawing in a breath that doesn’t wish to be trapped by you. “But we’re both so busy it barely feels like we’re together anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, I’ll try to text more, I promise. I’ll cut back on my training for you, I’ll—.”

“You know I’d never ask that of you.” You cut him off, smiling sadly and he falls quiet.

You see him then, in a haze of memory—Hyunjin’s head resting in your lap, your fingers lost in his hair. You hear his voice again, soft and raw, “My mom’s last wish for me was to win that gold medal. I’m terrified of letting her down. Just thinking about it—” He’d let out a humorless laugh. “She isn’t here, and yet I still feel this debt to her. Isn’t that strange?”

You know it well—the pain of failing those you love, even those who don’t love you back.

“Your mom wanted you to win that medal, didn’t she?” you say softly. “I would never come between you and that.” A pause. “But doesn’t it hurt more to wait for a message that never comes?”

“I…” he stammers, a sniffle slipping through the phone, and it nearly undoes you.

“Yn, I- you know that I love you.”

And in that instant, you know he understands. It’s because Hyunjin understands that you love him.

“I love you too, my Hyune.”

“Then don’t say this,” he chokes out, “say something cruel—something that’ll make it easier not to miss you so much when you’re gone.”

You can hear him crying, and the sound permanently breaks a rib within your heart. It sounds so raw, so painful that you wish to abandon everything and run to him. Had life not been this harsh to you, perhaps you would. Perhaps you’d have enough courage to believe that love can suffice for everything.

“I came back to Seoul because my mother was sick. I thought…maybe it would bring us close again. But I think now that I came back just to meet you, Hyunjin.” His name falters, slipping from your lips in a stuttered breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking, “thank you for making me happy.”

The call ends, and you fall to your knees in the snow, finally surrendering to the grief tearing through you. Sobs wrack your body, raw and relentless, so fierce it feels as if your heart might just stop, as if you’ve become nothing but an ache, a bruised, throbbing mass of memories, pulsing with each thought of him.

Is this enough for you? you want to scream at whatever cruel hand pulling the strings of your fate. Has my suffering finally paid the debt of my existence— for both me and him?

…

You’ve come to understand that the expanse of human emotions is boundless, as vast and unknowable as the space that holds the universe. And with each passing day, it feels as if another star dies within you, its light dimming slowly, far from rebirth.

You once thought your heart had grown accustomed to grief—your life spent in mourning: parents you wished you had, love you wished had dared, even just once, to find you.

But mourning the happiness Hyunjin brought is something else. It’s a different kind of ache, not like the eruption of a volcano that fades into a quiet resigning. This pain lingers, dull and relentless, day after day, a wound that refuses to close, a pulse that never stills.

It has been a month since your fateful call. Hyunjin first sent you a bouquet of white roses, with a note nestled within—To the one who made me find love again, I will love you until my last breath.

You didn’t reply, but Hyunjin kept sending bouquets, each one arriving with a message that tore at your heart a little more than the last. I am thinking about you often; please think of me, too. As if you could do anything but that. If I am to exist in only one place, let it be in your mind.

You’ve hung each note on the fridge, their words staring back at you every morning as you make your coffee, exactly the way Hyunjin likes it.

Sometimes, you’d let the water run, overflowing in the coffee maker as you read his words again and again. Then, you’d catch a glimpse of your own distorted reflection on the water’s surface, wondering what it would feel like to drown in the sea, to let the liquid fill your lungs and wash over you.

But you never let the thought linger too long, chasing it away with the hum of a song. You know it will only lead you somewhere scary.

After three, maybe four months, the bouquets eventually stopped arriving. Hyunjin had surely grown tired of your silence.

The heart is no rigid thing; it doesn’t stay frozen in one place. It stretches and contracts, bleeds, then patches itself together again. But you hadn’t done much to heal it—truthfully, you hadn’t believed you deserved to feel good once more.

Then month five came, and there was no time left to dwell on anything. A strange relief, you thought, for a mind like yours, that never quite stops turning, even in sleep. Graduation loomed on the horizon, and you were terrified of your efforts going to waste, of them somehow never being enough to set you apart.

But one night, your professor placed her hand on your shoulder, her gaze warm as it met yours. Suddenly, you felt seven years old again. “I think you could be this generation’s prima ballerina assoluta, she said—absolute first ballerina, the best of the best.

“Really?” you whispered, hardly breathing, and she nodded. “Yes, if you keep going this way, you will be.”

You thought about calling Hyunjin to share the news, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Instead, you spent the night picturing his reaction. It was pathetic, maybe, but you liked to believe he would’ve said he was proud of you, called you angel, kissed the tip of your nose, his eyes crinkling into half-moons. You fell asleep with his words murmured on your lips, as if they’d been real.

Month six rolled in, then seven. You had been keeping tabs on Hyunjin’s name as the Olympics approached. There has been news of him wanting to attempt a quadruple axel spin— forty-four years after the triple one. An automatic win, some would say.

You knew that if anyone could do it would be hyunjin.

You wondered if he too read the articles released about your performances. Did he smile at them, his sweet dimple surging forth? Or did your name sting him, like droplets of acid falling into an open wound?

Month eight arrived, genuine joy weaving into your life once more. You took your final bow on the polished stage of Juilliard, the roaring applause ringing in your ears for days to come. You had the highest performance score of the history of the institution. Your professor’s eyes then searched yours— “where do you see yourself now? where would you feel happiest?”

Hyunjin’s arms. You almost said. Barely holding yourself.

“I don’t know. I think I’ll try at operas. I want to perform the white swan there.”

“Then go to opéra garnier in Paris. I have a friend there. Talk to him, feel it out.”

You had almost kissed her cheek right there and then. Not only because the Opéra Garnier had been your childhood dream but because now, Paris was where the Olympics would be held.

You now had an excuse to be there.

You kept looking for Hyunjin in every monument you visited. In the hush of night by the Louvre, along the quiet flow of the Seine, in the gentle strokes of Monet’s paintings at Musée de l’Orangerie. What would you do if you met him on a random street in Paris?

Thankfully, or unfortunately, you still hadn’t decided, you never had to find out. You didn’t see him.

It is the men’s singles day at the figure skating Olympics, and somehow, you feel more nervous than in all your own performances combined. You’re seated close to the ice, close enough to feel the chill radiating from it, close enough to capture every detail of the performances.

Then Hyunjin steps onto the ice. If not for your seat, you might have collapsed, your knees a mass of useless ground bones.

He’s dazzling—achingly, excruciatingly beautiful. His hair falls longer now, delicate strands brushing his forehead like a prince out of a fairytale. His outfit is pure white, adorned with emerald diamonds cascading like droplets of light. Instinctively, you reach for the emerald ring on your finger too.

Your gaze follows him everywhere, drinking in the sight of him tipping his head back in laughter, his nose crinkling as he talks to Jihyoun, every stretch, every step, every quiet act of his being.

He was still as lovely, still as beautiful as you have always known him.

You wonder if he’s thinking of you, too, as his eyes flutter shut before his music begins. What image knits behind his eyelids in that instant?

It has always been his face for you.

The air buzzes with anticipation, thick with belief and doubt alike as everyone knows what Hyunjin is attempting tonight. All eyes follow him as he skates, tracing wide circles across the ice, bending low to the ground, spinning in perfect arcs.

Then, he launches into the air.

The seconds seem to trickle by as slowly as blood droplets rushing to a dying heart. You see it— one spin, planets orbiting around the sun, aching to inch closer to the warmth.

Two spins— seconds marching forward to catch up with the next ones in a ticking clock.

Your breath freezes in your throat, your hands grip the chair so much your knuckles turn as white as the roses hyunjin sent you after you parted ways.

Three spins— fireflies dancing around the light, drawn to it like milky stars.

And then he does it.

His fourth and final spin— your heart orbiting around Hyunjin as he achieves his dream, as he breaks the world record he long yearned for.

You fall back in your seat, a rush of relief loosening the tension in your body as the crowd erupts into thunderous applause. Unbelievable is the word on everyone’s mouths.

But not on yours.

Your Hyunjin did it, like you knew he would.

Tears gather in your eyes as he stares at the scoreboard, his gaze fixed, waiting, breath held alongside every other skater.

Hyunjin’s name comes first.

He collapses to his knees, the weight of his victory pressing down his body, finally breaking him open. Jihyoun rushes over, cradling him, shaking him, laughing, “You did it, Hyunjin! You did it, son!” The tears won’t stop rushing down your face; they have a life of their own now.

You watch as Hyunjin circles the audience, waving at the crowd cheering his name. He drifts closer to your section, his eyes scanning the sea of faces until, finally, he finds yours.

The world stills, you force the earth to stop spinning to have this one moment with Hyunjin. You lock onto his gaze, holding it, savoring the way his lips form your name.

Then, as if pulled by a force greater than either of you, he climbs over the stands, moving swiftly across the seats until he reaches you. In an instant, his arms are around you, his head buried in the crook of your neck. “Yn, I…” he chokes, and you nod, whispering, “I know. You did it, Hyunjin.”

“I did it, Yn,” he echoes, his voice trembling. He pulls back to look at you, his hands resting on your shoulders, both oblivious to the flash of cameras, the seas of people flocking around you.

No one here could ever understand what this moment means to him. No one but him—and you.

As he takes his place on the podium, tears shimmer in Hyunjin’s eyes akin to the reflection of the sun across the sea. He bites his lip, struggling to hold it together as the bronze and silver medals are awarded. Then the official steps forward, gold medal in hand. Hyunjin extends his shaking hands, watching as the ribbon drapes over his head, at long last.

Suddenly, the past eight months of heartache are justified. You would endure it all again, twice over, if it led to Hyunjin having this moment.

“Miss Juilliard,” Hyunjin says softly as he meets you by the door. He had asked Jihyoun to tell you to wait for him. Jihyoun seemed happy to see you once more.

Hyunjin is different now than he was twenty minutes ago, when he threw himself into your arms, overcome by emotions too vast to name. Now, he stands before you, more composed, more guarded, though his gaze remains tender. He’s never been able to hide his eyes from you.

“Congratulations on your win,” you say.

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He knows.

In that moment, you see it all—the two paths unfurling before you. You could smile at him and he would smile back. Then you would part ways. And you would meet again, in a ceremony of some kind. And he would have grown only more beautiful, and the ache would have not softened. And his loving gaze would set on someone else but you.

Or, you could speak now.

“I made some tiramisu back at my Airbnb,” you say, your voice tentative. “Would you like some?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders stiffen, a debate flickering in his eyes. Then he exhales softly. “Of course.”

You sit side by side in the uber. His phone keeps lighting up with congratulatory messages until he switches it off.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling the need to break the silence. He tenses beside you.

“For what?”

“For stealing you away.”

His shoulders relax. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to come.”

The apartment you rented is small—studio-sized, really, but near Montmartre, where you’ve loved taking nightly walks by Sacré Coeur. Hyunjin slips off his shoes, placing them next to yours by the door.

For a moment, you both pause, staring at the sight of your shoes, side by side, once more.

He clears his throat as you gesture for him to make himself comfortable. He moves to the window, gazing at the city below, while you retrieve two plates, carefully setting a slice of tiramisu on each.

“Thank you,” he says softly when you hand him his plate. But neither of you takes a bite. It’s as if opening your mouth would lead to a torrent of words escaping, ones neither of you can contain.

He yields first.

“You came,” he whispers, glancing over at you.

“I couldn’t miss seeing you win.”

“I missed you,” he says, biting his lip. Hyunjin has always been honest, especially when it comes to you. “It hurt a lot to miss you, Yn.”

“I’m here tonight.”

Your words settle into the air as the hum of the world outside fades away. Hyunjin’s gaze, sharp and knowing, meets yours—those piercing eyes that have always stripped away your defenses, reading between the lines of your every unspoken thought.

He holds your gaze for a beat too long, and you fumble for your fork, needing something—anything—to diffuse the weight of what lingers in the silence between you.

Then, suddenly, his lips meet yours.

Kissing Hyunjin again feels like breathing in after being starved of air, like a cool breeze caressing your skin on a scorching day. A shiver spreads through you as he gently lowers you onto the couch, his body a pressing weight above you. Your hands find their way to his back, moving with the instinctive ease of muscle memory, while he kisses you with the fierce urgency of someone who’s finally tasted salvation.

You wish to never part from him. You wish for your body to liquefy and morph into the hot rush of blood within his veins— anything so you wouldn’t have to part from him once more. You don’t think you can handle it. You don’t think you can lose Hyunjin again. You know you can’t.

When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed a soft pink, like fresh dahlias, his eyes glossy and filled with something unspeakable as they trace over your face. “Tell me, Yn,” he breathes, “do you still love me? I need to know, please. It’s been tearing me apart.”

“I love you,” you say, with every bit of honesty you can muster. “I loved you before I even knew what love is, and I will love you, Hyunjin. Whether you are near or not. I will always love you.”

A breathtaking smile unfolds across his face, warm enough to thaw every frozen corner of your heart, to make decades of loneliness melt away. You would endure it all again, face the heartbreak and the grief. Fall at your sister’s grave and repent once more. You’d do it all if it means your path will cross with Hyunjin.

“I was always ever yours to love.”

Epilogue.

Hyunjin has always felt as if he has lived many lifetimes at once. Like a serpent, shedding its skin, he had lost parts of his being in various places. Some he managed to retrieve, others not. He had a lot to learn, overwhelmed by certain things past. His thoughts weren’t always kind. His hands didn’t always sweep gently against his skin.

But on days like those, you were there to love him. He had learned and unlearned many things with you. Hyunjin had found that love wasn’t a sharp emotion, it didn’t slice away at the heart, it didn’t puncture. There were no sharp edges when it came to you. Even if he lost you along the way, he would round up a corner and find you there.

And he did. Hyunjin found you, even when you didn’t wish to be found. You scurried from place to place, set foot into Paris to Seoul, Alexandria and New York. The distance lessened then widened. But it never tore you apart once more. Your souls were satiated in a way. You could rest side by side now.

And you did, as you settled in Seoul, decades down the road. Where both you and Hyunjin built a new training center. Figure skaters on the first floor, ballerinas on the second. The days passed by in happiness, laughter and giggles. There was no curse. No punishment. Not anymore.

You are in a graveyard once more. You watch as Hyunjin sweeps the name atop the tombstone gently. Prima ballerina assoluta, he reads, the swan of my heart. His weathered hands shake as they clutch a bouquet of fresh red lilies, and your heart still aches at the sight.

It is late at night at the graveyard, the branches are still humming to one another, like a melancholic flute. You understand now that they speak to the buried ones. “Not so long now,” they reassure, “your loved ones will follow.”

You believe them, and you will wait. For now, you’ll find solace in the red lilies sitting atop your grave.

They are now meant for you, at long last.

#damn i wrote a lot #thank you i love you #so much????#u are crazy and im crazier

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fireinmoonshot · 3 years ago

Text

CONTAINS SPOILER FOR ETERNALS.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR Summary: In 1521, the Eternals disbanded and Druig left you despite the lengthy past you'd both shared. Now, you're forced back together by the Emergence, but after 500 years apart, neither of you are quite the same as you were. But a love like the one you shared hundreds of years ago never quite goes away. Pairing: Druig x Fem! Reader (slight enemies to lovers) Fandom: Marvel's Eternals Warnings: ETERNALS SPOILERS, mentions of injuries, mentions of death. Word Count: 3255 A/N: Well, I've given in and decided to do a smaller multi part fic for Druig – proving how I'm complete and utter Eternals and Druig trash at this point. This one won't be as long as my other multi parts and will probably just consist of three to four parts that are a bit longer. It'll also jump between the present timeline and moments shared in the past, so I hope it's not too hard to follow along with! I'm really looking forward to finishing this and posting it for you all. It's already proven to be a challenge for me as a writer so far, which feels like exactly what I need right now. Please let me know if you enjoy it and I look forward to sharing the rest! The title of the fic comes from the song Love Me Harder by WOODZ! ❤️

BABYLON, 525 BC

Druig doesn’t like you very much.

He thinks you’re irrational. You take risks when you shouldn’t, which more often than not ends up in you nearly getting killed when you’re all fighting the Deviants. He wishes you’d stop being so much of a risk taker and stop making him panic internally every time he sees you in danger.

It’s why, when he sees you on the back of a Deviant moments before you’re thrown off, he feels like his throat is closing up and he can’t breathe properly anymore. Without you, the team would probably be doomed.

Makkari is quick to catch you in mid air, though the wind is knocked out of you at the impact, and she instructs you to stay put as she sets you down on a log a little bit away from the rest of the fight.

You rub your stomach, knowing you’re going to have a bruise there, and wince a little as you try to catch your breath. Makkari is the only one you’d listen to. If she told you to stay back, you would. Even though it kills you to sit there and watch everyone else fighting when you should be helping them. It makes you feel beyond useless.

Druig jogs up to you once he sees Makkari set you down. His mind is raging and he’s preparing to give you a very stern talking to about your irresponsible actions, but you sense him coming first.

“I’m irrational, irresponsible, I’m putting the wellbeing of the whole team at risk and I need to act more like an Eternal and less like a silly, fragile human when it comes to fighting Deviants,” you say as soon as Druig is in earshot. You’ve heard his spiel many times before.

He narrows his eyes and stops just in front of you.

You look up and meet his eyes. “You don’t have to tell me again.”

“I’ll keep telling you until you actually understand,” Druig huffs.

The thought of him telling you again makes you laugh a little, which just makes Druig even more irritated by you. How long will he continue to tell you the things you already know? Laughing is a bad idea, though, as your stomach still hurts and you haven’t fully caught your breath yet. The laugh only agitates the pain.

You press your hand to your stomach and suck in a deep breath.

Druig furrows his eyebrows and steps closer. “Are you hurt?”

“I just got thrown by a Deviant and caught in midair. You tell me.”

He doesn’t like your sarcasm. His hands itch to reach towards you and check you over, make sure you’re actually okay and not badly hurt, but he pulls them back. You’d hate if he actually did that, and he’d wonder if he was going mad if he did it, too.

You look up at him again. “Will you go and help them?” You point towards the others, still fighting the Deviants over by the gates of Babylon. “I can’t help right now, but you can, so make me feel less shit about being sidelined and go and help them. Please.”

Druig shoots you a dark look and gives up, stalking away from you without another word. There’s a worry in the back of his mind about if you really are injured badly and pretending to be okay, or if you’re actually being truthful, but he has no time to ponder the thought. There are Deviants to kill.

He jumps back into the battle with ease and you watch from your spot on the log, hand still pressed onto your stomach. You have a feeling that the lack of ability to catch your breath isn’t so much to do with being thrown off the back of a Deviant and more with one specific, very irritating Eternal.

~~~

After the fight is over and you’re all back in the Domo, he watches as Ajak approaches you and heals your bruised stomach. It had been painful, catching sight of you as he fought. You looked so alone sitting on the log, watching as everyone else fought the battle you thought was yours to help win.

It serves you right, Druig thought. Your irrational behaviour taught you a lesson.

That was before he saw you wincing as you’d stood up to run over to the others at the end of the fight. When he noticed that you hadn’t even been able to run properly. He felt a little bad then, but only a little.

It doesn’t take you long to get back to your usual self back in the Domo. Sersi, Gilgamesh, Makkari, Kingo and Sprite are all still out helping the humans get their things back together after the attack, but with the others in the room, you’re back laughing and joking, talking about the fight with ease.

Thena even has a small smile on her face as she sips her drink and listens into your conversation with Ajak and Gilgamesh. Phastos had disappeared to go back to work a while ago and Druig has stayed silently in the corner of the room, watching and occasionally adding to the conversation whenever he has an appropriate sarcastic remark.

You catch his eye a few times, catch him watching you when you laugh or when you glance around the room just to look somewhere other than the three people in front of you. It’s disconcerting. He’s never looked at you this much before, except when he was mad at you. It would make sense if he was mad at you now, though.

He doesn’t even really realise that he’s watching you for one reason and one reason alone – he’s worried. He’ll never admit that he’s worried about you. He’s not the type of person to worry about much else other than himself, but the sight of you in pain earlier still plays on repeat in his mind. He can’t get it out of his head no matter how much he tries.

Druig watches you to try and remove it. He watches you laugh, watches you casually sipping on your drink, watches you deep in conversation with Ajak, Thena and Gilgamesh and yet the image from before stays deeply planted in his mind.

~~~

TOKYO, PRESENT DAY

It’s starting to rain outside as you pack up the things on your desk into your backpack and sling it over your shoulder, ready to leave. The sky is already dark, night having fallen a few hours ago, though you’d been cooped up in your classroom since the middle of the afternoon when you’d gone out to buy a quick snack.

You can see the dark grey rain clouds over the city as you leave the building and make your way onto the street to head home. The day had gone well – better than well, actually.

You’d had a class in the morning and then six students to tutor in the afternoon and evening, which had helped in filling up your day and your mind. The earthquake a few days ago had really shaken you up, made you worry about the state of Earth and what the others were doing, so having something else to do had been good to keep you occupied.

The rain starts to get heavier and you curse yourself under your breath for forgetting to bring your umbrella and not checking the forecast before you left for work this morning. But it’s too late to go to a convenience store and buy one. You have nine minutes till your train home and you’re not planning on missing it.

You duck past a group of people walking on the footpath beside you and try not to slip on the wet ground as you walk steadily towards the train station, only two blocks away from the building where you teach.

It feels normal here in Tokyo. The earthquake had been strange, and you’d felt it – been in the middle of a lesson when it’d happened – but everyone had moved on. Earthquakes weren’t a rarity here, you’d lived through thousands of them in your many, many years living in Japan – so life went on ignoring the strange natural disaster.

You can see the entrance to the station just ahead. It’s a welcome sight considering the rain is now falling steadily and the shoulders of your coat are beginning to become uncomfortably wet. There’s water dripping down onto your face from your hair.

You glance at your watch – five minutes. You have five minutes until your train arrives, and then another fifteen before you’re home in the safety and comfort of your apartment. It’s the most exciting part of your day, especially because the thought of sitting at home and watching the rain from your window sounds so nice.

There are a few people standing out the front of the train station as you get closer. They’re all huddled together under two umbrellas and you wonder why they don’t just walk a few more steps and actually stand under the cover of the train station. Perhaps they’re tourists, you think, trying to use the umbrellas that they probably frantically bought at a convenience store as soon as the rain hit and wanting to get their money’s worth.

Tucking your hands deeper into the pockets of your coat, you pick up your pace as you reach the train station, though just before you enter the train station, an umbrella is placed over your head. You stop suddenly, eyebrows furrowed, and look up to see none other than Ikaris holding the umbrella over your head.

“You’ve lived here for how long and you don’t have an umbrella?” He sounds amused.

You blink once, twice, trying to see if Ikaris is real or not, if you’re just hallucinating or not. But then you glance at the other people under the umbrellas at the entrance. Sersi, Sprite and Kingo. They’re unmistakably your family.

“What– what are you four doing here? In Tokyo?” You gasp at them.

They all wander over towards you and Ikaris, who now stands closer to you so that you can both be under the comfort of the umbrella and out of the rain. You feel like you’re dreaming. Your family – here in Tokyo, where they’d never visited you, after so long…

“I wish I could say that we’re just here to visit,” Sersi says, her voice sounding sad and regretful. Something uncomfortable settles in the bottom of your stomach. “But we’re not.”

You hear the sound of an announcement inside the train station and glance down at your watch. “Shit, my train leaves in… three minutes,” you look back up at them. “I don’t mean to be rude, and I am glad to see you all, but can we have this conversation at my place? I don’t want to miss my train, it’s been a long day.”

It’s a very human thing of you to say, you think. The last time you’d all been together like this, none of you had really been that involved in the lives of humans except for Sersi. You all still had a job to do. Things are different now, or at least, they were.

“Yes,” Sersi agrees, “It’ll be good to talk about this somewhere private. Let’s go.”

Her words don’t inspire confidence in you, but you lead them all to your home anyway.

~~~

ROME, AD 47

Druig tolerates you.

He still thinks you’re irrational and irresponsible and very mindless at times, but you’ve gotten considerably better in the last five hundred years. He hasn’t had to tell you about how irresponsible he thinks you are in at least three hundred years, which he thinks is quite an improvement.

Still, he watches you. He’s been watching you ever since that day in Babylon. Despite the fact that so much time has passed, the sight of you in pain still lingers in his mind, high among his memories. It stays there still, refusing to leave no matter how much time passes.

“You’re gonna get hit with a chariot!” Sprite suddenly yells at him.

Makkari knocks him out of the way as a chariot thunders past, right down the street they’d been walking on. The sun is high in the sky, shining down on them, so he blames that for his lack of focus and furrows his eyebrows.

“Why is that thing even in the street?”

“I’d assume chariot racing,” you say from beside him. He doesn’t know where you’ve appeared from, considering he was walking further in front of you and you’d been in conversation with Sersi. “We’re right by the Circus Maximus, where they often hold chariot racing. They’re probably taking it there for the racing this week. Don’t you keep up with the weeks events?”

Druig looks at you. “Thank you, know it all.”

You intentionally respond to him with a large smile, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you do just because you know it’ll drive him mad. Then, you skip off ahead of him to catch up with Kingo.

He watches you as you leave him.

Sprite nudges his side rather forcefully with her elbow. “You’re so obvious, and you don’t even know it. It’s embarrassing. I’d be embarrassed if I were you,” she shudders.

“Embarrassed?” He shakes his head. “You’re being daft.”

She doesn’t accept the insult, shrugging her shoulders and crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re both being incredibly irritating, I hope you know that. If you didn’t, then at least you know that now.”

There’s no chance for Druig to reply to her since she skips off ahead, too, joining you and Kingo. He watches as she weaves her arm through yours and you smile down at her.

He wonders, briefly, how it would feel for you to smile at him like that and then brushes the thought from his mind like it had never been there in the first place.

~~~

TOKYO, PRESENT DAY

Ajak is dead and Sersi, Ikaris, Sprite and Kingo are all sitting in your kitchen with warm cups of tea in front of them. The world feels like it’s been swept out from under your feet, but here your family is… sitting in your kitchen after centuries. But not all of them.

Today has not gone as planned.

You were supposed to be coming home to sit and listen to the rain, maybe go through some of the marking from the tests you’d given your students this morning, and now the world is at risk again.

Your world.

Earth has always been a home to you, ever since you stepped foot on it. But it’s been 7000 years now. You’ve seen the best it has to offer and the worst it has to offer. You can’t lose it.

You slump down against the kitchen bench behind you and run a hand through your hair. It’s still wet from the rain before, you haven’t had a chance to dry it since you got to making tea for the others as soon as you stepped foot in your apartment. Your wet coat is drying off on a coat rack by the door along with the others coats.

“You okay?” Ikaris looks over at you. You look rough.

“I don’t think I have an answer for that.”

He nods understandingly.

“So, what’s next?” You take a long breath and look over at the four of them. You don’t want to wallow in your feelings for too long because you know they’ll only overtake you if you do. You’ve been there before, and you won’t do it again.

Sersi sets her tea down after taking a sip. “We have to find the others, get everyone back together. It’s the only way. We can’t do this without each other. We have to work together again.”

You don’t like her words even though you agree with them. She’s right, of course – she’s always right, which is why Ajak had picked her as her predecessor – but the idea of getting back together with everyone after so long apart is a scary idea.

It’s been centuries since you’ve been in the same room with everyone. While they’d all met up every now and then, you hadn’t joined them very frequently, preferring to just meet up one on one. If you did that, it meant you could pick and choose who you saw and didn’t see. It was safer for your heart that way.

Sersi and Makkari had been the two you’d seen most often, but it’s still been years since you’ve seen either of them, too. You’ve spent the last a hundred and fifty years essentially alone.

“I don’t… I can’t,” you shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I have classes to teach, students who are relying on me. I have papers to mark. I can’t just get up and disappear like that, out of the blue. I can’t.”

You know that you’re only trying to convince yourself of the impossible, but you still try regardless.

Sersi fixes you with a look. She knows exactly why you want to stay behind and it has nothing to do with the fact that you have responsibilities here in Tokyo.

“We need you,” Sersi says. “We can’t do this without you. I can’t.”

There’s nothing more anyone can say. Your fate is sealed.

~~~

KASHGAR, AD 304

Druig flinches back away from you with a scowl. “Haven’t you heard of personal space?” He scoffs, taking a few steps away from you.

You’re smiling at him, one of those beautiful smiles that always make him feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside, and you don’t move from where you’re standing, hands behind your back, watching him with playful eyes.

“What, do I have somethin’ on my face?”

“Mmm.” You nod at him, giving him confirmation but not much.

Druig rolls his eyes and wipes a hand over his face, trying to get rid of whatever was on his face that you weren’t kind enough to point out to him. He can’t feel anything and when he looks back down at his hand, it’s perfectly clean.

He turns his body to face you. “Are you messin’ with me?”

You do nothing, continuing to stare at him with a smile on your face. Druig thinks that the longer you do it, the creepier it gets, and he starts to wonder if there’s any way he can just make you stop smiling. Then, you surprise him.

His feet stay strangely planted to the ground as you step towards him, one of your hands moving up towards his face. He watches your finger with worried eyes as you advance. Your finger finally makes contact with his face and he feels like he’s been given an electric shock as you wipe something of off of his cheek.

You don’t step away from him after you remove your hand, looking at your finger.

“What is it, then?” Druig coughs out a breath.

You show your finger to him. There’s nothing on it.

“Nothing,” you hum. “I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

With that, you turn and walk away from him as if nothing had ever happened. Druig can’t move, though. He can barely breathe thinking about how close you were to him, the light touch of your finger on his skin. He’s stuck in place, tortured. Why would you do that? Why would you want to see what he’d do? You make absolutely no sense to him.

Druig truly can’t stand you.

#druig #druig x reader #druig x you #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x you #eternals #eternals x reader #eternals x you #druig fluff #druig angst #love me harder

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why-am-i-here-someone-save-me · 3 years ago

Text

Caged (Part 1)

TWs: bloodshed, minor character death(s), religious themes(but like mostly only implied), Zhongli being an edgy teen, salt-based ptsd, dust-based ptsd, stalking, pining, implications of reader’s inevitable death, heavily implied murder(protective Morax go brrr), weapons, general destruction ngl

You had never quite enjoyed being focused on. You were far more content to stay on the sidelines, out of the attention of others. You were called humble. Modest. Reserved.

Yet it would be that same humility that would be your doom.

By standing apart from others, you caught the attention of someone who would lead you down the path of destruction.

After all…

Haven’t you heard it’s dangerous to catch a dragon’s eye?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was many things. A god, A warrior, the Prime Adepti. But if there was one thing that Morax was not, well, that would be relenting. He was solid earth, immovable stone, uncompromising rock; and what he desired would either be his or be destroyed.

You were many things. Caring, supportive, understanding. But the one thing you weren’t was faithful, not to the gods at least. Your loyalty to your friends and family, even to fellow humans you’d just met was apparent. But you did not hold the same level of devotion to the gods. How could you amidst this war? Deities were feuding and striking each other down all around you. Why would you place faith in ones who could erase everything you’d ever known in the blink of an eye? Why would you place your heart and soul in the hands of another deity when Lady Havria had taken so much of you to the grave with her? You could not. You knew that if you did, and you were to lose yet another god, you would be unable to carry on. Not again. She had already taken half of you with her.

You mourned your beloved Goddess of Salt. And yet you refused to allow grief to consume you. You refused to let yourself wither away, not after all that Lady Havria had done to protect you and your people. You had been young when your family fled Sal Tearre, too young to grasp what was truly about the occur within your home, too young to understand that you would not ever see Lady Havria’s smile again. When you finally realized the truth, you had been devastated. It had broken you. Lady Havria cared for your people on a very personal level. She had known every name, every face, every single one of her beloved followers. Havria cared for her people as though she were a family member, not their deity. She had been a mother figure to you. When she had been ripped from your life, you had never felt so lost. Your family eventually took refuge in a small village, as as time went by, it became your new home.

It took many years for you to process her demise. But eventually you came to realize that she wouldn’t wish to see you devastated like you were. The revelation had changed your entire outlook on life. You learned to find happiness in the small things in life. A particularly beautiful wildflower blooming in your garden, the laughter of the village children as they played, the feeling of a gentle breeze on a hot day, you treasured each of them. You did not know just how contagious your joy was. By the time you had reached adulthood, you were unknowingly beloved by your peers.

You were ignorant to the fact that the people of your village considered you the pride of the little town. How could they not take pride in you? You who would go so far beyond what was asked of you, who gladly took burdens upon yourself simply to see them happy, who had to be all but forced to rest after spending days working hard for their sakes. Humble as you were, they knew you would be embarrassed by such words, and so they kept them to themselves.

You did not like attention.

But you received it regardless.

You would come to realize that the term ‘dislike’ was not strong enough to describe your feelings for it. You loathed it. Despised it.

It had only ever brought suffering upon you.

It had been the reason you’d unwittingly caught his eye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You had no idea who he was.

But he knew much about you.

He had learned your story, he probably knew it better than you yourself knew it. He found your lack of reverence for the gods amusing. The way you would laugh it off when one of your peers invited you to a religious event was adorable to him. If he weren’t a stranger in your eyes, he’s certain he would gain your companionship easily. But he was content to watch from afar. After all, as rash as he was, Morax knew all too well the fragility of humans. No mortal had ever caught his eye as you did, and he did not have to observe you for long before a desire began to take root in his mind.

Just who did you think you were, getting his thoughts all mixed up like this? You had no right to cause his heartbeat to speed up, no right to make his mouth curl up into a smile as you did. Yet he couldn’t resent you for some reason. He knew that he was growing attached to you. Morax knew very well how bad of an idea that was. He should not be spending his time thinking of you, of your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes would shine so brightly when they caught the light. He told himself over and over how fragile you were, that he could not afford to allow anyone into his heart during this war, least of all a mortal. But despite how many times he repeated this all to himself, he would always wind up near your village, watching as you went throughout your day. You fascinated him so effortlessly that it frustrated him. He was in a war for Celestia’s sake! He didn’t have the time or resources to be so invested in you like he was! Despite his words, he would always end up fulfilling his self-proposed ‘vigil’ over you from afar. ‘Just in case’ he would tell himself. ‘Just in case something were to happen.’

When something did happen, it wasn’t to you, no. Nor was it to him. But the loss of Guizhong caused something within him to break. His once unnoticed gaze as you lived your life slowly began to become more and more present. The constant feeling of being watched would have been more than enough to eat away at you, but the sheer suffocating presence of the gaze was certainly not helping matters.

Morax still found your lack of devotion to the gods endearing, the thought of you giving your worship to a deity other than him made his blood boil. On the days when such thoughts would enter his mind, there would always be a few small earthquakes throughout the land. No, it was better for you to worship no one than for you to worship some other god like Chi, or Celestia forbid Osial. But oh, if he didn’t long to see you devote your worship to him! The fantasies he would come up with would always leave him even more smitten with you than before. He longed to see you kneel at one of his temples, to hear you call out to him in prayer, for you to make offerings to him. He longed for you to pledge your devotion to him, for you to vow that you would remain faithful to him, that you would not leave him as Guizhong had. He knew it was foolish of him, you were mortal after all. You were fleeting, a flash of light in the night, a spark burning brightly before being quenched moments later.

You would leave him, just as Guizhong did.

He knew it to be a fact, yet he refused to acknowledge it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your meeting was not as he would have wished. He had hoped that when he inevitably would approach you, it would be on a calm day, where he could easily have befriended you amidst sunshine and breezes.

He would not have preferred your meeting to be one framed by fire and panic. It would be far more difficult to form a bond with you if you were closed off in grief. But alas, he could hardly sit back and let you be slain, even if it wasn’t the first encounter he had hoped for. He summoned his spear, preparing to step in, but hesitated for a moment. That hesitation, the momentary pause in his actions, that had been the sealing of your fate.

Those few seconds would be the foundation of stone shackles that would ensnare your very being, cold and unyielding, and you would despise them with everything you had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You trembled in terror and despair at the slow footsteps approaching you. You knew that they already were aware of your hiding place, and were merely taunting you at this point. The small dagger in your hand shook as the bandit drew closer and closer. You had no chance of defeating them all, let alone surviving, but if you could at least take out one of them, then you would be satisfied. “Why don’t you come on out hmm~? We don’t bite. Too much~.” Your stomach churned at the sound of the man’s voice, as if his hand wasn’t holding a blade that had just taken the lives of so many you called friends. “Hey now, maybe if you behave and surrender we’ll go easy on you~.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the footsteps stopped outside the poorly blocked entrance to your home. You didn’t want it to end like this. Not after all Lady Havria had done to give you a chance at a prosperous life. Not like this. Tears escaped from your tightly shut eyes as your desperation finally convinces you to make a last ditch attempt to live.

You take a deep breath.

And you pray.

You pray to whoever or whatever might be listening to aid you, pleading your case to the divine.

You hadn’t expected an answer.

You’d come to wish you’d never received one.

Taglist: @nicebonescomrade

#Luci writes #genshin impact #genshin zhongli #genshin x reader #yandere genshin x reader #zhongli x reader #yandere zhongli #morax x reader #morax #genshin impact morax #yandere Morax

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iguana-eyanna · 3 years ago

Text

Cold Illusions & Scorching Lies Pt. 9

Pairing: Loki x Pregnant reader

Summary: Many try to tear you and your prince apart from each other. When Loki lets go of the past that brought him to his doom, you begin to realize you’re not the only one who uncovers a forbidden truth.

Author’s Notes: these events will be in chronicle order of the Thor movies. (Italicized text will be flashbacks). They will be titled for every part.

Warning: death

Loki (2021)

Do you enjoy hurting people?

Making them feel small?

Making them feel afraid?

Those words echo in his brain ever since he has arrived at the TV-A.

He doesn’t know how many nights he spent there or what year it was. All he knew was that he escaped the year 2012 and tried to make sense of his journey in life, especially him witnessing his death.

But what about you?

Mobius only showed him moments of him from when he was defeated by the Avengers or how he witnessed his mother being murdered by the Dark Elves.

He almost had his heart thawed seeing his father depart the physical plane.

He mourned at the last words his brother said to him before he died.

But what he doesn’t understand was why you were not featured in these moments.

Loki knows Mobius is hiding something. The trickster even requested your file and everything was blank.

There must have had some recording of you as Loki was wondering where you are in the future.

Were you alright?

Were you hurt?

What if he hurt you?

He realized that he did as he chose not to face the consequences of his actions and left you alone on the rainbow bridge. Loki left you so you could answer for his crimes.

He then gets out of his bed and goes up to Mobius’ cubicle, knowing he’d be working there.

Mobius shoots up to greet his friend. “There’s my favorite-”

“What happened to my wife?” Loki abruptly asked.

The agent’s mouth dries, unprepared for this moment.

“I know you’re hiding something about her, as you refused to show any evidence to show if my wife is alright.”

Mobius sighs in defeat, straightening his posture in his chair.

“There’s a reason for that…” Mobius said cautiously.

Loki throws his fist on the table, earning a few stares around the workplace.

“I will not help you in your investigation until I know what happens to her.”

Mobius looks at the raven haired man and gets up to leave.

“Follow me.” the agent says.

The god of mischief is content that he’s finally getting his answers. But he’s afraid of why it took Mobius so long to show what’s in store for Loki.

The agent takes Loki back to the screening room again. Mobius writes a password on the keyboard and the projected screen lights up.

“If I show you this, there’s no turning back.” Mobius warns his friend.

Loki shot a look at Mobius, and he bowed his head down.

“After you left, Odin entrapped her in a necklace in order to delay Ragnorak due to a prohecy. She was stuck in time for almost ten years. Once Odin passed, her imprisonment ended and you reunited. It was short-lived as both of you were separated and met again on the planet of Sakaar.”

Mobius said as Loki saw himself with you in a room.

“Darling, please. You know I would have never forsaken you.” Loki said, as he held her hand.

“So falling into an abyss at Asgard and leaving me in the clutches of Odin was what, Loki?” she says, her voice dimming down as tears threatened to roll down her face.

Loki got closer to her as he wrapped his arms around her waist, forcing her to look at him. “When I learned that you disappeared without a trace, I felt broken. The best part of me was missing and nothing would have filled that void unless you were in my arms.”

Loki sees how you move back from his touch and untie your robe, revealing a swell in your abdomen.

You were with child, his child.

He saw how he grazed his fingers on your belly, almost as if to see this was a trick, a cold illusion that was playing on him.

But this was real.

“You two stayed in the grandmaster’s palace for a few weeks. You didn’t tell her that Thor arrived and she left because of your scorching lies. It wasn’t until she decided to go back to find you so you both could save Asgard.”

Mobius said, switching to a channel where he saw himself on the ground as you were teary-eyed.

“I know I read the file, but how did me and my wife cause Ragnarok?” Loki dared to ask.

Mobius held his breath. “Loki, the next part isn't going to be so pretty.”

“I don’t care, I need to see what happens!” Loki gritted through his teeth.

Mobius looks at the man before him and fast forward to when they arrived to Asgard.

—-------------------------------------------------------

“You’re late.” Thor said as he walks over to the couple.

“You’re missing an eye.” Loki responded, as you made your way to Thor, hugging him quickly.

“I’m glad you’re alive.” You stated as you cared for Thor.

He smiles at you and looks down to see your growing abdomen.

“Even after my brother told me, I’m still surprised that you’re going to be parents.” He says, beaming at both of you.”

“Oi! No time for catching up, we have an army of the dead attacking us.” The valkyrie screamed as she neared you all.

“I need to get to the palace.” You simply stated, looking at your husband.

“I’ll take you there.” He states, taking your hand as you brave the soldiers in front of you.

You didn’t know if Loki was using bits of magic to help you fight through the bridge, but a source of adrenaline flooded through your blood. You then see how one of the dead soldiers is about to strike your husband. Waisting no time, you raise your hands and shot a spiral of hot fire at them.

They soon turned to ash and Loki looked up at you, amazed.

“Remind me to not upset you again.” He jests.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” you joke back as you finally enter the kingdom.

It wasn’t long until you arrived to the trophy room where you saw your father’s crown. You carried it off from its pedestal, feeling his powers course through your body.

You’re about to run off to the eternal flame till you saw Loki staring at the infinity stone.

“Love.” you said, walking up to him.

He turns to you with sadness in his eyes.

“The person I was a few years ago would have done anything to get that power, and all because I was blinded by what Thanos promised.” He says, looking back at the cube.

You place your father’s crown in your right arm as you reached for your husband’s hand with your left.

“We have a new chance to make things the way we want to, write our own destiny.” You reassured him.

He nods his head as he looks up to the direction where the fire was.

“Go. I’m right behind you.” He said. You kiss him passionately before running to where you Surtur will rise.

Once you arrive to the step, you hold his crown in between your hands.

“Father, you are reborn.” You said as you let go, seeing the crown fill with life as glowing orbs appeared in the fire. He begins to grow in height and you back away momentarily, scared.

He grows almost ten feet tall till he stops and sees who revived him.

“My ruby…” He says warmly like a candle at night.

“Come forth so I may bless you with my powers and knowledge of your birth realm.” He says, raising his hand. You slowly walk up to him and see how he presses his finger to your head, burning a spot on your forehead. Your eyes glow the same yellow as his, feeling his power grow into you. Once he pulls his hand away, you fall backwards from exhaustion, until a pair of arms caught you.

“Loki?” you question as you looked up.

“We need to go now” Loki screamed as he carried you out of the palace as Surtur began to grow into his true form.

You don’t know how as you lost consciousness but you heard Loki screaming.

“Please, I need a healer or a midwife. Help my wife, I beg you!”

Your body gets pulled away from his embrace and you see glimpses of women attending to you.

Momentarily, you awoke from what you thought was a nightmare and saw your husband sitting impatiently in a chair near the bed you’re lying on.

You begin to shift in your position, seeing Loki snap his gaze at you once again, feeling the tears brim to his eyes.

“Thank goodness you’re alright.” He said, pulling you in a bone crushing hug. You hold onto him for what felt like an eternity and pulled away so you could push back the strands of hair that was hiding his face.

“What happened at the fire? All I saw was Surtur placing his finger at your temple and you fell back.” He asks.

Your hand flies to your head, where there was no evidence of a scar or burn.

“My father, he parted me the last knowledge and powers of Muspelheim. I never understood at first, but my realm’s power course within me… within our babe.” you said, feeling your bump. Loki looks down as well, putting his hand on top of yours.

“Our child is the product of two legacies. They shall carry on with great pride.” Loki says, putting his free hand on the side of your face.

“We shall carry on to our bright future.” You said, as you two pulled in to a blissful kiss that would envy all the stars in the galaxy.

—-------------------------------------------------------

The projected screen shuts off and Loki hasn’t realized that he’s crying.

“I- need to find her, tell her I’m alright!” Loki says, getting up from his chair.

“You can’t do that Loki” Mobius said calmly as he gets up to calm the raven haired man.

“You don’t understand. She probably witnessed my death. Oh no, what if she gave birth to our child? I can’t let them grow up without their father. I will not allow that.” Loki said, trying to leave but Mobius puts him in a time loop again.

Loki stops in his tracks, his eyes turning red from anger.

“WHY ARE YOU STOPPING ME FROM SEEING HER?” Loki screams.

“BECAUSE SHE’S DEAD!” Mobius yells out.

Loki stands still forgetting how to breathe as the room fell silent.

Mobius sat in his chair defeated, looking down as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“A few months after the snapping, she goes into labor. She delivered the baby, but she hemorrhaged. Even if you prevent everything, she will still die. That’s her fate for all of her variants. Your wife died selflessly to give her child the chance to live.”

Loki feels his head spinning as he knelt on the floor. He felt sick to his very core. All he could dow as shake his head and pound his fist to the floor, muttering no. His mutters turned into a bloody screamed and he cried out in agony. Mobius gets out of his chair quickly and tries to pull up Loki off his feet. He refuses to do so, but he just sobs out his pain.

He doesn’t know how long Loki stayed there, but he got up and refused to utter a single word as he slowly walked to his room.

He didn’t leave for the longest time as he forced himself to starve. He didn’t allow himself to sleep as he would abruptly wake up from nightmares of losing you.

One night, Loki turned around on his bed and saw a small packet appeared out of the blue on his nightstand. He slowly grabs it and reads the note on top of it.

You have one chance to make things right. I’ll make sure no one knows. - Mobius

Loki tears off the packaging and sees the traveling tech agents use to go to different realms. He breath becomes shaky as he realizes what he can do.

He was going to save you.

Taglist:

@chaoticevilbakugo

@comehomecomehometous

@emma-andrea1

@fredsandlokiswhore

@geminiwolves

@gengen64

@imboredazfuck

@itsybitchylittlewitchy

@jordynhouston

@ladystark-3000

@lokiskone

@oceanmermaidwitch

@some-lovely-day

#tom hiddelston loki #loki laufeyson imagine #loki imagine #loki odinson #loki x pregnant reader #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #mcu loki #loki #loki disney+#loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki of asgard #loki show #loki the series #loki laufyeson #loki tv series #loki tv #tom hiddleston

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yukidragon · 4 months ago

Text

I'm glad you like this AU! 💖

Oh, you think if Alice isolated from Jack she could be cured?

It might seem that way, wouldn't it? After all, others cured themselves through isolation... well, if they managed to make it through the spike in mental symptoms such as paranoia and desperate loneliness of course. However, our little miss patient zero here is a bit of a unique case.

As I said in the post, this AU is heavily influenced by my headcanons for Sunshine in Hell, which includes how Jack and Alice are bonded. They both have a piece of each other's souls. No matter how far apart they are, they're always connected... and they will always be able to find one another.

Jack could try to let Alice go. Maybe severing their connection will cure everything. Maybe his continued presence is dooming the world.

Or maybe this plague has become a show far too big for one clown to close the curtains on even if he exits stage right.

This plague wasn't caused by Jack, not really. While his death was an act of terrorism, that doesn't mean rituals weren't performed. LambsWork is no strangers to profane magics. It's just in this world, they stuck their fingers into more pies, one of them being tainted with viruses.

It's ironic really. The attention they got from the show, the actors they exploited... it was all in service of power. The love of the children, the health and energy of those working to make the show, the adoration and lust towards its main actor... Those who worked for the SunnyTime Crew Show were under contract... and sometimes devilish little clauses are hidden in the fine print...

Jack being freed was the spark that lit the fire, but it was LambsWork that spilled the fuel everywhere. They planned to use him for some greater scheme, and his premature death ruined it... but it didn't erase all the things they did to prepare their star before that.

Really, if the people in charge of LambsWork knew that all their hard work would go up in flames and then come back to destroy the world they tried so hard to gain power in... they'd try to set things up in their favor when the world went to hell. Or maybe they'd consider pulling the plug on the whole thing. Perhaps.

Jack influenced the symptoms of the Color Plague, his freedom signaled the start of it, but its creation was due to forces far beyond his control. That's why he can't stop it even if he was aware of the part he played in it.

Naturally, Jack would feel guilty if he knew. It'd be hard to handle the idea and it would make him deteriorate mentally. The only thing he could do to atone and keep himself together would be to redouble his efforts to make Alice happy and protect her... and never think about it again.

No one needs to know. Jack is clean now.

Then of course, there's Alice's part to play in the end of the world. It would crush her, but, well... they were doomed the moment she found the tape.

Mary used to work for the SunnyTime Crew Show. In the Sunshine in Hell telling of the tale, she's the one who pitched the concept of the show in the first place and wrote for it. She used to be under contract to LambsWork as well and deep in their clutches. She may have been reborn as Alice, but Joseph was also given new life as Jack. He's still affected by his contract and the things they did to him to this day.

Do you really think Alice escaped through death when Jack couldn't?

Ah, but I'm getting off topic now. Back to what would happen if Jack and Alice separated.

Well... it'd certainly wouldn't be anything good. Their connection is still there. The plague is still there. Isolating themselves from one another will make them so much more lonely... Neither Jack nor Alice can stand to be alone even before the apocalypse.

The plague was influenced by Jack's fear of being alone. It was also influenced by Alice's fear of being alone... isolated due to the illness that slowly deteriorates her body. The fear the many ways sickness warps flesh... the fear of being unable to stop the blood from leaking out...

Somehow I don't think isolation will help Alice, Jack, or the rest of the infected. If anything, I suspect that separating them will just make things so much worse.

It's hard to isolate from an illness that infected their very souls.

Severing the connection of their souls... well... somehow I think that might be the spark that would start an even bigger explosion.

How to cure the plague then? That's a good question, and I suspect LambsWork might have the clues that can lead survivors to the answer... provided they know where to look.

Perhaps if Jack has the courage to face the ghosts of his past, he and Alice can find the answers that could save their world before all hope is lost. I'm sure Alice's family and friends will help where they can, though probably best from a distance for their own safety.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

Sunny Day Jack - Infection AU Headcanons

Hey, have you seen the resurgence of the MLP creepypastas with infection AUs on twitter? I stumbled across this trend, and it gave me an itch to create an apocalyptic AU, but with characters who are already intended for an adult audience.

Yes, it’s another Something’s Wrong with Sunny Day Jack AU, and a very horror-themed one to boot. Yes, I also know that it’s pretty funny that this comes right after this super sugary sweet short story about Jack pleading for more cuddle time with his sunshine, doesn’t it?

What can I say? Sometimes I like to explore the horror side along with the romantic side of Sunny Day Jack.

Content Warnings: This post is going to get pretty graphic at times due to its central focus on body horror and biological infections. There will also be elements of psychological horror, violence, murder, yandere obsession, occult practices, acts of terrorism, and all the other warnings that apply to the main game. Also, one or more of our favorite characters might meet with an unfortunate fate. I’ll see if I can offset all the horror somewhat with some sweet and spicy stuff as well, since we all know Jack isn’t going to let a little lot of blood stop him from filling his sunshine with lots and lots of love.

Minors DNI!

It took me a while to consider how I wanted to go about the infection itself. Sure, I could stick with the tried and true zombie formula, but there’s way too many games that just tack on zombies as DLC without adding anything unique that ties to the original setting. It gets kind of repetitive after a while. I wanted something a little more interesting, perhaps a little more supernatural.

Then I remembered that there are times when Jack starts looking suspiciously like a zombie himself, especially when his bony finger is exposed. However, nowhere is his undead putrefaction clearer, than this heartbreaking picture posted on the SnaccPop Patreon. Even just the publicly posted teaser picture from twitter shows us that his body is rotting like a corpse.

Credit to Sauce for their gorgeous art. Remember, don’t share anything that’s posted privately for members only on the patreon. If you want to see the full picture in all its glorious heartache for yourself, why not consider joining to check it out? You’ll not only get access to exclusive art, but also audio dramas and many other delightful things. You’ll also be supporting the team and helping them to continue working on the games and other projects that give us so many fun stories to explore and enjoy.

The Diseased Lamb

The apocalypse I’ve crafted for this AU is more heavily based on the Sunshine in Hell continuity than the game itself, and it references a number of my previous headcanons. As such, I’ll be sticking with my version of the MC, Alice, for this AU, but I hope my ramble can inspire you with ideas for how to run your own MC through an apocalyptic scenario with the SDJ characters.

The horror of this AU, as it does with the game, all starts with the tape, or rather the incident that it recorded back in 1984, changing both it and the man who was murdered on that day into something no longer human.

LambsWork Productions is such a suspicious company, particularly with that name that feels like it’s implying that it’s creating sacrifices. It wasn’t just meant in a figurative sense, as the entertainment industry is full of cults. A homeless drifter picked up off the street would make for a perfect sacrifice for some profane ritual. No one would come looking for him, and those who knew him when he died could be silenced with an NDA… if they didn’t die as well, of course.

Joseph Cullman, who used the name of James Haberdae when taking the role of Sunny Day Jack, was just one of these poor souls that Lambswork sacrificed. He and so many others were to give, and give, and give so much of themselves, far more than they ever imagined that they would. They were drawn in deeper, convinced to participate in things that they didn’t quite understand, that felt not quite right, but… they could lose it all. They’ve already come so far, done so much. It’s a sunk-cost fallacy.

LambsWork Productions was a company up to some shady business, with connections to other not quite so savory business partners. They slipped subtle propaganda into their various shows aimed at so many different audiences. The 80’s was an era rife for turning kids shows into a 30 minute long television commercial at its most blatant. Much like how the Flintstones pushed cigarettes on kids in our world, and got their own line of multivitamins, even wholesome mascots could be used to push agendas, even unwittingly. (There’s a good Film Theory that talks about propaganda in the media if you’re interested in more about this topic.) The SunnyTime Crew weren’t just selling branded merch like cream pies, dolls, and lunchboxes, they were endorsing other unrelated products such as pharmaceuticals.

The incident of 1984 brought it all to an abrupt end. Maybe in the game’s universe it was an intentional thing, a sacrifice to accomplish something supernatural. Maybe it wasn’t part of a massive conspiracy, just a sudden murder that interrupted plans already in place that had unexpected consequences. Maybe the company was just shitty and had nothing to do with Jack being trapped in the tape for 40 years.

In this universe, it wasn’t an intentional machanation of LambsWork Productions, but the unforeseen results of so many it played a part in.

While I suspect Jack died of gunshot wounds in the game, as I mentioned in previous theories here and here, in this universe, it was the result of a terrorist attack. The SunnyTime Crew were mascots used to push a product that had… unfortunate results. People got sick, suffered horrible side-effects, even died. There were even rumors that a sickness was manufactured in a lab just so that particular product could be sold to cure it. Naturally, the actions of companies associated with LambsWork wasn’t the fault of the actors, but the SunnyTime Crew had inadvertently become the face of the brand. In the eyes of people resentful of a soulless company that victimized them, anyone who worked with them was seen as guilty.

For actors at LambsWork Productions, their days were long and started early. Often, they had to rely on the coffee, donuts, and other snacks in the breakroom instead of a proper meal.

No one realized the food and water had been spiked. Everyone was already pushing themselves hard, often forced to do their job and put on a bright smile for the public even when they were exhausted or sick. If they felt the urge to sneeze or cough, they had better hold it in until the cameras weren’t rolling.

Unfortunately, tried as he might, Jack couldn’t stop himself from coughing up blood in the middle of filming.

Although tempting, this isn’t the start of a zombie outbreak. It’s a deadly illness to be sure, but not one the terrorists intended to infect the children. This was to send a message to the company as well as serve as revenge to see these shiny “innocent” stars bleed and suffer like others had because of corporate greed.

Though it would be horrifying and tragic if this was a zombie outbreak and the SunnyTime Crew were the patient zeros. Mary would rush from the audience to her starlight’s side, holding onto him tight while yelling at someone to call an ambulance… Joseph moans out one final “Sunshine…” before an unnatural hunger overtakes him, and he tears out her throat with his teeth.

A temptingly dark image, but maybe we can save a zombie specific AU for another time. For this infection AU, things are a little bit more complicated than that, and a bit more sad. Joseph didn’t know what was happening to him, just that he was in pain. He had a terrible chill that burned his insides, his eyes growing watery with a red tint, and he couldn’t stop coughing. He didn’t even notice the blood at first leaking from his mouth and eyes until he heard the screams of the audience.

Mary ran to Joseph’s side as he collapsed to the floor. He tried to turn away from the audience to spare the children the sight, but wound up vomiting up blood all over the colorful studio set.

He wasn’t the only one, unfortunately. The rest of the SunnyTime Crew, even guest stars and members of the stagehands were unwell, but not nearly as bad as Joseph. As the star of the show, the terrorists wanted to make a statement with the gruesome death of Sunny Day Jack. They didn’t want someone as strong and healthy looking as him to survive, so he was especially targeted by tainted food and drink. Even his medication, makeup, and cigarettes were tampered with.

Mary tried her best to help Joseph. She was used to being sick. She helped make sure he wouldn’t choke on his own blood and did what she could to keep him breathing until the ambulance came, but his death came swift and gruesome. He died in her arms while she was still performing CPR on him, bathed in his blood and her tears, as the cameras continued to record their last “kiss.”

Mary died later in the hospital, just like in the regular universe, but much sooner, as she became infected as well. Although the illness wasn’t airborne, it could be transferred by bodily fluids. Though the terrorists only meant to target certain people for one specific incident, microorganisms can’t be simply shut off once they’re set loose.

The terrorists had wanted to make a statement using the very illness that they claimed was manufactured by isolating an especially dangerous strain in a lab and unleashing it publicly. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect they were going for. The exact events of that day were covered up, including the message that they were trying to send. Instead, the negative side-effects that the original product resulted in were blamed on this new more deadly strain of the infection, and the pharmaceutical company eventually came up with a cure for that too… but not without more casualties.

Many of the terrorists did get arrested and quietly charged with domestic terrorism. In the end, the company they went to such extremes to expose for their crimes became the hero, and all they accomplished was giving them a villain to escape their own misdeeds.

Quietly, LambsWork Productions buried the SunnyTime Crew show and all traces of its memory to escape any bad press. It moved on to new shows, and new partnerships with the pharmaceutical company in the future, though the higher ups never used any of their characters to overtly endorse any unrelated brands again.

In the modern day, the illness that may have been created in a lab, but was made so much more deadly by terrorism is mostly a non-issue with the standard vaccines people get as they grow up. Few people think about it at all. The outbreak incident was a blip in history, with the show never being mentioned at all in association with it.

40 Years Later

The timeline of events plays out mostly the same from here, though perhaps with a few less survivors from the incident of 1984 in the modern day. Though it might not matter when the second incident unfolds.

In many supernatural stories where someone is unjustly murdered, the way they died plays a part in how their revival affects the world… or in this case infects.

The apocalypse started when a VHS tape was played, and Alice became patient zero.

Jack didn’t mean for it to happen. He only wanted to help his sunshine. She was already sick when he appeared. Not only was she suffering from chronic illness like in the regular universe, but she had caught the modern day version of the very infection that had killed both of them in the past. It was treatable in the present, and she was vaccinated, so she was just isolated at home with nothing to do but heal and distract herself from feeling so miserable and alone.

In this case, the curious and compelling VHS tape Alice bought from the thrift store became far more of a distraction than she could have ever imagined.

Jack appeared when Alice was at her most vulnerable and took care of her. The longer they spent together, the better she felt. Her symptoms faded, and his company was surprisingly comfortable, familiar. It was almost nostalgic, like someone had taken care of her like he did long ago…

Alice wasn’t cured, she was asymptomatic. The infection had been altered supernaturally to make her better, but it became something else, something beyond the capabilities of modern medicine. Its change was influenced by Jack’s fears - his fear of the cold, sleepless hell he had been damned to, the fear of the decades loneliness and the endless cycle of pain, and most of all the fear of losing his sunshine.

Understandably, a patient zero is the last person you want working in the food service industry. Worse, a heatwave had struck Texas, sending a lot of customers to Yogurtopia for a cold and tasty treat. Having to deal with so many people distracted Alice from Jack and left him feeling a little lonely… and increasingly afraid that all of these people might make her forget him.

Symptoms

Unlike the infection 40+ years prior, this supernatural affliction spread slowly, the vector not from body fluids but being in the infected’s presence, seeing and hearing them in close proximity. Touching them directly spread it so much faster. In the initial stages it led to nightmares, an increasing sense of paranoia, and a cold prickling pain not unlike the staticy feeling one got after a part of their body fell to sleep, especially focused on the face and hands. This feeling would steadily spread to other parts of the body as the infection got worse.

The progression led to hallucinations, voices that whispered one’s own deepest fears, which led to an increase in depression. The infected grew to have difficulty sleeping, but when they did they only experienced nightmares. The only thing that alleviated symptoms was physical touch with another person that they felt affection/desire towards, but this in turn would spread the infection.

The psychological effects worsened as symptoms progressed, creating an increased sense of paranoia that they were being haunted, but also that this entity was erasing their existence from everyone who knew them, which led to fears about being alone and forgotten. In a sense, the virus was turning people into yanderes, desperate for human connection.

There were visual hallucinations as well, which started as shadows and colors at the corners of their eyes, an entity constantly stalking them. As the infection progressed the hallucinations became more vivid, turning into distorted inhuman figures with protruding bones coming from rotting strips of skin, and other such horrific images.

The infected changed physically too. Their blood took on a strange blue tinge to it and a hint of green. The colors became more prominently distinct and clearly unnatural in later stages of infection, creating an RGB effect as it leaked from the wounds, eyes, and mouth. Between the discomfort underneath the skin and psychological paranoia, patients usually scratched themselves until they bled, especially around the face and hands. Some even clawed their own eyes out to escape the horrific hallucinations.

The infection didn’t affect everyone the same. For some the symptoms progressed faster, and for some they had fewer symptoms. There were even some that claimed that they recovered from the infection.

There was some truth to the rumors. Being infected by close proximity sight/sound of the infected had a cumulative effect on symptoms, but it faded when not in their presence. Unfortunately, physical contact makes the infection spread far worse than sight or sound. It’s thought that maybe if they’re kept in isolation away from other infected they might recover, but this makes their symptoms of paranoia and desperation for human contact worse, leading to them harming themselves or others in their need to alleviate the symptoms.

The problem was that the infection couldn’t be detected until the blood’s color started to change, well after a person would be a danger to themselves and others. Despite lockdowns and stay at home orders, it spread beyond the city, beyond Texas, and even went international. People infected couldn’t handle being isolated alone as the infection progressed. Forcing them only made it worse.

Violence broke out, from infected people driven mad by paranoia and those desperately trying to escape being infected. The more an infected person was wounded, the more of that unnatural blood spilled in the later stages, the more they changed into something that became no longer human.

Some of the infected had their bodies warped, their proportions stretching and contorting until they were almost cartoonish, elongated, torn, and bloody. They were so desperate for company, and many infected clung to one another, flesh merging together until no one could tell where one person ended and the other began. These amalgamations were dangerous and violent, paranoid of being pried apart and some parts wanting to bring others important to them into the amalgam.

While there was hope of recovery for those infected in earlier stages, once they were warped to such a degree, there was no saving them.

Patient “Zero”

The first public case of this infection reaching its unnatural stages that gave it the nickname of the Color Plague was the incident with one Nick Herraras. The name of the infection might change later if I come up with a better term for it, but we’ll go with Color Plague for now.

Poor Nick was found on the streets, covered with what initially was mistaken for paint, only to be later identified as tainted blood. Some thought he was patient zero, driven to a crazed and desperate state as he wandered the streets, babbling incoherently about “sunshine” and “him.”

On the same night there had been a call to the police that reported a break-in at an apartment building where a woman lived alone. When colorful blood was found at the scene of the break-in, it was quickly deduced that Nick had been the culprit behind it. Alice King, the victim, reported that she had been asleep at the time, but she managed to scare the intruder off with her gun, which led to him being found wandering the streets.

The truth was… a bit different than Alice told the police.

The day had been a stressful one. Aside from the long shift, a regular customer at her job had been acting… strange lately. Nick had come to see Alice with increasing frequency, even lingering until closing hours.

It all started off innocently enough for Nick, just a harmless crush that turned into a serious case of lovesickness. Alice had been such a sweet breath of fresh air from his stressful life as an online celebrity, and despite the paranoia and hallucinations that affected him, he fixated on her. It got worse after his hands touched hers when taking his order from her. Her warm touch alleviated his slowly worsening symptoms like nothing else could. He became obsessed with her even as the hallucinations terrorized him to stay away.

Nick needed her.

Alice picked up on the way Nick kept staring at her even when she was taking care of other customers. It made her grow increasingly nervous, especially when Jack voiced his concerns about both Nick and the dangers of other people in general. Many of the regulars were starting to act strange and shifty as well.

Despite the voices warning Nick away, he approached Alice. He got in too close and rambled a bit about how he noticed that she didn’t ever go home with anyone. Did she have a boyfriend? He was exhausted and disheveled at the time, his wild eyes occasionally darting away to chase shadows before fixing back on Alice. He didn’t even give her a chance to answer, rambling on about how he had been watching her for weeks now, and he had seen her posts online. He saw her give that kid who spilled his yogurt a free replacement last week, and she helped an elderly man find his misplaced car keys. That was so kind of her. Her art was so pretty and her online profile said she was single, so she was, wasn’t she?

The cold got worse and Nick had to touch her, he needed it. Alice tried pulling away politely, but his increasingly desperate grabs for her caused her to panic. In a desperate bid to keep a hold on her, he dug his fingers into her wrists, hard, until a large gloved hand that seemed to appear out of nowhere wrenched his away.

It was the first time Jack had touched anyone besides his sunshine, and it was so cold. It sent Nick into fits, clawing at his hands where Jack had touched him, the hallucinations getting worse. The sight terrifying Alice.

Nick hadn’t been alone during that incident. James Harrison had been worried about his friend’s increasingly strange behavior. He tried to talk sense into Nick when he started acting increasingly erratic. When Nick grabbed onto Alice, James helped pry Nick off her, but he felt a terrible cold that made his hands itch when he succeeded.

James managed to calm Nick out of his fit, after a little while. He apologized to Alice for the scene, trying to smooth things over so that she wouldn’t call the cops. In the arms of his friend, Nick managed to start calming down and start coming back to himself. He was comforted by the warmth of someone he cared for and who cared about him. With everyone shaken, James escorted Nick home.

When in the company of his friend, feeling that warmth of connection, Nick was okay. But that night when he was home alone after he had reassured James over and over that he was just tired, he needed sleep, and that he would see a doctor tomorrow… his mind went back to Alice.

The hallucinations were so much worse, eating away at Nick. Only Alice could make them go away for good, he was sure of it. He even knew where she lived. He also knew how to pick locks, how to be quiet. If he just saw her alone without anyone around, he could make her see just how much he needed her, how much he wanted to get to know her, love her. His thoughts about her had deteriorated from an innocent crush into a sick obsession that he believed must be true love.

The plan did work, to a point. Nick managed to break in without alerting others in the apartment complex or waking Alice up. He just never expected that she wouldn’t be alone in her apartment.

In a sense, what happened to Nick ties into my past theory that he (and the other love interests) were all yanderes. It might have been debunked, but it can be something fun to play with in a universe where there’s an infection that turns people into monstrous yanderes.

After the incident with Nick at Yogurtopia, Alice was pretty shaken up. She felt paranoid going home that night. Fortunately she had Jack to watch out for her. It was only because of his reassurance and comfort that she was able to get any sleep that night.

Jack was also the only reason why Nick didn’t get his hands on Alice again that night.

Sunny Day Jack isn’t a violent person, or at least he has convinced himself that he isn’t, but he isn’t going to let anyone hurt or take away his sunshine. No matter what it takes.

Alice woke up to Nick’s hysterical screaming. She burst out of bed in time to see him fleeing from the apartment. She also saw Jack looming in the dark like a terrifying sentinel, something otherworldly and dangerous. The moment Jack sensed her fear though, he was back to normal, soft and reassuring. He told her someone broke into the apartment, but he managed to scare them off… somehow. When Alice asked about the blood, Jack told her (truthfully) that Nick was already bleeding when he snuck in. In fact, he started hurting himself before he ran away. She wondered if Jack lied to not scare her with the fact that he was capable of violence despite his kid-friendly persona, but later the next day she heard from the police that the wounds were in fact self-inflicted.

After all, Jack doesn’t need to get his own hands dirty when he can have Nick take care of it for him.

Word of the infection spreads, along with the infection itself. Alice refused to allow her family to come visit her after she told them about the break-in, when she feared that she might be infected as well due to her close proximity to Nick and him bleeding all over her home. She was examined by doctors, but when they didn’t find anything, she was sent home with instructions to self-isolate and monitor herself for any potential symptoms that might appear.

Once more, Alice was isolated in her home with only Jack for company. He cleaned up the mess for her so she wouldn’t have to look at the blood, and helped reinforce her door so that no one could break in as easily again… but the news made it clear that the world was becoming an even more dangerous place.

A Lonely Apocalypse

As one might expect, an infection that spreads by sight and sound spreads quickly, especially when it makes people desperate to reach out and touch others, spreading it even faster. Quarantine zones were broken easily, and chaos descended across the entire world. Infrastructures fell apart in the chaos, such as electricity, internet, and plumbing. Infected people broke into homes to find others to join them. Civilization collapsed.

Alice lost contact with her family when the internet and phone lines went down. Last she heard was that they were in isolation and they were all fine. Mercifully, no one was showing symptoms. Barbie had left her apartment and returned to their family home before travel became dangerous. The King family could watch out for one another, but Alice worried about them and her friends dearly.

Shaun, being more trope savvy about zombie apocalypses did decently well for himself despite the circumstances. He managed to escape being infected and has been able to isolate with Olivia and a few other survivors. Animals, mercifully, seem to be immune to the infection, so MoonPie is safe in his care as well. He’s slowly breaking down the “rules” of the infection in order to understand it and why some people are affected more strongly than others. He, like so many others, wants to figure out where it comes from and if it can be stopped. He is also pretty damn sure that this infection is something supernatural, so science alone can’t explain it, let alone put a stop to it.

Shaun and Alice communicated via internet and phone before both went down, so they knew that the other was safe until that point. Because Alice was suspected of being infected, she couldn’t join him and the other survivors. By this point she had a strong suspicion that she was an asymptomatic carrier of the infection.

But it was fine. Alice didn’t need to join up with survivors anyway. She had Jack to protect her. Shaun didn’t know who this Jack was, never having seen him in person. It stung to know that he was Alice’s new boyfriend, but he managed to joke that he was looking forward to meeting Jack “when all this craziness is over.”

The joke came out even more strained due to very real fears that might never happen.

When Ian first heard about the infection back in Texas, he wanted to take a flight back immediately and check up on Alice. However, by that time the city had been put under lockdown. Without any word about Alice, he grew increasingly worried about her, since she was already dealing with a chronic illness. When he heard through a mutual acquaintance that she might be infected, he was racked with guilt for leaving her, blaming himself. This wouldn’t have happened if he never left for college.

A lot of things never would have happened if he hadn’t left.

Alice picked up the phone for Ian once. Though it was hard on her, she was relieved that he was safe. When he wanted to see her, she told him under no uncertain terms not to. It was only when she outright told him that she was infected that he stopped begging her to change her mind.

The news shocked Ian, horrified him. He broke down, babbling apologies, and Alice told him it was fine. She forgave him for cheating and told him to not feel guilty about that anymore. He should focus on staying safe and not worry about her anymore. He needed to focus on taking care of himself now.

This was a final message from Alice to find closure with Ian and sincerely wish him happiness in spite of everything. What happened between them still hurt her, but in the wake of an apocalypse it was a more distant pain, smaller in the face of far more immediate threats. She also had Jack to support and comfort her. She had his love to heal her wounded heart and keep her safe. She felt stronger thanks to Jack in spite of everything.

Despite Alice’s attempts to alleviate Ian of guilt, his guilt only grew worse. He felt like he had to do something. Alice ended the call after telling him definitively to forget about her and not call her again, but how could he after everything they’ve been through? After how badly he failed her? He tried calling her back, but she finally blocked his number.

The guilt and his feelings for Alice ate Ian alive. It made him determined to get back to her and make things right, quarantine or no quarantine.

Even if that meant he got infected too. At least then they would always be together… like they should have been all along.

So Ian is trying to find Alice while avoiding the infected. It’s almost certain that he’ll fail the latter, but perhaps not the former… though what state he’d be in when he finally finds Alice might be something far more horrific than the boy she used to know and love.

Building a Life Together While the World Falls Apart

Although the world is crumbling down around them, Jack is getting stronger. He’s become more solid, stronger, and others can see him now. He can defend his sunshine from the infected, and he’s actually very good at it. Somehow he always manages to find a way to chase them off.

While for the most part Jack comes away unscathed from such encounters, sometimes he gets a little scratched up, which results in Alice fussing over him. He’ll never admit it, but he gets a little careless sometimes just to be spoiled by his sunshine. He knows it’s naughty of him, and he really doesn’t want to worry her, but it feels so good to be cared for so sweetly. He always asks her to kiss his boo-boos better, which leads to kissing other places as well.

Alice knows perfectly well that the aching Jack feels in his cock isn’t from any injury he took, but she’ll still kiss it until he feels allll better anyway~ He makes sure to make her feel very good as well in return.

Given how stressful things are and how isolated survivors have become, sex is a pretty obvious way to pass the time. Jack takes every excuse he can to seduce Alice, as long as the place they’re staying in is secured. He’s not going to be reckless with her safety. The infection might not affect her, but the infected are another story. He doesn’t care if anyone sees them (and really he’d enjoy showing off how much his sunshine loves him), but an infected isn’t simply going to sit back and appreciate the show.

Whenever Jack catches Alice worrying about her friends and family, he makes sure to redirect her focus on him as much as possible. He’s very good at distracting her with his love, placing kisses all over her body between sweet words of comfort and praise. She’s doing so well handling everything. She’s so strong, so kind, and so beautiful. She doesn’t have to handle it alone. He’s right here for her. He’ll always be with her, forever, and he loves her so, so much, more than anyone in the world.

It’s for the best that it’s just the two of them now. Even if Alice is infected, Jack is either immune or asymptomatic too, so it’s perfectly safe with just the two of them. He doesn’t have to worry about losing her to the infection, and she doesn’t have to worry about accidentally infecting him like she would her friends or family. They’ll be safe as long as they stay away and stay together, just like they’re doing now. Jack promises to make sure that neither of them will ever have to feel lonely ever again.

At present, the pair managed to secure an abandoned house. Well, mansion. Only the best for his sunshine, Jack said. Sure it took a lot of work fixing it up and cleaning up the messes, but as long as they’re together, they can handle anything life throws at them. They can face the world together, just the two of them.

After securing the place against invasions from infected or survivors taking advantage of the chaos, they managed to fix the place up to be rather cozy. They’ve secured a fair amount of supplies, and even started growing food both on the grounds and in a greenhouse. Alice knew a lot of tricks for how to grow plants effectively thanks to her mother’s expertise in the subject, and Jack handled much of the grunt work thanks to his strength.

It was kind of nice at times, like they were in their own little world. They could almost forget the outside world… if not for the occasional screams and wailing in the distance.

Despite the circumstances, and the occasional conflict, life in the mansion was actually pretty good for Jack and Alice. With animals being immune, they even got some pets in the form of dogs, cats, chickens, and even a couple rabbits. The animals also weren’t a threat to steal away his sunshine, so Jack was able to open his heart to them and love them as well, which helped to balance him emotionally a little.

That isn’t to say that it’s not hard on the two of them psychologically. Alice had to shoot people, infected and not, in order to survive. Jack wanted to handle all threats that came their way, but the infected had numbers on their side. Even supernatural powers have their limits, and this virus that he unknowingly started has gone far, far out of his control. He couldn’t stop it even if he tried.

That isn’t to say that Jack wouldn’t be the key to stopping it somehow. Someone just needs to put the pieces together and figure out the cause of the infection, then maybe they can figure out a way to stop it once and for all.

I think I’ll wrap things up on that note. I hope you enjoyed this ramble of supernatural biological horror. Let me know if you want to hear more about this or any other AU or story I’ve made. Thanks for reading!

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Headcanon Ramblings #Infection AU #Sauce-y Art

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persephoneyss · 4 years ago

Text

Doomeds.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x f! Reader. Ft. Bts.

Genre: Yandere, dark themes, anguish, suspense.

Summary: ❝We are doomeds, wandering in eternal suffering.❞

Warnings: Yandere behavior, obsession, stalking / stalking on cameras, humiliation, unspecified forced marriage, n*n-c*n explicit sexual relations (on the reader), abuse of power, implicit murder, drug use, kidnapping, hitting, manipulation, dating previous trauma, alcoholism and depression (in Yoongi), accusations of infidelity, dub-con (in Yoongi's case), the reader is in school but is of legal age, death threats, really strange facts. Possibly this would qualify as dark fantasy since everything is so unrealistic.

Number of words: 10,000+

︙Author's note: *sighs* This is the longest fic I've ever written, and I honestly don't know how it turned out because I didn't read it twice like I always do before publishing it. But my beautiful baby helped me correct, I hope you enjoy it and please read the warnings well, I do not want lawsuits. Thanks for being here!

(Sorry for any mistakes, my first language is not English and I am not fluent either.)

Puedes leer este fic y más aquí en español.

If they ever had to ask the reality of events it would be ... Unbelievable. Thinking of how just a simple action changes everything in an already established and perfect environment.

A life.

Your minutes, hours and days were the same under your criteria and eyesight, you study in the mornings, you work in the afternoons and you attend to your homework at night. It was a good routine that used to be repetitive at times, it was fun to follow, even more so in your part-time job.

You could meet many people working in one of the best cafes in the city, your classmate insisted too many times that you work with her saying that could recommend you and you should not even pass a test, they would only accept you for her.

It was a good opportunity and you accepted it with a smile, although she was long gone from work, you were still grateful for the good salary and health insurance that they gave you every month.

"An American coffee with a spoon of sugar and a green tea cake with cream on top." Your mouth and hand move in sync, the client nods silently. You smile, pointing out other details before asking what name you would give the order.

With a sigh, he name came out like a gust of light wind. "Min... Min Yoongi."

You write his name on the screen, the little receipt paper comes out of the machine. You hand it to him by brushing his hand with yours, strangely cold and pale. A chill runs through you but you ignore it, continuing with your work.

"Good Morning _____!" One of the employees greets you kindly, you correspond still concentrated on serving the mysterious stranger's coffee. "Do you have a request for me?"

"Oh, uh... Yeah, this is for table four."

Yun smiles taking the tray with Yoongi's coffee and cake, arriving at his table. The man's expression can be dazzled even under his black mask that covers half of his face, his eyes look for you before colliding with you. YYou refuse to play along, continuing with your work, you had a lot to do and wasting time flirting wouldn't really help you make money.

However, it became pointless trying to ignore him when he kept coming back day after day. Week after week. Tormenting your head, Yoongi was not the first nor the last handsome man you would see coming often, your work establishment was literally in a strategic area and not cheap, you knew that many men and women with money frequented them to drink a coffee or eat some delicacy, even sometimes they only came in to sit for a few hours attending to their affairs over the phone.

It was fine, it was comfortable. You weren't expecting too much, sitting behind a counter, always having to fake a smile despite being tired.

Perhaps it was the constant visits that led you to start a conversation with him. You had about an hour of rest, you prefer to spend those few moments sitting in front of the window of the premises eating any cake that was a few days before expiring to avoid paying for consumption, you felt comfortable in that place that seemed so far from all the other clients.

Until his voice interrupted once, he seemed as calm as ever. His gaze lost from you elsewhere avoiding making contact with you, nervous apparently. His rough and austere tone was changed to a bolder and lower one, asking if he could sit next to you for a few minutes.

"Sure, sit down... he's not busy." It was your answer without having any problem in sharing your place so secret, so comfortable. It was still just as safe even with him present.

And in much the same way, everything became a silent routine. You heeded his order, you took your rest next to him and then you both left at one point. The talks became more common, he being the first to ask about such insignificant things as the rise in the market in the country and how prices should start to rise in coffee as well.

You laughed, you really did it by getting his attention and sharing your reaction.

They both started laughing at how strange it all started, and it was always the perfect anecdote to tell their friends about how they met.

Everything was perfect, like a painting by a great artist, what you would see would be beautiful and cheerful colors, adorning both of you possibly holding hands with a smile and a loving expression from the man who was now your partner. Her pale skin and angelic face represented on beautiful thin paper, presented to the world as a painting that reflected a symbol of love between two souls met in a casual cafe and who wanted each other so much. Too much.

Yoongi was the clear representation of an ethereal person, casual and elegant, polite and kind, protective but not possessive. Simply to the target.

Your routine didn't change much after starting your relationship, you kept walking to your school in the mornings, you attended the cafeteria in the afternoons and you rested at night. Perhaps the only significant thing that you would get out of your boring schedule was your boyfriend's proposal about moving with him to the house of his best friend, almost a brother as he described it, and avoiding paying for your little apartment. You had made one and a thousand excuses, making Yoongi shut them all up.

"Jin is my brother, he would never take advantage of us. I already mentioned the proposal, about you... I have been living there for a few weeks, I assure you that you will be like family."

Family?

Your face relaxed for a few seconds, you had abandoned that feeling and sensation long ago since you moved from your home in your native country. Your mother used to call you every night but little by little that habit was lost, she also had her own problems and being aware of you as if you were a child was ridiculous.

"It's fine." It was your final decision, nervously you moved your hands in the air explaining what you would not accept.

Do not invade your privacy.

You had spent days thinking about how to introduce yourself to them, because apparently there would be more than just Jin, Yoongi and you in that house. Your things were scattered in boxes, you stood in the middle of the almost empty room still nervous about meeting new people and friends of your boyfriend.

That they were now family. Literally family.

The moving truck was parked in front of a large house, it had two stories and an incredibly large garden. More like a forest than an ordinary garden, you got out of the car trying to clean your clothes as much as possible and look presentable. Although it was difficult when your whole body was covered in dust after lifting the boxes.

"I'm not ready, Yoon." You say, containing your anxiety that vibrates to the surface of the skin within you.

Her hand gently brushed your cheek, giving you a bit of reassurance. "You look beautiful, they will accept you anyway." Her lips came up to yours, giving you a quick and soft kiss. "I just remember that I love you, and I know all my brothers will too because you are perfect."

You thanked the little compliment in a whisper, the door of the house opened just after the two of them left, you automatically showed a friendly smile approaching the first person to leave. He was a tall and rather handsome man, he seemed very well dressed to be indoors on a Sunday, more like he was going out to an important business meeting. He looked flawless and elegant.

"The suit was not necessary, Nam!" Shouted your boyfriend behind you mocking, the man laughed showing all the charm of him to your eyes.

"I'm Namjoon, Yoongi's friend. Nice to meet you... _____, right?"

"Yes, it's me. Sorry to see me so disastrous, it was a tiring day with the move."

Namjoon seemed like a very nice and incredibly understanding guy, his presence made you want to meet your boyfriend's other friends. You opened the door entering the house after Yoongi asked you to find your room to start carrying the other things, Namjoon stayed behind to help him, leaving you alone on your unknown route. You walk all over the place and you are surprised that you only walked through the living room, your eyes straying to a noise in the kitchen.

Curious.

You ignore it, continuing your way up, you read every name on the doors. Jin, Namjoon, Yoongi, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. All written brilliantly on each different door, you walk a few steps to one that says your name and you thank it with a sigh.

You weren't surprised by how big it was, everything inside that place seemed to be exorbitant and out of the ordinary.

"Oh, it must be you." You are surprised to hear a voice behind you, you turn around in fear before remaining calm. You recognized her face from a photo Yoongi had on her phone.

"Jimin?" You ask with fear of being wrong.

"It's me, it's nice to finally meet you. Jin-hyung said you're moving in a few days, I didn't think it would be so soon." His voice seemed to be calm but there was a hidden question. Why? Why were you there?

You take a few uncomfortable steps back. "It really was, but ... I thought it would be better to do it today that I don't have classes, plus Yoongi doesn't work this day and it seemed like the right thing to do. I'm sorry if bother you."

"No you don't. it's okay, Welcome." With that one simple word he left.

You thought you would have a longer talk with him but you weren't expecting too much, they didn't even know each other and you plan to chat with him like they were old acquaintances. Well, naive.

It seemed strange to you that no one else showed up in the whole house, even when you were uploading the last boxes of the move no one seemed to be a little curious to meet you. Aside from the already friendly Namjoon and the reserved Jimin.

"Yoon" You get his attention, he smiles at you taking the sheets out of your suitcase and making your makeshift bed ready for the night. "Do your friends work today?"

"I guess so, they really don't spend a lot of time together or at home." Explain without noticing your downcast face. You nod, putting the issue aside and concentrating your eyes on arranging your clothes. "Hey... Okay, you can meet them all at dinner today."

Your chest clenches in anguish, "Dinner?!"

"Yes, darling. It's the only time they meet all day, when Jin-hyung cooks for us especially on days like these where we have pleasant surprises."

You purse your lips annoyed, Yoongi smiles kissing your forehead so carefully and lovingly that it melts your senses. The mere presence of him made you want to continue with him forever, you relax for a few seconds hugging his body in silence. They both stay like this, with nothing to say but telling each other everything at the same time.

The thought of ever letting go scares you.

You wait several hours, still sitting in the same place where Yoongi left you. You should be presentable for dinner, you take a quick shower before running to change into a nice comfortable dress, you try not to overdo it but also not show disinterest. From the stairs you hear everyone's mixed voices, chatting animatedly.

"Honey, come here." Yoongi watches you, being the only one to notice that you were peeking in the shadows still unsure of interrupting.

You say hello by walking a few steps until you reach your boyfriend's side, you present yourself the best you can. Everyone falls silent, Namjoon smiles at you just like he did before. Jin interrupts the moment where no one seemed to have anything to say about you, or if he wants to want to introduce himself.

"Today we have a special guest, the dear girlfriend of our brother. I introduce myself, I am Jin the official cook of this family." His body bends down with an exaggeratedly long bow, proud of his words. Jimin rolls his eyes, while his other siblings just choose to tease. "On Yoongi's orders we made her favorite dish, so I don't want any complaints of any kind about the food. I'm looking at you Jungkook."

You are surprised how well everything is going, you feel praised when your favorite food is in front of you. She looked just as elegant, as if you were eating in a five-star restaurant and at a luxurious table with silk tablecloths.

Jungkook still stayed away from the talks, preferring to eat quietly and fiddle with his phone. Hoseok was more animated, asking about you and exaggerating anecdotes that happened with his childhood friends. He moved you that he will still remember all that after years. Namjoon vaguely drew your attention with book recommendations when you commented on your love of reading, Jin quietly continued eating in complete tranquility, Jimin thanked the food and just left.

Taehyung... He seemed interesting to you, he was looking at you all the time with narrowed eyes and when Jimin got up and walked away, he followed closely with a small and almost hidden smile.

You had a strange feeling inside what they called home.

"I-I... I need to use the bathroom." You say goodbye by wiping your lips with a napkin before quickly walking behind them both. Something attracted you to want to know more, as if they were leaving clues knowing that curiosity killed the cat and that you wanted to be the one.

Your steps were quiet, even more so when you tried not to be noticed . You went upstairs listening to their voices whispering and then... An obscene moan was clearly heard, Jimin seemed to laugh in the air.

Your hands shook thinking of opening the door and seeing what was happening. And without knowing it, you had fallen into the same network of attraction as them.

You curse yourself biting your tongue and cheek until they bleed, sure that you were going to make a big and heavy mistake. Minutes later you are going down the stairs back to the table but no one is waiting for you anymore, the table was just as spotless and clean. You are pleasantly surprised to learn that they don't treat you like a guest and that they don't wait too long for you. Maybe they had things to do, however you feel a chill when silence comes.

Where were?

You look around the yard, but no one is outside. Neither in the kitchen and less in the room where you had already walked twice. You catch the sound of drums in your ears rumbling loudly, you close your eyes in a daze for a few seconds until in an instant it goes away, and then everything comes back to itself. You hear their voices upstairs, chatting animatedly for the second time.

"Where were you sweetie? Are you okay?"

You nod still confused. How did they... When was that... You were really fine? You refuse to fall into paranoia and lie down next to Yoongi, as they continue their conversation with each other. Your head keeps spinning with the fresh memories you have, but they seem to disappear second by second and it scares you, you open your eyes without wanting to fall asleep yet but it is as difficult as breathing.

You fall into the dark abyss of sleep, feeling the same chill.

Your gaze is lost in the gray sky, you are cold and your body is swaying. Your eyes move restlessly observing that you are under the snow and a person holds you in his arms through the forest, walking at a slow and safe pace.

It's fine. Are you okay.

Wake up. Yoongi greets you from the door of your now room, you try to regulate your breathing thinking that he would notice your overwhelmed state and he would worry, but no. He is as calm as ever, relaxed even.

"Good morning beautiful, it's time for breakfast. Jin-hyung made your favorite." And with that last sentence she is shifting away, closing the door behind he.

You go down the stairs ready to go, your backpack resting on your shoulder. The table is just as full as at dinner, Jimin seemed very tired trying not to fall asleep, you watch him for a few seconds before looking at Taehyung who ignores you taking his cup of ... Coffee. You approach making him recoil alarmed and disgusted, you check the cup realizing that it is the same recipe that you use in the cafeteria.

Like them?

You look up noticing that, you were uncomfortable, Taehyung takes a few steps away from your body almost leaning against his, still sitting in his chair. You apologize to him making me sigh irritated, still ashamed you apologize again without eating or serving anything, just leaving through the front door.

Your journey is reflective. You forget, dream and recognize, that was the pattern you were following, everything seemed so strange and deep down gloomy, you feel the already casual chill running through your entire body almost like a warning.

Your seat in class was empty waiting, ready for you. Ari greets you, being your table companion and friend.

"Hey, intense night?" She jokes, you look shaking his head. She laughs pointing your neck. "You have... something there."

She frowns even more confused, her face leaves her smile aside and she starts looking at her things until she takes out a small mirror and she hands it to you. You look with horror at a large red bruise painting on your skin, it seemed painful but you had not even noticed or felt it. You touch it still scared and nothing, it doesn't hurt or it seems real.

You take a deep breath before lying with silly chatter, "I had an accident, but I'm fine. I had forgotten I was there, it was nothing serious."

Ari seems worried but in the end she forgets it by returning to the same kind and joking attitude of her, but her gaze drops from second by second to your neck making you cover yourself uncomfortable. Who? It can't be Yoongi, he was always very calm in that regard. You think terrified, your hand goes up to touch it and this time you manage to feel a sharp pain.

You have to cover it with the collar of your shirt so that no customer will notice it and avoid staining the reputation of the cafeteria, you smile nervously taking orders as fast as you can and avoiding looks. Yun greets you like every day, arriving at his work time. You spend hours begging for the clock to advance faster, the night sky appears and the doors close, you clear the last counter before you can finally show your neck again and breathe.

"That's a big problem." Yun whispers looking at the horrible mark, you nod with a sigh giving the same stupid excuse you told Ari. "You should use a little makeup to cover it up, I think it will help you a lot."

You think about it for a few seconds before deciding what you would do. You bow to him with a bow after he offered to close in your place and finish the remaining work for you.

You come home with a smile, you greet Namjoon who is reclining on the couch in the living room watching something on TV. You wait a few seconds but you do not receive a small or accidental look, you approach a few steps to repeat it again but you only get him to get up and go upstairs closing the door of his room apparently with a door slam. What the hell? You think covering your face with your hands looking for some comfort.

Everything was happening inside you, it was like a whirlpool sweeping away your sanity. Were you going crazy? Or you were just thinking a lot about nothing.

You try to draw a picture of your situation, but the only thing that repeats is the constant painting of Yoongi and you together.

"Yoongi!" You say to yourself with a smile, you drop your backpack running towards his room, wanting to see him after such a day.

Your hopes fade like air, everything within the space him screams 'he', but he is not there. You check the safe time that he should be home at that moment. You hear Jin's voice screaming from below about dinner ready, you sigh losing your appetite at those moments.

You lie on your bed checking your cell phone in case there was a message from Yoongi warning about he delay but nothing. You feel empty for some strange reason, but there was nothing different about it now.

If I had been more attentive and conscientious, you would have noticed that two more people other than Yoongi and you were missing from the table. Jin smiles sitting in his same place leaving your plate not caring without you being there with them, his smile never fades even when all his brothers are sitting silently eating and looking at your empty place so intensely that it was terrifying, he squeezes the cutlery in his hand without wanting to break the tradition in his family.

Dinners are sacred and no one should be missing. There will be no discussions or complaints, that's what the rest of the time is for.

That was what her mother said, sitting at the table in her old home containing her anger at seeing her husband so calm after having been unfaithful once more. Not on the table, not on the table.

Not on the table, honey.

Jimin opened the last bottle with a little satisfaction, poured another glass before handing it to his friend who was only glaring at the ground.

"She's not like that... I know her." Repeating the same stupid prayer for hours, Taehyung rolled his eyes trying to calm his annoyance, looking at his other friend insisting that he help him.

"Yoongi-hyung you saw it yourself, she had that... That mark. you didn't do it, maybe Tae is right and she-..."

"Not!" I scream interrupting what to him were lies. "_____ she's my girlfriend, she's not like that. I know her ... she loves me! She loves me! Do you understand?" Says exalted, holding the shirt of his friend who closed his mouth immediately, Jimin noticed that same reflection of anger in him and knew it was better to leave it for now.

Taehyung pushed the drunk Yoongi away from his side, making him release him and repeat the same phrase as in his state, he tried to believe himself.

The door to your room was opened and the smell of alcohol invaded you, making you look disgusted. You closed your eyes without wanting to see him, his body fell to the side of your bed approaching your body so slowly that the anxiety inside you doubled.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered.

His hands rested around you, giving you that warmth so familiar and comfortable in your gray days. A sob was heard while you lost yourself in your own thought, you watch it melt into your arms crying and without wanting to tell you why.

"It hurts." It's the only thing it says. But... Why?

You wake up. Just like a week ago, days had passed and it seemed like your skin kept accumulating horrible marks all over the place. You even went to consult a doctor but he only insisted that something... Or someone did them with such fury that it was incredible that a piece of skin will not be torn off by the force of his suction.

You touched the last mark that came, it was dangerously close to your crotch, you try to hide the others with makeup but they were still visible at a short distance.

You went down the stairs to see them all again, you greet with regret taking the first thing you find. Your mug had your name written on it, it was a rather curious gift from Jin after your melancholic night with Yoongi days ago, he apologized explaining that he felt bad after hearing all the sobs and apologies. For a moment you thought it was something exaggerated but he kept insisting that he felt bad about himself, not with Yoongi who was almost his brother or with you, with him.

You accepted it without wanting to show your dislike for his selfishness and narcissism, thanking him so softly that he hardly heard you.

The special drink that morning was coffee... Americano. You felt insecure to drink it, and you just put it aside.

Same recipe.

Yoongi looked at you for a few seconds before smiling fondly, and you just looked away, leaving him with a confused face as you walk out the door so quickly that he can hardly feel you.

He sighed before being drawn to Jimin's grin-adorned face, he shrugged, hinting at his silent opinion. She is not faithful to you Yoongi, why do you keep waiting for something good? Only looks at her body, her attitude and who she surrounds herself with, it is a classic of womens. You will know that she is a fox hidden under her sheepsuit, just observing her more and you never leave her.

The marks on your body, your cold attitude made him more and more suspicious and fall for Taehyung's profound words. She bit his lip, refusing to spy on your life away from him... Out of his sight.

But he really wasn't doing anything wrong, just observing. In his now dirty head, everything was valid if he could know the truth.

You did the same thing you always told him on his nights where they stayed up talking about his heavy days. You went to school, to work, and then home. Nothing changed your version.

I try to focus on your friends, there was only one girl you spent more time with in your classes and after them. He researched everything about his life, but he had nothing to worry about after learning that he had a boyfriend. He passed your work, standing outside for hours waiting to see you do something dirty or guilty, but you never seemed to move.

You just served the orders and then kindly said goodbye to the customers. He felt guilty for doing something so low to you, until he saw you.

To you.

Your smile grew when one of the workers who was your partner approached your place in the box to whisper something in your ear, you left your place following him towards the warehouse.

Anger consumed him quickly, refusing to continue standing there observing the obvious, possibly he was being irrational and he knew it but the constant insinuations of Jimin. The conversations with Taehyung, his words, his suspicions, the pleased looks from they when he fell back at his feet asking them to tell him what to do with you.

With his damn relationship.

Where were you and him. Not them. You and he.

He opened the door to your room and started going through your things like a degenerate, something must have made him sure that you were cheating on him. Something, a letter, a note, a gift from him, or a simple cheap jewel.

This was your Yoongi? You were clearly looking at another subject.

"Yoon..." You started, his eyes coldly piercing you. He looked different, he was looking at you but you didn't feel safe being so close. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think I do?" He asked how else he will not point to the obvious, for a moment you thought that even if it was, out of respect or dignity, he would try to deny it or find another explanation for his actions so offensive to you. "Where is?"

"Where is what?" You claim, starting to get angry, his eyes leave you again as he continues searching through your drawers, dropping everything to the floor with thudding noises. You get closer trying to push it away but you only get rejection. "Stop it, Yoongi."

"Not until you say so."

You freeze without knowing what he meant by the latter, you take his arm to stop him but you only receive a push that makes you back away this time scared by the force of his attack. "Enough!" You claim this time by making him look at you with his cold eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about and why you're doing this, but enough."

"Then say it..." You shout again that you don't know what he wants you to say, you even curse furiously making him come closer to support your shoulders with his hands bringing you closer to his face. "Say it damn it! Say you're cheating on me with that bastard son of a bitch!"

You feel the pain of his grip, you sob, begging him to release you but are ignored as he continues to ask you to say so. You refuse to lie, especially with something so degrading.

Jin hears the screams as he continues serving the dinner desserts, Jungkook strangely puts aside his phone for a few minutes to thank him with a small toast and a smile that was rarely seen on him.

"The dessert tonight is sweeter than usual."

Jimin raises his glass with a bright smile, Namjoon adjusts his tie tied perfectly around his neck as he sips from his glass, Hoseok laughs eating the delicious cake with enthusiasm.

Curious, a green tea cake with cream on top.

"It's a shame Yoongi-hyung misses out on dessert." Taehyung speaks pretending a pout on his lips, playing with his spoon with the cream on her plate. "It is especially exquisite today."

"Stop playing already, when will you do it? I'm looking forward to getting started." Jin snaps angrily, pushing the cake out of her sight as he drinks from her wine glass.

Jungkook laughs, turning his phone back on to continue playing as usual. "So impatient, hyung." He says he with a click of annoyance.

Jin rolls his eyes, following her gaze to Jimin who is innocently cowering in her chair. Ignoring how completely obsessed Jungkook is with his games, it really was not his business,for something his youngest friend had his parents, who were too busy with their work, they ran the largest electronics factory in the country, leaving his son in the background just giving him everything he asked for without objection. Always showing a smile when little Jungkook came before them demanding a new console or the best phone.

"It only remains to wait..." Whispering, he released a patient Hoseok. His smile as charming as ever. "For her to decide what to do and then... Plot! She fell into the wrong well."

"I hate when you describe and talk like that, but I can't expect much from a Jung... like you."

However, Hoseok never stops smiling even when anger is consuming his mind causing him to clench his fists under the table and bite his tongue inside his mouth, hidden by his gleaming and visible teeth. Namjoon smiles at her, knowing that she managed to provoke him but that she won't do anything to shut him up.

"Pathetic."

Motherfucker.

Jin breaks the tense silence, shushing everyone with a snap. That silence. Nobody hears anything from you or Yoongi, for a moment they feel the anguish that something bad has happened or that his friend has lost a bit ... The hand. But just seconds later you're rushing down, wearing the same clothes and your face covered in tears. You don't even look at them when you run to the door, leaving a trail of emptiness behind you.

"Hm, intense." This is Jungkook speaking, his eyes still lost on the phone screen of him playing a silly online championship. "She will be fine after hours."

"Jungkook is right, now we must move with Yoongi."

Namjoon gets up walking to your room, surprised that everything seems almost the same as it was before their fight.

He smiles when he manages to see his friend laying on the floor sobbing, and like that children's book called Pinocchio, he feels good being that cricket-shaped voice of reason. Only this time that sweet and serene voice, released one and a thousand blasphemies that would contaminate even the most devout by his beliefs.

He managed to convince Yoongi's easy to manipulate mind, blurting out words almost like a song. Playing with the naive self of hes that still lived and breathes inside him.

You had come home after days of spending with Ari and her boyfriend away from him. You really didn't want to set foot in that house again in years, a small irrational part of you believed that it was all his fault, your real problems started when you set foot in that damn place.

You open the door observing the room in the same way, empty. You try not to make yourself feel ready to go to sleep, without having been able to do it in days, but now you doubted that it would be different here.

You remain static in view of everyone, you had forgotten that at that time they were having dinner together. They only met once a day and it had to be right there.

"Good evening, sorry to interrupt." You ignoring Yoongi's gaze that, he's trying not to get too excited about your return, even though she causes he to euphoric whirl. "Carry on, I'll just go to my room."

"Please no, sit with us."

"I'm not well."

"I insist, sit with us. They were difficult days but I know they can fix it." Jin puts a plate in front of one of the empty chairs, you refuse to sit down but you do it out of compromise.

Everyone seems to be exclusively quiet, dinner was gray, like a black and white painting. Remember the first dinner, where everyone seemed to have so much to say and now that was left behind, Jungkook continues to play with his phone sometimes moving his plate by accident, without touching a single silverware with the intention of eating. Jin eats in peace, so slowly that he is strange. Namjoon reads a book in his hand, eating so cleanly that it's amazing.

Hoseok looks at you playfully from time to time, with a smile that almost makes you smile the same. Jimin and Taehyung seem to communicate silently, they both look at each other with slight grimaces and smiles.

"We can talk?" Yoongi whispers, you feel her breath next to you and instinctively you walk away scared. Still hurt by her actions and attitude, you give your vow of silence by standing up and without saying goodbye, you walk up the stairs.

"How rude." Jungkook interrupts, keeping an eye on his screen lighting up his beautiful face. "He didn't even taste the food."

Yoongi looks at Jin, her oldest friend and the one she trusted the most, seeking some advice. But just gets the same treatment as always, a look insisting that go with you and try to fix her mistake.

However, it was late. You had packed a makeshift suitcase by going down as quietly as you could, exiting through the back door like a thief or a fugitive.

You spent days thinking about your cowardly way of running away, but in the same way you felt better and even more so when you did not receive any message from him. Maybe it wasn't that important to him, it hurt but it also relieved you.

You knew it would be awkward to see him in the face again, but you should go back and get your things over with as soon as possible. You naively thought of forming a friendship, a very distant one, but in the end it would be the healthiest thing for both of you.

"______?" Asked the person who opened the door after you barely managed to ring the bell due to nerves, he was clearly confused.

"W-good morning ... Jin." You greet by taking a few steps back to get a better look at it, you had forgotten how tall it was. "Sorry to bother I just wanted to -..."

"Talk to Yoongi? I'm sorry but he's already better without you, he even met someone new." You were surprised by his austere, sour tone and trying to intimidate you. "And you better go, you are not welcome here."

"No ... No, I-I came for my things but I'm glad to know that it's better now, and that ..." The words stayed in your mouth, almost as if it hurt to admit it. "I was able to find someone, I hope we can be friends. Also with you, I'm sorry I left without explaining or saying goodbye properly."

You waited what seemed like ages for her response, and you expected more than a simple nod of the head, letting you pass without a hitch. You searched your room quickly, trying not to have any contact with any of them for now. You opened the door that had your name on it but you were scared by what you found inside, the whole room had been painted blood red, a very dark color that managed to give you such familiar chills.

"What is this? Where are my things?!" You turned around ready to go and claim but the door closed behind you with a stormy noise. You ran to try to open it but it did not move an inch, you searched the whole room for something useful to help you but it was completely empty, and alone.

You sobbed in fear, not understanding what was happening and why it seemed that the walls were getting narrower every second. You fell to the ground, trying to stay calm and without losing your goal, hours and even days passed for you, you waited to hear at least one noise but everything was so quiet that you had to avoid going crazy, you played with your hands trying to distract yourself and think positive things, you had read many books about stressful situations to know that thinking a lot about those things caused even more stress, you lie on the floor sure that a nap will calm everything down, if it was a nightmare you wanted to wake up and if not , you wanted to dream that it was.

A lock, you hear that particular noise and you wake up. You open your eyes as fast as you can lifting your body, the door was slightly open as if someone was exiting. You scream for help but it closes, you fall back into sadness and despair screaming even more for your freedom.

You didn't deserve this.

You look with regret at the delicious food they left for you, for a moment you think about going on a hunger strike but your stomach demands you not to be so stupid. The same would not change anything. Regardless of manners, you eat as fast as you can, dropping quite a bit of food on the ground in your rush.

It had an exquisite taste, and you could recognize it everywhere. It was one of your favorite dishes, you felt disgusted to compare it to your mother's food, but as magnificent as it was, it reminded you so much of her.

You wait for something to happen, but minutes go by in which you just look at nothing, letting your head fly. Thinking of a thousand things, playing with the spoon and singing in a low voice.

You feel hot from one moment to the next, your vision becomes cloudy and the door opens again. You just stay in the same place, you don't care about anything, not even how they hold you by helping you walk into another room.

"You were right, she is very calm now."

You look at him, their faces so familiar and you try to place them, but your head is flying away at that moment. You close your eyes laughing, and drifting into unconsciousness.

You wake up. You open your eyes and you are tied, you struggle with the ropes that hold your arms while the bed below you makes your body bounce. You touch the sheets realizing that they are extremely soft, you are in an unfamiliar room surrounded by scarlet red, with elegant and shimmering decorations. You try to stand up but your legs, like your hands, are tied.

And you're still quiet because of the rag in your mouth.

You fight the bindings furiously, screaming into the cloth as much as you can get sick of being locked up again.

You think of Yoongi, although at that moment it was irrelevant you wonder where she is and if she knew that she was being kidnapped in such a way, would she help you at least? Resignation covers you completely, fighting the bonds again with such force that you feel like they burn your skin every time you move.

You sob, just as he did one fall day.

Yoongi watches you from the monitor in another room, Jin is talking to Namjoon to the side while Jungkook is still sitting in a corner entertaining on her phone. Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok seem reluctant to look at each other despite facing each other.

Remember the day, the one in the past, when he met them. Jimin and Taehyung were already friends playing in one of the children's castles, with their hands pretending to be weapons as they ran around. Hoseok was sitting next to his mother, talking and apparently they had a lot to say. Namjoon did not detach from the side of his father who urged him to go up to the games, while Jin was busy collecting Flowers in a basket that his grandmother was holding.

They were all strangers and even more so he, felt out of place surrounded by so many games and away from home. His parents had freed up a whole day to spend together in a decent park, it was several hours of travel from Daegu to Seoul only for his son to play in a beautiful park surrounded by luxurious buildings.

He dropped down next to her mother, hugging her without wanting to let her go.

"Min Yoongi, we didn't take this trip just for you to sit there all day, son."

"I'm scared..." he whispered, biting her lip and hiding her face in the neck of his beloved mother.

"I see... but the games look so much fun. Run and try them, love."

He nodded still uneasy, walking over to one of the swings where he sat rocking so slowly that he seemed still. He felt hands pushing his body from behind, scared he looked at the boy behind him, he had a smile on his face and waved him with a hand.

"Sorry, I thought you needed to be pushed." He spoke and did not seem at all nervous.

"I'm fine, but thank you..." There was a momentary silence before he interrupted again. "I am Yoongi."

"Hoseok, although my mommy calls me Hobi."

He smiled, offering himself this time to push the swing, they spent minutes like this just helping each other take a walk pleasantly. He didn't even think about it when Hoseok offered to talk to Jimin and Taehyung about how they'll all play together in teams.

Now in the present, he smiled again remembering how he met Jin that same day, he had collided with him when he was running so as not to be caught by Jimin. His older friend was flushed with anger, screaming for her flowers and his dirty clothes. His grandmother teased him a bit making him deny even more, he followed Yoongi for several minutes until the chase because of her desire to hit him became a game.

They both fell to the ground tired, laughing before Hoseok introduced himself to Jin. Namjoon arrived shortly after, curious about the commotion and why he had gotten bored of sitting for so long, as he explained later. Besides that his father didn't have the best conversation starters.

He cried so much that very day when he had to go home again, promising to return soon.

"We have everything ready, are you ready?" Jin stood next to him, his eyes looked at him but he couldn't recognize his childhood friend. The same one that he offered to organize his birthday parties when his parents could not afford them, the same one that he never took advantage of his money to lower it. The one who hugged him as many times as he could when he came out of his therapies after his parents died.

Who was this man?

"Y-yes." He murmured still stunned. He got up, following in his footsteps with his head lowered.

They opened the door showing him, you were distracted biting the cloth in your mouth and trying to move your hands to free them.

Your body felt the same repetitive chill making you look at them feeling their presences so... uncomfortable.

"Enough." Jin ordered as you continued your insistent useless movement, trying to free yourself. "I'm not playing around, stop."

Me neither, idiot. You clench your teeth as much as you can at not being able to say it out loud, you stubbornly keep moving even faster than before. Your hair falls on your face from your busy tossing and you stare at him, challenging his patience and judgment.

You try not to tremble when he approaches you with intentions that deep down manage to scare you. But you continue, the bed moves as fast as you do until his hand falls against your cheek causing a gasp to come out of your gagged mouth.

"Hyung!" Yoongi claims holding her hand to prevent her from trying to hit you again, you feel the particular burning on your right cheek and the tears growing back in your eyes. "Please, no blows. That was not what we agreed on."

Jimin cleared his throat, a satisfied smile on his face, "We never specified anything, actually... Yoongi-hyung."

"Jimin is right, you never specified any kind of restriction for her and us." Namjoon clarified making you look at them confused, it was as if they were talking in terms of employment or contract.

But you had never signed anything.

"B-but they can't do that, they'll never accomplish anything if they force her." He tried to persuade him but Jungkook sighed, dropping his phone to the ground and then stepping on it like it was worthless. "She will just hate them."

"She will do it anyway, if we let her off her or try to convince her to stick with sweet words she won't think twice and she will run away ready to report us for kidnapping."

"In addition to the damages that she suffered here." Namjoon continued to condemn Jungkook, uplifting her surname and her family's status.

"You are in this with us or against us, there is still a free place in the basement for you with chains just as heavy."

Again, the same chill ran through you causing you to cringe in your place. These men were insane, they were capable of betraying each other, and worse, they could possibly also consider shooting themselves in the back when they weren't looking at each other. All for you, as if you were some kind of prize for winning and owning.

After moments that seemed eternal, Taehyung was releasing your mouth as you began to complain about what they were doing, how they dared and demanding freedom.

Really a classic, so much so that it was witty and hilarious that you said it literally.

They forced you to kneel on the ground with your hands on your legs still perfectly tied. More questions filled your mouth not knowing what they were planning, all you could do was look at them so scared it was adorable.

"Uh... Well... I guess one should go first." Jin says, taking a few steps away from your crouched figure.

Jimin stepped forward, standing in front of you causing you to look up from your spot below him.

"What are you doing?" You ask weakly, you try to drag yourself away when his hand struggles with his pants to remove it but Jin holds you in place. Getting on his knees to speak into your ear softly.

"You better take a breath instead of trying to run away, honey. I thought you were smarter... hm?" He laughs mocking your scared face, you refuse to open your eyes and mouth making him stop laughing in annoyance.

Jimin sighs taking your face in his hands so roughly that they will surely leave a purple mark on your skin. He was still dressed, I was hoping I could humiliate you more and then fuck your mouth until you suffocate while his hyung explains everything to you. How it all started, his obsession, his plan, they had planned everything so perfect that it was terrifying, everything monopolized on one board.

Soon as soon as possible you will just be a cute housewife and you will forget your life before that day. Not for nothing did they have a closet full of cheerful and homely outfits ready for you, they wanted to destroy you and then put you back together just to serve them.

You would be his wife, of everyone.

"Come on, little bitch..." Jimin started, reaching over to kiss you on the lips even though you refused to do so. You really no longer had a vote or a word of objection in his plans. "Open your eyes darling, you don't want a stray bullet to land in your mother's skull, do you?" He threatened making you obey even more scared than before.

"P-please don't hurt my mother!" You sob, clasping your tied hands in supplication.

"Oh, we won't.... yet." He whispered kissing your lips one last time before imposing himself on your kneeling body. Her cock came out of her pants, stroked a few times before guiding it to your lips. Your stomach contracted, and you pulled your face away as far as you could before Hoseok held you by the hair tightly pulling you close again. "Take it, baby. Everything will be fine if you just obey."

"I hate them, they disgust me" You whisper before Jin forced you to open your mouth making you take it, you fight for a few seconds but her hips are already moving making you choke and gasp. His moans are so loud they make you squirm but his hands hold your head close to him.

"I told you you'll take a breath, but you're a dumb whore." His breath is hitting your neck directly, your skin crawling trying to distract you from anything other than Jimin's cock in your throat causing you to gag and vomit. "I bet you're wondering why, what did you do, and nothing really. Or if Yoongi!"

You do not look at your boyfriend before, you only focus on Jin who smiles, caressing your body with his hands, almost exceeding your limits. However, what did it matter if he did it, there was nothing you could do for yourself.

"You were only here, I think we all loved you from the first moment we saw you. We spent many nights wondering what was special about you, many of us had dated women before but you... You were so different, you had something that attracted us and it made us go crazy. " His hands squeezed your breasts causing you to gasp on Jimin's cock who moaned with pleasure, continuing his steady and hard rhythm. "Taehyung got involved in the matter. "

Jimin smirked when your eyes went up to him, your eyes showing how angry and helpless you felt. And it was exquisite.

"I bet you didn't know about your beloved boyfriend's background,locked up in a rehab center for alcoholics for two years. Three years taking therapy for his depression after the tragic death of his parents, quite strong actually." His words had such a strong past but from his mouth they came out as if it were not so important. Something common for him. "I'm surprised he loved you so much and didn't tell you."

You cried unable to turn your face to look at him, deep down you wanted to put Yoongi aside and not hate him for this. But it seemed almost impossible when he was there, doing nothing, so calm that it was unreal that he had ever looked at you directly and declared his love to you over and over again. For months.

"He really was fine for a while until we decided to make him fall again, one drink after another... First trust him, then question their relationship and finally make them argue." A laugh left his lips, it was almost uncomfortable that he was the only one doing it. Everyone else was so quiet just watching. "But I can't give myself all the credit, let me introduce ourselves well, my dear."

Jimin walked away from you letting you breathe again, you had almost forgotten that he had been doing that act against you. Your tied hands help you hold off the ground by not being able to breathe properly, you feel so weak that you are about to pass out but you refuse to look weak in front of them.

"Kim Seokjin, son of the best chefs in the country and heir owner of thousands of five-star restaurants, inside and outside the country." His body crouched down, making an extremely long bow. Namjoon stood next to him, with the same smile from the day he met you. "Kim Namjoon, the only and adored son of the best lawyers and mayoral candidates, future presidents if occasion permits." There was a strange tone behind his voice, with a knowing wink. "I thought you can guess what Hoseok's parents do, but I'll tell you just in case. Great psychiatrists recognized for their countless achievements outside and within the country, having a tradition from generation to generation, capable of manipulating even the cleverest mind like yours."

Hosoek smiled at you, but this time his smile showed malice and pride. All that time you were surrounded by people who wielded a certain power and influence, oblivious to the fact that they could ever use it against you.

"Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung... Maybe you heard about their surnames on the news two years ago? Families specialized in medicine, their knowledge dazzles science and biology. Before allies and now both surnames are enemies competing for the market, but who would say that their children would meet secretly and use their same knowledge to retain a precise treasure." His hand stroked your hair causing you to recoil angrily, with a grimace of disgust and resignation. "Well... Finally Jungkook, son of the best technology creators in the country. Capable of creating anything, millionaires obviously, like everyone. Faithful lovers and devoted to he son, giving him everything he wants. " He stopped for a moment and then brought his hand to your ear taking out one of your earrings, you looked at him confused before he opened it showing a tiny device that lit up. "Even creating a more than wonderful device, a tracker of the smallest size."

You opened your mouth completely petrified, looking at each and every one of them. Most of them had a firm and conceited posture, but your eyes only looked at him.

"Were you in on this?" You ask by moving your body slightly, Yoongi only remains silent, avoiding looking at you at all costs, even if it is out of mercy you demand a simple word. "Speak! Tell me! Tell me!" You scream completely out of control, letting out all your frustration and anger with him, just him. It's all his fault. "Tell me now! To finally be able to completely hate them all... Please tell me, I just want to stop inventing and fooling my head trying to justify why you are standing there doing nothing for me" You sob almost exhausted, " Without helping me, when before you said you love me."

His eyes meet yours a few seconds before Jungkook chimed in, completely certain that you were trying to play your manipulation cards to get rid of them. Funny, they had done the same to catch you, their hyung could sometimes be so... credulous. That it was ironic that she was older than him.

"Good enough talk for today." He demanded, causing you to hide your head again in fear. You were so scared, even with the pain in your cheek and jaw from being forced by Jimin, you would never give up on them.

Your mouth felt dry, you couldn't remember the last time you drank water alone. As if they could read your thoughts, Taehyung appeared with a tray with a glass of water and a purple pill.

"Take that away from me." You scream when he tries to put the pill in your mouth, backing up as far as your bound legs will allow.

He sighs bored, as if he doesn't have the patience to deal with it, "If you want water you'll have to do this."

"What is it?" You ask almost breathless from the lack of water in your body, he smiles before bringing the pill to his face to look at it rolling it on his finger.

"Hm... Vitamins." Respond after hesitating. "Everything you need in one compact little pill. It was an invention by Jimin and me, we were hoping you would be the first to try it."

A few seconds ago you remember hearing about the reputations of both families, they were specialists who probably passed that knowledge on to their children. If they knew what they were doing with them, they would be shocked. Your reasoning tells you no, to throw it away and try to run away but your head and body can't take it anymore, they demand water and a rest.

"I-it's okay." You accept, removing the pill and the glass of water from the tray angrily. You put the pill in first, then the water so hard your mouth hurts from the force.

You return the glass silently, eyeing him suspiciously before sitting back down and walking a few inches away. You wait for everyone to do something, but they stay so still as dolls that it scares you, everything about them and their attitudes was creepy.

I wish you had noticed earlier.

And now you feel it, it was not pain, nor anxiety. I was just calm, the noises seem to decrease and your vision does not blur but you feel so relaxed that you do not seem to be affected by any drugs. You could feel it all, but you didn't care.

It was relaxing but you weren't far this time, you remember the previous scenes. When you ate the food they gave you, it was similar but as if it had been modified so that you can remain docile and obedient, but at the same time you know what they are doing.

Your body falls on the bed, you don't even try to get up. Your brain isn't thinking about that, it just gets distracted by the decorations around it, but it clearly perceives one of them nearby. Namjoon is behind your body lying face down, half is on the bed and your legs are still kneeling on the floor. You feel his kisses so desperate on your neck, his hands touching your breasts and stomach trying to lower himself further, anxious not to wait to fuck you as he always wanted and should have been.

You do not fight when his legs open yours with force and speed, you just stand still, thinking with your head glued to the soft sheets of the bed, deep down you can slightly feel your desire to push him and push him away furiously, you want to do it but not you do. You feel so confused that you sob into the sheets in released frustration.

"I thought I heard from you, that her wouldn't refuse anything with his stupid pill." Jin whispers, disgusted seeing you struggle with yourself in search of reason.

"I don't see her deny it." Jimin retorts, crossing his arms with a small victorious smile.

Yoongi stands aside, not wanting to accept this but likewise, like you, does nothing to avoid it while Namjoon sinks deep inside you causing you to writhe overwhelmed and let out a groan of pain, your mouth opens to complain and probably ask him to stop, but he instantly closes again only releasing more gasps and squeals.

They spend minutes with all eyes on you, taking the cock of her friend who abuses your sore pussy from overstimulation, this time you are crying and begging for mercy to stop. Even in your unconsciousness you continue to feel all the pain and also the pleasure that is now almost non-existent.

"S-stop!" You cry between gasps of exhaustion, your hands had been released by Jungkook seconds ago so that you can hold on properly. However, you only use them to try to ward off Namjoon who is holding you against the bed by slamming his body against yours with obscene noises. The bed squirms like you, colliding with the wall in sync.

"A little more baby... Just a little more... And I'll fill you with my cum, so fucking tight. You like that, hm?" Her breath very close to your cheek makes you react, you squeeze your eyes almost suffering from your next inevitable orgasm. You scream making everyone watch you fascinated by how your face contracts with pleasure and pain, you try to walk away when the moment of ecstasy recedes, but he continues to fuck you bareback hard, selfishly chasing the release of him against you.

You spent hours repeating the same routine, sometimes sometimes even more hours than you can remember or count.. Your body was completely covered with bruises and marks not only made by them manually, you had discovered in the worst way that Hoseok had a great fetish to make small cuts to any animal or person that had skin and that glistening blood came out of those wounds, red as hell and as sweet as ambrosia.

A delicacy, truly a true delicacy blessed by God.

Jin could not stop laughing at your overwhelmed face, sometimes he would sit next to you while your body was fucked uncontrollably, watching your face move on the sheets with the constant and hard movements of his friends.

"Do you enjoy it, you dirty bitch?" You knew he was making fun of it, not only because it denigrated your dignity, but also because you couldn't answer correctly and the only thing that moved was your head up and down from the thrusts. As if you were affirming his disgusting words. "You like it right?" And again. "I bet you will enjoy it every day from now on, do you want to marry us, little bitch? Be ours forever, that we fuck you every damn day like that, that we also fill you up that you would get pregnant, you would have our children , and you would gladly. Do you accept _______?"

You did not want to know where he managed to get your last name, nor your full name and less because he thought that after the effect of whatever they had given you, you would really accept being his damned wife.

But he just stands there, watching Jungkook abuse his new power against you and taunt him.

I just wanted to wait for everyone to leave, so I could hug you, heal you, and ask for forgiveness.

He couldn't save you if he was chained to the basement like they threatened to do. He was afraid of his own friends, who looked at him madly when hours before he thought of withdrawing from the plan, Hoseok as charismatic as he always claimed to be able to cut his neck so easily if I took you away from them.

Now, they were doomeds.

The painting lost its color once more.

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