#Standard Room Rack Rate

[sheldonpintoo]

Hotel Rack Rate Explained: What Is It And Everything You Need To Know

What Is a Hotel Rack Rate?

The hotel rack rate is the hotel’s highest published price for a room, set before any discounts, promotions, or corporate pricing are applied. It serves as the baseline or reference price, primarily used for walk-in guests, contracts, and internal audits.

Standard Room Rack Rate Explained

Hotels typically base rack rates on the standard room type, factoring in:

Operational costs (maintenance, housekeeping, utilities)

Desired profit margins

Room features (size, view, amenities)

Market benchmarking against nearby competitors

An example pricing formula could be: Rack Rate = Cost per Room + (Cost per Room × Profit Margin)

 Rack Rate vs. Dynamic Pricing

While the rack rate is static, dynamic pricing allows hotels to adjust room prices in real time based on market demand, seasonality, and booking pace. These strategies work together—the rack rate provides the upper limit, and dynamic pricing fills in the daily fluctuations.

 Why Rack Rates Still Matter in 2025

Walk-ins and Last-Minute Bookings: Staff may use the rack rate as the quoted price for unscheduled guests.

Travel Agents and Wholesalers: Discounts are often calculated off the rack rate.

Marketing Perception: Displaying a rack rate next to a discounted price boosts the sense of value.

Brand Positioning: Higher rack rates help position the hotel as premium in the market.

 How Guests Can Avoid Paying Rack Rate

Book directly through the hotel’s official website

Join loyalty programs for exclusive member rates

Call the hotel directly to ask about unpublished discounts

Use OTAs strategically for last-minute deals and promotions

 How Hotels Manage & Update Rack Rates

Using a modern Property Management System (PMS)—like roommaster—hotels can:

Define rack rates per season, room type, and guest category

Schedule changes for events or peak periods

Maintain pricing history for audits

Integrated channel managers ensure that rack rates remain consistent across all OTAs and booking platforms. A smart booking engine can also present offers like “Save 20% off rack rate!” to nudge conversions.

Meanwhile, AI-powered revenue tools use rack rate as a ceiling, optimizing pricing day-to-day based on market data and occupancy trends.

 Should Hotels Continue Using Rack Rates?

Yes. Even with the rise of flexible pricing strategies, rack rates still serve key functions:

Anchor for last-minute guests

Base for third-party and corporate discounts

Assurance of brand value and consistency

 Final Takeaway

The hotel rack rate may seem like a legacy concept, but it remains a vital reference point. When used strategically with modern tools and pricing models, it supports transparency, brand positioning, and revenue maximization—ensuring hotels don’t just fill rooms, but do so profitably.

Original Source: https://www.innquest.com/blog/hotel-rack-rate/

[shadesofmauve]

Alliance Normandy SR2 redesign: Deck 3

The crew deck sits in the middle of the ship, where the hull is widest. This is where design for a larger crew really comes into play.

Sleeping and other bodily functions

The main bathrooms are roughly the same shape and location as in-game, but people walking by no longer have a great view of the showers every time the doors open.

Enlisted racks

24 enlisted racks line the corridor to the main battery, housing the bulk of the rank-and-file. Bunks are stacked two high, with uniform lockers to one side and coffin-lockers under the mattress.Footholds in between sets of bunks let you can reach the top without stepping on the one below.

Junior officers' quarters

I assume a spaceship needs more technical expertise and less grunt work, so the crew is weighted towards officers and highly-trained technical specialists. These specialists fill non-command roles and bunk with the junior officers. Joker (flight lieutenant) and Traynor (comms specialist) berth here. So does Kaidan, because at the point he came aboard the guest stateroom was occupied by Khalisah Al-Jilani, and bunking with marines would muddy command waters because he seriously outranks Vega.

Bunks are two-high with coffin lockers just like the enlisted racks, but officers rate four inches more elbow room and two inches more to stretch out their toesies. They also get a bit more privacy, a little more storage, and access to the lounge overlooking the eezo core*.

*I gave them a lounge because in ME3 you occasionally find officers chatting at a table in the middle of the bunk room, and if anyone did that while I was trying to sleep three feet away I'd commit murder.

Senior officers' country

Miranda's old quarters, which Liara claims in ME3, are large enough to house the entire senior staff in staterooms, with one extra for guests and a shared head. Each room has one permanent bunk (two inches wider and four longer than junior officers; swank) and one fold-out upper-bunk in case of extra passengers.

In Sunset and Evening Star the first thing Shepard does on the Citadel is sign on a first officer**, old navy hand Lieutenant Commander Nguyen. The first thing Nguyen does is fill the missing weapons and ops roles (she heads the navigation department herself, since it's a small ship).

With Shepard in the admiral's quarters on deck 1, First Officer Nguyen gets what would have been the captain's cabin on the crew deck (except while Primarch Victus and his aide were aboard; when she gave up her quarters to the turians). Mukerjee, the head of ops, gets the slightly-larger-than-standard cabin intended for the XO.

Garrus has the 'extra' stateroom, as their liaison with the turians. He keeps the desk folded for space and sleeps crouched in one corner; the bunk is useless to him.

**Shepard delegated something! It's a Mass Effect miracle!

Vital ship functions

Main battery

The main battery looks exactly the same, except Garrus isn't sleeping in the corner or constantly fiddling with the guns. In fact, he's never fiddling with the guns. He and Silva were spending hours re-calibrating the thanix cannon to their own preferences whenever the other person's back was turned, and Nguyen stepped in and banned Garrus from the armory before it moved from passive aggression to murderous-interspecies-diplomatic-catastrophe.

AI core

Access to the AI core is from the battery corridor, not through the medical bay.

Medical bay

The medbay is divided into a front office, the main med bay, and an area for major surgery or isolation. There's also a small private cabin for the two members of the medic corps who assist Chakwas.

Life support

The life support corridor has another four enlisted racks, bringing the total enlisted berths on the crew deck to thirty. Life support itself is basically unchanged, except for some added Important Keep People Alive machines. Like engineering, life support systems are also spread throughout the ship.

Food & leisure

Mess & galley

The mess seats 32. It's also all-watch meetings are held, and occasionally movie screenings. Crew can grab shelf-stable snacks, cereal, or recent leftovers from self-serve areas outside the galley, or collect the meal currently on offer at the counter.

The galley feeds three shifts three times a day each, and one watch's breakfast comes immediately before the previous watch's dinner. About a week out, stores of fresh produce are gone, so a lot of food is frozen, freeze dried, or reconstituted. There's always something to eat; one of the two big pots is almost always full of soup, if not both Bread is made from scratch (flour keeps indefinitely, bread doesn't), and there's a flat-top as well as a six-burner range. The food storage in the galley and nearby walk-in are only what the cooks expect to need for the next two days or so; food actually makes up most of the Normandy's cargo, stored on deck 4.

Observation lounges

The observation lounges, important for crew morale and sanity on longer missions, are differentiated by volume. Starboard is generally used for quieter conversation, reading, solo gaming, or study. The Port lounge is for parties and games. (There is no free wet bar, this is a military ship).

Normandy redesign posts

Intro

Loft

Command

Crew

Engineering

Hangar

[mingiatz]

Y/N thinks Kang Yeosang is cold and arrogant. He’s actually just shy—and secretly been crushing on her for years. A group project, late-night study sessions, and a little chaos from his friends slowly pull them closer.

Pairing: Kang Yeosang (ATEEZ) × Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s): Slow Burn, Academic Rivals-to-Lovers, Found Family

Genre: College AU, Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Comedy

Featuring: All ATEEZ members as Yeosang’s friends + Y/N’s best friend

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

If Y/N had to hear the name Kang Yeosang one more time this week, she was going to throw her iced coffee across the quad. She took a deep, calming sip of said coffee instead.

“Okay, but be real,” her best friend said, twirling her pen between her fingers, “he is hot.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Y/N muttered, adjusting her laptop screen as she pulled up the lecture notes. “Everyone falls for his pretty face and acts like he’s some misunderstood genius. Meanwhile, he’s just—quiet. And smug. And—ugh.” She scowled at the screen. “Why does he always have to get top marks?” Across the table, her friend raised a skeptical eyebrow. “So you’re mad because he’s… good at school?”

“No, I’m mad because he’s good at school and acts like he’s above everyone else,” Y/N snapped. “He never talks to anyone unless it’s for class. He just sits there looking all…” She gestured vaguely. “Yeosang-y.”

“You mean hot and intimidatingly smart?”

“I mean annoying and full of himself.”

Her friend laughed, clearly enjoying herself. “I’m just saying, it sounds a lot like someone’s been paying attention.”

“I pay attention to all my classmates,” Y/N retorted, though her ears betrayed her with the faintest warmth. “Especially the ones who are apparently trying to set a new standard for academic perfection.”

The name Kang Yeosang had been stamped across the top of every “Best Submission” slide the professor had shown this semester. His projects were pristine, his writing clean and incisive, and worst of all—he never said a damn word unless he absolutely had to. He just sat in the back of the lecture hall, hood up, eyes sharp, like he was watching a movie everyone else was acting in.

She hated that she noticed him. She hated it more that she couldn’t figure him out.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Meanwhile, three blocks away, Yeosang was mentally rehearsing a “hi.”

Just hi. Not “hi, Y/N, I’ve secretly liked you for three semesters and think the way you analyze literary theory is beautiful.” Not “hi, sorry if I seem cold, I’m actually just a socially anxious mess who memorized your favorite café order and knows exactly which bookshelf you always stand in front of at the library.”

Just “hi.”

And he still couldn’t say it.

He passed the student café window and glanced inside on instinct. There she was, as always, talking animatedly to her friend, a hand wrapped around her drink. Yeosang slowed—then kept walking, heart thudding like he’d just run a lap.

Back at the shared house, Wooyoung caught him the moment he walked through the door.

“Did you say anything this time?” Wooyoung asked, not even looking up from his phone.

Yeosang dropped his bag by the shoe rack with a sigh. “No.”

San, sprawled on the living room floor with his headphones half-on, looked over. “Dude. You walked past the café again?”

“I wasn’t going for the café,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Oh my god,” Wooyoung groaned. “At this rate, your ghost will be haunting her before you ever get the courage to say hi.”

“She probably thinks I’m weird,” Yeosang said quietly.

“Because you are weird,” Jongho called from the kitchen.

“Lovably weird,” Yunho added helpfully. “Sensitive. Mysterious.”

“She probably thinks I’m arrogant,” Yeosang muttered, sitting on the couch and pulling his hood up.

“She thinks you’re hot, trust me,” San said.

“Did she say that?” Yeosang asked way too quickly.

The silence that followed was brutal.

“…No,” San admitted. “But like, who wouldn’t?”

“Anyway,” Hongjoong said, walking in with a folder in hand, “you might want to mentally prepare yourself.”

Yeosang blinked at him. “For what?”

Hongjoong tossed a paper onto the table. “Dr. Lee posted partner assignments for the semester project.”

Yeosang leaned forward slowly, flipping the sheet over. His name was there. And next to it—

Y/N L/N

His breath caught in his throat.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Y/N stared at the same sheet posted outside the professor’s office, her best friend peeking over her shoulder.

“Well, well, well,” her friend hummed. “The academic rivals meet at last.”

“It’s not a rivalry,” Y/N snapped. “It’s—ugh, this is so unfair. Why me?”

Her friend grinned. “Maybe the professor thinks you’re the only one who can match his brain.”

“Or maybe he wants me to suffer.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. Just her luck. The one person she could barely stand was now going to be her research partner for the biggest assignment of the semester. She could already imagine the awkward silences, the unbothered stares, the way he’d probably correct her citations without even speaking. How do you work with someone who never talks?

“I’m going to drop out,” she said flatly.

Her friend patted her shoulder. “At least he’s nice to look at while you’re suffering.”

Y/N didn’t respond. But for a second, just a second, she thought about the way Yeosang’s eyes always looked focused, almost soft, when he was reading.

She shook the thought away like an Etch-a-Sketch.

“Let’s just hope he has a personality under all that perfection,” she muttered.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang stared at his phone later that night, thumb hovering over the keyboard in his notes app.

> Things I could maybe say to Y/N:

• “Hi.”

• “Want to meet this week to plan the project?”

• “I like your analysis from last class.” (Too weird?)

• Don’t say anything weird. Don’t stare too much. Just be normal.

“Why do you look like you're drafting a breakup text?” Wooyoung asked from across the room.

“I’m just… planning,” Yeosang mumbled.

“Planning your downfall?”

Yeosang sighed, burying his face in his hoodie.

Somehow, being paired with her for this project felt like the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Y/N regretted arriving early the moment she stepped into the study lounge.

The room was mostly empty—soft light, rows of long wooden tables, and the faint sound of a cappuccino machine hissing in the distance. It was the kind of peaceful, academic atmosphere she usually loved.

Except he was already there.

Kang Yeosang. Perfect posture, silent as a statue, fingers flying over his laptop keyboard like he was composing the next academic manifesto.

Of course he was early. Of course he looked like he walked out of a campaign for luxury pens.

Y/N paused in the doorway, considering her options. Walk in and face the music—or walk away and pretend she got the time wrong.

Yeosang glanced up just then, eyes meeting hers briefly before darting away like he’d been caught doing something wrong. His fingers froze mid-keystroke.

Too late to escape.

Y/N walked in and set her bag down across from him, offering the bare minimum of a polite nod. “Hey.”

He gave her a tiny bow of his head. “Hi.”

Silence.

She opened her laptop. Typed in her password. Checked the Wi-Fi. Anything to avoid having to look at him again.

He didn’t say a word.

Typical.

“So…” she started, forcing her voice to sound casual, “I figured we should divide the project into sections. It’ll save us from having to edit each other’s writing later.”

Yeosang nodded once. “That makes sense.”

“Cool.” Another pause. “I can take the theoretical framework and the intro. You can do the methodology and conclusion?”

“Okay.”

That was it. No questions. No input. Just okay.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “You don’t have any suggestions?”

Yeosang looked up at her slowly. “Do you want me to?”

“I want this to be a collaboration,” she said, biting back the urge to sound sharper. “Not… whatever this is.”

He blinked, startled. “Okay. Then maybe… we outline the structure together first?”

Y/N stared. That was—surprisingly reasonable.

“Fine,” she muttered, pulling up a blank document. “Let’s outline.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then leaned forward slightly, close enough that she could smell his clean cologne and see the faint pink creeping into his ears.

She tried not to notice either.

They worked for a full hour, going back and forth over structure, sources, and argument flow. To her surprise, Yeosang offered thoughtful input—short sentences, quiet voice, but insightful. Still, it was like pulling teeth. He never elaborated unless asked. Never volunteered a single word more than necessary.

“Do you always work like this?” she finally asked, half-exasperated, half-curious.

Yeosang glanced at her, brows furrowed. “Like what?”

“Like a robot,” she said flatly. “Efficient. Quiet. Zero personality.”

There was a flicker of something behind his eyes. A wince? Hurt? No—it disappeared too quickly.

“I’m just not very talkative,” he said simply.

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that.

“Besides,” he added softly, “I thought you didn’t like talking to me.”

Her breath caught.

“What?”

Yeosang busied himself adjusting his notes, not meeting her gaze. “You always look annoyed when I’m around. I assumed you’d prefer to just get the work done.”

Y/N felt the sting of guilt for a brief, uncomfortable second—then pushed it down. She wasn’t about to feel bad for someone who’d barely spoken to her in two years.

“I’m not annoyed,” she lied. “Just… confused.”

“About what?”

She hesitated. “You. You never talk to anyone in class, but people act like you’re the nicest guy alive. I don’t get it.”

Yeosang looked genuinely surprised. “I didn’t realize people thought that.”

“Are you saying you’re not nice?” she asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what I am. I just… keep to myself.”

Y/N watched him for a second. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t squirm. Just stared down at his notes like they were safer than any eye contact.

“People assume things about you,” she said, more to herself than to him. “Because you’re quiet.”

Yeosang didn’t answer.

That silence told her more than words might have.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Later that night, Yeosang sat on the couch in the dorm, legs folded, hoodie sleeves tugged over his hands. His laptop rested on the coffee table, the shared document open—but he hadn’t typed a word in fifteen minutes.

“You okay, lover boy?” Wooyoung asked from the kitchen, tossing popcorn in the air and catching it with his mouth.

“She talked to me,” Yeosang said quietly.

“She always talks about you. Usually to complain.”

“No. Like… really talked.”

Wooyoung flopped down beside him, grinning. “Did you confess your undying admiration?”

Yeosang glared at him. “No.”

“Did she realize you’re not weird?”

“…No.”

Wooyoung patted his shoulder dramatically. “Then we’ll count today as a ‘slow progress’ day.”

Yeosang returned his gaze to the document, replaying her words in his head.

„I’m not annoyed. Just confused.“

„People assume things about you because you’re quiet.“

Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought.

But she still didn’t like him either.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The second study session started better than the first—barely.

Yeosang was already seated when Y/N arrived, but this time, instead of silently typing away, he gave her a small nod and said, “Hey.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “…Hi.”

He hesitated. “Did… did you have a good day?”

She blinked again.

“Uh,” she said, dropping into her seat. “Yeah. Fine. You?”

He nodded once, awkwardly. “Also fine.”

Then silence.

Painful, drawn-out silence.

Y/N tapped on her keyboard to fill the void. Yeosang reached for his iced americano and took a long sip, staring at his screen like it held the answers to the universe. She caught his reflection in the dark window and watched as his jaw flexed with tension.

He was trying. That much was obvious.

It shouldn’t have been funny. But it kind of was.

“Small talk isn’t your thing, huh?” she said, trying not to smile.

Yeosang’s lips twitched like he wasn’t sure if he was being teased. “Not really.”

“I could tell.”

They settled into work after that, building slides and sorting through journal articles. Yeosang seemed a little more relaxed now, making the occasional suggestion or asking short but thoughtful questions. The rhythm wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

Then it happened.

A group of girls from their department walked by their table—loud, laughing, clearly not in any rush to study. One of them did a double-take when she spotted Yeosang.

“Oh my God, Kang Yeosang?”

He looked up, surprised.

The girls hovered around their table like moths to a flame. One leaned over slightly, all faux-casual charm. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Working hard or hardly working?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. Seriously? That line?

Yeosang blinked. “I’m… working.”

Another girl giggled. “You’re always so serious. You should come sit with us sometime.”

Y/N glanced at him, expecting to see that usual blank expression he wore in class.

But his ears.

His ears were red.

Bright, telltale red.

Her eyes narrowed.

Yeosang didn’t flirt back. He didn’t even smile. He just nodded politely and said, “Maybe some other time.”

The girls lingered for a moment longer before giving up and moving on.

Y/N watched him out of the corner of her eye. He stared at his laptop screen like it was his only lifeline. His fingers were rigid on the keyboard. He wasn’t cool. He wasn’t unaffected.

He was nervous. Shy. Her gaze dropped to his hands, which were now trembling ever so slightly over the trackpad. The realization hit her slow, quiet, and undeniable.

Maybe he wasn’t arrogant. Maybe he wasn’t cold.

Maybe he was just anxious.

And maybe she’d been wrong.

They worked until the lights in the library flickered overhead—closing time.

Y/N groaned, stretching her arms. “I swear this place closes earlier every semester.”

Yeosang stood and started packing his things. “Did we get through everything?”

“Almost. Just one more slide, but I can do it at home.”

She zipped her bag, checked her phone—and froze.

Then checked again.

No. No. No.

“Shit,” she muttered, rifling through her bag again. “Where are my keys?”

Yeosang glanced up, concerned. “Did you lose them?”

“No, I—” she paused, heart sinking. “I think I left them at home. My roommate locked up early, and I’m screwed unless she answers her phone.”

Yeosang shifted awkwardly. “You can call her?”

So I did. “Straight to voicemail.”

A beat of silence passed.

Y/N let out a slow breath and looked at the dark, empty campus around them.

“Well, guess I’ll go sit in the dorm lobby and wait for her to magically remember I exist.”

Yeosang hesitated.

And then he said, quietly but firmly:

“You could… sleep in the spare room at our place.”

Y/N looked up sharply.

He didn’t meet her eyes.

Just stood there with his hands in his hoodie sleeves, ears burning again.

“…What?” she asked.

He cleared his throat. “I mean—it’s clean. And it locks. You don’t have to, I just—thought I’d offer.”

The silence between them felt suddenly louder than anything else in the room.

Y/N stared at him.

The walk to Yeosang’s house was… weird.

Not because he said much—he didn’t—but because he kept stealing glances at her like he couldn’t believe she was actually walking beside him. And honestly? Y/N couldn’t believe it either.

She had not expected to end up crashing at the Hot Guy House ( like her best friend liked to call it) tonight.

And yes, she had called it that—ironically, at first. But with eight of the most unreasonably attractive, campus-famous boys sharing a single house, the nickname had stuck.

Now she was about to walk into it. Hoodie-clad, holding a laptop bag, heart pounding in confusion.

This was so not in her Thursday night plan.

The house was bigger than she’d expected—a rented two-story off-campus place tucked behind the student dorms. The lights glowed warmly through the windows, and she could already hear laughter inside.

Yeosang paused at the front door. “They’re probably all home.”

“Oh,” she said, unsure how to respond.

He unlocked the door. “Don’t worry. They’re… loud, but they’re nice.”

The moment the door opened:

“WHO DIDN’T RINSE OUT THEIR CUP?!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS A CRIME, HONGJOONG.”

“I almost drank paint water, MINGI—”

“Guys,” a voice said calmly from the living room, “we have a guest.”

Everyone went quiet.

Y/N found herself standing in the entryway like a deer in the headlights as seven pairs of eyes turned to look at her.

Yeosang stepped in front of her slightly. “This is Y/N. She’s just staying the night. Spare room.”

There was a beat of silence—then all hell broke loose.

“Ohhhh!” Wooyoung said, bounding over with a grin. “So this is the girl from the project. The one you never shut up about—”

Yeosang elbowed him, hard.

“I’m San,” another said, waving brightly. “He didn’t actually say your name out loud, but he definitely said you were cool.”

“I never said that,” Yeosang muttered, clearly mortified.

Seonghwa appeared behind them, effortlessly elegant despite wearing a clay face mask. “Ignore them. Welcome. You want tea? Water? Food? Emotional support?”

Mingi popped his head out from the kitchen. “We have leftover curry! Not poisoned, I swear.”

Jongho stayed seated, eyes narrowed. “If she ends up running away screaming, I’m blaming Wooyoung.”

Yunho offered her a kind smile from the couch. “Nice to meet you. Spare room’s upstairs. You want me to grab blankets?”

Y/N blinked at all of them. The Hot Guy House was… overwhelming.

“I’m good,” she said faintly.

Yeosang cleared his throat. “She’s just staying one night. She got locked out.”

“Oh no,” Yunho said with genuine concern. “That sucks.”

“Sorry that happened,” San added.

Yeosang gestured for her to follow. “Come on.”

As she followed him up the stairs, she caught snippets of whispered chaos behind them:

“Bro, why are you sweating?”

“Shut up, Wooyoung.”

“Did she smile at him?”

“She definitely smiled.”

She sat on the bed and rubbed her hands down her jeans, gaze flicking around the room. It was tidy—no posters or personality, just neutral furniture and that faint detergent smell that came with freshly washed sheets.

Yeosang had been… strange tonight.

Not in a bad way. But in a way that didn’t quite match the version of him she’d built in her head.

She thought he’d be arrogant, standoffish—too good for anyone who wasn’t top of the class. But instead of a smug prince, she got a guy who blushed when girls talked to him. Who barely spoke above a whisper. Who stood in front of her like a shield when his friends got nosy.

Still, she wasn’t ready to let go of her assumptions just yet.

Maybe he was just polite. Maybe he was weird. Maybe this whole thing was some elaborate act and he’d go back to ignoring her the moment the project ended.

Y/N laid back against the pillow, exhaling slowly.

She didn’t get it.

Kang Yeosang made no sense. And the more she saw, the more confusing he became.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang regretted everything.

He regretted offering the spare room.

He regretted walking Y/N to the room.

He regretted breathing in front of his friends.

Because the moment he stepped back downstairs, every single one of them was waiting.

Wooyoung clapped the loudest. “Look at him! Mr. ‘I’ll die single’ finally grew a backbone.”

“I didn’t grow anything,” Yeosang muttered, face already hot.

“Tell that to your ears,” San grinned, throwing an arm around his shoulders.

Mingi flopped back on the couch dramatically. “He brought a girl home and it wasn’t even for a party. What does it mean?!”

“Nothing,” Yeosang groaned.

“It means,” Seonghwa said calmly from the kitchen, “he’s evolving.”

“I’m not evolving.”

“Then why are you smiling like a man who just got noticed by his crush?” Jongho asked without looking up from his phone.

“I’m not smiling.”

“You are,” Yunho added cheerfully. “It’s okay. She’s cute.”

Yeosang’s head snapped toward him. “Don’t say that.”

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped. “Don’t say she’s cute? What—are we not allowed to acknowledge that your academic nemesis is lowkey stunning?”

“She’s not my nemesis,” Yeosang muttered, sitting down and pulling his hood over his head.

“Oh my god, he’s in denial and in love,” San laughed.

“I’m not—!”

“Does she know she’s sleeping just ten feet away from the guy who’s been in love with her since freshman year?” Wooyoung asked the group, eyes gleaming.

“Shut up!”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Upstairs, Y/N was staring at the inside of her backpack like it might magically produce pajamas or a toothbrush if she just looked hard enough.

It didn’t.

She sighed and flopped back onto the bed, rubbing her face. Of course she’d left everything at home—she hadn’t exactly planned to be crashing in enemy territory tonight. Her phone showed no new messages. Still no word from her roommate.

Grea.No clothes. No hygiene stuff. No backup plan. She rolled onto her side, groaning. What was she supposed to do—sleep in jeans and cry?

No.

Absolutely not.

Her pride wasn’t that fragile.

…Okay, it was. But so was her skin if she didn’t at least wash her face.

She sighed again, pushed herself up, and cracked the door open.

Soft noise drifted up the stairs—laughter, overlapping voices, someone singing off-key. The house was alive, in the most chaotic way.

Y/N hesitated for a moment.

Then padded quietly down the stairs.

The living room looked like a sitcom exploded.

San was dancing to something on TV. Wooyoung was tossing popcorn into Mingi’s mouth and missing every other throw. Yunho was trying to build a pyramid out of soda cans. Jongho was playing some kind of mobile game with deadly focus. Hongjoong was editing something on his laptop, earbuds in and only half listening. Seonghwa was trying to clean, muttering curses at an abandoned sock on the coffee table.

And right in the middle of it, on the couch, sat Yeosang—hood up, arms crossed, looking done with all of them.

Until he saw her.

His eyes widened slightly. He sat up straighter.

And just like that, every head turned.

Y/N blinked.

Eight guys stared back at her.

“Uh,” she started, suddenly very aware she was wearing jeans and no makeup and probably looked like a sleep-deprived raccoon. “Sorry to interrupt the… chaos.”

Yeosang stood. “Is something wrong?”

“I just—um. I didn’t bring anything. Clothes. Toiletries. That kind of stuff.”

“Ohhh,” Wooyoung said, grinning like it was his birthday. “You’re staying staying.”

San elbowed him. “Yeosang, do the gentleman thing.”

Yeosang was already moving. “I have clothes you can borrow. Toothbrush too. Uh—not used. New. Obviously.”

Y/N nodded, trying not to feel like she was the main character in a weird college drama. “Thanks.”

Wooyoung leaned in toward San and stage-whispered, “Bet she’ll look cute in his hoodie.”

“I can hear you,” Y/N said.

“Worth it,” Wooyoung replied.

Yeosang handed her the folded clothes without looking at her directly. “They might be big, but they’re clean.”

She took them, grateful despite the heat in her cheeks. “That’s fine. Better than sleeping in jeans.”

He nodded once, like he couldn’t trust himself to speak.

The others had thankfully gone back to their chaos.

But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting.

And she still didn’t know what to make of it.

The hoodie Yeosang had given her was soft and massive, the sleeves swallowing her hands completely. The sweatpants dragged a bit on the floor, but she didn’t care—they were warm, and honestly? Kind of comforting.

She tugged her hair into a messy bun in the spare room mirror, splashed some cold water on her face with a borrowed washcloth, and then sat on the edge of the bed.

Only then did it hit her.

Her stomach grumbled. Loudly.

Right. She hadn’t eaten since that sad granola bar between classes. She’d been so focused on school, then locked out, then—well, this.

She glanced at her phone. Still no answer from her roommate.

Y/N sighed.

As if summoned by her stomach, a knock came at the door.

She opened it to find Seonghwa standing there with his arms crossed and a kind smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said softly. “We’re heating up leftovers. You want to come down and eat with us?”

She blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

Seonghwa laughed gently. “We’re eight guys with six stomachs each. Leftovers don’t last long. Come quick before San eats the curry straight from the pot again.”

She smiled. “Okay. Thanks.”

The kitchen table was full of mismatched chairs, bowls of reheated curry, and eight grown men arguing over who left rice in the microwave “for science.” Y/N slid into an open seat between Yunho and Yeosang, who looked like he was trying to fold into himself out of sheer discomfort.

„Relax,“ she whispered. „I’m not going to bite.“

He didn’t answer, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he wanted to smile.

Mingi passed her a bowl and chopsticks with a wink. “You’re officially initiated now.”

“Into what?”

“The Chaos Club,” Wooyoung declared.

“She’s in when she survives breakfast,” Jongho corrected.

As they ate, the conversation turned—predictably—to Yeosang.

“Remember when he tried to impress that girl in ninth grade by doing backflips on the soccer field and broke his wrist?” Yunho said through laughter.

Yeosang groaned, burying his face in one hand.

“That wasn’t for a girl,” he mumbled.

“It was,” San said. “You even asked if your cast color made you look ‘mysterious.’”

Y/N stared. “Wait—you’ve all known each other since middle school?”

“Yep,” Mingi said proudly. “A bunch of us went to the same high school too.”

“He’s always been like this,” Wooyoung added, gesturing to Yeosang. “Quiet. Super smart. Blushes when someone says his name.”

“Shy,” Seonghwa said. “But he listens more than anyone.”

“Also,” Jongho chimed in, “he once got dragged into a student council meeting just because someone told him it would be ‚low commitment.‘ He ended up treasurer.”

Y/N blinked. This was not what she expected.

Her gaze shifted to Yeosang, who was focused on his rice like it had personally betrayed him.

The realization hit her like a slap.

He wasn’t a ladykiller. He wasn’t arrogant. He was just—shy. Painfully shy.

It escaped her before she could stop it:

“I thought you were a ladykiller.”

Silence.

Eight heads turned toward her.

Yeosang looked like he might die.

“You what?” San asked, grinning ear to ear.

“I just—” Y/N froze. “I thought you were, like… cold. And full of yourself. And probably secretly dating three girls at once.”

Yeosang made a sound that could only be described as a strangled choke.

And then the room erupted in laughter.

“You thought this guy was a player?” Wooyoung howled, pointing at Yeosang.

Yunho was nearly doubled over. “He barely has the nerve to order his own coffee!”

“Did you think he just silently seduced people with his cheekbones?” Mingi cackled.

“I didn’t know!” Y/N protested, cheeks on fire. “He always walks around like he’s in a drama. He never talks!”

“He’s too busy panicking internally,” Jongho deadpanned.

Seonghwa smiled, eyes soft. “That’s what happens when you assume people are only what they show.”

Y/N risked a glance at Yeosang.

He wasn’t laughing—but his shoulders were shaking like he was trying not to.

And… yeah. His ears were completely red.

He looked at her, just once, and said quietly, “I’m not dating anyone.”

That shouldn’t have made her stomach do a thing.

But it did.

Y/N looked away, heart confused, mind loud, mouth dry.

The curry was really good. That’s what she’d blame it on.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Y/N woke up to the smell of something warm—spiced, soft, and oddly comforting.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. The unfamiliar blanket, the slightly-too-firm mattress, the oversized hoodie tangled around her—it all came back in a slow wave.

Right.

She was still in the spare room.

In Yeosang’s house.

With seven of his ridiculously loud best friends somewhere downstairs.

And last night, she had publicly blurted out that she thought he was a ladykiller.

She groaned and flopped face-first into the pillow.

Smooth. Truly.

Rolling onto her back, she checked her phone. Still no message from her roommate. The home screen glared back at her like a cosmic joke.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up, padded toward the door, and cracked it open. The hallway was quiet. No yelling. No laughter. No flying socks.

She tiptoed down the stairs, unsure what to expect.

The kitchen was softly lit with morning sun, casting pale gold shadows across the floor. It smelled like cinnamon and something toasty.

Yeosang stood at the stove, back to her, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, hair a bit messy. He looked calm. Focused. Like he belonged there.

Seonghwa sat at the table sipping tea, scrolling on his phone. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.

“Morning,” he said warmly. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “Thanks again for the room.”

Yeosang turned slightly at the sound of her voice. Their eyes met for half a second before he looked away.

“I made toast,” he said. “And eggs. If you’re hungry.”

Y/N blinked. He sounded so normal. So quiet and careful.

“Thanks,” she said, sliding into a chair across from Seonghwa. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Still asleep,” Seonghwa said, amused. “Except Jongho. He went for a run. He’s not human.”

“I heard that,” came Jongho’s voice faintly from somewhere outside.

Yeosang placed a plate in front of her with quiet precision. Toast, two scrambled eggs, a little side of jam, and even cut-up fruit. Neat and thoughtful. Like everything he did.

“You didn’t have to—” she started.

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You didn’t eat much last night.”

Her fingers froze on the fork.

So he noticed.

“Thanks,” she said again, quieter this time.

He sat down across from her with his own plate and picked at his toast. Not awkward—just silent.

But the silence didn’t feel as heavy anymore.

Maybe it never was.

Y/N found herself watching him again. The way he held his fork like he was trying not to drop it. The way his eyes flicked to her and away again in under a second. How he always looked like he was halfway to retreating but never actually ran.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “you’re kind of confusing.”

Yeosang blinked at her.

“I mean—” she stabbed her eggs. “You don’t say much. But when you do, it’s always… specific. Thoughtful. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

He tilted his head slightly. “I usually have.”

She snorted. “That tracks.”

They ate in silence for a few more minutes.

Then, just as she reached for a napkin, she heard it—faint footsteps, then the creak of stairs.

“Oh no,” Seonghwa muttered. “They’re awake.”

Sure enough, chaos spilled into the kitchen like clockwork.

Mingi wandered in first, hair flat on one side, rubbing his eyes. “Do I smell cinnamon?”

Wooyoung appeared next, still wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. “Is the ladykiller making breakfast for his girl again?”

Yeosang’s fork clattered against his plate.

Y/N groaned. “Can we not start the day like this?”

San followed with a sleepy grin. “Too late. Damage is done.”

“She’s not—” Yeosang tried.

“She thought you were,” Jongho said, finally coming inside and grabbing a water. “And honestly, it’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all month.”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Y/N tried to explain, cheeks burning.

Hongjoong walked in mid-yawn. “Wait, are we roasting Yeosang again?”

“It’s a daily ritual now,” Seonghwa sighed.

Yeosang stood abruptly and started clearing his plate. “I’m going to shower.”

“Yeah, go rinse the shame,” Wooyoung called after him.

Y/N watched him go, his shoulders tense, ears pink again.

But something inside her tugged differently this time.

He wasn’t running away.

He was just nervous.

And somehow…

She didn’t want him to feel like he had to hide from her.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

“Okay,” Y/N said, dropping her bag on the table at the campus café. “So. You know how I said I wasn’t going to talk about Yeosang anymore?”

Her best friend looked up slowly from her iced latte. “…What did you do.”

Y/N slid into the seat across from her, hoodie sleeves pushed over her palms, eyes wide with disbelief. “I think I accidentally spent the night at his house.”

Her friend blinked. “…Sorry, what?”

“Not like that!” Y/N hissed. “I got locked out of my dorm, and he offered their spare room.”

Her friend’s face did not look less scandalized. “You slept at the Hot Guy House? With Yeosang?”

Y/N put her head in her hands. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that!”

“What was it supposed to be?”

“I don’t know!” she groaned. “I just—he offered. And I didn’t want to sleep in the campus lobby. And now my whole worldview is cracked in half.”

Her friend sipped her drink like she was watching a K-drama. “Tell me everything.”

So she did.

From walking in on the guys being absolutely feral, to Seonghwa offering her curry like a TV mom, to the actual revelation that Kang Yeosang wasn’t the stone-cold heartbreaker she’d assumed he was.

“I thought he was some mysterious, emotionally detached, probably-has-a-secret-girlfriend guy,” she said, poking at her muffin wrapper. “But he’s just… painfully shy.”

Her friend narrowed her eyes. “Like, genuinely shy? Or ‘fake shy’ to lure people in?”

“No,” Y/N said seriously. “Like… blushes when someone says hi, panics when people flirt, barely makes eye contact shy.”

There was a pause.

Then: Her best friend snorted. “You thought that guy was a ladykiller?”

Y/N groaned. “Everyone needs to stop saying that!”

“But you did say it.”

“Out loud. In front of all his friends.”

“God, I wish I was there.”

“I wanted to disappear. I wanted to implode.”

Her friend was grinning now. “But… you don’t think he’s arrogant anymore?”

Y/N picked at the edge of her napkin. “No. I think… he’s just really quiet. And nervous. And probably overthinks every interaction with people.”

Her friend gave her a knowing look. “So he’s nothing like what you thought.”

“No,” Y/N admitted. “He’s not.”

She paused. Fidgeted.

Her friend leaned in. “And?”

Y/N looked down at her drink. Her voice was small. “He made me breakfast.”

“Oh no,” her friend said, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You’re doomed.”

“I am not—!”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, maybe a little doomed.”

They both fell into a fit of laughter that made the barista glance over with mild concern.

Later, as they walked out of the café, her friend bumped her shoulder playfully.

“You gonna tell him you don’t hate him anymore?”

Y/N snorted. “Please. I barely understand what I think about him. I’m still processing the fact that he talks.”

“Well,” her friend said, nudging her again. “For what it’s worth? I think he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.”

Y/N stopped walking.

She didn’t respond.

Because her heart had already skipped ahead of her brain.

Y/N didn’t respond.

She was still standing frozen on the sidewalk outside the café, her friend’s words echoing through her brain like someone had dropped a stone in a very still pond.

“I think he likes you. Like, likes you likes you.”

She blinked, mind racing. Because if that were true—if Yeosang liked her—then her entire interpretation of the last few years would need to be rewritten. From the awkward silences to the quiet glances to the hoodie he lent her that still smelled like citrus and clean laundry…

Her heart thudded stupidly hard.

Then, as if the universe wanted to remind her that she would never be allowed to have a peaceful, introspective moment ever again—

“Y/N!”

She turned, and her stomach immediately dropped.

Wooyoung, San, Yunho, and Mingi were walking toward them from across the quad, drinks in hand and energy levels already at “wild toddler with a sugar high.”

And judging by the way Wooyoung’s eyes lit up when he spotted her best friend?

Oh no.

Y/N could only whisper, “Run.”

Too late.

“Ladies!” Wooyoung said, spreading his arms like he was arriving at a red carpet. “What a beautiful day to run into two equally beautiful women!”

Her best friend blinked. “Do you talk like that on purpose?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Wooyoung grinned. “Charm is a full-time job.”

San fist-bumped her. “You survived us. I’m impressed.”

“She thrived,” Mingi added. “Yeosang hasn’t shut up since you left.”

Y/N nearly choked. “What?”

Yunho stepped in smoothly. “Ignore them. They’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not,” Mingi said, sipping his drink. “He literally asked if the hoodie was too big. He was stressed about it. Like, genuinely.”

Her best friend raised an eyebrow at Y/N. “You didn’t tell me that part.”

“I didn’t know!” Y/N hissed.

Wooyoung turned his attention fully to the best friend now, leaning one elbow on the table. “Anyway. Hi. I’m Wooyoung. Your eyes are like—”

“Finish that line,” she said, deadpan.

Wooyoung blinked. “Like… stars?”

She stared at him flatly. “Wow. Original. You come up with that all by yourself?”

San cackled behind his drink. “She got you there.”

Wooyoung put a hand over his heart, wounded. “She’s mean. I like her.”

“She’s smart. She doesn’t like you,” Y/N muttered.

Her friend shrugged. “You’re not my type.”

“Too pretty?” Wooyoung asked with a smirk.

“Too loud,” she replied. “And you talk like a rejected K-Drama second lead.”

Yunho lost it.

Mingi nearly dropped his cup.

Even San wheezed. “Bro, you just got obliterated.”

“I’m not even mad,” Wooyoung said, hands up in surrender. “Respect.”

“Don’t flirt with my friends,” Y/N grumbled.

“Too late,” Wooyoung whispered.

Y/N turned to Yunho in desperation. “Please tell me you’re the normal one.”

“I try,” he said gently. “It doesn’t always work.”

San nudged her. “You going to the study hall later?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a project session with—” she hesitated. “Yeosang.”

“Oooooh,” all four of them said in unison.

“I hate you all,” Y/N mumbled.

Her best friend looked at the group of them, then back at Y/N. “You weren’t kidding. They really are a lot.”

“You have no idea.”

Y/N had never felt this weird about walking into the library before.

It was just a study session. They’d done this twice already. Yeosang would be there, laptop open, posture too perfect, probably already ten slides ahead of where she was.

No big deal.

Except… it felt like a big deal.

Because this time, she knew things. Or thought she did.

She knew about the broken wrist in ninth grade.

The backflip.

The hoodie concern.

The way he blushed when girls flirted—not because he was a player but because he didn’t know what to do.

And worst of all… she knew what his friends thought.

> “He hasn’t shut up since you left.”

Her cheeks warmed at the memory.

Still, she told herself to walk in like it was just another day. Just another project.

She found him at their usual spot in the quiet corner by the windows. He looked up when she approached, and for a second—just a flicker—his expression shifted.

Relieved.

Maybe even… glad?

He cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied, sitting down across from him.

They both opened their laptops. The air between them buzzed—not quite awkward, but definitely not neutral either.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Yeosang asked, eyes still on his screen.

She glanced at him. “Yeah. Thanks again. That hoodie is ridiculously soft, by the way.”

His ears turned a little pink. “I like that one.”

Y/N smiled, then quickly looked down before he noticed.

They worked in relative silence for the first twenty minutes—notes, citations, shared slides. The usual rhythm.

But Y/N kept sneaking glances at him. Noticed the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking. The way he never interrupted. The way he waited a beat after she spoke, like he was giving her time to say more if she wanted.

It was different now. He hadn’t changed. But she had.

Finally, she closed her laptop halfway and leaned forward.

“Can I ask you something?”

Yeosang paused. “Okay.”

“Why don’t you talk in class?” she asked gently. “You always have the best notes, and you clearly know what you’re doing. But you never speak up.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

Then shrugged lightly. “I guess… I don’t like being looked at. I get nervous when people expect me to say something smart. It’s easier to just stay quiet.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “But don’t you ever want to correct the professor when they get something wrong? Or jump into a debate?”

He smiled faintly. “I think it’s more useful to let other people talk. I learn more that way.”

That surprised her. She thought she’d hear something self-conscious. Not… that.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said.

Yeosang tilted his head. “Expected how?”

“I thought you were cold. Distant. Arrogant, maybe.”

He winced. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “You’re not that easy to figure out either.”

Y/N blinked. “Me?”

“You’re sharp,” he said. “You don’t let people in easily. But you care more than you admit.”

She opened her mouth—and realized she didn’t have a response.

He turned back to his screen like he hadn’t just cracked her wide open.

Silence settled again—but it was warmer now. Familiar.

And for the first time, Y/N wondered if Yeosang had always seen her more clearly than she ever saw him.

Y/N didn’t mean to notice him.

But she did.

All the time, now.

It started small—like how Yeosang always carried an extra pen, and how he’d hand it to her wordlessly the moment hers stopped working. Or how he’d open the library door for her and act like he hadn’t. Or how he always saved her a seat before she arrived—never said it was for her, just sat beside it like it was obvious.

Then there were the weirder, softer things.

Like how he read his notes out loud when he thought no one could hear.

How he always fed the stray cat outside the café without ever taking credit.

How his notes weren’t just detailed—they were color-coded and full of tiny doodles in the margins.

And how he always wrote her name in neat little capital letters at the top of their shared documents.

She didn’t mean to notice any of that.

But she did.

Her best friend noticed her noticing.

“Okay,” she said one afternoon as they walked across campus. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing.”

“That thing where you go completely quiet when someone mentions Yeosang and then look off into the distance like you’re in a coming-of-age film.”

Y/N sighed. “I’m not in a film. I’m in emotional limbo.”

Her friend laughed. “Do you like him?”

“No,” Y/N said automatically.

Her friend tilted her head.

“…I don’t think I like him,” Y/N corrected.

“You’ve been defending him a lot lately.”

“He’s not what I thought.”

Her friend grinned. “So you like that he’s sweet and awkward and probably writes your name in cursive hearts when no one’s looking?”

Y/N groaned. “You are the worst.”

“But I’m not the one catching feelings.”

“I am not—”

“Babe. You watched him eat a muffin like it was a character study.”

Y/N shoved her lightly. “I’m just… confused, okay?”

“Or you’re into him.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because maybe she was.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

That weekend, the guys invited both Y/N and her best friend to a casual backyard hangout. Someone said “bonfire” and “food,” and somehow it turned into “group chaos with mismatched lawn chairs and San bringing his Bluetooth speaker like he was DJing a music festival.”

Yeosang didn’t invite her directly.

But when Yunho texted her, she caught Yeosang glancing at her from across the library—and then quickly looking away.

So she went.

And she brought her best friend with her.

Wooyoung spotted them the moment they stepped into the yard.

“Oh look who’s back,” he sang. “Hot Girl and her Ice Princess. Welcome, welcome.”

“Are those our code names?” Y/N asked.

“They are now.”

Her best friend crossed her arms. “Still doing the flirty thing?”

“Still pretending you don’t like it?” he shot back with a wink.

“I don’t,” she said. “But I do admire the consistency. You flirt like it’s your full-time job.”

“It is,” he grinned proudly.

She raised a brow. “Does it come with denial?”

Mingi choked on his drink from the grill. “She got you again, man.”

“Why are you so mean to me?” Wooyoung asked her, clutching his chest in faux pain.

“I believe in recycling,” she replied. “No point in wasting comebacks on someone who already used the same pick-up line twice.”

“I’m in love with her,” Wooyoung whispered loudly to San.

“Don’t drag me into this,” San said, laughing.

Y/N snorted and wandered off before Wooyoung could recover.

She found Yeosang crouched in the yard next to Mingi and Jongho, skewering vegetables onto sticks for the grill. He looked up when he saw her—eyes wide, then soft.

“You came,” he said.

“Yunho said you guys needed help keeping Wooyoung from dying.”

“He’s already tried to grill his own shoe.”

Y/N smiled. “Sounds about right.”

She sat beside him, and they worked in companionable silence—hands brushing once, then twice, over skewers. Neither of them mentioned it.

He didn’t say much.

But every time she spoke, he listened.

Fully. Closely. Like every word she said mattered.

At one point, he handed her a skewer already finished with her favorite veggies and said quietly, “You can take this one.”

She stared at it.

Then at him.

Then back at the skewer.

“It’s not a big deal,” he added, but his ears were already turning pink.

She took it carefully. “Thanks.”

It was a big deal. She just didn’t know why.

Later, as the fire crackled and the others told embarrassing stories and Mingi nearly dropped a marshmallow in his lap, Y/N sat on the edge of the patio with a blanket draped around her shoulders.

Yeosang joined her with a cup of cider.

They didn’t speak for a while.

He just sat beside her, arms close but not touching, gaze fixed on the fire.

“Why are you nice to me?” she asked suddenly.

He blinked. “What?”

“You used to avoid me. Barely spoke. But now… you go out of your way to be kind.”

Yeosang hesitated. Then shrugged. “I was always nice to you. You just didn’t notice.”

That… made something twist in her chest.

“Oh,” she said.

“I didn’t think you liked me,” he added, eyes still on the flames.

“I didn’t,” she said softly. “But maybe I was wrong.”

Yeosang turned his head just slightly.

She didn’t look at him.

Didn’t need to.

The moment had already said too much.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Yeosang stared at the ceiling.

It was 1:42 a.m.

The backyard hangout had ended hours ago, but his mind was still playing it all back like a broken reel.

The way she sat beside him at the fire.

The way her shoulder brushed his and neither of them moved.

The way her voice softened when she said, “Maybe I was wrong.”

He didn’t know what she meant. Not really.

But his heart had jumped anyway.

He came downstairs the next morning wearing the same hoodie he’d lent her the week before — not intentionally. He’d just been cold. That was it.

Jongho was already at the table, sipping coffee like a grumpy old man.

“You were out there with her for a long time last night,” he said without looking up.

Yeosang blinked. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Bro,” Jongho cut in flatly, “you were practically vibrating with emotions.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

Yeosang poured himself a cup of tea and sat down without arguing.

A minute later, Wooyoung stormed into the kitchen dramatically, draping himself over Yeosang like a fainting Victorian heroine.

“Tell me everything,” he said. “What did she say? What did you say? Did you finally confess your eternal admiration and give her a pressed flower?”

Yeosang shoved him off.

“I said, nothing.”

Wooyoung gasped. “Oh my God. That’s worse.”

“She sat next to him at the fire,” Jongho offered.

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “That’s practically marriage.”

Yeosang sighed. “She just said she might’ve been wrong about me.”

Wooyoung nearly dropped his toast. “WHAT?! That’s huge. That’s massive. That’s practically her getting down on one knee.”

“She didn’t mean it like that,” Yeosang muttered.

San poked his head in from the hallway, eyes half-lidded with sleep. “Who’s proposing now?”

“Y/N told Yeosang she might’ve been wrong about him,” Wooyoung said, bouncing.

“Shit,” San said. “You’re in.”

“I’m not in anything,” Yeosang protested.

Mingi wandered in, stretching. “Is this about the fire vibes?”

Yeosang groaned. “Nothing happened.”

Seonghwa finally entered the room with his tea, raised an eyebrow, and said calmly, “That’s not what I heard.”

Yeosang’s shoulders slumped. “Why does everyone know everything?”

“Because you have the emotional subtlety of a deer in traffic,” Wooyoung said, patting his head.

Seonghwa sat across from him. “You like her.”

“I know I like her,” Yeosang said quietly. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is?”

Yeosang stared down into his tea.

“I don’t know how to be enough for her,” he said finally. “She’s smart. She’s confident. She knows what she wants. I don’t… talk right. I don’t know how to flirt or be funny or—”

“Okay, stop,” San said, pointing a spoon at him. “You are enough. You’ve always been enough. You’re just not loud about it.”

Wooyoung leaned on the counter. “And maybe she’s just starting to see that.”

Jongho nodded. “You don’t have to be someone else. You just have to be real.”

Yeosang looked at each of them.

All of them, chaos incarnate, showing up for him in their own weird ways.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

Then Wooyoung ruined the moment.

“But also—if you do confess, let us hide in the bushes and watch.”

“Absolutely not.”

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The library was quiet—too quiet.

Y/N sat at their usual table, finishing the last edits on their presentation slides. She was typing up the project summary, but her mind kept wandering… specifically to the guy sitting across from her.

Yeosang.

Same focused expression. Same organized notes. Same annoying ability to make silence feel intentional instead of awkward.

Except now, instead of being annoyed by that, she found herself watching for the smallest expressions. The twitch of his mouth when something made him laugh silently. The way he tilted his head when he was thinking. The way his fingers tapped a rhythm only he could hear.

She shook herself out of it.

This was not the time to be distracted by his jawline.

“Final slide’s done,” she said, forcing her voice to sound breezy. “You happy with the formatting?”

Yeosang glanced over, read through the slide quickly, then nodded. “It looks good.”

She closed her laptop with a little sigh of relief. “Thank God. I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time fine-tuning a project.”

“You did most of the visual design,” he said. “I just… wrote stuff.”

“You wrote stuff brilliantly,” she corrected. “I think our professor’s gonna love it.”

Yeosang didn’t respond.

Instead, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fingers tugging at the edge of his hoodie sleeve.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “What?”

He hesitated. Then: “I’m not good at presenting.”

She blinked. “Wait, really?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on the table. “I get anxious. My brain goes quiet and I forget words. I hate standing in front of a group. I always mess it up.”

Y/N stared at him.

Kang Yeosang—top of the class, always prepared, unnervingly smart—was nervous about presenting?

“That doesn’t make sense,” she said softly. “You’re the most put-together person I know.”

He shook his head. “I’m only good when I don’t have to speak.”

She could see the embarrassment in his posture—shoulders slightly hunched, gaze lowered, like he was bracing for judgment.

But instead, something warm unfurled in her chest.

Not pity. Not even surprise.

Just… something softer.

“You know,” she said, “you don’t have to be loud to be heard.”

He looked up slowly.

She offered a smile. “We still have a few days before the presentation. We could practice together. I’ll help you with the talking part.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” she cut in. “Besides, I’ve heard your voice. It’s not as terrifying as you think.”

Yeosang’s lips parted like he wanted to say something—but the words didn’t come. Instead, his gaze softened, almost vulnerable, and his voice came out quieter than usual.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak for a while after that.

But the silence between them had changed again.

It wasn’t tense. It wasn’t awkward.

It was something like… trust.

“Okay,” her best friend said, popping a fry in her mouth. “Start from the beginning. Again. And no editing for drama. I want raw emotion.”

Y/N dropped her face into her hands and groaned into the table. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“I’m gonna need something more specific.”

“Yeosang.”

Her friend perked up immediately. “Oho. Continue.”

Y/N sat up slowly, like she was coming back from war. “He told me he’s bad at presentations.”

Her friend blinked. “…And?”

“And he looked so genuinely ashamed about it,” Y/N said, voice climbing in pitch. “Like he thought I’d judge him. Like he thought I’d laugh. And all I could think was, ‘Oh my god, you poor beautiful anxious thing, let me wrap you in a blanket and defend your honor.’”

There was a pause.

“…So you’re in love.”

“I am not in love,” Y/N hissed.

Her friend nodded solemnly. “Sure. Continue denying it. It’s cute.”

“I’m just—soft, okay? He makes me feel soft. Like every time he talks, my heart sits down and shuts up.”

“Wow,” her friend said, popping another fry in her mouth. “You are so far gone.”

“I’m not,” Y/N insisted. “I’m just… confused.”

Her friend gave her a look.

Y/N slumped in her seat. “Okay. I notice everything about him now. It’s disgusting.”

“Examples?”

“His hair does this little swoopy thing when he’s concentrating. He taps his pen exactly four times before writing anything. He double-checks his spelling like he’s afraid the keyboard might judge him. And when he’s nervous, he tugs on his hoodie sleeves like a baby fox.”

Her friend stared. “A baby fox.”

“I don’t know! He’s just—soft.”

A beat of silence passed. Then:

Her friend leaned forward. “So when are you going to tell him you’re halfway to naming your future cats together?”

“I’m not going to tell him anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s Yeosang! And I’m… me. And we’re project partners. And what if I made this entire connection up in my head and he’s just being nice because he thinks I’m a functional human being and not someone who is currently spiraling over his sleeves?!”

Her friend blinked slowly. “Are you done?”

“No.”

“Okay, now?”

Y/N exhaled. “Now.”

Her friend grinned. “Listen, I say this with all the love in the world: you’ve got it bad.”

Y/N groaned again. “God, I know.”

“On the bright side,” her friend said, nudging her drink closer, “you’re very cute when you’re emotionally wrecked.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell him how you feel.”

“I would rather set my own eyebrows on fire.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “But if you don’t, I swear Wooyoung is going to do it for you. That man lives for this.”

Y/N paused. Then: “…He would, wouldn’t he.”

“Oh, one hundred percent.”

“God help me.”

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[circledemptiness]

Gotham Kink Alphabet – D is for Degradation

Pairing: Roman Sionis (Black Mask) x Reader (M/F) Rating: Explicit +18 Tags: Degradation, rough oral sex, leg humping, dirty talk

✦ Read on AO3 ✦ Full Alphabet

In this room, you don’t have a name. Not really. Your needs barely matter. Your desires are inconsequential. Only his pleasure counts. He shaped you to fit his appetite, trained you to meet his standards. That’s what excites him most. Testing your limits, seeing how much further he can push you, how thoroughly he can strip away your dignity. You should be disgusted. You should leave. But you don’t. You never do. And you never truly regret it.

✦ Come vote for the next prompt!

High heels click sharply against the dark wooden floors. The sound echoes in the room, each step reeking of your discomfort. The color of the shoes is tacky, the height unreasonable, the shape vulgar; nothing you would ever choose for yourself. But Mister Sionis likes them. Or at least, you think he does. He never compliments you. Not exactly, anyway. But he hasn’t told you to take them off yet.

And, in his world, silence is as good as approval.

Your face is painted in much the same way. Too much, too vulgar. It’s not you, not really. But he likes how it looks on your ruined face. Dark eyeshadow streaking down your cheeks, lipstick smudged all over your mouth.

He enjoys seeing how low you’re willing to go for him, how far you’re willing to debase yourself. He toys with your boundaries, sometimes probing them. Just to see if you’ll break.

A quick glance at your phone; just enough time to get into position. He isn’t here yet, and you know better than to keep him waiting. Roman hates when you aren’t ready the second he steps into the room.

First, the coat. Then the blouse, the skirt. Each piece tight, revealing, far too provocative for your taste. Clothes you’d never wear, normally. But Roman likes you in them. He likes watching you squirm in public, feigning composure while men stare. Likes his things dressed like sex dolls.

The only things that stay are your underwear, a black lace set; sheer tights that highlight the shape of your legs, and the damn heels.

The first time you confessed your interest in him, he wasn’t really impressed.

“I’m not looking for a girl.” A pause. A chuckle. “I could use a dog, though.”

You didn’t understand what he meant at first. But you learned quickly.

In this room, you don’t have a name. Not really. Your needs barely matter. Your desires are inconsequential. Only his pleasure counts. He shaped you to fit his appetite, trained you to meet his standards. 

If he wants to call you Dog, then you are Dog. If he wants you on all fours, barking for him as he mounts you, you obey.

That’s what excites him most. Testing your limits, seeing how much further he can push you, how thoroughly he can strip away your dignity. You should be disgusted. You should leave.

But you don’t. You never do.

And you never truly regret it.

You step toward the dark leather couch. But you won’t be sitting on it. You kneel in front of it first, adjusting your position before lowering yourself onto all fours. Forearms and hands flat against the cold, polished floor, back straight. Like an animal waiting for instruction. Or worse. A human table, an object meant to be used and ignored.

Long minutes stretch, your muscles tensing, shoulders aching, back burning. He’s late. Deliberately so. You know it’s part of the game. To leave you there, exposed and uncomfortable, until your knees burn, your forearms ache, and the smooth floor against your skin feels more like punishment than submission.

Finally, the door opens.

Roman enters without a word. He never greets you– why would he? You’re not here to be acknowledged.

He removes his white-striped jacket, drapes it over the coat rack. Then, he rolls up his sleeves slowly, his leather gloves still on. His skull-shaped mask remains, occulting his face. You don’t deserve to see him. You don’t deserve to be touched by him. At least, not directly.

He moves through the room quietly, reading over a stack of papers as he circles you. Could be mail, could be reports. Could be blank pages for all you know. The point is that he’s ignoring you. The only sound is the steady drag of his leather shoes against the polished wood, the faint rustle of paper as he flips through the pages.

You wish he would say something. Anything.

But silence is part of the degradation.

Minutes stretch unbearably long, your muscles burning painfully. He’s never made you wait this long before. Your thighs tremble, elbows start to slip, the pressure on your knees turning into a dull, numbing ache. He’s waiting for you to fail. You don’t want to.

But then, involuntarily, you exhale. A soft, frustrated sigh before you can stop it.

The papers stop rustling.

“What was that, Dog?”

Heat floods your face in shame. You dare not lift your head, dare not answer. 

You’re not supposed to.

Instead, he takes his time, stepping toward you at a leisurely pace, finally sinking into the couch above you. His weight settles in, stretching his legs, shifting slightly until–

Pressure.

The heavy soles of his leather shoes press down against your spine, forcing your body lower. He isn’t gentle. Has no regard for how the sharp bite of leather digs into your skin. Your arms tremble harder, breath hitching, but you don’t break.

Not yet.

With an annoyed sigh, he tosses the papers aside. Maybe he was reading them. Maybe he wasn’t. You’ll never know.

Finally, he lifts his feet, the relief sharp and immediate, but you barely suppress the small hiss of pain that wants to slip out.

Of course, he notices.

“You’re really bad at this,” he mutters, his tone unimpressed. “It’s fucking embarrassing.”

The words sting, even though you know that’s the point. It’s what he’s into. And, if you’re being honest with yourself, what you’re into, too.

You tilt your head up, eyes wide, lips curling into a slight, pathetic pout. A small, desperate plea for approval.

Roman almost snorts.

“Fucking pathetic Dog,” he murmurs, voice low as he unbuttons his slacks.

It’s Pavlovian, really, the way your mouth waters at the sight, the way anticipation coils low in your stomach.

You kneel at his feet, waiting. Ready.

His cock is hard as diamond when he frees it, fat and angry in his gloved hand. You nearly whimper, eyes locked onto it, and, almost unconsciously, your fingers clutch at his clothed thighs. Roman chuckles; a low, condescending sound.

His other hand tangles viciously in your hair, yanking your head back until your scalp burns, a mix of pain and pleasure swirling in your gut.

He drags you forward, pressing your cheek flush against his cock. You can feel the silken length drool lazily against your face, tracing sticky trails over your flushed cheekbone. The smell is thick, musky, exquisitely raw. And as he rubs it against your face, your makeup is already beginning to smear.

Roman pumps himself lazily, the motion slow and deliberate, each stroke dragging his knuckles against your face with just enough force to make it uncomfortable. The leather of his gloves grazes your skin, rough and cold.

“Think you deserve this?” he taunts, voice like velvet lined with steel.

Another stroke, another bump against your cheek, the slick tip of his cock pressing insistently against the corner of your lips before dragging away, teasing, leaving strings of precum behind.

Your lips part, a pathetic whimper bubbling up, but you catch yourself.

“I don’t,” you breathe, voice thick with a lust you didn’t know you were capable of feeling.

Roman hums, satisfied. His grip tightens in your hair, the pull sharp enough to sting.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement. “You fucking don’t. The worst hole I’ve ever fucked.”

His fist tightens as he presses your face down his heavy sack, the command clear.

“Clean them good, whore.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You open your mouth right on cue, swallowing his clean-shaved balls greedily, feeling their weight on your tongue, inhaling their pungent smell.

Loud noises bubble from your throat as you slobber all over them, in this ridiculous, almost pornographic manner he is so fond of, while he keeps pleasuring himself, moaning softly through his mask. Already, you can feel your lipstick smear all over your face, while you keep sucking his sack with the ardent desire to nearly worship him.

“Look at you, stupid whore. You were starving for this, weren’t you?” his voice drips with condescension, and you moan in response, your body burning with a shameful, escalating desire. 

While your warm tongue swirls around one of his testicles, your hand trails down your trembling form, slipping inside your underwear. Your folds are slick already, your tender hole begging to be filled, and you hope Roman will be merciful enough to put you out of your misery. Doubtful.

Roman notices, and with a vicious pull on your hair removes you from his sack.

“You want to fuck yourself silly, Dog?” His tone is harsh, mocking.

You whimper, nodding at him as best as you can, one hand reflexively gripping his wrist, tears welling in your eyes.

Roman shoves his leg forward, slipping his foot between your legs. With a harsh tug to your hair, he manhandles you into straddling it, forcing you down until you’re seated against the thick, cold leather of his shoe. The pressure against your cunt is delicious, and already you mewl, your body betraying you.

“Go on then, make yourself cum, stupid whore,” his voice is low and ragged. His fist pumps himself earnestly, while the other one remains tangled in your hair, keeping your head tilted up, forcing you to meet his darkened gaze. 

So you do as you’re told. Start rutting against his leg, willingly. Eagerly. Each thrust of your hips dragging loud moans from your throat. Crude, vulgar sounds. Just how he likes them.

“Open up, make yourself useful, for once,” he orders, pressing his cock against your lips. The moment you open your mouth, Roman all but shoves his length down your throat. The sudden invasion makes you gag and cough viciously, but before you can truly get accustomed to it, the hand tangled in your hair forces a punitive rhythm on you.

You can barely keep up with his pace. Drool and precum pool freely from your abused mouth, smearing your lipstick all over your face. Tears run down your cheeks, painting long dark streaks over the skin while you keep riding his leg, chasing an abject pleasure that he trained you to need.

Roman grunts loudly, his hips snapping suddenly as he starts to fuck your throat at a cruel pace. Your lips turn tender, swollen from the incessant assault, but his pleasure is so near you can almost taste it. It stokes your own fire, the friction exquisite as every ridge and seam of his leather shoe drags against your sensitive clit.

You’re not sure how long it took you debasing yourself, rutting against the polished leather of his shoes, before you felt your orgasm burst; abject waves rolling deep inside your guts. Whimpers spill from your drooling mouth between two gurgling sounds, all the while Roman keeps using your throat, mercilessly, viciously. 

He laughs, a cruel sound that makes your entire body shiver, while your insides spasm, cunt leaking through the lace of your panties. 

Then, in one swift motion, he pulls you by the hair, your scalp burning fiercely, unsheathing his cock from the tight clutch of your throat in an undignifying wet noise. Holding you in place, his other hand pumps his glistening length, and looks at your degraded appearance: saliva dripping down your chin, makeup so smeared and ruined it feels sticky on your face, the skin covered in all sorts of bodily fluids.

“Open your mouth, stupid whore, show me how much you want it” he grunts, loud and feral, and you feel excited, knowing just how close he is. 

You stick your tongue out, the sight disgraceful– just how he likes it. Unworthy, humiliated, degraded for his own pleasure. He hums, his hold on your hair faltering sensibly. 

A few more pumps, and thick spurts of cum paints your face. It rains fat and heavy down your cheeks, covers your puffy lips, pools over your tongue. It tastes almost bitter, mixed with the salt of your tears, but you swallow it nonetheless, greedily. Just how he likes it.

Roman stares at you through the eyes of his mask, his expression perfectly concealed. Only the weight of his labored breaths betrays his exhaustion. You wish you could see his face. See if he’s pleased with your work. Instead, his gloved hand lands against your cheek in a firm, impersonal pat. Not tender. Just acknowledgment. The way one might reward a well-trained animal.

“Come now, Dog. The other shoe.”

[indigo-stay]

Case File: Who Killed I.N.?

Part 1: Standard Procedure

Word count: 1080

Nadine arrived last at Amie’s apartment, letting herself in through the front door as usual. She tossed her coat haphazardly onto the adjacent coat rack, peeling her shoes off as she strode down the front hall. The trio always gathered in the living room for PowerPoint showings. (Thanks to Amie’s obsession with them.)

She threw herself onto her usual spot on the couch, pulling out a bag of sour worms and tossing them to Dasom. The bag smacks her square in the head, but she beams brightly anyways.

“Nadine, have I ever told you that I love you literally more than life itself?” Dasom declares, already ripping open the packaging.

“You could mention it more, I do love praise.” Nadine replies loftily, her serious expression melting into laughter after a second.

“Alright sleuths! Attention!” Amie stands at the ready in front of the second hand projector they had thrifted (garbage picked) last summer. It requires a specific number of magazines to be shoved under the frame to keep it at the right angle, and also sometimes requires some light kicking to turn on, otherwise the screen blinks out. But hey, free projector.

Amie managed to get the screen centered enough that the PowerPoint slides are bright and readable against the blank white wall. The first slide shows only the bolded letters:

SUSPECTS.

Before Amie can begin speaking though, Dasom is distracted. “Amie, since when do you have a pointer hand thingy for this? You look like a first grade teacher.” Dasom points with a gummy worm to the stick in Amie’s hand for emphasis.

“I found it,” she sniffs, “it doesn’t matter, the point of today’s meeting is! Operation Find Innie’s Killer is back on.”

“But we had been guessing before.” Nadine points out. “The police said it was an accident.”

“Fuck the police.” Dasom mumbles from the other end of the couch.

“True.”

“True. Yeah and then they went back on what they said. How is it only now foul play?” Amie says, turning back to her slides.

“So anyways, I spoke to Hyunjin. He knows everything about the school and what’s happening where, so I figured he would have usable intel and I was RIGHT.”

“And we trust Hyunjin now?” Dasom asks, hand half raised.

Amie shoots her down immediately. “No, of course not. He’s on the suspect list too.”

“Amie what the fuck.”

“Listen! His intel was in fact researchable, everything is double confirmed okay? I’m not stupid. But the fact that he knows so much also makes him suspect.”

“Yeah when it comes to Hyunjin you’re neeever stupid.” Dasom sings, giggling when Amie blushes deep red.

“Okay ignoring that, anyways, here are my additional suspects!”

The PowerPoint slide changes to an overview slide. There are seven suspects listed.

“Are the police slides blank?” Nadine asks, pointing at the three names listed with “Police” and no other details.

“Listen I literally just started on this today okay I’ll add them onto the PowerPoint.” Amie clicks off of the presentation view and creates a new slide, typing in the top three ‘witnesses’ of the police’s case.

Kim Dongmin: His Boss, had Jeongin staying after hours often (grade A asshole, I hope it’s him what a pos) Terrible rating on glassdoor.

Goo Minhee: Ex-girlfriend / on and off again girlfriend (at the time they were broken up) He had just started seeing someone new? Suspicious.

Cha Jinhee: His college roommate, last one to see him alive.

She writes POLICE SUSPECTS in bold at the top of the slide.

“Amie! They aren’t suspects! They’re just the people who went in for questioning!”

“Literally what a suspect is,” Dasom mumbles.

“Dasom you are so not helping.”

Dasom shrugs even more unhelpfully. “Well they’re suspect adjacent then, does that work for you?”

Amie backspaces on the title text and types in all caps SUSPECT ADJACENT.

Nadine feels a stress migraine forming just from being around Amie and Dasom, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Sure, fine. Let’s go with that. Who else are you including in your ‘Sus People’ lineup then?”

Amie cracks her knuckles. “I’m so glad you asked, I’ve created a PowerPoint just for this moment.”

Han Jisung: dated his ex on one of their breaks last year

Kim Seungmin: coworker, strained relationship

Lee Felix: always together but suspiciously not this past month!

Bang Chan: competing for same scholarships, academic rivals

Lee Minho: out of the country, but one of his closest friends

Hwang Hyunjin: the college Knower of Things™ he must know more than he’s letting on

Seo Changbin: coworker, friends

“And let me guess you’ve been stalking all of their social media accounts?”

“Yes, Nadine, what do you think I am some kind of amateur?” She clicks to the next slide where screenshots of all of their social media accounts have been pasted in.

“You know that likely now if the police look at our search histories they’re definitely gonna think we did it.” Dasom

“Dasom never in a million Years would I talk with the police, so jot that down. We need compiled evidence or we aren’t going to solve this you know? And like it’s not the 70s I refuse to print everything out and thumb tack it to the wall.”

“Amie, some of these people are our friends.” Nadine “We can’t accuse every single person in contact with him of a crime.”

“Okay, first of all Nadine, friend is a stretch. You have class with Jisung and Felix, and Minho’s been studying abroad for like two years now.” Amie

“Nadine,” Dasom interjects, “I think what Amie is badly trying to say is that, we have to consider every possible angle, even people we don’t think could have done it. We can rule them out easy, right? It’s not like we’re going to go up to each of them and interrogate them.”

“I guess that’s true,” Nadine reluctantly agrees, “missing a lead because of that would be idiotic.”

“Exactly! Now back to my PowerPoint.” The next slide appears on the wall, filled to the brim with data on each of the ‘suspects’. The text is so small that both Dasom and Nadine lean forward, squinting at the screen.

“Amie is that someone’s ssn on there?”

“Amie how did you even find that?”

“All these questions please! Wait until the end!” She clicks to the next slide that says, “Questions?”

Nadine sighs loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose again. “I need painkillers.”

prev part | masterlist | next part

[laurasinele]

Fictober24

Prompts 20, 23 & 27:

"I saw your eyes light up"

"We can fix this, I know we can"

"Let me remind you"

Fandom: Stranger Things (S01 & 02)

Relationships: Harringrove | Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington

Rating: Teen, alcohol and swearing

Special warnings: Steve and Billy are underage and drink alcohol; Billy and Karen Wheeler flirt.

Summary:

Billy's going to aparty tonight. Steve isn't. He's babysitting the nerds on game night at the Wheelers because nobody else is at home.

Excerpt:

He stepped in without waiting for Mrs Wheeler to step aside. He smiled charmingly and she slapped his chest playfully but quickly sobered up and cleared her throat:

“Ted, we need to go now!” she said as she picked their coats off the rack. 

Mr Wheeler, dressed up and almost asleep in front of the TV, got up from his recliner groaning loudly, and mumbled some standard warnings about sleepovers on his way out. Once he and Mrs Wheeler were out the door, Billy could appreciate his audience: from the TV room door Maxine and Harrington were staring down at him with their arms crossed like a couple of little creepy twin sisters. Maxine made a puking gesture. Harrington said: 

“That was disgusting, man.”

Before Billy could tell them to fuck off, two of the nerds, Wheeler and Henderson, came up from the basement running, calling Max and yelling all sorts of nonsense. They stopped in their tracks when they saw Billy.

“What are you doing here?”, said Wheeler defensively. But not scared, Billy noticed.

“Relax, he’s just dropping me off,” said Max. 

“Then why’s he still here?”

“Your mum wanted to give me her cookie,” teased Billy.

“Ew, don’t say it like that,” said Max as she grabbed both Wheeler’s and Henderson’s sleeves and dragged them to the basement as it fit the children-eating troll she was. 

“Wait,” said Hernderson, on the way to his demise. “Are you gonna hit Steve again? Don’t do it! Or else!”

They disappeared down the stairs. 

“You heard the man,” said Steve. “Don’t hit me, or else.”

He wanted to make it sound like a joke, but Billy could smell just how nervous he was. 

“Why are you babysitting? Where’s the happy couple?”

“Jonathan works a wedding at the country club. Nancy helps him.”

“Alright. And you do this because…?”

“Cookies made with love,” said Harrington sarcastically. He went into the room and grabbed one. 

[snwlkr]

Fast & Furious - DomBri - Addicted to you

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Fast & Furious (Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences (Rated for featuring Heroin and withdrawal) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 13,480 Relationships: Brian O'Conner/Dominic Toretto Characters: Brian O'Conner, Dominic Toretto, Vince (Fast and the Furious), Roman Pearce, Carter Verone Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, Developing Relationship, Getting Together, Devotion, protective!Dom, Addict!Brian, Happy Ending, T-rated for featuring heroin and dealing with withdrawal as the main themes, Drug Withdrawal, Alternate Universe - Normal Life

Summary:

Dom and Vince lead a life of petty crime. One day at a friend's party, Dom meets Brian and falls head over heels in love. Even though Brian is struggling with heroin addiction, Dom is determined to take care of him and give him whatever he needs. Dom believes they can keep this going forever—until reality hits hard. After a house robbery lands the three of them in prison, Dom does his best to get Brian's doses but realizes he can't keep up with his needs anymore here. Now, he has to confront the tough truth he’s been avoiding for the past three years: Brian needs to get clean.

:::

Dom and Vince met during their first year of high school and quickly became inseparable best friends. They did everything together: skipping classes to drive cars and dirt bikes with their crew, shoplifting from stores, and spending nights partying and drinking.

As the years rolled on, their bad choices pulled them deeper into crime. What started as petty theft—snatching a few bucks' worth of stuff or someone's handbag—escalated into house robberies and car thefts. If they were lucky, they’d walk away with thousands. They made new friends who dragged them further down this path, and while the robberies were still small-time, they felt a twisted sense of pride in their exploits.

Mia, Dom's sister, started to notice the shift in her brother. Always the studious one with dreams of med school, she had worked hard to rise above their poor background. She wanted to pull Dom along with her, but he had lost his drive after their parents died when he was twelve. Living with their overwhelmed grandparents only added to his struggles.

Despite her own responsibilities, Mia tried to support Dom. She helped him study and even got Vince to crack a book for a while—though Dom knew that was just because Vince had a crush on her. Everyone in their class knew Vince had zero interest in schoolwork outside of class.

Dom’s car, his most treasured possession, was a last reminder of his father. People assumed the money Dom and Vince were stealing went into upgrades for their rides, but in reality, they were saving a portion of it—hidden under a broken wooden plank in Dom’s room—to help Mia with her education someday, even if she didn’t know it.

Life for Dom and Vince wasn’t ideal by any standard, but they thrived on the thrill of danger, easy money, and weekend parties. They were young and felt invincible.

One evening, they attended a party hosted by a friend of a friend. The crowd was filled with unfamiliar faces, but that didn’t matter. It was just like any other party—making new connections, having fun, drinking, and doing cocaine.

Some guys were glued to an NFL game on one TV, while others played a racing game Dom had never seen on another. Vince and Dom were racking up wins at the pool table, and a karaoke session was in full swing. Dom lost count of how many TVs were in the house. Outside, the swimming pool buzzed with people, laughter, and life. It was loud and joyful, and in that moment, they felt truly alive.

After winning their game, Vince headed off to grab a drink, saying he wanted to hit the pool. Dom considered following him but got distracted when he saw two guys stumbling out of the bathroom, laughing and making their way to a couch in the living room.

“Grab me a beer,” one of them called out, while the other headed for the kitchen. The first guy flopped onto the couch, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, looking like he was ready to doze off. Dom figured he must be pretty drunk; there was no way he could sleep with all this noise.

Feeling bold, Dom plopped down next to the guy with a big smile. “Hey, wanna smoke somethin’?”

The guy opened his hazy eyes and flashed a lazy grin. “Sure. I’m Brian.”

“Dom. Got something that'll get you buzzing nicely—I tried it yesterday. You’ll see,” Dom said confidently.

Brian leaned in closer, his head dropping onto Dom’s shoulder, looking almost pouty. “Nah, just wanna get stoned…”

Dom felt a bit sheepish. He usually stuck to stuff that energized him. Brian looked at him with those sleepy eyes and burst into giggles. Just then, two guys finished their race on the game Dom still couldn’t name, and Brian’s attention snapped to the screen, quickly forgetting their conversation. “Wanna play? Come on!”

Brian took Dom’s hand, leading him to the floor near the TV. Dom had never been great at video games, but driving in real life was a blast—how hard could it be on a screen? Well, he quickly learned it was a lot harder than he thought. The good news was that Brian was so much worse than him that he didn’t feel like he embarrassed himself in front of him.

“Bri, you’re just terrible at this!” Roman laughed, having easily finished first.

Brian looked both focused and confused, and it was honestly funny to watch. As he fumbled with the controls, the car on-screen swerved wildly, crashing into barriers and veering off track. “The car’s just not doing what I want it to do…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a danger on the road—real or fake cars,” Roman teased, bumping Brian with his elbow.

That caught Dom's attention. “Real cars?”

Brian surrendered the controller to Roman, frustrated that the car wouldn’t turn the right way. He turned to Dom with a dreamy smile. “I love driving.”

The guy who had been with Brian before, Tej, joined them with two beers, handing one to Brian before taking a seat next to him. He looked just as out of it as Brian, his voice slow. “Let me correct that—he loves cars and knows a ton about them. He could put you to sleep just talking about them for hours. But don’t let him behind the wheel, or you can kiss your car goodbye…”

Brian pouted. “That only happened once…”

“Three times. In a year. And one of those cars was my mom’s,” Roman said, raising an eyebrow and looking like a scolding dad, which only made Brian giggle again.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” Roman smirked, inching closer to Brian. In a flash, Brian tried to scramble away, but he ended up spilling his beer everywhere and bumping into Dom’s knee. Dom caught him just in time to prevent a full fall.

Brian clung to Dom like his life depended on it—too late for it to be useful, really—and chuckled, “Thank you!”

“Wait, don’t move,” Dom said, swiftly taking off his thick jacket and laying it on the ground for Brian to sit on, making sure it covered the beer spills so Brian wouldn’t get any wetter than he already was.

Brian attempted to drink, but with most of his beer gone, it took him two tries to manage it. By the time he succeeded, his can was empty. He looked a bit disappointed, and Dom smiled. “Want me to get you a new one?”

Brian blinked and shot him a big smile. “Sure!”

“Just don’t spill this one, okay?” Roman chimed in, and Brian stuck out his tongue playfully. “That was your fault,” he replied gently.

When Dom stood up, Brian tried to get up as well. Dom caught his hand. “Stay here,” he told him, watching as Brian looked confused.

“But I want to come with you,” Brian insisted, rising with Dom’s help.

“I don’t like sleeping on the ground. I prefer pillows…” Brian mumbled as they made their way to the kitchen, and Dom wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“You tired? Want to find a room upstairs?” Dom asked, feeling a twinge of sadness at the thought of Brian leaving him already, but it was clear he needed a quiet place to rest.

Brian blinked at him. “Yeah. But no. I’m happy I found you. Wanna go outside?”

With that, Brian took Dom’s hand again, forgetting all about the spilled beer. Brian was stumbling, his coordination still shaky, and Dom found himself guiding him outside with a smile on his face. “No more beers for you tonight, I think.”

Brian frowned. “Why? I only drank two… One and a half, I guess?”

Dom scoffed, suspecting it was more than that, but he kept his mouth shut. He spotted Vince having a blast with Han in the pool, both of them laughing and trying to dunk each other.

“Hey, Dom! Come on, the water’s nice!” Vince called out when he noticed them.

Dom turned to Brian, unsure if swimming was a good idea in his current state. Brian confirmed his doubts by slowly shaking his head. “Can’t. No cars, no water, Roman said. I love both. But can’t.” He then looked at Dom. “I’ll stay here; you go swim.”

Brian settled at the edge of the pool, waving at Han.

“Hey Bri, how you doing?” Han asked, his voice calmer than it had been with Vince a moment ago.

“Goood. Met Dom. He’s nice,” Brian said, gesturing lazily toward Dom, who was still standing beside him.

Han smiled at Brian. “Yeah, he’s nice, right? I’ve known him for a few months. Remember when I told you we had to drive away from the cops? It was with Dom and Vince, right here.”

Dom sat down next to Brian, taking off his socks and shoes to dip his feet in the water. Swimming looked inviting, but he didn’t want to leave Brian alone.

Brian turned to Dom, his eyes wide with curiosity. “So you were the driver?”

Dom felt a swell of pride at Brian's interest but tried to keep it in check. “Yeah. They almost caught us, but I’ve been driving for so long; I knew I could shake them.”

“There were three police cars, Han said,” Brian replied, blinking slowly, his voice filled with admiration. It was getting harder for Dom not to boast even more.

Han scoffed, clearly reading Dom’s expression. “Dude, brag all you want. He’s in no condition to chase cars, but he used to be an amazing driver. Just tell him everything.”

Dom hesitated, curious about why Brian had stopped driving, but he didn’t pry, and he was too happy to share his stories, maybe embellishing a few details along the way.

When Brian asked about the gears in his car, Dom lit up, enjoying every moment, while Han and Vince rolled their eyes in amusement.

“Aaand we lost him,” Vince joked, although he was just as passionate about his bike, so he couldn’t complain too much.

Despite Brian’s drowsiness, he occasionally offered surprisingly insightful comments about cars, proving to Dom that he wasn’t the only car enthusiast around. Maybe Brian just had a reckless streak? Dom couldn’t help but think that he might convince him to ride along as a passenger sometime.

As Brian attempted to remove his shoes and socks too, it became clear he was struggling. After watching him for a moment, Dom helped him out, and soon Brian had his feet in the water, lying back. Dom mirrored him, enjoying the coolness of the grass beneath them.

They continued to talk, and Dom loved turning to see Brian already looking at him. Sometimes, Brian seemed lost in thought, but other times, he would smile brightly at Dom, making it hard not to grow attached to him.

Dom was thrilled with how the evening was unfolding. He found someone who shared his passion for cars, someone who was easygoing and kind. The way Brian giggled made Dom feel warm inside, and he hoped their newfound friendship would last.

Two hours later, he had brought a lethargic Brian upstairs, who flopped onto the bed, face down, ready for sleep.

When Dom returned downstairs, he spotted Roman stirring Tej, who had fallen asleep on the couch. Dom approached him. “I put Brian in the first room on the left.”

“Alright,” Roman replied, but then stopped, letting go of Tej slowly just before Dom walked away to join Vince, who was in the middle of a beer pong game. “Wait, Dom.”

Dom turned back, noticing Roman’s serious expression. He might have scoffed at it under normal circumstances, but when Roman mentioned Brian, his mood shifted instantly.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t get too close to him, alright…?” Roman said, his tone grave.

Dom’s heart sank a little, trying to wrap his head around the conversation. Brian had told him that Roman and he had been roommates before, and it had surprised him that he had never met Brian during the time he'd known Roman.

“Why?” Dom asked, trying to keep his tone neutral, but he could hear the edge creeping in, a hint of defiance. He took a breath to calm himself. “He seems pretty chill. Does he have a Rottweiler ready to bite anyone out of jealousy or something?”

He hoped not.

Roman sighed heavily. “He is chill, but you might never see it for real. Look, stick to cocaine and ecstasy on weekends, that’s all fine, but don’t go digging into his or Tej’s stuff, alright? Heroin is no joke. You don’t want to go down that road, I promise you. Don’t think that just because he does it, you can too, and that you’ll be able to stop whenever you want.”

Dom blinked, taken aback. He had assumed Brian was just a bit drunk, but maybe his incoordination and slow responses were tied to something more serious. Brian had seemed coherent enough during their car conversations, even showing genuine passion despite his drowsiness.

Roman continued, “I’m not your dad. You do you, but this is my advice. Don’t touch that shit. His entire day revolves around his doses. It costs money. He might seem functional a lot of the time, but that doesn’t mean he is.”

Dom nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of Roman’s words. “Alright, I won’t.”

Roman placed a hand on Dom’s shoulder, squeezing it gently and offering a sad smile before turning his attention back to Tej, who he planned to help upstairs.

Truth be told, Dom didn’t know much about drugs. He had always followed whatever the people around him were doing, often thinking, If they can, surely I can too. He recognized that mindset was foolish, but a part of him trusted these guys—they were the ones he was stealing with, the ones orchestrating their reckless adventures.

As time passed, Dom saw Brian more frequently at parties. The first time he saw Brian sniff something, he thought it was just a small quantity, finding it a bit odd. It didn’t click until later that it wasn’t cocaine.

Gradually, he started seeing Brian outside of parties, usually at Roman’s house. He witnessed Brian both sniffing and injecting heroin, living his life exactly as Roman had described—timing his entire day around his doses, especially on days they had robberies. Brian couldn’t afford to be completely lethargic during those times; he needed to be alert and responsive. And he needed the money.

Dom observed the grip heroin had on Brian, the way it altered him, and it left a knot of unease in his stomach.

Dom had watched Brian plead for money when the heist—the cash from it—wasn’t scheduled for a few more days. He had seen him spend his days drinking coffee, knowing he wouldn’t get his dose on time, and he watched as Brian grew agitated and anxious, succumbing to nausea and looking sickly. It was distressing to see him in that state, especially knowing it hadn’t even been nine hours since his last dose.

That was the day Dom made a decision that would change everything. He went out and bought heroin for Brian, paying for it out of his own pocket. If Roman had known, he would have declared that the day Dom had doomed himself, but Dom felt a rush of relief when he saw Brian’s mood shift, his happiness returning.

And that was the day Brian kissed him, and Dom kissed him back. Brian was staying at Roman’s house, so Dom had spent the day there too. In the evening, they and a few other guys were sprawled on the couches, watching a movie while Brian slowly drifted off, his head resting on Dom's thighs. As Dom gently caressed Brian’s hair, he couldn’t shake the feeling that, to an addict, only the drug truly mattered. Roman would have said that Dom was just part of the noise, but in that moment, he didn’t care.

Months went by, and while Dom never fell into heroin himself, he did fall in love with Brian. He made sure that if Brian couldn’t afford his fix, he would cover the cost.

It didn’t take long for Dom to learn that neither Brian nor Tej had a permanent place to stay. They often crashed at friends' houses. Everything Brian owned could fit into a single backpack, as all his money went to heroin. So, Dom left his grandparents’ house to get an apartment, inviting Brian to stay with him as much as possible. He couldn’t bear to see Brian go through withdrawal again.

Even when Brian fell asleep near Dom, Dom would always wake up alone. Nighttime was too long, and Brian’s cravings would kick in before dawn. He often found Brian in the morning in whatever room he had used for his dose, sometimes even on the cold bathroom floor.

Dom would carry him to the couch, keeping him close while he brewed his coffee and made breakfast. Depending on the timing, he’d encourage Brian to eat a little, knowing that stomach discomfort and nausea were common due to his drug use. Dom needed to make sure Brian was in good enough shape to avoid choking.

When Dom first met Brian, he had been quite skinny, and he took it upon himself to ensure Brian ate more regularly.

He hadn’t planned on telling anyone about their situation, but Vince wasn’t blind. More often than not, when he came over unannounced, Brian would be asleep on the couch or simply at home, happy to see Vince and engage with him.

Vince noticed Dom’s affectionate attitude toward Brian. Dom was glued to him, always ensuring he was okay, while Brian often rested his head on Dom’s shoulder or held his hand.

One day, when Brian was completely out of it, Vince confronted Dom. “Tell me something. You didn’t catch feelings for him, right?”

Dom’s sheepish expression told Vince everything he needed to know, confirming all of his fears. “Dom, for Christ’s sake. Yeah, he’s nice, and on rare occasions more upbeat than I imagined he could be, given his usual state. Yes, he’s becoming my friend too. But you’re not using your money for him, right? Letting him crash in your apartment is one thing, but you don’t buy him anything, right?”

Dom felt cornered. Maybe he was a damn fool for thinking he could handle this, but he sure as hell thought he could.

Roman frowned when he caught wind of the situation. “I told you to be careful around him, Dom…”

Dom shrugged, trying to remain composed. “I’ve never touched heroin, and I don’t plan to. I’m just making sure he’s alright.”

He had established that his job was to take care of Brian, which meant being responsible with his money and avoiding any addiction himself. He had limited his intake to a bit of alcohol, never enough to get drunk, ensuring he remained in control.

A part of Roman appreciated that, and he pulled Dom into a hug. “Just don’t get burned too.”

Dom’s life had become intertwined with Brian’s, revolving around him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. At the time, it made sense to him that providing Brian with his doses was a way to make him happy and feel useful. He believed that by consciously avoiding drugs himself and taking care of Brian, he was maturing, stepping into the role of a responsible adult—even if that adult life included criminal activities to fund their existence.

Brian was still working with their crew, paying for most of his needs, which mostly consisted of drugs and a bit of food. He didn’t care much for clothes or anything else, and Dom allowed him to stay without paying rent or bills.

Dom thought this arrangement could last forever. They were doing alright, and every time Brian kissed him after receiving his dose, it felt like validation. It had to mean something, right? It had to mean he was doing things correctly.

There were moments when Brian would experience blissful clarity, and Dom clung to those times, cherishing the laughter and connection they shared.

Mia was worried when she came to visit Dom. She feared her brother might fall into a pit from which he could never climb back out. But Dom always reassured her, insisting he was doing just fine.

Mia liked Brian for the most part, but she disliked the rare times she saw him in withdrawal. During those moments, he became restless, consumed by thoughts of his next fix. It pained Mia to witness that, and when she suggested that it would be better for Brian to rid himself of drugs entirely, Dom felt a cold fear wash over him.

“He can’t,” he insisted. “There’s still time, and it isn’t that bad.”, “Brian is rarely in a bad mood.”, “I don’t want him to go through withdrawal, it’s better this way.”

Dom never even tried to discuss the possibility of quitting with Brian. The thought terrified him, and he pushed it aside, convincing himself that as long as he was there for Brian, everything would be okay. But deep down, he knew that their fragile balance could shatter at any moment.

Dom was terrified that if he tried to make Brian quit heroin, he would lose him for good. The thought of Brian going through withdrawal was unbearable. Dom knew it would be a painful and suffering experience, and if he were the one pushing for it, Brian would likely hate him. He didn’t have the strength to endure that kind of turmoil; they were okay for now, and he wanted to keep it that way.

In his mind, he felt mature and capable of handling the situation indefinitely. But everything changed one day during a heist when they got caught—Dom, Vince, Brian, and two others.

Dom knew it was Brian’s fault. His focus had been off, driven by a craving for bigger doses. He wasn’t as patient as usual, and he messed up his part of the plan. Dom didn’t say anything to anyone, not even to Vince. He trusted that Vince wouldn’t bring it up, knowing he cared about Brian and felt a bit sad for him. But Dom couldn’t shake the anxiety that someone might overhear or that Vince might mention it as a funny story in a few years. A secret was only safe if it was kept by one person.

Brian was so out of it that Dom was certain he wasn’t even aware it was his fault.

They ended up in prison, and Dom was frantic about Brian’s well-being. He paid a substantial amount to ensure they shared a cell, and luckily, his money didn’t go to waste. They separated the other two guys into a different unit, leaving Dom, Vince, and Brian together.

Dom felt a wave of relief wash over him. He didn’t want Brian near anyone else while he was lethargic, unresponsive, and weak.

Soon enough, Dom realized he needed a way to get heroin. That’s when he met Verone. Dom still had some money, and he was willing to engage in any sort of contraband or shady job to secure Brian’s fix.

He felt ashamed, but almost all the money Mia sent him each month went toward Brian’s needs. He meticulously noted every cent, promising himself he would repay her every penny.

As time passed, Dom burned through all his cash and Brian’s, and Mia’s contributions weren’t enough. Thanks to his build, Verone easily found tasks for him to do in exchange for heroin.

Dom didn’t want to get involved in gang wars, but he found himself doing a bit of dirty work for Verone. He quickly realized that the tasks were far from pleasant. Protecting was one thing; killing or inflicting violence was another.

Dom preferred stealing cars and breaking into houses to having blood on his hands, but he wouldn’t stop. As long as Brian needed him to get his fix, he was determined to keep going. Brian’s happiness was all that mattered. The way Brian looked at him, thanking him, made Dom feel like he was Brian’s entire world, fueling his resolve to continue.

Dom never mentioned any of this to Brian, and Brian was often too out of it to notice. He had picked up on Dom’s changes in behavior and new acquaintances, but as long as Dom stayed silent, Brian didn’t pry, too content to receive his gear.

Dom kept pushing forward, trapped in a cycle that tightened around him with each passing day, all for the sake of the one person who meant everything to him.

One day, Dom found himself in a frantic state, desperately trying to hide the evidence of violence while wiping away the blood that stained his hands. It hit him hard then: it had been easier to take care of Brian outside of prison, but inside, the stakes were higher. Each time he ventured into this dangerous world, he feared something terrible would happen, leaving Brian alone and vulnerable.

But he couldn’t give up—he had no other solution.

When he returned to the cell, he found Brian lying on the bed, looking worse than ever. It was the first time he had spent so long without it, and he had thrown up, sweat glistening on his skin.

“Dom… my whole body hurts…” Brian murmured weakly.

“I know, I’ve got it, it’s okay. Just hang in there,” Dom replied, trying to soothe him despite the turmoil in his own mind.

Dom had managed to stay lucky so far, but he knew the risks were mounting. He wanted to believe that if he hadn’t been caught yet, he wouldn’t be. But that’s exactly what he had thought before, and now here they were.

He held Brian tightly, feeling the warmth of his body against his. As the drug kicked in, Brian lifted his head, his eyes momentarily sparkling with life. “Why do you have red stuff on your bracelet? Is that blood...? You’re not putting your life in danger for me, right?”

Dom’s heart broke a little at the question. He hadn’t told Brian anything about the lengths he was going to, and he didn’t plan on starting now. He brushed his fingers through Brian’s hair affectionately. “Of course not, baby. Everything’s fine.”

On the other hand, Vince wasn’t blinded by anything and quickly caught on to Dom’s odd behavior and associations. One day, while Brian dozed off on the bed, Vince turned to Dom, concern etched on his face.

“I get that you have to deal with Verone; I think it’s stupid, but I get it. But what the hell, Dom? What kind of shady business are you getting into? You won’t get out of it alive.”

“I will,” Dom replied, his voice steadier than he felt inside.

“No! For Christ’s sake, Dom, stop acting like this! Don’t you understand? You say you love him, but look at the state he’s in! He’s so disconnected; he’s in permanent danger from everybody here! He can’t defend himself,” Vince snapped, leaning closer to Brian and pushing him a bit too forcefully for Dom’s liking. Brian didn’t react.

“Vince—” Dom started, but Vince shot him a dark look.

Dom winced, feeling the weight of Vince’s words. “I can’t do anything about it. He needs it. I’ll always be here to protect him—”

Vince stood up, placing a hand firmly on Dom’s shoulder. “No, you won’t. Dom, he’s getting worse and worse.”

“He’s not! It’s just harder to get my hands on—”

“He’s asking for more and more over time. You can’t keep up like this. What if one day Mia can’t send you money? We both don’t have anything more outside of here. Or do you want to ask Mia to go dig under your floor? For her money?”

This time, Dom couldn’t hide the doubts and fears creeping into his expression. “I can’t give up on him,” he said, his voice breaking, making Vince’s gaze soften with empathy.

“I know, and that’s not what I’m asking you to do. I don’t want to give up on him either. I may not be as close to him as you are, but I’ve grown to like him too, you know? But you have to make him stop.”

Dom felt a wave of despair wash over him. The thought of taking that step was terrifying. “He can’t—”

“Stop. Stop saying that. Yes, he can. You just have to make the decision.”

Dom shook his head, panic rising within him. “He’s going to hate me—”

“Are you really ready to lose him? And by lose him, I mean something bad happening to him, all just so he doesn't hate you? You need to stop trying to be his savior. For once in your damn life, actually be his savior.”

Dom looked down at the ground, feeling utterly lost. “He’s never going to agree to accept medical help from prison. They can’t do it without his consent—”

“I know. You might be foolish enough to end up in this situation, but I know him just as well as you do. But I’m not talking about him having a choice here—he doesn’t want to get out of it the easy way? Then do it the hard way.”

“Are you crazy? You want him to go through complete withdrawal?”

“Yup. Cold turkey. It’ll last a week—yes, it’s going to be a very painful week for him. But once the effects disappear, you’ll just have to make sure he stays away from it. Have you ever known him not under the influence of heroin or not in withdrawal? If you refuse to step out of his life, then go all in. Make him finally be free from this stupid drug.”

Dom’s heart raced. He didn’t want Brian to stay on heroin forever, but he loved the way Brian looked at him as if he were the only person in the world, as if he were the most important one, whenever he brought him his gear.

But that was unhealthy. Brian’s sparkly eyes were a product of the heroin. If Dom returned empty-handed, that light would fade, and Brian would likely turn away from him. The only thing that mattered to Brian was his drug, no matter how Dom wanted to believe otherwise.

Dom had grown so accustomed to taking care of Brian, or at least that’s how he framed it. The truth was he had become used to providing him with what he wanted. By accepting all of this, Dom only compounded the problem. He wanted Brian to look at him without expecting anything in return.

He had fallen in love with Brian so quickly and naturally that he had never questioned the need to be there for him, to give him what he wanted.

When they were still outside of prison, Brian had often bought his gear himself. What Brian wanted from Dom was simple: to spend time together, talk about cars—at least as much as his mind could manage—and enjoy life’s little moments, despite his often-foggy focus.

Now, Dom felt like nothing more than a provider for Brian’s needs, and those needs didn’t include him.

The realization hit him hard. He couldn’t continue this way, trapped in a cycle where Brian’s happiness was tied solely to the drugs. If Dom wanted to be truly there for Brian, he had to make the hardest choice of all: to take away the very thing that still made him useful to Brian.

But the thought filled him with dread. What if Brian hated him? What if he pushed him away for good? The fear of losing Brian, of watching him suffer, weighed heavily on Dom’s heart.

He felt a profound need for Brian, a dependency that sometimes felt as intense as Brian's need for heroin. By giving Brian what he wanted, Dom felt useful, like he deserved his love and attention.

But now, as he looked at Brian, completely out of it, the weight of Vince's words pressed heavily on his mind. Dom loved Brian, and if that meant doing what was best for him—even if it meant Brian would hate him, and Dom would feel crushed by that rejection—then he had to act. It was time to confront the truth he had been postponing due to fear.

He agreed with Vince; he had taken the easy route for too long.

A few hours later, when Brian looked at him expectantly, Dom gently caressed his hair. Brian's eyes darted between Dom’s face and his hands, waiting for the familiar dose.

“Bri, I think you should stop,” Dom said, bracing himself for the backlash.

Brian blinked slowly, confusion clouding his features. “Stop what…?”

“Don’t you want to be free again? Finally have your mind clear—”

Brian’s expression shifted as he processed Dom's words. In a sudden burst of frustration, he struck Dom’s torso with his hand. “Don’t joke about that! Give me my gear! Dom!”

“I don’t have any,” Dom replied, his heart racing.

Brian's eyes widened in panic. “Wh—How could you—”

“Bri—”

But Brian had already lost interest in what Dom was trying to say and began to lift himself from the bed, groggy but determined to find Verone.

Dom caught his arm. “Brian. The medical staff can help you. They’ll give you substitutes—”

Brian wrenched his arm away, losing his balance. Dom caught him before he fell, but Brian shoved him back again.

“I don’t want your stupid methadone!! I don’t trust them!! I won’t allow them to kill me!”

“Brian, they won’t—”

“Yes, they will!! And I don’t trust you anymore, you traitor! You all want to get rid of me! I’ll get whatever I want by myself!”

“No, you won’t.” Dom firmly shoved Brian back onto the bed.

Using his strength, which had often helped him in confrontations, Dom found it easy to restrain Brian in his weakened state. But Brian’s panic escalated, and he began to scream, feeling trapped. “I hate you!”

Brian’s eyes were wild with fear and resentment, and Dom closed his eyes, trying to hold back his tears. “I promise you it will be okay soon…”

“How can it be okay…?” Brian's voice broke, and Dom could hear the sobs starting to escape, and he felt his heart shatter at Brian’s pain.

Desperate to comfort him, Dom reached out to touch Brian's shoulder, but Brian instinctively pushed him away once again.

Brian didn’t sleep that night, turning restlessly, filled with anger, tears, and sweat. He refused Dom’s help, pushing him away every time Dom tried to approach. When Dom had thought Brian was choking, he reached out, but Brian avoided him, eventually collapsing in the corner of the room instead of returning to the bed. Dom settled on the ground beside him, feeling helpless.

By morning, Brian was violently vomiting, unable to stop even when his stomach was empty. His body was fighting against him, and he didn’t even make it to the toilet, feeling dizzy and on the verge of passing out. Dom worried about Brian becoming severely dehydrated, with all the sweating and the rejection of everything.

“Get away from me, you asshole! I fucking hate you!” Brian screamed as Dom approached with water.

After yet another round of heaving, Brian finally turned to Dom, desperation in his eyes, and Dom approached slowly. Brian tried to gulp down water, but Dom made him take small sips, knowing how fragile he was. Brian shivered uncontrollably, and Dom held the paper cup steady for him, wishing he could do more.

Everything Brian touched seemed to hurt him. He spent the full day acting erratically, trying to escape the discomfort of his own body.

As the second day dawned, a CO arrived at their cell, and Brian immediately panicked, fearing they would take him away. The CO had to report on Brian’s condition to the medical staff, but Brian’s instinct was to scream at them, refusing to let them near him.

“We’ll manage,” Dom said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. It was a phrase he had repeated often recently, but it felt increasingly hollow.

The next day, the CO and medical staff returned for another assessment. Brian broke down in tears.

“It’s just a health assessment, Mr. O’Conner. I know you hate being monitored, but remember, you’ve done this before. Nothing bad happened. We just need to check on you.”

Dom watched Brian disappear, anxiety gnawing at him. A part of him hoped the medical staff would convince Brian because they would manage his withdrawal better than Dom could. They would do it slowly and carefully. But he also knew they couldn’t force Brian if he refused.

When Brian returned, he crawled under the blanket, ignoring Dom completely for the rest of the evening. Dom wanted to be there for him, to reassure him that the worst would soon pass. The peak of withdrawal would be over soon, and while cravings would linger, the physical dependence would start to fade.

With Vince’s help, they kept a watchful eye on Brian. They did what they could to support him during this difficult time, hoping that their presence could offer at least a little comfort.

But of course, just like a child who wanders off when you look away for a second, Brian disappeared when Dom was momentarily distracted by another inmate. Dom knew exactly where to find him and quickly caught up, discovering Brian begging Verone in his cell.

“I need it, give me some! I’ll do whatever Dom was doing in exchange, just give me—”

Dom rushed over, grabbing Brian’s arm to pull him up. “Brian, I beg you, it won't last long before you feel okay again—”

“I won't last long, you mean!” Brian shouted, pushing Dom away and turning back to Verone. Dom tightened his grip on Brian's wrist, determined not to let him slip away again.

“I swear to God, if you give him anything, if he gets his hands on any drugs, you’re declaring war,” Dom warned Verone, his voice low and menacing.

Verone remained unfazed. “I can’t control every drug circulating around here. People are free to do what they want.”

“Then spread the word. Tell your minions and buyers—I don’t care. The one who gives him anything is a dead man.”

Brian struggled to break free. “I fucking hate you! I need it, Dom, I need—” His voice cracked, and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Dom pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling Brian's desperation radiate off him. “Stop trying to control me! I’m not your slave!” Brian protested, his voice broken.

“No, you're not. You're your addiction's slave, and that’s the only thing truly controlling you. I know it’s hard, but you lived without it before, so you can do it again.”

Verone smirked, watching the scene unfold. “You were a good client, what happened? Bored of seeing him lifeless?”

Dom shot him a furious glare, but Verone raised a hand in a gesture of peace. “Hey, you do you. But remember, an addict will always find a way. If you really don’t want him to touch anything, don’t let him wander around.”

Dom winced. “It won’t happen again,” He finally replied, leading Brian back to their cell with a firm grip.

Dom was aware of the rumors swirling around them—some close to the truth, like how Brian had always been an addict and Dom had been a blind fool losing money on him. Others were more hurtful, claiming Dom was giving Brian drugs on purpose to maintain control over him. Some even suggested it was Dom who forced the drugs into Brian’s system. He had to bite his tongue, resisting the urge to lash out at those who spread such lies, knowing that a fight would only land him in solitary, leaving Brian all alone.

But he made a mental note of their faces. Someday, without witnesses, he would settle the score. He had never claimed to be a good guy, after all.

Once back in their cell, Dom felt a flicker of hope as he noticed Brian seemed more compliant. That hope was quickly dashed when Brian suddenly bit down hard on Dom’s shoulder, forcing him to release his grip.

“Fuck, Bri!” Dom exclaimed, letting him go as Brian crawled onto the bed.

“I feel like I'm going crazy... It hurts everywhere, my brain is killing me, I feel so bad…” Brian’s voice trembled, his body shaking.

“We can still go to the prison’s medical center—” Dom started, trying to offer a solution.

“I don’t trust them…”

“They’re here to help you—”

“I don’t want help… Just leave me alone… I just want to die…”

Dom closed his eyes, feeling the weight of despair settle in his chest. When he opened them again, he lay down behind Brian on the bed, bracing for the usual push away. But when Brian didn’t move, Dom took the chance to wrap his arm around him, holding him tightly.

“Hold on a bit longer. It won't last long, I promise. You’re almost through the worst of it. Think about how free you’ll be in a few days. I know it’s hard, but we couldn’t continue like this. You would have ended up miserable... And I want to see you healthy… I love you...”

“I hate you,” Brian replied, his voice steady and unwavering, sending a jolt through Dom’s heart.

“I know...” Dom answered, feeling a lump form in his throat. “Come on, try to sleep a bit.”

Brian’s body was feverish, drenched in cold sweat, and Dom couldn’t help but wonder how he had managed to wander so far from their cell. He knew, given how Brian felt physically and mentally, that sleep wouldn’t come easily.

But he had allowed Dom to hold him, and despite his own exhaustion, the warmth of Brian in his arms gave him the strength to keep going.

Days passed, and with Vince’s help, they managed to keep a close watch on Brian throughout the week. Now, on the tenth day, the withdrawal symptoms had almost completely subsided, but they both knew the battle was far from over.

Dom sat on the bed with Brian asleep in his arms. It had been hard for Brian to find rest, but after those grueling days, his anxiety and mood swings had begun to settle, allowing him to finally sleep soundly.

Vince joined them, sitting nearby. “You know it won’t be easy, right? We’ll have to make sure nothing triggers his cravings. No stress, no emotionally charged situations, nothing that could set him off.”

“I’ll stay with him. I’ll do anything to reduce the risk of relapse.” Dom kissed the top of Brian’s head, feeling a surge of determination.

“It won't be easy here. He knows where the drugs are, and he’ll see them right in front of him. This place is too small.”

“Yeah, well, it was your idea to help him through this here. So you’d better watch over him too.”

Vince rolled his eyes. “And I will, but this wouldn’t have happened if you had tried to make him stop earlier. Both Mia and I told you it was obvious Brian wouldn’t try that on his own, and that you had to make him. It was the best solution, just not the best timing. But we’ll manage.”

“We will. Once we’re out of here, we can’t go back to our previous place. And by that, I mean town,” Dom said, his tone serious.

“You want to turn the page on our past?” Vince asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to come if you’d rather stay in LA. But I can’t let Brian see Tej again; I can’t take that chance…”

“Hey, I’m all for new beginnings. What would you do without me, anyway? You think you’re so mature, but you’re mostly just blessed that Mia’s your sister and I’m the best best friend you could ever have asked for.”

Dom smirked, wanting to tease him, but then his smile softened into something more genuine. Vince was right, after all. “Thank you. I don’t know if I would have had the strength without you.”

“No prob. You know what would be nice for him? A routine or something. Like a coping strategy, rules to obey—whatever keeps him occupied. There’s not much to do in prison, but we could go outside in the morning, work a bit, make him play. I was used to his sun-kissed skin, but he looks like Tim Burton’s skeleton thingy now.”

Dom chuckled. “Yeah. It feels like he hasn’t seen the sun in a year. We’ll also go to the library, give him a quota to read and everything.”

Vince nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. You’ll see, we’ll manage just fine. Then, we’ll get the hell out of here and find the most pleasant little town in the whole States where they don’t even know what heroin is.”

“Somewhere in Utah, right?” Dom asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

Vince smirked. “Somewhere in Utah. There are beautiful sights to visit, too.”

“Brian will miss the ocean, though.”

“Meh, a lake is like a small ocean… if you squint enough, I guess?” Vince quipped.

Dom scoffed, shaking his head. It was time for Vince to head back to his cell; the day was winding down, and sleep was on the horizon.

Dom carefully tried to lay Brian down without waking him. But as he shifted, Brian slowly blinked and stirred. Dom gently placed him on the pillow and then lay down close to him, caressing his hair to help him drift back to sleep. After a few more blinks, Brian turned toward him and snuggled in, ready to fall back asleep. Dom smiled, warmth flooding his heart.

Brian's first moments of clarity without pain were a joy for Dom to witness. His cravings were weaker now, the physical pain gone, and his anxiety had dissipated. Slowly but surely, his mind was clearing up. Still tired from everything he’d been through, he craved comfort more than anything.

He wasn’t talking much yet, still adjusting to life around him. It felt like discovering a whole new world—he recognized the other inmates, but he only really knew Dom and Vince. He could spot those who had supplied Dom with heroin and a few others whose cells were nearby, but he didn’t remember their names. He had never cared enough to remember.

Sometimes his cravings hit hard. At first, he thought about hiding them, crawling under the blanket, feeling ashamed and alone. But Dom quickly noticed and came to him.

"I’ll always be here when you need me. If you ever feel like using, just come to me," Dom said in his most reassuring voice, gently stroking Brian's cheek over and over until Brian finally drifted off to sleep.

It became a habit for Brian—whenever his cravings threatened to take control, he would seek out Dom's comfort.

Dom had always known Brian to be easy-going, docile, and avoiding conflict. Sometimes he had seemed apathetic; other times, anxious and stressed. But as the days went by, the drug no longer overshadowed his personality, and Brian was emerging from the haze that had consumed him for so long, slowly revealing a side of himself that felt more lively, spontaneous, and curious. Most of his clumsiness had faded—he was still less careful than someone like Dom, but he was now aware of his surroundings, and it showed.

He was expressing a wider range of emotions than the Brian Dom had always known. His laid-back attitude, easy smiles, and genuine kindness hadn’t changed, but he was more talkative, sharing thoughts and opinions that flowed effortlessly, and he was truly listening—his open-mindedness and accommodating nature weren’t due to drowsiness or disinterest, like before, but because that was who he truly was. Dom remembered what Roman had said about the real Brian being chill, and it seemed Roman had been right.

Brian was no longer a shadow of himself, and Dom adored seeing him become so vibrant. This was a Brian that Dom could imagine driving and racing, and the thought excited him. He could picture Brian behind the wheel, finally rid of the weight that the drug had always imposed on him. The idea of Brian embracing life fully filled Dom with joy.

As the second week came to a close, Dom and Vince had established a routine. At first, Brian approached it with reluctance, uneasy about confronting the world so quickly. But he had begun to enjoy their time outside, borrowing books to read under the sun while Dom sat on the grass nearby.

Today, Dom had brought a book too but found himself restless. He glanced over at Brian, who was engrossed in a novel, and Dom couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“Dom, go play basketball,” Brian said with an amused tone, noticing Dom's fidgeting.

Dom straightened his back, trying to focus on the same page he’d been reading for the last fifteen minutes. “No, I’m good.”

“I can see you’re not really into that book,” Brian urged, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Dom hesitated, glancing between the court and Brian. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Brian chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I’ll be right here, and I promise I won’t disappear. If you want, I can just go right behind the basket, so I’ll always be in your line of sight. And look at Vince—he desperately needs your help, doesn’t he?”

Dom glanced over at Vince’s team. He didn’t know the exact score, but with one side looking proud and Vince’s team appearing exhausted, it was clear that Vince needed some reinforcements.

Seeing the envy flicker in Dom’s eyes, Brian stood up and stretched. “It’s decided, then. Come on.”

Brian extended his hand toward Dom, encouraging him to take it, and helped him rise. Brian then moved closer and kissed Dom on the cheek. “Go have fun.”

It might have seemed like a simple gesture, but Dom cherished seeing Brian do these small things—gestures that proved he still valued their connection.

Reluctantly, Dom joined the game, glancing back at Brian to see if he was still reading. Maybe he wouldn’t be Vince’s savior for the day, but as the minutes passed and Brian remained engrossed in his book, Dom grew more confident on the court.

When the game finally ended, they didn’t win, but the result was better than it would have been if he hadn’t joined. Brian lay on the grass, still reading. Dom plopped down next to him, feeling a rush of warmth as Brian closed his book to give him his full attention.

In that moment, Dom’s heart skipped a beat. The way Brian looked at him, the shift in his expression—there was something genuinely beautiful about it. It reminded Dom of everything he had fought for, everything they had both endured.

“Hey,” Brian said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You lost, but you did good out there.”

Dom chuckled, feeling a mix of pride and affection. As they lay there, side by side under the sun, he felt happier than ever.

In the days that followed, they managed to coax Brian into playing a bit, but he still felt awkward around the other inmates. Without the drugs to hide behind, he was just Brian—vulnerable and exposed, struggling to connect with people he barely knew. He felt out of place, less confident, especially as he watched how easily Vince and Dom interacted with everyone around them.

Overwhelmed, Brian often retreated into books, seeking solace in their pages rather than risking social interactions. He hoped that one day he would feel comfortable enough to act nonchalantly around others, but for now, the only two people he felt at ease with were Dom and Vince.

Dom cherished how open and natural Brian was with him, how he would recount the plots of the books he read each night. Hearing him speak, watching his thoughts connect and flow, was a joy. Brian’s storytelling had transformed; he could now share intricate details and make narratives coherent, something he had struggled to do when his mind was clouded by drugs.

In the past, when they watched movies together, Dom often found himself lost in Brian’s unstructured thoughts, as if he had seen another movie in parallel. But now, with Brian’s mind clear, he could listen to him weave stories for hours.

As the days passed, Brian’s laughter grew louder, his smiles wider, and his eyes sparkled even more with life. He engaged passionately in conversations about anything with Vince and Dom, bringing back the essence of who he truly was.

Yet, as much as Dom delighted in this change, he couldn’t shake a nagging worry. What if this newfound clarity made him find Dom dull or question why he was even with him? Maybe he had only been useful to the old Brian, not to this one. Brian might open his eyes and consider Dom like someone he had no interest in, and Dom would have to watch him go, watch him leave him behind to take his life in his hands, a limitless horizon in front of him.

Dom had no idea what his life would become without Brian. It had always been about him—only him. He barely remembered life before him.

But Brian hugged Dom easily, initiating contact far more than he ever had while using. Dom had always been the one to offer comfort; now he was so happy to see Brian doing the same so naturally.

One day, Brian noticed the turmoil brewing within Dom. He surprised him by coming up from behind and resting his chin on Dom’s shoulder. “What’s happening?”

Dom grimaced. “It’s, um—”

Brian pulled back slightly, giving Dom the space to decide whether he wanted to talk about it. His big eyes, so focused and so alive, locked onto Dom with a gentle intensity. There was an openness in Brian's gaze, a willingness to listen and understand, and Dom felt compelled to talk.

“I’m not holding you back, right? If you want to do your own things without me in your way, you can. I haven’t freed you from a controlling drug only to trap you again. I want what’s best for you, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to stay with me out of obligation.”

Even Dom cringed at his words, unable to meet Brian’s gaze. He sensed Brian getting closer, then Brian took both of his hands. “We haven’t discussed that yet… But… I’m sorry for what I said during withdrawal. I don’t remember everything; a lot of it is pretty blurred, not gonna lie, but I remember your expression. I know I said things that hurt you.”

Dom shook his head. “No, it’s okay. We’d all have acted the same way in those circumstances.”

Brian smiled gently. “The other thing is… I may not have been really receptive or present enough during those two years outside of prison, but even with a foggy brain, I could still tell what kind of person you were. I always felt safe and happy around you. I trusted you quickly, and my instincts were right—you never proved me wrong. Frankly, you should have given up on me a long time ago.”

Dom let go of one of Brian’s hands and cupped his cheek. “How could I ever do that? I love you,” he said, his voice genuine and steady. Brian felt his heart melt at the sincerity.

“I know. I love you too.”

In that moment, all of Dom’s doubts began to fade.

This time felt different from all the previous moments when Brian had said those words. He had always uttered them after Dom had given him a dose, and perhaps that connection had been anchored in Dom’s mind—associating the act of giving with the reward of those three little words.

But right now, it felt real. There was nothing Dom had given in exchange for them, nothing he had done to earn them, except for simply being who he was.

Brian got closer and kissed Dom, a soft yet powerful gesture that felt like everything would finally be alright. Dom hadn’t dared to kiss him in so long. During Brian’s withdrawal, he had pushed Dom away, and afterward, Dom had stayed near, watching over him while trying to let him rediscover what it meant to be alive.

Brian had initiated a few tender kisses on Dom's cheek, but Dom never dared to reciprocate. But this kiss felt like permission to love Brian freely, and as the warmth of Brian’s lips lingered on his, Dom felt a rush of emotions—relief, joy, and a profound sense of belonging, solidifying his place in Brian’s life.

Days passed, and Dom adjusted to playing basketball with Vince and other inmates, no longer fearing that Brian would run away. While Brian still often retreated into his books, he was gradually becoming more comfortable joining in on the games.

Life felt like a breath of fresh air. Dom cherished every moment spent outside, playing under the sun and watching Brian, lost in his book, whose hair shimmered in the light, making him appear almost surreal.

They continued this routine until one day, Dom lifted his gaze and noticed that Brian had vanished. Panic surged through him.

Brian had experienced cravings before, and Dom had always been there to comfort him, helping him manage his anxiety. The fight against addiction wasn’t over, but Dom trusted Brian to come to him before doing anything stupid.

He must just be in the bathroom, just like last time, Dom reasoned. Maybe he told me, but I wasn’t paying attention, too focused on playing. He’ll be back in a minute.

It wasn't the first time Brian had stepped away for a few minutes while Dom was playing—though it was still a recent development. Dom had always worried but purposefully never said anything to Brian when he returned, fearing that it might upset him or make him feel cornered.

Brian had always come back, and each time, Dom felt a wave of relief wash over him. But now, as two more minutes passed with no sign of Brian, unease settled deeper in Dom's chest.

Vince approached Dom, excusing himself from the game, too. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Dom murmured, his voice barely audible, choked by the lump in his throat.

“Let’s go find him. Maybe he’s just in the bathroom. You check there, and I’ll go to Verone’s cell just in case,” Vince said with a firm voice.

Dom nodded, unable to trust his voice. He searched through every restroom in the area, his heart racing with each passing second. The worry gnawed at him, escalating with every empty stall he checked.

When he finally found Brian, his expression turned blank.

Brian was sitting on the stall’s ground, his back against the cool tiles. The clarity that had been slowly returning to him was gone, replaced by a familiar fog that Dom recognized all too well.

Brian looked up, his eyes now reflecting a mix of confusion and despair.

“Bri—Fuck! Why did you do this?! How could you do this? Why didn’t you come to me?! Why are you fucking everything up?! What, you liked going through withdrawal? You want to do that again? You know what? I don’t even want to talk about this right now.”

Dom turned to leave the stall, but Brian reached out, trying to catch his hand. His movements were slow and disoriented. “No—e…” he managed, his voice short and scared.

Dom was furious. He pushed Brian’s hand away, his eyes dark. “I don’t care about your excuses.”

Brian shook his head slowly, gasping for breath. “Th—n...”

“And you're slurring like crazy! Christ, it’s like it’s even worse than before. I don't want to see you for now.”

Dom began to walk away.

“Wa—” Brian’s voice trailed off.

Dom hesitated, torn between anger and concern. Brian seemed in a worst state than usual, but the weight of betrayal pressed heavily on Dom's chest. He wanted to turn back, to comfort him, to understand why this was happening, but the thought of Brian’s choices—the pain of it all—made it hard to breathe.

He left the bathroom, ignoring Brian's desperate call. He felt like punching every wall in sight. He could find the guy Brian had gone to; that would make for a perfect punching bag.

Vince spotted him and frowned at the look on Dom's face. “Don’t tell me he’s—”

“Yes!” Dom snapped, his voice tight with frustration.

“And you left him?” Vince's brow furrowed deeper.

Dom turned away, ashamed. “I just couldn’t stay there… God, seeing him like that is just… Fuck, Vince, we have to go through all of this again! I can’t watch him every second of his life in prison. I just can’t! And I can’t put you through that for damn years!”

Vince placed a comforting hand on Dom’s shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll find a way.”

Dom buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed. “How? I’m so sorry for dragging you into all of this…”

Vince shrugged. “Babysitting isn’t my favorite activity, that’s true. But maybe we could convince him to get help from the medical center this time? They’ll keep him longer. I mean, he had seemed to try to avoid relapsing for a while, so there’s still hope, you know?”

Desperation clawed at Dom as he tried to consider solutions. They sat outside for a few minutes, but Dom could no longer enjoy the sun. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world.

He just didn’t want to see Brian right now, but guilt gnawed at his heart. It wasn’t just about what he wanted. I can’t leave him there, he thought. “I’ll bring him back to the cell, and I’ll convince him to get some help.”

They both stood up, a sense of determination fueling their steps. But as they moved through the corridors, a commotion caught their attention. One of the guys near Dom’s cell saw him and approached, giving him a sad look.

“Dom, your boy… I heard he overdosed. They just brought him to the medical center. I thought he had stopped using? My roommate stopped for two months, and when he went back to it, he took his usual dose and overdosed because his body wasn’t used to that amount anymore… It’s not uncommon, unfortunately…”

Dom felt his heart drop, his stomach twisting as nausea washed over him. Everything slowed down, and he barely registered what was happening. The next thing he knew, he was sitting against the wall, feeling like his head was about to explode.

When Vince tried to catch his attention, Dom barely looked at him, lost in his own turmoil.

“I... I don’t even remember what I said to him before I left. My last words—I was so angry. I screamed at him and just walked away. But I’ve seen him take his dose so many times, and he never had trouble talking before. Maybe he sensed something was wrong, maybe he asked me for help, and I left! I left him behind, turned my back on him when he trusted me—”

Dom's voice cracked, the weight of guilt and fear suffocating him. The thought of Brian alone in that state, looking at Dom leaving him behind felt like a dagger to his heart.

Vince couldn’t handle it anymore. “Dom. Enough.”

Dom buried his face between his arms, and Vince heard the unmistakable sound of his sobs. It was a rare sight; Dom never cried in public. Vince crouched in front of him, but aside from wrapping his arms around him, there was little he could do. Seeing Dom lose it made Vince want to cry too, but that would be the last thing Dom needed.

So, Vince stood up and rushed toward the crowd gathered in front of the doors where Brian had been taken. Whispers floated through the air, and he approached the two guards stationed there.

“Was he breathing? Is he—” Vince couldn’t bring himself to say the word ‘dead’, so he changed his question. “—gonna be okay? Who found him?”

One of the guards shrugged. “I don’t know. They just brought him in.”

The other guard had no more information.

Another inmate stepped closer to Vince. “I found him.”

Vince opened his mouth, but the inmate quickly continued.

“He was coming out of the bathroom, but none of the words he said made any sense. It was like he couldn’t articulate anything anymore. He had trouble walking before he lost consciousness. I was there when the medical team arrived. He was still breathing—well, they said it was very shallow, like fourteen breaths per minute or something? They were bringing him in to administer naloxone, to reverse the effects of the overdose, and oxygen support.”

“Alright. Okay. Not dead. Thank you, thank you very much,” Vince replied, feeling relieved.

The inmate smiled sympathetically. “Good luck.”

Vince returned to find Dom sitting against the wall, motionless.

“Dom. Dom, he’s breathing,” Vince said, cringing internally. He didn’t know if Brian was still breathing at that moment. What if he was giving false hope to Dom?

Dom lifted his eyes to meet Vince’s, and Vince quickly looked away, unable to hold his gaze. Hope was the only thing they could cling to for now. “They brought him in. He’s not dead; they’re helping him.”

He tried to maintain a facade of calm, knowing how much Dom needed that reassurance.

Dom closed his eyes. He leaned his head against the wall behind him. Vince sat close, feeling the tension in the air. He didn’t dare voice the thought that maybe this would be the wake-up call Brian needed—a significant enough trigger to prevent him from trying again. It might give the medical center a reason to put him through withdrawal, and perhaps that was the best possible outcome—unless he wasn’t breathing anymore. Vince pushed that thought away.

Time seemed to stretch as they sat there, lost in their own worries. After what felt like hours, Dom rose abruptly. “I need to see him.”

Vince caught his hand, stopping him. “You can’t. We’re not allowed to visit. We may not even be able to get any news about his condition.”

“Maybe if I break down their damn door, they’ll give me some news,” Dom spat, venom lacing his tone.

“No, they’ll throw you in solitary, and you’ll lose any chance of getting updates at all.”

“Alright, I’ll ask politely, then—”

“Or you don’t talk, and I’ll do the talking,” Vince interrupted, his voice firm.

Dom glared at him for a moment, but the fight slowly ebbed from his expression.

It was ironic because usually, Vince would be the last person picked to do the talking. His short temper wasn’t his best quality, but right now, it felt safer to have him in charge than to let Dom take the lead.

Of course, there was no news for another two hours, until a guard—someone who had known the three of them for a long time—went to fetch information.

“He’s been transferred to an external hospital. Last I heard, he’s regained consciousness. They said he was found quickly, which probably saved him. They did blood tests, but there’s still more time to wait for the results.”

Dom nodded along, absorbing every word.

Vince furrowed his brow. “Blood test? What for? It was heroin.”

The guard shrugged. “Yeah, that’s what they concluded too. But I heard they’re running other tests to establish the quantity. The doctor is in contact with the external hospital; I’ll tell you more when I know more.”

“Thank you, thank you so much,” Dom said, feeling overwhelming gratitude. He knew nobody had to share this information with them.

They waited again, and the door finally opened an hour later, revealing the doctor. “Mr. Toretto, can you come with me to my office?”

Dom jumped to his feet and followed her, a CO staying close by. The doctor asked multiple questions about Brian’s recent conditions and changes.

“Yes, he was off. I understand there were big chances of relapses, but it’s been a month now, and he had held on until then. Maybe— I don’t know, maybe it got too strong and he couldn’t resist this time. But when it happened before, he always came to me.”

“You said he wasn’t exactly consenting for the withdrawal, right?” the doctor pressed.

Dom grimaced, the guilt twisting in his stomach. Morally, or even legally, what he had done was dubious. He didn’t care if he faced legal ramifications for coercion. “Yes. He was taking more and more, and it was becoming dangerous for him, and I just…”

“You can talk; it’s okay. I need as much information as I can,” the doctor said, her voice devoid of any judgment.

“I should have made him quit a long time ago. I was just being a coward, I felt like it was easier to keep going, and that I always would be able to provide him for what he needed.”

The doctor nodded, glancing back at her notes. “But despite his first lack of consent, he actively tried to stay sober since then, reaching out to you whenever the cravings became too strong. Did he express any suicidal thoughts?”

“Well, yes, during the withdrawal—”

“No, sorry, I meant after that. Users of heroin often face psychological troubles or issues they have a hard time dealing with. But since he stopped, what seemed to be his mental state? Do you think he might have wanted to commit suicide?”

Dom blinked, the question hitting him hard. “No.” He tried to think harder. “I don’t know, but he began reading a lot and seemed very happy to have his mind clear. I mean, it hadn’t happened for years. It was like he was learning how much he enjoyed things again. It was actually going better than I thought it would. You should have seen him,” Dom said with a small smile. “He was so talkative and happy to tell me about the books he read.”

The doctor nodded once more. “It seems to correlate with how many books he had rented recently. I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Toretto. I have received news about the quantity he injected, and it was far too much for his system.”

Dom nodded, his heart sinking. “Yes, another inmate told me it often happened that their previous dose became too much after a withdrawal.”

The doctor pinched her lips. “I don’t think it was his usual dose. You’ve been with him for a long time, and as I understand, you were the one acquiring it. So you probably have a clear idea of how much he was taking?”

“Yeah, fifty milligrams.”

“Which confirms my suspicions and the hospital’s findings. The results have arrived, and he was found with ninety-eight milligrams.”

Dom’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s impossible! He would’ve never done that.”

“Which is why I was asking you about any signs of suicidal thoughts. I do not think a user would consciously double their dose without a clear objective in mind. Of course, it can happen that, out of craving, a bigger dose becomes appealing. But Mr. O’Conner regained consciousness and said someone forced the drug in him, which is why I needed corroborating information. The cameras are being reviewed, and we’re investigating if that could be the truth. It’s not unusual for relapsing patients to lie, out of shame for what they’ve done.”

Dom felt a surge of anger. Forced? “Do we know by whom?”

The doctor straightened her back. “As I said, they are looking into it right now. But you have to understand that we cannot disclose that information. Plus, the cameras will only confirm that the man Mr. O’Conner accused entered the bathroom—but we don’t know what happened there. The dose was suspicious, indicating that Mr. O’Conner might be telling the truth, but there won’t be any proof, as I doubt the other man will reveal anything beyond having given the heroin to Mr. O’Conner and leaving.”

“You mean someone tried to kill him, and he won’t face repercussions?” Dom’s tone was cold, tinged with disbelief.

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Toretto. But what matters most to you: your friend’s life or revenge?”

The ultimatum hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Of course, the answer was obvious, but Dom didn’t see a reason he couldn’t have both.

He nodded. “Do you think he’s going to be okay?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor met his gaze, her expression serious yet compassionate. “We’re doing everything we can. He agreed to undergo medication-assisted treatment, and his recovery will depend on how he responds to it. It’s a long road, but there’s always hope—especially since he succeeded once before. It will be easier this time; it will happen slowly, and he only took one dose, so his body will adjust to withdrawal more quickly.”

Dom nodded once again, then left the room.

He went to look for Vince, but he wasn’t in his cell. When he returned to his own, the sight of it only deepened his sadness—it reminded him too much of Brian.

“Dom!”

He turned to see Vince rushing toward him.

“I know what happened. Well—I don’t know exactly, but it’s Verone’s man, Enrique, I believe—or maybe the other one; I can never keep them straight. When you disappeared with the doctor, I went back close to their cell. I mean, you said Verone kind of agreed not to sell anything to Brian anymore, but the gear had to come from somewhere, right? If you want something, he’s the guy. Anyway, I wanted to investigate a bit, and I didn’t have to wait long. Verone was pissed at Enrique. From what I gathered, Verone never thought Brian would actually hold on, and the plan was to get him addicted again because he was a committed client, and you were useful. But Enrique gave him too much.”

Dom’s fists clenched. “Alright. Well, Enrique, Roberto, Verone—whoever, they’re dead.”

“Dom, if you get caught, Brian’s left alone. I can try to ask to be the one transferred to his cell, but I’ll have a hard time keeping him in line by myself. If he relapses, I won’t be able to do your job.”

“He won’t relapse.”

“He might, if you’re not here with him. I’m his friend too, but I’m not you.”

“But if I don’t do anything, they’ll do it again. I can’t take that risk either.”

Vince sighed. “Alright. Well, I can’t let you do that alone—”

“Yes, you can. Whatever you say, the both of you have to stay safe. I’ve done worse to get Brian’s dose. I’ve worked for Verone; I know what he’s capable of, and I won’t let him get close to Brian ever again.”

“But you can’t do that alone—”

“Don’t worry. I won’t be.”

Dom had spent enough time in prison to make friends and learn who owed debts to whom, who held grudges against whom. He knew exactly who to ask for help.

A few days later, Dom was warned by a guard that Brian had returned to prison. The hospital had handled the withdrawal, but once stabilized, the prison’s medical staff was taking over.

When Brian was released from the medical center a month and a half later, neither Enrique, Roberto, nor Verone were breathing anymore. Despite the large suspicion surrounding Dom, authorities had failed to find any incriminating evidence against him or anyone else.

Dom might have stirred up big problems by killing Verone, but he didn’t care. Another top dog would take the job, and that was it—nobody would remember Verone in a few months.

Brian had heard the whispers. He knew it was Dom; it couldn’t be a coincidence. He had spent most of his time in prison disconnected from reality, indifferent to anything beyond his immediate surroundings, but he had taken the time during his recovery to connect the dots about everything Dom had likely done for him over the past year.

He had accepted and followed all the procedures they laid out for him. Never had he imagined he would have to talk so much to a counselor, but therapy sessions were deemed crucial for his psychological recovery—especially since he hadn’t willingly taken that last dose and had almost died because of it.

When Brian finally returned to Dom, time had dragged on unbearably for Dom. They had never been apart for more than six or seven hours in the last three years. Dom felt like he was going crazy, but the moment his eyes landed on Brian at the entrance of the cell, everything else faded away.

He jumped from his chair and rushed toward Brian, who greeted him with a big smile and leaped into his arms.

Dom showered him with kisses—on his jaw, cheek, temple—any accessible part he could reach while holding him tightly. Brian giggled, nuzzling into Dom’s neck, and for that brief moment, all the fears and guilt of the past month and a half melted away.

But it quickly crawled back.

“God, I missed you, I was so scared,” Dom whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “And I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t stay with you. I left you behind; I didn’t listen to you—”

Brian kissed him to silence the flood of apologies, knowing full well that Dom wouldn’t stop even if he begged him to.

Dom lost himself in the kiss, his hand resting on Brian’s neck, afraid to move. If he lost contact with Brian’s skin, he feared he might disappear again. But the warmth radiating from him confirmed that he was alive.

After a moment, Brian broke the kiss and opened his eyes, prompting Dom to do the same.

“I promise you I won’t use again,” Brian said earnestly.

Dom shook his head, resting his forehead against Brian’s. “No matter what happens, even if you relapse, we’ll always find a solution,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “We’ll find a way back to each other.”

Brian looked up, his eyes filled with love, and Dom pressed on. “And if, one day, you were to leave me behind forever, I would follow you.”

Dom knew Mia would manage just fine without him; she always had, being the smartest of them all. Vince would be okay too; he was a real jack of all trades.

A flicker of understanding passed between them, a silent promise hanging in the air. “You won’t ever have to,” Brian said, his voice softening as he leaned in, pressing his lips against Dom’s.

“I’m so sorry…” Dom said softly against his lips. He had left Brian alone, probably desperate and frightened, feeling like life was slipping away from him.

Brian’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “It’s okay. You know, the only thing I was scared of wasn’t dying, in the end. It was that you would be so disappointed in me. I was terrified I’d die with you thinking I gave up, that I didn’t care about you.”

Dom’s grip tightened even more. He had tried to push away those very thoughts when he left the bathroom, knowing that an addict’s cravings often overshadowed everything else. But he had been devastated to think he hadn’t been enough for Brian to keep fighting, even if it was a selfish thought.

Every instinct had screamed that something was wrong, yet Dom had been blinded by his own fears. He was the one who had given up in that moment, and he would never forgive himself for that.

“They can’t ever do anything to you anymore. And I won’t turn my back on you like that ever again,” Dom promised, his voice steady.

Brian took Dom’s hand, bringing it to his lips. “I’m sorry for everything you had to do because of me. I never wanted things to go this way… But I’m fine now; I’m fine, and that’s all thanks to you. Everything you did for me… it’s over now. You can breathe.”

Dom kissed him again, smiling against Brian’s lips. “You’re the only air I need.”

Brian couldn't help but smile back. It was cheesy, but he couldn't even tease Dom about it because it perfectly captured how he felt too.

  :::

  THE END

[an-aura-about-you]

Thank you @hemi-demi for tagging me for this game!!

Rules: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

ooo this oughta be fun! I'm gonna put this under a cut because I'm gonna include my secret fics for this (which are posted anonymously but only because sometimes you DON'T want your name directly attached to your foe-fiction) and because some of the fics have spoilers and deal with some heavy subjects.

also, because idk who would be affected by said subjects, I'm just gonna do my standard "if you see this and wanna do it feel free!" so I'm not tagging someone and exposing them to stuff they don't wanna see.

Fools Rush In(to Conclusions) The Magnus Archives Rated T

Sometimes all there is for a situation is to get yourself a nice tea and mope. That’s exactly what Martin has set up for himself for the morning. He has a tin of high quality Earl Grey he rations for these sort of occasions, and he gets the kettle on to brew a pot.

Well, no matter how bad Monday might end up being, at least he can rest assured on one matter: he didn’t fall for Jon’s mean-spirited April Fool’s prank. And maybe by Sunday night, he’ll have worked through his feelings enough that he can get through the week with minimal awkwardness.

The Ashes are Still Burning The Magnus Archives Rated T

“Will you marry me?”

It was like pulling teeth, but Jon manages to get the words out, hands trembling as he holds out the little velvet box, offering the glittering little ring and with it his heart.

Martin, for his part, sounds like he’s on the verge of hyperventilating, face red and tears in his eyes.

But while Jon expected it to be an overwhelming moment, he didn’t expect Martin suddenly, vigorously shaking his head and letting out a strained, “No?”

Secret Fic 4 Rated T

Coroner’s Report of the final moments of the life of Tad Fletcher

Tad Fletcher had always been Tad Fletcher from the moment he was born, Thaddeus deemed too big a name for a baby with nary a thought that one day he might grow into it.

Much like his name, Tad never gave much thought to his life or others. He was never one to sugarcoat anything, which, like brutal honesty, was his excuse to say whatever he pleased even if it offended someone. Especially if it offended someone. He was always quick to deflect blame with, “Why take anything seriously? No one gets out alive anyway.”

And he is technically right.

Secret Fic 3 Rated M

The green room is empty at the start, slightly messy from use. The coffee table by the sofa holds a number of snacks and water bottles of varying levels of fullness. It is peaceful for the first 30 seconds. Then the door is flung open. A tall woman with long red hair in a dramatic asymmetrical cut and wearing mostly close-fitting plain clothes with the exception of a battle jacket, Clara, enters. She throws a man on the sofa, his arms and legs bound in rope. The man is pale with tousled chestnut hair, dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket, Jackson. He smiles up at the woman. The two are joined by another woman, about a head shorter than the first, her black and pink hair tied back in a sensible bun, Sofia. She wears a tank top and acid washed jeans, a gun and two daggers on her belt. Clara reveals she is armed with a shotgun by racking it and aiming at Jackson’s face.

help it go down Mouthwashing Rated M

They are alike, Anya supposes. Both she and Curly have crossed a threshold, a point of no return. Their bodies will never be the same again.

She can feel it if she thinks about it: her body changing, cells multiplying, the effects of it spreading through her like a poison as days turn into weeks, weeks into months, and months into trimesters. Sometimes she wonders if it’s thinking too much about that which causes the nausea and that’s all morning sickness really is. She wants to reject it, all of it, like a bad transplant.

With Only Books to Witness The Magnus Archives Rated E

Jon can’t believe his good fortune.

Sex has never exactly been a draw for him. More often than not, it’s simply okay for what it is, not something that would catch his interest over books, artefacts, histories, or knowledge of the world in general. But occasionally, just every once and again, he dreams. And what he dreamt in the past was usually situations, something enticing to do rather than someone attractive to be with.

The one he liked the most was his library dream.

I'm Sorry But the Magic's Currently Out of Service, You're Going to Have to Walk The Magnus Archives Rated T

There is a dragon in the library.

Martin has never seen a dragon before, much less a dragon in the library. Illustrations aside, of course, and even those don’t quite match. This dragon is relatively small for what Martin would picture for a dragon, even shorter than some humans. This dragon looks a lot like a human in general, as a matter of fact. There are some very obvious tells: the two long, curved horns on top of his head, the lizard-like tail just long enough to brush the floor, the scales on his arms glinting in the faint light like they’ve caught fire. But other than that, he just looks like any other library patron, standard scrawny long-haired scholar with the only notable difference being this one actually looks like he sees the sun regularly.

Martin considers what to do. On the one hand, dragons are dangerous, right? He should probably smite him. Or ask him to leave? On the other, the dragon isn’t technically doing anything wrong? And attacking a patron just because he’s not human, well, that just wouldn’t be right for him to do. So for now, Martin watches him.

That was enough to be a mistake.

Secret Fic 2 Rated M

“Sof?!”

Sofia stops dead in her tracks, Harriet staggering to a stop as well as they were walking arm in arm. There’s only one person she can think of who would call her Sof. She turns around, hardly daring to believe it.

“Mel?!”

Mel makes a small, choked laugh of disbelief, tears welling up in her eyes and cheeks flushed as red as her hair. “Oh my god, you’re alive!”

“Is she one of the people I get to throw into a canyon?” Harriet asks.

“No, she’s a friend,” Sofia answers before letting go of her arm and rushing to Mel.

Dear St. Jude The Magnus Archives Rated T

Martin stands in his office, marveling at the fact that he actually has an office.

A job with his own private office.

He hadn’t anticipated this hitting him quite so hard when making his extremely loose agenda for his first day as Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, but it’s not like that matters when he’s the first one in. That, at least, went according to plan. He managed to make it here the earliest he’s ever been to work and in doing so arrived before Sasha and whoever she picked from Research to take along with her. He moves like walking through water all the way up to his neck, slowly heading to his desk. He feels eyes on him, like he is dreaming and watching himself as he takes his seat behind his desk. When he does, he automatically sets his bag down and takes out his work laptop, muscle memory carrying him through the task of setting it up and settling in.

no map for where I'm going, no bed to rest my head The Magnus Archives Rated M

Tim should feel pain. That would be the logical thing to feel. He was at the epicenter of an explosion, and if he’s sitting here after that, he should feel pain. And anger. He should feel anger. And he does, some dim ember still hot down in his gut that will never fully go away, but it isn’t the blaze he felt before. And the pain he thought would burn the same way is likewise gone. He’s not even sure if he has a proper name for what he feels. In the limits of human vocabulary, the word within shooting distance is tired.

Tim is, approximately, tired.

[ponds-of-ink]

Sing The Ghosts A Christmas Carol Bonus Scene: “What Became Of Justine”

You might want to get the tissues, because this one had me moved a bit.

Long story short, because of logistical reasons within the work, I pretty much scrapped this idea. But, with a bit of retooling, here’s my best attempt at reviving this deleted scene of sorts.

-

…The frustrated man gnashed his teeth. “Well, can you at least show me something that was close to Christmas?” he questioned, fighting the urge to tear out his hair. “Any deplorable act will do, at this rate. Just.. show me a time that will help me remember what I truly am.”

Baby stared at him, her face-plates twitching. “Are you sure?” she asked softly.

“Positive,” William answered firmly, wrapping his arm around hers as he rose yo his feet. “Lead me on, Spirit.”

With a look of resignation, Baby led the man away from their chairs. The room around them changed with no other warning. The many tables were replaced with other furniture. The wide open space turned into a much narrower living room. The curtains morphed into two shut drapes, where a tall woman was now peering outside. Opposite her was a portly man of around twenty-five or so years, his round face equally as solemn as hers. He leaned forward in his seat, clasping his hands as if silently pleading with himself.

The woman, on the other hand, stood straight as an arrow. Even as she looked to the man, her posture remained proper. “I think you know what I want to say,” she said in a flat, grim tone.

The man rubbed his face with his hands. “Yes,” he murmured tiredly. “I know you’re unhappy with me. My… work ethic has been a bit skewed as of late. I’m not afraid to admit that.”

“‘Skewed’ is not the word I’m looking for, William,” the woman insisted, her voice only gaining a hint of sharpness. “‘Out of whack’ would be a better way to describe it. You’ve buried yourself in paperwork when, months ago, you’d be more than happy to help entertain. You were thrilled to play Spring Bonnie, even with that risky ol’ costume. But now? It’d be a miracle if the camera crew can convince you to come out for a commercial with just the mascot head on.”

The younger William sighed heavily. “At least one can’t say that grief has made me slack,” he replied offhandedly, assuming a more casual posture. “Even with the closure of the diner, business has been shockingly good. Fazbear Entertainment’s got a whole expansion planned, Henry’s made progress in negotiating with customers, and I’m quite happy with my reworked career. At least it’ll keep my grubby mug out of the spotlight for a while, strange as it sounds.”

“Yes, but for how long?” the woman countered, letting go of the drapes.

“What, the way things are shaping up for Fazbear’s?”

“Your time away from the spotlight,” the woman corrected, her tone shifting into gentle concern as she stepped closer. “Are you seriously considering tossing away your lifelong dream for some… coffin of a career?”

“Office work is not a coffin for me, Justine,” William retorted darkly, rolling his eyes. “I’ve seen coffins before— Both literal and metaphorical. They’re confined to impossible standards. They’re dark and cramped, nary a lit coming through. The body decays without its owner never knowing. The silent void is endless and the unhearing person disappears within it. An office job may seem that way on the surface, but at least the body is moving. At least the person is noticed through his work.”

“But is the heart still beating?” Justine interposed, her voice cracking with emotion. “Is there any life in those eyes? Or has his death dragged it down into its tomb?”

The young William fell silent. His eyes fixed on the floor.

The older William fought the urge to scream “Say ‘Yes’ to the last question, you idiot!”. He promptly turned away and shielded his eyes. Justine, meanwhile, slowly exhaled. “I’m so sorry, William, but I can’t do this anymore,” she resumed as she wandered towards the coat rack. “Ever since Evan died, it’s like you’ve become someone else. I know grief changes people. And I also know that don’t want to go through the same things your parents went through. But I think, in the long run, me… being gone might help you rather than hurt you.”

The young William’s eyes widened. “What exactly are you suggesting?” he asked, a twinge of fear entering his body.

Justine looked over her shoulder. “I’m suggesting that I leave, William,” she replied with a choke. “And, if it does come to a divorce, I’ll try not to make the same mistakes as your dad. I promise.”

A strange sense of relief washed over the man’s features. He wiped his brow as visions of the past faded from his memory. “And here I thought you were implying that you’d have me pull a Romeo and Juliet of sorts,” he chuckled sadly, his eyes misting all the same. “To be honest, this is a much better outcome. You are happy in the life you’ll have chosen. I’ll continue to be happy in my own path… After the.. many nights of crying, of c-course.” As if this last sentence made his tragic reality sink in, William sobbed.

Justine blinked away tears of her own. Wordlessly, she put on her winter coat and gloves. Her slender hands trembled as she snatched her house keys. She turned to face the mourning William one last time. “It won’t be right away,” she explained hoarsely, attempting to fake a smile. “I still need time to arrange things.”

William wiped off one side of his tear-soaked face. “Go anyway,” he answered bitterly. “Pretend like we’re strangers. Spend Christmas at your family’s like you used to. It’ll all become routine soon enough.”

Justine scowled, but kept her composure. “Fine then,” she responded with a harsh tug at her hood. “I’ll… hm.. What was that last piece of advice Belle gave to Scrooge in a Christmas Carol?”

“It wasn’t a piece of advice,” the elder William muttered, catching the fully engrossed Baby off-guard. “It was a wish.”

“It wasn’t a piece of advice,” the younger William ‘repeated’ unknowingly. “It was a wish. A wish I think I’ve already quoted by mistake.”

“And what was that wish?” Justine questioned, a look of genuine curiosity forming in her shadowed features.

“‘May you be happy in the life you have chosen,’” the younger William replied quickly, though pangs of sorrow threatened to grip him again. “And, after we negotiate with that Doug fellow, I want the same for you.”

“And you as well,” Justine said softly, her head finally turning away. “Goodbye, William. Maybe for the last time.” And, as graceful as she made her entrance at the diner, she gracefully left William alone.

Baby glanced at the grief-stricken young man in his chair, then at the elder by her side. “Was this the last time?” she inquired, placing an ever-changing hand on her ghost’s shoulder.

The elder William inhaled through his teeth. “One of the last,” he clarified weakly. “We tried to negotiate the terms as casually as we could. Fulfilling the duties we had without personal in-fights or complaints toward Doug. The poor fellow already had enough trouble as it was..” His bitter sniggering returned to a dismal frown. “She left that very Spring,” he continued, his posture becoming even more closed in. “She took all her belongings and left. No muss. No fuss. No dramatic goodbyes like those in The Immortal and The Restless. She just.. vanished.” “Did you notice?”

William put a hand to his quivering lips. The world gradually shifted into a void-like state. “Of course I did!” he exclaimed in spite of himself, whirling around to face his questioner. “But did I care? No! I took the wrong words to heart and now look at where we are! Lost in this void, with me being despised and unwanted as I should be! ‘Be happy in the life you’ve chosen’— What a sorry wish to bestow an absolute fool!”

Baby stared blankly. “But Ballora loves you, doesn’t she?” she asked faintly, her green eyes shimmering in the dark.

William’s scowl weakened. “Only because she’s a replica of someone I used to love,” he huffed as he crossed his arms. “After that whole scuffle, I never cared for anyone else. Show me a Christmas where I did care, and I’ll show you a man humbled to his core. I bet you won’t even get that privilege.”

Baby’s head tilted from side to side. Her ever-changing pigtails floated as she pondered. “I think I might have a Christmas in mind,” she said thoughtfully, tightening her grip on her fellow ghost’s arm. “But I’m not sure if you’re brave enough for it.”

“I am more than brave enough,” William sneered. “I await your little guess with open arms. Lead on, Spirit. Show me what you’ve got.”

The Spirit wordlessly twirled her free arm. In an instant, the dark void vanished into thin air. Now the second living room of the journey greeted them…

[unitedsteelsupplies]

Industrial Steel Supply for Healthcare: Strength, Safety & Precision for Medical Facilities

The healthcare industry requires infrastructure that’s not only durable and hygienic but also tailored to strict regulatory standards. That’s why hospitals and medical contractors turn to industrial steel supply for healthcare applications. Steel products offer long-term strength, easy sanitation, and customization—all critical in clinical and support environments.

Why Steel Matters in Medical Construction

From patient rooms to surgical theaters and utility zones, steel provides unmatched reliability. Hospitals rely on medical-grade steel supplies to ensure that all components—from structural frameworks to safety fixtures—can withstand heavy usage and remain corrosion-free.

Facilities that invest in industrial-grade stainless steel for hospitals benefit from low-maintenance, bacteria-resistant surfaces that meet the rigorous hygiene requirements of healthcare spaces.

Common Applications of Industrial Steel in Healthcare

Healthcare construction projects use steel across a wide range of installations, including:

Reinforced steel railings and handrails

Utility racks, catwalks, and platforms

Wall protection systems and corner guards

Cabinetry, countertops, and sinks

Framing for equipment and electrical panels

Doors, kickplates, and security enclosures

Sourcing heavy-duty steel components for medical facilities ensures all systems are built to endure demanding environments without degrading over time.

Benefits of Sourcing Industrial Steel for Hospitals

Using steel in hospital projects provides many advantages:

Rust and corrosion resistance, especially with galvanized steel for medical use

Fire-rated structural performance

Seamless integration with cleanroom and sterile spaces

Long-term cost savings due to reduced maintenance

High load capacity for mechanical and HVAC support

Healthcare-focused contractors prefer custom steel fabrication for medical infrastructure to ensure that each steel component fits perfectly and complies with healthcare regulations.

Choosing the Right Steel Supplier for Healthcare Projects

Selecting the right partner for your healthcare build is critical. Look for steel suppliers specializing in hospital-grade applications, offering:

In-house fabrication and welding

Short lead times and local delivery

Compliance with OSHA, NFPA, and ADA standards

Experience in healthcare facility projects

Working with trusted industrial steel vendors for hospitals ensures consistency, quality, and accountability—whether you're building a new facility or upgrading a medical wing.

[industrialvalanoipc]

Fanless Industrial Computer | Rugged, Quiet & Reliable

Looking for a robust, efficient computing solution? ValanoIPC’s Fanless Industrial Computer delivers quiet, rugged performance in a compact, maintenance‑free design. Built for demanding industrial environments, this computer is tailored to power your automation, monitoring, and data‑acquisition applications.

Why Choose a Fanless Industrial Computer?

Zero moving parts – no fans means significantly reduced failure points, enhanced reliability, and zero dust circulation.

Ultra‑quiet operation – perfect for noise‑sensitive environments such as control rooms, laboratories, and classrooms.

Industrial durability – rated for wide temperature ranges and equipped with shock‑ and vibration‑resistant components, it thrives in harsh conditions.

Compact & flexible – easily integrates into industrial racks, wall mounts, or small enclosures with versatile I/O options.

Key Features

Intel® J1900 Quad‑Core Processor Delivers smooth, multi‑threaded performance for typical industrial workloads—SCADA systems, OPC UA servers, PLC communications, kiosk control, and more.

Fanless Embedded Design Fully sealed chassis with no vents, ensuring protection against dust, moisture, and airborne contaminants. Ideal for food processing, packaging plants, factories, and outdoor automation.

Wide Temperature Endurance Operates reliably in extreme conditions (–20 °C to +60 °C standard, extended models up to –40 °C or +70 °C), making it a dependable choice across climates and weather.

Rich I/O Suite Offers multiple USB, COM, HDMI, Ethernet, and GPIO interfaces. Easily connect sensors, cameras, HMIs, and legacy peripherals. Dual LAN configuration supports network redundancy.

Flexible Storage & Expansion Supports mSATA and 2.5″ SSD drives, plus optional internal mini‑PCIe slots for Wi‑Fi, LTE, or additional I/O. Customize your system for edge‑AI, underwater monitoring, or energy solutions.

Ideal Use Cases

Industrial Automation – perfect for PLC supervisory control, data acquisition, and real‑time monitoring.

Smart IoT & Edge Computing – smoothly handles local AI inferencing, analytics, and MQTT/CoAP messaging.

Transportation & Surveillance – rugged and compact enough for trains, buses, tunnels, and security systems.

Medical & Laboratory – maintains sterile and quiet environments with silent, fan‑free operation.

Why ValanoIPC?

With decades in industrial computing, ValanoIPC designs reliable products purpose‑built for real‑world endurance. Our Fanless Industrial Computer series is fully configurable, CE/FCC certified, and comes with long‑term support and firmware updates—excellent value for life‑cycle management.

[gardteconline1]

Server Rack Cooling Fan Tray (9 Fan, 230V) | Heat Dissipation

Servers are workhorses — they run 24/7, process large amounts of data, and naturally produce a lot of heat. Over time, if this heat is not removed efficiently, it builds up inside the rack, reducing the performance and lifespan of every connected component. Hard drives can slow down, processors can throttle, and RAM may start to produce errors.

That’s why a Server Rack Cooling Fan Tray (9 Fan, 230V) is more than just an accessory — it’s a necessity. It helps maintain a safe, stable operating temperature so your equipment stays protected and your data flow remains uninterrupted.

Typical Use Cases

Wondering where this 9-fan cooling tray fits in? It’s a versatile piece of hardware ideal for:

Data Centers: Where multiple server racks generate constant heat.

Telecommunication Facilities: Supporting high-speed networking equipment.

Media and Broadcast Studios: Protecting sensitive gear during long operations.

Corporate IT Rooms: Keeping office servers safe from overheating.

Home Labs: Perfect for tech enthusiasts with custom setups.

Whether you’re a business or a solo tech user, keeping your rack systems cool helps you avoid costly repairs or system crashes.

Easy Installation & Minimal Maintenance

Installing the Server Rack Cooling Fan Tray (9 Fan, 230V) is incredibly straightforward. Most models are rack-mountable and come with pre-drilled holes for quick fitting. Once installed, the unit begins working immediately. Simply plug it into a power outlet, and let the fans do the rest.

Maintenance is minimal — just a quick dust clean every few weeks and a check to ensure the fans are spinning properly. Some versions may even include status LEDs or temperature monitoring, offering even more control.

Power and Performance: What 230V Means for You

Many users ask why the 230V rating is important. The answer is simple — 230V means consistent and reliable power, especially for regions outside North America. It ensures that all 9 fans can run efficiently without power dips or instability. This kind of setup is ideal for commercial-grade infrastructure or anyone operating on a global power standard.

Why Buy from GardTec Online?

When buying server accessories, quality and authenticity matter. GardTec Online is a trusted supplier known for high-performance products, especially for data cooling solutions. Their Server Rack Cooling Fan Tray (9 Fan, 230V) is made with high standards and designed to deliver real results in demanding environments.

When you shop from GardTec, you’re also investing in expert support, reliable shipping, and quality assurance.

Conclusion

In the world of IT infrastructure, cooling is just as vital as computing power. The Server Rack Cooling Fan Tray (9 Fan, 230V) is a small but powerful upgrade that can make a big difference in the performance and lifespan of your server equipment.

It’s easy to install, highly effective, and built to last. If you’re looking to improve airflow, reduce thermal stress, and ensure long-term stability for your network or servers, this fan tray is a smart, cost-effective solution.

[dowelltech]

Choosing Between Indoor and Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes: A Buyer’s Checklist

Selecting the correct fiber optic cable box depends on the conditions at the installation site. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes protect connections from rain, dust, or impact. A fiber optic box outdoor resists harsh weather, while a fiber optic box indoor suits clean, climate-controlled rooms.

Key Takeaways

Choose fiber optic boxes based on the installation environment to protect cables from weather, dust, and damage or to ensure easy access and fire safety indoors. Check for durability, proper sealing, and compliance with safety standards to keep your network reliable and safe over time. Plan for capacity and future growth by selecting boxes that support easy expansion and good cable management to reduce downtime and maintenance costs.

Quick Comparison: Indoor vs. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes

Features Table: Indoor vs. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes Feature Indoor Fiber Optic Boxes Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes Environment Climate-controlled, clean Exposed to weather, dust, impact Material Lightweight plastic or metal Heavy-duty, weatherproof materials Protection Level Basic dust and tamper resistance High resistance to water, UV, and vandalism Mounting Options Wall, rack, or ceiling Pole, wall, underground Fire Rating Often fire-rated May include UV and corrosion resistance Accessibility Easy access for maintenance Secured, sometimes lockable Typical Applications Offices, server rooms, data centers Building exteriors, utility poles, outdoor enclosures Key Differences at a Glance Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes withstand harsh environments. They use robust materials and seals to block water, dust, and UV rays. Indoor boxes focus on easy access and cable management. They suit spaces where temperature and humidity stay stable. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes often feature lockable covers and reinforced construction. These features deter tampering and protect sensitive connections. Indoor models prioritize compact design and fire safety. They integrate well with existing IT infrastructure. Tip: Always match the box type to the installation site. Using the wrong type can lead to costly repairs or network downtime.

Key Factors When Choosing Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes or Indoor Options

Installation Environment and Exposure Selecting the right fiber optic box starts with a careful assessment of the installation environment. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes must withstand direct exposure to rain, dust, temperature swings, and even chemical contaminants. Manufacturers use weatherproof materials like UV-resistant plastics or aluminum to protect sensitive connections. Proper sealing with high-quality gaskets prevents moisture infiltration, which can degrade fiber optic performance. In contrast, indoor fiber optic boxes operate in climate-controlled spaces, so lighter and more cost-effective plastics are suitable. Site preparation also plays a role. Installers should avoid areas prone to moisture or extreme temperatures and ensure ventilation to prevent overheating. Regular maintenance, such as inspecting seals and cleaning fiber ends, helps maintain optimal performance. Tip: Outdoor boxes should withstand thermal cycling and chemical exposure for long-term reliability. Outdoor boxes require high IP ratings and robust materials. Indoor boxes can use lighter materials due to reduced environmental risks. Proper sealing and site selection are critical for both types. Protection, Durability, and Weather Resistance Protection and durability define the difference between indoor and outdoor solutions. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes use heavy-duty materials and reinforced construction to resist physical impact and environmental hazards. For example, dual jacket cables provide an extra layer of defense against moisture, temperature changes, and mechanical stress. This enhanced protection reduces the risk of signal degradation and physical damage, ensuring reliable performance in harsh conditions. Indoor boxes, while less rugged, still offer basic dust and tamper resistance. The choice of material and construction should match the expected hazards at the installation site. Location, Accessibility, and Ease of Installation Location and accessibility influence both installation and ongoing maintenance. Installers often face challenges when placing fiber optic boxes in cluttered or hard-to-reach locations. Poor accessibility can complicate repairs and increase downtime. Best practices recommend selecting locations that avoid moisture and physical impact, ensuring secure connections, and labeling cables clearly for easier maintenance. Hard-to-reach or cluttered sites can cause future maintenance problems. Poor labeling complicates repairs, especially in complex environments. Different mounting options (wall, pole, rack) suit various environments and accessibility needs. Quality sealing and material selection remain critical for outdoor or harsh environments. Easy installation reduces errors and network downtime. Capacity, Expandability, and Fiber Management Capacity and expandability determine how well a fiber optic box supports current and future network needs. Effective fiber management practices, validated by industry standards like EIA/TIA 568 and ISO 11801, ensure reliable performance. Installers should use proper cable handling techniques, maintain appropriate pulling tension, and separate fiber from heavy copper cables. Support structures must comply with standards, and clear labeling helps with organization. Accessories such as hook and loop cable ties keep installations neat and reduce cable damage. These practices maintain cable performance and simplify future upgrades or repairs. Note: Cable management tools and accessories help keep fiber optic installations organized, supporting long-term reliability. Compliance, Fire Rating, and Safety Standards Compliance with fire ratings and safety standards is essential, especially for indoor installations. Fiber optic cables must meet specific fire ratings such as OFNP, OFNR, and OFN, depending on their application area. These ratings exist to prevent fire propagation and reduce toxic smoke, which can pose serious risks in confined spaces. For example, Low Smoke Zero Halogen (LSZH) jackets minimize hazardous emissions during a fire. The National Electrical Code (NEC) mandates different fire ratings for various building areas to protect occupants and property. NEC Fire Rating Code Cable Type Description Fire Resistance Level Typical Application Areas OFNP Optic Fiber Non-conductive Plenum Highest (1) Ventilation ducts, plenum or return air pressurization systems (air circulation spaces) OFCP Optic Fiber Conductive Plenum Highest (1) Same as OFNP OFNR Optic Fiber Non-conductive Riser Medium (2) Vertical backbone cabling (risers, shafts between floors) OFCR Optic Fiber Conductive Riser Medium (2) Same as OFNR OFNG Optic Fiber Non-conductive General-Purpose Lower (3) General purpose, horizontal cabling areas OFCG Optic Fiber Conductive General-Purpose Lower (3) Same as OFNG OFN Optic Fiber Non-conductive Lowest (4) General purpose OFC Optic Fiber Conductive Lowest (4) General purpose

Plenum-rated cables (OFNP/OFCP) offer the highest fire resistance and are required in air circulation spaces to prevent fire hazards and toxic smoke spread.

Buyer’s Checklist for Indoor and Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes

Assess Your Installation Site and Environmental Risks A thorough assessment of the installation site forms the foundation of any fiber optic project. Environmental risks vary widely between indoor and outdoor locations. For example, a project in Yellowstone National Park required careful planning to avoid environmental impact, including burying fiber in conduit and relocating cell towers. Exposure to harsh weather, temperature swings, and moisture can degrade cables, leading to signal loss. Construction activities, wildlife interference, and corrosion in humid or salty environments also threaten cable integrity. Regular inspection and maintenance help detect vulnerabilities early, minimizing service disruptions. Tip: Use protective enclosures and schedule routine checks to safeguard your network investment. Determine Required Protection and Durability Protection and durability requirements depend on the environment. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes must withstand rain, dust, and temperature fluctuations. Manufacturers use weatherproof materials like stainless steel or specialized plastics. Proper sealing prevents moisture ingress, which can damage cables. Products such as the FieldSmart® Fiber Delivery Point Wall Box meet NEMA 4 standards, demonstrating suitability for challenging conditions. Fiber optic boxes with enhanced weather resistance use waterproof enclosures, gel-filled tubes, and corrosion-resistant materials. These features ensure consistent high-speed connectivity and long-term reliability, even in high-risk areas. Dowell offers a range of Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes designed for maximum durability and protection, supporting network reliability in demanding environments. Evaluate Capacity and Future Expansion Needs Capacity planning ensures the fiber optic box supports both current and future network demands. Persistent coverage gaps, supply chain strains, and rapid growth in data centers highlight the importance of scalable solutions. Modular, pre-terminated assemblies and smaller form-factor connectors allow for higher fiber density without increasing space requirements. The global fiber management systems market is expanding rapidly, driven by rising bandwidth needs and the proliferation of IoT devices. Flexible, scalable systems help organizations adapt to future growth with minimal downtime. Note: Choose fiber optic boxes that allow for easy expansion and support advanced management features. Check Compatibility with Fiber Cables and Infrastructure Compatibility with existing fiber cables and infrastructure is critical. Installation methods differ by environment. Outdoor cables may be direct buried, aerial, or installed in conduit, while indoor cables often use raceways or cable trays. Following manufacturer recommendations for pulling tension, bend radius, and handling prevents fiber damage. Hardware such as racks, cabinets, and splice panels should match the installation environment. Dowell provides comprehensive solutions that ensure seamless integration with both new and legacy infrastructure, reducing installation errors and supporting long-term performance. Review Compliance and Building Code Requirements Compliance with building codes and industry standards ensures safety and network integrity. Indoor fiber optic boxes must meet standards such as TIA-568 and ISO/IEC 11801, which govern design, installation, and maintenance. Proper cable management and high-quality materials are essential for reliable indoor networks. Outdoor installations require adherence to local codes and environmental regulations, including weatherproofing, burial depth, and protection against UV exposure and physical damage. Institutions like UA Little Rock enforce strict compliance, requiring detailed documentation and testing to guarantee infrastructure reliability. Always verify that your chosen fiber optic box meets all relevant codes and standards for your region. Match Features to Indoor or Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes Selecting the right features depends on the installation environment. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes need robust construction, weatherproof seals, and enhanced security features such as lockable covers. Indoor boxes should prioritize compact design, fire safety, and easy access for maintenance. Use sealed splice closures outdoors and patch panels or wall-mounted boxes indoors. Dowell’s product line includes both indoor and outdoor options, allowing buyers to match features precisely to their site requirements. Balance Budget with Required Features Budget considerations play a significant role in the selection process. High deployment costs, regulatory hurdles, and skilled labor shortages can impact project timelines and expenses. Innovations such as microtrenching and modular assemblies help reduce costs and speed up installation. Federal and state funding programs may support fiber expansion in underserved areas. Buyers should balance initial investment with long-term reliability, protection, and scalability. Investing in quality fiber optic boxes from trusted suppliers like Dowell ensures value and performance over the life of your network.

Common Scenarios for Indoor and Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes

Typical Indoor Applications Fiber optic boxes serve a wide range of indoor environments. Offices, data centers, and server rooms often require secure and organized cable management. These locations benefit from wall-mounted or rack-mounted boxes that keep fiber connections safe from accidental damage and unauthorized access. Educational institutions and hospitals use indoor fiber optic boxes to support reliable internet and communication networks. In these settings, technicians can easily access and maintain connections due to the controlled environment. Compact designs and fire-rated materials help these boxes blend into existing infrastructure while meeting safety standards. Note: Indoor fiber optic boxes simplify network upgrades and routine maintenance, reducing downtime in mission-critical facilities. Typical Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes Use Cases Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes play a crucial role in environments exposed to weather, physical impact, and temperature extremes. Utility poles, building exteriors, and underground installations all require robust protection for fiber connections. Field experiments have shown that optical fiber sensors, when placed in watertight boxes and reinforced soil, can withstand dynamic and seismic loads. These sensors maintained accuracy even under accelerations up to 100 g, proving the reliability of outdoor installations in harsh geotechnical conditions. In ecological monitoring, fiber-optic distributed temperature sensing systems have delivered precise temperature data across multiple stream sites. These systems provided superior coverage and accuracy, supporting sensitive applications like fisheries habitat selection. Outdoor Fiber Optic Boxes enabled these advanced technologies to function reliably, even in challenging environments with fluctuating temperatures and moisture. Utility companies use outdoor boxes for network distribution in rural and urban areas. Environmental agencies deploy fiber optic systems for real-time monitoring in remote locations. Construction projects rely on outdoor boxes to protect connections during site development. The installation environment determines the best fiber optic box for any project. Selecting boxes with high reliability metrics, such as strong weather resistance and low insertion loss, reduces downtime and maintenance costs. Using the buyer’s checklist helps organizations achieve long-term network performance, safety, and value. By: Lynn Tel: +86 574 86100572#8816 Whatsapp: +86 15168592711 E-mail: sales@jingyiaudio.com Youtube: JINGYI Facebook: JINGYI Read the full article

[buildvrblogs]

 360° Virtual Showroom Examples That Increased Conversions by 3X

As digital shopping and product exploration evolve, one solution has been quietly transforming customer journeys across industries: the 360° virtual showroom.

More than just a trend, brands using immersive 3D walkthroughs are seeing conversion rates jump by 2X to even 3X — and it’s no coincidence.

So what makes these virtual spaces so powerful? Let’s explore real examples of how businesses across different sectors leveraged 360° virtual showrooms to boost engagement and drive measurable results.

🏬 1. Lenskart’s Virtual Eyewear Store – Try Before You Buy

Industry: Retail / Eyewear Conversion Boost: ↑ 2.8X

Lenskart introduced a 360° virtual showroom experience that allowed users to not just browse frames — but also try them on virtually. The showroom environment mimicked the in-store experience, complete with clickable product hotspots, filters, and a mirror-based “try-on” feature.

🔑 Why it worked:

Personalized interaction

Seamless product viewing & comparison

Integrated buy-now CTAs

Zero-friction user journey

🧠 Result: Users who entered the virtual showroom were 3x more likely to make a purchase compared to those browsing the standard catalog.

🏠 2. Godrej Properties – Virtual Home Walkthroughs

Industry: Real Estate Conversion Boost: ↑ 3X in lead-to-visit ratios

Godrej launched 360° home walkthroughs during the pandemic, enabling users to explore 1BHK to penthouse layouts entirely online. Visitors could switch between day/night views, interact with materials, and even “move” between rooms.

🔑 Why it worked:

High-quality renderings

Realistic layouts = reduced in-person site visits

Lead capture forms embedded in the tour

Agent chat plugins for instant query handling

🧠 Result: Virtual visitors were 3X more likely to book site visits or submit inquiries than regular landing page users.

👗 3. Tommy Hilfiger’s Virtual Fashion Showroom

Industry: Fashion / B2B Wholesale Conversion Boost: ↑ 2.5X in order confirmations from partners

To launch a new collection, Tommy Hilfiger created an interactive 3D showroom for retail partners. Buyers could “walk” through the collection racks, watch designer videos, zoom in on product textures, and add favorites to a virtual cart.

🔑 Why it worked:

Created exclusivity with gated B2B access

Replicated the showroom environment for partners

Enabled instant ordering from within the tour

🧠 Result: Orders from showroom users doubled vs. standard PDF catalog approach.

🛒 4. Tanishq’s Bridal Jewellery VR Room

Industry: Luxury Retail / Jewelry Conversion Boost: ↑ 2.7X engagement-to-cart rate

Tanishq introduced a 360° bridal lounge online — a virtual boutique showcasing bridal sets with cinematic lighting and ambient Indian music. Brides could hover over items, read specs, and schedule a video call with a stylist — all inside the showroom.

🔑 Why it worked:

Emotional storytelling via immersive visuals

Personalized virtual consultation booking

Integrated WhatsApp inquiry feature

🧠 Result: Showroom viewers had 2.7x higher add-to-cart rates and stayed 4x longer on the site.

🧪 5. GRET’s VR Education Lab Demo (For Institutions)

Industry: Education Tech Conversion Boost: ↑ 3.2X in institutional sign-ups

GRET built a 360° demo lab showing how schools can teach physics, biology, and history through immersive VR. The tour included student avatars, 3D models of human anatomy, and lab experiments in motion — with a “Book Demo” button embedded.

🔑 Why it worked:

Easy to visualize real-world classroom use

Instant value demo for decision-makers

No app or login required — just a link

🧠 Result: Colleges and schools using the tour were 3.2x more likely to book consultations or onboarding calls.

🚀 Why These Showrooms Work So Well

All these examples had one thing in common: engagement-first design.

They:

Removed guesswork from the buyer journey

Created visual trust with transparency

Delivered experiences, not just information

And in today’s digital-first world — experience is currency.

🎯 Final Takeaway

360° virtual showrooms don’t just “look cool” — they deliver real results. From higher conversions to longer engagement, they offer a competitive edge across industries.

If you're not using one yet, you're likely leaving sales on the table.

[atplblog]

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[centrallofts]

From Attic to Airbnb: Can a Loft Conversion Be a Side Hustle?

In today’s economy, everyone’s looking for a side hustle—and what better way to earn passive income than using the space you already own? For many homeowners, the answer is quite literally overhead. That dusty, underused attic could be your next profitable venture, transformed into a stylish Airbnb or short-term rental guest suite.

With the rise in staycations, remote work, and city breaks, travellers are looking for unique, homely, and well-designed spaces. A converted loft can tick every box—if done right.

So, can a loft conversion really become your next source of income? The answer is: absolutely. Here's how.

🏡 Why a Loft Conversion for Airbnb?

Converting your loft into a rental unit gives you flexibility and financial freedom. Instead of committing to a full-scale extension or investment property, you’re capitalising on existing space. Once the loft is professionally converted, you’ve got a self-contained guest suite that can pay for itself over time—and then some.

Whether you're in a busy city, a scenic suburb, or a quaint village, there's always demand for short-term stays that feel both private and personal.

✨ What Makes a Great Loft Rental?

To turn your attic into a successful Airbnb space, you need to create more than just a room—you need an experience. Here’s what makes a loft truly guest-ready:

1. Separate Access (If Possible)

A private staircase or even an external entrance can boost privacy and appeal. If separate access isn’t feasible, ensure the guest area feels self-contained and sound-insulated.

2. Comfortable Sleeping Area

Invest in a proper double bed, high-quality linens, and blackout blinds. Sloped ceilings? No problem—just use low-profile furniture that fits the space.

3. Bathroom Facilities

An en-suite bathroom is a huge advantage. Even a compact shower room will elevate your rental and increase nightly rates. Think sleek tiling, strong water pressure, and stylish fixtures.

4. Mini Kitchenette

A small countertop with a kettle, mini fridge, microwave, and some crockery can make guests feel right at home. It’s a small touch that makes a big difference.

5. Smart Storage

Built-in wardrobes or under-eave drawers help guests unpack without clutter. Add thoughtful touches like luggage racks or hanging hooks.

6. Wi-Fi & Tech

Fast internet, smart TVs, and plenty of plug points are now expected. Bonus points for USB ports, Bluetooth speakers, or keyless entry systems.

📋 What You Need to Consider

Before diving in, keep a few essentials in mind:

✅ Planning Permission & Regulations

Most loft conversions fall under permitted development, but if you're adding plumbing, changing access, or planning to rent, check with your local authority. You may also need a Change of Use classification in some areas.

✅ Fire Safety & Building Codes

A guest suite must meet fire safety standards: fire-rated doors, smoke alarms, and escape routes are non-negotiable. A reputable loft conversion company will guide you through compliance.

🌟 Design Tips to Wow Your Guests

Use neutral tones and natural light to make the space feel bigger

Add local art or themed décor to give character

Create an Instagrammable corner—think reading nook, window seat, or plant wall

Provide a welcome guide with local tips, eateries, and transport info

🧳 Real-Life Example

One of our Central Lofts clients in East London turned their modest 1-bed flat into a 2-bed short-let hotspot by converting the loft into a stunning guest suite with skylights and minimalist design. Their monthly income now supplements their mortgage—and they still have full control over when they rent it out.

🚀 Ready to Launch Your Side Hustle?

A loft conversion isn’t just an upgrade—it’s an investment in your home and your financial future. Whether you want full-time bookings or just an occasional guest, the flexibility is yours.

At Central Lofts & Extensions, we specialise in crafting custom-designed lofts that work beautifully as Airbnb rentals—meeting all the technical and aesthetic requirements for comfort, safety, and standout appeal.

Let’s Turn Your Attic Into Income. 👉 Contact us for a free site visit and consultation. Let’s make your space work for you.