#because in real life you're going to meet people you don't like and don't mesh with and they're always going to be like that

[abutterflyobsession]

rereading DWJ's Dalemark Quartet and these books are always more brutal than I remember

[avianyuh]

Kim Mingyu as a boyfriend...

I feel like people naturally gravitate towards Mingyu

And that's for many different reasons

He's always given off the impression that he's a kind person

The way he treats his members (basically his brothers at this point)

The way other people act around him

Idk I've just always gotten the impression that what you see on camera is most likely what Mingyu is like off camera

He's just a real dude living that "idol" life

So anyways...

What would it be like to date Mingyu?

Well first off all, I think he'd make you laugh

A. Lot.

A literal ray of sunshine

Mingyu is an extrovert

Extroverts get a lot of their energy from being around other people

I'd see him acting all happy, trying to wake you up in the morning

Kissing your face all over, whispering, "Wake up."

Of course with that infamous smile on his face

Or picture going out to eat with him.

Sitting at the table, picking food off of each other's plates, just talking about your day

Or going to different things together, like parties

And he's navigating through the crowd, holding your hand tightly in his own, never letting go of it

Oh, imagine the hugs he'd give?

He's so tall so it'd feel like you're being enveloped into his warm, *muscular*, embrace.

You'd probably meet Wonwoo first considering the fact that they live together

I see Mingyu as the type to really help you out when it comes to social situations

If you were a little shy around his members when you first met them, he would always be by your side, making jokes and trying to get you to feel comfortable and fit in

Because he cares about you, and he wants you to become as close with his members as he is

Another trait of Mingyu's is that he gets flustered when he gets complimented

He appears to be a really confident person, but I do think that deep down, praise is something he might not necessarily e used to hearing

Like don't get me wrong, I'm sure that he's aware of the fact that he's a hot man...

But even the hotties have their days where they need some encouragement

So when you compliment his hair, or his outfit

You can see how his cheeks turn red and he starts to nervously laugh

"What? Mingyu I think you should wear that color more often!" you'd laugh as you watched Mingyu cover his face, peeping in the mirror in front of him to see if you were telling the truth.

As with most of my BF headcanon posts, I'm sure Mingyu would be counting down the days until he felt like the relationship was serious enough to introduce you to his family

And he'd really try to make sure you meshed well with them too, just like with the members

Anyways, back to more of his litlte habits

Mingyu would be the type of boyfriend that would do something stupid just to make you smile or, even better, laugh if you were having a bad day

It legitimately breaks his heart to see you upset

Would have beef with anyone who hurt you

You got in a fight with your friend, but you resolved it? Mingyu tolerates her, but deep down, he hates her now

But he'd never tell you that because he doesn't want to overstep

But if you and that friend ever got in another fight, the minute you'd try to vent to Mingyu he'd blurt out;

"I KNEW THERE WAS A REASON WHY I NEVER LIKED HER!"

And you'd be like: 👀

But speaking of friends...

I think he'd constantly be talking about you

In his friend group

With the other members

He'd become that guy where someone would ask him what he did over the weekend or on his day off and he'd turn the conversation into a 30 minute conversation of why you'd be the best perosn to travel with or something

Remember how I said Mingyu is always there beside you to back you up?

Well, even if you aren't with him, he's always going to hype you up if he mentions you

Another trait of his that comes to mind is his cooking skill

Word on the street is that Mingyu can chef it up

So let's say you don't feel like going out that night

No problem, Mingyu's gonna make you some good home cooking

And he's say something stupid like how the food is "infused with his love."

*Ahem*

If you're a frequent reader, you know what time it is...

Shexy Shtuffffff

GURL

Have you seen those arms?

Yes? Well I'm gonna show you a pic anyways

Just so we have a visual element involved

What's that doja cat song? Where she talks about that wrestling position lmao

omg let me shut up

Okay, for him I see a lot of physical affection

A lot of making out

Kisses would be his version of eye contact

A lot of caressing your face

He's pretty athletic, so I could see him having high stamina

Like, I don't see you being able to retire for the night after one round with him unless he's really tired from work

Would probably be loud in bed

But I don't see him as a risk taker when it comes to stuff like location

So you'd be getting freaky ONLY in the sheets

Or maybe the shower

Here's my thought process:

Maybe if he knows no one's around he'd do you on the couch if you were watching something and he was getting turned on

But I mainly see him as the type to do the foreplay on the couch or in the kitchen

Or maybe if you guys are out somewhere and he's starting to get a little frisky

He'd be he type to rush home just so you could have sex

Um, and if you've seen that man, enjoy and congratulations

_

TAGS: @minvxq *I remembered!*

_

{A/N: Hiiiii. I know it's been a month but the winter season has me DEPRESSED. I had a pretty hectic end to my semester. A lot of work all at once but I'm officially on my winter break now and my brain can finally feel like it has a break ,which means I had the mental clarity to write again. I thought a head canon would be a good way to ease back into writing, so I hope you guys like it. This one was requested so as always, I love you and have a good day/night, mwahhhhh💋}

[darling-delusions]

meet me at the love parade ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⋆. � ˚⟡ ݁₊

Pairing: L. Heeseung x reader

Summary: You meet Heeseung at an Dom Dolla set during EDC, and the two of you hit it off over a shared love for the setlist. After bonding throughout the night, you make plans to meet up again at another festival once EDC ends. But things take a turn—after two months of consistent texting and late-night calls, Heeseung suddenly ghosts you. Feeling hurt and assuming he’s no longer interested, you block him on social media and decide to buy a ticket to a different festival. On the first day, just as you're trying to move on, you spot a familiar redhead—Heeseung—kissing someone from your old rave family.

wc: approx 15 k words

a/n: ONCE AGAIN: all the characters and images are not real; i'm just writing for my own delusional sake and most of the details are from my personal life on what i have seen with my eyes. please do NOT come after me anyways here's my edition of ravebae! heeseung because what do you mean...he likes edm :3 lol anyways this is based off of all my personal experiences that has happened previously in different friendgroups - all the drama and beef, and honestly raving lowkey changed my life so like. do with what you will if you go see porter robinson or paper skies in the future guys... i really wanted to make a longshot at least once, and so i decided fuck it i will !! i decided to write this fic in second person, as i felt like it might be more immersive, but im not so sure if it will be... i'll be trying out different povs in the near future - the only thing i will not write is first person soo. yeah. check out my masterlist here!

cw/tw: mentions of drugs (molly/weed), remember kids, don't do drugs in a not safe setting or with strangers that will leave you to green out on the side walk.

additional tags: mentions of Jay (enha), fictional character names are used, edc - electric daisy carnival, and once again MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! if you guys don't like the writing yall can like mute me or sumn idfk...

Your hotel room is a rainbow explosion of sequins, mesh, and LED accessories as you tear through the shared closet, hunting for the perfect EDC fit. Minseok is sprawled across the bed, scrolling through the set schedule like it’s the fucking bible, occasionally reminding you with his whiny voice,“we’re gonna miss Kayzo if you take another twenty minutes.” Jun’s in your bathroom, already halfway done with glittering her hairline, while Estelle is carefully glueing rhinestone gems to her cheekbones in the mirror like a seasoned veteran. Jay, naturally, is double-fisting redbulls and Jägermeister in the corner, hyping everyone up between sips. The group chat is buzzing with last-minute ride logistics, but right now, your focus is on matching your fishnets to your kandi cuffs. It’s the familiar pre-festival chaos—music blasting, friends shouting over each other, and the thrill of knowing you’re about to dance under the neon lights and favourite artists with your people. 

As you fish through your luggage one more time, the faint thump of bass from Minseok's Bluetooth speaker rattles against the tiled floor of your hotel room. The pre-festival anxiety is already in full swing, and you’re somewhere between excitement and mild panic.

“Y/N!! Where did you put the holographic glitter glue?? I can’t seem to find it in your pouch..” Estelle’s voice echoes from the washroom, pitched just loud enough to cut through the EDM playing from Jun’s phone.

You pause, brows furrowing. You know you packed that glitter glue — in fact, you distinctly remember triple-checking it before zipping up your toiletry pouch back at home days before this trip to Vegas.

“It should be in there!” you call back, already unzipping your emergency cosmetics pouch from your luggage for the third time. Lip glosses clink together, an eyelash curler springs loose, and a cloud of loose highlighter dusts your fingertips as you dig deeper. Nothing.

From the washroom, you hear Jun’s voice join in. “Estelle, seriously, just use the fine glitter I brought. It’s literally the same.”

“It is not the same,” Estelle huffs, the sound of her rummaging amplified by the tiled walls. “The one I brought doesn’t have that pink-green glow. I want that one.”

Jun lets out a groan that’s half laugh, half exasperation. “You’re going to sweat it off in, like, an hour anyway. Who cares?”

That earns her a scoff from Minseok, who’s lounging across the bed nearest the window, absently flicking through the EDC app’s set times. “Preach. You’re all gonna come back with the bass-faces and all.”

You roll your eyes but keep searching, now moving on to the other luggage sprawled open across the room. Somewhere behind you, Jay cracks open his second can of redbull, the sharp pshhht! cutting through the background noise.

“Speaking of,” he says, pointing the can at you like it’s a microphone, “have you found your perfect fit yet, Y/N? Because last I checked, BTSM and Grabbitz are literally about to go on.”

You freeze mid-search. Right. The fit. You have options laid out across your bed — a lilac two-piece with holographic cutouts, a neon green mesh dress over a black bodysuit, and a last-minute impulse buy: a baby pink sequin halter with matching flare pants. You’ve been staring at them for the past half hour, unable to commit.

“Working on it!” you shout over your shoulder, though you’re painfully aware that “working on it” in rave-time could easily mean another twenty minutes.

Jun finally emerges from the washroom, holding two sets of falsies like she’s presenting evidence in court. “Y/N. Help me settle this. Dramatic cat eye or wispy?”

Estelle’s voice follows hot on her heels. “Ignore her. Just tell me where the glitter glue is.”

You sigh, toss the cosmetics pouch onto the bed, and cross the room to dig through the shopping bag you left by the TV stand. No glitter glue there either. Great.

“You guys are stressing me out,” you mutter, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward. This — the noise, the interruptions, the ridiculous mini-emergencies — it’s part of the ritual. Your group thrives on this slightly frantic, last-minute scramble. It’s what makes stepping into the festival gates feel like crossing into another world.

Finally, you spot a small ziplock bag half-buried under your pile of kandi bracelets. Inside? The elusive holographic glitter glue. You hold it up like a trophy.

“FOUND IT!” you announce, and Estelle practically skips over to snatch it from your hand.

“My saviour,” she grins, already unscrewing the cap.

With the glitter crisis resolved, you turn back to your bed, grab the pink sequin halter and pants, and hold them against yourself in the mirror. It’s bold, borderline blinding under the yellow hotel lighting — perfect.

“Alright,” you tell Jay, “I’ve got my fit. You happy?”

Jay smirks. “Ecstatic. Now hurry up before Minseok drags us all out without eyeliner.”

That earns a laugh from Minseok, who’s now half-dressed in black cargos and a mesh tank. “Not a bad idea, honestly.”

The next twenty minutes are a blur of finishing touches — Estelle’s glitter game is next-level, Jun finally commits to the dramatic lashes, Jay strings a mini totem with LED fairy lights, and Minseok keeps everyone on time like some reluctant rave dad. You pull on your platform boots, double-check your ID and hydration pack, and snap a quick group mirror selfie.

The elevator ride down to the lobby is filled with the hum of anticipation. Your group isn’t the only one headed out; the hallway is a parade of neon, mesh, and sparkle. Strangers compliment each other’s outfits, basslines leak from portable speakers, and the air smells faintly of body spray and hair glitter.

Once outside, the dry Las Vegas warm and hazy air hits you — warm but with that hint of desert coolness that’ll settle in after dark. The line of shuttles is already filling up, the sound of chatter and laughter mixing with the distant thud of bass from the festival grounds.

Jay turns to you as you all shuffle toward the nearest shuttle. “So, game plan: first set is Dom Dolla, right?”

“Obviously,” you grin. That’s non-negotiable.

The ride is its own mini-party, strangers trading kandi across the aisle and shouting out which stages they’re heading to first. By the time the neon glow of the festival comes into view, your chest feels tight with that mix of adrenaline and joy that only comes before the first night of EDC.

You step off the shuttle, take in the kaleidoscope of lights, the roar of the crowd, the pulsing music in the distance — and for a moment, all the pre-festival chaos is worth it. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, surrounded by your squad, ready to lose yourself in the music under the desert sky.

The shuttle doors hiss open, and you’re swept into the stream of bodies flowing toward the festival gates. Every step forward feels like being pulled deeper into a different dimension — one where time doesn’t matter and the outside world fades away. LED towers light up the desert night, the air vibrates with bass from multiple stages bleeding together, and the scent of sunscreen, dust, and faintly sweet vape clouds hangs in the air.

Your crew moves as a unit, navigating through the kaleidoscope crowd with practiced ease. Jun’s holding onto Estelle’s wrist so she doesn’t wander off mid–photo op, Minseok’s already checking the festival map on his phone, and Jay keeps tossing you exaggerated looks every time a banger drops from a nearby stage.

By the time you hit the main circuit path, you can hear the opening beats of Dom Dolla’s set in the distance. The bassline thrums against your ribcage, urging you forward. You weave through the sea of people — sequined and lit-up strangers, glowing accessories, faces painted like galaxies — until the stage explodes into view, a swirling backdrop of visuals pulsing in time with the beat.

The moment you step into the crowd, the rest of your group spreads out instinctively, each person finding their rhythm in the music. The heat of moving bodies, the sharp kick of the bass, the wash of strobes overhead — it’s dizzying and addictive.

You’re just about to lose yourself in the drop when someone bumps your shoulder hard enough to make you glance over.

A tall figure, broad-shouldered and leaning down slightly so you can hear him over the music, flashes an apologetic smile. Even under the shifting lights, you catch the coppery glint of his hair and the easy warmth in his eyes.

“Sorry! — didn’t mean to crash into you,” he shouts over the beat, voice edged with a laugh.

You wave it off, the corners of your mouth tugging upward. “No worries! It’s EDC — bumping into one another is part of the experience, which for that I mean —  if you’ve got PLUR in you to apologize and dance away.”

He grins, and for a moment you think that’s the end of it. But when the next drop hits, he’s still there beside you, moving with the same rhythm, occasionally glancing your way like he’s checking if you’re having as good a time as he is.

By the second track, you’re leaning in so you can hear each other. The conversation is half-shouted and entirely effortless — a shared love for this setlist, the kind of tracks you hope Dom plays next, which other artists you’re here to see. It feels strangely natural, like you’ve run into someone you were supposed to meet all along.

When the set ends, your group comes back together, flushed and breathless, ready to move on to the next stage. But he lingers.

“I’m Heeseung,” he says, holding out a hand like you’re meeting somewhere quieter, like the pounding bass and flashing lights are just background noise.

You tell him your name, and before you know it, he’s suggesting you meet up for another set tomorrow. The idea doesn’t feel out of place at all — in fact, it feels inevitable.

That night sets the tone for the rest of the festival. Between stage-hopping, swapping stories in food lines, and sitting under the glowing art installations, you and Heeseung build a rhythm that feels both electric and comfortable. And when EDC ends, the connection doesn’t.

For the next two months, it’s late-night calls, dumb memes, and playlists swapped like little pieces of each other. But then — silence.

No “busy today, talk later.” No explanation. Just a slow fade into nothing.

You stare at his unread messages until the bitterness outweighs the hope. One night, without overthinking it, you remove him from your socials. You tell yourself it’s fine, you’ll move on, maybe even hit a different festival this season with your crew.

And you almost believe it — until the first day of that new festival, when you spot him.

Same coppery hair. Same smile you swore you’d stopped missing. And this time, his mouth is on someone else’s.

Someone from your old rave family. 

The first day is already off to a blur — sun glaring overhead, bass pounding from every direction, and bodies moving in a colourful splash around you. Your crew is weaving through the crowd toward the next stage, Jay leading the way with the totem held high so you don’t lose each other. You’re still riding the high from the last set, letting yourself sink into the comfort of familiar faces and music, when a flash of copper in the corner of your vision stops you cold.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. The crowd is a kaleidoscope of wigs, headpieces, and UV glow paint; it wouldn’t be impossible for someone else to have that exact shade of red hair. But then the person shifts, and there’s no mistaking it — Heeseung.

Even with the harsh daylight and flashing visuals behind him, you know it’s him. His head is dipped slightly, pash wrapped loosely around his head and sunglasses hiding his eyes, but you’d recognize the set of his jaw anywhere.

And then you see her.

It takes less than a second for the recognition to hit, but the memory is instant and bitter — Hana. Once your best friend. The kind of best friend who knew every detail of your life, who you thought would be permanent. Until that night at the club, years ago, when she’d left you half-conscious and greening out in a corner because she’d “found a ride” with someone more interesting. You’d told yourself you’d buried that hurt a long time ago. Apparently not.

Because now she’s here, her arms looped around Heeseung’s neck, kissing him like they’re the only two people in this whole neon-soaked universe.

Your stomach drops. For a moment, you can’t even hear the music — just the white noise rush of blood in your ears.

It’s when they pull apart that she notices you. At first, her expression is unreadable. Then, like slipping on a mask, she widens her eyes and gasps as if she’s stumbled upon the most delightful surprise.

“Y/N?!” she calls out, her voice slicing through the noise. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”

The faux warmth in her tone makes your skin prickle. There’s no trace of guilt in her face — only the kind of calculated shock that comes with knowing she’s caught you off guard. Her hand stays hooked casually around Heeseung’s arm, almost like she’s daring you to react.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Because what would you even say? That you weren’t expecting to see him? That you weren’t expecting to see her? That you definitely weren’t expecting to see them together?

You try to read Heeseung’s expression, desperate for some flicker of recognition or apology — anything. But with the sunglasses and pash, he’s a wall. No tells. No clues. Just a stillness that feels heavier the longer you stand there.

The air between you is seconds from snapping when you feel a firm hand on your elbow.

“Hey,” Jay’s voice cuts through, low and steady, close enough that only you can hear him. “Not worth it.”

You don’t move right away, eyes still locked on Hana. Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a glint there — satisfaction, maybe — that makes you want to claw the glitter off her face.

Jay tugs again, a little more insistently. “C’mon. Black Tiger Sex Machine’s about to start. Don’t give them your night.”

Something in his tone pulls you back to yourself. You blink, exhale, and let him guide you away, weaving back into the moving crowd until the bass swallows the moment whole.

Even as the bodies close in around you, blocking them from view, the image is burned into your mind: Hana’s smug little grin, Heeseung’s unreadable stillness, and the sting of realizing that ghosts don’t always stay gone — sometimes they show up wrapped around each other under festival lights.

And for the first time tonight, you’re not thinking about the music. You’re thinking about the war you didn’t know you’d just walked into.

You try to shake it off — the music, the lights, the crowd pressing in around you — but the beat feels too loud in all the wrong ways. Your body moves on autopilot, swaying with the crowd, but your mind is still back there, locked on the sight of Hana’s lips against his and that unreadable wall behind his sunglasses.

Every time the strobe lights sweep across the crowd, you half-expect to catch another glimpse of them. Your chest feels tight, like you’re dancing with a weight strapped to it.

Jay must notice. He’s been sticking close, hovering just behind your shoulder as you drift from the edge of the dance pit toward the main path. When you barely respond to his shout during a drop, he leans in and says something you can’t quite hear — then takes your wrist and gently but firmly steers you out of the crowd.

You let him lead. The sound thins as you wind past food stalls and merch tents until you’re in one of the quieter pockets near the portapotties. The bass is still there, but it’s muffled now, replaced by the chatter of people waiting in line and the occasional hiss of a can opening.

Jay turns to face you, hands in his pockets, eyes narrowing just slightly in that way he does when he’s trying to read you.

“Alright,” he says over the hum of voices, “what’s your deal with the guy with the pash? You looked like someone ripped the ground out from under you back there.”

You hesitate, looking down at the scuffed toes of your platforms before answering. “It’s just… earlier this year at EDC, we had a good thing going. Like, really good. And then he ghosted me after three months. No explanation, no excuses. Just… gone. And I didn’t know he knew her of all people.”

Jay’s expression darkens just slightly. “That’s Hana for you. She’s been a pick-me since forever, Y/N. You know this.”

A small, humorless laugh escapes you. “Yeah. I know.”

He glances toward the crowd, then back to you. “Look — you need to lock in, or else we’re gonna have to skip out on molly tonight. I can’t let you have a bad trip over some guy.”

You swallow hard, the knot in your chest loosening just enough to let you breathe. “…I know. I’ll try.”

Jay nods once, satisfied enough for now. “Good. C’mon — let’s grab some water, regroup with the others, and get you back in the right headspace.”

As you follow him back toward the lights, you try to force your mind toward the music, the friends waiting for you, the sets you’ve been counting down for months. But no matter how much you tell yourself to focus, the ghost of that moment — Hana’s grin, Heeseung’s silence — lingers just out of reach, waiting for the beat to drop again.

The thump of bass grows louder as you and Jay weave back toward the main stage. You spot your crew before they see you — Minseok’s perched on the grass with a relaxed expression, fanning himself with a folding hand fan in one hand and sipping from his hydration pack with the other. Estelle’s crouched in front of him, dramatically posing for Jun’s phone camera while glitter flakes off her cheekbones.

When Jun glances up and catches sight of you, she waves you over instantly. “Y/N! You disappeared, babe.”

You and Jay step into the little circle they’ve claimed, and within seconds, Minseok’s fanning you too, muttering about how “the sober ones always overheat from babysitting the rest of us.” Estelle hands you her little personal fan for a moment, the air cool against your cheeks as you crouch down beside Jun.

It’s Jun who leans in close, her voice pitched just for you. “What’s up with you?”

You blink, caught off guard. “Huh?”

She tilts her head, studying you like she’s scanning for micro-expressions. “You’ve got that look. The one you get when you’re not fully here. Spill.”

You stare at the grass for a moment before saying quietly, “I saw her again. And with my old situationship.”

Jun’s brows shoot up. “For real?”

“Yeah…” The word feels heavy on your tongue, but saying it out loud makes the sting just a bit less sharp.

Jun shakes her head, a smirk curling on her lips — not mocking, but the kind that says she’s not worth your energy. “Well, screw that. You’re here. With us. And we’re about to have one of the best nights of the year. Don’t let them take that from you.”

She bumps your shoulder gently, then grins wider. “Besides, have you seen the lineup for tonight? You’re gonna forget all about them by the first drop.”

Her voice, her certainty, it works its way into you like sunlight breaking through clouds. You find yourself laughing — really laughing — for the first time since spotting them. “You’re right.”

“Damn straight I am,” she says, handing you back the little personal fan.

For the first time in hours, the knot in your stomach loosens. You feel lighter, like maybe this night isn’t a total loss after all.

Jay steps into the circle, shaking his water bottle with a grin. “Alright, molly water’s ready. Everyone double-check you’re good before we go in.” He hands the bottle to Minseok first, then Estelle, who’s already bouncing in place, glitter catching the stage lights.

Jun glances at you again, just to be sure. “You good?”

You give her a thumbs up, and this time, you mean it.

The bass from the next stage swells, the crowd’s roar rising with it. As Jay passes you the bottle, you take a sip, the cool water chasing away the last traces of bitterness clinging to your mouth.

For now, at least, everything feels like it’s going to be good.

A couple hours pass, and it’s finally time for the Slander b2b Illenium VIP set. The air feels charged, with the bass leaking from the surrounding stages blending into a low, electric hum. You start hearing your own heartbeat in your ears as Minseok digs into one of the crew’s drawstring bags and pulls out a handful of lollipops — enough for everyone. He passes them around like a priest offering communion, muttering something about “essential rave fuel” while Estelle dramatically bows before accepting hers.

You take the candy, the plastic crinkling between your fingers, and can’t help reflecting on the last couple of sets. You’ve moved as a unit all night, flowing from one stage to another, each time inching closer to the rail. By the last drop at the previous set, you were pressed just a few rows back, the kind of spot where you can feel the bass shaking the ground through your knees. Now, you’re practically close enough to reach out and touch the barricade.

The crowd here is different — tighter, hungrier, a sea of faces glowing with sweat and anticipation. LED totems sway overhead, kandi beads click and shift as people throw up heart hands toward the empty stage. Somewhere to your left, Jun is double-knotting her pash, and to your right, Jay is running down the hydration checklist like the organized chaos manager he’s unofficially become.

You pop the lollipop into your mouth just as the stage lights dim. The chatter dies instantly, replaced by that singular roar only the first beat and slow melodic hum from the VIP stage. Smoke cannons burst along the edge of the stage, and a wall of sound slams into you so hard you feel it in your teeth.

The rails rattle under the pressure of the crowd, and in that moment, there’s no Hana, no Heeseung, no old ghosts lurking in your mind — just the pure, bone-deep rush of bass and light. Jun’s beside you, grinning like a maniac, her hand briefly finding yours during a melodic break before the next drop crashes down. Minseok’s headbanging like his neck has no limits, and Estelle’s already trading kandi with a stranger behind her.

Somewhere in the haze of lasers and smoke, Jay leans in, shouting over the music: “We’re locked in now!”

And he’s right. Every beat pushes you further from the weight you carried earlier, until all that’s left is the music, your crew, and the pounding in your chest that’s no longer from hurt — just from living.

The set bleeds seamlessly from heavy drops into melodic swells, each transition making the crowd roar louder. The molly’s warmth starts creeping through your veins, softening every edge — colors bloom brighter, the bass feels rounder, smoother, almost liquid as it moves through you. Every beat seems to sync with the pounding in your chest, and the air tastes faintly of sugar from the lollipop melting on your tongue.

Then the opening notes of “First Time” start to rise, delicate and glowing against the darker tones before it. Jun grabs your hand and screams in your ear, “This is it!” as the crowd surges closer to the barricade. The melodic bass wraps around you, pulling your heart into the build.

That’s when you see him.

A meter away, just down the rail. No sunglasses. No pashmina. Just his face — open, unguarded — and the faint trace of guilt and longing in his eyes that you didn’t expect to find there. The bored detachment from earlier is gone. He’s not with Hana. In fact, he looks like he’s been standing there for a while, waiting for something… or someone.

Your stomach flips, but the molly’s effects swells over it, making every sensation sharper, heavier. You can’t tell if your pulse is from the music or from him.

Then the drop hits. Lights explode across the crowd in blinding streaks, and in the chaos, Heeseung locks eyes with you and mouths the words: I’ve missed you.

You don’t think. You just move. Your feet carry you away from your group before Jun or Jay can even register where you’re going. The press of bodies parts just enough for you to slip down the rail toward him.

When you’re finally in front of him, the air between you hums with more than just bass. His hand hovers at your waist like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch you, and you can feel the heat radiating off him in the packed space.

You want to be angry. You want to ask him why — why he ghosted, why he’s here, why he’s looking at you like this now. But the music swells, the bass cradles you, and your body betrays you by leaning closer instead.

He mirrors you, matching your sway to the beat. When the melodic break hits, his fingers finally find your hip, grounding you in the crush of the crowd. You can smell faint traces of his cologne — Prada Infusion D’Homme , somehow untouched by the desert heat, and it twists something deep inside you.

You keep moving, your bodies close enough that your forearms brush, close enough to feel each inhale and exhale. The lasers scatter over his face, and for the first time in months, you see him without anything to hide behind. There’s no smirk, no mask — just something raw that makes your chest ache in time with the bass.

As the song builds again, he leans closer, lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice barely audible over the roar: “I shouldn’t have left.”

The drop swallows the rest of whatever he might have said, but it doesn’t matter — you feel the weight of it in the way his hand lingers at your side, the way his eyes don’t leave yours even when the crowd around you is losing their minds.

And for one dizzy, dangerous moment, you let yourself believe him.

The swell before the drop is almost unbearable — the lights dim to near-darkness, a hush falls over the crowd, and the bassline stretches out like it’s holding its breath. You’re so close to Heeseung now that you can feel his heartbeat through the thin space between your chests.

And then your lips find each other.

It’s not a tentative brush — it’s molten, urgent, a collision that feels like both a beginning and a toxic relapse. The music crashes around you, lasers slicing through the air, and for a few seconds, you’re lost in the taste of him, the heat of his hand cupping the back of your neck. The crowd could vanish and you wouldn’t notice.

Somewhere beyond the rail, Jay sees you. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to register the moment. He doesn’t move toward you, doesn’t try to pull you away. Instead, he stands rooted where he is, watching with a blank expression that still somehow lays every feeling bare — the hurt, the restraint, the quiet calculation. His gaze never wavers, as if silently promising himself that if this starts tipping toward a bad trip, he’ll step in.

But right now? He lets you be.

You and Heeseung dance like you’re making up for every beat you’ve missed together. The melodic swells pull you into slow, swaying closeness, while the drops send you both into chaotic bursts of headbanging, hair whipping in the flashing light. You shout the lyrics at each other, voices cracking from the sheer volume and adrenaline. At one point, during a well built-up euphoric drop, he grips both your hands and jumps in time with you, the crowd around you blurring into a sea of motion and light.

Only toward the end of the set, as the final Illenium track bleeds into the closing notes, does your crew find you again. Jun spots you first, weaving through the thinning crowd until she’s close enough to grin and shout over the fading bass, “Well? Are you gonna introduce us?”

You turn, the sudden awareness of Jay’s eyes on you making your pulse trip. His expression is unreadable now, but the tension in his shoulders says enough.

“This is Heeseung,” you say, loud enough for everyone to hear.

He reaches out to shake hands, first with Jay, then with Minseok. Jay’s grip is firm, his gaze steady but cool, while Minseok, rolling hard, just beams at him like they’ve been friends for years.

Jun steps forward with a knowing smirk aimed squarely at you before extending her hand. “Nice to meet you,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp.

Estelle, barely tracking the conversation through her haze, leans heavily against Minseok as Jun presses a pair of sunglasses into both their hands. “Protect your eyes, children,” she says, sliding her own on as the next stage’s visuals start flaring in the distance.

You’re still mid-laugh at Estelle’s half-asleep thanks when you feel it — Heeseung’s hand sliding down to find yours. He threads his fingers through yours without hesitation, his palm warm, grounding, and very much in full view of your entire group.

A rush of heat floods your face, though whether it’s from the touch or the eyes you can feel on you, you’re not sure. Jay’s still watching — not glaring, not even scowling, but holding his own version of a poker face, the kind that makes it impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Jun’s gaze flicks to your joined hands, then back to your face, her smirk widening just enough to make your stomach flip.

And under all the pounding bass, the kaleidoscope lights, and the haze of euphoria, your chest is a storm. Part of you wants to melt into this moment with Heeseung and forget the rest of the world exists. Another part can’t ignore the heaviness hanging between you and your crew, especially the silent weight in Jay’s eyes.

For now, you just squeeze Heeseung’s hand back — holding on, even if you don’t know what you’re holding onto.

The walk between stages is slow, the crowd funnelling into narrow lanes lit by neon glow sticks and the occasional burst of pyro from a distant set. Jay moves a few steps ahead, carving the path without looking back, while Jun lingers on your other side, sunglasses reflecting the flickering lights.

Heeseung stays glued to your right, your hands still locked together. At first it feels grounding, but the subtle squeeze in his grip tightens with every step, as though he’s silently anchoring you to him.

Jun’s voice cuts through the dull roar of bass bleeding from every direction. “Oh, I heard you were with your friends earlier,” she says casually — too casually. “I didn’t know you knew Hana?”

Heeseung glances at her, his tone polite but clipped. “Yeah, I actually went solo, but someone from my workplace came by. How do you know Hana?”

Jun hums, tilting her head with a mock-thoughtful smile. “Hm, I wonder… how do we know her, Y/N?”

Your eyes snap to Jun’s face — that smirk says she’s playing with fire. Then you look at Heeseung, whose brows pull together in genuine confusion.

“Oh… Hana, huh…” you murmur, unsure why your chest feels tighter all of a sudden.

That’s when Heeseung stops dead in his tracks, the crowd parting around the three of you like water. You’re jolted back with him, his hand still wrapped in yours. His expression sharpens in the dim light, voice low but urgent.

“Did Hana do something? To you?”

There’s something in his eyes you haven’t seen before — not the earlier guilt or longing, but a flare of protectiveness that makes your breath hitch. You barely register Jun glancing over her shoulder, taking in the scene with a flicker of satisfaction before she steps backward into the flow of people.

“We’ll meet you at the techno stage!” she calls out, already merging into the crowd. “I can’t miss Eli Brown!”

And just like that, she’s gone — leaving you alone with Heeseung in the pulsing, shifting chaos. The space between you feels heavier now, like the next words spoken could tilt everything in a direction you’re not sure you’re ready for.

Heeseung’s grip tightens on your hand, his voice dropping into something fierce and low, inches from your ear. “Did Hana do something to you, Y/N? You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Your throat closes up. The weight of his gaze pins you, the pressure twisting tighter with every second. You want to speak — to explain — but the words get tangled in your chest.

Suddenly, your mind spirals back to that night years ago, in a downtown club you once loved but now dread. The air thick with sweat and stale smoke, the pounding bass masking your growing panic. You had greened out hard, disoriented, helpless — and Hana had just walked away, leaving you crumpled on the grimy floor while she disappeared into the crowd, indifferent.

You remember the dizzying helplessness, the sting of betrayal sharper than any drug’s come down. How foreign the city felt in that moment, how utterly alone you were.

Your vision blurs. Your legs feel like jelly, your body slumps against Heeseung before you realize what’s happening — you’re going limp.

Heeseung’s hands move to your shoulders, shaking you gently but urgently. “Y/N? Hey. Look at me. Don’t go.”

His voice slices through the haze, but your breath catches in your throat. You want to pull away, but he holds you steady, his eyes searching yours, refusing to let you fall apart.

From the edge of your vision, you see Jay — his expression unreadable but his posture tense. He’s watching you closely, like a guardian on alert, ready to step in if you slip too far.

You blink, fighting the tears threatening to spill, and manage to whisper, “She left me… that night. I was alone.”

Heeseung nods slowly, eyes softening just enough to show he believes you. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

The music pulses around you again, grounding you in the moment. You swallow hard, squeezing his hand back as the flashback fades, and the crowd’s energy rushes in to fill the space left behind.

Jay steps closer, voice low and steady. “You good?”

You nod, focusing on the now — on the bass, on the lights, on Heeseung’s steady presence beside you.

For the first time that night, you feel like you might actually be okay.

The bass thumps heavy in your ears, a constant pulse that steadies your frantic heartbeat. But beneath it, the conversations around you blur into something distant — muffled words and rising tension that scrape at the edges of your awareness.

You catch fragments, shadows of heated voices, but the faces of Heeseung and Jay grow indistinct through the haze behind your glazed-over eyes. Lips pressed tight. Vehement, defensive tones thick with frustration.

The last clear thing you hear from Heeseung cuts through the fog like a jagged knife: “I didn’t know Hana knew Y/N — hell, I wasn’t sober hours ago. How the fuck would I know if you guys were here?!”

Jay’s voice fires back, sharp and unyielding. “And you didn’t bother giving Y/N closure or anything before you ghosted her? That’s some pussy moves, man. If you want to be with her, at least show up for her — and not be with a girl who fucked us all up before.”

The weight of their words presses down on you, and the world tilts. The edges of your vision darken, the pounding bass twisting into a dull roar, and everything goes black.

When your eyes flutter open, the world is a muted, sterile blur. The steady beep of medical machines replaces the bass, the cool touch of ice against your forehead grounding you in sharp contrast to the heat you felt moments ago.

Jay’s face is the first you see, tense but relieved, as he sits close by. Jun is there too, calm and watchful, her hand resting lightly on your arm where a medical officer gently adjusts an IV drip.

“Jay…? Jun?” Your voice cracks as you try to sit up, the room spinning slightly.

Jun’s gaze softens as she gently presses you back down. “Easy, you’re safe.”

Your voice catches again. “Where’s Hee—”

Jay’s expression tightens. “He’s not here right now. Just focus on resting.”

You blink, the memories rushing back in fragments — the festival, the kiss, the fight, the blackout — and your chest tightens with everything left unsaid.

“But he said… this time he’s going to stay…” you whisper, voice cracking beneath the weight of the night’s chaos.

“Well, he fucking lied. We’re sorry, babe.” Jun’s hand settles on your thigh, warm and steady. You barely realize your legs have been shaking uncontrollably until her touch grounds you, cool against your clammy skin.

You glance around, the sterile med tent suddenly feeling too small and too quiet. Your throat feels dry as sandpaper, and the urge to reach for your phone tugs at you.

“Can I have my phone?” you ask, voice small.

Jay shakes his head gently. “Not yet. You blacked out for almost ten minutes — probably a mix of heat, the molly water settling in, and everything else that hit you tonight. You need to rest a bit more before we get it back.”

You nod slowly, a storm of emotions swirling in your chest: exhaustion, relief, heartbreak, and something stubborn that clings to hope.

A medical officer steps forward, handing you a water bottle. Your hands tremble as you take it, fingers fumbling to open the cap. When the seal breaks, you drink with the urgency of someone who hasn’t had water in days, the cool liquid soothing your dry throat and easing the tightness in your chest.

Jun and Jay exchange a glance, and soon the mood lightens. Jun cracks a joke about how Estelle’s glitter must be the real party drug, and Jay mocks Minseok’s “epic” dance moves from earlier, complete with exaggerated headbanging that makes you laugh despite yourself.

Slowly, your mind begins to untangle from the heaviness of what happened. The laughter feels like a lifeline, pulling you back toward the present.

After a little while, Jun pulls out her phone. “Uber’s on the way. We’re heading back to the hotel when you’re ready.”

You nod, grateful for the familiar faces and steady company. As you settle back, your phone buzzes in your pocket — a message from a number you recognize immediately.

You hesitate, then glance at the screen without saying a word as Jun and Jay look over, curious about your sudden silence.

Heeseung - DNI: hey Heeseung - DNI: I’m really sorry about tonight. Jay told me to leave you after we carried you to the med tent Heeseung - DNI: can we talk about us, whenever you’re free? Heeseung - DNI: i’m sorry again, and i miss you.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking between the messages and your friends. For now, you keep the texts to yourself.

The Uber hums softly beneath you, the city lights flashing past the tinted windows in streaks of neon. Jay and Jun sits close, a bubble of familiarity amid the haze of the night, but inside, your thoughts race like a storm you can’t outrun. Jun was talking with Estelle over the phone, and you can still hear the familiar bass thumping alike from the other end. 

She sighed and hung up, and turned to Jay. “Estelle and Minseok said they’re heading to the afters — and said they’ll see us in the morning during breakfast. You guys going to be okay if we rest at the hotel for tonight?”

Jay nods and hums in agreement as Jun complain about the two crackhead friends of the group leaving off without ‘parental supervision’ again.

You keep your phone face down on your lap, the weight of Heeseung’s messages pressing against your ribs. ‘He’s sorry. He misses you.’ But what does that even mean now? After the silence, the ghosting, the lies?

‘How can I trust someone who disappeared without a word?’

Your jaw tightens, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. You replay every moment from earlier — the kiss, his silence, the confusion on his face when Jun pressed him, and then the bitter fight with Jay.

‘And now he wants a second chance? Like I’m just supposed to forget?’

The city blurs outside, but inside your chest, everything feels raw and exposed. You swallow hard, trying to swallow down the hurt and rage tangled up with the flickers of hope.

Jay, sitting quietly beside you, catches your restless hands and lets out a slow breath. “Hey,” he says softly, voice low enough that only you can hear.

You glance at him, heart hammering in your ears.

“Are you happy with how things are now?”

The question cuts through the noise — simple, but heavy.

You want to say yes. You want to believe that maybe this night, with all its chaos and heartbreak, could still lead somewhere better. But your voice catches, and all you manage is a shaky, “I don’t know.”

Jay nods, understanding more in that answer than any words could say.

The ride stretches out ahead, uncertain and winding — just like everything else.

You collapse onto the hotel bed, the crisp white sheets swallowing you in their coolness. Your body feels like lead, but your mind is restless, replaying the night in fragments you wish you could erase.

The steady rush of water from the bathroom tells you Jay’s still in the shower. Jun’s absence is marked only by the faint click of the door locking earlier when she announced she was heading to the lobby for snacks.

You pick up your phone from the nightstand. Your thumb hovers over Heeseung’s name — Heeseung - DNI — before you finally open his messages.

Heeseung - DNI:hey Heeseung - DNI: I'm really sorry about tonight. Jay told me to leave you after we carried you to the med tent Heeseung - DNI:can we talk about us, whenever you're free? Heeseung - DNI: i'm sorry again, and i miss you.

You stare at the blinking cursor before typing back.

Me: We can talk. But I need you to be honest right now.

You hit send.

Not even a minute passes before your phone lights up again — this time, an incoming call.

12:12 AM.

Your eyes flick to the closed bathroom door. The water still runs. You swallow the lump in your throat and answer.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause — long enough that you almost think he hung up — before his voice comes through, quiet but taut. “You actually picked up.”

“I wasn’t going to,” you admit, voice flat. “But I need to hear it from you. No games, no half-truths.”

He breathes out a low laugh that doesn’t sound happy. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try,” you press, the edge in your voice sharper than you expected. “Because I’m not doing this halfway anymore, Heeseung.”

Silence hums between you, broken only by the low static of the call.

“I fucked up,” he says finally. “I got scared. I didn’t think I could give you what you wanted—what you deserved. And tonight… seeing you there…” His voice falters. “I didn’t know if I had the right to talk to you anymore.”

Your chest tightens. “You didn’t just not talk to me. You left me wondering what I did wrong. You let me think I wasn’t worth an explanation.”

“I thought staying away was better than—”

“Hurting me?” you cut in. “Because that’s exactly what you did.”

His breath catches, and you can almost hear him clenching his jaw on the other end. “I miss you,” he says finally, his tone breaking.

You close your eyes, the ache in your chest growing heavier. “Missing me isn’t enough, Heeseung. If we do talk… I’m getting my answers. All of them. Even if it hurts.”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “If that’s what it takes, I’ll tell you everything.”

You don’t respond right away — partly because you’re scared of what everything means, and partly because you hear the water shut off in the bathroom.

Your thumb darts over the screen, hitting mute before you can even think about it. Heeseung’s faint breathing still filters through the speaker pressed to your palm, but he can’t hear you now.

The bathroom door opens with a soft shuffle, steam curling out into the dim hotel room.

“Are you good?” Jay’s voice is casual, but his raised brow says he’s clocked something. He walks over to the shared closet, pulling the door open as he fists the towel around his hips, the terry cloth hanging dangerously low.

“Y—yeah,” you stammer, forcing your voice to stay light. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Mhm…” He hums like he’s not buying it, grabbing a shirt and loose shorts from the shelf. “’Cause your face is red.” He glances at you over his shoulder. “Make sure you stay hydrated now. Wouldn’t want you fainting again, now do we?”

Your cheeks burn hotter — partly from his words, partly from the phone burning a hole into the hand you’re holding behind your back.

“I’m fine,” you murmur quickly, shifting so the screen is angled away from him. You can still see the muted call timer ticking up — 2 minutes, 38 seconds.

Jay’s gaze lingers for a second longer before he turns back to get dressed, the sound of fabric rustling filling the air.

Your heart pounds, a strange cocktail of guilt, adrenaline, and stubborn determination. Behind you, Heeseung is still on the line, waiting.

Jay disappears into the bathroom again, the sound of running water returning as he brushes his teeth. You glance down at the screen — 2:58.

You hover your thumb over the unmute button, debating, when Heeseung’s voice suddenly comes through the phone’s tiny speaker — unmuted.

“...Y/N? Where are you?”

Your stomach plummets.

Shit. You didn’t just unmute — you somehow hit speaker.

The sound of the keycard beeping makes you whip your head toward the door.

Jun steps inside, plastic bag in hand. “Got snacks—” she says, kicking the door shut behind her, but her eyes immediately shift to Jay, who’s now out of the bathroom, towel gone, dressed down in shorts and a tee. “Hey, did you see the itinerary for the week ahead? We’re still good for check-out Thursday, right?”

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” Jay replies, moving to grab it. Neither of them have looked at you yet.

But Heeseung’s voice — his very recognizable voice — fills the room again from your palm.

“Y/N? Why’s it so quiet? Are you still there?”

Your chest tightens. Every cell in your body screams to hide the phone, to disappear, to run — but your fingers are frozen around the device, the speaker still on, his voice hanging in the air like a lit fuse.

Jun’s brow twitches, her gaze finally flicking toward you. Jay stops mid-motion, a t-shirt half-pulled over his head, and his eyes narrow when he hears the voice coming from your hand.

You swallow hard. The phone feels like it’s burning a hole into your palm, but instead of scrambling to end the call, your jaw tightens.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you say into the speaker, your voice shaky but loud enough for them both to hear. “I’m in the hotel… with my friends.”

The silence that follows is deafening — not from Heeseung, but from Jay and Jun.

Jun sets her snack bag down on the counter with a dull thud. Her expression is unreadable for a moment, then it settles into something almost worse than anger: quiet disappointment.

Jay doesn’t say anything either, but his eyes — sharp, assessing — flick between you and the phone like he’s fitting puzzle pieces together he’s been holding onto for weeks. His lips press into a thin line, and when you finally meet his gaze, there’s no shock there. Just… confirmation.

Heeseung’s voice crackles through again, tentative. “Can we talk? Please? I just—”

You cut him off. “You want to talk? Fine. But you’re going to do it with them here. No disappearing, no avoiding.”

Jun exhales sharply through her nose, crossing her arms. “Figures,” she mutters under her breath, almost to herself.

Jay just leans back against the desk, his arms folded now too. “Go ahead then,” he says flatly, eyes on the phone. “Let’s hear it.”

And suddenly, the air in the hotel room is so thick you can barely breathe — your pulse pounding in your ears as you wait for Heeseung to speak, knowing there’s no going back from this moment.

There’s a beat of static before Heeseung exhales, his voice low but uneven.

“I… didn’t even know she was your friend. Or ex-friend. Whatever,” he starts, and you can hear him pacing from the faint rustle of movement. “One night, I got this DM from her on Instagram. Hana. Said she knew me through you. At first I thought she was just being friendly, y’know? She mentioned you a couple times, but it was always… weird. Like, backhanded. ‘Oh, you’re hanging out with Y/N? Brave of you,’ shit like that. I didn’t get it. I didn’t know you guys weren’t… close anymore.”

Jay’s arms fold tighter across his chest, his eyes flicking to Jun. Jun’s expression doesn’t change much, but her jaw shifts — just enough to show she’s processing every word.

“I didn’t reply much,” Heeseung continues, his voice dipping lower. “But she kept pushing. Told me you were ‘flaky,’ that you’d probably bail on me anyway. She… she made it sound like she was looking out for me. And I was stupid enough to believe some of it.”

Jun tilts her head, locking eyes with Jay for a fleeting second — a silent conversation in the glance alone.

You say nothing. Your palms are flat against your thighs, fingers curled into such tight fists that your nails dig into your skin. You don’t even realize they’ve gone numb.

“She never told me why she had a problem with you,” Heeseung says after a pause. “But she wouldn’t let up. Every time we talked, she’d drop something about you. I thought I could ignore it, but… it got in my head.” His breath hitches, almost like he’s bracing himself. “And that’s when I started pulling back. I didn’t even notice I was doing it until it was too late.”

The anger burns in you like gasoline. This wasn’t just petty drama — this was deliberate. The same cycle, all over again. Someone who claimed to know you, worming their way into the spaces you’d finally started to feel safe in, poisoning it from the inside.

Your knuckles are white. You don’t trust yourself to speak — because if you open your mouth now, you’re not sure if you’ll scream, cry, or say something you can’t take back.

Jay leans against the desk, eyes still fixed on you, but when he speaks, it’s to Heeseung. “That’s all you have to say?” His voice is quiet, but edged like a blade.

Jun doesn’t look at Heeseung’s name flashing on your phone. She’s looking at you — and in her gaze is that sharp, disappointed I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not kind of expression.

And you… you just sit there, rigid, the silence between your breaths louder than the hum of the hotel AC.

The silence hangs, thick and unyielding.

You can hear Heeseung’s breathing on the other end, that faint static rush of him waiting for you to say something — anything.

Your nails are still biting into your palms. You focus on that sting, because if you think about the actual words he just said, you’re going to shatter.

Jun shifts in her seat, the plastic crinkle of a snack bag in her hand sounding way too loud in the cramped hotel room. Jay hasn’t moved from where he’s leaning against the desk, his gaze heavy on you, like he’s trying to will you into speaking.

You inhale once, slow, deep — and when you finally open your mouth, your voice is hoarse.

“Do you have any idea,” you start, each word dragged out like it weighs a hundred pounds, “what it’s like to have the same person fuck with your life twice?”

There’s a pause. On the other end, you think you hear him swallow.

“To have someone you trusted… make you feel like you’re the crazy one… and then go behind your back and ruin something good, just because they could?” Your throat tightens, but you push through it, your voice shaking now. “She left me stranded in a city I barely knew. She made me feel small. And you—” You stop short, jaw locking.

Jay straightens. Jun’s eyes drop to her lap.

“You listened to her,” you finally say, quieter now, the kind of quiet that feels sharper than a shout. “And you didn’t even give me the chance to prove her wrong.”

On the line, Heeseung doesn’t say a word. Not immediately. And that silence is somehow worse than if he’d tried to defend himself.

You lower the phone from your ear, your fingers trembling.

“Y/N—” Heeseung’s voice cracks, raw enough to make your pulse stutter. “I didn’t listen to her. Not like that. I just—fuck—when she said she knew you, I thought maybe… maybe I should ask. I didn’t know it would blow up like this. I swear, if I’d known what she did to you before, I—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, like he’s holding back something heavier. “I never wanted to hurt you. That was never the point. You have to believe me.”

The quiet after that feels dangerous. Your chest tightens—not from anger this time, but from that infuriating pull in your heart that remembers what it felt like to be wanted by him.

Your grip on the phone loosens. Your lips part. You almost—almost—let your guard down.

But then you glance up.

Jun’s watching you from her seat at the edge of the bed, head tilted, gaze sharp and unwavering. No words, no judgment—just that heavy, knowing look. The kind of look that says don’t forget.

Your jaw sets. You grip the phone tighter.

“I believed you before,” you say finally, voice flat but trembling at the edges. “I believed you every single time you said you’d stay. And every single time, you found a reason to leave.”

“Y/N—”

“I’m not doing it again.”

You don’t even wait for his reply—you end the call, the quiet click of the disconnect sounding too final for comfort.

The air in the room feels heavier. You set your phone down on the nightstand like it’s burning your hand.

Jun exhales through her nose, almost like she’s been holding her breath this entire time. Jay just rubs the back of his neck, looking away.

It happens so fast, you don’t even remember the first tear—only the flood. One moment you’re staring at the wall, your phone’s black screen still reflecting your own shadowed eyes, and the next you’re in Jay’s arms, sobbing into his chest like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely.

The sound that leaves you isn’t graceful—it’s raw, jagged, almost foreign to your own ears. That hollow, gnawing void that’s been eating away at you for months… finally, finally feels like it’s spilling out.

Jay doesn’t say anything. He just holds you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing circles into your back. His hoodie smells faintly of fabric softener and the faintest trace of cologne, grounding you in a way words never could.

You don’t know how long you cry—minutes? An hour?—until the sharp chime of Jun’s phone cuts through the muffled sound of your breathing.

Jun frowns at the screen before answering. “What the—Estelle?”

The front camera shakes wildly as Estelle’s grinning face fills the frame, a blur of flashing afterparty lights in the background.

“Jun!! Oh my god, babe—you’re never gonna guess what just happened.”

Behind her, Minseok leans into view, looking a little worse for wear. His bottom lip is split, a shallow bruise blooming along his jaw. He waves, half-grinning.

Jun’s eyes widen. “Estelle?? Minseok?? What the fuck happened to you two?? Do you need us to come over right now!?”

Estelle giggles, leaning against Minseok’s shoulder. “Heeeyyy babes—so, like—Minseok got into a fight with some guy because they were talking shit about Y/N!”

Your ears twitch at the sound of your name, and you start to lift your head, blinking through swollen lashes—only for Jay to gently push your head back against his chest, shielding you from the chaos on screen.

“I think it’s Hana’s new boytoy or some shit!” Estelle continues, the camera bouncing as she points toward someone off-frame.

Jun blinks. “Wait—hold on—start from the beginning. How the hell did you even see Hana tonight?”

“Ohhh,” Estelle says with a dramatic roll of her eyes, “so we left the main stage ‘cause Minseok needed air, right? We end up at this afters—turns out Hana’s there with some dude. He starts running his mouth, saying Y/N’s a ‘pathetic hanger-on’ who ‘uses people for clout’—like, can you believe that?!”

Jun’s jaw clenches. “And Minseok just—”

“—walked up to him and told him to shut the fuck up. Boytoy gets in his face, Minseok swings first, and boom—everyone’s shoving everyone.”

You can hear shouting faintly through the phone’s speaker, Estelle’s tone almost too casual for the story she’s telling.

“Hana ran off to get security,” Estelle adds, “trying to get us kicked out—except the bouncer saw the whole thing, so she and her precious boytoy got tossed too. Honestly? Worth it.”

Minseok grins at that, blood still dried along the edge of his lip. “Ten outta ten, would do it again.”

You feel Jay’s chest rise and fall under your cheek, the low thud of his heartbeat almost drowning out Estelle’s voice—almost.

“—oh! And babe, you won’t believe what else I found out,” Estelle’s words tumble over themselves, her voice bubbling with energy that’s painfully out of place in the quiet hotel room.

Jun shoots her a warning look through the screen, mouthing not now, but Estelle looked way too unaware to be minding her own business.

“So apparently Hana’s been running her mouth all night—like, all night—about how she and Y/N were, like, inseparable before they ‘fell out’ over some dude? Which, like, first of all, not true, right? But she’s telling everyone it was ‘because Y/N can’t handle being second best.’” Estelle punctuates the sentence with a scoff, shaking her head like the absurdity physically pains her.

Your palms tighten against Jay’s hoodie until your nails bite through the fabric. You can almost taste the bitterness at the back of your throat, like swallowing battery acid.

Jay’s hand finds the back of your head again, fingers firm but soothing. He doesn’t say a word, but you feel the silent plea in the way he holds you—don’t do this to yourself right now.

“Estelle,” Jun cuts in sharply, “maybe you can tell us the rest later—”

“No, no, wait, I’m not done!” Estelle laughs, swinging the camera back toward Minseok, who shrugs like what can you do?. “Hana kept acting like she knew everything about Y/N’s life—where she works, who she hangs out with now—like she’s still in her orbit or something. It’s so creepy, babe.”

Your chest tightens so hard you forget to breathe for a moment. The thought of Hana speaking your name in rooms you’re not in—spinning lies you can’t stop—feels like invisible hands wrapping around your ribs and squeezing.

Jay tilts his head down toward you, voice low. “Don’t listen to her, okay?”

But it’s too late—Estelle’s voice cuts through again. “Oh! And you know what’s worse? I think she’s trying to DM people from your circle—like, not even subtle about it. Which explains why she even found out about the festival tonight—”

“Estelle.” Jun’s voice is sharp enough to finally make Estelle blink, the realisation of the tension in the room dawning far too late.

“Oh,” she says, lips parting slightly. “Wait… is Y/N there with you?”

Jay’s thumb rubs once, slow and deliberate, over your shoulder blade. You keep your face buried against him, refusing to move, refusing to give Estelle the confirmation she’s fishing for.

Jun ends the call with a quick, “We’ll talk later,” before Estelle can say anything else, the screen going black with a sharp swipe. The silence that follows feels almost too loud—just the hum of the air conditioning and the distant whoosh of water pipes in the walls.

Jay’s still holding you, his palm steady on your back, like if he let go for even a second you’d vanish. Jun crosses the room quietly, setting her phone on the desk before crouching down in front of you.

“Alright, sweetheart,” she says softly, the firmness in her tone now replaced with something gentler, “let’s get you into bed, yeah?”

You let them guide you without protest. Jay’s arm stays around your waist, steadying you when your knees wobble, while Jun pulls the duvet back with one hand. You sink down into the cool sheets, your body curling instinctively toward the warmth of the comforter.

“Close your eyes,” Jun murmurs, reaching for the pack of makeup wipes on the nightstand. You feel the soft, damp press of the cloth against your cheek, the faint scent of aloe clinging to the air. She works slowly, careful not to tug at your skin.

Jay sits at the edge of the bed, watching her wipe away the last traces of glitter and eyeliner from your face. “Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says, his voice low but certain, like he’s willing the words to be true. “You don’t have to deal with any of this alone.”

You feel your throat tighten again, but this time the tears don’t come—not the gutting kind, anyway. Just a slow, steady ache, like your body’s finally too tired to cry.

Jun brushes your hair back from your forehead, tucking a stray strand behind your ear. “We’ve got you. No matter what Hana says, no matter what Heeseung does or doesn’t do—you’re ours. And we take care of ours.”

The sheets are warm now, their voices a soft rhythm in the background, and for the first time all night, the tension in your chest eases just enough to let you breathe without it hurting.

The faint grey light of dawn seeps in through the gap in the curtains, the quiet hum of the heater filling the room. You lie still for a moment, eyes tracing the ceiling, feeling the weight of a night that never really gave you rest. Every time you closed your eyes, your thoughts clawed their way back—Hana’s smug expression, Heeseung’s voice, Estelle’s tone over the phone. Over and over again.

By 6:43 a.m., you can’t take the tossing and turning anymore.

You push the duvet aside slowly, careful not to wake Jun, curled up in the armchair, or Jay, half-slouched at the edge of the bed with his arm still draped toward you like a loose shield. Their faces are peaceful, untouched by the mess you dragged into the room last night.

The carpet is cold under your bare feet as you slip into your hoodie and quietly pad to the door.

The restaurant within the lobby smells faintly of coffee and warm bread. A few early risers are scattered around, eating alone or murmuring over their plates. You fill a paper cup with coffee, the steam curling against your face, and sit at the farthest corner table where no one can really see you.

Only then do you pull out your phone.

The screen lights up in an overwhelming flood—hundreds of unread notifications. Names you haven’t spoken to in months. Friends. Acquaintances. Mutuals you’ve barely ever messaged.

Jessica: Hey girl!! Everything alright between you and Hana Kim? I heard from her that something happened last night :CVivian: Babe I heard from Kevin Nguyen that you stole Heeseung from Hana?! Is that like, real??Jaehyeon: I heard she said…Noa: Y/N, are you okay?

Each one feels like a pebble in your stomach, piling up until the weight makes you nauseous. You scroll without opening most of them—until your thumb freezes over the name you’ve been avoiding all night.

Heeseung.

Your chest tightens. There are two new messages—one long paragraph, and a voice memo.

The paragraph is an apology. Careful words that try to sound genuine but bleed with hesitation between the lines. He says he’s been thinking about what happened, that he wants to talk it through. That maybe if you met in person, you could see where it all went wrong.

You stare at the text until your coffee goes cold. Then, against your better judgment, you press play on the voice memo.

His voice is low, quieter than you remember, carrying that raw edge from last night. “Y/N… I don’t know how to make this right, but I’m asking for one more chance to try. Please. Just tell me when and where.”

Your stomach churns. All the half-healed wounds from before feel freshly torn open again.

You lock your phone without replying, pressing it face-down on the table. Even from here, you can feel the vibration of more messages piling in.

You keep your eyes fixed on the untouched toast in front of you, willing yourself to take a bite just so it doesn’t look so obvious—but the thought of chewing anything feels like swallowing gravel.

The lobby is still mostly quiet when you hear soft footsteps behind you.

“Could’ve sworn I left you in bed,” Jun’s voice reaches your ears as you slowly look up to see your friend who seemed to have a soft yet concerned look in her eyes.

You keep your gaze on the half-empty coffee cup, swirling it in slow, distracted circles as the murmur of the lobby hums faintly in the background.

Jun slides into the chair across from you, still wrapped in the loose hoodie she slept in. There’s no irritation in her eyes, no sharp edge in her voice—just the steady warmth of someone who’s not here to corner you.

“I’m not mad you didn’t talk to me or Jay about what was going on,” she says softly, resting her arms on the table. “I get it—you had a lot to carry, and sometimes… it’s easier to just keep walking with the weight than to set it down where people can see it.”

You nod faintly, eyes dropping to the steam curling from your coffee.

Jun leans in slightly, her tone even quieter now. “Whatever you decide from here, I’m with you. Even if that means giving Heeseung another chance… even if that means sitting down with him to clear up all the crap Hana’s planted in both your heads. I’m not here to sway you. I just want you to know you’re not doing it alone.”

Her words settle into the air between you, grounding you in a way the caffeine never could.

You manage a small exhale, almost a laugh, though it’s hollow at the edges. “That sounds… harder than it should be.”

Jun offers a faint smile. “Yeah. But hard doesn’t mean impossible. And you’ve always been braver than you think.”

As you exhaled a shaky breath, you scrolled down the chat with Heeseung and noticed that he had sent another voice memo—something that you were too afraid to bring yourself to open as your finger hovered over your screen with a slight tremor.

Jun glances at your phone, then back at you. “You haven’t listened to it yet, have you?”

You shake your head. “I… don’t know if I want to.”

“That’s fair,” she says, voice calm and unhurried. “But maybe… you should. Not because you owe him anything—” she pauses, making sure you’re looking at her “—but because you owe yourself clarity. You’ve been running circles in your own head for weeks. If you hear him out, at least you’ll know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

You press your lips together, your stomach tightening. The unread notification still lingers in your mind like a faint itch.

Jun leans back slightly, her expression softening. “Whatever’s in that voice memo, you’re still in control of what happens next. You can hear him out and still decide he doesn’t get another chance. Or… you can decide maybe he does. But at least the choice will be yours—not Hana’s, not anyone else’s.”

Her words plant a quiet courage in your chest, enough to make your fingers reach for the phone. You flip it over, the screen lighting up, showing the long paragraph Heeseung sent… and the voice memo waiting like a sealed envelope you’re not sure you’re ready to open.

The lobby feels quieter now, like the whole room is holding its breath with you.

Your thumb hovers over the play button. For a moment, you wonder if you should just delete it without listening—spare yourself whatever emotional mess is waiting. But Jun’s words echo in your head, grounding you enough to press down.

The voice that spills into your ear is rougher than you remember, like it’s been sanded down by too many sleepless nights.

“I had a long talk with Hana,” Heeseung begins, his breath audible between words. “And not just her. I talked to some of our mutuals—the ones who were there for us when we were doing great. I told them about what you’d said… how Hana always managed to fuck things up for you whenever things were going too well.”

There’s a pause, the faint scrape of something—maybe his hand dragging down his face.

“And apparently, they knew all about it,” he continues, voice heavy, “but didn’t bother telling me. Said I was too far gone… too deep under Hana’s bullshit.”

Your stomach twists, his next words breaking slower, like each one costs him something.

“I spoke to her too. And I know this probably doesn’t mean anything to you—since she didn’t cry, or break down, or whatever. She just laughed at me, Y/N. Laughed. And said, ‘How fucking stupid can you be? I only wanted the things Y/N had. Never you.’”

A shaky inhale filters through your speaker.

“Honestly… I’m not really asking her for forgiveness,” he says, the edge of desperation sharpening his tone. “I’m asking for yours. I’m so fucking sorry, Y/N. I would do anything to start fresh. But I can’t leave you alone. You know that.”

His voice drops low, almost pleading now.

“At least… please—talk to me before making a decision. Please. I’ll be at the airport in two days. And before I go back to Incheon… maybe I’ll see you.”

The voice memo ends, leaving the hum of the air conditioner to fill the gap. You realize your jaw’s tight, your breath shallow.

Jun waits a beat before speaking, then shifts closer, her hand resting lightly over yours.

“Y/N… make the decision that feels right to you,” she says, eyes warm but searching. “But just so you know—we’ll all be at the airport in two days too. Before I fly back to Calgary and we say our goodbyes before everyone goes back to their own thing… you should at least try again. Meet him. Even if it’s just to see where you stand.”

She gives a small, knowing smile. “And in the meantime, Estelle and Minseok are already tearing into Hana. They’re putting together an exposé on her for being a two-faced bitch who’s been sabotaging you ever since DEFCON three years ago. So… whatever choice you make, you’re not alone in this.”

Her words settle over you, not as pressure, but as a reminder: the next move is yours.

The next day, the streets of Denver hum under your feet—sunlight slipping between the glass buildings, a crisp bite in the air. The five of you—Minseok, Estelle, Jun, Jay, and you—wander in loose formation, pausing to snap pictures in front of street murals, duck into indie coffee shops, and point out storefronts with ridiculous names.

Minseok is in full tour-guide mode despite having only Googled “Top Things to Do in Denver” twenty minutes ago. Estelle keeps getting distracted by every thrift store you pass. Jun’s busy debating with a food truck vendor about whether their “Canadian poutine” is remotely authentic.

You’re halfway through taking a picture of an old brick alleyway when Jay’s voice cuts through, gentle but deliberate.

“Hey,” he says from just behind you. “Walk with me for a sec?”

You glance at the group—Jun is gesturing wildly with a fry in her hand, Estelle’s already pulling Minseok toward a record store. No one notices you and Jay drift to the edge of the block.

He keeps his hands in his pockets, steps slow to match yours. “Jun caught me up on… what’s been going on,” he starts, his voice steady, low enough that it doesn’t carry. “I just wanted you to know… no matter what happens, your happiness comes first. That’s the only thing I care about.”

Something in the way he says it makes your chest tighten—not because of the words, but because of the quiet weight underneath them.

He glances ahead, watching the sunlight flicker between tall buildings. “We’ll be at the airport soon enough, and then everyone goes their separate ways. But until then? Let’s just… be here. See places we haven’t seen, do things we might not get another chance to do. You deserve a few days where it’s just about living, not deciding.”

His tone is warm, comforting—like he’s building a small shelter around you with each word. But there’s something else there too, barely visible unless you’re looking for it. The tiniest catch when he says your happiness. The faintest shadow in his smile when you nod.

It’s the kind of thing you can almost convince yourself you imagined.

Almost.

The next two days passed in a blur for you—sunrise coffee runs that bled into afternoons hiking trails with mountain views that didn’t look real, evenings wandering Denver’s bustling streets until your legs ached. Between the city’s murals, the crisp bite of the air, and the sheer scale of its national parks, it felt like you’d barely blinked before the final morning arrived.

Soon enough, the group was at the airport, weaving through the crowds toward check-in. Luggage rolled over the tile, boarding passes printed, and bags were tagged away on the conveyor belt.

You were about to follow Estelle toward security when Jun’s voice stopped you. 

“You ready to face your fear?” she asked, her tone softer than usual but her gaze steady. “You can’t run away any longer.”

You drew in a breath, nodded once. “Yeah.”

Turning to the rest of the group, you said, “I’m going to go find someone—I’ll be back before the gate calls for boarding.”

Estelle and Minseok exchanged a knowing grin and gave you twin thumbs-ups. “Good luck!” Minseok called, earning a shush from a nearby staff member. Jay only offered a small, almost unreadable smile, while Jun patted your back once, firm but encouraging.

Pulling out your phone, you opened the latest message from Heeseung—a photo of the gate he was waiting at: F31. Underneath, a short line: Here until 4:30pm. You glanced at the time in the corner of your screen. 2:28pm. Two hours.

You approached the nearest airport staff, asked for directions, and set off through the terminal at a brisk pace. After weaving past busy food courts and clusters of travelers, you finally reached the stretch of carpet where the sign overhead read F31.

Heeseung was there—airpods in, a soft gray beanie pulled low over his red hair. He sat by the window, posture relaxed but gaze fixed on the tarmac. Outside, planes descended in steady intervals, each one catching the sunlight in a sharp glare before rolling onto the runway. There was a faint stir in his eyes, like his thoughts were far away from the noise of the terminal.

You slowed your pace as you neared, the sound of your own footsteps swallowed by the low hum of airport chatter. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him—how still he sat, how the slope of his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than any carry-on bag.

He must’ve sensed you, because his gaze shifted from the window to you. The subtle surprise in his eyes quickly settled into something unreadable. He tugged one airpod out, the other still in place.

“You found me,” he said, his voice quiet but steady.

“I… wasn’t going to,” you admitted, stopping a few feet away. “But Jun told me I couldn’t keep running. And… she’s right.”

His lips quirked faintly, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s always been annoyingly perceptive.”

You took a hesitant step closer, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “I just—before you go, I needed to see you. I don’t want the last thing between us to be silence.”

For a beat, Heeseung didn’t answer. Then he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, studying you as if searching for something behind your words. “Then say what you came to say, Y/N. I’m listening.”

You draw a deep breath as you step closer—close enough to be directly across from Heeseung, who sits with a sad glint in his eyes. You aren’t sure if the words tangled in your mind are going to make sense, but Jun’s voice from two days ago rings in your ears: Sometimes, your words will get across to those who are willing to understand.

So, you let the words that have been embedded in your heart for months tumble out.

“I… wasn’t sure if you were still going to want me after hearing all the mixed shit from Hana. I didn’t know if you could still be certain about me if you were willing to listen to someone else without coming to me to confirm it. I was just… so hurt, Hee. I didn’t know if you were capable of trusting me if you were so quick to believe someone that barely knew the two of us.”

You pause, sucking in another breath to steady the trembling in your voice. You can feel tears already welling behind your eyes.

“And frankly speaking, I find it so unfair that I still love you despite the shit you caused. It’s unbearable, really. And seeing you making out with Hana at Cosmic Gate’s set…” Your voice cracks. “I really wanted to yell at you. Why did you do it—why her? Of all people, why her?”

You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes without thinking. The motion only smears the tears down your cheeks, the damp fabric of your sleeves catching the worst of them.

His expression wavers, but when he stands and reaches for your face, you instinctively flinch. His large, veiny hands stop mid-air just as your eyes close. After a beat, they fall back to his sides, the motion slow and heavy.

You don’t see the sharp pang of guilt that flickers across his face, but you feel the shift in the air between you. He lowers himself back into his seat, his gaze fixed on you with a forlorn expression, saying nothing.

You stop caring whether there are passerby in the waiting area. The hum of the terminal fades as you let yourself cry harder—not just for him, but for every wound Hana’s left in you since the day she walked out of your life.

“I’m just… so hurt, Heeseung,” you manage between shaky breaths. “I really wanted to believe that you were going to stand up for me. So please—make it so that I can trust in you again.”

His throat bobs, dry and tight, as his eyes lift to your face. Your cheeks are flushed, the tip of your nose reddening as tears spill faster and faster. He didn’t mean for it to come to this. No—not at all.

Heeseung stays silent for a moment too long. His fingers twitch against his knees, his gaze flicking between the floor and your tear-streaked face like he’s not sure he has the right to look at you at all.

When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse, as though each word scrapes its way up from somewhere deep.

“I don’t have an excuse,” he says, low but certain. “Not for listening to her, not for disappearing, not for letting you feel like you were alone in all of this. I thought… I thought I was protecting myself from getting hurt again, but all I did was hurt the one person who—” He cuts himself off, swallows hard. “—the one person I wanted to protect most.”

You blink through your tears, your chest aching at the cracks in his voice.

He leans forward, elbows braced on his knees, his hands clasped so tightly his knuckles pale. “When Hana came to me, she didn’t just talk about you—she painted this picture of you that made me feel like I was holding onto something that wasn’t real. And I hate myself for not coming to you first. For not trusting us enough to see through her bullshit. That’s on me, Y/N. Completely on me.”

He takes in a slow, shaky breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “But I need you to know—when I kissed her that night, it wasn’t because I wanted her. It wasn’t even about her. It was me being a coward, thinking I could numb myself by doing something reckless. And all it did was destroy the only thing I’ve ever actually wanted.”

Your breath catches, but you don’t look away.

“I’m sorry I made you question your worth. I’m sorry I made you think I could just… let you go without a fight.” His voice trembles now, the edges fraying. “If I could take every single one of those nights back—the silence, the lies, that fucking kiss—I would. I’d do anything to make you feel safe with me again. Anything.”

The air between you feels heavy enough to crush. Somewhere nearby, a boarding announcement echoes over the intercom, but neither of you moves.

Heeseung’s voice drops to a near-whisper, raw and pleading. “Tell me what I need to do. Tell me what it takes. I don’t care if it’s hard, I don’t care if it’s slow—I’ll do it. Just… please don’t walk away from me for good.”

You wipe at your cheeks with the cuff of your sleeve, trying to steady your breathing. His words hang heavy in the air, still vibrating in your chest, but for the first time in a long time, they feel… real.

You take a step closer, enough that you can see the strain in his eyes—the faint crease between his brows, the way his jaw works like he’s bracing for whatever you’re about to say.

“I’m not walking away,” you start quietly, and you see the smallest flicker of relief in his expression. “But I’m not just… falling back into this either. I can’t. Not after everything.”

His relief stills into careful attention.

“If we’re going to try again—” you pause, swallowing against the lump in your throat, “—we start fresh. As friends. Friends who don’t keep secrets from each other. Friends who actually talk about everything, even the hard stuff. No assumptions. No letting someone else’s words come between us without hearing it from the other first.”

He nods once, slow but firm, like each word is a promise he’s already engraving into himself.

“And if we ever want to… see if we can be more again, it’s on our terms. At a healthier pace. No rushing just because we miss what we had. I need to know it’s real this time.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t speak—he just sits there, taking in every word like he’s afraid to blink and miss one. Then, softly, “If that’s what it takes, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me, as long as it’s you.”

The boarding announcement overhead shifts to a new flight, passengers shuffling past, but the two of you stay locked in that small, fragile space between trust broken and trust beginning again.

You breathe out slowly, the tension in your chest easing just a fraction. “Okay,” you say finally. “Friends. And we do this right.”

Heeseung’s mouth curves—not a full smile, but the kind that carries more hope than he probably means to show. “Friends,” he echoes, and for the first time, the word doesn’t sound like a downgrade. It sounds like a start.

You and Heeseung settle into the empty seats by the gate, the hum of the terminal fading into background noise. There’s a strange calm between you now—not quite the comfort of old times, but not the sharp tension from earlier either.

“So,” you say after a beat, “since we’re… friends now, I can ask this without wanting to launch you into the nearest trash can.”

He smirks faintly. “That’s a promising start.”

“At Cosmic Gate’s set—” you lean back, narrowing your eyes at him, “—what the hell was that?”

His smirk falters into something sheepish. “You’re gonna laugh—”

“I doubt it.”

“Hana told me right before you showed up that she’d seen you earlier,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And she spun this story about you… I don’t even know, trying to ‘start shit’ with her. Then she asked me to play along as her fake boyfriend to, quote, ‘defend her honour.’”

You blink. “Her honour?”

He winces. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. And I was—God, I was so far in my own head that I just… went along with it for a second. Didn’t even think about how messed up that was until I saw your face.”

You let out a short laugh, more disbelief than humor. “That’s so dramatic I can’t even be mad right now. A fake boyfriend? What is this, high school?”

“Apparently for Hana, everything is high school,” he mutters, and you both chuckle—soft, but genuine.

Minutes slip by in comfortable conversation, teasing each other about bad festival outfits you’ve seen, swapping small updates about mutual friends. For a moment, it’s almost easy to forget the weight of why you’re here.

Then your phone buzzes.

You glance at the notification banner and freeze—Twitter: 27 new tweets in “The Truth About Hana Kim” thread.

Your thumb opens it automatically. The thread is already going viral—screenshots of messages, eyewitness accounts, timestamps lining up with events you’ve tried to forget. Every petty sabotage, every backhanded rumor, every manipulative little seed she’s planted in other people’s heads… all laid bare.

Minseok and Estelle’s handiwork, no doubt.

You tilt the screen toward Heeseung without saying a word.

His eyes scan the posts quickly, and his jaw tightens. “Jesus…” he mutters, leaning back in his seat. “I knew she was bad, but this? This is… pathetic. And disgusting.”

The boarding announcement for his flight crackles over the speakers, the final call pulling both of you back to the moment.

He stands slowly, adjusting the strap of his carry-on. “Guess that’s me.”

You nod, tucking your phone into your pocket. “Two hours felt shorter than I thought.”

He offers you one last, small smile—not the cocky one you remember, but something quieter. “We’ll talk again. As friends. And… we’ll do it right this time.”

You nod again, a little surer this time. “Safe flight, Hee.”

As he walks toward the gate, you feel that strange mix of heaviness and relief—like you’ve just set down something you didn’t realize you’d been carrying for far too long.

By the time you make it back to your own gate, Estelle spots you first. “Y/N!” she half-yells, earning a few curious stares from nearby passengers. “You’re just in time—oh my god, you’ve seen it, right?”

You blink. “Seen what?”

She spins her phone around, showing you the Twitter thread. “The Hana exposé. Minseok’s been scrolling like it’s a Netflix drama.”

“It’s wild,” Minseok chimes in from the row of chairs, eyes still glued to his screen. “Screenshots, receipts, even voice notes. The comments are tearing her apart.”

Jun smirks from where she’s sitting, her carry-on tucked between her feet. “Guess karma’s working overtime this week.”

You sink into the seat beside them, the hum of their conversation making it easy to just listen for once. There’s a strange warmth in your chest—part closure, part exhaustion—but it’s enough. For now.

Extra

Off to the side, Jun notices Jay sitting a little apart from the group, his gaze fixed on the departure boards like they might shift into something more interesting if he stared long enough.

She wanders over and tilts her head. “You good?”

He doesn’t look at her right away. “I’m happy as long as Y/N’s happy. And if Heeseung makes her heart break—even as friends—I can’t promise anything.”

Jun rolls her eyes and gives his shoulder a firm nudge, earning a soft oof. “You’re too old for this edgy shit, Jay. C’mon. We’ll find you a rave bae eventually.”

He finally cracks a faint smile. “If I’m too old for saying that, then I’m getting too old to find rave baes too.”

They share a quiet laugh, the sound carrying just enough to blend into the hum of boarding announcements. After a moment, Jun hooks her arm through his and tugs him back toward the others.

The group’s energy is buzzing—Estelle still animatedly dissecting the latest tweets, Minseok showing off his favorite memes from the thread. As the boarding call echoes through the gate, you all gather your things, ready to step into whatever comes next.

-deludar .☘︎ ݁˖

a/n: so my last words for this fic is that i do not regret writing ravebae heeseung at all, and infact there will be a jay sequel to this just because i fucking said so akjshdlkasdjh anyways a lot of the future fics will be personal anecdotes to what had happened in all 23 years of living for me imo...again, my friends do NOT do whatever drug bc you think is cool or not. your safety and wellbeing should be top priority

and yeah i was too lazy to make this pretty so i'm sorry if it doesn't really match the usual lay out... i'm still learning ;-;

[fandom-hoarder]

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

Here's one I should have asked a long time ago. What are your interpretations/headcanons regarding the pilot line, "You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing?"

And if you want to tangent into any other Stanford-era wincest headcanons, I certainly wouldn't complain.

- @schizosamwincester

Happy WW!

Omg, my thoughts on the pilot "two years" line... I think about this a lot. I was actually just thinking about it yesterday lol!

I actually looked up requirements for Stanford Law to see if Sam could've started college "late," but a bachelor's degree IS required. So that just brings me back around to: despite everything, Sam and Dean were still in contact after he left.

Until...

Okay, there are so many possibilities on specifics, but essentially Dean is still too caught up in the idea of Sammy coming back, whilst Sam is trying his damndest to achieve that safe life he craves. Maybe it's a phone call or maybe it's a clandestine visit, but it ends with a blowup and Sam telling Dean they can't keep doing this---HE can't keep doing this.

My fav catalysts for the blowup are the existence of Brady and the arrival of Jess in Sam's life. Sam and Jess were together about 18 months by the pilot, which is definitely in the "almost two years" area. 👀👀 Sam has regular ass friends and a new girlfriend, and he can't keep holding onto this tether of his life with Dean, one foot in and one foot out. Can't keep keep worrying his structure of lies and omissions will crumble because of one phone call or visit from his brother.

And, well, my wincest headcanons mesh into this perfectly. How can he date people when sometimes his brother visits and they fuck until he leaves again? How can he build relationships when he's constantly warring with himself about who he's cheating on? Even if Dean knows---even if Dean acts cavalier about it---it's still a lie because Dean thinks Sam is a sure thing; that he's coming back, and these other people don't really matter.

I can just imagine some night, Sam drunk dialing Dean, all filled with guilt about this arrested double life and how he can't even study for his finals or have a proper date, Dean trying to turn sad drunk Sam towards horny drunk Sam, reminding Sam he'll be coming out soon and they can catch a hunt together over the break like old times, but that only makes Sam more frustrated and angry.

"You know I'm not going to school to be a hunter, right? I'm gonna be a LAWYER, Dean. I'm gonna buy a house and get married...maybe even have kids. I can't do that if I'm fucking my brother every few weeks or MONTHS before sending you off again like you're going to war. I can't keep LIVING like this."

And Dean is just. Silent. And Sam is panting into the phone, somewhere between fighting nausea and tears. And Dean can tell, but he's too freaked out and hurt to care. Maybe he hopes Sam does puke up his feelings a little bit. Dean might do the same, so he swallows against it.

So it's, "Fine, Sam. You don't gotta hear from me again."

And he hangs up. And any time he feels like reaching for that phone, maybe he goes to a bar instead. Drinks and flirts and fucks like these are what he's pining for, not his punkass kid brother 1000 miles away in the California sun.

And he meets a girl on a case---college girl, real smart, real witty, real mouthy. Doesn't look a thing like Sammy, so when she kisses him Dean can tell himself he's not even thinking about him. And when Dean starts to wish he didn't have to leave, he thinks maybe he's found someone he can tell the family secret to. Someone that he can call when his hands itch to pick up the phone and hear a familiar voice on the other end.

But that doesn't go like he'd hoped, and Dean ends up giving in to the urge to put a lead foot on the gas and drive west.

But when he finds Sam, he's kissing someone else. And it hurts, no matter the carefree line Dean's always had when it was really nothing more than Sam's hypothetical other life. Because Sam doesn't look like he's imagining an empty space by his side.

He looks happy. And Dean can't wreck that, no matter how much he kinda wants to mosey in there and force Sam into an awkward situation---force Sam to acknowledge Dean's space in his life. So he watches but he leaves, maybe even for the last time.

...until Dad disappears and gives Dean the perfect excuse.

[authorjoeypaul]

FINDING YOUR COMMUNITY I spent the first ten years or so of my writing life without any real community. It wasn't that I didn't go looking, more that the internet was a lot younger (because I am old) and there weren't places like Twitter, or Tumblr, or Facebook etc. Social media wasn't a thing. Youtube wasn't a thing. We didn't have access to the writing community the way that we do now. Even when those things became possible, I still didn't know where to start. I'd been published in 2005, I didn't know whether I would ever be published again and while KDP and such were coming, they hadn't arrived yet. Once they did, and I was able to publish, I didn't know where to look for said community. Writing had always been a solitary thing for me. I knew there were events like NaNo, but I never knew where or how to take part. I didn't know where to start with hashtags and finding people like me, so I mostly did it alone. It was isolating, it was hard, it made me wonder if I was even valid as a writer because while I had a book or two out, I did not have readers to the extent that I do now. It was really only when I found Authortube and started my channel that I did seem to find those writers that I meshed with so well. I had writer friends, but they all felt like they had it all together, their books were award winning and I was just here writing young adult, and not really getting much traction because while those friends cheered me on to an extent, they weren't, and their contacts also weren't, anywhere near my target audience. I don't tell you this to have a pity party, or to garner sympathy but to make it clear that when I say finding my community changed both my life, and the way I worked, it's very much the case. I'd been writing my books before then and it felt like I was shouting into the void, and never being heard. And then along came one person, who brought another, and another, and I started reaching out on Twitter and other places, and boom, I found my community and it was just a massive change in me because of that. So when I say that finding your community can be a goldmine in helping you move forward with your writing, whether through trad pub, indie, hybrid, or just for yourself, then I mean it. Finding your community helps you grow as a writer. It helps broaden your horizons and it helps you start to have some confidence in what you're doing. Writing doesn't have to be an isolating thing. There doesn't have to be only you in a room and no one else to cheer you on. It can be so rewarding not just for you, but also for your community, when those wins are celebrated by all. Finding your community takes time, and while I hope it takes all of you a lot less time than it did me, it's so worth it. While you won't mesh with every writer you meet, and while there may be blips along the road, you will come to find the people that work with you, and they are golden and allow you to feel accepted, connected, and like you're actually making that mark that you wish to on the world. Writing friends, writing community, they are a big thing of making writing something that works for you. Social media allows for easier connection and that is very much a good thing in my book when it comes to the writing community. Good luck with finding yours! Any questions? Lemme know in the comments!

Follow Joey here on her blog, or on Facebook or Tumblr to be kept up to date with the latest news regarding Joey and her books.  

[basilfang]

- daisy daisy daisy let's go swimming

- when

- idk I wanna go swimming now but obds it's 9pm so maybe this saturdsy . as soon as possible pls

- okay. Remind me on Friday night. we can get food after?

- okie !! see u tomorrow ahhh

-

"you want this? I'm not hungry anymore."

"yes please!"

"in exchange can I have some of your mountain dew"

"of course, here. Also, Daisy, when can we go hiking some time?"

"maybe. I'll think about it. What's up with you? Suddenly wanting to do all these things again?"

"i don't know. Well, I do. I guess. I am doing things. I want to do more things, again."

"sure, it is good to do things. Is it anything to do with Niamh?"

"maybe [-] I mea. Yeah I guess. I just should be doing these things anyway you know? They make me happy. But like, I've been ... waiting around again. Doing that thing, where I just constantly check my inbox to see if she's replied or sent me anything. I know it's different now. We're not best friends anymore. She's moved away, and it can't be like before. But, whenever after she comes down to see me, it's like we're just as close as before again. And, I get sad."

"sad?"

"yeah. It's like there's a Niamh shaped hole in the house in the town of me. And I only get happy when she interacts with me. That's a lie, I get happ*ier* when she talks to me. But I can't be like before, and expect her to be the source of my happiness chemicals. I gotta get it my self. I am responsible for my own emotions. And I gotta get over the fact that we're not as close as before. And I gotta be able to generate my own dopamine instead of relying on her. It's not her job."

"i remember you said she was like your own dopamine vending machine"

"yeah"

"not the healthiest."

"uh huh. I feel like, also, that's such a monogamous way of living. Or like, I don't know how to describe it. I get stuck on people, and I fixate on our... it's like we are building something together. and I just focus on that. And just because she isn't always at the studio working on this ceramic piece with me doesn't mean she doesn't love me. Or that she's gonna run away. If she does then I can't do anything about it. And I'll live. And I have all these other projects with other people. Like you. And also with my self. My own personal projects, little pieces, welding projects, collage notebooks, so many things I could be building too. But I wait at the door, for her to come home so we can add to us. But there's not just us. There's everyone else too."

"what's our project? Me and you. What's that like?"

"Daisy and Catherine's project. I think it's a sculpture, paper-mache and polymer clay and playdough and mesh. and it's tall and colourful. What do you think?"

"i see that. I think it has nails and wire too. And maybe felt as well. What about you and David?"

"me and David... I think... it's a big Elizabethan dress, with embroidery and horse beads and little metal parts."

"that sounds about right. Do you imagine what you're building with everyone?"

"no, if I'm honest I'm coming up with these on the spot."

"hey, you and Bert do have an actual project. How is that going?"

"it isn't... we're both too busy and get distracted. I've been waiting at the door for Niamh I think I've been neglecting a few real life projects."

"stop waiting at the door then. Message me whenever you find yourself at the doormat. I like building our project."

"okay. I love you, man. You always meet me where I'm at. I'm glad we met."

"me too. Who else will eat the lasagne my mother made me so I can not feel guilty about not wanting it. She wants you to come over and look at her computer by the way, I think she's fucked it up again and I can't fix it."

"oh, okay. Maybe after swimming and chips we go to yours? We can watch more YouTube as well."

"sounds good! I can also tell you about Tyler more."

"you can always tell me about Tyler, I love hearing about romance."

"oh I don't want to tell you romance, I wanna tell you the drama. And yeah I will tell you romance, but also his family lore goes fucking wild, man. We need to sit down for it."

"really?? Okay, let's pick up snacks also after chips."

"sounds like a plan."

"you drank all my mountain dew!"

"oops. [aggressively while raising both middle fingers] sorry not sorry!"

[istherewifiinhell]

Following is an analysis of how Koisenu Futari writes it aro characters, aro narrative and what it intends to convey, and is also my own personal thoughts and feelings in regards to that. I refer to the characters by some stero- and archetypal categories because they are fictional, and how they are is a choice made by writers. I wouldn't say these things about real people, and you don't have to agree with me. Also of course its plot and character important that Takahashi and Sakuko are AroAce. But I will just be saying aro, because that's what was so revolutionary in the show for me and what I'm focusing on in this. Cool? Great, awesome. Let's go.

Koisenu Futari is a show that doesn't seem real to me. Part of my brain assumes, no they didn't actually make an aro show that actually cares about aros. A show that knows and shows aros of all kinds, all-be-it, some just briefly in the meet up group. But as I'll posit, ideologically this show has the space for loveless aros and all of us that really defy the more easier to digest notions of aro-ness.

Because, the thing that stuck me most about this show is that our point of view character Sakuko, is the newly discovered aro. She's a kind person with a sweet disposition and friendly to most. She doesn't relate to all the romance around her (including when someone is being insulting to her about the nature of her lack of relationships), but she is eager to please people, and doesn't like to make any trouble. She's younger and career focused that leaves people do assume any time she doesn't mesh with romance society is simply a matter of late blooming.

And enter Takahashi, the person who's words help her understand herself, help save herself. A person she meets and can finally feel a comfortable, understanding, connection with. Takahashi, an old aro, a bitter aro, he's someone who is knowledgeable about the societal construction and history of romance. He feels deeply the effects of, and understands structurally, amatonormativity. He has couple speeches about such things ready to go and bubbling under the surface, and given with an orator's tilt, compared to the rest of his conversations. And, he is epitome of your repulsed aro, your touch adverse aro and non neurotypical passing aro.

But of course, that's not the totality of what anybody is, and that's not all these characters are. Takahashi is a thoughtful and sentimental man, he's closeted even a bit shy. And through that we see his bravery when working against his reserved nature. He feels lonely, but not devoid of meaning or purpose because of it.

Takahashi's live does certainly seem much happier, and fulfilled. He maintains a blog, his garden, he keeps traditions the contented mundane rituals of life. And to me it brings to mind statistics about masking, being closeted, transition, and their relation to wellness. There is often an inverse relationship to the joy or peace of being yourself, and access to certain parts of society, or safety within it. Which of course, Sakuko, due to being younger and her general disposition, does pass mostly unnoticed in these spaces, but at great cost, some she didn't even realise, or really admit to herself.

Sakuko is, of the two, someone who comes across as more palatable to normative society. The kind of people and structures that might prefer to see aros in QPs specifically so they more closes resemble allo (& hetero) monogamous relationships. Kazu's plot line brings home that the expectations of a man and a women living together supersede the need for actually romance. So they aren't in romantic love, but shouldn't they still have the aesthetic patina of it. If you're a family should the woman not be a caretaker and the man a protector? And, obviously, no. Amantonormativity as a word, as a lens to view society, didn't even originate in aro subculture, and shares a lot of overlap with hetero- and cis- normativity for a reason. And the show's deftly handles how far that norm is from the reality.

Takahashi isn't, we learn, living his perfect life, for a mixture of reasons. Many that I would qualify under a flinch response. If you live your life in defiance of something, against others insistence. It makes sense to be resistant to change, headstrong and immutable. So he'll wholeheartedly commit to his own life, and respect others' choices and feelings. He doesn't talk as much as he simply acts, he wouldn't question someone even if he should. And he won't change his life if it may imply his current way of life is wrong, even if the change could be for the better.

So it is in this these two characters differences that their affect can be seen on each other. Sakuko learns to live a committed and more defiant life. She learns to do things that make her happy, to reach out and grab things by the throat, instead of settle. And from Sakuko who had to change just to keep being herself. Takahashi learns that he doesn't have to live just one way. He can change, if he isn't as happy as he could be he can take a risk, and if that doesn't work, it doesn't have to be permanent. And at no point do they have to change the immutable parts of themselves.

Obviously, there is no trick romance snuck in. But more importantly and, perhaps insightfully, what might be considered secondary character traits are equally respected. Sakuko doesn't have to endure more peoples romantic feelings for her, she doesn't have to stop being career oriented, or fun loving. And she doesn't have to be closer to her family before they can respect her. Takahashi, and this truly blew me away to realise. Doesn't ever have to welcome people touching him, or even being too close. He doesn't have change his affect or his demeanor in emotional conversations. The biggest changes our characters go through come from their increased happiness and increased desire to work towards happiness.

And if it wasn't clear enough yet, the end state of the show knocks it out of the fucking park, and directly into my, and I hope others brains. To be forever lodged in our subconsciouses. The prescribed ideals aren't what give us meaning. Straight couples aren't all perfect, sometimes romantic feelings cause you pain, and structuring your life so it seems familiar is never more important that if it brings you satisfaction and joy. Their lives, their family, their connection to each other doesn't end or stop having meaning when it no longer approximates the very things they were trying to live away from.

[strawhatsweets]

golden

Kenma x GN!reader

Im trying to stray away from my comfort zone of just writing readers that use she/her so bear with me

sorry if this lowkey sucks but it was inspired by harry styles song golden

cw: big cursing, huge fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, comfort, aged up!

come to my asks to be a part of my taglist! just let me know what kinds of fics/ what fandom/ what characters/ etc you want to be tagged in!

Requests are open!!

-------------------------------------

Being a streamer comes with perks. Being comfy at home, not having to face people in real life every day, playing games, typical shit. Another perk is making good friends.

Meeting people on a voice chat is common for Kenma -guys and gals alike. What he wasnt expecting one night was the sweetest voice on the other end of his headphones.

"You're all fucks- I'm better at this game than all of you combined. Try me."

To think that was the sentence that made Kenma's ears perk up and burn.

"What the hell ever- we have the great Kodzuken on our side." One of the guys said, half joking half dead serious.

"Oh yeah, he isn't even speaking up to defend your pussy asses- probably knows I could beat him too." You could hear the smirk in that last part.

"U-uh, no. You can't beat me. Nobody can actually. Not at this game." Kenma rebutted , confident in his gaming skills but not so much his speaking skills to this stranger.

"Oh man, you certainly sound confident. Come on, Kodzuken- 1v1 me then. Show me who the best really is."

Kenma suddenly felt nervous. Should he really demolish this stranger? Isn't it polite to let the person you like win? He didn't like this person yet but god their voice was attractive.

"Fine. Send the request." He decided.

"Sent, fucker."

The game resulted in a tie because this stranger actually knew what they were doing. They both threw friendly insults at each other the whole time of course, making each of them laugh a little.

"Okay fine. The great Kodzuken himself almost beat me. Im almost honored to have a great streamer almost beat me."

"Well you almost beat me too- uh-" Kenma stuttered over the fact that he didn't know how to address this stranger.

"Oh! Call me Y/n." The person giggled.

"You can uh, call me Kenma."

"Oh you don't want me to repeat your title over and over like everyone else?" They laughed.

"No, friends don't call me that. They use my name name." His ears were burning.

"Friends, huh? Guess that means you owe me your number so we can schedule a rematch where I can properly beat your ass."

"Huh, guess so."

A few months had gone by and Y/n and Kenma were as close as they could be. They found out they live close by each other and began hanging out a lot.

Y/n would be in the back of his streams on occasion and wouldn't hesitate to speak up during them. Thats the thing about Y/n. They've always been so outspoken. Since the start. Everything they talk about comes so easy to Y/n. Nothing is held back. Kenma knows everything about them. He on the other hand is still a bit closed off. Quiet. The two are so opposite yet so alike. Kenma doesn't speak much about himself, opting to listen.

Especially when talking about past relationships.

One night, they were sat in Kenmas room in separate chairs, letting conversations flow.

"So, you've dated but why have the relationships ended?" Y/n asked.

"Ah, I dont know- its not important. Why did yours end?" Kenma flipped the question as he always does.

"One guy cheated," Y/n tossed a piece of popcorn in the air, missing their mouth and brushing it off. "One girl left because she was leaving for school, and one guy just didn't mesh with me. Your turn." Y/n pushed the question back.

"Uh- well. I don't click with people easily. I'm pretty closed off so when I date it usually ends in hurt feelings by accident or they get sick of me." Kenma finally admitted.

"Huh." Y/n flopped onto their stomach on the bed after setting down the popcorn. "Don't you like anyone though? Like- if you liked someone enough, do you think you would give opening up a shot?"

"I mean I guess. Nobody ever takes the time to...pry me open." That got a laugh out of Y/n. Good. "But yeah I do like someone."

Sitting up suddenly, Y/n became visibly excited.

"TELL ME WHO."

"No god no- it isnt important." Kenmas ears burned again.

"Come onnnnn. Its gotta be someone big time cool to earn your heart. I have to approve."

Y/n pulled Kenma from his chair to the bed, not letting go of his hand as he sat down.

"Theyre very cool- and very sweet. Understanding. Someone who stands up for me and makes me comfortable-" Kenma began gushing.

"Do I know them?" Y/n interrupted.

"Y-yeah. You sure do." Kenma scratched the back of his neck.

"Oooh ok, a guessing game. Describe them more- their looks!" Y/n held his hand tighter, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Well- ok." Kenma took a deep breath and decided he could be vague enough. "Theyre short. As short if not shorter than me. Competitive. Very cute smile-"

"TOO VAGUE give me the JUICY DETAILS" Y/n pushed.

"They uh- they have..pretty eyes." He was staring at this point, eyes wandering around Y/ns face to find more things to describe. "cute nose too I guess. Squishy cheeks. Glasse-"

"WHO THE HELL IS IT KENMA- its starting to sound like youre describing me." Y/n laughed.

"No- I'm totally not!" Kenma rushed.

"Tell this person you like them. You look so happy when you talk about them. Its kind of sickening."

"I can't just do that." Kenma stated flatly.

"Yeah you can."

"No-"

"DO ITTTT. Nothing to be scared of- it's CUTE. They would be dumb to not like you."

Kenma sighed, knowing he couldn't tell Y/n the truth about who he liked. What does he usually do when he's put in a corner like this? Oh thats right-

"Who do you like then Y/n?" He asked, proud of himself for deflecting again.

"Oh thats easy. You." Y/n said, letting go of his hand and laying back on the bed, leaving Kenma sitting up and stunned.

"What? No I mean a crush idiot. Who do you liiikkkeee?" Kenma pushed, hoping he didn't hear Y/n wrong.

"You, Kenma. I've had a crush since our first tie in a game. Thought that was obvious-"

Kenma flopped back on the bed as well. The both of them looking at each other.

"Oh. My person is uh... really... open and honest." Kenma said quietly.

"Is that why you wont tell them?" Y/n asked just as hushed.

"Yeah... what if right now they say yes but then their feelings change one day? That would hurt so bad. Worse than not telling them ever." He whispered.

There was silence. They knew what they both just admitted. Kenmas heart started racing. This might've fucked everything up. He might lose them. But they like him too so why is he so scared?

Y/n held his hand again.

"I know that youre scared because I'm so open...but hey... If you wanna give it a try..." Y/n whispered, scared about whether or not their honesty fucked them over.

"You might be right this time Y/n." Kenma whispered.

The space between them was closed due to both of them being drawn together like magnets in that moment. A sweet kiss.

"Let's try it then. I'll work on... being more open if you'd like." Kenma said.

"Kenma. I dont want you to change one bit. I like you the way you are."

Acceptance. It was the best thing Kenma has ever felt.

[lost-eternity]

Match Up Requests: CLOSED Please read the pinned rules before requesting

Match up for: @ happythoughtfulstarfish

Okie dokie. I match you with...

Peter Parker/Spider man!

First of all, girl, you're very pretty :). Just thought that I would say that. Right. On to the match up.

Like, from appearances alone. You two would compliment each other so well. 🥰

With heels on, you'd most likely be taller than Peter Parker. 

Like. How dare you! He would do his best to one up you.

You occasionally catch him standing on his toes to try and match your height. And you look over at him like "???"

Cue mumbled excuses and awkward laughing

Then one day your heels go missing. And as you're looking around, you notice Peter is standing surprisingly tall. Upon further investigation you notice that he put on your heels. 

Would this guy actually steal your own heels just to one up you? He'll, yeah he would. It's all in fun and games though and he isn't too serious about it. 

But personality wise? Even better.

You are both serious nerds

It's not technically official but I head-canon that Peter Parker is a theatre nerd as well. I could just be Tom Holland seeping through but he gives off those theatre kid vibes.

You know how I mean.

He'd be wholly supportive of your hobbies. He would love to go and spontaneously buy random tickets to musicals on Broadway, even if you two don't get the best of seats. 

Just be prepared to watch a lot of cult classics with him.

Like. A lot.

Especially Star Wars. You two will watch those movies so many times. And every single time he will be dramatically (poorly) mouthing the lines along with the film because let's be real- he has all of the movie scripts memorized. 

He would also love to learn how to play an instrument from you. He'd be really bad at it. Honestly, he would be playing horrendously with this puppy-like jubilation that makes up entirely for his horrible pitch. It's adorable, really. 

Your morals also align perfectly and that works out very well because the both of you are incredibly stubborn and steadfast in your resolve. You both strive to see the best in people, even if it puts you in jeopardy. Critics would call it gullibility. But you would be able to keep each other in check.

Sometimes.

You would be a massive headache for those in SHIELD or anyone assigned to manage you.

I can imagine Peter roping you into one of his elaborate schemes after getting hyped on caffeine and the two of you raising hell together. With the best of intentions, of course.

Like, "no. You cannot kidnap an ice cream truck and drive it to the orphanage for the kids. That is called theft and that's illegal."

"I don't care if it will make the children happy!"

You both have an incredible drive to help others. Peter's just manifests in a way that is a lot more... potentially lethal. Whereas you are content enough to simply volunteer your time. 

Just. Don't ask to go with him on one of his super hero missions.

Trust me.

Peter has already lost people in his life. The poor boy would never forgive himself if he lost you as a result of his ineptitude on a mission. 

Don't put him through that

Because he is awkward as well, you two would do very well to motivate each other and encourage one another to step outside of your comfort zones.

Meet to new, make new friends

Honestly, you’d be perfect together

~

You probably met Peter's sophomore year of College.

It's a funny story actually. 

You volunteered with a charity service who was hosting a musical, "The Adams Family" The ticket revenue collected during the performances would be put to relief and conservation efforts in foreign countries.

Everything was extremely low budget. All of the cast members were volunteers and very few actually had much theatrical experience. 

But you did not mind too much. You were cast to play the role of Morticia. So no complaints there!

The venue you were performing in was actually lent to you for free. It was on a college campus, and the auditorium was actually decently sized.

The previous performances went off rather smoothly. The turn-outs had been decent as well, thankfully.  

It was closing night. Your final performance for the night. The audience was slowly filling into the room, that was when it happened.

One of the crewmembers on hair and makeup, completely new to the theatre environment actually asked out loud: "Wait, why can't we say 'Macbeth' again?"

Silence 

Dead Silence 

So quiet that the muted chatter of the audience could be heard from behind the heavy oaken doors of the female changing room.

The shit storm that followed would have been absolutely hysterical if everyone were not so panicked.

Those in the cast who actually had experience in theatre arts were whisper-shouting at the offending crewmember.

The others looked on, an expression of complete confusion plastered onto their brow

It's not like you could have sent her out to run around the entire college campus. You were on in 5.

Collectively,  you all decided to let it go.

It was just a legend after all.

"We'll be fine."

At least, that is what everyone told themselves. 

~

The night, surprisingly, went off without a hitch. There were a few technical difficulties with the lighting (the spotlight "affectionately" named Big Bertha refused to fully open its iris) and a few missed cues, but otherwise, the performance did not terribly fail as many feared. 

~

You and the rest of the cast were now hurriedly darting back from the bathrooms after intermission. It was a frenzied sprint around the back of the building to avoid the audience catching a glimpse of you. 

That was when you heard something that caused you to peel off the rest of the group.

It was this peculiar scuttling sound, followed by a darting figure.

You initially thought it was an audience member who had lost their way and turned down the winding path.

The narrow road itself was completely innocuous and actually just led to a dorm site. However, under the dark of the new moon, illuminated by few stray streetlamps, it felt kinda ominous. 

Having to remind yourself that you weren't actually in a horror movie, you continued down the path towards the figure, asking him if he were all right.

Then he stepped into the flood of light from a lamp, his movements kinda janky and angled.

This "person" was not a person at all. Rather it was a humanoid beast covered completely in rippling grey fur. Like 'Cousin It' jumped right out of the play and appeared on the street. But this wasn't your cousin. You knew the little girl who played him and she was much... much shorter. This thing cleared 213 centimetres! 

You wisely decided to run. 

And it gave chase, scuttling after you like some malformed beast.

So here you were, still in complete costume, being chased down the street but a Cousin It lookalike and screaming your lungs out.

You didn't get really far because Morticia's sprawling mermaid dress did little to help you move your legs. 

Cousin It caught up to you, a clawed appendage swiping against your ankles.

With a loud rip the dress tore and you fell. Pain flared through your elbows made contact with the grated pavement. 

Rolling onto your back,  you gazed up at the creature. Its purple fur glowing dimly under the backlighting of the street lamp.

For the first time you noticed its eyes, multiple gleaming plates meshed together to form one bulging eyeball,  like a fly or moth. Its mangy hair, overgrown and matted, reeked with a permeating stench you can only describe as rotting eggs. 

So maybe you were in a horror movie. And the horror movie was 'Mothman'... or maybe the curse of Macbeth was here and this creature was coming from retribution.  

Regardless of the reason, you did not have too long to think about it as the creature took a lumbering step towards you.  Then another... and a third... then it paused. 

It pulled against something, like a dog heaving against its leash. But it couldn't move another step 

"Stay where you are, Mothra." A trilling voice called. 

Blinking, you noticed a figure perching on the top of the lamp post, hanging upside down from a glistening web. Another web was attached around the creature's waist, preventing it from advancing. 

The blue and red was unmistakable. 

This was spider man! 

But why is he here? 

Cousin it gave a roar of complaint and swiped for the spider. He nimbly dodged out of the way, laughing the entire time. 

It was not long before he had Cousin It wrapped up in a thick cocoon of webbing, and was absently dialing something on his phone. 

You heard him mumble something about how much of a nuisance "A-Chiltarians" were. 

A-Chiltarians?

What was that supposed to be?

Spiderman seemed to notice you for the first time, and apologetically offered to escort you back to the play.

Which was practically ruined as intermission was over and no one seemed to be able to locate you

The audience was beginning to get antsy

To make up for lost time, Spider man grabbed you round your waist

Before you knew it, the two of you were flying 

Swinging from tree to lamp as you glided across the ground back towards the theatre. 

He dropped you off, literally dropped you, onto the stage, just in time for your next scene. 

You could hardly act through the confusion of WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED TO ME

The rest of the night, you were understandably preoccupied 

~

After the performance, the cast stood along the hallway, allowing the audience to meet and greet with them and pass out gifts.

A young man garnered your attention in particular 

With hazel eyes and mousy hair, he introduced himself as "Peter" and handed you a bouquet of flowers

And you find yourself looking at him like "Do I know you?"

He seemed rather apologetic for whatever reason and praised your performance 

Getting suspicious, especially after the events of that night, you had a feeling that he knew something he was not letting on to.

So you asked for his number.

And to your complete shock, he actually gave it

So. Over the course of one night, you were saved by the legendary spider man and got the number of a cute boy.

Maybe the curse of Macbeth is not so bad after all

[mind-reader1]

Queen of Hearts (Ch.13)

Drake x MC (Emma Barnes)

TRR AU: What would happen if Emma loved Drake but had to marry Liam?

Catch up here

Warnings: Some cursing 

Note: Thanks for the love everyone! Please Enjoy!  If you’d like to be added to the tag list let me know! Got some good drama in this chapter, and maybe something else  ( ͡º ͜ʖ ͡º)

Word Count: 2187

Summary: Drake and Liam exchange some harsh words, can they come to an understanding? Olivia offers some unsolicited advice, and Kiara is back and all over Drake. 

Chapter 13: Elastic Heart - Sia

And another one bites the dust But why can I not conquer love? And I might've got to be with one Why not fight this war without weapons? And I want it and I wanted it bad But there were so many red flags Now another one bites the dust And let's be clear, I trust no one

You did not break me I'm still fighting for peace

Well I've got thick skin and an elastic heart But your blade it might be too sharp I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard But I may snap when I move close But you won't see me fall apart 'Cause I've got an elastic heart I've got an elastic heart Yeah, I've got an elastic heart

Drake stepped in front of Liam and he frowned at his friend.

“Drake. Please move. I need to speak to you and Lady Emma.” Liam stepped to the side and so did Drake.

“No. We need to talk Liam. Let her have a break tonight.” Liam continued to scowl but let everyone else walk ahead into the manor.

“I've been giving her a break this entire trip.” Drake shook his head in disbelief.

“You really haven't Liam. You've been on her case about every little thing and you shouldn't be!”

“Really? I can't believe you two! Sneaking off today in public, to fuck?! Could you imagine the consequences if someone else had heard you two rather than us! I have gone over this with Lady Emma, but nothing seems to get through. Don't think I don't know about you sneaking into her room every night! What is it going to take? Or are you both determined to make this fail so you can get past your jealousy!” Drake was seeing red, he couldn't believe his best friend was saying this to him.

I gave her the ring, I followed her after your engagement photos. It was my idea to sneak off today. All these things you're getting mad at her for were my idea so fucking lay off Liam! It seems like she's been doing everything on this tour. She recruited Madeleine and her family when you were nowhere to be found. The polo game was her idea, today she rallied the people at the press conference and asked the kids to play. I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but I've had enough.” Liam sighed and ran a hand through his hair starting to cry. Drake was so caught off guard he didn't know what to do.

“I'm sorry, Drake. Ever since the ball it's been one thing after another. I have to stay calm for everyone else, it gets bottled up and I just explode on those I care about. I've been seeing a therapist to help me, but I'm still working through it.” Liam dragged his hand down his face, the tears having stopped. Drake had never seen his best friend like this. Sure, in college he had been in a bad place after an assassination attempt, but he was like a ticking time bomb, you never knew what was going to set him off now.

“I don't like this charade any more than you do, watching you masquerade around for the cameras with the woman I love is torture. The only reason I'm still here, that we didn't run off is because we believe in you Liam, we're here to support you. We were all at the homecoming ball; I got shot Liam! I know it seems like we don't care about making this work, but I have nightmares. Every night I see Emma get shot and I can't save her, I wake up paralyzed, then I see her, and I know it's not real. It's the only way I can get any kind of sleep.” Both of them finally put it out there in the open, they used to talk about things all the time, now they just couldn't. Liam had no one to talk to, his best friend and the woman he loved were together, can't exactly talk to them about Emma. Hana and Maxwell were good friends to him, but they were Emma's best friends, he couldn't talk to them either.

“Maybe this will be beneficial for you then.” Liam held a small white card out to him with a name and phone number on it, a therapist. Again, Emma's words echoed in his head, Drake hated the idea of spilling his guts to a stranger, but maybe it was time to consider it. He took the card without a word, a newfound tense silence hanging between them.

“We used to talk all the time, Liam, I know that this is weird. You should try to find someone you can talk to if it's not me. I'm sorry, I really am. You'll always be my best friend though.” Drake clapped him on the shoulder once and walked away without looking back.

Drake's words weighed heavily on Liam, they had talked all the time, but ever since that night in New York there had been a distance between them...well more like a person. He couldn't blame Emma though, it wasn't her fault that they had both fallen in love with her, and it wasn't like she had a choice falling in love with Drake. Nevertheless, it made him impossible to talk to. He found himself aimlessly wandering through the grounds outside the manor.

“Liam, what are you doing out here so late?” He turned to find Olivia strolling towards him.

“Lady Olivia... trouble sleeping is all. What brings you out here?” she looked away, it was the first time Liam had ever seen her so unsure.

“I overheard some of your argument with Drake…” Liam sighed, nothing seemed to go as planned anymore. Emma had mentioned that they should tell Olivia, there was no hiding it now.

“I suppose I should explain.” Liam led Olivia to a nearby bench. He turned to face her and looked down, fumbling with his hands.

“It's all a lie isn't it?” Liam nodded and didn't meet her gaze.

“You have to understand Olivia, I love her, I thought she loved me. I may be the one who gets to 'be with’ her in public, but I'm not the one who gets to hold her when she's scared, sneak out of parties with.”

“This arrangement is ridiculous Liam!” Liam ran a hand over his face and explained to her, why he had to do it, why it had to be Emma.

“Regardless Liam, your people need you to start acting like a king and not some lovesick fool pining over his best friend’s girl. This isn't some stupid movie, this is real life.” Liam's lips twitched into a small smile, Olivia could always be counted on for tough love. She surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his hands, squeezing.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you Liam, and what you're doing could be an amazing thing if you pull yourself together.”

Drake shuffled towards Emma's room where he thought she would be waiting for him. He knocked softly, but got no answer, he checked the hall before quickly opening the door and slipping inside. He walked over to the bed and saw she was already fast asleep, still in her clothes like she had been waiting up for him. He brushed a stray hair out of her face and kissed her forehead gently. She mumbled something incoherent and lifted her head, squinting.

“Drake?” He smiled and bent down so he was eye level with her.

“I didn't mean to wake you, go back to bed.”

“Stay with me.” She mumbled laying her head back down already. Drake wasn't going to argue with her. He changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed beside her, she didn't even seem to notice.

Early the next morning Drake was up before Emma. He tiptoed to the bathroom and was grateful he had done so, as he heard her bedroom door swinging open just seconds later.

“Madeleine!” He could hear Emma's surprised voice.

“Why aren't you up? The train leaves in an hour.”

“We just got here yesterday, we're already leaving?”

“Yes, everything's calmed down. We're going to Kiara's duchy. Have you been practicing your French?” Drake rolled his eyes, listening to her.

“Absolutely, in all my free time I learned a new language.” He could hear the sarcasm dripping out of her voice and held back a snicker.

“I suspected as much. I printed you out a sheet with important words on it. Look it over on the train.” he heard the door slam again.

“Drake?” Emma whispered. He emerged from the bathroom and she let out a sigh of relief.

“You really need to start locking your door Barnes.” She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms.

“Oh yeah? How do you plan on getting in every night then?”

“You could lock the door after I sneak in.” Emma playfully rolled her eyes.

“I guess you'll find out tonight Walker. Now get out of here, I've got a train to catch in an hour!” Within minutes of boarding the train she was in the boutique with Madeleine and Maxwell. Instead of a ridiculously thick binder about the family, Madeleine handed Emma a stack note cards. Emma just gave Madeleine a look, they both knew she wasn't going to read them. She resolved to giving them a quick breakdown. Hakim, Kiara's father was a well-known Cordonian diplomat and a Duke, apparently, he was important in Cordonia. Her mother, Joelle, is a famous artist. Her older brother remained a mystery as he was never really seen outside of the duchy. Madeleine outdid herself with the dress, it was a halter with black sequins on the top half and a black mesh with large black flowers for the knees down. She added an owl arm band as an embellishment, and nod to their house crest. It was stunning, as always. While visiting they would all be attending an international art and food festival, the goal was to be enthusiastic about the events in the hopes of gaining the family's support. That was all they had time for as the train began to slow. Emma stepped out of the motorcade and Drake wandered over, his eyes lazily roaming up and down her body.

“That dress is...I mean… You look beautiful Barnes.” Emma smiled faintly as Drake stumbled over his words.

“You cleaned up?” Emma's question came out harsher than she intended. Kiara was a tense subject between them since she was still pining after Drake. He cautiously slipped his hand in hers and squeezed, letting go before anyone could see them. He wore his nice blue suit and dark green shirt underneath it, a small patch on the shoulder from where he had been shot the night of the homecoming ball.

“You look good Drake.”  

“It's less…international than I expected.” Drake mused. He was right. There were no country flags, no signs in different languages, no borrowed concepts from other cultures.

“Just wait.” Olivia said, as Kiara came down the steps, a young man in tow.

“King Liam, Lady Emma, I am so glad you're visiting our home.” they both nodded respectfully as Liam said something in French.

“Drake! You look... I…that suit looks very nice on you.” It had already started. Emma who had grabbed Liam's arms for appearances, dug her nails into his skin as she grit her teeth and smiled. Liam carefully placed his hand over hers trying to pry her fingers off inconspicuously.

“Thanks.” Drake said flatly, avoiding Kiara's gaze. It wasn't difficult to pick up on the tension, but Madeleine, Kiara and the young man weren't sure why it was there.

“We heard you were injured at the homecoming ball. How are you now? Are you doing okay?”

“Oui, it was a terrifying night. I am healed after spending some time here at home.” Her smile faltered, she was still reeling from the attack like the others.

“Shall I introduce myself or were you planning on getting to that?” The young man beside her stepped up.

“Of course. This is my brother Ezekiel. These are my friends King Liam and Lady Emma, Lady Olivia, Lady Hana, Lord Maxwell and Drake.” Her eyes lingered on Drake a bit too long, it would be a long stop on the tour.

“I'm so glad to finally meet you all, Kiki has told me so many stories.”

“Oh? What did she have to say?” Emma asked out of curiosity.

“She mentioned King Liam's generosity, Lady Emma's resilience. She also said there would be a scary one, a pretty one who's good at everything, a party animal and a really sexy one named Drake.” Emma had to remind herself to stay neutral, force a smile even, everyone was waiting for the explosion as they snuck glances between Emma and Drake. Emma turned to sneak her own glance at Drake, who was bright red and looking anywhere but Emma or Kiara.

“Zeke! Well I think that's enough greetings. Come, let's get you inside.” Kiara cleared her throat and kept her face down until the color had mostly disappeared from her cheeks. Just as they began to make their way inside, Penelope came up with her poodles. Kiara and Penelope hugged as Zeke fawned over her poodles. Liam pulled Emma aside just before they entered the doors, she was worried this would be a lecture about keeping her cool around Kiara and Drake, but it wasn't. Constantine was getting worse and was supposed to be at the festival, but couldn't due to his illness, it was clearly bothering Liam.

“I'm sorry Liam.” Emma squeezed his arm and he gave her a small smile.

“I need all the help I can get redirecting questions.”

“We'll figure it out Liam, don't worry.”

Tag List: @notoriouscs @leelee10898@princesstopgun @choicesyouplayandmore@sleepwalkingelite @roonarific@indigo39 @skyila@speedyoperarascalparty @andy-loves-corgis@furiousherringoperatortoad@blackwidow2721 @drakewalkerfics@findingdrake @sue9659 @smritysriv@tmarie82 @larryssunflower

[lovesthecure]

👾 and 👻

👾 Do you believe in aliens

I FIND IT STATISTICALLY IMPOSSIBLE TO NOT! I mean, I have dyscalculia bad enough that my Dad once watched me struggle for a good five-ish minutes to do some real basic math. So I'm not a numbers guy. But you're telling me the universe is BWOOOOH big, and there's like some thousands or millions of planets and like... NONE OF THEM HAVE LIFE BUT US? Checkmate Athiests.

👻 Do you believe in ghosts

Yeeees but noooo but yeeeees but nooooo

I'm like some mesh of the machinations of a heathen and an agnostic stumbling through life. So I don't try to go "yes" on stuff like ghosts and gods, and just go "well I mean here's my take, I guess."

I've always figured ghosts exist in some form or another, if not just because like... All that energy's gotta go somewhere, right? Souls and shit. Though to what capacity, less so than other people I meet who believe in ghosts? I don't think the smell in your walls is your dead grandma, but she might be hanging around in a capacity to which you are unable to detect with your sad, mortal body. I hope that makes sense.

I also think there's an afterlife, though the mechanics of such are rather left field and are all "well man I don't know, but here's my guess" and are very nonspecific due to the incredibly pagan nature of my religious beliefs.

That was all probably very wishy washy but I go out of my way to not state absolutes on what cannot be proven.

[rupertgayesarchive]

Ryan being protective over Michael "Why, because I don't want you to get hurt, that's why"... are we allowed to request from like the demon au (If you're even still doing these :) )

of course! and you can actually send me prompts whenever you want!

also............. okay um. i have. several, myan demon aus. but i’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you mean the older one i have based on this fic? if it isn’t, come back and let me know! i really need to fix my tags so the many variations of human/demon banging can be sorted properly. but yeah for real don’t feel bad about requesting more because demon aus are, as you can tell, totally my jam.

-

Michael frowned at himself in the mirror, twisting the cloak he was wearing this way and that, trying to find a way to drape the admittedly sheer material so that it was tantalizing without actually showing off his junk. All the demons in Ryan’s palace didn’t have any desire to wear clothes, but he hadn’t been in hell quite so long as to be used to the idea himself. In fact, the only reason why he was wearing this little was because he wanted to fit in.

There was a party going on tonight, Ryan had said. A lot of demonic royalty, or - well, Michael wasn’t sure if they were royalty. Something about the other princes of hell coming by. Michael didn’t bother to ask if there were princesses, dukes, kings and queens of hell or anything. The point was, it sounded interesting, especially when Ryan told him he was not to attend.

Michael left the bed chamber and crept along the hallway, heading towards the throne room where the sound of music, cheers, dancing abounded. He just wanted to see what it was about. And besides, Ryan telling him he couldn’t go was pretty much all the encouragement he needed to go against his commands. 

The noise reached a crescendo when Michael passed from the entrance hall into the throne room. It seemed brighter and more festive than before. Scarlet and gold tapestries, balls of light for illumination. It all mimicked the fire and brimstone of hell, and within, its legions were reveling in some sort of celebration. Talking and dancing - no one stood still, a mass of demonic creatures in varying states of dress and monstrous form. 

Even though Michael had just wanted a peek of the goings on, with the crowds moving the way there were, it was inevitable that someone bumped into him. He instinctively met their eyes; a succubus was towering over him. She had dark maroon skin and large, curling horns that twisted into the air. She had on something resembling a gown, and an expression on her face that very much resembled someone who couldn’t wait to devour what had just been set down in front of them. 

“A human! Are you part of tonight’s... entertainment?” She gripped Michael’s chin with two deft fingers. Her nails were sharp. Other demons were staring at them.

“I’m, uh - Ryan’s? Human.” He swallowed. “You know, the one who... lives here. The host?” He heard murmuring behind him, and what felt like the tips of claws ghosting across his backside. Despite the heat of the room, his skin broke out in goosebumps. 

“Ryan’s human,” she drawled. “Now that is interesting. I didn’t realize he had a human.”

“I mean he probably has a - a whole bunch of them that he keeps somewhere.” Michael honestly wasn’t sure if that was a joke or not. 

The succubus didn’t comment on that, instead glancing up, meeting eyes with some other guests that he couldn’t see. “It’s rather peculiar,” she said, blatantly addressing people out of Michael’s line of vision, “that a prince gets a new pet just as he’s being met with demands to find a consort. Don’t you think?” He heard more distinct voices now, but either they were speaking some sort of demonic language, or he couldn’t hear words properly over the frantic beating of his own heart.

The demons’ fingers shifted down around his throat, and he squeaked.

“That’s enough,” a familiar voice spoke up to his left. He twisted to see - just as the succubus’ hand fell away - and found Ryan. Large and powerful and familiar. He tried not to outright run to his side, but he still let out a small sigh of relief once his shoulder bumped against the other’s chest. “Continue the festivities. My companion and I have something to discuss.” 

There were countless eyes on him now, as Ryan steered the pair of them back the way he had entered. It was silent the entire trip back to their bed chamber. Michael may have described the atmosphere as icy, but he’d take a pissed off Ryan to anyone else in that throne room any day.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, The door to the room slammed shut with a flick of Ryan’s finger. Michael flinched at the noise and the stern expression on the demon’s face. “What were you doing down there?” Ryan asked. His eyes glowed eerily in the dim light of the room. “I am almost certain I told you not to be at that party tonight.”

“I was... curious, I guess?” Michael winced at the flimsy reasoning. “You’re a demon, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you understand how tempting humans work? You tell us not to do something -”

“- And I had expected that you would have had the instinctual survival skills necessary to not mess around with other demons,” Ryan hissed. “What would you have done if I hadn’t gotten to you in time?” 

Michael very purposefully did not go down that particular mental road. “It’s not like you explained why I couldn’t go,” he managed.

"Why? Because I don't want you to get hurt, that's why."

Michael blinked. “They wouldn’t have hurt me. Would they?” He thought of what the succubus has been talking about. “They just sounded jealous.”

“Whatever they sounded like, the truth is - they’re power hungry.” Ryan sighed, walking towards the bed and sitting down on the edge. Michael cautiously approached him. “I’m not... incredibly old, by Prince of Hell standards.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ryan snorted. “So you’re young enough to - to need a consort?” 

He nodded. “It’s a big commitment,”

“What, no divorce court in hell?”

“There actually isn’t. And to become properly joined, you have to bond your... I suppose you might call it a soul, together. Two essences, life force, the source of all your magic and knowledge. Conjoined forever.”

Michael blinked. “Yeah, okay. That is kind of a big deal. So are you just... waiting for the right demon?” Ryan shook his head, a frown on his face.

“I’m trying not to die, Michael. There is a very finite number of Princes. A lot of demons see me as an in to greater power, not that I blame them. Only... we’re not the most loyal, are we? Hedonistic and recklessly ambitious does not mesh well with an eternal marriage of beings. And there have been a few,” Ryan grimaced, “cases of one half of a bond being murdered by their other half. Through magic or some other means.” 

“Holy shit. And you think that those demons thought you - thought we were...?”

Ryan looked over at Michael, a sad smile on his face. “I think that hell is a dangerous place. For both of us, especially after tonight.” Michael felt a weight in his stomach. Maybe Ryan had brought him to hell for fun, or to get some weight off his back, but if other demons thought that he was a potential consort - “Michael,” Ryan spoke softly. His previous anger had vanished, and he stretched out an arm, bidding his human closer. Michael couldn’t help but put himself under Ryan’s arm, pressing into the warmth of his body. Usually, when the two of them were together, Ryan took on a slightly more human appearance - or sometimes that snake form of his - but now he felt completely dwarfed by the incubus. It made him feel safe, at least, the way that Ryan held him so carefully. “I promise that the moment things get too risky, I will take you back to earth. I’ll keep you safe. It’s my fault you’re here, after all.” 

Michael took Ryan’s hand, entangling their fingers. “If I’m remembering right, I’m pretty sure it was a mutually assured destruction type of thing going on.” Ryan smiled, pressing a kiss to his hair. “This is still better than where you found me, you know?” 

“And you still deserve so much better.” Michael didn’t comment, wasn’t sure if Ryan was being serious or not. The worried knot in his stomach was now replaced by a fluttering lightness. That was an improvement, at least. “As much as I hate to do this, I should go back. I’ll enchant the door so no one can enter besides us.”

“Sure, that’s fine. Um,” Michael bit his lip. “Can we just, uh. Maybe stay like this? Just for another minute.” Ryan pressed closer to his side, dropping another kiss to his hair.

“Of course.”

[thefreshfinds]

BROKEN KID: POP MALCOLM

Popping into the music scene with an idiosyncratic sound — independent Houston hip hop artist, writer and audio engineer Pop Malcolm prides himself in creating a sound that can be called his own. Moreso he breaks all barriers in every element of hip-hop. Aside from being less braggodious than the rest, Pop Malcolm combines a quick combo of different flows with superlative punchlines and metaphors. Most of all, Pop Malcolm isn't afraid to fluncuate between a sound for the old and new school heads. Still, he uses bits of video game effects in the mix but says "it's new wave hip hop the right way." Not only is Pop Malcolm relatable but he leaves the listener with some things to ponder on. The best way to describe Pop Malcolm is as an avid thinker and it's displayed through his bars. Take for instance "Days Passed", in the middle of the song he expresses how some things we've been taught in school are pointless because they aren't used once you start working in your field of choice. Another great thing about Pop Malcolm's music is his way of subtly giving advice to those listening. "Broken Kid" fits best in this scenario solely due to the beginning of the song where he looks at himself in the mirror and says "I believe in you, even if nobody else does. I believe in you. We gonna see it through." Here, he's saying to keep going for you and ignore all the noise.

His project, Broken Kid doesn't miss a beat. It's self-reflective. And even gives a big middle finger to those who doubted him but are now "believers", a dab to his day ones, nonstop grind and shows his immense love towards a wifey type who'd he fight for. Equally important, Broken Kid can't be hindered by just one genre. It has a heavy influence of R&B, old school rap, rock and more! It's pure hip hop but even metal fans like his music. You can digest it if you're not a rap fan and really enjoy it if you're a hip hop head. Broken Kid basically shows off Pop Malcolm's prime excellence in the game. All the while, Pop Malcolm passes along what he's learned. He stays lowkey to remain high key. And knows that anything is possible if he leaves it up to God and stays optimistic. "My theme in Broken Kid  is honesty. Rappers make songs about things they don't do and sell their fans a fake life just to let them down. I am who I am on and off the mic. Every song has its own theme but my overall intention is to deliver real music people can relate to, appreciate and still bang in the whip. I can't fail if I stay myself and stay in my own lane." he goes on to say.

The first track, "golden ticket" has a beat that can be best described as intergalactic fused with a combative base. He is less concerned with others opinions because they’re focused on things that aren’t even important. Instead, Pop Malcolm goes to say that he just wants to move the youth because they are the future after all. Apart from his dual flows, his voice is used with much force. It also includes an 808, hi-hats and an interesting piece from the xclophone.

"days passed" stresses that Pop Malcolm doesn't want snakes around him. Lyrically he comes the hardest and even goes on a run. "days passed" also speaks on homies he’s lost and addresses that he’s been through things. Yet he doesn’t go into depth about his personal issues. Instead Pop Malcolm counts his blessings and stays optimistic toward the future. Beat wise, he uses a lush 90's R&B beat that goes smoothly with his words.

Then theres "broken kid" which is more of a chillwave song with an old school hip-hop and 8-bit influence. With a woodpipe to back him up, Pop Malcolm is more relfective and speaks on a time where he was looked down upon. But through it all, he flourished! An example can be seen in this one line where he says "I use to get made fun of. Now I get the green like Mario in one up."

Afterwards, "fwm" goes off. He basically keeps his distance from most because they're fake and even goes to say that most are p***y's. The reason he's able to differentiate the real from fake because of how money hungry they get. Sonically, the beat uses 8 bits, drum rolls, pixelized flute and an organ. " It was a track that is really raw and is for the spitter fans. I would make more tracks like that but I feel I need to keep a balance in how I approach tracks to stay fresh." Pop Malcolm says.

Immediately "key" changes the vibe. On my first listen, I interpreted it as a bosa nova track but "key" really is dancehall and hip-hop in between. The beat fuses the marimba with video game like synths, slightly low guitar chords and hi-hats. Needless to say it does a great job! Here, Pop Malcolm says that hes aiming for success by investing and saving. Although he's all about his hussle, he advices others to not let money overrule their life. My favorite line can be found in the span, 2:34.

"ollie" essentially speaks on his grind. The beat sounds somewhat similar to "Hotline Bling" by Drake but it seperates itself from that stigma by using an overruling japanese driven piano, reverse sound effect again, hi-hats and base. " I think it has a lot of layers and things many people can relate to. It's sonically a masterpiece." Pop Malcolm adds.

Whereas "piano" tells people to think again because he's not about to get played. Pop Malcolm shuts it down by coming hard with a base-heavy combative beat and destructable bars towards the fools.

All he wants is respect, and "rapper name" deems it with great success. See the thing he's moved by in hip-hop is its rawness. "It's seen as rebel music" Pop Malcolm says "When people talk about music they tend to leave out hip-hop or say it's not even music. I feel there's a lot of art and stories and hip hop and it's looked over as trash because of the radio and ignorant people. I respect the art." This song is another reflective one that speaks on certain hardships he has faced. Pop Malcolm is really trying to be a better person and is actually hurt that people would ask him to change his name. Really, he's just trying to cope. Sonically, it has a more softer side. It's meshed with twinkles, flunctuating guitar riffs, hi-hats and the reverse sound effect.

Lastly, "trustworthy community" leans more toward boom-bap. He goes to say that humanity is a lie, thus why it's so hard to trust America as a whole. This song also took a lot of emotion out of Pop Malcolm but still was one of his favorites to create.

On the whole, Pop Malcolm says in his own words that anybody can relate Broken Kid. It doesn't hold gender or race to it. "I just wanted to create something that shows we are all a bit f***d up, relating to things that aren't always fun and just being honest. All I can promise is honesty and that translate into what I create."

Moving forward, Pop Malcolm hopes to collab with Le$ but most importantly, he wants to quit his day job when his music takes off. He's excited for the tours and meeting fans. However, he really wants to take care of his family.

Pop Malcolm's advice to any upcoming artist is to never sign a deal, stay true yourself, plan for the long haul and take care of BUSINESS. "The fast way isn't the best way."

Make sure to stream Broken Kid. It's available on all streaming platforms

By: Natalee Gilbert

LINK(s):

1. Instagram - @friendwthechain

2. "Broken Kid" - https://soundcloud.com/rdpent/sets/brokenkidalbum

3. YouTube - https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCZhW1ZWCTqkOUV0TUbY6Eqw