#did this in like. an hour and a half while watching a movie for psych | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zorange13 · 2 months ago

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—he’s such a loser, wtf? pjs

pairing. geek! park jay x afab poc popular! reader

content. acquaintances to lovers, jay is lowkey a loser but not, ft. popular athletes! hyung line, jay’s an asshole like fr, allusions to The Duff by Kody Keplinger (little me loved that book, i’ve read it twice. i still love it idc. don’t talk to me abt the movie tho…sigh), photographer geek! jay, journalism major! psych minor! reader, arson jokes, playfully questioning friend’s sexuality, making out

word count: 30,974 (25,591 in this part) ao3 ver.

synopsis: jay’s been hiding behind his cool, distant demeanor, never letting anyone get too close. when he crosses paths with you, a popular cheerleader, your unlikely connection sparks a series of misunderstandings, awkward encounters, and him trying—and failing—to navigate feelings he’s not used to confronting. With a secret mission to keep his distance while helping her, jay finds himself caught between his own stubbornness and the surprising depth of his feelings.

after well into writing this i realized that a lot of jay’s behaviors display signs of autism spectrum disorder. this was not intentional but if this does offend or put anyone off in any way PLEASE let me know!! (symptoms/signs such as: must follow certain routines, seeming blunt or rude without intention, taking things literally—as in—does not understand figures of speech or sarcasm, prefers to be alone, hyperfixations,) again, not intentional but i didn’t want to put this out without making it clear that i’m not ignorant to what i’m producing. i literally didn’t put this together until my close friend (who is autistic) told me that these were signs. she said this did not offend her, but obviously she doesn't speak for all! this isn't to offend anyone, if this does then please tell me. my dm's are always open for any reason!

Park Jay spent copious amounts of time reading, writing, and taking photos of his poor, unsuspecting classmates.

In a nutshell, Jay was simple. He woke up at 9:00, brushed his teeth, washed his face—no need for a morning shower; he always did that the night before. Then came 9:19, the daily wardrobe deliberation: black t-shirt or…black t-shirt. Oversized black jeans or oversized black sweatpants. Spray his favorite cologne at 9:28.

Eat exactly one cup of Raisin Bran and solve the day’s Wordle. Grab his keys at 9:50. Trudge out of the house and into his car by 9:51.

It was like rinse and repeat, to which none of this necessarily bothered him. Jay enjoyed routine, he loved the idea that he had full control over what had to be done. But a part of him longed for something different. For someone or something to disrespect the regimen that he’s so carefully mapped out.

—

He stood along his university’s track, camera in hand as he inspected the soccer field, trying to get the cheerleaders and other athletes into the frame.

His face is shoved tightly into the camera as he zooms in, eyes narrowing in concentration. The lens clicked repeatedly as he fell into the quiet rhythm of it. Letting himself fall into yet another routine of clicking, adjusting, clicking, adjusting.

It wasn’t even about the subjects, he honestly couldn't care any less about sports or whatever they were doing, just lining up for that perfect shot was more than enough for him to feel that high, that cathartic feeling of expression. He hated the arrogance that came with athletes, but a great artist puts themselves in uncomfortable positions to really show how great they are; wouldn’t you agree?

He takes a couple more shots before his focus drifts back to his camera lens as the team disperses. All of which they lift their shirts to wipe off the sweat that’s gotten in their eyes. Despite him not caring about any of them, he watched as his three idiot friends walked over to him. Laughing, still trying to maintain some sort of positivity after Coach Jeon screamed at them for the last hour and a half.

Sunghoon was the first to approach, his once very serious glare being replaced by a smirk as he relished in the freedom from Coach’s scrutiny. His shirt clung to his chiseled chest from sweat as a small towel hung over his shoulder, but despite these things that would very badly overstimulate someone like Jay, Hoon looked cool as a cucumber. “You still hiding behind that camera?” Sunghoon teased, wiping his forehead with the aforementioned towel. “Don’t you get bored?”

Jay didn’t even look up from his camera as he adjusted the exposure, “Nah, I’m hoping one day you idiots fall and I’ll have the documentation.” He muttered with little expression. “Besides, we can’t have amateurs taking flicks for the yearbook, right?”

Jake and Heeseung walked up next, still catching their breath from the intense scrimmage. Jake flashed Jay a smile, “You really gonna stand there while we’re slaving out here?”

Jay gave a shrug, the corners of his lips quirked up into something of a smile, imperceptibly so. “I’m working hard too, if you count not getting hit in the face with balls as work.”

Heeseung leaned back next to him, the heat radiating off of his body to Jay’s to which he grimaced. “Yeah I know, I took two to the chin last week.”

Before Jay could respond as the others—including him—laughed, a voice interrupted them.

“Are you really going to let these guys gang up on you like that?”

You stood right there as your voice cut through the banter with unexpected clarity. It was bright, strong, and that’s what made the four boys look at you. Standing a few feet away from them in your perky cheer uniform, that could cling to you the only way it knew how after a heavy practice. Sweat glistened from your forehead but your curly hair—that was raised in a pineapple updo, masked it, blending in so that it didn’t look too frizzy and shrink up. But even when you expected to look a mess, you didn’t. You commanded attention, not forcefully—it just happened naturally.

Jay’s gaze flicked up, the grip on his camera loosening, now his attention no longer on the athletes. He looked at you briefly, his stomach doing something way too familiar at this point whenever you were around.

The boys froze up for a second, but Sunghoon’s posture straightened up at the sight of this girl. “Hey Captain,” he smiled, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

You curtly bowed your head to greet them, but before you could speak further, Jake interjected, “We just got chewed up by our coach for 90 minutes straight, can we breathe?”

You laughed, “Yet you still found time to be annoying, very impressive, Jakey, very impressive.”

Jay’s ears perked up at the sound of your laugh, again the feeling in his heart and stomach a reminder of it. He held his camera close to his chest, almost protectively as he avoided looking at you; he had to remember who you were.

You are the captain of their university’s cheer team and in very close proximity to his friends. They ran in the same circle and somehow developed a kinship with you, alongside the other girls and guys on the cheer team during their years at the uni. It seemed to make sense for every one of them but Jay. You bantered with Sunghoon like you were siblings, always kept having to reject Jake, and even managed to coax a few words out of Heeseung every now and again who always seemed to be having some sort of girl problems. It was easy for you to be around them—just as much as it was for Jay; the pseudo-F4 had been friends since they were little kids.

However, the times you would try to interact with Jay, he would keep his responses very minimal. A smile, a curt nod, a wave whenever you see each other. Jay, from your interpretation, seemed very aloof and you didn’t take it personally. It made sense that his only three friends would be people that he was fully comfortable around.

Seeing as his friends doubled as athletes and socialites, Jay always felt like—for lack of a better word—a loser.

There was this book that he read (almost regretfully) in his freshman year of high school—The Duff. He knew that to be the ‘Designated Ugly Fat Friend’ he had to fully identify with it, though, he didn’t quite feel much of a relation to Bianca. She was self-deprecating, bitter, anxious, and impulsive.

Jay had some sort of confidence, he was slightly bitter, only mildly anxious, but was very calculated and attentive. He knew he wasn’t fat, damn sure knew he wasn’t ugly, but sure, he was the designated friend.

The friend that was the designated driver when Jake would be blacked out drunk at parties, all because Jay refused to compromise his liver and kidneys. The friend for whenever Heeseung had girl problems, he was the one to go to. The friend that Sunghoon always called to play Valorant because he knew that Jay was never that busy.

Jay was reliable, trustworthy, and in some ways he felt like he owed his friends. They were the ones that were there for him in the same way. The ones that saved him from that big, bad bully in kindergarten and they’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Not to be confused, he knew that his friends loved him equally. But Jay never had to confide in them because he never needed anything. Nothing exciting ever happened in his life for him to report back to his friends.

He enjoyed his space, being an only child, he spent most of his childhood playing alone. So when he found his friends—or better yet—when they found him, he never changed who he was or what his character consisted of. Jay’s social battery ran out very quickly; so more often than not he would find himself retreating to his apartment and putting his phone on ‘do not disturb.’

Jay liked the quiet moments in his life. The stillness of his apartment, the steady click of his camera, the hyperfixation on really niche topics, the way he could just fade into the background while observing the world through his lens—literally and figuratively. It gave him control—a way to participate in life without being directly in the spotlight.

But you had this uncanny ability to mess with that quiet.

It wasn’t intentional, of course. You didn’t burst into his life demanding attention or energy. You just...existed in a way that made it impossible for Jay to ignore you. Your laugh could cut through the fog of his thoughts, your voice had this cadence that somehow settled and unnerved him at the same time.

He hated that you made him feel exposed, like you could see through the layers of detachment he’d spent years perfecting. The way you tried to pull him into conversations when you clearly had no obligation to, or the times you’d catch him off guard with a teasing comment—those moments lingered, as much as he tried to brush them off.

And it wasn’t that he didn’t like you. That wasn’t the problem at all. If anything, it was the opposite. You were one of those rare people who managed to make everyone around you feel seen without even trying. It was easy to see why Sunghoon treated you like a sibling or why Jake always tried (and failed) to flirt with you.

But Jay? He didn’t know how to categorize what he felt. It wasn’t as simple as admiration or attraction. It was more complicated, more unsettling. You were an unpredictable variable in his otherwise orderly life, and Jay had no idea what to do with that.

So, he kept his distance, retreating to the safety of his camera and the comfort of his predictable friendships. It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Jay,” You called out, breaking him from his introspection, your tone teasing but not unkind. “You’re really gonna let these guys clown on you? Thought you had more fight in you.”

Jay looked up, the weight of your attention catching him off guard. He felt his grip on the camera tighten instinctively, as if it could shield him from whatever chaos you were about to unleash.

“Not much to fight about,” he replied, his voice steady but soft. “They’re just proving my point.”

“Which is?” You asked, tilting your head slightly, curiosity sincere.

“That I’m the only one here doing something useful.” His lips quirked up in a faint smirk, and Jake groaned dramatically in response.

“Useful?” Jake cut in, shaking his head. “Bro, taking pictures of me isn’t exactly saving lives.”

“Not everything’s about you, Jake,” Sunghoon quipped, earning a laugh from the rest.

“Right, right,” Jake said, rolling his eyes. “Guess Jay’s just here documenting Sunghoon’s tragic fall from grace.”

“Tragic?” Sunghoon shot back, mock-offended. “Please, I’m the star of his portfolio.”

“More like the blooper reel,” Jay muttered, earning a burst of laughter from those around him.

“Wait, why are you funny?” You admitted, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you covered your mouth to conceal your laughter. “Not you having jokes.”

He felt his face heat up at your attention but shrugged it off, glancing back down at his camera as if the settings had suddenly become the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Only when the material’s this easy,” he said, keeping his tone light.

“You’re full of surprises,” you said, and there was something in your voice—something playful but warm—that made Jay glance up again. He caught your eyes as he adjusted the silver-lined frames that adorned his face, the motion both habitual and telling. Your gaze lingered a moment longer than he expected, your expression unreadable but calm. Jay’s fingers froze briefly against the bridge of his glasses before he dropped his hand, clearing his throat softly.

“You wear those because you actually need them,” you asked, your tone light but genuinely curious, “or is it, like, a whole vibe thing?”

Jay blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Uh…both, I guess?” he replied, a touch of hesitation in his voice. He didn’t know why he said that, his vision was absolutely terrible.

“Cool,” you said simply, your lips curling into a small smile. “They suit you.”

He opened his mouth to respond but quickly decided against it, unsure of what to say to that. His heart did an embarrassing little leap at the compliment, though he managed to keep his expression neutral.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

You raised a brow, leaning slightly forward as if to catch his words. “What, you think I’m not observant?”

“No, just…” He hesitated, his gaze dropping to his camera again. “Didn’t think it’d matter.”

You studied him for a beat, your smile softening. “Well, it does.”

And just like that, you straightened back up, your attention shifting seamlessly to the others, leaving Jay with the sudden and disarming realization that you were way more perceptive than he gave you credit for.

—

Jay walked into one of the university cafes at his usual time of 12PM right after his 10:30 experimental filmmaking class. As soon as he opened the door, the scent of coffee permeated his senses. Immediately waking him up from the haze that loomed over him from the 90 minutes of hearing information he already knew. Funnily enough, he hated coffee and refused to drink it because he didn’t want to trigger possible acid reflux or gastro-esophageal diseases.

He plopped down at one of the booths as he adjusted himself into the cushion of the seat. He then slid on his earbuds, the clinking of spoons and white noise fading to black. He swiftly pulled out his laptop to edit the photos that he snapped two days ago on the track. Jay’s fingers hovered over the trackpad as he scrolled through the photos. The soccer and cheerleading practices had been a goldmine for candids—athletes mid-sprint, beads of sweat dripping down their bodies and catching the sunlight, and the faint blur of the spectators in the background.

He loved capturing the things that felt alive even in the stillness.

As he adjusted the vibrancy on a particularly striking shot, Jay felt a faint presence nearby. Looking up, only to see the barista delivering a caramel latte to a nearby table. Shaking away his paranoia, he turned back to his work. The rhythm of editing was something easy for him to fall into, but for the first time that day, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease.

Through his peripheral vision, he saw a familiar figure open the door and head to the queue to wait to order. You.

As soon as his eyes laid on your figure, they retreated right back to his laptop; also slouching into the booth so you wouldn’t notice him. Again, it wasn’t that he didn’t like you. Jay just hated discomfort and somehow being around a girl like you, made him squirm and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. If the things he felt were anything other than happy, sad, angry, nervous, or scared then he wasn’t a fan. Despite how much the latter part of him yearned for excitement and to really feel, Jay just wanted to skirt by in life.

It was a weird mixture of wanting to be wanted, not having interest because he was afraid of rejection whether socially, or romantically even. He hated the way these insecure, almost unnerving things popped into his head when you were around.

He watched you walk in his general direction with a cold brew in hand and his heart skipped a little, he—again—further ducked into his seat and scooted more toward the window on his right side. But you sat at a nearby table in front of him which made him let out a quiet sigh of relief. How you didn’t notice him let him know that you didn’t have that irrational fear of seeing people you know in public (like him), or just had no sort of spatial awareness.

But then after a while, he started to hear the faint hum of your voice through his headphones. Which overstimulated him beyond belief. Like, hearing old, unreleased Frank Ocean on top of your voice made his head hurt and he didn’t know what to do about it. He wasn’t gonna tell you to shut the fuck up, because that would be mean.

Jay gets that he’s in a public setting but a part of him blames himself for not getting noise-cancelling headphones, his old ones from high school were not cutting it anymore.

Just the fact that he is so hyper-aware of your presence was the problem. The fact that you sat there sipping, almost aggressively (how tired were you?), on your coffee as you scrolled through some app. Smiling haphazardly at something you might’ve found funny or stupid. Then he sees that smile settle into dullness as you swipe across it to put the phone to your ear. “Hey,”

Your voice was soft, almost cutting through Jay’s mind like a knife. His fingers froze mid-edit on the same photo he was editing when you sat down—twenty minutes ago, so longer than usual.

He glanced up briefly, not wanting to seem obvious, but also unable to help himself. He paused his music as he watched you lean further into the table, absentmindedly stirring your cold brew. He saw the condensation gather around the plastic cup and leave a ring around the base of it. Your expression was almost unreadable as he wondered who you were speaking to.

Jay immediately regretted the thought. Why the fuck would he care who you were speaking to? It wasn’t his business and it wasn’t like you were aware of his inner turmoil.

“Yeah, I know,” you said as you sighed into the phone. “Mom, I’m trying. But this class is absolutely impossible! It’s like he says one thing, but he wants another thing. I don’t even know this is stupid.”

Jay blinked, trying to process what you said as his chest tightened for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Your tone was light, but there was a frustration beneath it as his fingers hovered over the trackpad, but he wasn’t editing anymore. Instead, he was hyper-focused on the way your voice wavered slightly as you vented, the way your hand stopped stirring the now watered down cold brew and was now waving around as you aired out your troubles.

“Yes, I’m asking for help, mom, it’s literally so embarrassing, I got a 40 on my last test.” you continued, your tone softening, though the exasperation lingered. “But it’s not like anyone’s lining up to explain set theory to me, you know?”

Jay’s lips twitched into a faint, involuntary smile. Your words were drenched in sarcasm, but there was something oddly endearing about the way you expressed yourself. Still, he shook his head to force his attention back to his laptop. ‘Just play your music and stop eavesdropping,’ he told himself.

But then again, how could he not? You were just sitting a few feet away from him and again, his headphones were not helping right now. So he quickly pulled out his phone to open his reminder app to buy some noise-cancelling headphones by the end of the week.

“Okay, okay,” you said, never sounding so deflated. “I’ll figure it o—” You stopped talking, being cut off by your mom who was lecturing you it seemed. “I know mom, your money won’t go to waste. Plus if I fail, I’ll ju–” Your voice dropped to a lower, more resigned tone. “No, I didn’t just say the F word,” you smiled solemnly.

“I have a class in 10 minutes, ma. I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.” You said, obviously lying just to stop the barrage of your mother’s words from ruining your day and stressing you out further. Then you go back to your phone as you bounce your leg up and down, trying some way to push the stress somewhere else.

While you’re busy doing this, Jay quickly takes one last glance at you. It’s not that he wants to draw attention, but there’s something about your restlessness, the frustration in your voice, that sticks with him. He could’ve just let it be, but he’d already clicked send.

—

Later on that day, you were seated at one of the tables in the corner in one of the school libraries. Your mind spinning with endless equations and concepts that you understood, but somehow, nothing ever stuck. Turning up the volume on your noise canceling headphones to hopefully drown out the damning thoughts, you didn’t realize how much time had passed until your phone lit up on the table, breaking your focus.

It was a message from the cheer group chat. Wasn’t important, ignore.

But you decided to scroll through your old notifications, just to see what you missed. However, your eyes caught one from three hours ago to your school email:

From: [email protected] at 12:33 PM

To: you

Your print job is ready for pickup at station 3.

You blinked at the message, a little confused. You hadn’t sent anything to print recently or at all, in your years at the school. All of your work was digital. But your curiosity tugged at you, pushing you to check anyway. You get up from your chair, leaving your laptop and tablet there for the taking, these rich kids don’t steal anyways, you thought.

Nonetheless, were you missing something? You pondered what you could’ve possibly sent to print, I mean, your Philosophy and Ethics essay was to be turned in digitally, as was most of the assignments in the school. I mean what loser would even handwrite notes these days?

When you arrived at station 3, there was a semi-thick stack of papers waiting for you. You leaned forward slightly as you grabbed the stapled bundle from the tray. As you flipped over the page with your name on it, you saw it was labeled in a familiar way—finite math.

But these were different from those stupid lecture slides…these were actually good. Detailed, thorough, and almost too clean, each concept broken down in ways that felt more digestible than your professor’s ramblings could ever be.

Lists of formulas, steps on how to do problems, keywords, examples, things to remember.

Oh, this loser had time.

You skimmed through them, and the more you read, the more you couldn’t help but feel a mix of admiration and confusion. Who had gone through the trouble of printing these out for you? Why?

And who—wait, the only person who knew about your math debacle was your mom. You don’t quite remember discussing this matter with anyone else but her because it was simply too embarrassing to admit to anyone that you were in danger of failing anything.

As you felt this pit in your stomach, you glanced around the library. Looking for any sign of who might have been listening but then again, you got here an hour ago. You last opened your mouth about this in the cafe and the email was from…you checked your phone again, noting the timestamp of 12:33 PM.

Around the time you were in the cafe.

No one was even looking at you in the library, everyone that was there resided at their little tables or cubicles with friends; trying to conceal hard laughs even though this was a quiet zone.

You made the trek back to your table. But as you did, your heart thumped a little harder in your chest, unsure of what to make of it. This was fucking weird.

Granted, the notes didn’t feel personal. It was like someone just meticulously planned it out just so they wouldn’t be confused. Fortunately, that was just enough for you to be glad. Anything would help at this point.

As you sat back down at your table, you further inspected the booklet for anything that might’ve been an indicator of…anything. You didn’t recognize the handwriting, no you knew wrote like this. The letters fit perfectly within the lines, almost robotic. The symbols being done perfectly as well, they must’ve tried a few times to get that right, so meticulous.

It was freaky.

But there was nothing to do at this point but use them. I mean someone, whether it be a stalker, eavesdropper, divine entity, who knows, gave them to you for a reason.

With that being said, you pulled out your tablet with your GoodNotes and got to studying.

You passed your next test with a 83.

—

The following weekend, you walked around the university football field as there was a kickback that you were invited to.

To this day, you don’t know why the Dean even put this much trust in your class to not drink on campus. The whole setup was a goldmine for rule-breaking: dim lighting, loud ass music (your heart ached for the residents), and ever-so-convenient lack of supervision. But really there was no point, y’all were adults and well beyond or just now of drinking age.

The field was alive with activity—groups of people were already laughing, life or death games of beer pong, even a few ambitious souls were already drunk. Nonetheless, the pumpkin spice candles were doing their best to smother the scent of alcohol.

At this moment, the friends you came here with were only mildly plastered and dealing with the varying drunk personalities on top of the loud music was entirely too overwhelming for your liking. You didn’t feel comfortable getting drunk at a college party and at most you’d get lightly buzzed. Tonight, you just weren’t in the mood for drinking but a little fun wouldn’t hurt.

The field was lit with warm orange and yellow lanterns as they were strung through and across trees, tables, and posts. Creating a cozy glow against the darkened sky, it looked like half the campus was there and fortunately, the cool weather permitted those to ease into a cute little hoodie and jeans, sweats, just comfy clothing in general.

As you scanned the premises, your eyes caught a lean figure at the edge of the bleachers toward the upper part of the field. Some were scattered around that area to socialize as it was a lot quieter, just to enjoy the music but not be crushed by the drunk and humongous athletes.

Nonetheless, you weren’t shy and knew that talking to said lean figure was a gamble but fuck it.

You squeezed through the tight bubble of inebriated adults and found yourself free and in the small, but secluded area.

Jay, however, had his back turned to the rest of the crowd as he swiped through his phone. As he bided his time in the least stimulating section of the field, he realized that he really could’ve been doing this at home. His heart was fluttering just thinking about it now. He could’ve been watching his shows and reading that book that’s currently annotated to death on his sofa. His plush, soft, gorgeous sofa. But no, he sat on the ice-cold, steel bleachers and his ass was numbing at the lack of warmth.

His friends dragged him out to this function so that he can hopefully feel motivated to talk to people and “get laid.”

Which just sounds idiotic because what did that even mean? Get laid? Lay where? He understood the implication, of course, but the phrasing always bothered him. It was crude. Unnecessary. And more than that—it simply didn’t apply to him. Jay wasn’t interested in the shallow pursuit of meaningless hookups. Many have tried, all have failed.

Regardless of what, he knew what they really brought him for. Jay didn’t drink, if it wasn’t water or apple juice he was not for it. So of course, having him as a designated driver was the safest thing for all of them to get home. He didn’t pull off until everyone had their seatbelts fastened and he always did just the speed limit.

Now that he was stuck, idling looking through his phone trying to find some sort of dopamine hit from a funny video. But then he feels a hand rest on his bicep to capture his attention; to which he was grateful, taps on the shoulder feel funny.

Then, he turned to see a little ole you, water bottle and curly hair in tow—sitting just above your collarbone. “Hey, loner,”

Jay stared at her for a beat as he shifted his phone to his other hand, then his back pocket. “Hi.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “Damn, just a ‘hi?’”

He blinked. “You greeted me, I acknowledged it.”

Clearly amused, you shook your head with a laugh before sitting next to him on the bleachers. Your body heat radiating off of you and onto him, which despite his better judgment he needed a lot more than he would tell you. “What are you even doing out here? I didn’t think this was your scene.”

He sipped the water bottle that he had been sipping since he sat down. At this point it was pretty empty, only one good sip left. “It’s not, my friends used me. DD.”

You nodded knowingly, “Mmm…sounds like them.”

Jay hummed in agreement, rolling the near-empty water bottle between his hands. He could hear the bass of whatever song was playing pounding from the speakers across the field, the occasional drunken cheer rising above it. The whole scene felt like something he was watching from the outside, never quite a part of.

You, however, leaned back, stretching your legs out in front of you like you had no problem settling in. “You know that you could’ve said no.”

He scoffed lightly. “Right. Because that would’ve stopped them.”

“True,” you admitted with a grin. “They can be kinda relentless.”

Jay didn’t respond, but something about the way you said kinda made him side-eye you. Like you didn’t mind the persistence. Like you even liked it. Liked that your friends were all over the place, you thrive on it.

You nudged his knee with yours. “How are classes?”

He sighed. “Fine.”

“How are the friends?”

“Fine.”

You squinted at him. “Are you okay?”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay?”

At that, you burst out laughing, throwing your head back. “Oh my God,” you gasped between giggles, shaking your head. “Talking to you is so hard.”

Jay just watched you, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t sure why people kept saying that. He answered every question, didn’t he? It wasn’t his fault the questions weren’t interesting. You exhaled, shaking your head with a lingering smile before standing up. “Alright, well, have fun, Jay. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Jay nodded once, but you were already walking off, disappearing back into the thick of the crowd.

He stared after you for a second longer than he meant to, then looked down to see the water bottle you left. Completely unopened and sealed left in the space that was between you. He sighed, cracking it open with a small click before downing his first sip.

—

The professor’s voice drifts in and out of focus as you stare at the half-filled page of notes on your laptop. Your mind keeps wandering back to the weekend, to Jay. You’re not sure what it was about the brief conversation you had with him—well, more like the awkward attempt at a conversation—but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than he lets on.

He’s so…different. Not in a bad way, just in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. And something about the way he responds, or rather, doesn’t respond, to the usual social cues keeps you intrigued. There’s a part of you that wonders if it’s your own curiosity that’s pushing you to know more, but then you think back to how he seemed almost...relieved when you left. Maybe you’re overthinking it, maybe not.

Jay was an enigma, something that you needed to get a grip on to understand. Everything about him was meticulous, not one detail too big, nor one too small. But a part of him almost seemed unnerving.

He was so conscious of everything that he did.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when the professor announces the new assignment, his voice cutting through the murmur of students’ whispers.

“Write about someone you’re in proximity to but know absolutely nothing about,” he says, making eye contact with a few of the students in the back. “Find the story in someone you haven’t taken the time to understand yet. Write about what’s compelling, what’s mysterious—even if you know nothing about their life.”

A pause. Then, a slow smile creeps onto your face.

This is it.

You almost laugh out loud at the irony. You’ve been trying to figure Jay out for the past forever it seemed like, and now, here’s your chance to put it all to paper. It feels almost too perfect. Divine intervention, maybe? You tap the pen against your notebook, already imagining how you’d approach it. The awkwardness of your previous exchange, the layers to his personality you’ve yet to peel back. He’s not easy to read, but that’s exactly what makes him fascinating.

You’ll have to get closer, though. You don’t even know where to start with someone like him. Still, the challenge excites you. It’s almost like this assignment was meant to be. Jay, the one person who’s always on the edge of your thoughts.

You scampered out of class, in a way better mood than you were when you were in there. This had to be a dream, there’s no way that the universe just put this whole thing on a silver platter for you. Like this had to be a joke.

Wandering out of the liberal arts building, you texted the group chat that you had with Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Heeseung. You need to get a hold of at least one of them now.

you: wya?

heeseung <3 : dining hall, we just got here tho

jake <3: slide

you: bet

omw rn

—

“Please,”

“I said no.”

“Please, I swear I won’t be annoying. Like I promise—”

“You’re doing that right now.”

Of course begging this man—or any man—at 10 in the morning wasn’t on your vision board for the semester. But as you sat in this semi-densely packed dining hall, with three other eyes on you, you knew you had to pull this off so you didn’t look stupid. And you hated looking stupid.

“C’mon, Jay.” Heeseung said, grinning as he leaned back into his chair, enjoying the spectacle.

Jay, however, was unimpressed. He barely looked up from his bowl, methodically stirring the remnants of his cereal. “It’s weird,” he muttered.

You groaned, resisting the urge to dramatically collapse onto the table. “It’s not weird! It’s a journalism assignment. Please? I need this for my GPA, this would really help me as long as it’s something good.”

He chewed firmly on his raisin bran, exactly one cup as always. “Your grade point average has nothing to do with me and isn’t my responsibility.”

Jake let out a low whistle. “Ouch.”

You shot him a glare before turning back to Jay, determined not to let this go. “Okay, sure, technically it’s not your responsibility, but think of it as...a good deed. A community service moment.”

Jay shook his head, “You can literally pick anyone else, I cannot be that interesting.”

You smiled as you gestured to him, “That’s exactly what makes you interesting. Just think about it, the assignment is to write about someone I’m close to but know nothing about. I can tell you a whole thing about these fuckers—” You point to the other boys that surrounded you and him; your comment only elicited ‘boo’s’ and balled up napkins being thrown at your head; as expected. “But Jay, I’ve had your phone number, seen you at least 8 times a week for three years, we are in a group chat together. And yet, we’ve never had a conversation that lasted more—this is our longest conversation.” Your eyes bulged as you tried to get through to him. “You are my perfect subject.” You folded your hands together hopefully.

Jay exhaled through his nose, barely reacting to your dramatic plea. He didn’t look convinced, but he also hadn’t shut you down yet, which meant you still had a shot.

But as you sat there, hands folded as you pleaded with him to let him be your subject, he couldn’t help but actually feel bad for you. Funnily enough, he knew you needed this. He knew—given the math situation that you needed all of the help you could get. That at least if you failed math, maybe getting a good grade for this assignment could give you some wiggle room to not flunk and lose your cheer scholarship that you worked your ass off to get.

The look on your face reeked of desperation and a part of him found it funny, also partially attractive that you’re so willing to beg and plead your case as to how much you needed him. But he wouldn’t dare to say that aloud; he had some sort of couth.

But he felt that sickly, disgusting twisty feeling in his stomach at the way you looked at him, like you needed him. The way you said “my perfect subject.” Not just a perfect or the perfect subject. He was your perfect subject.

He hated the way he noticed the detail.

Even more so, he hated the way that the deepest, darkest part of him couldn’t let him say no to you.

“You’re making a weird argument,” he said flatly, stirring his cereal. “The fact that we don’t talk much should mean you don’t pick me.” He opened his mouth, for once—hesitating before speaking. To which you took notice and perked up in excitement, but covered your mouth with your conjoined hands. Afraid of putting him off even further.

Jay sighed, dragging his spoon through his cereal as if stalling. “If I say yes, you’re not gonna make this weird, right?”

You gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. “I would never make this weird.”

Sunghoon scoffed. “You’re literally making it weird right now.”

You shot him a quick glare before turning back to Jay. “I’ll be professional. Completely journalist mode. Objective, unbiased, purely academic.” You held up three fingers like a scout pledge. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

Jay arched his brow. “That’s actually worse.”

“Jay…” You half-whined, half-sighed with resignation.

Oh, and the way you said his name.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling like he was signing his life away.

Your face lit up instantly, your hands slamming against the table in excitement. “Wait, for real?”

“What’s for real?” He looked, with furrowed brows.

The group—sans you—collectively let out a groan. You were too happy to judge him right now. “I mean, are you actually going to help me?”

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

That was more than enough for you.

—

You woke up with a little pep in your step, the sun was shining, birds chirping, and your skin was glowing. Fortunately enough for the sake of your assignment, your other professors gave you the week for your research and observation of Jay. Of course, when you came back you had to catch up but you had to take your wins while you could get them.

As you walked out of your dorm and embraced the crisp air, you put on your headphones to fully dive into the fall weather that you were having. You and Jay both agreed to meet at the cafe but you decided to show up a little earlier to set up your things and whatnot.

You entered the student run cafe and quietly greeted everyone behind the counter as you found a booth in a quiet corner; hopefully something that will make Jay comfortable, some privacy maybe.

Plopping down into the booth with a grunt, you gleefully pull out your laptop to open up a blank document for you to type on right beside one with questions that you’ve prepared. Then you dug in your bag for a folder with some other papers and set them on the table. Resting them on top of the folder as you were afraid of the table not being clean and staining the paper.

Luckily, Jay arrived at the exact time that you agreed upon. Which is just like him, never too early nor late but just on time. “Hello,” he said plainly as he sat down across from you.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Park.” You smiled, leaning your elbows on the table and resting your chin in your hands.

He furrowed his brow, “Since when do you speak to me this way?”

“Since I promised that I would maintain my professionalism to not make you uncomfortable.” You nodded affirmatively, “So if this is what it takes to make you feel as safe as possible then I’ll do what I can.”

Jay gave you a flat look, “That actually makes me more uncomfortable.”

You stifled a laugh, leaning back to neutral position. “Duly noted.”

Leaning back, Jay glanced down at the assortment of papers, your open laptop, and the neatly placed folder. “You’re really taking this seriously, huh?”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “I have to. It’s my grade, and you’re a particularly difficult subject.”

He tilted his head, “How so?”

Sighing, you cross your legs beneath the table. “You don’t talk. But that’s gonna change today.” You say bluntly, picking up a pen.

Jay sighed, shifting in his seat. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

You sat up a little straighter. “Great. So before we start, let’s go over some ground rules.” You pushed the papers toward him. “I made a rough outline of what this project is going to look like—structured interviews, observational research, some candid moments here and there. Nothing too invasive, but I need you to be honest with me.”

Jay picked up the paper, skimming it with mild interest. “And if I refuse to answer something?”

You shrugged. “You can pass, but you have to give me something to work with.”

“Fine,” he muttered, setting the paper down. “What else?”

“I also want to set some boundaries,” you continued. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to write about or anything that makes you uncomfortable, let me know now so I can adjust.”

Jay tapped his fingers against the table, thinking. “Just…don’t make me sound stupid.”

You blinked at him. “That’s what you’re worried about?”

He shrugged. “Yeah.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Duly noted, again. But please do understand that embarrassing you is not the goal here.” You put your hand on the table, to convey your openness. “The product is really going to be a reflection of me as well and if you were to look stupid then so would I. If that gives you any consolation.”

Jay exhaled through his nose, seemingly satisfied. “Alright, journalist. Fire away.”

You grinned, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “Let’s start with something…a little challenging—”

He groaned, “Already?”

You held your hands up apologetically, “I’m sorry, this one is rough but I promise it’s not that bad.”

He nodded quietly with an—already—distressed sigh.

Looking into his eyes with a gentle smile you say, “What’s your name?”

Surprisingly that did get a little bit of a laugh out of him. Not a loud one, but a small baby laugh. The kind of laugh where he laughs through his nose and he looks down to avoid your crinkled eyes as you doubled over the table. “That was a terrible joke.”

“But it got you to loosen up, no?” You point at him, “Look! I made you smile! Point me!” You wiggle excitedly in your seat which almost made him quirk a smile.

“Whatever,” He mumbled.

The laughter died down and you repeated your question, “Okay no seriously, what’s your name?”

“Park Jongseong, or—as you call me by my English name, Jay.” He nodded affirmatively.

You typed it out, nodding along. “Jay…got it.”

He squinted at you. “You knew that already.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to make this official,” you said, gesturing to your laptop. “Journalist mode, remember?”

Jay rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

“Alright,” you continued, tapping your fingers against the keyboard. “Next question—where are you from?”

He leaned back against the booth. “Born in Seattle, raised in Korea.”

You tilted your head. “Do you feel more connected to one place over the other?”

Jay hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly before he crossed his arms. “I guess Korea, since I grew up there. But I don’t really think about it that much.”

You hummed, jotting that down. “Interesting. Alright, let’s do a rapid-fire round to warm you up.”

He eyed you warily. “Define ‘rapid-fire.’”

“Easy stuff,” you assured him. “Favorite color?”

“Purple.”

“Favorite food?”

“Anything that tastes good, but mainly meat dishes.”

“Biggest pet peeve?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Too many.”

You snorted. “Noted. Dream job?”

Jay opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw tightened slightly before he shrugged. “Still figuring that out. But when I was a kid I wanted to be a chef.”

You smile endearingly, “That’s so cute, any reason?”

He looks around, almost like he was searching for the answer in the nooks of his brain. “Not really, I love to cook. I love food. I love to eat. So I just thought it would be a fun thing to do. I always loved helping my mom in the kitchen and those memories are nice to hold onto.”

“So, sentimental and personal value?”

He nods, “Yeah, sort of.”

You nod as you rapidly type this into the document, just as you were filling in the last bit of notes he interrupts you. “What about you?”

Your fingers stunt at the question, not expecting for him to actually care, or even ask. “What about me?”

“What did you want to be as a kid?”

You frown, “Don’t laugh.”

“You’re not that funny so I guarantee that won’t happen.” He deadpanned.

You shoot him a glare, lips pressing into a flat line. “Wow. Thanks for that.”

Jay smirks, shrugging. “Just being honest.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh. “Fine. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a mail carrier.”

The man tilts his head and as promised, does not laugh. “That’s stupid.”

You nodded reluctantly, fully prepared to defend yourself. “Right? But hear me out—I thought it’d be the perfect job. You get to walk around all day, wear a cute little uniform, and people are always happy to see you because you’re delivering their mail.”

Jay blinked, surprised by how sincere you sounded. “That’s…actually kind of sweet.” He fidgeted in his seat, as if he was uncomfortable by the feeling in your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow. “You just called it stupid.”

“I did,” he admitted. “But now it sounds weirdly wholesome. Like, the kind of dream a Pixar protagonist would have.”

You laughed, pointing at him. “See? You get it now.”

“No, I don’t but I see why a kid would like something like that. Very one-dimensional but…endearing so I won’t crucify you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a laugh. “Anyway…”

Jay nods, finding himself getting too comfortable. “Yeah, yeah. What’s next?”

You glance at your list of questions, already grinning. “Let’s talk about your daily routine.”

“Okay.” He leaned back in thought. “So…I wake up and am out of bed at exactly 9 AM. From there I do the typical, brush my teeth and wash my face. 9:19, I get dressed…then at 9:28 I—”

And as he rambled on about this rigid routine and you sat there in shock, almost gobsmacked at how much of a stick in the mud this guy was. Like holy fuck, is there any joy in his life?

“Then I spray my cologne at exactly 9:28 because it’s the perfect time to balance out the scent before I head out the door.” Jay continued, completely unaware of the disbelief that was likely written all over your face.

Letting out an incredulous laugh, trying to wrap your mind around this. “Woah, woah, woah…so you’re telling me you have this entire routine mapped down to the exact minute?”

“Is that bad?” Jay looked as if you were stupid or said something ridiculous. You caught yourself quickly, trying to do everything in the world to not make him go back into his shell and retract. “No! It’s not at all just…I didn’t expect for you to have so much discipline.”

He shook his head, “You say that as if everyone doesn’t have a routine.” From the look on his face, it was another moment of him just not being able to wrap his own mind around how you would think something like this is wild.

“Everyone has some sort of routine or regimen, but that? Jay, it’s like you’re in the military or something.” You smiled.

“Are you jealous?” He tilted his head, completely oblivious to how weird that sounded, though you were only slightly taken aback. You weren’t used to his blatant honesty yet but, baby steps.

“Very much so, actually.” You nodded curtly as you turned to your laptop to type some more information on there for your draft. “It takes me like an hour to get out of bed.”

Jay doesn’t reply but just suppresses a smile as he nods, he doesn’t judge you completely but for someone like him, he urgently needs some sort of structure. It simply gives him peace of mind and there’s nothing that makes him feel more secure than following his solid regimen. Sure, others would call him strict, anal-retentive, literally insane but if that’s the case then so be it!

“But for now, the last question.” You smile as you finish typing some more, “What is something that you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Nothing. I’ve done everything that I’ve wanted to do already.” He replies back almost immediately.

“Everything?” You deadpanned, “There’s nothing that you want to do right now?”

He pursed his lips as he slowly shook his head, “Nope. I’ve seen the world, I’m fortunate enough to have given back to people that need it, I’m lucky enough to attend one of the best universities in the country.” He shrugged, “All before I’m 30.”

A part of your stomach flipped, unsure if it was from how attractive he was from the mix of arrogance and humility. But maybe…envy?

Jay, along with many other students at your university, were very wealthy and there was no denying that he lived comfortably. His father was on the Board of Directors of a world-renowned software engineering company and his mother was the Creative Director of a high-end global fashion brand. They had a wonderful marriage and Jay never had to worry about not having anything—he only had to worry about how much he was able to get.

Granted he can’t control who his parents were, Jay knew the privilege that he held and was not ignorant to that fact. He was lucky to have a childhood with minimal trauma, great friends, a happy home, and to be attractive because he knew that privileges came with that too.

As for you, you came from a middle class family and your childhood wasn’t entirely too bad. You were a child of divorce and your parents couldn’t stand the other, you had to share things with your siblings, and when it was time to apply for college you had to work tirelessly to earn scholarships to supplement tuition because your grades just weren’t good enough. But you weren’t stupid, you just had to find a sport to be undeniable in, so by the grace of everything good your parents put you and your younger sister in cheer when you were kids. She found other things and ventured off while you stuck with cheer. Now here you are at Decelis University on a full ride.

But that didn’t come easily. Serious groveling was involved.

So as Jay spoke about how he’s lived a life of travel, charity, and world-class education—you only had the latter in common. And that hurt you more than you’d like to admit.

You so utterly wished you were able to travel, use your means for good, and have parents to brag about.

You swallowed, forcing a polite smile as you tapped your keyboard. “Right. Of course. That makes sense.”

Jay didn’t say anything, but you felt his gaze settle on you. Not sharp, not piercing—but steady. You could practically hear him analyzing your silence.

“And you?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, surprised he even cared enough to return the question. “Me?”

He nodded once. “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You hesitated, your fingers pausing mid-gesture on the trackpad. “Honestly? I want to travel. I want to see somewhere far away. Somewhere where no one knows me.” You tried to keep your voice light, casual. “I wanna sit on a train that cuts through foggy mountains, or eat food I can’t pronounce off a plate I don’t recognize. I want to…disappear for a while.” You nodded with something distant in your gaze, as if you were on that train already. Eating that food and trying and failing to make friends with the locals.

Jay’s eyes didn’t move from yours. He didn’t offer sympathy. He didn’t soften. He just regarded you like he was simply encoding the information you were giving him, like he couldn’t relate but he was trying to understand anyway. “That’s not impossible,” he said plainly.

You waved him off but let out a smile right after. “For you? Probably not.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t work to get where I am?”

You looked at him, dry. “Did you have to beg the financial aid office for three weeks straight and pray someone lost your paperwork just so you could get more funding?”

He was quiet again. And then, “No.”

You turned back to your laptop. “Exactly.”

Jay didn’t apologize. He didn’t offer a solution. He just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Then maybe you should get better at begging.”

You froze.

It wasn’t said with malice. He wasn’t being cruel. But still—it hit like a slap. Cold, clean, and sharp enough to draw blood.

You blinked down at your laptop, suddenly unable to see the screen clearly. Your throat tightened and a piercing rush of fury made haste to your stomach.

“…Right.” You said it lightly. Like it didn’t matter. Like you weren’t already replaying the words in your head on loop, wondering if he meant them as an insult or advice or some strange mixture of both.

Jay shifted slightly in his seat. If he noticed the change in your tone, he didn’t say anything. He just went quiet again—returning to that wall of silence you’d gotten so used to at the beginning.

And just like that, you were reminded exactly why you never talked about stuff like this with people like him.

—

Later that night, Jay along with the guys—sans Heeseung, he was out on a date with his current girlfriend—along with their freshman friend, Jungwon, were playing Fortnite.

As Jay sat in his bedroom, eyeing his PC with his blue-light glasses, he heard muffled swears and screaming through his headphones as one of them was downed. “Yo Jay, revive me, what the fuck!” Jake yelled into the mic as he was downed during a gunfight.

Jay instinctively hit the key combo to crouch and build cover, shielding Jake’s fallen avatar as bullets whizzed past them.

“You’re too far out,” Jay muttered, reviving him anyway. “You always do this. Every time.”

“Bro, just say you love me and go,” Jake huffed.

“He’s not gonna say that,” Sunghoon laughed. “Jay probably hasn’t said ‘I love you’ since he was, like, six.”

“I say it when I mean it,” Jay replied coolly, tone dry as ever.

“Oh, so never,” Jungwon piped in, and the rest of the guys lost it.

Jay rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Focus up. We’re top twenty.”

But just as he adjusted in his seat, Jake broke the flow again. “Wait—how’d that interview go earlier? You were with my girl for a minute.”

Jay deadpanned, “She’s not your girl, she doesn’t like you. She’s rejected you multiple times, she will never want you. Ever, in your life.” He concealed a smile, trying not to laugh at his own cruelty.

The call went silent then Sunghoon and Jungwon ended up bursting into their own laughter. Jungwon’s being the loudest of course.

Jake smiled too, trying to seal his laughs as well—though he was defeated. “Shut up! She’ll come around one day.”

Jay adjusted his headset, the smirk still tugging at his lips. “Sure, bro. Just keep telling yourself that.”

“Nah, I’m serious,” Jake said through a laugh. “Girls love the long game. I’m just giving her time to realize I’m the love of her life.”

Sunghoon snorted. “More like time to block your number.”

“Or file a restraining order,” Jungwon chimed in, wheezing.

Jake gasped dramatically. “I would never harass! I’m a gentleman.”

Jay hummed, casually looting a nearby chest. “A gentleman wouldn’t call her ‘my girl’ when she’s clearly not interested.”

Jake exhaled, letting the teasing roll off. “Alright, alright. Point made. How’d it go though? Actually.”

Jay leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing on the screen like he was thinking more about earlier than the game. “It went fine.”

“Just fine? You were with her for hours.” Sunghoon inquired, looting in one of the bunkers they arrived at just in time.

Jungwon followed suit as he axed at some gold, “Wait, what girl are we talking about?”

Jay said your name blankly, eyes still very glued to the screen as he came out of the bunker and got in the car to drive them across the map.

Jungwon’s eyes widened, “The cheerleader? The captain?” He hopped out of the car to shoot other stragglers behind some trees. “Bro, she’s so fine.”

Jake perked up, “I’m telling you! I’ve been saying this for years!” He knocked an opponent and immediately went to shoot at his teammate.

Jay’s eyes, still not leaving the screen as he muttered, “She’s alright.”

Sunghoon laughed, “You’re trippin’, that girl could tell me to bend over and I’d do it yesterday.”

The boy in glasses furrowed his brows, “I’m not tripping over anything. I’m sitting down, what are you talking about? And Hoon, are you alright?”

“You piss me off…” Jungwon sighed. “And yeah, that was crazy. Valid, but crazy.”

Jake laughed, “Trippin’ as in, you’re crazy. Losing your mind. What you said or did doesn’t make sense.”

Jay snorted, adjusting his loadout as he drove past an enemy squad without flinching. “That sounds stupid as fuck. But, okay I get it. I just don’t agree.”

“You’re telling me,” Jake said, incredulous, “that you sat across from her for all that time and didn’t once think she was hot?”

Jay shrugged. “Didn’t say that. I said she’s alright.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon muttered. “You’re lying through your teeth.”

“I’m not,” Jay insisted, swerving the car expertly through an ambush. “She’s highly intelligent. Thorough. Articulate. Actually listens when you talk. But yeah—sure. The first thing you focus on is that cheer skirt.”

Despite the fact that was in fact lying through his teeth, Jay found you incredibly attractive and there was no denying that. But he wouldn’t dare admit it because then that would make it seem real. He respected you, a whole lot more than one would think. And the fact that he was so quick to defend you in this instance made him cringe at the thought, but satisfied that he stood for something in the name of you.

Jake gasped again. “How dare you reduce me to a stereotype!”

Sunghoon barked a laugh. “You are a stereotype.”

Jake ignored him. “But wait, what was the vibe though? Like, did y’all actually talk or was it just, like, all questions and shit?”

Jay hesitated, the car slowing slightly as the storm closed in around the map’s edges. “She just asked questions about me.” He shrugged, “my life, what I want to do, the things I’ve always wanted to do, et cetera.”

“And…you said?” Jungwon pried.

“I just answered her questions, but it got weird on the last one.”

Jake narrowed his eyes, even though Jay couldn’t see it. “What was the last one?”

Jay scratched the side of his neck, still focused on the screen. “She asked me what I’ve always wanted to do. So I told her the truth. That I’ve done most of it already—travel, service, the academic stuff.”

Sunghoon hummed. “Okay,”

Jay ignored him. “But then I asked her the same question. And she said she wants to disappear.”

“Disappear?” Jungwon echoed, his voice dipping.

“Not in a scary way,” Jay clarified quickly. “Just…like go somewhere far. Somewhere no one knows her. Ride trains. Be unrecognizable for a while. Just be somewhere new.”

Jake went quiet, his fingers pausing over his keys. “That’s…actually pretty cool.”

Jay nodded once. “She meant it too. Said it like she’s been dreaming about it for years.”

“And what’d you say?” Sunghoon asked, a little more gently now.

Jay sighed, his voice getting quieter. “I said that’s not impossible. That if she really wanted it, she could do it.”

Jungwon blinked. “Okay, not the worst response—”

“But then she waved me off and was like ‘for you, probably not.’” He reflected as he leaned back against the back of his chair. “And I took it a little personally and assumed that she thought that I didn’t work for what I have.”

“Oh no…” Sunghoon groaned, already smelling something negative from a mile away. He knew how Jay got at times, he genuinely didn’t—and still doesn’t—know how to talk to people. It’s not like he means to be this way, but it just takes him time to warm up to people. If it’s not his family or his friends—that he’s known for the last twenty years—then he really doesn’t know how to navigate emotional nuance. Jay’s not cruel, not cold, but he’s clinical. Methodical. He speaks in facts and solutions. And sometimes, that means he ends up sounding like a dick when he doesn’t mean to.

“Then she said that wasn’t what she meant but then asked me if I ever had to beg financial aid for more money. I, obviously, said no. But then I told her that she should get better at begging then.” He sighed.

“Oh, you’re shitty.” Sunghoon laughed as he rubbed his eyes, groaning. “Dude, why would you say that?”

“I don’t know!” Jay snapped, a little defensive, but mostly just frustrated with himself. “It came out before I could stop it. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Jake winced. “You told a scholarship student to get better at begging. Like she hasn’t already had to do that a hundred times.”

Jay dragged a hand through his hair, clearly regretting everything. “It was supposed to be a joke—like, a dry one. I thought she’d get that I wasn’t being serious.”

“She’s not one of us, Jay,” Jungwon said, unusually pointed. “She doesn’t know your humor. And even if she did, that’s not funny.”

“Yeah bro, she’s a girl, you can’t talk to her like she’s a fucking man.” Jake said, trying to lighten the mood but still firm. “Like, guys are different, we can take jabs and laughs, but with girls...you can’t just throw shit like that around.”

Jay paused, processing. “What does gender have to do with this?”

Jake leaned back in his chair, exhaling like it was obvious. “It’s just how it is, man. Girls already hate men as is. I curse at you, call you names, sure, but I would never say any of those things to a woman, ever.” He shook his head as he leaned back into his chair. “It’s also a respect thing too.”

Jay frowned, his brow furrowing. “I don’t think that’s about gender. If anything, I’ve known you for years. If I can take shit from you, she should be able to handle a dry comment. You guys joke with her all the time.”

Jake shook his head. “You don’t get it, dude. Like, you see how I curse at you? Call you a dumbass every other minute? I know you don’t take it personally, but if I said some of that stuff to a girl, she’d think I was being an asshole, not just joking around. It’s different.” He perked up, making his final point. “Also, the way you talk to her—when you rarely do—is like you can’t stand her already so how do you think she’d take that?”

Sunghoon chimed in, his voice light but understanding. “Exactly, man. You’ve got this wall of sarcasm, and some people—especially if they don’t know you well—can’t see it as anything but you just being a dickhead. She probably heard that, and it didn’t feel like a joke.”

“I don’t even think it’s that, it’s the fact that she was vulnerable enough to be real with you and you just shit on her.” Jungwon said idly, landing the last shot before winning a victory royale for the squad.

Jay sighed, “Yeah, I don’t feel great about it.”

“Good. You can actually feel something other than disdain and dejection for once.” Sunghoon said as he bit his apple and tapped on his desk.

“Those are big words for Elmo,” Jay muttered, half under his breath as he reached for his water bottle.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “You see what I mean? That’s exactly the shit I’m talking about. You deflect everything with sarcasm.”

Jake pointed at his screen. “And that’s cute when we’re roasting each other during a game, but when someone’s opening up to you…”

Jay swirled his water bottle before taking a sip. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I just…don’t always know what to say.”

“We know,” Jungwon said, cracking his knuckles. “That’s why we’re saying think next time. She wasn’t trying to play you or be dramatic. She was sharing something real, and you basically made a joke out of it.”

Jay was quiet for a second too long. His screen dimmed slightly, signaling how still he’d gotten.

Jake noticed the silence and took the opportunity to cut the tension. “Anyway,” he said, stretching in his chair, “she’s still bad as hell though.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Dude, facts. Like, no offense to your emotional growth or whatever, Jay, but she’s gorgeous.”

“Deadass,” Jungwon chimed in. “When she walks by in that uniform? Everything drops. My jaw, my heart, my stomach, my GPA, my balls—”

Jay interjected, returning to the conversation. “I said she’s alright.”

The call fell silent for a beat.

“…Are you gay?” Jake asked bluntly.

Jay blinked. “What?”

“Like, respectfully,” Jake said, leaning forward. “You just said she’s alright and not, like, ethereal, which is a crazy take.”

“Right,” Sunghoon nodded. “Like, it’s okay if you are. Just tell us now so we stop wasting time setting you up with every fine girl we meet.”

Jay stared at his screen, unamused. “I’m not gay.”

“You sure?” Jungwon teased. “Because saying she’s just ‘alright’ when she looks like that is wild.”

Jay sighed. “I’m just not interested in her like that.”

Jake leaned into the mic, grinning. “So you admit she’s fine, though?”

Jay hesitated, then exhaled sharply. “I acknowledge she is conventionally attractive, sure.”

Sunghoon snorted. “You sound like Siri.”

“I’m just saying,” Jay shrugged, sipping his water again. “I’m not blind. I just don’t base my entire personality around girls I’ve never had a conversation with.”

Jake clutched his chest. “I have had conversations with her—”

“She called you delusional to your face,” Jay deadpanned.

“And I respect her honesty!” Jake defended.

Sunghoon pointed out, “There’s a lot to like, Jay.” He nods affirmatively, “Once you get to know her, she’s so sweet. She’s a great girl.”

Jay deadpanned, “So why don’t you date her then?”

“Because he knows not to play with me.” Jake said passively as he stood up to stretch.

Jungwon rolled his eyes, “Shut the fuck up, bro.”

Jake scoffed as he twisted at the waist, cracking his back. “She wants me and you know it. You’re just mad because I don’t fumble every conversation I have with her.”

Jay didn’t even look up. “You fumble every other one though.”

Sunghoon wheezed. “He’s got you there, man.”

Jake put his hands on his hips, mock offended. “You’re just jealous because when she talks to me, she laughs. You get ‘that’s not what I meant’ and a pity smile.”

Jay blinked slowly. “But she’s also the one that really wants to be my friend so…”

“Okay,” Jungwon interrupted, dragging his chair closer to the screen. “We’re spiraling. Let’s just agree none of us are winning with her right now.”

“I am,” Jake said under his breath.

“Bro, shut the fuck up,” all three of them said in unison.

Jake raised his hands in surrender, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Just saying. Some of us have charm.”

Jay looked dead at his screen, monotone. “You’re wearing a Naruto headband.”

Jake held it up proudly. “And I still get more girls than you.”

Jay smiled, “That’s by choice.” He laughed, “Believe me,”

Jake’s jaw dropped. “Nah, bro, be serious. You haven’t had a proper crush since we were fifteen.”

Jay leaned back, utterly unbothered. “That’s because I have taste. And standards.”

“Oh my God,” Jungwon muttered, rubbing his temples. “Here we go.”

Jake was not letting it go. “What, so every girl I’ve liked is beneath your standards now?”

Jay shrugged. “I didn’t say it. You did.”

Sunghoon laughed, wheezing now. “This man really thinks he’s better than the rest of us just because he’s emotionally constipated.”

“I’m selective,” Jay corrected, folding his arms.

“You’re allergic to joy,” Jungwon said flatly.

Jay pointed. “Selective.”

Jake crossed his arms. “Alright, selective—so what’s the deal with you and her then?”

Jay blinked. “What deal?”

Jake leaned forward, grinning now. “You think she’s pretty?”

Jay paused for a half-second too long. “She’s…alright.”

The silence was deafening.

Sunghoon leaned toward the mic, deadpan. “Do you like men?”

Jay didn’t even flinch. “Only your dad.”

—

So in some weird, fucked up way, after that meeting your life has seemed to spiral even more.

It’s only been two days since, and while you had to return back to class soon—you hadn’t even looked Jay in the eye since. And respectfully so.

But it’s like he just put some weird curse on your life. Your hair has been frizzy, the gel in your wash and go was giving out which resulted in you having to slick it back. Which wasn’t bad, it just meant you had to put extra time into your appearance—which means you have to get up earlier—and gel is not cheap!

You’ve been having cramps because your period has come back with a vengeance, it’s been raining, and to make matters worse…your laptop gave out.

Was the laptop like ten years old? Yes, but that’s not the point as if she couldn’t wait to give out at a better time?

Luckily, all of your files and anything worth keeping were all saved on cloud. But besides your phone and tablet, you had no convenient device to access them on. And it wasn’t like you could just get up and buy a new one. Money was tight at home right now and you weren’t going to have a job until the upcoming summer. Which even then, still wouldn’t give you enough money for another computer.

So as you sat at your desk in your dorm, hands shaking over your laptop keyboard as you eyeballed the blacked out screen—you pondered what the bond for an arson offense would be.

Your chest heaved as your head grew tight, tears threatening to release tears as you quickly grabbed your phone. You needed to let this out.

you: are y’all at the dorm?

sunghoon <3: yeah why?

heeseungie <3: mhm

jakey <3: yes beloved

jay: no, at my place

you: ok well besides jay, everyone evacuate

blowing up this entire campus rn, me included

sunghoon <3: ?????

heeseungie <3: um ???

jakey <3: HELLO ??/1!1!/1/??

you: me included

EVERYBODYS dying bro idc

heeseung <3: what happened kiddo?

you: bro my fkn laptop is GONE

like not working

dead

conked out

DONE-ZO

NIENTE

jakey <3: wasn’t she like rly old tho??

you: that’s not the point

the point is that I NEED HER NOW MORE THAN EVER BRUH LIKE WTF ????

ngl this has not been my week

sunghoon <3: yeah that’s gotta suck omg i’m so sorry

heeseungie <3: no fr like if i had an extra one or something i would seriously give it to you

jakey <3: yes srsly i’m so sorry love

jay: does this mean our sessions are over?

you: yes for now, i have to speak to my professor and ask for an extension or some accommodation for rn

guess ur off the hook for a while, i’ll just let u know

jakey <3: i mean you could always use my laptop when you need to

you: oh thanks jake

jakey <3: you just gotta come over to my dorm to get it tho

you: i am going to put my hands on you

jakey <3: i’d actually really like that

heeseungie <3: you just…

—

It took everything in Jay’s power to not bust a gut in this situation. It was almost pathetic really, like this was laughable. He had to sit there with you and the other guys as you continuously ranted about the minor inconveniences that were throwing off your routine. Your hair, the fuckass weather, him, and now your laptop.

And maybe that’s what made it so funny. That you were actually stressed. Not in the performative, “oh my god my life is ending because I chipped a nail” kind of way, but in the “I’m one inconvenience away from crying in public” kind of way. And Jay could see it in your eyes—even through the screen. The way your hands trembled around your phone. The way your voice cracked mid-rant when you started talking about your files. The way you tried to play it off with drama and threats of arson, but the bags under your eyes said you were just really fucking tired.

It was that—more than the jokes, more than the laptop, more than the insult you texted him directly—that stayed with him.

Jay wasn’t good with feelings. But he knew guilt. He knew it very well.

That night, he stared at his ceiling with one arm flung over his head and the other scrolling through his phone. His Apple store cart sat open, untouched for twenty minutes. The MacBook Air (15”, Midnight, 256GB) hovered near checkout. He added a sleeve. Then deleted it. Then added it again.

Then he opened Amazon against his better judgment, typing ‘macbook air 15 inch case’ into the search bar. So as he perused some of the options, he saw a clear, glittery one that mirrored the one you had on your last computer. Okay, nice. Add to Cart.

Then he caught himself looking at a bunch of stickers, some funny ones, some cute ones, some aesthetic ones, he didn’t care he just added all of them. Add. Add. Add. Then purchased them quickly then switched back to the Apple page and added the extra annual eighty dollars for insurance and pressed buy without a second thought. Labeling both orders as gifts so he could avoid putting his name.

“I’m not doing this because I feel bad,” he muttered to himself. “I’m doing this because…she needs it. That’s it.”

The confirmation email popped into his inbox a few seconds later, notifying him that both orders would be in your P.O. box in two days.

He didn’t say anything to the group the next day. Just went to class like normal. Looked right through you when you walked into lecture, wet hair tied up, hoodie swallowing your shoulders. He watched as you opened your notebook and used your tablet to follow along with the slides on the projector screen.

And the whole time, he said nothing.

—

You didn’t check your P.O. box until late that evening. You only stopped by because the notification wouldn’t stop popping up on your phone and you thought it was maybe a bill or another random spam from that shitty Mediterranean place off campus.

Confusion, the expression on your face as you got two slips for your box and brought two different packages back to your room. You don’t recall ordering anything this size but you just chalked it up to the seller not having small enough boxes to fit your skincare into.

So when your eyes laid on a thin, sleek white box with a fraction of its logo out of it…your stomach dropped. As well as a sleeve.

You scrambled to the other box to open it, seeing a boatload of stickers, a case, and everything else. The air around you shifted, what the fuck.

Tears misted your eyes as you scanned for a note, something, any indicator of this not being a fluke. Fortunately for you, a note was printed in the package with the stickers and case:

first math notes, now a laptop?

whatever happened to hello, my name is…?

well let me start, my name is

— a friend

p.s. the laptop is insured. if anything happens to it, just give it to them under your name.

You didn’t know whether to be creeped out and deeply troubled or appreciative and suddenly in love? For someone who threatened arson and assault on a trusted friend, you weren’t exactly within your right mind and that’s okay!

But despite feeling scared—you were going to worry about that later—your chest convulsed a bit as you sat down at your desk. Tears biting at your eyes and eventually giving way to the oncoming ones.

You wanted to leave the tears to your period, or maybe even the mild seasonal depression. But this was truly surreal, again creepy, but surreal.

This might sound super dramatic—hello, if not then what are we even here for—but you sobbed, hands shaking as you hugged the laptop to your chest. Your forehead resting on your desk as tears pooled onto the surface.

You didn’t know who to thank. The universe? God? Allah? Buddha? Your ancestors? Whoever it was to thank for sending this mystery person into your life that so obviously had the means to help you in such an urgency and dire situation.

Your whole life was this laptop, it had stuck with you through part of middle school, high school, the first two and half years of college and you hadn’t really known how much it had meant to you until you didn’t have it anymore.

For now, you weren’t going to focus on who did it. Just the moment and the gratitude of your problem being solved.

Small—well—Major victories.

—

After time had set in, you had time to rest and recalibrate. Having this time for yourself definitely helped alleviate the stress.

With this, though, you started to make sense of things.

The only person you had even told about your struggles in math were your mother. No one else as you didn’t want anyone to think you were stupid for being in danger of failing. Academic insecurities, they’re never rational. As if you’re the only person in the world to be bad at math.

Then, you had only told your Flower-4 about the laptop situation.

Nothing made sense. There were major discrepancies in this. When you had told your mom about your math quarrel, you were in a public place where anyone could’ve seen or heard you. Okay, whatever. But there is something to note that you definitely do need to scan the places you walked into from now on.

Plus, the laptop thing happened so quickly that you didn’t even have time to complain about it for long before there was a new one in your hands. But clearly this was the same person.

Despite that, you loved your new computer. It was nice, sleek, slim, a lot faster than the last one and that was a major step up. Plus, at least it was insured. You kept open beverages too close to your electronics more than you’d like to admit.

You sat in the courtyard at some random table as you typed away on your new device. The weather had been better the past few days and you decided to take advantage of the cool weather. So here you were, hoodie and sweats in tow, hunched over your laptop as you hurried to catch up on the work you had put off the last two days. The wind blew your coily hair all kinds of ways so you just put it up and out of the way for the time being.

Blasting music in your headphones, you couldn’t hear a thing and that was more than enough reason for you to lock in on your assignments. Until you felt a tap on your shoulder and saw someone plop down at the chair right across from you.

“Good morning, gorgeous.” The annoyingly attractive Jake sat with a smile that shone the light of a thousand suns.

You let out a small laugh as you moved one of your ear pads to the side so you could hear him. “Hi, Jake.”

“How are y—Woah!” He leaned in closer to inspect your shiny new toy. “When did you get this? I thought you were assed out!”

Jake was nothing if not nosy, and as much as you loved him as an older brother—only a few months difference—you could not bring yourself to be real with him right now. Unless he was the culprit, a culprit wouldn’t act as surprised as he was now. He’s such a transparent person that anyone could tell if he was lying, it didn’t take much.

Not to mention, you really didn’t want anyone having eyes and ears on this until you knew for sure what was going on yourself.

“I thought so too. But I just had to dip into my savings.” You sighed as you peered up at him.

“Damn,” Jake said, leaning back with a low whistle. “That’s kind of...wow. This thing’s beautiful. Is that a matte finish?”

You hummed noncommittally, already returning to your screen in an effort to change the subject. “Yeah. It’s...nice.”

But he didn’t drop it. Of course he didn’t.

Jake tilted his head, watching you type with narrowed eyes. “Wait, so you bought this, like, yesterday?”

“Day before.”

“And had it shipped that fast with a custom case and glitter stickers?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

He blinked. “Yo. That’s...kind of a lot for someone who was mourning her last laptop like a dead relative.”

You shot him a dry look. “What, you want me to carry its ashes around?”

“No, but I do want the truth,” he said, brows raised. “Because this isn’t adding up. You don’t move like that.”

You took a slow breath through your nose. You could feel the words building in your throat, the itch to say I didn’t do this, someone else did, to say it wasn’t me—but I don’t know who to thank, and it’s killing me, but you held back.

Instead, you shrugged. “Maybe I panicked. Retail therapy and all that.”

Jake gave you a long look, then nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll drop it.”

Jake wasn’t a good liar, I said. Never said he wouldn’t try. But you made peace with the moment you had.

“Still, I’m happy you got this situated. Seeing you mope around all day was killing my fucking vibe.” He smiled as he pulled out his phone.

You kicked him beneath the table, “Shut up,”

Jake winced dramatically, clutching at his shin. “Abuse. Wow. Witnessed and documented.”

“Document this,” you muttered, flipping him off with zero conviction as you refocused on your screen.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he scrolled through something on his phone, but didn’t leave. Jake was like a cat in that way—once he found a sunny spot, he’d stay there until something more interesting came along. You didn’t mind. It was comforting, having him nearby. The silence felt less loud with him in it.

A soft breeze passed through the courtyard, rustling the trees overhead, and you let it wash over you. For the first time in days, the knot in your chest didn’t feel like it was going to strangle you. The world kept turning. You had your laptop. You had your hoodie. You had Jake, annoying and radiant and grounding as ever.

But still, your fingers paused on the keyboard.

Because that didn’t mean you weren’t wondering.

It didn’t mean you weren’t thinking about him.

Not Jake.

The other him. The one you hadn’t dared to name yet.

The one whose voice lingered at the back of your mind whenever things went quiet. The one whose long, steady glances made your stomach flip. The one who you hadn’t told anything to—but somehow already knew everything.

Your eyes flicked up, scanning the courtyard out of pure instinct.

But no one was watching.

Just Jake, kicking his feet under the table and muttering to himself about a sudden scrimmage they had tomorrow morning.

Still, now you were getting paranoid and this was starting to bug you.

—

Eventually, you did have to meet with Jay again.

Regretfully so.

The one class he had got cancelled and he really didn’t feel like driving to campus to meet you. So you had to Uber to his house which was around twenty minutes away by car. You didn’t mind, Jay sent you the money for the ride, apologizing for the inconvenience.

Okay, someone’s probably feeling bad.

You stared down at the payment notification on your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

It wasn’t that you were suspicious of Jay. Okay, maybe a little. But he was just...weird. Not creepy weird—just closed-off weird. Methodical. Particular. The kind of guy who would vacuum the inside of his car twice in one day because “you can never be too careful.” The kind of guy who would write down your Starbucks order with a diagram to get it right the first time.

The kind of guy who, if he had done something nice for you, would absolutely never admit it.

Still, none of it made sense. Jay was smart, sure. Quiet. Observant, sometimes to the point of unsettling. But you hadn’t told him anything. Not about the laptop, not about the math midterm stress meltdown, and definitely not about the nights you cried yourself into a spiral because everything felt like too much.

So why were you getting this itchy feeling in your chest?

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you and stepped out of the Uber when it rolled to a stop in front of his house. He’d texted the gate code already—because of course he had.

Jay opened it just as you raised your hand to knock.

His expression was blank. Not unfriendly. Just...blank. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You stepped inside, sliding off your shoes and scanning the familiar layout of his living room. “Thanks for the ride.” You placed them onto an empty spot on the rack, hoping this wouldn’t throw him off. But he didn’t seem to mind.

Despite being friend-adjacent to Jay for three years, this was the first time you had been to his home. His very contemporary, modern home. Weirdly enough, it had looked so eco-friendly and smooth on the outside but inside, the architecture and formatting was so homey. It felt like someone actually lived here but…robotically.

All you saw in your view were the meticulous details: a symmetrical shoe rack with each pair facing the same direction, a wall-mounted calendar color-coded to an extreme degree, and a bookshelf that seemed more like a display case than a personal collection. Each book aligned perfectly at the spine. No dust. No clutter.

The couch looked like it had never been sat on. The throw blanket draped over the back was folded into a triangle. Who folds things into triangles?

Jay walked ahead of you, already moving with that same silent efficiency he always did—like a ghost who had a schedule.

You followed him into the kitchen, unable to stop yourself from scanning everything as if there were a clue hidden somewhere. Everything here was so spacious, like this was meant for a family rather than just one person. The lighting was warm, the countertops spotless, and there were two matching mugs on the counter already set out. One for him. One for you.

Okay. Oddly considerate for someone who barely speaks.

He poured water into a kettle like it was muscle memory, and you leaned against the counter, eyeing him.

“You do this for all your guests?” you asked lightly, half-joking, half-curious.

Jay didn’t look at you. “Don’t really have guests.”

He said it like it was a fact. Not sad. Not defensive. Just how things were.

You tilted your head. “So what am I?”

He glanced up at you then—finally—and there was a flicker of something in his expression. Not quite surprise. Not quite amusement. Just the ghost of a smile. “Exception.”

The kettle clicked to life behind him, and the kitchen settled into quiet again.

You blinked.

Okay, what?

You didn’t know what to make of that. You weren’t even sure he meant to say it. Maybe you misheard. But he turned back to the counter, calm as ever, and went back to his tea prep like he hadn’t just said something vaguely intimate and haunting.

Nonetheless, you cleared your throat—just to simmer the tension. “Anywhere you want me to set up?” You said as you toyed with the adjusters on your backpack.

His gaze was still glued to the mugs, but he hummed in thought. “The table right there sounds good, thank you.”

Without a word, you padded over to the kitchen table as you took out your materials needed to start. First, your journal. Then, your pencil case. Your folder, then lastly your computer.

You hadn’t looked at him for a reaction, the same one that Jake had given you. Calm, slightly uncomfortable—not from him. If Jay made you uncomfortable then you wouldn’t be around him nor would you have asked all of this from him. Just nerves, the tension in the air from some weird mix of prior history between you two—not much to go off of as you could swear he hated your guts—and lust.

Jay had always stood out to you. Out of all of his friends, he was the least flamboyant, the quieter one, the one that minded his business and didn’t speak unless spoken to. Something about his blunt, structured, logical ways was so alluring to you. As you are more of an emotional person, a huge part of you had always yearned for more pragmatism in a partner and his maker might have sprinkled a bit much of that in him and you’re not sure if you’re fine with this or not.

Despite the attraction toward his personality, Jay was undeniably sexy. In a very—this word is very overused but it fits—nonchalant way. He didn’t try too hard, he didn’t try nor want to be seen and that made a part of you feel glad that not many people had access to him.

Contrary to Jake, Sunghoon, and Heeseung—even though they’re great people—they’re whores. They have their fun and are not scared to spread all the love they have to give to the world. They either jumped from girl to girl, or they just slept around. And while nothing was wrong with that, that’s not the type of man you wanted.

Something about the lowkey ones always turn you on a whole lot more.

And despite Jay being a major dickhead at times, he wasn’t totally evil and that makes you have even an ounce of respect for his character. He stuck to the same people, no drama, intelligent, well-rounded, charitable, and honest—in more ways than one.

So as he sat at the table with you, mugs in hand, he carefully slid the hot tea in front of you and a little ways from your belongings.

You offered a quiet “Thanks,” watching the way he handled the cup—deliberate, steady, like he thought through every movement before making it. It wasn’t just how he moved, it was how he existed. Controlled. Precise. Like he didn’t have time to waste being clumsy or accidental.

He didn’t say anything, just took a sip of his own tea and settled back against the chair, manspread in one of his forty different pairs of black sweats.

You sipped yours too, still feeling that flicker of heat in your chest from earlier. Exception. God. Who even says that? And so casually. Like it didn’t carry a ridiculous amount of weight for someone who barely let anyone in.

Jay didn’t seem fazed, though. If anything, he looked…blank again. Not closed-off. Just unreadable. Like he was used to people not trying to figure him out. Or giving up halfway through.

But you decided to break the ice, “So last time we spoke, we just did a little questioning so that I could get a feel for your personality. Remember? The basic stuff, then the more fantastical, hypothetical ones?”

He nodded, “I remember, I was there.” He opened a package of cookies and dipped them in his tea, then quietly slid them over to you in offering.

You raised your brow in suspicion but accepted the cookie nonetheless. “Yeah…” You looked down at your notes you took on your computer from last time. You scanned as you sighed, “Okay, well now we’re due for the observational stuff.”

Jay’s brows furrowed in confusion, “Observational? As in—”

“—as in I watch you,” you cut in, tone casual but your eyes sharp. “I observe your behavior in a natural environment. Not scripted. Not prompted. Just…you.”

Jay stilled, cookie halfway to his mouth.

You smiled at his hesitation. “Relax. It’s not like I’m writing your psychological profile for a government file. It’s just for class.”

He looked vaguely unconvinced. “And what does that entail? You sit here and stare at me for an hour while I drink tea?”

“Pretty much.” You shrugged, clicking your pen open. “I’ll ask a few small questions here and there, but I’m mostly just looking at your patterns. How you respond. The language you use. Your microexpressions.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “So…you’re people-watching. But with a clipboard.”

“Basically.” You jotted something down—nothing major, just a note on his posture, how he sat with one leg crossed, his arms loosely on the table, totally unguarded yet somehow unreadable. “But it’s more than that. I’m trying to understand the link between your expression and your personality. You know—body language, tone, subconscious cues.”

Jay looked thoughtful for a beat. “So if I start acting weird, it’ll ruin your data?”

You being a Psychology minor, it was almost irresistible to incorporate these elements into your work. This is what made you and your works stand out—asking questions work, yes. But seeing how someone moves gives you all the answers you need.

“Jay,” you deadpanned. “This is a journalism project, not the DSM-5.”

He blinked. “Same difference.”

You huffed a laugh, typing something out just to mess with him. “Noted: subject shows signs of paranoia under minimal pressure.”

—

For the next hour, you sat on Jay’s couch in his expansive living room. Watching as he read a book in the complete silence of the house. But before you could even sit on the couch, he made you change into one of his sweats. He didn’t like the grime of outside being on his clean couch. Which…fair enough.

He’d handed you the pants wordlessly, just held them out like it was routine. Like this happens all the time.

“I—what?”

“I don’t like outside clothes on indoor furniture,” he said, already walking away. “The fibers cling.”

“…Okay, Sheldon Cooper.”

But you’d changed anyway, mostly because they were soft as hell and a part of you didn’t mind being in his clothes.

Okay then.

But Jay lived a very simple life, he spent a lot of his time reading, watching animal documentaries, and working on his assignments that are due for weeks in advance. You had noticed that throughout your observation of him, he had hardly touched his phone. It was actually all the way across the room and he had been peacefully going about his afternoon without so much of a thought.

Before, there was jealousy on your end. As in, how could someone be so productive and put together? Jay was so infuriatingly patient, calm, and he had such a knack for making time for everything. He was able to get work done and lounge all within the hour and it made you feel so incompetent. A one hour assignment turns into a three hour assignment because you can’t stop checking your socials and finding the right songs to fit your vibe: 50 Cent or Lana Del Rey? One can never tell.

But he’s been watching some documentary on Ancient Greek Mythology for the last 30 minutes and you’d be lying if you said it was boring.

As your eyes kept flitting from the mounted 75” TV and your notebook, there were flurries in your mind at this point.

I don’t even want to do this right now.

A nap sounds great.

Jay is still an asshole, but he’s disgustingly attractive and I want to kill him for that.

Take a break, you’ve been watching him do nothing all day.

Which, your subconscious was absolutely right. A little break wouldn’t hurt and you can guarantee he’ll still be in the same position, doing the same thing that he’s been doing.

With that, you sigh and place your notebook on the coffee table right in front of you. Plopping back into the plush, almost cloudlike cushions of the couch.

“Tired of me, already?” Jay poked, eyes looking over at you briefly before falling back onto the screen.

You smiled, “Never,” He didn’t respond. Not verbally, at least. But his eyes lingered on you for a second longer this time. Just a flicker of a glance, like he heard more than what you said. Or maybe you imagined that. You shifted, suddenly aware of how his sweatpants pooled a little too comfortably around your thighs. How warm the couch was. How warm he was, just a few feet away.

The documentary droned on in the background, but your thoughts were no longer tracking anything remotely educational. The quiet between you was heavy again—but not awkward. Just…thick. Like honey.You fought the urge to say something else, something stupid or clever, just to fill it. But instead, you closed your eyes. “I’m not gonna fall asleep,” you mumbled, mostly to yourself.

Jay’s voice was low and amused. “You already are.”

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “You’re just boring.” You pout as you look around. “This big ass house and you don’t even utilize the space, or even—do you even—what do you do here, Jay?”

Jay didn’t answer right away. He reached for the remote, lowering the volume just a touch before setting it back down with precision—like everything he did was measured, controlled. He looked over at you, one brow slightly raised, a lazy half-smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I exist.”

You blinked. “That’s it? That’s your whole itinerary?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “I read. I cook. I clean. I work. I take care of myself. I sleep. I don’t need to fill every second of my day to prove I’m living.”

You narrowed your eyes. “So you’re boring on purpose.”

He chuckled—low and deep. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to sit still.”

Ouch.

You scoffed lightly, crossing your arms. “I can sit still.”

“Mm,” he hummed, clearly not convinced. “Then do it.”

It wasn’t a challenge, not really. Just a simple invitation, like he was offering you the calm he lived in every day. Daring you to match his stillness, to see if you could last. “You’re actually right,” You stood up and plopped right next to him on the sectional part on this massive couch. It was about the size of a queen size bed so both of you could fit there comfortably, but it didn’t take much to close the distance. “Still. I’m being still, still I am.” You cuddled one of the pillows to you as your eyes fell back to the TV and he raised the volume.

Jay didn’t look at you right away, but you saw the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting a grin. He adjusted his leg slightly to give you a bit more room—not that you needed it, but he noticed anyway.

“Wow,” he said dryly. “An achievement. Gold star for staying still for fifteen seconds.” You nudged him with your shoulder, still hugging the pillow to your chest. “Give me a break. These are parts unknown. I don’t know how to…chill.”

He let out a soft breath—half sigh, half laugh. “That’s sad.”

You turned your head to look at him, eyes narrowing. “It’s not sad. I’m just used to chaos. To movement. Noise.”

“I know,” he said simply, eyes still on the screen. “That’s why I’m surprised you even asked to do this project on me.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the opposite of what you’re used to.”

The room fell into that thick, thoughtful silence again. Not awkward, just…weighty. Like everything between you two was slowly layering, brick by brick. And yet, you stayed exactly where you were. Still. Quiet. Unmoving. Not because you were trying to win, but because it felt strangely okay to be still with him.

You could hear your heartbeat in the silence—and his breath, steady, controlled, like he had nothing to prove and never did.

“I’m a cheerleader, it’s literally my job to have pep.” You smile as you look up at him, humored by him.

Jay finally turned to look at you, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Yeah,” he said slowly, eyes scanning your face like he was seeing something new, “but you don’t have to perform here.”

That made your smile falter for just a second—not because it hurt, but because it hit. Quietly. Truthfully.

You blinked at him, your voice a little softer now. “What makes you think I’m performing?”Jay tilted his head a bit, resting it against the back of the couch. “You fill every room you walk into. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just…I don’t think you’ve ever really had the option not to.”

Your throat tightened just slightly, the way it does when someone clocks something about you that you hadn’t said out loud yet. You stared at the screen for a beat, though the documentary had long since faded into background noise.

“So what,” you said, trying to lighten it even as your voice stayed low. “You see through me now?”

Jay gave a small, amused breath. “No,” he said, almost shyly. “But I’ve been watching.”

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t even trying to be intense. He just…was. Honest and low and matter-of-fact in a way that made your chest do something weird and clench-y.

You nudged his shoulder, “Hey,” laughing as you slowly edged closer to him. “That’s my job,” Jay’s lips twitched again, but he didn’t smile all the way. “Mm,” he hummed, eyes flicking back to the screen, though the weight of what he said still lingered in the air. “Guess I’m just trying to understand the person who keeps watching me.”

Usually, your problem is that you find and figure things out too late. But something about the words that he threw your way felt layered. Like they didn’t just mean one thing, something else was resting behind the words.

This was very unusual with someone like Jay. Everything that he had to say was layered with fact and reason rather than allure and mystique. Not to beat a dead horse, but as pragmatic and objective as he is—it’s so weird to hear anything that could be interpreted as more than what it was.

Though who he was made him even more attractive to you: you didn’t have to guess with Jay. He let you know how he felt, if he liked, if he didn’t, if he thought you were irritating him, you would know.

He didn’t waste anyone’s time nor his own. Growing up with two entrepreneurs and businesspeople for parents, he learned at a very young age that time is money. And time—yours or someone else’s—is valuable. So he was very quick to let someone know what was going on. Never was anyone unsure of his stance on them or a situation.

Except for you. One minute he was indifferent, the next he didn’t like you, now y’all are sort of friends. He was already so hot and cold and you could never guess with him.

You didn’t reply to it, just wanted to brush this under the rug. “I have an idea,”

He hummed, eyes still locked on the screen.

“How about we do things my way? Just for the day?”

Jay didn’t look at you right away. He let your question linger, absorbing it while the glow from the TV flickered across his face. “Your way,” he repeated slowly, not skeptical—just curious. “And what exactly does that entail? Glitter? Screaming? Matching outfits?”

You snorted. “Wow, okay, stereotype much?”

He gave a light shrug. “You’re the one with the pep.”

“Well,” you sat up straighter, a little smirk tugging at your lips. “Maybe a little glitter. Maybe a little chaos. Maybe…” You tilted your head, playful but with a flicker of sincerity, “...something simple for now. You won’t even have to leave the house.”

Jay finally turned to look at you, eyes catching yours in that calm, unreadable way he always had—but this time, there was something else there. A flicker of curiosity. Trust, maybe. Or at least the beginnings of it.

“Alright,” he said slowly, the faintest edge of a smile ghosting his lips. “I’ll bite. What’s your definition of simple?”

You grinned. “Let’s build a fort and watch Disney movies.” You shrugged, like it was such a great way to spend your Wednesday evening.

“I’m a grown man, I’m not watching Ariel and—”

You hold up your finger, “DCOMs, we’re watching those. I never said Disney Princess movies.”

He furrowed his brows, “What’s the difference?”

He could laugh again at the look of disgust on your face. “I was more of a Cartoon Network kid, so…”

That threw you even more, “What?! You?! Park Jay?! Park Jongseong?!”

He held up his hand, now mirroring your repulsion, “Ew, don’t call me that.”

You laughed, “Sorry, but that just doesn’t make sense. It’s like,” you sit up to look at him. He was lying down partially and you were sitting up fully. So in some makeshift way, you were sitting above him and looking down at him as you spoke. “What you watched as a kid sort of…shapes you for the rest of your life. That’s because children are very impressionable. So a lot of adults that watched Disney Channel as kids tend to be a little peppier, a little witty in some cases, sometimes a little cynical.” You gestured around your hands as you ranted, Jay looking you in the eye as you did. Never wavering. “Meanwhile Cartoon Network kids grow up to be…class clownish, goofy, weird, but not weird-weird. More like…really niche and weird senses of humor because they grew up watching weird shows.” You smile, “Like Regular Show and Chowder are not for normal people. You kinda give me Disney XD, maybe Nickelodeon on a good day.”

As he watched you ramble he felt this strange thing called his heart soften. The way you went on about something as silly as children’s television made him rethink himself entirely.

Your heart was genuinely so soft and pure.

Despite how cold and rude he’s been to you, you’re still so sympathetic and genuinely kind. Since then and his conversation with the guys, he knows how much of a dickhead he’s been. You had always tried to be his friend and he understood why—not always but—you guys had been in the same circle for years and it’d be weird to not make friends. But now that you had kind of used this project to get to know him…he was more grateful than you would think. Sunghoon was absolutely right, you really are great. Such a sweet girl at heart.

He was rude to you but you let it go, didn’t hold it against him, and still tried to bond with him. At least from his perspective, but the last session was the worst he’s felt about himself in a long time. Which is exactly why he’d been dialing it back. Not as snippy, smiled a little more, he just relaxed and it all wasn’t intentional.

Jay felt indebted to you and the only way he knew to repay you was to be nice. Ease up a bit. Plus, given the math and laptop thing, a huge part of him—the affectionate, good part of him doesn’t want to see anyone struggle if they don’t deserve it.

You sighed, the tiredness setting back in as you dropped onto your back beside him, the pillows cradling your head. “Anyway,”

Jay huffed a laugh through his nose—almost a real laugh. You smiled to yourself, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

“Alright,” he said after a pause, voice quieter, more honest. “We can build the stupid fort.”

You peeked an eye open at him. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged like it was no big deal, but there was a softness around his eyes that betrayed him. “Could be worse ways to spend a Wednesday.”

Your smile was slow and bright, spreading across your face without even trying. And for the first time, maybe ever, Jay didn’t feel the instinct to roll his eyes or snap at you for it. He just let it happen—let you happen.

—

You clapped in glee as you eyed the massive, cushion-y fort you and Jay had put together.

It really was a masterpiece.

Layers of couch cushions, pillows, and throw blankets were stacked and draped over chairs and the sectional. A string of fairy lights Jay had begrudgingly dug out from some drawer wound around the makeshift walls, giving everything a soft, magical glow.

Jay stood with his arms crossed, surveying the chaos like he was trying very hard not to look impressed.

You turned to him, hands on your hips, beaming. “Admit it. You’re proud.”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, but his mouth twitched. “It’s…structurally sound. I’ll give you that.”

You gasped, clutching your chest. “High praise from Park Jongseong himself. I’m honored.”

“Stop calling me that,” he groaned, but there was no real bite to it.

Still grinning, you held up your hand signaling for him to wait a second. You scampered to your backpack to grab two adult coloring books, pencils, and markers. You flashed them in his direction in offering.

Jay smiled, “Why do you have coloring books?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know, why not? Ask the girl I was written by.”

Jay huffed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head as he took one of the coloring books from your hand.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, flipping through the pages with the kind of quiet curiosity he didn’t bother hiding anymore.

“And you’re boring,” you teased lightly, plopping back down into the fort with a dramatic flump. “It’s so relaxing, watching movies and coloring.”

He smirked, low and fleeting, and settled in across from you. The two of you laid on your stomachs, the fairy lights casting soft halos around your heads as you both set to work, the markers squeaking faintly against the pages.

For a long time, it was just that—soft music from the movie, quiet coloring, the occasional bump of your legs when one of you shifted.

Jay found himself glancing over at you more often than he was coloring. The way your face scrunched up in concentration when you picked a color, the way you hummed under your breath when a song you liked came on.

He hadn’t realized how easy it was to be around you until right now—no pressure, no weird tension, just quiet company. Which he could never say no to.

You caught him looking once and made a silly face at him, sticking out your tongue. He rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small, genuine laugh that escaped.

Somewhere in the middle of coloring a crooked sun in the corner of his page, he heard you yawn—a soft, muffled sound. When he looked over again, you had your head tucked into the crook of your arm, marker still loosely held between your fingers.

You blinked slowly, fighting it, but it was over before it even started. You drifted off, face relaxed and peaceful under the glow of the fairy lights.

Jay set his marker down carefully and just... watched you for a second. It was stupid how something this simple—this innocent—could hit him so hard.

The teen pop music from Starstruck still played in the background, and he almost hated to move, to ruin it.

But then his phone buzzed.

Sunghoon: “warzone?”

Jay groaned quietly to himself, dragging a hand over his face. He should wake you up. He should say something.

But you were so peaceful…your face was smushed against the pillow you leaned on. Your coily hair had fallen in your face as your plump lips stared back at him. How could he move you right now?

Instead...he tucked a throw blanket over you, the movement careful and clumsy all at once. He hesitated for half a second longer, then finally tore himself away.

—

Jay went upstairs to his room, leaving the door ajar subconsciously. He plopped down at his PC to load up with the guys.

“So what y’all been up to today?” Heeseung says in the mic.

Jungwon sighed, “Some fuck ass group project. Tell me how all of my classes got cancelled today and I had a meeting with my group for the project. And I didn’t go because…duh, I had no classes.”

Jay furrowed his brows at the logic but let him talk nonetheless.

“Then I get an email from my professor telling me that I haven’t been doing anything for the project. Like, dickhead I’ve been doing all the work!”

They all laughed at his anger which probably wasn’t something they should’ve been doing. But regardless, none of them cared. It wasn’t like Jungwon cared either.

“I love making you guys feel like shit over your problems.” Jake sighed dreamily as he rushed through the map.

Sunghoon remarked, “I think you’re just a bad person.”

“That too,” Jay said, half-distracted.

“Fuck you guys, anyway, Jay what did you do?” Jungwon smiled with a roll of his eyes.

Jay hadn’t exactly told the guys that you were coming over at all.

He paused, thumb hovering over the “Deploy” button as his teammates waited for his reply. He tapped his mic, clearing his throat. “I—um—she came over for the project. Said she had to observe me and whatnot so we just did that.”

Heeseung smirked, “Observed what exactly?”

He wiped his eyes beneath his glasses as they were itchy. “Just me. We didn’t do much—”

“Much?” Jungwon called out.

“Yeah, I just watched a—”

“Watched?” Sunghoon and Jake chimed in.

Jay burst out, “Bitch stop interrupting me!”

Laughter exploded through his headset, each one of his friends reveling in his rare outburst. Jay closed his eyes briefly, inhaling deeply as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Y’all are so fucking annoying,” he muttered.

“Okay, okay, we’re listening,” Jake said, but Jay could hear the barely contained amusement in his voice. “Continue, Mr. Observed.”

Jay sighed, clicking through his inventory absentmindedly. “We just watched a movie and now she’s just taking a nap.”

Silence. Too much silence.

Then—

“A movie?” Sunghoon drawled, dragging out the word like he was savoring it. “What kind of movie?”

Jay hesitated.

Jake gasped. “Nah. Nahhh. Don’t tell me you let her make you watch—”

“Starstruck,” Sunghoon cut in, deadpan. “You watched Starstruck, didn’t you?”

The silence stretched for a half-second too long.

Jay closed his eyes. “Shut up.”

Chaos erupted.

“No fucking way!” Jake howled. “That’s crazy! You—Park ‘I Only Watch Documentaries and War Films’ Jay—sat through Starstruck?”

“I’m sick,” Sunghoon wheezed. “Like, physically ill.”

“I need a second,” Heeseung said between laughs. “I can’t—”

Jay let them get it out of their system, clicking his tongue as he loaded up another round as he had died. They weren’t even playing together at this point, just playing at the same time. “You guys act like I haven’t done worse things.”

“Yeah, but this is so—random,” Jungwon wheezed. “Like, were you actually paying attention or were you just sitting there?”

Jay opened his mouth, closed it, then frowned. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Another wave of hysteria hit them.

Jake gasped. “Wait. Did you like it?”

“I tolerated it,” Jay corrected.

“No, bro, you liked it,” Sunghoon shot back. “Say it.”

Jay rolled his shoulders, his lips twitching. He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. “I’m focusing on the game.”

Heeseung laughed, “No, that girl will fall asleep standing up if you let her.”

Jake wiped fake tears. “I love this timeline. First, you’re buying mystery laptops, now you’re watching childhood rom-coms with her, bruh? What’s next? Matching pajamas?”

Jay froze, “Wait, what?” His hands froze on his keyboard and mouse.

He hadn’t told anyone about his deeds, the notes nor the laptop. Mainly out of fear of judgment, shame because that meant that some part of him liked you. But also because of the guilt of how he treated you and Jay wasn’t necessarily an affectionate person.

He just didn’t want to draw attention to himself, nor scare you off. Even though this situation could be considered stalking or maybe something that could make someone uncomfortable.

But if Jay didn’t know anything, he knew Jake. He knew that Jake was as nosy as a Toucan Sam and once he found something to sink his perfectly aligned teeth into, he wasn’t going to stop until he found out what he needed to.

“Don’t play dumb, I know.” He could practically hear the smirk in Jake’s voice.

Jay’s hands started shaking a bit, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But of course, he tried to play it cool.

Jake snorted, “Yeah okay, and I’m the President.”

“Bro, for real, what are you talking about?” Jay pressed, voice steady but his knee was bouncing so hard under the desk he thought the floor might give out.

There was a pause—long enough for Jay’s anxiety to spike—then Jake spoke, casual, too casual.

“She told us in our group chat—”

Jungwon perked up, “Y’all have a group chat?!” He gaped at the new information, “Add me please!”

Heeseung brushed him off, “Shut up,”

Jungwon smacked his teeth, “I’ll get her soon, trust.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “No you won’t,”

Jay also laughed to himself, “Aren’t you like sixteen?”

Jungwon groaned in exasperation. “I’m two years younger than you guys, chill. Plus, young guys do it the best.”

Sunghoon sighed, “Jake, you were saying.”

Jake leaned in closer, lips to the mic. “Thank you,” he backed away. “Anyway, in the group chat she literally had a breakdown and threatened arson on Decelis because of her broken laptop. Like two days later, she somehow gets a brand new—better laptop with cute ass accessories? Especially when she was telling us how she couldn’t afford to buy a new one.”

The rest of them, sans Jay, hummed in understanding.

Jay was still refuting all claims, “That doesn’t prove it was me, I didn’t do that shit.”

Jake smacked his teeth, “Bro, we didn’t do it. I damn sure didn’t. Literally I saw her the other day, like a day after she got it and she told me she had to go into her savings to buy a new one. Which I know was a lie.”

Heeseung interjected, “How would you know?”

Sunghoon chimed in, now putting the pieces together. “Because if she had the money she wouldn’t have complained about not being able to afford a new one. Whining about the inconvenience, yeah that makes sense. But she would’ve just replaced it that same or next day.”

Heeseung hummed, “Yeah, that makes sense. She wouldn’t have gone without if she knew she could just get a new one immediately. Her mood was horrible for the entire two days she didn’t have it.”

Jay stayed silent, his throat dry. His friends’ casual deductions were piecing everything together too cleanly, too quickly.

“And not just any laptop, either,” Jake said, practically grinning through the mic. “A fucking Macbook Air with the custom shit, bro. Like, pink keyboard cover, matching case, cute little charms—”

Heeseung cut in, “Wait, charms? Like, keychain charms?”

“No, dumbass,” Jake said, laughing. “Laptop charms. Like a lil’ matching aesthetic.”

Sunghoon whistled. “Yeah, nah. That’s intentional.”

Heeseung agreed, “You don’t accidentally buy that kind of shit unless you’re trying to impress.”

“Or if someone feels guilty…” Jungwon mumbled off-handedly.

Jay’s heart punched against his ribs so hard he almost couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation.

Guilty. That sounded about right.

He flexed his fingers on the mouse, willing his hand to stop shaking. His throat tightened like he’d swallowed a stone.

Heeseung must’ve caught on to the tension because he went, “Damn. It’s that serious?” He wasn’t there for the conversation about what he had said to you during y’alls last session. But Sunghoon had filled him in and needless to say, Jay definitely got another earful from him.

Saying someone should ‘get better at begging’ after talking about economic disparities, wasn’t exactly something that could brag about. And the fact that you were still nice to him after that only added salt to the wound.

If he didn’t feel bad then something was definitely wrong with him, more so than what was already.

But at this point, his pride was entirely too much to admit that some part of him liked you. Even before this, he thought you were out of his league. Intimidating. And the only way he could combat the budding interest in you was by acting uninterested.

So he couldn’t stop now.

The silence on Jay’s end stretched on, suffocating, but he forced out a scoff, light and dismissive. “You guys sound insane.”

Sunghoon snorted, “If we’re insane, it’s because you drove us there with your denial.”

Jake chuckled lowly. “Just admit it, man. It’s not even a bad thing.”

Jay clicked around idly, pretending to load his next weapon loadout, pretending he wasn’t breaking out in a cold sweat. “There’s nothing to admit.”

Heeseung’s voice softened a little, losing some of its usual teasing edge. “You don’t gotta lie to us, bro. You’re allowed to like somebody, you know.”

Jay pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, swallowing words that felt too heavy to say out loud. Like somebody. That sounded so…simple. Easy.

But it wasn’t. Not for him.

Because liking you came with consequences. With vulnerabilities he wasn’t ready to show. With guilt for every sharp word, every dismissive glance, every time he chose to push you away instead of pulling you closer.

Jungwon piped up again, voice thoughtful. “Honestly, if you did get her the laptop, that’s, like…one of the nicest things I’ve ever seen you do.”

As Jay heard them all politic and conspire around him, anger grew in the pit of his stomach. “I told you I didn’t do it. And I don’t like her like that. You guys spent like twenty minutes badgering me to admit that she’s hot and I told you she was but she’s not my type and I wouldn’t waste money on some peppy, desperate cheerleader.”

The call fell silent and tension grew in the air at Jay’s outburst. Even though they couldn’t see each other, Jake nodded with a defeated sigh. He knew better than to take heed to anything that Jay was saying right now. He was trying more so to convince himself rather than them. So he let it go.

Though unbeknownst to any of them, you were walking up the stairs to find Jay and were made privy to his words.

You froze at the top of the stairs.

You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop—you hadn’t even realized you could hear them until it was already too late. Until the words had already ripped through you.

I wouldn’t waste money on some peppy, desperate cheerleader.

Your fingers tightened around the strap of your bag before you even realized you were moving.

Not running—that would’ve looked desperate.

Not crying—that would’ve given him too much.

Just…packing up. Quiet, mechanical. Like you were never there in the first place.

You could still hear them upstairs, muffled and awkward now, but you tuned it all out, your heart pounding in your ears as you shoved your laptop, charger, coloring books, pencils, markers into your tote. Your jacket slipped on and the sweats he gave you now folded neatly on the couch as yours were already on.

You didn’t have a ride, but you didn’t care. You just needed to get away before you embarrassed yourself further.

The door clicked shut behind you, soft and final.

And then you were walking. Down the driveway, past the cars, past the basketball hoop, past the old street lamps humming in the early evening air. You didn’t even check your phone until you were three blocks away, until you were sure nobody was going to come after you.

Even though, deep down, you already knew he wouldn’t.

—

At first, Jay didn’t notice.

The game restarted. His headset buzzed with chatter. He wiped his palms on his own sweats and leaned back in his chair, trying to shove down the ugly feeling clawing up his throat.

“Whatever,” he muttered under his breath.

He figured you were still downstairs, maybe still napping.

And when Heeseung joked, “Damn, she’s still asleep?”

“Not sure, let me check.” He ripped the headset off without a word and jogged down the stairs, two at a time. Then made a right to the living room.

Empty.

The fort was no more, your stuff was gone, the pants he’d lent you folded beautifully on the couch. You even put their chairs used for the fort back to their original place.

It was like you had erased yourself.

Jay’s heart stuttered.

“No way,” he breathed, turning in a slow circle, like maybe he’d missed you somehow. Like maybe you were hiding. “No, no, no, no—”

He rushed to the window, throwing the curtain aside. Nothing. Street empty. No car. No you.

A cold sweat broke out across his back.

He sprinted to the door, ignoring how loud his stomping was and yanked open the front door, stepping out into the street barefoot. His eyes scanned everywhere, frantic.

But you were gone.

Gone.

And all at once, the weight of what he said—what you heard—crashed over him. The ugly words he had thrown out to save face.

To protect himself.

And he realized, sickly, that protecting himself had cost him the one thing he hadn’t even let himself want until now.

You.

—

As he went back into his house, sullen and gloomy as ever—game long forgotten. Jay went to scan the living room one more time, just hoping that you would appear. Maybe you were just pranking him, that’s something you would do.

He plopped down on the couch, looking around and sighed painfully. Covering his eyes with his hands as it took everything in him to not demolish everything in this room.

But no, he had more self-control than that.

Jay gathered himself, scanned the room one more time and his eyes fell on your journal.

Jay’s eyes flicked back to your journal on the coffee table. It sat innocently there, untouched, a silent witness to everything that had just happened. His heart pounded with an unsettling mixture of guilt, curiosity, and frustration.

He had no right to open it. None at all. But as the minutes passed, the pull to understand you more—to fix this somehow—grew unbearable. His fingers twitched, itching for something to give him the answers he couldn’t seem to find on his own.

What had you been writing in there? Was it about him? Was he the villain in your story now? He sure felt like it.

With a heavy sigh, Jay leaned forward, grabbing the journal. His mind screamed at him to stop, to just put it back where it belonged, but his hands had already opened the first page.

The handwriting was neat, beautiful even, but there was an undeniable rawness to it—words that weren't meant for anyone else to read. He couldn’t stop himself. His eyes skimmed the first few lines, and something heavy settled in his chest.

“He told me I should get better at begging.”

Jay froze. His breath hitched. The words were simple, but the weight of them hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t even want to recall that day, but it seemed like it was all he could think of these days.

He kept reading, each line pulling him deeper into your mind. Your pain was written in stark black ink—raw, honest.

“I don’t understand why he keeps pushing me away. Every time I think we’re getting somewhere, he pulls back. But it’s like he doesn’t even care. I just don’t get it. Why does he act like I’m not worth his time? Maybe it’s because I’m used to getting attention that I just don’t know how to act when I’m dismissed?”

The words stung. Jay had never thought of himself as someone who could hurt people. But now, reading this, he realized just how much damage he’d caused without even realizing it. He wasn’t the same person he’d thought he was.

“I miss the days when I didn’t care what people thought of me. Now, it’s like every time I see him, I feel like I’m walking on eggshells, hoping he’ll look at me, talk to me, not act like I’m invisible. Am I too much? Or am I not enough?”

Jay shut his eyes for a moment, the weight of your words crushing him. He felt like he was drowning in all the things he’d never noticed, all the things he’d pushed aside in favor of hiding behind his pride.

The journal seemed endless, each entry within the last few weeks about him or about things he’d never even seen. But one thing was clear: you had been hurting for far longer than he’d ever realized. You weren’t the peppy cheerleader he’d always dismissed. You were someone who had quietly endured every time he pushed you away, every time he made you feel like you weren’t worth his attention.

Beneath the shell, you were just a girl that wanted to be validated.

Beneath the stunning, gorgeous shell of you, there was just a little girl that wasn’t told she was enough. And he hadn’t even cared enough to ask or pay more attention.

He swallowed hard, unable to continue. His fingers were trembling, the journal still open in his hands.

But there was something else, something that caught his eye. A final entry that was left today:

“I’m observing Jay today, and he’s being nice and it’s kinda freaking me out. But he’s being his typical, geeky self and watching some documentary and I’ll say it is interesting. But his home is very beautiful, very him. A part of me feels like I don’t deserve to be here. But I know that he’s been so mean to me for no good reason, but I’ve still tried to be nice. “Being mean doesn’t get you anywhere” daddy always says. So I’ve tried to be respectful, which I think I’ve done a nice job of. As much as this is just one person, I really do want him to like me. Some parts of me want to just say fuck him and that he doesn’t matter. But I also wanna fuck him so it does matter.”

Jay cracks a smile at this, but he decides to keep reading.

“Seriously though, he seems to be a great friend to the other guys. I just wish for one day where he can be good to me.”

Jay felt his breath catch in his throat. This was it. The final blow.

It wasn’t just about the laptop. It was about all the moments he’d let you down, brushed you off, all the ways he’d treated you as disposable. He had been so focused on pushing his feelings down, so convinced that he needed to guard himself, that he’d never noticed how much you were giving just to stay close to him.

And now, as he sat there, holding your journal with the weight of all his mistakes pressing down on him, he realized that he had nothing left to protect. Not anymore.

The journal slipped from his hands, landing softly on the table. Jay ran his hands through his hair, his thoughts spiraling.

Jay sat there, the weight of the journal in his lap. His fingers were still trembling, but now it wasn’t from the act of reading. It was from the shame, the sudden suffocating realization that he had done this to you. That he was the one who had been unkind, who had kept you at arm’s length while you silently endured.

A hollow feeling spread through him, worse than any disappointment or anger he’d ever known. It was the feeling of finally understanding the damage he’d caused, of realizing that he’d been blind to something so painfully obvious. He had dismissed you as just another part of his world to ignore, never once stopping to wonder why you might be so desperate for his attention.

He could still hear your voice in his head. The little things you’d said over the past few weeks, the hints he had brushed off. The way you made the effort to show kindness, even when it wasn’t reciprocated.

“Maybe it’s because I’m used to getting attention that I just don’t know how to act when I’m dismissed?” Those words echoed in his mind, and the guilt twisted harder.

He had always been caught up in his own world, too proud, too distant to even ask you how you were really doing. He was so absorbed in his own insecurities, in his self-imposed walls, that he never bothered to notice yours.

And now...now, it was too late. He had let this slip through his fingers.

The entry about him being “nice” to you hit like a punch to the gut. He could see it—you trying to make the best of a situation where he was cruel. And yet, despite everything, you still wanted him to like you.

He had seen the cracks in you, but had he ever tried to help fill them? No. He had been too wrapped up in his pride, in his need to keep distance.

With a low curse under his breath, Jay ran his hand through his hair again, standing up abruptly. He couldn’t sit here anymore. He needed to do something, anything, to stop this feeling from crushing him entirely.

But what could he do? What could he even say?

The room was too quiet. The silence hung heavy between him and everything he had just discovered. He had been the one pushing you away. He had been the one making you feel invisible.

He looked at the journal one last time. A small part of him wanted to close it, to forget about it, but the rest of him knew that was no longer an option. He couldn’t keep pretending this was someone else’s fault.

The answer was simple, but it felt impossible.

He had to apologize.

—

Jay spent the rest of the night replaying the journal entry in his head. The weight of what he’d read crushed him, but it also woke something up in him��something that had been buried beneath his pride and self-protection. He knew that he needed to change. Not for anyone else, but for you, and for himself.

The next day, he found himself standing outside your 10:30 class. It wasn’t planned. He hadn’t figured out the right words yet. He just...knew he couldn’t stay in the same place anymore. With his heart hammering, he waited for everyone to file out. His mind raced, but luckily he was tall enough to be able to see everyone, then his eyes landed on you and he hurriedly approached you. Stopping in front of you and not caring if he had bumped into other people.

You let out a grunt at the thud that your shoulder had made with his firm chest. But you had quickly gripped your tablet that was in danger of falling, but luckily your reflexes won. You looked up to see a tall man with glasses and dark hair, oh…him. “Jay, what the fuck?” You rubbed your sensitive shoulder. Doing the sport that you do, you’re no stranger to taking a few tumbles. But his chest might as well have been made of steel.

He held up his hands in panic, “Sorry!”

The tension in the air was thick, and Jay immediately regretted the way he’d approached you, but there was no turning back now. He could feel the rush of anxiety in his chest, but he forced himself to stand firm, his gaze locking with yours.

“I didn’t mean to...I just…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. The words he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head felt foreign now, his mouth dry, and his heart hammering.

You eyed him suspiciously, still holding your tablet close. He could see the mixture of confusion and frustration in your expression. You were trying to keep your cool, but it was obvious something was off.

“What do you want?” You asked, your voice firm, and Jay felt a pang of guilt deep in his gut. You didn’t trust him anymore—he’d made sure of that.

Jay exhaled sharply, his hands running through his hair in frustration. He could see the way you were holding yourself, trying to keep your distance. And damn it, he deserved it. He knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

“I—um…” He played with the hem of his form-fitting black long-sleeve. Trying to work up the courage to speak, or even look you in the eye.

You sighed, “I can’t do this with you right now, I have a class in fifteen minutes and it’s all the way on the south-end of campus. If you’ll excuse me,” You said as you brushed past him.

Jay watched you step away, the gentle sound of your footsteps against the pavement echoing in his ears. His heart clenched. He had expected this—shit, he deserved it—but that didn’t make it any easier. He watched you for a moment, conflicted, as you began to walk toward the next building.

What if this was it? What if you never gave him a chance to fix anything?

The thought hit him like a punch to the chest.

Before he could stop himself, he was moving again, this time with more urgency in his steps. He hated the way his own hesitation had kept him from being the person he needed to be before. He hated how many times he had let you down.

“Wait!” Jay called out, his voice louder than before, his pulse racing in his throat.

You didn’t stop. But there was a slight pause in your stride. He saw it. He wasn’t sure if it was out of curiosity or frustration, but it was there.

He took it as a sign.

Jay quickened his pace until he was beside you again, walking beside you as you left out of the building, still unsure how to breach the gap he’d created between you two. He swallowed, trying to steady his nerves. “Look, I—I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could even stop them. “I know I’ve been a jerk to you. And I know I’ve made everything worse, but I...I just need you to hear me out.”

You stopped walking, but you looked at him with complete disgust. Jay retracted a bit as he saw the look in your eye. He’d never seen you look at anyone like that ever. Unless it was a smile, laugh, or maybe a playful glare at Jake then anything else seemed like foreign terrain. He could feel the weight of your silence pressing on him, but he didn’t back off.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I know you don’t even want to talk to me right now,” Jay continued, feeling the frustration and desperation in his words. “But I read something I shouldn’t have. I said something I shouldn’t have. And I’m not here to make excuses. I just...I need you to know that I’m sorry for all of it. For pushing you away. For acting like you didn’t matter when you did. And I hate that I made you feel invisible.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t even move.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” he added quickly, his voice cracking slightly. “But I need to be better, for you...and for me. And I get it if you don’t want to talk. I know I don’t deserve it. But I just couldn’t leave without saying this.”

He reached into his backpack, shuffling through it frantically as if he were afraid you’d walk away mid sentence. Eventually, he pulls out your journal and your eyes widen at the fact that he read your own private thoughts.

You snatch it from him, even though the damage had already been done. He read it already, but somehow you felt that holding it to your chest would magically erase the words he’d read.

In any other case Jay would be irritated that someone had snatched something from him. But couldn’t even utter a word, he just stood there—as resigned as he could be. Nonetheless, he gestured to the book. “In case you were wondering…I bought the laptop.”

You already had an inkling, but the fact that you were getting confirmation had made your heart drop to your stomach. A knot forming there and in your throat as you were at a loss for words. You still weren’t able to speak.

“The invoice is in there if you don’t believe me. And I gave you the math notes too.”

Your grip on the journal tightened, but the weight of it felt unbearable in your hands. You were still reeling from the fact that he had read your private thoughts, your most personal reflections, and yet here he was—standing in front of you, holding out a piece of your life like some kind of... offering.

A slow wave of disbelief washed over you, and for a moment, you could only stare at the journal in your hands, as if hoping the pages would disappear. Or that the situation would change—just reverse itself.

Jay didn’t move. He stood there, waiting for your reaction, but the silence between you was suffocating. He had just broken something. He had crossed a line he couldn’t uncross, and you knew, deep down, that it wasn’t just about the journal. It was about everything that had led to this moment. All the little things. The moments he pulled away. The things he didn’t say. The things he didn’t care enough to notice.

You couldn’t even look at him. You didn’t want to. You weren’t sure if you could. The tension in the air was thick, like you were standing at the edge of something you weren’t ready to face yet.

The silence dragged on, and Jay shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I—uh, I wasn’t sure how to tell you all of it, but the invoice...it’s in there,” he said quietly, his voice hesitant, almost unsure. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I just wanted to help.”

Your voice came out, raw and nearly obsolete. “Why?”

He groaned as he put his head in his hands, his rings glimmering in the sunlight. “The notes, it—I’ve always liked you. This feeling I couldn’t explain—just…attraction. And one day, I was in the cafe and I overheard you speaking to your mom about you having trouble with math. I had taken the class before so I just thought giving you my notes would help. I felt bad because I couldn’t not do anything. So I just printed them out and attached your email. That’s it.”

Tears started to mist your eyes, clutching your book and tablet closer to your chest. “The laptop?”

Jay was quick to explain, “After our first session, I had hurt you really badly with that ‘begging’ comment. I still haven’t apologized to you for that and I’m sorry but, you came on the chat and you were really upset. I thought it was just my way to give back to you.” He stepped forward, putting a small distance between you. To which you were nailed right to where you stood. You were too shaken to move.

The air between you two was thick with the weight of his words, the confession, the apology—and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of the journal. It felt like the only thing keeping you tethered to something solid in the storm that had suddenly engulfed you.

You couldn’t speak for a long time, your throat tight, your chest aching with the conflicting emotions that swirled inside you. Jay was still standing there, his body tense, eyes searching your face as if he could find a way to undo everything he’d done.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he continued softly, his voice breaking just slightly. “I never meant to cross any lines. I thought I could make it right, but I see now... that maybe all I’ve done is make things worse.”

His words felt like a quiet admission of guilt, and for a moment, you just stood there, unable to reconcile what he was saying with the hurt that still lingered inside you. All those moments, all those interactions—you felt as though they were being rewritten in this very instant. Could you forgive him for everything that had built up to this?

You squeezed your eyes shut, taking a deep breath, and when you opened them again, you finally spoke, your voice shaky but filled with the weight of everything you had been holding back.

“Why didn’t you just...talk to me?” you asked quietly, the pain of the question evident in your tone. “Why did you have to hide behind these...gestures? Why did you think giving me things would fix everything?”

Jay flinched at your words, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t know how to talk to you. I thought—I thought I could do something to show you I cared without saying it. I’m not good with words. I’m not good at explaining myself, and I’ve always been good at running from things instead of facing them. But I know now that I’ve been running from this, from you. And I can’t do that anymore.”

You smile bitterly, “So you call me perky and desperate to your friends.”

He shook his head, “No, no, no—”

“Don’t try to deny it, I heard you. You said ‘I wouldn’t waste money on some peppy, desperate cheerleader.’ That came out of your mouth, Jay.” You looked away from him.

“I’m not trying to deny it. I did say that—I was—” He sighed, closing his eyes to get a hold of himself. “The guys kept bothering me about the laptop and I just wanted them to st—”

You laughed bitterly, this sent something through you. “So a simple ‘I didn’t do it’ would have sufficed. But no, you always have to go for the jugular don’t you?”

“Please, I didn’t—”

You held up your hand, “No, Jay. If you wanted to keep it a secret then that’s fine, it doesn’t make me a fucking difference. But not at my expense.” You slowly back up, “Since you read my fucking journal, I guess there’s no secrets so I don’t have anything to hide anymore. But I’m so done with getting you to like me. I will not be weighed down by this anymore and it’s not even your fault. It’s me, I won’t hold you accountable for my insecurities but I will be damned if I let any man make me feel like I’m not the baddest bitch walking.” You ball your fist that settled on your journal in your hand. “I’ll finish the project with what I have, I’ll leave you alone. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Jay.”

The words hit Jay like a punch to the gut. Each one cut deeper than he could have anticipated, and his stomach twisted with regret. He opened his mouth to respond, but every time he tried to speak, his words stuck. There was no defense, no justification that could make this right. He had hurt you, plain and simple.

You were fierce, no denying that. Your words were sharp, but they weren’t meant to tear him apart—no, they were meant to protect yourself. And Jay knew it. He had pushed you to this point.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t undo what he’d done, couldn’t erase the damage.

But you weren’t waiting for his apologies anymore. You were standing there, eyes fierce, jaw set, making it clear that you were done.

“Goodbye, Jay.” Your voice was steady now, cold even, and the finality in it made Jay’s chest tighten with something heavier than guilt.

You turned away from him, the journal still clutched tightly in your hand, and he stood frozen. He wanted to call after you, to beg you not to leave, but he couldn’t find the strength to move. He knew it was over. And he knew that this time, you were walking away for good.

He watched you go, each step you took like a door closing that he would never be able to open again.

And in the silence that followed, Jay realized that the worst part wasn’t the apology he hadn’t given or the damage he had done. It was the fact that he had made you feel so small, so desperate for his attention, that you had to pull away completely just to hold onto yourself.

It was his fault.

For the first time, he understood what it meant to truly lose someone.

part 2

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #kpop x black reader #enhypen fic #kpop #park jay #park jay x reader #jake sim #kpop fics #OMG Z POSTING ?????

164 notes · View notes

jaeyunluvbot · 7 months ago

Text

ceilings

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 childhood friends to lovers, best friends to lovers, college au, mark lee x fem!reader,

word count 𝟅𝟈 4.1k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You sit cross-legged on the couch in your dorm, a half-empty mug of coffee going cold on the table in front of you. Your laptop is open, the beginnings of a lesson plan appearing on the screen. Across the room, Mark is sprawled in your beanbag chair, a stack of notebooks and his own laptop scattered haphazardly around him.

“Remind me why you picked education again?” he teases, spinning a pen between his fingers.

“Because I like helping people,” you say without looking up. “Unlike you, who’s clearly just here to take up space.”

Mark laughs, the sound comforting and familiar. “Yikes. I’m just saying, you’ve been staring at that screen for, like, two hours. Are you actually working, or just writing your name in different fonts?”

You roll your eyes, finally glancing over at him. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of slacking off, Mr. Communications Major.”

“Hey, excuse you,” Mark says, sitting up a little. “I’m a communications major with a business minor. Very serious stuff.”

“Right,” you deadpan. “I’m sure the world is just desperate for your next paper on influencer marketing.”

He grins, leaning back again. “You know it.”

The conversation feels like a warm blanket, familiar and comforting. You’ve been best friends with Mark since third grade, and moments like this remind you why. No matter what life throws your way, he’s always been there—ready with a joke, a smile, or a friday-night movie marathon.

Still, lately, things have felt off… different. You hesitate, tapping your fingers on the edge of your laptop.

“Mark?”

“Hmm?” he says, not looking up from the YouTube video he’s somehow roped into his “studying.”

“You know Jaemin, right? From my educational psych class?”

Mark pauses the video, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah, I know him. Why?”

“Well…” you trail off, suddenly not sure if you should tell him. “He asked me out yesterday.”

Mark doesn’t react immediately, his face carefully neutral. “Oh. What’d you say?”

“I said yes.”

Mark’s jaw tightens imperceptibly before he nods, forcing a smile. “That’s cool. Jaemin’s… cool.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, a little too quickly. “He’s nice. And, you know, he’s on the soccer team. Everyone loves a soccer guy.”

You tilt your head, watching him cautiously. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not being weird,” Mark argues, shifting his position to cover his fidgeting. “I’m happy for you, Y/N. Really, I am.”

You squint at him, unconvinced, but let it go. “Cool.”

The rest of the evening passes in a strange kind of silence. Mark cracks a few jokes here and there, but the usual ease between you feels just a little strained.

Later that night, as you lie in bed staring at the ceiling, the soft whirring of your fan lulling you into a tired state, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted. But what—and why—you can’t quite figure out.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A month later, you and Mark find yourselves in your favorite spot off-campus, a cozy little café that’s been your special place since freshman year. You’re sitting by the window, sipping a caramel latte and doodling on a napkin while Mark devours a bagel like it’s his last meal.

“I’m just saying,” he says between bites, crumbs and seeds scattering all over the table, “professors shouldn’t assign group projects if they know people like Yuta exist.”

“Not this again,” you groan, half-laughing. “What did he do this time?”

“What didn’t he do?” Mark gestures dramatically. “He wrote a single sentence and called it his ‘contribution.’ I’m carrying this guy through college, Y/N.”

“Maybe he’s just shy,” you suggest, smiling at your best friend’s complaints.

Mark shakes his head, pointing at you with a crumb-covered finger. “No, no. Shy people at least pretend to help. Yuta just disappears.”

You laugh, the sound bright against the low hum of the café. Moments like this remind you why Mark is your favorite person.

Which makes your next suggestion seem obvious—at least to you.

“You know,” you say, swirling your spoon in your cup, “you should hang out with Jaemin.”

Mark freezes mid-chew, his eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“You and Jaemin,” you repeat. “I feel like you’d get along. You’re both funny and laid-back, and you like soccer.”

“I don’t like soccer,” Mark says flatly.

“You played soccer in high school,” you counter.

“Because my mom made me,” he argues, setting his muffin down. “And no offense, but I don’t think me and Jaemin would get along.”

“How do you know?” you challenge, leaning forward. “You’ve never hung out with him. He’s really nice, Mark.”

Mark’s expression shifts, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. “I’m sure he is,” he says carefully. “But… why are you so set on this?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” you say simply. “And he’s… my boyfriend. It would just be nice if you guys were friends, too.”

Mark looks at you for a long moment, his jaw tightening slightly before he nods. “Okay,” he says finally. “If it’s that important to you, I’ll hang out with him.”

You beam, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “Thanks, Mark. It means a lot.”

He forces a smile, but as he takes another bite of his muffin, you notice the way his shoulders tense.

And for the second time that week, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Mark adjusts his hoodie for the third time as he steps into the campus rec center, wondering how mad you’d be if he flaked on Jaemin. He spots him right away, standing by the basketball court with a bright smile on his face, spinning a ball on his finger effortlessly.

“Mark!” Jaemin calls, waving enthusiastically.

Mark forces a grin and waves back, shoving his hands into his pockets as he approaches.

“Hey,” he says.

“Glad you made it,” Jaemin says, tossing the ball to him. “You play, right?”

“Uh, not really,” Mark admits, catching the ball awkwardly.

Jaemin chuckles, his tone warm and friendly. “No worries. We’ll just shoot around. Nothing serious.”

They step onto the court, and Jaemin immediately starts talking, filling the space with his easy energy. He’s exactly how Y/N described—friendly, funny, and genuinely likable.

“So, Y/N told me you guys have been friends forever,” Jaemin says, making a shot effortlessly.

“Yeah,” Mark replies, dribbling the ball and taking a shot. It bounces off the backboard, and he winces. “We grew up together.”

“That’s awesome,” Jaemin says, running after the ball. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a friendship like that. She talks about you all the time, you know.”

Mark swallows hard, his throat tightening at the thought. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” Jaemin continues, passing the ball back to him. “She says you’re, like, the best person she knows. Always there for her.”

Mark forces a smile, the comment accentuating the already heavy weight on his chest. “She’s pretty great herself,” he says, taking another shot. This one goes in, and Jaemin claps excitedly.

“She really is.” Jaemin says, smiling softly.

As they continue playing, Mark starts to feel a strange mix of guilt and admiration. Jaemin is genuinely a good guy—there’s no doubt about it, and he obviously cares about Y/N. But every time Jaemin mentions her, Mark feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

“So,” Jaemin says after a while of playing, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. “What do you think of me?”

Mark nearly chokes on his water. “What?”

“Come on,” Jaemin says, laughing. “I know you probably weren’t super excited about this. Y/N might’ve had to twist your arm a bit. So, what’s the verdict?”

Mark hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “You’re… a good guy,” he says finally.

Jaemin raises an eyebrow, grinning. “That’s it?”

Mark shrugs, forcing his hands to stay placed firmly on the ball, needing something to ground himself before he shouts his feelings to the world. “Y/N thinks so, and she’s usually right about people.”

Jaemin chuckles, his expression softening. “She’s something else, huh?”

Mark nods, his throat tightening again. “Yeah. She is.”

Jaemin leans back against the wall, tossing the ball between his hands. “I don’t know what I did to deserve her, honestly. She’s just… amazing.”

Mark doesn’t respond, forcing a smile, his chest aching at how easily Jaemin says the words Mark’s been too afraid to even think about out loud.

“Anyway,” Jaemin says, breaking the silence. “Thanks for hanging out. I know you probably had better things to do.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Mark replies, his voice quieter now.

As they step back onto the court to finish their game, Mark tries to focus on the sound of the ball hitting the floor, anything to distract himself from the guilt gnawing at him. Jaemin is exactly as Y/N said—perfect. And yet, Mark can’t shake the heavy, unspoken truth weighing on his chest.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The Friday after Mark and Jaemin’s basketball game, Mark sat on your couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone while you organized your notes at the dining table. It was a typical evening—quiet and uneventful—but something felt off. Mark had been acting strange ever since his hangout with Jaemin, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was lying to you about something.

“Hey,” you called, your voice cutting through the silence. “You’ve been weird lately. Is something wrong?”

Mark didn’t even glance up. “I’m fine,” he said curtly.

You frowned but decided not to push. Instead, you tried to lighten the mood. “So, Jaemin was telling me about this soccer game next weekend, maybe all three of us could —”

“Do you talk about anything but Jaemin?” Mark snapped, his voice slicing through you sentence like a blade.

You froze, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“You’re always talking about him,” Mark continued, setting his phone down with more force than necessary. “Jaemin this, Jaemin that. Do you even realize how much you talk about him?”

Your confusion quickly turned to anger. “Mark, what’s your problem? You’re the one who’s been acting all weird, and now you’re getting mad at me for talking about my boyfriend?”

Mark stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Forget it. Just forget I said anything.”

“No,” you shot back, standing too. “You don’t get to yell at me and then walk away. What’s going on with you?”

“I said forget it, Y/N!” Mark shouted, his voice louder than you'd ever heard it before.

You took a step back, a pang hurt flashing across your face. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk to me, then don’t.”

For a moment, Mark’s expression softened, guilt and regret flickering in his eyes. But he quickly hardened again, grabbing his jacket. “You know what? I won’t.” Without another word, he stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

You stood frozen in place, your chest tight and tears pricking your eyes. You'd argued before, sure, but this time felt different—more real. You sank onto the couch, mind racing with questions you didn’t have answers to.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

During the days following the argument, you tried to go about life as normal, but Mark’s absence hung over you like a dark cloud. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong. Jaemin was the first to notice.

The two of you were sitting on a park bench after grabbing coffee, the late afternoon sun casting warm light over the pond in front of them. Your barely touched your drink, gaze distant as you stared at the ducks paddling by.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Jaemin said gently, voice soft, as if he was afraid of what he was about to say.

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, though your voice lacked any sense of genuineness.

Jaemin tilted his head, studying you with a soft, understanding look. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Mark and I had a fight. He’s been acting so weird, and I don’t know why. It’s like he’s mad at me for something, but he won’t tell me what.”

Jaemin hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you don’t have feelings for Mark?”

Your head snapped up, your eyes wide in surprise, looking at her boyfriend, shocked. “What? No. Of course I don’t. He’s my best friend.”

Jaemin didn’t say anything right away, his gaze steady but kind. “Listen,” he began carefully, “you’re a great girl. Really. But... I think you might care about him more than you realize.”

You shook your head, a pit of dread bubbling in your stomach. “Jaemin, I—I like you. I do.”

“I know,” he said softly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But not the way you like him. And that’s okay.”

Tears stung your eyes as guilt washed over you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this to you,” you whispered.

“Don’t be,” Jaemin said, placing a reassuring hand over yours. “You can’t help how you feel. And honestly? I think you should talk to him. Figure it out.”

You sniffled, giving him a small, watery smile. “You’re too nice, you know that?”

Jaemin laughed, leaning back against the bench. “I know.”

Despite the weight of their conversation, you felt a strange sense of clarity. You didn’t know what you were going to say to Mark, but for the first time, you knew you had to try.

You left the park bench with a renewed sense of purpose and a goal, to talk to Mark.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Jaemin was lying on your bed, legs stretched out as you paced back and forth. You had been trying to contact Mark for days—texts, calls, voicemails—but every attempt was met with silence. And it was driving you crazy.

“I don’t get it,” you mumbled, frustration and sadness evident in your voice. “He’s never acted like this before. We’ve argued before and we always made up, but now... now he’s avoiding me like I’m some kind of plague.”

Jaemin watched you, a quiet understanding in his gaze. He could tell how much it was bothering you, even though you were trying your very best to hide it.

“You’re not giving up, are you?” Jaemin asked, leaning forward slightly.

You stopped mid-pace, looking at him with a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance. “I don’t have a choice, Jaemin. He clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I messed up, maybe I pushed him too far, but he’s not responding.”

Jaemin shook his head, his smile soft but firm. “Don’t give up on him, Y/N. You love him, and he clearly feels something similar for you. Maybe he just needs a little push.”

You sigh, sitting down beside him on the bed. “I just don’t know what else to do. It’s not like I haven’t tried.”

Jaemin paused for a second, a glint of mischief creeping into his eyes. “Well, what if I told you I had a plan to make him face you?”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical but curious. “What?”

He grinned, clearly proud of himself. “I do. But you’re gonna have to trust me on this one.”

You frowned but nodded, trusting Jaemin more than anyone else. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

Jaemin leaned in, his voice lowering to a whisper as he began to lay out the details of his plan. He knew it was a little underhanded, but if it meant fixing things with Mark and you, he was willing to take the risk.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days later, Mark was hanging out with his friends Haechan and Chenle at their usual café. He had been avoiding you, and it wasn’t because he wanted to. The guilt gnawed at him every time he saw your name pop up on his phone, but he didn’t know how to fix things. Every time he thought about talking to you, he freaked out, not knowing if he could handle being rejected by you.

“Man, you’ve been really quiet lately,” Haechan said, nudging Mark’s shoulder. “What’s up with you?”

Mark shrugged, not meeting either of their gazes. “Just… tired, I guess.”

Chenle raised an eyebrow. “Tired? Dude, you’re literally doing nothing. Just hiding out at home all day.”

“Yeah,” Haechan added, “and avoiding Y/N. Come on, what’s going on between you two?”

Mark stiffened, his heart skipping a beat at the mention of your name. He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, his phone buzzed. A new message from Jaemin.

Hey, man. I need you to do me a favor.

Mark hesitated for a moment before replying, his fingers hovering over the keys. What’s up?

I need you to meet me at the park in 30 minutes. Trust me, it’s important.

Mark frowned, sensing something was off, but he couldn’t figure out what. Okay, fine. I’ll be there.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, barely noticing Haechan and Chenle’s knowing smiles.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

When Mark arrived at the park, he found Jaemin leaning against a bench, looking unusually serious.

“Why’d you need me to meet you?” Mark asked, crossing his arms and trying to hide his nervousness.

Jaemin smiled mischievously for a split second, but then he stood up straighter, his tone firm. “I’m going to help you fix things with Y/N.”

Mark blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Jaemin exhaled deeply, looking Mark in the eye. “Y/N’s been acting weird. Because you’re avoiding her. And I get it, man. I really do. But you’re hurting her by not talking to her. And she doesn’t deserve that.”

Mark felt a pang in his chest, guilt flooding his mind. “I know, but it’s complicated…”

“Complicated or not,” Jaemin interrupted, “you can’t just leave things like this. You’re her best friend, Mark. You mean everything to her.”

Mark’s throat tightened, his hands trembling slightly. “Why do you care? She’s your girlfriend.”

Jaemin’s expression hardened slightly. “Actually, she’s not. You’d know that if you answered her calls.”

Mark’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “What?”

Jaemin sighed, “Listen man, I like her, I do, but she doesn’t feel the same. We broke up. And now I’ve been trying to help her contact you. You’re hurting her a lot by ignoring her like this.”

Mark groaned, feeling a sense of disbelief that your ex-boyfriend was currently trying to convince him to confess his feelings to you.

Jaemin ignores the clear shock on Mark’s face, pulling out his phone and smirking. “I’ve been talking to Haechan and Chenle. They’re on board with this. We’ve already arranged it. You two are meeting up, whether you like it or not.”

Mark’s eyes widened as he realized Jaemin had masterminded the whole thing. “You… you told them?”

Jaemin gave him a pointed look. “I did. And you’re gonna thank me later.”

Before Mark could protest any further, he heard your voice from behind him. “I’m here.”

Mark turned around, his heart pounding in his chest as he saw you standing there, looking as nervous as he felt.

Jaemin stepped back, a sly grin on his face. “You two figure it out. I’ll leave you to it.”

As Jaemin walked away, Mark stood there, unsure of how to approach the situation. He wanted to run, but Jaemin’s words echoed in his head: You can’t just leave things like this.

You looked at him, eyes filled with uncertainty, and Mark’s heart sank seeing your disheveled state. He had to fix this. And he was going to try, no matter how scared he was.

Mark stood frozen for a moment, staring at you as you approached. His heart hammered in his chest, and all he could think was how easy it would be to turn around and walk away. To just disappear before this moment could get any more uncomfortable. But as much as he wanted to run, he couldn’t. Not when you had been so patient, so understanding—he owed you this conversation.

“Mark,” You called out softly, your voice hesitant but steady.

He exhaled, pushing the thought of escape aside, and turned to face you. You looked just as uncertain as he felt, and it made the guilt rise within him all over again.

You silently walked to a nearby bench, and Mark sat down first, his hands gripping the edge of the seat as if it could anchor him to reality. You sat beside him, her posture stiff, like you were preparing for some awful outcome.

After a long pause, you broke the silence. “Why have you been avoiding me?” you asked, voice a little softer than he expected, clearly you were nervous.

Mark felt his stomach drop, a wave of regret crashing over him. “Y/N, I…” He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. “I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said that. I just… I was confused. I’ve been confused for a while.”

You frowned, clearly still unsure of where this was going. “Confused about what?”

“I—” He cut himself off, trying to find the right words. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship, but there was no other way around it. “I’ve been in love with you, Y/N. For a long time now. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. So, I tried to ignore it.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned your head to look at him, your wide eyes betraying her mask of calmness. “What?”

“I didn’t want to ruin our friendship,” he continued, voice thick with anxiety. “I was afraid that if I told you, you’d never want to talk to me again. And I’ve… I’ve been avoiding you ever since, because I thought if I just stayed away, it would be easier.”

You shook your head slowly, eyes glistening as you processed his words. “Mark… you’re my best friend. You should have told me.”

“I know. I should have,” he muttered, feeling even more ashamed. “I messed up. And then I lashed out at you, and that was stupid.”

You sigh deeply, and then, surprisingly, smile softly at him. “It’s okay, Mark. I get it now. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it, but I was just too scared to admit how I felt.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you continued, your voice trembling a little, “I’m in love with you, too. I just didn’t want to mess things up, either. I didn’t want to lose our friendship.”

Mark’s heart skipped a beat. He blinked at you, his mind racing to process your confession. “You… you love me?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner. I’m sorry I acted the way I did and I’m sorry for always bringing up Jaemin around you, I just—”

Mark could feel the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest tightened, and the guilt that had been gnawing at him for weeks was replaced by a rush of clarity. He couldn’t let this moment slip away, not after everything the two of you had been through.

Before you could say another word, Mark reached out, cupping your face gently with his hand. He leaned in and kissed you, his lips pressing against yours with a softness that made your heart race.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and you pulled back slightly, voice shaky. “Oh my god.”

Mark chuckled softly, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t wait any longer.”

You blinked, still processing everything. “I… I didn’t expect that.”

Mark smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it either. But I guess it was time for me to stop being an idiot.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re not an idiot, Mark. You’re just… well, maybe a little bit. But I’m glad we’re talking about this now.”

He nodded, his smile growing wider. “Me too. And, uh, I guess we can’t just go back to how things were, right?”

You grinned, your eyes twinkling. “Yeah, I don’t think we can. But I’m okay with that.”

Mark took a deep breath, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “So, what now?”

You thought for a moment before shrugging. “I think we should just… figure it out. We already know each other so well, so maybe it’ll be easy.”

Mark grinned, feeling a warmth spread through him. “Yeah, I think we can make it work.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𝟅𝟈 omg another fic we cheered. thank u to the like 20 people who like my writing i really appreciate it. lmk if you have any requests pls

masterlist.

#jaeyunluvbot #kpop #nct dream #nct 127 #y/n #college au #mark lee #lee minhyung #mark #neo culture technology #friends to lovers #maybe angst #happy ending #jaemin #chenle #lee haechan

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lifeafterpsychiatry · 1 year ago

Note

Hey same anon who has the narcotic plants special interest. I am sorry for a long ask I wanted to tell you a brief story that you may find funny or sad. Or sad but funny. I once took an edible with my 2 cousins, it was 300 mg so we split it in 3, this was not a problem for me in the past so i take approx 100 mg.

Unbeknownst to any of us, this was artificial/synthetic THC We had gone to the movies to watch Pirates of the Caribbean, we thought it would be fun to watch while high. Something in the artificial THC kind of cramped my brain. And by half way through the movie I was practically blind from how high I was. This was extremely unusual and my cousins were having strange reactions as well, one fell asleep and was unconscious through the loudest movie ever and my other cousin was *ravenously* hungry, like, more than you get with munchies. She said she felt like she was starving and no matter what she ate it couldnt satiate her for like 48 hours

For me though, I'm on psych meds. Antipsychotics, anti depressants, catalysts, and things for neurological problems which of course includes POTS and vasovagal syncope. Anyway I decide to head out first before my family because I was half aware that I was severely impaired and I was in heels so i needed to see if i could walk straight and not right in front of my grandmother, we didnt want our grandmother to find out (it wasn't legal here in CA yet) I head out of the theater and as i walk through the door, boom vasovagal response. Luckily I can tell when blood pressure drops so i know it's going to happen so I sat down and put my head between my knees. that's the last thing I remember, but i was going in and out of consciousness and while unconscious, it felt like endlessly falling backwards. I was only aware of my thoughts for brief moments of clarity when I would wake up, but i would just pass out again I do remember hearing the paramedics, when we arrived at the hospital, mocked me and said "i couldnt handle a little edible" They did a bunch of tests and basically found that the edible's artificial THC was something actually ridiculous like my portion was the equivalent of 1,500mg of THC

Apparently during the time I was unconscious I was screaming (constricted vocal chords) and crying uncontrollably and proceeded to have a pretty bad seizure. I was high from this for like a week straight and it wasnt the fun kind. It was the hangover type of high like, super bad headache, makes you feel like shit, tired, ugh i hated that feeling.

BUT! This event Gave me a super power It made me immune to edibles. At least THC edibles. I am dead serious. I was afraid to try edibles again after this event but i went through with 50 mg.... nothing. 100 mg.... nothing. 150mg.... nothing. I dosed myself like this, waiting for it to kick in and it never would. So i decided to use a tincture to see how long it took until I felt something. I gave up at 800 mg, I felt nothing, and im p sure 800 is enough to make someone uncomfortably high. it just. Doesnt work for me anymore So. I have to inhale THC to get high now. I try to stick to dab pens but theyre no better on your lungs than smoking marijuana. I hope this doesnt seem like trauma dumping or anything! i just wanted to share my superpower and story as well as maybe a warning for others if this is posted. Anyway, so sorry to ramble, have the best night/day/afternoon you can <3

Wow, I'm really sorry you had to go through that shitshow! I have had Too Much Edible on several occasions, but never anything that extreme. Who the fuck even WANTS weed to do that kind of shit?! 😭

#chat with kat #drugs tw #health risk tw #overdose tw #weed tw

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nintendont2502 · 3 years ago

Text

Panel redraw art trade w/ the very swag @gillbuoy >B3

#did this in like. an hour and a half while watching a movie for psych #v proud of it >B33c #ignore the lazy bg i despise doing bgs sometimes #meowrails #nepeta leijon #equius zahhak #homestuck #milo scribbles #i love this panel. so much its unreal #tackleslide >:33

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autisticempathydaemon · 2 years ago

Note

For the Redacted Audio match-ups

I feel like I've just shown my entire soul here. Wow.

I get fixated on a different song like every-other-day so I'm not sure... Maybe the line "Please give me the strength to be able to believe until the end, even if it is a lie" from "Itoshi kimi yo" (To the one I love) by Moriyama Naotaro. This song NEVER FAILS to make me cry.

97% Enneagram Type 6 (maybe 6w5)

I used to love watching like hour-long YT documentaries but my attention-span has severely gone downhill since the panorama... but I enjoy Bernadette Banner's analyses of historical clothing, Implictly Pretentious' deepdives into the psyches of comicbook movie characters, and NativLang's video essays on various languages and their histories and characteristics.

I never had an imaginary friend as a child (excluding the man-thing that runs alongside the car). Although for a time (in my teens) I had a vampire that would sit by my bedside and protect me as I slept (NO, I was NOT a twilight fan! I was a Vampire Knight fan)

My go-to way to fall asleep is listening to redacted audio. Basically any playlist, any audio (excluding inversion, yandere!ivan)

I don't/hate my name. I just don't associate with it beyond it being what people call me irl. I would change it to either Teigan or Ruri (the former was a cute name I found (and have claimed it in my family should I ever adopt a child) and the latter being the Japanese for the stone lapis lazuli, which I like very much)

...If I was forced to pick only one redacted audio... it'd have to be... Comforted and Cared for By Your Incubus Boyfriend it hits ALL the feels and literally sounds like one big hug that goes straight to my heart.

(Honourable mentions have to go to basically the entire playlists of Vincent, Gavin and Avior; they are my comfort bois despite the various angst in their stories)

I understand but don't personally get the appeal for Lasko. Like we'd get on as friends, but /I need to be the submissive, nerdy, soft one, y'know.

Aside from a number of redacted audios, I tend to not read/watch things multiple times apart from maybe Avengers or Iron Man 1. Those were my comfort movies for a while.

Platonically, I'm attracted to Damien. I am also a perfectionist with a strong sense of justice so I feel we'd get pretty well. Also he's a sarcastic mf-er too and no one can tell me otherwise.

Hmm my go-to ramble topic when tired... I ramble about various things. I wish I was someone who had a singular topic. I'll talk your ear off about Language, Japan, various anime/manga, The Mortal Instruments, Animal Crossing, Pokémon, F1, nail art. I'm that scene from The Avengers [Maria Hill : When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics? Tony Stark : Last night.] I'm a walking encyclopedia of useless (to other people) information and I enjoy info-dumping on people, but I try to not do that so much, so when I do I tend to go overboard...

Go-to gas station snack and drink combo: I don't frequent pretrol stations, they're expensive... I'd probably choose crunchy m&ms and a non-carbonated drink that isn't too sweet. (Unrelated but related, my st*rb*cks drink of choice is a match frappuccino, extra matcha, no syrup)

Favourite Redacted playlist: Vincent (I can talk along with about half of his audios at this point)

Favourite music playlist: I don't really make playlists, I either just listen to everything on one big shuffle or I listen to an album in order on-repeat.

My media choices change depending on my mood, my most "guilty" pleasure media at the moment would have to be NA fiction. If there's no spice or morally grey MMC, I don' want it.

Whatever else you think tells me about who you are.

MBTI type: INFP-T.

I'm a chronic procrastinator.

I have RBF but crack into a smile at the tiniest joke, I have no poker face (but won the only game of poker I ever played).

I'm the older sibling, the 2nd oldest grandchild and often am the "Parent-friend", but I actually act like the youngest and teamed with my (lack of) height, people often mistake me for much younger than I am.

Thanks for reading my ramblings... 😶

Oh, this was easy-peasy. You know what a Type Six parent friend could really use? A stable, secure, Alpha- the wolf equivalent of a dad friend.

I don’t know who started it, but there’s this delightful headcanon of a bookish, reader Angel that I can imagine for you. It’d be so cute, him stealing your book and holding it out of your reach, asking who the fuck is “Grim” and what is his deal with the chocolate. He’s the type of partner who would make fun of your possible book hoarding but still buys you everything you touch at the local Barnes & Noble with that good, good Shaw Security money.

Also, he’d- lovingly, adoringly but so meanly- give you hell about your imaginary vampire friend watching you sleep. You’ll so regret telling David that every time he asks if you can make do with a werewolf or if you’d rather him call one of the Solaires.

Song:

Hey, boy, where do you get it from?/ Hey, boy, where did you go?/ I learned my passion/ In the good old-fashioned/ School of loverboys

Everything about David is very old-fashioned, old-school romantic to me, down to his pet name, his proposal, and his music tastes. He likes the classics, music Gabe would play on their drives up to the campsite, and he’d like playing it while he cooks for you.

Runner-Ups:

I like pairing parent friends with parent friends; it just makes sense. James gives me bossy, dad friend vibes, the kind of partner who knows you procrastinates and plans accordingly. Sam, I like because he is the protective vampire boyfriend who’d watch over you while you sleep, and that’s adorable.

Notes: I hope that reference isn’t too niche you’ll have to forgive me I’ve watched no joke ten hours of video essay about Lightlark by Alex Aster in the past three days

Read this post and send me an ask if you’d like a match-up of your own! 💌

#redactedasmr #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redactedaudio #redacted audio #redacted #busybee matches

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just-another-blog-of-fluff · 4 years ago

Text

Misunderstanding

Word count: 6800

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, angst, mild swearing

Alright, another two-prompter fic here! This combines this prompt from an anon asking for reader and Loki to get in a fight when she leaves without telling him, as well as this prompt where Loki and reader watch a Christmas movie together. I don't do a ton of angst in my fics (since my blog name has 'fluff' in it 😂) but it's nice to slip some in every once in a while for a change of pace. I always promise a fluffy ending 😊

You awoke to your phone buzzing on your nightstand. Drowsily, you opened your eyes and blinked away the blurred remnants of sleep, rolling over and fumbling for your phone. The sun had barely risen, a beam of orange light streaming through the crack in your window shade. Who the hell could be calling at this hour?

The screen showed your friend's name, which was even more surprising. You'd thought she had gone away with a few of your friends already to the Bahamas for a short vacation in the tropics. Maybe she was leaving tomorrow? What would make her call you now?

You tapped the phone screen blindly a few times, finally finding the 'answer call' button.

"... Hello?" you slurred.

"Hey! I'm so sorry, did I wake you up?"

You glanced at your clock on your nightstand, letting out a breathy laugh. "Well, most people aren't awake at five-thirty in the morning when they have the weekend off work. But you've got me up now, what is it?"

"Ok, so I know this is a longshot, and you hate going anywhere without planning three months or more in advance, but... Derek is sick, and he won't be able to make the trip this weekend. Would you be interested in going in his place?"

"Uh..." You were slowly waking up now, heart beating faster at the mere suggestion. You prided yourself on being a planner. Everything had to be in order before you went anywhere, ever. Your friends liked to tease you about it, urging you to try to be a little more spontaneous here and there. But the idea of taking a trip on the drop of a dime made your anxiety flare.

You hated that you felt this way. You'd give anything to be able to be more spontaneous and go places on a moment's notice with your friends. But wishing and doing were two very different things.

Still, you did have the weekend off. If you were ever going to try to do something spur-of-the-moment, this was the perfect time to do so. And your friends had been planning this trip for months - they most certainly would take care of you, wouldn't they?

"Hello? Are you still there?"

"What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Still half asleep," you groaned.

"Well, I kind of need an answer... I'm going to have to call some other people if you can't make it, and I'd much rather it be you."

"Well... you know what? Sure. I'll do it."

Your friend screeched into the phone, and you held it a few inches away from your ear, wincing.

"Ohmygod THANK YOU!! I'm so psyched you're coming!! You should probably go pack your bags - don't forget to bring a couple swimsuits, and a sweatshirt in case it gets chilly at night."

"I was sort of hoping to sleep a little longer... what time does the flight leave tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" There was a beat of silence. "The flight leaves in four hours."

"What??" You nearly dropped your phone on the floor. "I... I didn't realize..."

"Are you still up for it? I totally understand if not, but I really need you to decide ASAP so I can make some calls."

"... Are you going to pick me up on the way to the airport?"

"Say the word and I'll do it."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Alright. I'll go pack."

"YES!! OK, I'll see you in an hour. BYE!" The end call beep sounded in your ear, leaving you lying there in disbelief that you'd just agreed to this.

In a flurry, you rushed around your room throwing things haphazardly into a suitcase. It was December, and so you had to dig deep in your drawers and closet for your summer clothes. You still took the extra time to count the pairs of underwear you included in your suitcase, making sure you had a couple extra pairs with you as you always did. You rushed into the bathroom, throwing your toothbrush and other toiletries into a bag. A quick glance in the mirror made you cringe - pulling out your brush from the bag you'd just packed it in, you dragged it roughly through your hair to smooth it down at least a little to make yourself semi-presentable to be out in public. Deciding it was good enough, you tossed the brush back in the bag and threw it in your suitcase, just as there was a knock on your apartment door.

The next thing you knew, you were in your friend's car with two other friends of yours on your way to the airport. The sun at least had risen fully in the sky by now, although you sort of wished it hadn't so you could get some sleep, even if it would only be for twenty minutes. You threw the hood of your sweatshirt up over your eyes and leaned your head against the car door, shutting your eyes in an attempt to sleep.

Suddenly, your eyes flew open when you realized you had literally told no one where you were going. You sat bolt upright, pulling out your phone to make some calls, but you were interrupted when the car pulled into the parking garage and your friends jumped out of the car.

"Hurry! We're running later than I thought," your friend urged. Forgetting about calling your other friends and family, you rushed out of the car and grabbed your suitcase, hurrying into the airport to get checked in.

The entire trip through the airport was a stressful one. You and your friends rushed from the bag check counter to the security check lines, making it through in no time before making a beeline for your flight gate. You honestly weren't sure where you'd lost so much time, but you didn't have time to dwell on it, as the flight was already boarding when you reached the gate. The four of you slipped into the back of the line, breathing a sigh of relief as you boarded the plane after everyone else.

It wasn't until the plane took off that you remembered you'd never called anyone to tell them you were leaving. If you'd had the chance, you would have called your best friend, who didn't quite fit into your other circles of friends. You and Loki had struck up an unlikely friendship when you started working for Tony Stark in his lab as a lab assistant. You suspected he only talked to you initially because he was tired of talking to the Avengers all day, every day. To him, you must have been a breath of fresh air, being someone who he hadn't tried to kill or otherwise mess with in the past. Over time, you both discovered you had a lot in common, like your dry, sarcastic sense of humor and your distaste for excessively upbeat personalities. He'd quickly become the person you sought out when you wanted to talk to someone, and he often came to you with woes of his and his brother's arguments.

You felt terribly that you didn't have the chance to tell him you left, but he'd flaked out on you in the past when you made plans, and this couldn't be that different. You knew he'd be there when you came back, and you'd explain it all to him then. In the meantime, you were bound and determined to enjoy yourself on this impromptu vacation.

It was a wonderful, sunny three days in the tropics. You spent hours lounging on the beach, learning how to paddleboard, going off on boat rides, and simply enjoying the sunshine. A part of you was incredibly proud for making the decision to step out of your comfort zone. It hadn't been easy, and it certainly had been a whirlwind of a ride getting here, but it was absolutely worth it in the end.

The four of you took a late flight home on the last day. Your face was slightly sunburnt, and you were exhausted from traveling, but you were content. It was a much smoother process getting home to the airport now that you weren't scrambling to catch a flight. In no time at all, you were falling asleep in the back of your friend's car as she drove you home to your apartment.

By the time you arrived home late that evening, any thoughts of doing anything other than collapsing in your bed had vanished. Leaving your bag completely packed, you crawled under the covers and fell asleep almost immediately. Tomorrow, you’d go visit Loki, you told yourself. He’d probably missed you these last few days, especially since you left so abruptly. But you tried not to overthink it – the whole point of agreeing to this impromptu trip was to escape those anxious thoughts for a while, to prove to yourself you could be spontaneous and carefree if only just once in your life.

The following morning, you awoke to the sunlight blaring through your bedroom window. It was a bit later than you’d hoped to wake up, but you felt refreshed after a good night’s sleep, so you knew it was worth it. You took the time to unpack your suitcase, knowing you’d regret it if you waited and put it off for later. The hot water in the shower felt fantastic against your skin, already feeling the chill from the winter cold after being in the tropical heat the last few days. Maybe you took a few extra minutes to enjoy the steamy bathroom air while you finished getting dressed and ready. Finally, you were on your way over to the Avengers tower to visit your best friend.

When you entered the tower, you greeted the secretary at the front desk and headed past her to the elevator. They knew you well enough by now to know you didn’t need assistance finding your way around. You headed straight up to the lounge, knowing you’d find at least a few of the Avengers hanging out there at this time of the afternoon.

Sure enough, you found Thor, Peter, and Tony hanging out in front of the large TV playing one of Peter’s video games. You didn’t want to interrupt mid-game, especially given how heated the three of them were as they battled one another. Patiently, you stood behind the sofa and observed while they finished the round.

“Ah-ha! You have fallen to the mighty God of Thunder once again!” Thor suddenly whooped, leaping to his feet as Peter and Tony groaned.

“Ugh, that’s the fourth time in a row! Seriously, you’ve got to have this rigged,” Peter griped.

“Aww, you guys are just sore losers,” you interjected. The three of them whipped their heads around in surprise toward the sound of your voice, erupting in a chorus of ‘hellos’ and ‘where have you been’s.’

“Have you seen Loki yet?” Thor asked, a strangely concerned look on his face.

“No, I came over to visit him! Where is he?”

“Oh, er, before you go looking for him, you should know…”

“So, you’ve returned.”

You spun around, hearing the smooth, baritone voice of your closest friend from the doorway. Your face lit up when you saw Loki, grinning as you rushed toward him to wrap him in an embrace.

“Loki! I missed you!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms around him. He didn’t return your hug, however – his muscles stiffened under your arms, chest rising sharply as he sucked in a breath, bristling under your touch. Releasing him, you stepped back to get a better look at his face. His eyes were dark, the corners of his mouth downturned in a frown, brows heavy in a clear fit of anger. “Loki? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” he barked, laughing humorlessly.

“Alright, alright, shows over kids – let’s get out of here before they blow up the place,” Tony quipped, motioning for Thor and Peter to follow. On his way out, Thor offered you an apologetic look before disappearing through the door, leaving you alone with the seething younger Asgardian.

“Loki, I –”

“Do you realize how I felt when you suddenly vanished without any indication of where you were going?” Loki cut you off, his blue-green eyes boring into yours sharply. “Where in the Nine Realms have you been??”

“My friend called me last minute to go on a trip with them, I didn’t have time to –”

“Oh, so you were off galivanting then? Is that right?” He tutted, an unpleasant smile plastered to his face. “How very wonderful for you.”

“Hey! You don’t own me, Loki! I can do what I want!” you snapped, a fire beginning to blaze in your belly. “If I want to go on a spontaneous trip, I’m allowed to do that. I don’t need your permission!”

“Honestly – you think I wanted you to ask for permission?!” Loki’s voice was increasing in volume now, eyes wild with anger. “A simple phone call would have sufficed! I had no idea where you were all this time! Do you not understand how that made me feel??”

“I didn’t have time! I told you, it was last minute! And anyhow, I don’t need to keep you updated on my whereabouts at all hours of the day, Loki!” you seethed, balling your hands into fists at your sides. “You sound like a controlling boyfriend! It’s not a good look on you.”

He shook his head, giving you a hard glare. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“No. Enlighten me, Loki.” You spat his name as though it were vile, a bitter taste in your mouth.

Loki grabbed hold of your shoulders, squeezing firmly. “You’re friends with the Avengers. The earth’s ‘mightiest heroes,’ enemies to villains all over the Nine Realms. Don’t you think that when you suddenly disappeared out of character that my mind might jump to the worst possible conclusion?? What if you’d been captured, kidnapped, stolen as leverage against us??” You winced as his fingers dug a little too hard into your shoulders, and he noticed immediately, removing his hands from you. “Were you thinking about ANYONE other than yourself??”

Deep down, a part of you realized he was right. You hadn’t considered what your friends might think, that they’d worry about you. But gods, if he wasn’t making you so angry right now, treating you the way he was. You were proud of yourself for taking this spontaneous trip. Yes, it was out of character, but that was the whole point of making this decision.

“You know what? I don’t have to stand here and let you talk to me like this.” You turned on your heel and began storming toward the door, away from the infuriating god. You heard his heavy footsteps following after you.

“So you’re just going to run away from this?? Don’t be a coward,” he roared, his fingers clasping around your elbow. You yanked your arm from his grasp, whirling around with eyes blazing.

“Don’t TOUCH me!” you fumed, pleased to see he actually took a step backward in surprise. “I’m leaving. Don’t follow me. If you must know, I’m going home. Add it to your tracking list of my whereabouts, why don’t you?” With that, you spun around and entered the elevator, slamming the close doors button the moment you stepped inside. As the doors shut, you looked back and saw a dark, pained expression cross Loki’s face. The part of you that was still his friend ached for him, but the furious part of you decided he deserved it.

The moment you arrived home, you went straight to your bedroom and collapsed on your bed, sobbing white hot tears of rage. How could he do this to you? He knew what a huge step this was, how anxious you got about not having every aspect of your life planned out to the finest detail. Loki was supposed to be your best friend, and he was doing a damned shitty job of it.

How could he shout at you like that? How could he not see how it hurt you? He had no right to scold you like a child the way he did. How dare he act as if he was in control of all your life decisions?

Your anger began to fade as the tears streamed down your face. It disintegrated into more of a dark, helpless sadness. You’d never had a fight quite like that with Loki. Sure, you squabbled and bantered as all friends do, but never once had he hollered at you with the intent to make you hurt. You supposed you had done the same thing to him. What was going to happen to your friendship now? Could he ever forgive you? Could you forgive him?

The idea of losing your friendship with Loki stung more than any of his words. The pair of you hadn’t been friends for more than a year, and yet he was such a constant in your life. You weren’t exactly a social butterfly – you had a few close friends, and that was about the extent of your support system. Loki, by far, was the first person you thought of when you needed to vent about something, or when something exciting happened and you were bursting at the seams to share it with someone. He had this brutal, sarcastic honesty about him that kept you grounded, and yet there was a secret, kind side to him he typically kept hidden. But not from you. He went out of his way to pay you a visit, or invite you to stroll the city with him, exactly at the time you most needed a friend. Either he cared deeply about you, or he simply didn’t want to lose the person who had become his sounding board to rant about his brother and his friends. You liked to think it was the former.

You couldn’t go back there today to talk to him. The fear of what he might say held you hostage here in your apartment, scared he might continue to berate you and chastise you. Instead, you spent most of the afternoon curled up on your bed, scrolling through your phone or otherwise trying to take a nap to forget about all this for just a little while.

By the time you’d managed to convince yourself to leave the sanctuary of your room, the sun had already set. The rest of your apartment was pitch black outside of your room. You didn’t necessarily mind it. It suited your mood fairly well, in fact – the heavy, occlusive blackness felt like a reflection of the intense aching in your chest and throat. Still, you couldn’t see very well in the dark, so you flipped on the light in your living room in the name of self-preservation. While you were at it, you plugged in the lights on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. Maybe a little festive light would brighten your spirits.

You didn’t feel much like cooking, so you grabbed a frozen meal out of the freezer and popped it in the microwave. These things always stayed a little cold in the middle, but you didn’t care. You were only eating because you knew you needed to anyway.

As you cleaned up your disappointing meal, you were startled by a knock on your door. Grumbling about how late in the evening it was to entertain visitors, especially if it was a salesperson, you shuffled over to the door and cracked it open to peek outside.

“Loki.” You pulled the door open the rest of the way to reveal your dark-haired trickster friend standing in the hallway. He seemed smaller than his usual, regal self – more slouchy, even sheepish-looking perhaps. It was hard to determine if you felt relieved or overwhelmed, or maybe even a renewed bout of anger. Rather than try to work through your own emotions while you stood there at the door, you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head to urge him to speak.

“Might I come in?” he asked. His voice had lost the bite it had earlier when he’d reprimanded you. That, at least, was comforting.

“Why should I?” you shot back flatly, folding your arms across your chest. He responded by pulling his arm out from behind his back, a movie (that he’d clearly borrowed from Tony) held in his hand.

“I thought perhaps we could watch a Christmas movie. I know you enjoy them.”

You narrowed your eyes, reading the box. “That’s A Muppet Family Christmas. You hate that movie.”

“Yes, but I know it’s your favorite.” Loki looked so hopeful as he gazed at you. And the sentiment behind what he was offering meant more than one would think – he never allowed you to pick the movie when you gathered for a movie night unless he approved it first. You couldn’t hide the tiny smile pulling at the corner of your mouth, your arms loosening a bit.

“Fine. I’ll make hot chocolate.” You waved him inside, turning your back to him to busy yourself in the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you pulled out the bottle of milk (because everyone knew hot chocolate made with milk was so much better than water) and grabbed the hot chocolate mix from the cupboard. Loki took a seat on the stool at the kitchen island, watching in silence as you prepared two mugs and popped them in the microwave. While the mugs heated, you turned around to face your companion, leaning back against the countertop as you tried to come up with something to say.

“I’m sorry.”

You didn’t have to, apparently.

“What?” you asked, startled by his abrupt apology.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I was angry, hurt, confused… I took all of that out on you in the moment. So, I apologize.”

You sighed, approaching the opposite side of the kitchen island, and leaning your elbows on it. “I’m sorry too. I hadn’t realized what my leaving for a few days without saying anything would do to you. I wanted to call, but it was so short notice, and there was no cell phone service when we landed, and –”

“Please. It’s alright. I forgive you.” He reached across the counter to grasp your hand in his. “I was terrified something might have happened to you. You never go traveling on a whim.”

“I know, that’s the point.” The microwave beeped, and Loki released your hand so you could attend to the hot chocolate. After a quick stir, you put them back in for a bit longer, returning to the island. “I never do anything spontaneous. And the opportunity came up, and I just… I wanted so badly to just be that spontaneous, carefree person everyone else seems to be. To ignore the worries of going on a trip completely unplanned.”

“I understand.” Loki offered you a weak smile. “And I am proud of you for it. I know how hard it must have been.”

“Thanks.” You returned his small smile, leaning on the countertop once again.

“I want you to know – I don’t need to know where you are at every moment of every day. But, please, if you do go away for a few days on short notice, please tell me? I couldn’t bear the thought that I may have lost you, that it could have been my fault something happened to you…”

“Shh, Loki, it’s alright. I promise, ok?” It was your turn to take his hand in yours. “I wasn’t even thinking about that sort of thing. It was naïve of me. I’m sorry.”

The microwave beeped once again, and you retrieved the two steaming ceramic mugs from inside, handing one carefully to your companion. You’d been the one to introduce him to hot chocolate. Admittedly, he’d been skeptical that drinking chocolate would be a pleasant treat, but when you’d finally convinced him to try a sip, he’d been hooked ever since. You held your mug up, tapping the side against his mug.

“To a cozy night in with my best friend?”

Loki shook his head with a grin. “You know, you’ve truly made me go soft, mortal. I shouldn’t allow you to get in my head like this.”

“Oh, you love cozy nights in like this and you know it.” Stepping around the kitchen island, you motioned for him to follow you to the living room. “So, are you still going to watch the movie with me? Or was that just a ploy to help you apologize?”

“I beg your pardon – I am a man of my word. I came to watch this movie with you, however ridiculous it may be, and I intend to do just that.”

You snorted. “A man of your word? You’re literally the God of Lies.”

“Yes, but I am not the God of Broken Promises.” Taking his mug with him, he followed you to the living room. He moved toward the television to pop in the movie, but you stopped him.

“Wait! Hang on – I’m gonna get some blankets, it’s cold,” you insisted.

“You realize that you have control of your heat, I hope,” he teased.

“Yes, and I also have to pay for my heat. Besides – it’s more fun to keep the house a little chilly and snuggle up under a blanket than to just keep it at a normal temperature.” You heard Loki chuckling and calling you ridiculous as you disappeared into your bedroom, pulling out your oversized fleece blanket and dragging it out to the living room. Loki had already sat himself down on one end of the sofa, the movie set on pause while he waited for you to return. Taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa, you threw the blanket over the both of you, turning yourself sideways to rest your feet on the couch cushions with a slight bend in your knees so as not to accost Loki with your cold feet.

“I’ll have you know – I will not watch this movie willingly again. Consider yourself fortunate,” Loki drawled.

“Oh, yay me,” you responded sarcastically. “Alright, enough whining. Unpause the movie.”

Muttering under his breath about ‘ungrateful mortals,’ he did as you asked, starting the film as you settled deeper into the couch cushions. He cringed the moment the opening song began on the screen, and you bit the inside of your cheek in an effort not to laugh. Loki could be so dramatic sometimes. Although, you supposed you wouldn’t be such close friends if he weren’t a little extra every so often.

Sitting here, tucked under a blanket by the glow of the Christmas tree and a nostalgic Christmas movie playing on your television, drinking hot chocolate, you wondered if it could get any better. Most importantly, you were no longer fighting with Loki. Your heart was tearing to pieces when you were angry with one another. This sort of quiet evening together with your best friend was exactly what you needed to get past the hurt and emotional turmoil of the day.

A little ways into the movie, you felt the urge to adjust yourself to get more comfortable. In the process of shifting, you accidentally tapped Loki’s leg with your foot. His head swiveled to look at you in shock.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to kick you.”

“Your feet are freezing,” he stated.

“Uh… yeah. They’re kind of always cold in the winter.”

He glared at you contemptuously. “Perhaps they wouldn’t be if you kept your heat at a temperature suitable for mortals.”

“Hey! If you want to pay my heating bill, then be my guest. Until then, I’m keeping it at the temperature I want.” For good measure, you stretched your legs out further to rest your feet against his leg.

“Aren't you wearing socks, and lying under a blanket? Gods, how are your feet still this cold?” He grabbed hold of your feet, scooting over a bit to rest them in his lap as you whined and protested.

“Wha- HEY! Loki! My feet are gross, don’t put them in your lap.”

“Your feet are just fine. Excluding the fact that they’re like ice.” He wrapped both hands around one of your feet, rubbing his palms firmly up and down both sides to create heat through friction. Your protests died at your lips, letting out a little involuntary sigh of content. Loki glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, a smirk forming on his lips. “Not complaining now, are you?”

“Mm… just keep doing that,” you breathed, sinking into the sofa. With a throaty, rumbling laugh, he switched to warm your other foot, looking positively charmed at your blissful expression. You returned your attention to the movie, eyelids beginning to feel heavy when he began kneading his fingers into your soles once he was satisfied with the temperature of your feet.

At some point, Loki began to become distracted by the movie, his touch losing some of its weight. It didn’t bother you much at first, but when he started sliding his thumb gently up and down the arch of your foot, you had to bite your tongue to keep from giggling. No way were you letting your mischievous friend find out you were ticklish. He’d never let you live it down.

You were in a predicament now. If you acted too quickly and jerked your feet away, he’d definitely figure it out. But if you didn’t move soon, you were positive you were going to break out into hysterical giggles. Maybe you could come up with some excuse that you had to get up. Did he want more hot chocolate? Could you feign needing to go to the bathroom?

Your thoughts were interrupted when his thumb flitted over the ball of your foot, and you couldn’t prevent a small twitch of your leg. Please don’t notice, please don’t notice, please don’t…

“Alright there, darling?”

… notice.

“Hmm? I’m fine, why do you ask?”

He eyed you suspiciously, as though trying to evaluate your expression. “No reason.” Loki turned back to the television, and you did the same, sighing happily as he pressed his fingertips more firmly into your other foot.

Gradually, the pressure in his fingers lightened again until he was simply ghosting his fingertips across the arch of your foot. You shifted to try to hide the desperate urge to twitch and jolt away from his touch, trying to play it off as getting more comfortable while trying to pull your feet back closer to your body. Loki had other ideas – grabbing hold of one of your ankles to prevent you from retracting it.

“Going somewhere?”

Shit. You knew that tone.

“L-Loki…” you warned, tugging at your ankle. He tightened his grasp, impishly fluttering his fingers along your sole. “HEHEY!”

“You seem to be hiding something. I thought we agreed, no more secrets.” His tone was firm, as though scolding you, but his eyes were alight with mischief. He knew what he was doing. He just wanted to make you admit it.

“N-no, we agree-HEED no m-more long trips with-OHOUT telling you first,” you corrected, gritting your teeth to try to suppress the giggles that kept spilling out as his fingertips grazed agonizingly slowly over the arch of your trapped foot.

“Are you admitting you’re hiding something, then?”

“That’s not what I-HI-ha… ahem… nohot what I said,” you coughed, trying to cover up the laugh that burst from your chest when his tickling fingers found the spot where your arch became the upper part of your foot. A wicked grin evolved on his face, and he began to scratch at the spot in a targeted attack. You sucked in a breath, turning your head toward the television so you wouldn’t have to look at his maddeningly smug face.

“There’s no reason to continue to deny it, darling. I’ve obviously already discovered you’re ticklish.”

You whipped your head around back toward your trickster friend to protest, but he suddenly shifted to grab hold of your foot with both hands, scratching eight fingers into your sole. This broke you, a bubbling stream of giggles bursting through your mouth. The way his smug smirk broadened set butterflies in your stomach.

“O-ho-kahay! I admit ihit! Are you h-HAH-happy?”

“Oh, quite happy, actually. I’ve just discovered a way for you to make it up to me after running off and making me worry.”

“Wahait! That’s not fa-HAIR – LOKI!” You kicked at him with your free foot, successfully freeing your other one but at the cost of your mischievous friend capturing the previously neglected foot.

“Ah. Asking for me to tickle this one?” he hummed.

“Noho, that wasn’t – NOHO!!” Somehow, this foot was worse than the other; he had the same grip on you as before, but every sweep of his fingers across your sole made your leg jolt as you squeaked in protest. He seemed to recognize this, beginning to laugh along with you.

“You mortals are peculiar creatures. I didn’t realize it was possible to be weaker on one side.”

“SHUT UHUP YOHOU!” you demanded. Loki tutted, shifting to hold your ankle in one hand while worming his way into the space beneath your toes through the fabric of your sock. “AHAH – OH HELL NOHO!!” You sat up, reaching for his hands to prevent him from getting at the hypersensitive spot while you curled your toes as much as possible.

“Hmm.” He grunted as you successfully forced him to move his tickling fingers, then suddenly reached over to claw into your belly. With a startled bark of a laugh, you flopped backward against the sofa to evade him, providing him the opportunity to loop his elbow around your ankle and pull your toes back with one hand while working his way into the previously protected space with the other.

“LOHOKIHIHI YOHOU A-HASS!!” Your abdominal muscles were too weak to sit up and fight him off, so you opted to continue yanking on your foot while he continued to prey on your resolve. At last, he relented, releasing your foot with a chuckle. You scrambled to retract your legs close to your body, hugging your knees to your chest as you stuck your tongue out flippantly at your companion.

“I’m quite surprised it took this long for me to learn of this,” Loki remarked. “You seem to be more ticklish than the average mortal.”

“Am not,” you muttered grumpily. Although, it was difficult to even pretend you were truly annoyed. This little bout of playfulness was a nice distraction from all the fighting you’d done earlier. And you did trust Loki. You knew he would never take things too far if you genuinely got upset with him for it.

“I’m not sure you can debate that point, dear. I’ve known countless mortals in my many years of existence, and arguably, you are indeed more ticklish than any of them.”

“Ah, so you make it a habit to go around tickling people? You know, some might find that to be kind of creepy,” you jested, smirking. He narrowed his eyes mischievously.

“Certainly not strangers, dear. I’ve had my fair share of Midgardian relationships, both friends and lovers.”

“Ew.” You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of that thought. “Now that’s an image I don’t need in my head.”

Loki sat up straighter, giving you a warning look. “What image, pray tell?”

“You with your many Midgardian lovers. How many of those have you had? Wait… actually, don’t tell me.”

“I’ll have you know that I have very high standards,” he retorted. “Most Midgardians don’t live up to them. So, to ease your mind, only a few.”

“Hmm. I’m surprised the Midgardians you took interest in were interested in you in return,” you teased. “Did they know what they were getting themselves into? Dating the God of Mischief?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Well, you and your mischievous ways… you can get on people’s nerves, you know.” You shot him a teasing wink to let him know you were joking. It didn’t seem to make a difference – you’d already sealed your fate.

“Oh, really?” Loki suddenly lunged across the sofa, wrapping his arms around your waist and dragging you back against his chest. “Let’s see how annoying I can be then, hmm?”

“L-Loki, wait a minute – NOHO!!” His fingertips dug into your ribs, and you exploded with desperate laughter. A laugh rumbled in his chest against your back, clearly amused by how easily he’d driven you to hysterics.

“Is this annoying enough for you, darling?” He discovered a spot closer to your back where you began to squirm harder to fight for your escape, only resulting in his scratching deeper and faster into the spot. The damned god was ruthlessly precise in his attack, too perceptive for his own good. You curled your knees up to your chest, as though that might stop him, but he was just unrelenting as he exploited that wretched spot.

“L-LO-HO-KI ANYWHERE EHELSE GOHOHOD!!” you begged frantically.

“Hmm, but I quite like this spot, actually.” He lightened his touch, grazing his fingertips rapidly but gently along the backs of your ribs. Your legs kicked out helplessly, heels beating into the sofa cushion to distract yourself from the horrifically ticklish sensation. Just as you thought you might be able to block some of it out after growing used to it, his hands darted up under your arms, eight fingers clawing into the softest part of your armpits.

“AAGH!! LOHOKI YOU’RE A PEST!!” you hollered through your laughter.

“Oh, I don’t think so. This is being a pest.” His thumbs dug into your collarbones, a spot where you didn’t even know you were ticklish, but gods was it bad. Laughing evilly in your ear, he continued his assault under your arms while kneading circles into the muscles right below your collarbones. You threw your head back against his shoulder, dissolving into near-silent, breathy laughter. Recognizing you’d had enough, he finally showed you some mercy, releasing his hold on you.

You leaned heavily into his chest for a moment, hiccupping as you caught your breath. When you finally started regaining some strength in your core muscles, you sat up and smoothed your hair down, turning to glare playfully at the mischievous god.

“I missed half the movie,” you grumbled. “Now we have to rewind it.”

Loki sighed defeatedly. “I suppose I owe you that much.” He handed you the TV remote so you could back the film up to the last part you recalled paying attention to. You scooted back over to your side of the sofa, rotating to place your feet on the cushions, but not anywhere near your trickster friend. He chuckled warmly at you. “I promise you, I’m done tormenting you tonight.”

“You say that as though you’re going to do it again another day.”

“Oh, darling, that goes without saying,” he confirmed, smirking as your face warmed. “But I’ve already sat through nearly the entire movie once and had to restart midway through. Believe me, I’m not making that mistake again.”

You let out a huff of a breath through your nose, turning to watch the television. Suddenly, you yelped as you felt a cool hand wrap around your ankle, pulling it back toward Loki’s side.

“HEY! You promised!” you disputed, tugging on your leg. He held fast, resting your foot in his lap.

“Relax, darling. I did promise.” He got to work kneading his fingers firmly into your sole, and you melted reluctantly under his kind touch.

“Well… alright. I’ll allow it. But the moment you tickle me again, I’m going to sit on the chair over there,” you warned, a smile forcing its way onto your face.

“Understood. Now, watch your movie. I won’t rewind it again.”

He kept his promise, working out the tension in your feet until you’d nearly fallen asleep on the sofa. You missed the last twenty minutes of the film in your half-asleep stupor, but you didn’t mind. You’d seen the movie a hundred times before.

A distant part of your mind remembered Loki scooping you up in his arms and carrying you to your room, setting you carefully down in your bed and pulling the covers up to your shoulders. You stirred long enough to turn on your side and look at him, a sleepy smirk crossing your face.

“You gonna give me a kiss goodnight?” you slurred teasingly. A deep laugh rolled in his chest.

“What would I do without a cheeky friend like you?”

“Mm… your life would be a hell of a lot more boring.”

“That it would.” He flicked off the light at your bedside, bidding you goodnight as he left your apartment to head home. Sleep came easily for you that night, knowing that Loki would protect you with his life. You’d never take that for granted again.

#ticklish!reader #tickle fluff #loki tickle #tickle fic #marvel tickle #loki x gender neutral reader #loki x reader #loki x you #best friend Loki

190 notes · View notes

thisbluespirit · 2 years ago

Note

Sapphire, Silver and Steel for the character meme, please.

Oh and Harry & Ruth, too, if you feel like it! 💙

Thank you! <3

1. Who would you rather swap aesthetics/outfits with for a day?

Okay, well, this time I'll have the sparkly waistcoat!!

2. Who do you team up with in a 2v2 volleyball match? Which side wins?

Silver. I suspect that Sapphire and Steel will win in this (obviously life or death) game, but who else?

3. If each of them got one million dollars, who would waste/spend their money the fastest?

They are all looking at this question. It does not apply to them.

However, if for some reason they had to dispose of 1 million dollars each because it was, maybe, Evil Money, Silver would be fastest, because that's Silver's nature. More confetti!

4. Who would die first in a horror movie? Who would be the survivor?

Silver. Sapphire and Steel would both survive. To be honest, all three of them would probably make it. They exist in permanent horror movie land and they're all still around. Even after things we shan't mention, they were still surviving.

5. They're all on the run from the law! What crimes did each commit and who is most likely to get caught?

lol. Again, not applicable, and none of them will be caught unless they want to be caught or it somehow happens temporarily because time has sort of made people think they've committed crimes in the middle of an assignment.

Crimes are something they leave to humans. If they committed a crime by their standards, they'd be on the other side, and all three of them have personally turned that proposition down already.

For Harry & Ruth:

1. You have to choose one to erase from their series! Who do you pick?

Look, if I pick Ruth, I'm not watching any more. If I pick Harry, there probably is no Spooks anyway. I'll pick Harry because I feel sure somehow he'd come back. Ruth would manage it at any cost, even without memory of him. She just would.

2. Who would you rather run into in a dark alley at night?

Ruth Evershed! At least there are significantly better odds on my not being assassinated next.

3. Who would you save from a burning building? Who would be more likely to save you from a burning building?

Ruth! I mean, if Harry wasn't there already. And for the other way around, Harry, I think, probably? He was once a field officer.

Mind you, it's Spooks. The odds are I'd probably burn to death tragically in the bomb that detonated before they could stop it.

4. Who would win in a dance-off?

Good question. This is a scenario they would avoid, but I feel Harry would win. But you never know with Ruth. She has hidden depths, likes performing and it doesn't pay to underestimate her.

Best to just enter a dancing competition undercover as partners and stay in via spy tricks.

5. They swap bodies for 24 hours! How badly do they mess up (or improve) each other's lives?

Ruth would probably pull off a reasonably good Harry impression for a day, although she would look at loads of Eyes Only documents she shouldn't be looking at, and she would have to go through a full half hour of panicking first. If she had to make the tough decisions, I think she'd actually be much better than usual, because she likes acting, so once in character as 'Harry' she'd probably just go for it, but it could go either way. Could be fine, could be the end of the world.

Harry OTOH would struggle with not being able to bark orders at people without everyone staring, everyone expecting him to be the sympathetic one and being supposed to know how all the computer systems work, and he's better at dry wit and assassinating his enemies than doing the weekly round up report.

Ruth would have to cover for him a lot.

Alternatively, they just come in, carry on with their respective usual roles while looking like each other and let the rest of Section D worry about what the hell is going on and then tell them all it was a psych test, and at least one of them failed.

However it goes, I don't think anybody's life is improved.

#replies #character ask meme #sapphire #silver #steel #pers-books #asks #harry pearce #ruth evershed

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cornerofhell · 3 years ago

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A merry Christmas from the Rays

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

It was a cold Christmas Eve as the Ray family sat upon their family couch.

The tree shined bright in the corner, covered in an assortment of bought and homemade ornaments (some looking like the shape of organs if you looked close enough), everyone’s stockings hung right by the fireplace, awaiting for the big man in red to fill them with goodies (though only two members of the family believed in him at the time) and they all had just finished a good ol’ meal of Chinese takeout.

A six year old Glenda sat upon their father’s lap as Glen sat in their mother’s, Chucky’s arm hung around Tiffany’s shoulders as her arm wrapped around fifteenth year olds Bonny, Kandy, and CJ as they all sat tucked beneath a big ol’ blanket to keep warm.

Upon the TV was Home Alone, a classic. It was the last one for the night, since they’d already watched Rudolph, Polar Express, and such and it was late enough already.

They were at the point where Kevin’s family had come home and Chucky rolled his eyes in reply to it.

“And they have no idea that the house had been broken into? Bull-fuckin’-shit. That house would have been covered in blood. Or at least cops to check.”

“Well half the things in here would have killed them Chucky, I really don’t think they’re running on logic.” Tiffany replied, smiling a little at her husband’s pick

The family watched the movie end with its’ happily ever after and credits and soon they all began to stretch and rise to go to bed, well, except for Chucky and Tiffany. _________

An hour later, the two had finally placed the final wrapped gift beneath the tree, Tiffany fixing the nametag with a grin.

As she did so, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and slowly pulled her up to where her back was pressing against her husband’s chest.

“Now... how about Chucky Claus unwraps his own Christmas present upstairs?” The man gave a sly smirk, his head resting upon her shoulder.

“Not until Christmas. Don’t you know the rules Santa?” Tiffany teased, leaning in to the touch of her husband.

Chucky opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of footsteps caused him to shut it and flick his eyes towards the stairs.

The two quickly pulled away and looked to see Glen and Glenda coming down, both equally tired and rubbing their eyes.

Before either parent could tell them to turn around, they’d already set their eyes upon Chucky, Tiffany, and the presents.

“B-babies! You just missed Santa Claus! Right honey?” Tiffany’s eyes shot towards her husband, almost begging him to go with it.

“Uh yeah! Big guy just uh... flew off!” Chucky nodded, gesturing over his shoulder.

But the twins seemed... fine. They weren’t crying, or sad, or even buying what their parents were saying. And with a few words from Glen, Chucky and Tiffany knew why.

“It’s okay daddy. We know Santa’s not real. We were just thirsty.”

Chucky and Tiffany both froze. Tiffany’s face grew into one of sadness and hurt, while Chucky’s had one of shock and confusion.

“How the hell do you--” “CHUCKY!” Tiffany smacked his arm a little.

Glenda shrugged. “He never came when we were with Psyches. And Psyches told us too. ”

The two murderers both shared a look over the name ‘Psyches’, but Tiffany still held out hope.

“What about your brother and sisters? They believed, right?” She put on a smile.

Glen nodded a little. “Yeah... But they kinda gave up when they figured out that the only time they’d gotten presents were when they were living with you.”

Tiffany’s smile melted off her face and was replaced with tears.

Chucky stared at his children downstaris, then his eyes looked towards upstairs where his older children slept. He thought for a second before he took in a breath, before leaning down to his children’s height.

“Maybe uh.... Santa got fucked up. How was he supposed to know about you when Psyches, one of the most naughty guys ever was with ya? Maybe he wondered why a whole lotta presents for some awesome kids was going to a huge dickhead.”

Glen and Glenda stared at their father in confusion. “But he’s supposed to know who’s naughty and nice.”

“Well maybe there’s a mixup. He’s an old guy. Cut the fucker a break.” Chucky shrugged casually.

Tiffany stared at her husband in shock and slight awe, a smile on her lips as she watched.

The twins looked to each other, then back at their father. “Are you sure, daddy?” Glenda’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Chucky rolled his eyes. “Sure i’m sure! In fact, I’ll call the bastard and tell him turn his ass around and to get your presents right now!”

Glen and Glenda both gasped. “Really daddy? And Bonny, Kandy, and CJ’s too?” Glen questioned.

“Yep. Now go get your water and get back to bed or he won’t-” Before Chucky could finish, the two hugged him and quickly ran to the kitchen to get some water.

In a flash they were back out, chugging their water and heading up. “Thanks daddy!!!” Glenda called as they disappeared to their room.

Chucky smiled a little before he was suddenly turned around and kissed by his wife.

Tiffany pulled away, leaning her forehead against his, causing the usual sour man to crack a smile. “Do you want me to go get some more presents or..”

Chucky shrugged. “i got it.” And he went to go get his coat before his wife grabbed him. “Wait! Idea!”

----- The next morning.....

“WOW! MORE PRESENTS AND A PUPPY!!!!! THANK YOU SANTA!”

#childs play #child's play #chiffany oc #Chiffany #merry christmas #horrormovies #charles lee ray #Tiffany Ray #tiffany valentine #glenda ray #glen ray #glenandglenda #Bonny Elizabeth Ray #cj ray #kandy angelica ray #seed of chucky #brideofchucky

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nedlittle · 3 years ago

Note

thoughts on twilight

this has been fermenting in my inbox because i saw it and immediately got into a spirited debate with my best friend over the correct ranking of the twilight films (my answer is: twilight/breaking dawn pt 2/new moon/breaking dawn pt. 1/eclipse. my best friend was trying to argue that new moon is the worst but the soundtrack fucks so supremely it saves it from the slush pile). anyway. being a twilight girl (gn) from approx. grades 5-8 was the great equalizer. it crossed boundaries. you found your most unlikely comrades in the foxholes of the twilight trenches discussing how breaking dawn would end in between subjects. it was like what i imagine model un is like. there were at least two other people in my class aside from myself who got alice's haircut (which i do think is genuinely quite cute but the thing is we were all pudgy-faced 6th graders so it was not the most flattering of haircuts. whoever is responsible for alice's hair in bdpt1 i will hunt you for sport). i would sit on my kitchen floor rereading those damn books like i was possessed and i think eclipse was my favourite but don't quote me. the only two movies i saw in theatres were the og and new moon and the memory of rolling my eyes whenever jacob took his shirt off is burned into my psyche. i continued to be repressed for more than a decade after that but to be fair i was also 12 and catholic. the first movie is a Good Movie both in that there are some solid technical elements and in that it's so funny i'm sorry. in uni my roommates and i watched all the films back to back for the first time and we were so emotionally strung out by the absolute roller coaster of emotions we experienced over the course of 10 hours that we all genuinely started sobbing our goddamn eyes out during the final battle/vision and then cried again when literally every single character is given their due in the credits bc it's just really sweet :'). then my parents stopped by for a visit like half an hour later and we were like hello. we are all normal. also the composers on those films were absolutely STACKED??? carter burwell twilight/breaking dawn both parts alexandre desplat new moon goddamn HOWARD SHORE for ECLIPSE??? howard why did you score the WORST one??? the soundtracks ripped. they had no reason being as good as they were. the last two were shot by gdt collaborator guillermo navarro and it SHOWS they look FANTASTIC. by the last two everything genuinely was camp. i think engaging with twilight in the year 2022 is a bit different than engaging with...y'know bc smeyer isn't actively on twitter like i think all trans people should be forcibly detransitioned and then burned at the stake you guys wanna see how much i can hate minorities but then there is the whole vampirism makes you white & indigenous people are literally animals i'm gonna make billions off a racist misappropriation of your tribe while you get nothing thing. i mean it's a case of Use Your Brain While Critically Engaging With Media but if you've spend actual money on something twilight-related in the past like. three years. why? pirate that shit. at least donate the same amount to the quiluete higher ground fund sidenote did you know that quiluete is one of only a handful of languages that doesn't have nasal vowels? that's neat. billy burke charlie swan performance of a lifetime. seth and leah clearwater best characters.

i got this ask before the mcr twilight show in washington happened and i just have to restate. "i want to watch you turn into a werewolf" on the drum. coming back for the encore in a team edward shirt (WHERE DID IT COME FROM. I DESPERATELY NEED TO KNOW THE PROVENANCE OF THIS PARTICULAR ITEM OF CLOTHING) simping for rpattz in the batman into your song about being asked to write a song for one of the twilight movies and saying Fuck No into the first paragraph of interview with the vampire read into the vocal distorter into your biggest banger also about vampires into the final song of the night and arguably your saddest which is about dying of cancer. thanks for coming to the show glad you enjoyed the double vampire encore now think about your own mortality.

those are my thoughts on twilight :^)

#long post #jeynepoole #answered #this unlocked something in me. as you can tell #fully did not check to see if this is coherent i know it isn't i just sat down and typed until i ran out of things to say #my firefox window rn is just like. tumblr. two job postings. 32 wikipedia entries abt various synagogues. the quiluete language #(i've been looking up various Massive and Beautiful religious buildings since last night i've already done churches & mosques)

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rantingofasmallorganism · 2 years ago

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February 6th 2023: Birthday Bashes, Possible Promotions, and Creating Controlled Chaos

Dear endless void that is the internet, so much for posting once a week huh.

It’s been 12 days since I posted and much has happened in those days. This past weekend I went to the keys to celebrate my best friend's birthday, we have this little “not so private” beach we go to when we visit the upper keys and we spent the day inebriated, swimming, and eating. Of course, cause underage drinking is frowned upon by the law, we hid our drinks in our reusable Starbucks cups and called it a day. Personally, I used strawberry acai with lemonade mixed with Alani Nu Breezberry and watermelon-flavored malibu.

Now, before I disclose the following information, I feel the need to mention that the drinking took place from around 10:30 in the morning till about 2 in the afternoon. Also, I had eaten before drinking and stopped before I had lunch. So throughout three and a half hours, I consumed about thirteen ounces of malibu on my own along with some sips of soju.|

We had lunch at this small burger place called M.E.A.T eatery and taproom. What made us decide to spend our money here wasn't a photo of the food or even the fact it was featured on "diners, drive-in, and dives", but a shirt we saw on Instagram that said, "You can't beat our meat."

Now I am an adult turning 20 in late March. I make monthly car payments and insurance payments ahead of time. In addition to this, I am a full-time student and work almost full time and am in line to get a promotion. I'd say I am responsible. However, there is a little part of me that I can only describe as a 14-year-old boy who has to laugh at things like that. "You can't beat our meat." God damn was the right. Those burgers were so good. On top of that their smoked potato salad has me drooling just thinking about them.

Overall we had a blast, we donned cowboy hats and played country music and what my cousin likes to call "old white people music". This consists of music such as that of Jimmy Buffets' "Margaritaville". We got back to my cousin's house, and dinned on pizza, soda, and slutty brownies while watching "Crazy Rich Asians". To say I love that movie is an understatement. It was a fucking masterpiece. Just absolute gold. From the script to casting to costume and set design. A solid ten out of ten.

Now today has been crazy. I woke up late and missed my first class, what a fucking joy, my only other class for today is my journalism class. This, my dear void, is where I sit and type up what you're reading. This is funny because we are on the topic of different media formats and my professor mentioned blogs and social media. She asked who has a blog and I raised my hand. Technically I have two, this one and another one on this same hell site but It's a fanfiction blog. She asked how many followers and what type of blog.

Did I answer honestly?

Of fucking course I didn't, at least not completely.

I said it's a blog where I test different concepts I want to write on and different writing styles and that I had somewhere between 900 and 1000 followers. Which is all true. What I left out was that it is a fanfiction blog mainly catering to the shows supernatural, sherlock, and marvel. I am a junior in college majoring in psych and pre-med. I do not need my cohort to learn that I am a fanfiction writer. It's not something I am ashamed of, but I know the jokes (usually are made lovingly) would never end, and that not what I need.

Some might think "pre-med and psych? Why are you taking a journalism class?" A shocker for many people (including my father), people actually have hobbies. Mine is writing. So I like to learn of all forms and styles. Creative writing, journalism, creative writing, academic research. I want to know all of it and everything that there is to know. I've published a book, won writing contests, and still run a blog, and post my ramblings onto this public forum as if it's a private diary as a way to vent. To say I like writing is an understatement. Speaking of liking things and hobbies. I like...No. I love variety. I had to rinse and repeat and I love the spontaneity of life. I also need to keep to a routine so I don't spiral out of controll and lose track of life. Recently, I've felt almost that my life has become stagnant again. I cannot put words to the way I hate stagnation.

Yes, I know people need to rest after making progress to recharge and restock energy and resources before continuing on tackling long-term goals. But I hate to stay still for too long. Usually, I need to do something small to change up my day and its scratches the ich until I find my next footing. This time it wasn't as simple as changing the scenery while doing my homework. I almost impulsively went for a walk in the forest area near my house.

Is this the type of activity that causes a person to die in a horror movie?

Yes.

Was I aware of this?

Yes

Did I do it?

Why?

I got a call from my boss.

For the past year or so I have been trying to become a shift manager at my job. Not only for the five-dollar pay raise but also due to the fact it would look great on my resume and offer me experience that would do me good in the long-term future.

It got to the point where I've been frustrated with my job. I've been trying to move up the ladder and haven't gotten anywhere but getting fewer hours. Granted it has been the slow season for our industry and job but still. It's aggravating.

Then an angel shines down upon me and stops me from being a stereotypical dumbass horror movie character and my phone rings. My manager tells me about the opening, how to apply, and what the application and interview process looks like. Any idea of venturing into a body of woods by myself evaporated faster than it spawned and I applied to the position as fast as possible.

Now the chaos I've been looking for. The new energy flow in my life. Trying to land that position. Aside from trying to get straight A's this semester and taking a break during the summer, now I have this. Especially since I'm taking almost four months off from school and have open availability with my job. At 20 an hour, for a 60-hour paycheck, I'll make more than my monthly expenses. I'll make more in that paycheck than I do currently in a month.

I have earned this promotion, I've busted my ass and done anything and everything I can short of trying to seduce the higher-ups, and I set standards in life that prevent me from doing so.

Now I depart from this post and I am off to use the restroom and head home as my professor is ending class. Have a great day and stay safe. Till next time.

-your blogger

#free write #diary entry #diaryposting #online diary #personal diary #online #ranting

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ppersonna · 5 years ago

Text

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float? - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic. this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot. i think it flows better that way! i hope you enjoy this. this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on. this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions. while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong. Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware. The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day? He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved. Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs. He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other. Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed. Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released? Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better? Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built. He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled.

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here. I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all. “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.” She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely. Words wouldn’t fix the wounds. She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed. The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.” Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured. Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money? He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved. He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived. It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet. Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes. It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat. “Happy for you. I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words. Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously. “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much. I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed. Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar. You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him. I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack. Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone. He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly. You stole a look back at him, at his words.

“Yoongi, you need to see someone. You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay. I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed. He was thin, so sickly thin. While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks. His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.” All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed. Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets. Yoongi’s body was trembling. He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan. He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.” There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized. The kiss was slow, gentle. You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own. Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans. This wasn’t passionate or steamy. It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.

He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him. He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging. Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent. You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You never felt more complete. The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow. The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off. His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point. Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again. He felt alive.

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain. He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close. Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him. Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man. Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features. Fuck.

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him. He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness. Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals. There was crying. There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning. He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time. Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie. He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend. He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him. Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T. He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction. He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in. He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother. He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers. She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy. You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension. He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones. Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud. “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped. “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him. You were proud. Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay. It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation. He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had. He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his. He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances. This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative. Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself. Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you. Yoongi loved himself, as he was. Broken and healing. Addicted and sober. Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety. Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you. He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain. Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried. Jesus, he cried so much. He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks. The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy. He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts. You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it. Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had.

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no? He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees. Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good. You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering. You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face. No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago. No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most. The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most. Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have. I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess. So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue. He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly. Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over. It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself. You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.

You were his, again. He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love. All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby. You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself. Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.” He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love. Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together. Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun. Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed. You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed. You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly. Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7. He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything. Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation. Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful. Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself. Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief. Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside. Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #hyungsmutsociety #btswriterscollective #minthlynet #heartsforbts #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #agust d #bts agust d #bts suga #suga

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bluetomorrows · 3 years ago

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Going Through My Movies Part 5: Burning (2018)

What. The. Fuck. Did I just watch?

Anyways I also watched High Diving Hare. Rather than showing off one joke and just building and expanding on it like our last short, this is more so concerned about how many different ways you can do one gag, in this case Bugs tricking Yosemite Sam to jump off the high dive into the bucket of water. And credit to them they do that gag in everyway possible. I will say it loses a little bit of the magic when the punchline is never unexpected, but this was still very fun.

You could say this movie is a slow burn

ba dum tish

In a way Burning is a movie about nothing. It's hard to argue that any of the characters go through big dramatic changes through an arc, the most you could argue is that things they repress are brought to the surface.

Even though again not much really happens in this 2 and a half hour movie, let me try and give you the premise anyways. Lee Jong-su is a loser. He has no friends, no girlfriend, he hasn't seen his mother and sister in many years, and his father is on trial for assault. He has no direction in his life. He wants to be a writer but he fails to think of any ideas for his book (Despite people around him suggesting that he base a book on other people in his life). He reunites with a girl he knew when he was younger Shin Hae-mi, and they start a kind of relationship before she goes on vacation to Africa. When she returns she has become friends with a man named Ben, a mysterious stranger whom both Jong-su and the audience get bad vibes from. While Jong-su becomes jealous of Ben and Hae-mi's relationship, we get a deeper insight into all 3 of their psyches, although Ben likes to keep his secrets, he eventually reveals to Jong-su that he likes to burn down greenhouses for fun, and he plans to do it again soon nearby. Soon after Hae-mi disappears and Jong-su becomes more obsessed with Ben.

Okay, I think I explained it well enough. That wasn't just for your sake mind you, I wanted to get it all straight in my head too. The world of Burning is very slow and very unremarkable. Jong-su desperately wants anything to shake up his life. He thinks Hae-mi is that thing. Some people have accused her of being a manic pixie dream girl which is incredibly dumb and comes from a fundamental misunderstanding of the movie. Hae-mi is only a manic pixie dream girl in Jong-su's mind. In reality, she's a completely normal average person with flaws like the rest of us. Burning is a reflection on the type of masculinity that makes men create manic pixie dream girls (God I hate that term) in their minds.

Steven Yeun as Ben is fantastic in this movie. I loved him in Invincible and he's quite good in one of my favourite films of all time, Sorry to Bother You. In both of those, he's a nice well-meaning, if flawed guy, but here he goes full American Psycho. He's a guy where if you just met him once or twice you probably wouldn't think anything is off, hell you'd probably like him, but IF he lets you pull back the layers you come to realize how screwed up he really is. Not in a Jeffrey Dahmer way, much more subtly than that. Steven Yeun carries it all, it would not work at all without his performance.

Burning is a psychological drama where the audience themselves are the ones who have to work to delve into the character's psyche. I have no doubt that behind the scenes there are dozens of reference pages thoroughly explaining each character, but the movie will never directly show you any of it. It's not so much about the characters, but rather the idea of the characters that we have in our minds and that's really interesting.

On top of all of that, this movie is also shot absolutely gorgeously. Excellent use of colour; it knows exactly when to heighten things with the cinematography and when to keep them grounded. The soundtrack ain't too bad either.

Burning is a movie that thrives in it's ambiguity. The mystery of everyday life, even if that mystery is manufactured. In a way it's about the quiet tragedy of day to day life, how humans won't ever be satisfied. It's not quite like anything I've seen before, it makes me want to go check out Lee Chang-dong's other films, I know Secret Sunshine has a Criterion so I'll have to pick it up in the next sale.

Really enjoyed this one. I gave it an 8/10, closer to a 9 than a 7. I know after all that glowing praise you might expect a 10/10, but I think in some ways the elements here I do like could be expanded upon to fill up the negative space of the story. I get why there's some repetition in this movie but I think they could present it in a better way.

Next up in my collection is The Cranes Are Flying by Mikhail Kalatozov. A movie I know very little about but have heard it is really great.

See ya when I see ya.

#burning #korea #korean film #lee chang dong #bugs bunny #looney tunes #yosemite sam #cartoon #review #film #arthouse #steven yeun

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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

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Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?"

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!" Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now. Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all, Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

#levihan #levihan fanfiction

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