#ff revisited

[1driedpersimmon]

Hey have some gay, good night

[koqabear]

Hiii congrats on 2k sol obsessed with everything you write!!!!💓 Could I request revisiting emo boy? Like what their relationship is like after and dates and how sex is like? Maybe beomgyu’s band really blows up and he’s quite busy, how does oc respond to this? And with smut? Tysm!!💝

playlist // beomgyu's encore outfit hehe // cont. of hey emo boy!

 “The day of your one-year anniversary with Beomgyu was expected to be spent away from each other— but not if either of you can help it, far too in love to let anything get in the way of you two.”

bassist!beomgyu x fem!reader // wc: 6.6K (everyone stfu rn) // genre: band au, opposites attract trope, established relationship, smut, tooth rotting fluff tbh, MDNI.

warnings: they are in love and it’s fucking GROSS!! barely edited, the two have hella piercings hehe (bg: snake bites, tongue, eyebrow // mc: smiley & nipple piercings) pet names (sweet thing, pretty, etc.) use of the L word bc they are literally obsessed w/ each other.

smut warnings: hard dom! gyu, sub!mc, needy sex sorry 😖, marking, manhandling, dry humping, biting, breast play, possessiveness, unprotected sex, bg picks the mc up, scratching, dacryphilia, dumbification, a lot of kissing lol, degrading, slight praise, fingering, creampie, cum eating…? lmk if i should add anything !

Notes: happy (late) birthday to the fic that’s probably my peak… this story single handedly changed the course of my blog me thinks. thank you to everyone who was just as affected by emo gyu as i was. 

Being in a committed relationship with Choi Beomgyu, bassist of Tomorrow x Together and an absolute unattainable heartthrob, was not very easy. 

It was at first; with their blossoming career, it was more about the music than their looks. Fans were loyal simply because they liked their sound, their message, the way their concerts were filled with such energy and passion it left their hearts beating with adrenaline after— but of course, it’s hard to not notice the absolute eye candy on stage; low-lidded gazes, dark stage lights that barely highlighted their stunning features, and clothing that was just as alluring and flattering as the rest of them; inevitably, their popularity sky-rocketed, for better and for worse. 

Beomgyu was left with more money than he knew what to do with. Most of the time, it was used to spoil you, his pretty girlfriend he brought with him everywhere because he was just too obsessed with you— it made his band members wonder if he simply had attachment issues by how much his world revolved around you. But no, you were just as bad as him; present during rehearsals, always in the studio to cheer them on or give them a second opinion on a new song; it wasn’t long before you ended up befriending the rest of them as well, a tight bond forming simply because of all the things you went through together. 

As unfortunate as it was, they weren’t the only ones forced to bear with negative and hateful encounters from the public; while they had their experiences of being mistreated early in their career, you had to deal with immature or creepy fans that had taken a liking to harass you— inboxes on all social media platforms flooded constantly, your number even leaked once as you were forced to buy a new phone all together from how badly you were being spammed— Beomgyu had been quick to lash out and tell them to leave you alone if they didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands. 

Overtime, they adjusted to their popularity. Schedules slowly became filled to the brim, their dream now a reality as they spent months on tour— and while you were more than happy and proud of them and their flourishing career, it’d be a lie to say it was all one happy and perfect life. 

You hadn’t seen Beomgyu in ages— decades, centuries, eons— in other words, two weeks. 

The band had more interviews and performances than you could keep up with; if they weren’t on some random talk show, they were at a photoshoot, getting interviewed for the next issue of a magazine you’d undoubtedly have on your coffee table the day it came out. Promotions, nights at the studio, it all added up— and before you knew it, your one year anniversary began to creep up, and all hopes to celebrate it properly dwindled down in your heart— but, having him here with you today was enough. 

You didn’t blame Beomgyu; you weren’t angry or upset, because it was simply something neither of you could control. And though it did suck knowing you wouldn’t be able to spend such a meaningful day together, it felt a little better to know that you weren’t the only one hung up on it. 

On the contrary— you think Beomgyu might be handling this worse than you. 

“Baby, baby please,” he cries, refusing to let go of you and cuddling closer to you instead, a mess of tangled limbs and blankets as he cups your face fondly, “pleaaase I know you said I shouldn’t feel bad but please come on tour with us this week, I think I’ll seriously die if you’re not here this time.”

“Gyu, baby, I really shouldn’t—” you say quietly, only to get cut off by his excessive whining and teary eyes. His bottom lip is jutted out in a ridiculous pout, squeezing your cheeks and holding back a smile at the way your lips puff out as a result; you attempt to push him off you, only for him to retaliate by rolling entirely on top of you, a loud squeal escaping you at the feeling of his weight pressing you into the mattress, his stupid face hovering over yours as he continues to plead you quietly. 

“Pleaaseee?” he whines, pressing his flat palms against your cheeks and getting your lips to puff out again; he ignores your half-hearted protests for him to get the fuck off, choosing to punctuate his every word with a kiss instead, his piercings a sharp contrast to his plump lips that crash against you with every word. 

“Please?” kiss. “Won’t you,” kiss. “come with us?” another kiss. 

“Please. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—” 

He’s practically suffocating you at this point, refusing to pull away and mumbling the words against your lips, laughs breaking between the two of you as you yell at him to get off, that you can barely breathe with him on top of you; you’re pushing at his shoulders weakly as he continues to tease you, your unabashed laugh contagious as he quickly finds himself smiling as well— he only pulls away once he hears you yell a loud fuck, okay! Hovering over you with bright eyes and a wide grin. 

His arms snake around your waist before he’s rolling over, successfully switching so that you’re the one on top of him— he ignores the loud and exaggerated sigh of relief you let out. 

“It won’t make much of a difference though,” you say quietly, hiding in the crook of his neck as you confess your doubts, “You’ll be too busy and exhausted the whole day, I really don’t want me to be added to your list of concerns.”

You went on tour with him, once— but you learned it was better off to not be anywhere backstage with him during those times, the boy too concerned and constantly doting on you to remain focused; any mistakes he made hitting much harder, a subconscious pressure to be perfect and give his all only trifolded by your presence.

“What? No,” he says immediately, sitting back on his elbows and causing you to look up at him in response; his brows are furrowed and he seems a bit baffled by your comment, shaking his head adamantly to emphasize his point, “I like having you there. I know you like being there, I want you there— I wouldn’t be asking you to come with me if I thought you were a burden.”

He managed to pull out the exact words you were trying to skirt around— your face heats up at his reassurance, much too intimidated by the intensity of his gaze as you bury your face into his chest instead; his chest bounces from the laugh he lets out, flopping onto his back once more and hugging you close, bodies pressed flush against each other and one of his legs thrown around your waist in a childish attempt to pull you even closer. 

“Plus, don’t you wanna visit Europe with me?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice as he feels you nod shyly; he knows just how much you enjoy the travel aspect to his career, constantly asking for pictures or to facetime while he’s gone, “I wanna show you all my favorite spots this time, and not through some glitchy facetime— I wanna spend time with you, sweet thing.”

“Ugh, shut up,” you groan, hitting his chest weakly as he simply laughs at you softly, “you’re so corny.”

“You love it,” he coos, rubbing a soothing hand up and down your back, biting back a smile at the way he can feel your breath even out— you remain silent. Partly because you’re falling asleep from his touch, and partly because he’s right. 

⤬⤬⤬ 

Europe is breathtaking— you’ve never been so grateful for Beomgyu’s stubborn, persistent mind. 

The tour has gone as perfect as always, spending a few days at their shows before you simply resigned to stay at the hotel instead; after seeing that Beomgyu was so distracted trying to look for you during a show that he missed his cue (and played the notes wrong to another song) you found it better to wait for him and see him after instead— ready to help him wind down and relax after another energetic, adrenaline-inducing show. 

Most nights consisted of you practically carrying him to the bathtub; cooing soft reassurance as he whined about how tired and sore he felt, shampooing his hair, massaging his scalp and tense shoulders— most of the time, he’d fall asleep then and there, and it’d be another hassle to wake him up and get him out. You’d lure him out of the tub and wait for him to change into your matching pajamas— hello kitty ones, his idea, not yours—  and greet him in the bed with a warm embrace and lips that peppered kisses all over his face.

It was during these moments you found humor in the contrast of his stage persona to his true self; from his usual attire, chokers and ripped clothes, wardrobe consisting of black and multiple piercings that decorated his ears and face, your thumb brushing over his newest eyebrow piercing fondly— versus the man that slept soundly in your arms now, long hair tied back and cute pink barrettes clipping back his bangs, donned in hot pink fuzzy pajamas— and you’re sure that if his band members saw him like this, they’d never stop teasing him. 

You didn’t have to wait long to confirm that thought; Beomgyu didn’t bother changing as he met up with the others in Yeonjun’s room for breakfast the next morning, tugging you along and remaining unfazed at the way his band members burst out laughing the moment he entered the room— you felt a bit bad at the way you found yourself laughing as well, even more so because you’re the only reason he’s found himself dressed like this. (But again, he was the one who bought these clothes in the first place.)

“Happy anniversary, you two,” Yeonjun muses, smiling at the way you’re the only one who seems to process that, chirping out a cheery thank you! as you proceed to drag Beomgyu to the couch, “I feel bad that we have a concert today, ___. As vomit-inducing as it is seeing you two, you do deserve to spend the day together.”

“It’s okay,” you immediately say, brushing his teasing comment off and holding back a smile at the way Beomgyu is still struggling to gain consciousness, more tired than you thought as he simply stares at his waffles for a moment before finally digging in, “at least he’s spending the day doing something he loves.”

“Gross,” Hueningkai says, scrunching his nose playfully before laughing at the glare you send him, “you two are so mushy, it’s painful.”

The rest of the day leading up to the concert is spent peacefully; once Beomgyu has gained enough coherence to fight back against the member’s jabs, he’s pulling you away to show you new sights and stores he discovered from his previous visits, spoiling you beyond belief and buying anything you look at for a second too long; you end up with more bags than you know what to do with, and Beomgyu refuses to let you carry a single one as he proceeds to take you one of his go-to restaurants, as he told you; saying he’s been wanting to bring you here since the moment he found it, smiling brightly when he sees you enjoying the food as much as he did.

To say he’s reluctant to leave you to go to the concert venue is an understatement; you think he might start crying at any given moment as he stares at you with shining eyes, unable to let go of your hand as he stands by the door of the hotel room— not quite ready to leave yet, but knowing that he must eventually as he chooses to bring you in for another slow, loving kiss instead. 

“Are you sure you’re not coming tonight?” he asks you, trying to hide the sadness in his voice and failing miserably.

“And make you fuck up your setlist? I don’t think so,” you try to joke, only to panic slightly at the way his eyes gloss over; your hand immediately jumps up to cup his face, laughing softly at his expression as he simply pouts at you ridiculously. 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you grin, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before you lean over to his ear, voice dropping to nothing but a whisper as you let your lips brush against his ear, “I’ll have a nice surprise for you tonight, so you better give your best show out there, okay?”

The low lilt of your voice is enough to have him perking up immediately; mouth parted slightly as he stares at you, unsure of what else to do but nod pathetically, knowing he won’t be able to control himself if he thinks about what you might have in store for too long. 

With one last chaste kiss, he’s leaving— and only because Soobin was pounding at the door, telling him they’d be late if he didn’t go out this instant— you think he might start crying as he gives you one last pouty glance, waving to you sadly before he slips out the door. 

You’re left alone, the room suddenly much lonelier and quieter than it was a few seconds ago— and you laugh, checking the time and running to your suitcase to get your makeup and outfit for tonight. 

A revealing shirt, a mini-skirt that’s a bit alarmingly short— you’re pulling out a sparkling, pink outfit like it’s nothing, throwing it all on and doing your makeup as you check the time absentmindedly; your phone lights up while you’re in the middle of doing so, and a notification reads that the staff are waiting for you outside to take you to the venue once you’re ready. 

Beomgyu loves performing knowing you’re in the audience more than anything; it’s something he’s made blatant to you, knowing that despite his mistakes, despite his small distractions, his energy always goes out the roof the moment he spots you there. So you knew how distraught Beomgyu would be to hear that you’re not going to the show tonight despite being able to, but the thought of surprising him is much more enticing than you’d like to admit. 

With one last check of your appearance in the mirror, you grab a jacket before you go; Beomgyu’s favorite oversized zip-up, the clothing item a stark contrast to the rest of your feminine and bright attire— and you smile, adjusting the purse on your shoulder before you’re off to the hotel lobby, where the staff are waiting and ready to escort you safely. 

The venue is almost full by the time you get there; you’re escorted straight to your barricade seats front and center, smiling shyly and waving at fans that seem to recognize you; your face feels hot and you walk faster at the way they get excited at the sight of you, not used to the fame that comes with being Beomgyu’s girlfriend— hell, you really don’t know how Beomgyu does it. 

You’re more than relieved once the concert begins, any attention that still lingered on you immediately getting stolen by the boys that appeared on stage; you winced slightly at the loud screams all around you, unable to help the way you eventually joined in— morphing into another fan in the crowd, the venue much too dark for any of the boys to recognize you just yet. 

They looked stunning in their concert outfits; the professional, matching and dark outfits tailored perfectly to each member, intricate with chains and rosaries and pretty layers. Your eyes widen as you watch Beomgyu walk to his position, taking note of his hair that has now been dyed back to black— you hadn’t realized how long it’d gotten until now, the layers framing his face and falling into his eyes as he goes to push back his bangs with a delicate hand. 

There are no introductions tonight— the music begins immediately, loud and abrasive and making the crowd jump along excitedly, screaming the lyrics and reaching out to try and get one of the members to pay attention to them— on the contrary, you try to remain hidden, looking away and bowing your head every time Beomgyu’s gaze sweeps around your area. 

God, you wish Beomgyu didn’t turn into such a ditz whenever he spotted you in the audience— because then you’d be able to enjoy more of their concerts, addicted to the borderline euphoric feeling you get from attending them, only for it to be multiplied as your eyes catch onto your boyfriend performing, your heart pounding against your chest at the sound of his voice ringing out into the venue— a surge of pride and love fills you as a grin spreads on your face, and it isn’t until you notice a member walking around that you’re able to look away from him.

Looking up, you make eye contact with Hueningkai. 

His mischievous smile and raised brows are immediately returned with a violent shake of your head; telling him to not say anything to Beomgyu, rubbing your hands together pleadingly the moment he glances back at the said man— then he turns to you, sending you a playful wink before he’s off to another section, not without sending you one last teasing grin and a wave; you’re glancing at Beomgyu in a panic, unsure if he’s spotted you, only to be relieved at the sight of him too concentrated on playing to even look up at the crowd.

It isn’t until the encore that they’ve all begun to move around, (save for Taehyun and Soobin, bound to their instruments as they’re resigned to simply wave at the crowd when they can) changed into more comfortable outfits during a small intermission— Beomgyu is decked in baggy jeans and an equally baggy shirt, long hair messy and makeup smudged as he walks along the stage, smiling and waving at fans that reach out for him— he plays his bass so effortlessly as he does, truly mesmerizing as he stops a few times to interact with fans; the sight has your heart fluttering hopelessly. 

But the closer he gets, the more you’re buzzing with nervous energy. Gripping onto the barricade tightly, having stood up long ago with the rest of the fans that are eager to get their attention. Beomgyu’s eyes scan through the crowd thoroughly, smiling cutely and returning hearts until he spots you. 

He freezes entirely. 

He’s no longer playing bass— he’s just standing there, in complete shock as he stares at you. You can only muster to give him a sheepish wave, an uncontrollable grin on your face as you laugh at his dumbfounded expression, trying to yell at him to go back to playing. But he doesn’t, and you’re jumping slightly at the way he takes off his bass and jumps off the stage, security frantically following behind as he rushes over to you.

His hands are on your face and he’s pulling you in for a kiss quicker than you can process; you hear the screams of the crowd around you, but Beomgyu’s got you in his hold so tightly that you’re unable to pull away, left to give in and melt against him as he kisses you for a little longer. Your face feels as though it’s on fire by the time he’s pulled away, his own alight entirely with joy as he grins at you, your head still in his hands as he leans against the barricade excitedly— you think he might just jump over it any moment now.

“You’re here?” he says exasperatedly, eyes scanning you frantically as though he were imagining you, “why didn’t you tell me, you should’ve— I would’ve—”

“Beomgyu,” you cut him off, placing your hands over his and laughing at the way he can only stutter stupidly, brushing his hair behind his ear fondly— watching the way his eyes crinkle cutely as he smiles, your own sweeping over the array of piercings that decorate him, hello kitty earrings glinting under the light— and pry his hands off your face, ignoring the pout he sends you as you scold him instead. “Get back on stage!”

Your words seem to snap him out of his reverie; his head is whipping back to look at the stage, at the way his friends can only laugh at him teasingly and yell at him to get back here— the way Yeonjun yells directly into the mic is slightly embarrassing, shrinking at the way all eyes are on you as the man’s words ring out the venue— Beomgyu, get the fuck back here!

He’s only able to leave with one last chaste kiss— the crowd is screaming at the sight, and you’re resisting the urge to cover your face in weak hopes that it could take all this attention off you— but you’ll bear it, especially with the way Beomgyu mouths a cute I love you! before he’s jumping back on stage. 

The poor boy is unable to take his eyes off you for the rest of the night— but on the bright side, there are no missed cues or wrong notes played. He’s just entranced with you for the rest of the encore, his energy seemingly replenished with the way he jams out to the music; mouthing the lyrics even when it’s not his part, maintaining eye-contact with you during songs he knows you’re particularly fond of— and suddenly, the idea of spending his anniversary at a concert isn’t as depressing as it was earlier tonight— because now, he had you by his side. 

⤬⤬⤬

“Beomgyu— Beomgyu please, not here…” you whine, unable to do much but bite your lip and swallow back whines that threaten to escape you, left to Beomgyu’s mercy as he immediately led you to his dressing room after the show— the said man is much too focused on kissing and marking your neck to listen, soft hair brushing against your face as he pulls you flush against him; back pressed against the wall, arched prettily from the way his hands snake around your waist and press your lower half against his— you’re holding back a groan at the way he’s already hopelessly hard against you. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be coming? Hmmm? Just wanted to be a tease? Was this your little surprise?” he asks, biting at your skin and huffing out a laugh at the whine that escapes you; your hands are gripping onto his shirt tightly, fisting it in your hands and wrinkling the material as he lets his teeth sink slightly near your collarbones, “god, you look so good tonight, you’d really expect me to be able to hold myself back?”

His hands are wandering down your waist; over the swell of your ass, fiddling with the hem of your mini-skirt before he’s venturing under it— feeling the way you shiver against him the moment his hands squeeze at the soft flesh, fingers decorated with rings cold against your skin as he comes back up to kiss you. It’s rough and desperate, lip rings scratching as he kisses you with such hunger it leaves you breathless; he grinds his cock desperately against you, eliciting a small gasp from you and allowing him to slip his tongue inside— the piercing that decorates it scrapes along your mouth, unable to help the way your knees weaken at the feeling of him— his touch is everywhere, leaving you dizzy and lightheaded as you can only melt against him, allowing him to press you flush against the wall with his own body; your miniskirt is riding up along your hips as he situates himself between your legs, panties already a mess as he begins to rut his cock into you. 

“Are you sure you want to wait now, pretty?” he asks, looking down at you with low-lidded and fucked out eyes— he punctuates his words with a particularly harsh thrust, laughing at the way you yelp and tighten your hold on him, “I could stop everything right now, send you back to the hotel like this and make you wait, just like you said— is that what you want?”

Oh, he’s cruel— even more so because you’re left shaking your head no deliriously, your mind fogged with such need that your eyes are glossing over at the very thought of not having Beomgyu inside you right now; your voice is pathetic as you plead Beomgyu to finish what he started, throwing a hand over his shoulder and entangling your fingers into his hair as you pull him back into you— he’s more than eager to return the kiss, tilting his head and pressing himself more against you as a hand reaches down to your thigh; grabbing the back of your knee, guiding you to hook it around his waist as he begins to rut into you mindlessly.

“So cute, my pretty girl,” he mumbles against your lips, eyes trailing down your low-cut top to spot his favorite zip-up, a smile tugging at his lips as he merely sends you a cute smile, “did you miss me that much? Already so needy from a little bit of kissing— god, I love you so much…”

You think he’s mostly talking to himself at this point— spewing nothing but filth as his hands shove your shirt over your chest, grinning as he remains impatient enough to not take off a single item of clothing, choosing to push tug your bra down harshly before he’s swooping down to mark your breasts with a cruel smile.

“Looked so fucking hot out there, just made me wanna take you backstage and fuck you there,” he confesses, listening to the choked whine you let out, his pierced tongue playing with your hardened nipples, leaving them swollen and sensitive. He’s looking up at you with doe eyes that contrast greatly with the way he sticks his tongue out for you, letting you watch the way he circles and toys with the cute jewelry he bought for you earlier today, pulling away with a coy smile and leaving them soaked with his spit— he blows softly on them, watching with tentative eyes as you keen at the feeling. 

“God, you know I’ve been wanting to do this every time I see you at one of our shows? To make sure that everyone that looks at you knows just who,” he rolls his hips into you, nice and slow and letting you feel the length of his cock press against you as you flutter your eyes shut from pleasure, “you’re here for?”

“Fuck, gyu,” you pant out, snaking your hands under his shirt and up his back, grabbing at his shoulders and pulling him into you— as if there’s still space between the two of you, as if you’d die if you weren’t touching him at all times, “‘m only yours, only want you…” 

He’s sneaking a hand down to move your panties to the side, the two of you much too desperate to shed off any layers— and as you listen to the clinking sounds of his belt, undoing his jeans and pulling out his hardened cock, you busy yourself by sucking and biting at his neck, listening to his stuttered breaths as you suck and tease at the joint of his neck, his most sensitive spot as you bite at it playfully— you’re only pulling away at the feeling of Beomgyu grabbing at you hair and tugging you away, letting out a baffled laugh at the satisfied look you give him in return. 

“Want everyone to know you’re mine,” you coo out softly, grinding your pussy slowly against Beomgyu’s tip that teases your entrance, your mouth falling open at the feeling of him mirroring the action, running along your folds and swiping at your clit, “all mine, my pretty boy…”

He laughs fondly against your lips at that— bringing you in for a slow kiss, feeling the way your mind goes blank the moment his tip slowing enters you; he’s swallowing a soft moan from you as he bottoms out slowly, keeping himself deep inside and grinding his hips slowly against yours— and he stays there, a tease like always as he watches your brows furrow and your lips pout, telling him softly to move, to do something.

“Mmmh, all yours,” he mumbles softly, pulling out slowly to let you feel the way every vein runs against your walls, clenching and fluttering against his length as he hisses at the feeling, “I’m yours, belong only to you, fuck…”

He’s not able to keep this agonizingly slow pace up for long— as much as he wants to tease you, to have you crying and pleading for him to fuck you stupid, he isn’t fairing that well himself— so it isn’t long before he’s beginning to snap his hips into you, cock curving and aiming for that spot that has your knees buckling, pretty nails digging into Beomgyu’s shoulders and biting at the skin in order to try to stabilize yourself.

“Such a perfect cunt— fuck, ah, just wanna fill you up, wanna see it dripping down those pretty thighs— stupid fucking skirt can’t hide anything, ugh—” his voice is deep and breathy as he continues to talk into your ear, his hands sliding down to the swell of your ass before he’s holding it there— lifting you up, forcing you to hook your legs around his waist as you’re left to his mercy; his chest is pressed flush against yours as he fucks you, and you can only bury your face into his neck to try and muffle your sounds, the rough way you bounce from his thrusts causing your nails to slip and scratch down his back— he hisses at the feeling, only to be spurred by the stinging sensation it leaves behind. 

“So loud, shit,” he laughs meanly, grinning at the way you only bury your face into him more to try and muffle your sounds, “want everyone to hear you? All the staff, the members— I’m sure they’d like to see what a pretty doll you are for me.”

You shake your head at that— but your body gives you away as your cunt clenches around him pathetically, the wet sounds of skin against skin filling the room and undoubtedly filtering outside— but you remain persistent to keep your moans to yourself, choking back on sounds of pleasure as Beomgyu only begins to fuck you rougher; your silence is a challenge, one he’ll gladly take as he begins to roll his hips into you just the way you like it. 

“Come on pretty, I wanna hear you,” he purrs into your ear, a hand snaking around to rub at your clit while the other remains firm on your ass, “don’t you feel good? I can make you feel even better— so, so so good, just let me hear your cute little sounds.”

You’re playing hard to get. And Beomgyu takes absolute pleasure in it, watching the way you shake and dig your nails into him helplessly, your body being wound up from how good he fucks you; your thighs are sticky and shining from your arousal, poorly concealed pleasure only fueling Beomgyu’s ego further as he reaches up to tug your head out from it’s hiding spot.

He thinks he might just cum on the spot; your makeup is ruined, tears of mascara running down your cheeks as you merely let out soft hiccups of moans, your lips parted and brain completely empty as you stare at him— he smiles at you in return, capturing your lips in another kiss as his hand begins to trail down; toying with your breasts, nimble fingers pinching and rolling your nipples as you jolt and whine into his mouth at the sensation. 

“Gyu— gonna— need to, ah…!” the choked whimpers you let out aren’t enough for Beomgyu, and he only slows down at your request; fresh tears stream down your cheeks as you plead softly, breathy voice barely above a whisper as you whine quietly to keep going, don’t stop, please gyu, pleeaaase…. 

“Hmm? What’s that? I can’t hear you, baby,” he murmurs softly against your lips, slowing to nothing but a grind as he presses himself against you— pelvis grinding against your clit, the feeling making you tremble as you dig your nails into his shoulders once more. “Come on sweet thing, tell me what you need.”

You’re telling him— begging, pleading, breathy whimpers and soft cries escaping you as you roll your hips into him, biting your lip and sighing exasperatedly at the way he simply watches you with dark eyes, slowing down until he’s simply bottomed out inside you. 

“What do you want?” he asks softly, breathy voice intertwined with a lilt so sweet you’d almost think he pities you— and by the way he’s looking at you, he just might, swollen lips caught between his teeth to try and suppress a smile. You’re still weak and quiet as you try to voice your wants, looking at him through wet lashes, a pout on your face as your hands run absentmindedly up and down his back.

“Wanna cum?” he coos, pretty hand reaching down to circle and pinch your clit teasingly, “Want me to fuck you? Fill you up? Hmmm?”

All you can do is nod along to his words stupidly— and obviously, it’s the very last thing your boyfriend wants, abandoning your clit and reaching up to grab your face roughly; fingers digging into your cheeks, forced to look at him as he merely glares at you and speaks through gritted teeth. 

“Tell me,” he says, voice sharp and dangerous as he narrows his eyes, “use your words— or, don’t tell me I’ve fucked you dumb already.”

He’s unhooking one of your legs from his waist at that; you’re stumbling slightly, leg too weak to let you stand as you merely cry at him to wait, bringing him closer to you in fear that he might pull out and leave you like this— his fingers still dig into your cheeks as you speak, drool building up at the corners of your pouty lips as you stutter out exactly what you want— what he wants to hear.

“Want you to fuck me, use me— wanna cum, please,” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as he shakes your head teasingly, as though to say and what else? “Want you to cum inside, baby please, just wanna feel good—”

You’re rambling at this point. But Beomgyu enjoys it nonetheless, telling you to keep going as he begins to move again; slowly at first, allowing you to feel the drag of his thick cock against your walls as your words become stuttered through weak moans, the sight making your boyfriend laugh as he slowly begins to pick up his pace. 

“Like it when I fuck you like this, yeah?” you’re nodding in confirmation to his words; staring at him with pleading eyes, whimpering a soft harder, faster, that the man is immediately obliging as he coos at the way you yelp at the sensation. “Want it harder? Hmmm? Want me to fuck you ‘till you can’t even walk—? Have to carry you out of here, let everyone see the way your sweet cunt is filled up by me?”

All you can do is nod to his words at this point; whimpering a weak yes, yesyesyes, want you to fill me up, use me, more more please—

Everything crashes down on you unexpectedly; your eyes are shutting tight and you think you might just black out as your orgasm hit you suddenly, cunt squeezing and fluttering around Beomgyu’s cock as he groans at the sensation— he lets you ride it out, cooing soft praise into your ear before he’s pulling you in for another kiss; you’re barely able to kiss him back, moaning into his mouth and letting him do whatever he wants with you.

It isn’t long before he’s cumming inside you as well; you’re so tight he can barely move, your cute whimpers and warm cunt guiding him through it as he fucks into you slowly, making sure none of his release slips out as he continues to fuck you, even after he’s become horribly sensitive. Then he’s still, lips still on yours and arms wrapped tightly around you as though he’s afraid to let you go.

“You okay?” he asks quietly after a moment, still lingering close to you, taking in your appearance with tentative eyes. You nod softly, still attempting to catch your breath as you chest heaves against his; he huffs out a soft laugh, caressing your cheek fondly before he’s going to fix your clothes— your mini-skirt remains up on your hips, his cock still bottomed out inside you as he coos about how good you were for him, caressing any skin he can get his hands on (which is a lot, considering your wardrobe) with a smile.

“Pretty girl, so perfect,” he coos, finally pulling out and tucking himself in before he’s going to fix your clothing; not without slipping his fingers inside your cunt one last time, watching with hungry eyes as you curl into him and cry that you’re sensitive— he’s only satisfied after his cum is left snug in your pussy, smiling darkly at the way he brings his fingers up to your mouth for you to clean— you do it without any hesitation, and Beomgyu swears he might just be getting hard again. 

“Love you so much, thank you for coming to see me today,” he says instead, bringing you in for a warm hug and a loving kiss; you merely hum tiredly in response, hands slipping out from his shirt only to be thrown over his shoulders leisurely.

Your face feels hot the moment he’s trying to get the two of you to leave back for the hotel— because your legs are absolutely not cooperating with you. 

“Holy shit, I was joking about that whole fuck you till you can’t walk thing,” he laughs, only to get cut of by the way you hit him in response— he’s letting out an exaggerated whimper at that, rubbing his arm and telling you sorry, sorry baby, with a cute pout.

“Ugh, I don’t want anyone to see me like this, fuck,” you mourn, only for Beomgyu to pull you into his side firmly, sending you a smile that’s not as reassuring as you wish it was. 

“I’m sure no one will notice,” he says simply, swinging the door open and immediately being met with Soobin passing by. 

He slows down at the sight of you two, glancing at your appearances briefly before he keeps walking. 

“Try to keep it down next time please,” he yells out, turning the corner and disappearing from your sight before you can retaliate. You feel slightly mortified by his words, but Beomgyu isn’t affected in the slightest as he leans over to murmur softly into your ear.

“Should we continue this at the hotel, pretty?”

You don’t answer his question. But he already knows the answer, sending you a giddy smile and intertwining his fingers with yours as he leads you to where the staff car is waiting for you two— and you hold back a smile of your own as you trail (limp, kinda) behind him. It’ll be a long night, but you couldn’t ask for a better way to spend your anniversary, no matter how unconventional it is.

[studioeisa]

the loser and lover both die at the end ꩜ yeonjun.

── .�� 💌 inspired by adam silvera's they both die at the end, major character death, alternate universe: non-idol, [heavy] angst, grief/mourning, last day on earth, platonic relationships, slice of life, [possibly] unrequited love.

── .✦ 🚏 this is the last of my non-svt/skz fanfiction for now! first published on ao3... at a time where i was admittedly very obsessed with yeonjun's watermelon sugar x blow dance cover (lol). this is thematically heavy, so please look out for yourself. it's also my first ever kpop fic (whew!) and so my writing style isn't like this anymore, but it's a good time capsule of some sorts.

── .✦ 📟 wc: 12,000+

On the day that he’s supposed to die, Choi Yeonjun learns what it means to be alive.

Choi Yeonjun was in the locker room when he got the call.

It was cruel, really. Everything had been so perfect until then. The cold noodles he had for breakfast were divine. There wasn’t any traffic on the way to the dance studio. And it took him only three hours to film his dance cover of Watermelon Sugar, as opposed to his other routines that usually ate up his whole day.

He had ducked into the locker room to send the group chat a quick text about their dinner plans when his phone started ringing. It was an unregistered number, which Yeonjun wouldn’t usually have bothered to answer— but he was in such a good mood, and how could anything go wrong on a day like this? 

“Yeonjun speaking,” he chirped, using his free hand to sift through the mess of his locker. He was pretty sure he’d packed an extra pair of clothes somewhere. “Who’s this?” 

“Hello. I’m calling from Death-cast.”

A beat.

“Could you please confirm that you are Choi Yeonjun, born September 13, 1999?” the monotone voice on the other end of the line asked.

It wasn’t until later that Yeonjun would realize how standard the entire spiel was. He’d already mentioned his name on the get-go; this stranger was just calmly reading off a script as if it weren’t the worst call of Yeonjun’s life.

“Hello, Yeonjun? Are you there?” 

“Yes,” Yeonjun said quickly. Pulling away from his locker, he slumped down onto the nearest bench. “Yes, this is Choi Yeonjun.” 

“Thank you, Yeonjun. I regret to inform you that sometime in the next 24 hours, you will be meeting an untimely death.” The caller paused, as if to let the information sink in. 

“On behalf of Death-cast, we are sorry to lose you. Live this day to the fullest, okay?” 

“Okay,” Yeonjun responded dazedly. Then, more out of habit than anything, he weakly added, “Thank you.” 

The call cut without another word.

Yeonjun sat in his seat for what felt like an eternity, staring at his phone log. Three minutes. His entire conversation with the Death-cast had lasted only three minutes. 

This had happened to him before. He’d be having a Good Day, but then something small would come around and trip him up.

Maybe the master CD would refuse to play. Maybe Soobin nicked the kimbap he’d been saving. There was always something.

Beomgyu jokingly called them hiccups, and Yeonjun found himself waiting for them; holding his breath for whatever might take away his day’s joy.

The Death-cast call was today’s hiccup. The worst hiccup he’d ever gotten.

His phone pinged, snapping him out of his shell-shocked state. It was Soobin. 

do u still need a ride? 

Ping. Another text from Soobin. 

reply asap i wont hv time 2 make a uturn if u dont reply NOW 

Despite himself, Yeonjun chuckled. What did Soobin know about not having time?

As he keyed in his response, he contemplated skipping out on dinner. Maybe he could just disappear. No one would ever have to know he was dying, and they’d also never know when he died. 

I’ll meet you there, Yeonjun responded instead.

Ping. 

suit urself!!!! dnt b late yeonttomeok ~

The stupid nickname. Yeonjun grimaced at the sight of it. Then, his expression softened, because he realized that he couldn’t do it.

Yeonjun couldn’t run from Soobin or the rest of the boys. If he was going to spend his last day with anyone, he was going to do it with them. 

He left the dance studio half an hour later. He emptied out his locker first, then he walked around for a bit to take it all in. On his way out, he tacked a note on the studio’s student corkboard. 

It would take a few days for anyone to notice. The grieving custodian is the one who finds it; a neon orange Post-It, hiding in plain sight among a sea of reminders and ID pictures. 

Thank you, he’d written. For everything. -YJ. 09/16/21

“You should try some of my pizza,” Hueningkai said enthusiastically, shoving a slice onto everyone’s plates. “It’s to die for!”

Yeonjun choked on his drink. 

On Yeonjun’s right, Beomgyu burst into peals of laughter, mimicking Yeonjun’s hacking coughs. Soobin, on the left, was tapping Yeonjun’s back sympathetically— though also visibly holding back his own grin.

As Yeonjun tried to clear the blockage in his throat, he fleetingly thought that this was it. He was going to drop dead in the booth of an American fast food chain, right before he could even tell his friends that he was on borrowed time.

But then the cola went down, and Hueningkai’s incessant apologies started sounding louder than the fears in his head, and Yeonjun quietly thanked God that his cause of death was not as lame as he thought it’d be.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” Yeonjun sighed, looking around the table. A sneer for Beomgyu. A smile of reassurance for Soobin and Hueningkai. And for Taehyun… 

There was an odd look on Taehyun’s face that knocked the wind out of Yeonjun. 

It was almost like Taehyun knew. How could he, though?

Yeonjun held the other boy’s gaze, the two of them staring each other down intently. 

“Earth to Yeonjun,” Beomgyu sing-songed, waving his hand in front of Yeonjun’s face.

Taehyun looked temporarily startled by the intrusion before his expression quickly shifted into something more pleasant. Despite both of them breaking into a smile, Yeonjun couldn’t help but still feel a bit unsettled. 

“You’re extra sunny today,” Yeonjun sarcastically told Beomgyu. The latter smiled cheekily and shrugged. 

“What can I say? I love the first Friday of each month,” the younger boy said. As he turned away from Yeonjun to shove some fries into his mouth, it occurred to Yeonjun that this would be their last first Friday.

The five of them had been close friends since 2019. It started off as a small group that enjoyed playing computer games with each other, but then Taehyun quit gaming to focus on his studies and Hueningkai decided he wanted to spend his money on collecting plush toys.

It was Soobin who insisted that they meet up even if it meant not going to internet cafes anymore. That unassuming evening marked the start of a two-year tradition of meeting up every first Friday of the month. 

They still met up outside of those Fridays, of course. Soobin and Yeonjun actually moved in to be roommates half a year ago, and Beomgyu liked to still play video games with Yeonjun every now and then.

But first Fridays were sacred. No one missed out on them, come storms or break-ups. Their Fridays were the glue that kept the five of them together. 

“Sorry. Give me a second.” 

It didn’t immediately register to Yeonjun that Taehyun had excused himself from the table. Only when Hueningkai made an offhand comment about Taehyun taking his time, only then did the feeling of dread settle at the pit of Yeonjun’s stomach. 

“I’ll check on him,” he volunteered immediately, hastily climbing over Soobin’s legs to get out of the suffocating booth.

As he speedily walked away, he could hear Beomgyu cracking a joke to the remaining two boys. Yeonjun missed out on the rest of the story as he ducked into the men’s bathroom.

The overwhelming stench of bile was the first thing that hit Yeonjun; instinctively, he covered his nose with his hand.

From a barely closed stall, he could hear the unmistakable sounds of someone retching. Trying his best not to gag, Yeonjun took a few tentative steps towards the source. 

From where he was standing, he could recognize Taehyun’s Adidas shoes. 

Yeonjun couldn’t come any closer. 

Taehyun, from inside the stall, finally stopped convulsing. A brief moment passed before he flushed and stumbled out. Head bent, Taehyun mumbled apologies before stopping in his tracks at the sight of Yeonjun. For the second time that night, the two carefully regarded each other. 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Taehyun made an annoyed tsk sound. Then, unexpectedly, he grinned up at the older boy.

“You too, huh?” he asked quietly. 

To Yeonjun, it felt like the punch line to the world’s worst joke. 

They decided to tell the rest of the boys after footing the bill. 

It was unceremonious at best and merciless at worst, for Taehyun and Yeonjun to break the news outside Hueningkai’s favorite restaurant. And Beomgyu made it so easy, too, by kidding about it as they headed out.

“What are you two so nice for? Don’t tell me you’re dying,” he teased, and Taehyun and Yeonjun shared a look as if to say, Well, now that you’ve mentioned it… 

Even though they talked it over in the bathroom, actually telling the rest turned out to be quite hard. At first, Beomgyu thought they were messing with him; that they’d colluded the whole plot while they were both gone.

As he screeched at Taehyun and Yeonjun that it wasn’t funny, Yeonjun pulled out his phone to show off his last received call. Taehyun did the same. 

Beomgyu got dreadfully quiet after that.

Soobin, ever the soft one, burst into quiet tears. Hueningkai held on to him, looking as though he might pass out if he wasn’t clutching on to something. Taehyun approached the two and whispered words of comfort that Yeonjun caught only bits and pieces of. 

“Have each other… Accepted our fate… Be okay…” 

Lies, the eldest of them found himself thinking angrily. All lies. 

No longer able to handle it, Yeonjun stalked over to Beomgyu. The younger boy was crouched near the sidewalk corner with no discernible expression on his face. His silence spoke volumes to Yeonjun; it was comforting to share, so much that Yeonjun felt a bit disappointed when Beomgyu spoke up. 

“What now?” 

“What now?” Yeonjun repeated.

“Are you just gonna lay down and die?” Beomgyu asked brazenly. Momentarily floored by Beomgyu’s audacity, Yeonjun looked at him like it was his first time seeing him. 

It was a silly notion, honestly. They saw each other practically every day. Next to Soobin, Beomgyu was the one closest to him. Admittedly, though, Beomgyu was also the one who irritated him the most. 

But not today. 

“I’ve always loved how shameless you can be,” Yeonjun blurted out, the heat immediately rushing to his cheeks at the sudden confession. If Beomgyu was surprised, he didn’t show it.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he answered with a faint smirk. “Anyway, back to my question. What now? Don’t you want to live the rest of your life fully?” 

“But it’s 8 PM,” Yeonjun said dumbly. Beomgyu promptly smacked him on the back of the head, making Yeonjun yell with indignation. 

“You’re dying and you’re thinking about curfew?” Beomgyu bellowed. “Do you understand just how stupid that sounds?”

“I swear, you’ll be the one that kills me,” Yeonjun grumbled, rubbing the spot Beomgyu hit. 

The younger boy barrelled on. “We don’t know how or when exactly you’re going to die. You and Tae can’t sit around and just wait. There’s so much that you can do in 24 hours!”

“Less than 24 hours.” 

“With all due respect, Junnie—I don’t give a fuck.” 

Yeonjun let out a disbelieving chuckle. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Beomgyu was right. It’d be a waste to spend his last day in fearful anticipation of the inevitable.

“Do you have a marker on you?” Yeonjun asked suddenly. 

Between the five of them, Beomgyu was the only one who was skilled at drawing. He sometimes carried the most random of art materials around with him and that night was no exception. “Just a blue one,” he said after sifting through his backpack. No questions asked, he passed it over to Yeonjun.

Looking around, Yeonjun zeroed in on the restaurant’s painted wall. It was in a pristine shade of white. Perfect. 

“Cover for me,” he commanded Beomgyu. The latter did as he was told, shielding Yeonjun from the street’s view. 

After a minute or two, Beomgyu was no longer able to contain his curiosity. “What are you doing?” he piped up, obviously trying to mask his interest. 

The impatience made Yeonjun laugh. 

“You can look now,” he said. 

Beomgyu turned to face Yeonjun.

On the restaurant’s shop front, Yeonjun had left yet another small thing to be remembered by. Along with a doodle of a pizza and a cola was a scrawled note, a note: YJ’s last supper. 09/16/21. 

If it had been any other day, Beomgyu might have commented on the abysmal state of Yeonjun’s drawings or the chicken scratch quality of his handwriting. That night, though, he wordlessly reached out for the marker.

Quickly, he sketched what seemed to be chibi versions of the two of them. 

“Always stealing my thunder,” Yeonjun jeered, though the taunt was softened significantly by the astonishment beneath his tone. Beomgyu’s rendition of them was uncanny. Finishing up, he wrote: Gyu was here too! 

Beomgyu looked up at Yeonjun, and Yeonjun smiled at him in response.

An iPhone note found in Choi Yeonjun’s phone, dated September 16, 2021. Last edited: 8:34 PM. 

☑ Commit vandalism 

☑ Have a good meal 

▢ Film and post a dance video

▢ Play Overwatch

▢ Go to a thrift shop and buy Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin better clothes

▢ Go on a date 

▢ Write my last will and testament 

▢ Say goodbye to mom and dad

▢ Take photos to leave for Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin

“You’re seriously going to waste time on Overwatch? On your last day ever?” Beomgyu complained.

Yeonjun angled his phone away from Beomgyu’s view. “It’s my bucket list. Not yours.” 

“Stop fighting,” Soobin said. His eyes were rimmed with red from his non-stop crying. It made Yeonjun’s heart ache. 

The three of them were in the back of a cab, heading to Yeonjun’s family home in Bundang. Though it was the last on his bucket list, it was the first thing he wanted off his chest.

He didn’t intend to tell his parents over the phone. He wasn’t even sure if he should even tell his parents at all. 

Half an hour ago, Taehyun and Yeonjun agreed to not wallow over their impending death. They had individual businesses that they first had to deal with but they made plans to meet up after so the five of them could be complete.

Hueningkai stuck with Taehyun while Beomgyu and Soobin decided to accompany Yeonjun. 

“I’m just saying, you could be spending your time a little wiser than losing to me and Soobin,” Beomgyu quipped. 

Sighing dramatically, Yeonjun removed the goal from his list. 

Before he could hit Beomgyu with another wisecrack, their ride came to a screeching halt. Thankfully, Soobin was strict on always wearing seatbelts; the safety device kept them from launching forward, though Beomgyu’s forehead did collide with the driver’s headrest. 

Beomgyu howled with pain as the driver profusely apologized. “A stray cat bolted in front of us as I was pulling in to park,” the driver explained. “I didn’t notice.” 

Yeonjun exhaled, one hand clutching his chest. 

The three of them slid out of the backseat and onto the Seongnam sidewalk. “You alright?” Soobin asked quietly as Beomgyu went to pay for the ride. 

The honest answer: Yeonjun was a little shaken.

Each step felt like there might be a minefield beneath his feet. He kept imagining a bunch of different scenarios on how it would happen, who would be there with him when it did. He didn’t want it to be any of the three boys, but they were insistent on keeping him and Taehyun company. 

No one seemed like they were ready to let go. 

Instead, what Yeonjun said: “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Beomgyu returned, another unreadable expression on his face. “The driver wouldn’t let me pay,” he reported, shaking his head. “He eavesdropped on us a bit, I think, because he—” A pause. 

The hard-to-read look suddenly became clear to Yeonjun. It was the same look of when Beomgyu polaroids came out all wrong, or when he miscalculated a toy’s position in a claw game. It was a mix of annoyance, and disappointment—and a little bit of sadness. 

“He what?” Soobin prompted.

Beomgyu looked directly at Yeonjun, opening and closing his mouth as though considering how to tell him. Finally, he choked out the rest of his sentence. 

“He sends his condolences.” 

“The worst thing that could ever happen to a parent is to have their child leave this Earth before them.”

Those were the only words that Yeonjun committed to memory. The conversation he had with his parents was not so much a conversation as much as it was groveling, sobbing, cursing.

There was anger. There was sadness. There was all the love they could offer each other. 

Though it broke his heart, Yeonjun begged his parents to let him go for the simple reason that he couldn’t bear the thought of passing away in their presence. He promised to call, if he could. He swore to have Beomgyu and Soobin at his side, at all times, to call them if he couldn’t. 

Then his father told him about the worst thing that could happen—how it was already happening—, and he hugged Yeonjun with a finality that didn’t need any spoken goodbye, and Yeonjun damn near reconsidered throwing it all away to spend his final hours with them.

Holding on to his pride, he hugged his father back. He gave his mother a kiss on the forehead. 

He asked that they both smile so his last image of them would be “not all that sad.”

And, just like that, the Chois let go of their only son. 

The cab ride back to Hueningkai and Taehyun was a solemn one. Yeonjun was thankful that neither Beomgyu nor Soobin felt the need to speak. They had waited outside Yeonjun’s home while he was saying his goodbyes to his parents, and they had let him take the window seat where he could stare listlessly out at the highway. This is the last time I’ll see this strip of road, Yeonjun numbly thought to himself. It was tiring to think in lasts. It was all he could seem to do as the minutes ticked by.

Ping. 

Hueningkai, whose Instagram account previously had zero photos, had just uploaded a photo of him posing with Taehyun. Lotte World all to ourselves!!!~ , the caption said.

“That’s new,” Beomgyu mumbled, looking at the post over Yeonjun’s shoulder.

“We saw each other practically every day for the past two years,” Soobin interjected, voice hollow. He was staring at Hueningkai’s post on his own phone. “Hyuka never saw the point in posting about us, because it wasn’t like we were going anywhere.”

The implication of Soobin’s words weighed heavy in the air. Now that two of us are dying, Hueningkai wants to capture whatever we have left. 

“I’m just glad to finally be Instagram official,” Beomgyu blurted out.

Both Soobin and Yeonjun shook their head, but Yeonjun was secretly glad to have an excuse to laugh. 

By the time they got to Lotte World, Hueningkai and Taehyun were already donning ridiculous animal headbands and sharing some honey butter chips.

“I got you guys headbands, too!” Hueningkai said. He pulled three out of his bag and proceeded to pass Beomgyu and Soobin theirs. Hueningkai asked Yeonjun to bend down so he could put it on himself.

“A fox?” Yeonjun asked, skeptically eyeing his reflection in a nearby shop mirror.

“Don’t you look like one?” Hueningkai shot back.

“How am I a bear?” Beomgyu whined, pinching the brown ears of his own headband.

Soobin quickly retorted, “Because you’re un-bear-able!”

It was a terrible pun but all the boys chuckled a bit nonetheless. Beomgyu yelled “Yah!”, reaching out to hit Soobin— who swiftly dodged, which meant Beomgyu’s slap landed on the small of Taehyun’s back. The chase that ensued had Soobin, Hueningkai, and Yeonjun doubling over in laughter.

“By the way,” Yeonjun mused out loud as they started strolling down the amusement park’s mostly empty avenues. “Why are we here after hours? Lotte World should be closed.”

Hueningkai’s face fell, and Yeonjun suddenly wished that he never asked.

“Lotte World is tied in with Death-cast,” Beomgyu answered instead. He and Taehyun had caught up to the rest, done with their chase. The latter looked a little out of breath; Yeonjun concernedly glanced over at him, to which Taehyun responded with a thumbs up and a gesture to keep listening to Beomgyu. “They allot their after-hours to people who might want to spend their last day here.”

Not wanting to dampen the mood any further, Yeonjun forced on a smirk. He threw an arm around Hueningkai’s shoulders and gave him a light shove forward

“Let’s make the most out of it then!” Yeonjun said resolutely. “Come on, Hyuka. We’ll go wherever you pick!”

That made Hueningkai light up like a Christmas tree. For the first time that night, Yeonjun felt like he’d done something right.

And go wherever Hueningkai picked they did. After around an hour or so, Soobin was already calling for something less exciting. “I don’t think my heart can take any more of this,” he cried dramatically.

“How about there?” Hueningkai said excitedly. Four pairs of eyes followed to see where he was pointing: A photobooth.

 “Perfect,” Yeonjun said. “I’ve been meaning to take some photos.”

 “Why don’t we go first, hyung?”

The other boys fell quiet when Taehyun addressed Yeonjun. Taehyun was smiling delicately, face flushed from the consecutive high-stakes rides. In one hand, he held a squirrel stuffed toy that Beomgyu had won him at a shooting game.

Taehyun looked so serene. So alive, Yeonjun thought in awe.

Yeonjun grinned back at his friend. “I’d like that.”

The two slid into the booth as Beomgyu, Hueningkai, and Soobin looked at costumes for themselves.

“This is part of my bucket list,” Yeonjun shared as he started loading the coins into its slot. “I wanted to give them photos of us, for them to remember.”

“That’s smart,” Taehyun responded. “We won’t have enough photos of each other to go by.”

Yeonjun swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to look directly at Taehyun. Outside the booth, they could hear the sounds of Hueningkai and Soobin arguing over a plastic mustache.

If they tried really hard, they could pretend that it was just like any other day—and shouldn’t it be like that anyway, Yeonjun contemplated. He debated about asking Taehyun whether he thought this was for the best; knowing they’d pass within 24 hours.

As if sensing Yeonjun’s internal conflict, Taehyun reached out to push the last few coins into their slot. The photobooth roared to life, a woman’s voice welcoming them and instructing them on what to click next. Neither of the two tapped on anything on the screen.

But then Taehyun shrugged. “Come on,” he encouraged. “Let’s leave them with good-looking photos of us.”

Before the two could pose properly, though, Beomgyu burst through the curtains of the photo booth. “Cheese!” he screeched, throwing himself over Taehyun and Yeonjun’s legs.

“Hey!” Yeonjun protested, trying to shove Beomgyu off his lap. Meanwhile, Taehyun started giggling and making room for Beomgyu on the bench.

Click. Click. Click.

“Why must you ruin everything?” Yeonjun groaned as the photo strips printed out. In the first two photos, he and Taehyun looked fine; the remaining four were extremely chaotic with Beomgyu’s unexpected entrance.

“You look best here, don’t you think?” Beomgyu said innocently, pointing out the picture where Yeonjun was mid-yell. The older boy raised his hand as if to smack Beomgyu, who promptly ducked behind Hueningkai for protection.

“We can take more,” Taehyun assured. Despite his tousled hair and the beads of sweat trailing down his face, he shone brighter than he ever had. There was a reassuring smile on his face, one that had found comfort in an inevitable fate. 

When all is said and done, that is how Yeonjun chooses to remember Taehyun; the healthy, happy Taehyun of this moment.

Yeonjun doesn’t know that yet, of course. Not while it’s happening. “I want one with our baby Hyuka,” he announced, reaching out for the youngest of their group.

“I’ll get some with Soobin and Beomgyu then,” Taehyun responded.

They took photos with each other and of each other. Taehyun and Yeonjun eventually got their own photo strip without Beomgyu interrupting. The five of them had at least seven different sets together until they’d run through each prop the booth had to offer, and they’d played with every single filter available.

Hueningkai held on to the photo strips as if they were important documents. As they went out to grab some snacks at one of the nearby food stalls, Yeonjun followed Hueningkai wandering over to a corner.

“What are you doing?” Yeonjun asked.

The blonde boy had laid out all the photos and was attempting to take a picture of them. “Oh, I was making a post on my Instagram account,” he admitted, sounding a bit shy of the fact.

“I saw you posted for the first time earlier.”

“Yeah, I never had a reason to use my account before. I guess I just... want to document today. I don’t want to forget anything.”

The slight quiver in his voice damn near made Yeonjun cry. Reeling in his emotions, Yeonjun moved around some of the photo strips. “Here,” he said. “I think it looks better like that.”

Smiling appreciatively, Hueningkai snapped his picture.

“What should I caption it?”

They both paused, contemplating. 

“Ah, I’ve got it!” Hueningkai said excitedly, typing away at his phone. Yeonjun peered over his shoulder to check.

“‘Five forever,’” Yeonjun read out loud.

“Five forever,” Hueningkai repeated resolutely, looking straight at Yeonjun. “No matter what.”  

If he had a choice, Yeonjun would have gone out dancing. 

Dance was one of the few constants in his life. It was something Yeonjun whole-heartedly knew that he was good at. He meant to be an instructor, even, had the Death-cast call never happened.

His peers constantly joked that he was in the running to take over their studio’s director role. Guess they were wrong, Yeonjun bitterly thought to himself as he intently scrolled through his phone for a song. 

His final dance break song. 

The boys had set out after Lotte World to go clothes shopping when Yeonjun remembered one of the other to-dos on his list. Film and post a dance video. They took a detour to the nearest park and loitered a bit, and Yeonjun was reckoned with the most difficult decision of his dancing career. 

All this time, he refused to upload any clips of him dancing. Sure, there were some up on the Internet; group dances from the studio, an Instagram story here and there from his friends. But Yeonjun had never uploaded one himself— never quite ready for that kind of self-exposure. 

Now or never, he decided. 

“You did Watermelon Sugar earlier today, didn’t you?” Soobin asked as he curiously peered over Yeonjun’s shoulder to check the song options. “The remix with Blow. Why don’t you just redo that?” 

“I want to do something new. Something original,” Yeonjun responded distractedly. FEVER? Paper Hearts? “But all of these, I’ve already danced to.”

“What about one of ours?” Beomgyu offered, yawning and stretching absentmindedly. 

Yeonjun stopped scrolling. 

Taehyun, from a bench away, let out a groan. “You know the demos we make aren’t serious,” he complained. “And don’t you have an ounce of shame, Gyu? Those songs were kind of—”

“Don’t you dare call them bad!” Beomgyu interrupted defensively. “Our songs could have made it big if you weren’t so keen on locking them up!”

“Upload it once I’m gone, then,” Taehyun deadpanned. “Call that shit posthumous.” 

As Beomgyu flinched and Hueningkai rained a few punches down Taehyun’s back, Yeonjun sped through their group chat to find the recording of their latest arrangement. They’d composed only around half of it, promising each other that they would continue the rest on their next first Friday. 

The rock instrumentals of their demo LOSER=LOVER struck up and echoed across the empty park. Soobin’s singing came out loud and clear through Yeonjun’s phone speakers.

“I’m a loser, I’m a loser,” Soobin crooned along with the audio. In the background, Taehyun covered his ears and Beomgyu perked up, ready to steal Yeonjun’s parts in the song. 

Had it been any other day, Yeonjun would have rolled his eyes at the younger boy, but his mind was busy putting together the pieces of a possible dance routine. Usually, it took him days to come up with one that he was content with. He didn’t have that much time tonight.

“Okay, I think I’m ready,” Yeonjun announced after one full listen of the unfinished track. He stood and positioned himself between the row of blooming dogwood trees, trying to shake out the lingering uneasiness.

“I can film you!” Hueningkai cried out excitedly, standing across Yeonjun as the latter did some light stretching. Yeonjun shot him an appreciative thumbs up. 

Inhale. They’d all seen him dance before; he could just never fully shake his nervousness. The others seemed to pick up on this, quickly giving Yeonjun small forms of affirmation.

Beomgyu let out encouraging hoots and chanted Yeonjun’s name. Taehyun finally lowered his hands from his ears, smiling assuredly in anticipation of the routine. And Soobin pulled out his own phone, finger poised expectantly over his record button. 

Exhale. 

Yeonjun hit play, and immediately found himself consumed by the music.

It was like second nature to him. Every agile step, every sharp turn. He followed along to the song as if it were something he’d practiced his whole life. Each beat reverberated to his very bone, filling his chest with so much joy he felt like a balloon that just might burst.

“Here comes the good stuff!” Beomgyu squealed as Taehyun started humming along. Love you, love you, love you; no matter what I do. 

“I say run, laugh like you’ve gone mad, ” Hueningkai belted out. Yeonjun almost missed a step because of how it distracted him, but he was glad to have small disturbances such as Beomgyu trying to mimic his dance moves or Taehyun finally screaming the lyrics out loud as well.

The post-chorus was his and Beomgyu’s part. It was the easiest choreography to think of, too. I’m a loser, his pre-recorded self sang, and the Yeonjun dancing threw up an L with his pointer finger and thumb. He broke out into a smile, feeling as if the world were spinning. 

It’s the sensation he’ll miss the most. The heat, the soreness. Even then, he knows that his body will ache most for the rush he had come to adore. 

The song ended abruptly, and Yeonjun snapped out of his trance.

The boys were all clapping and cheering. “I can’t believe you did all that in one go,” Taehyun complimented as Beomgyu and Hueningkai surged forward to envelope Yeonjun in a hug. 

“I’m sweaty!” the oldest boy complained laughingly, allowing them to embrace him nonetheless.

“I have the fan cam version!” Soobin joked, holding up his phone. “Where do you want it?” 

Grinning widely over Beomgyu and Hueningkai’s shoulders, Yeonjun told Soobin, “Everywhere.” 

If there was anything Beomgyu and Yeonjun so intimately shared, it would be their terrific sense of fashion— something the rest of the boys were so painfully ignorant about. 

So when Yeonjun had to choose someone to accompany him to the 24/7 Myeongdeong thrift shops— Taehyun complained that he was tired and wanted to go back to his dorm— the answer was as clear as day. Beomgyu and Yeonjun promised to regroup with them back at Taehyun’s within an hour.

It was a comforting shopping spree, actually. Beomgyu must have toned down his energy, only hitting Yeonjun with the occasional wisecrack compared to the typical several jokes per minute. Briefly, Yeonjun worried that he was being pitied. 

“This would look good on Hyuka,” Beomgyu commented, holding up a light gray sweatshirt for Yeonjun to see. The two were in their last store. They already had eco bags crammed to the brim with clothes, but they’d decided to do a final stop before heading home.

“I was thinking about this one for Soobin,” Yeonjun said in turn, showing off a black and yellow embroidered vest. 

“That one’s nice.”

“I think Hyuka would fit comfortably in that panel shirt over there, too.” 

After snagging a couple more overrun Ralph Lauren pieces and three pairs of specs for Soobin, the two fell in line for checkout. “I can’t believe we didn’t do this more often,” Beomgyu hummed, rustling through the picks. “Shopping with Soobin was so boring. He only ever wanted to go to the department store.”

“I gave up on Hyuka, too,” Yeonjun laughed. He was excited to see Hueningkai’s expression; a lot of the clothes they’d picked for him were sure to fit his style. “This should be enough to last them for a little while.”

“And then they’ll go back to their plain clothes?” 

“And then you’ll buy them more.” 

A long pause followed Yeonjun’s words.

Though he had packaged it as a joke, they both knew the underlying message lurking under the lighthearted tone. You’ll take care of them, right? Yeonjun was asking. 

Beomgyu pursed his lips together and nodded, answering the unspoken question. I will.

Yeonjun gave him an appreciative smile. I knew I could count on you. 

“What else do you have on your bucket list, anyway?” Beomgyu asked in an effort to change the topic. They shuffled forward awkwardly, the line in front of them moving along rather slow. 

“Just some serious stuff left, really,” Yeonjun replied vaguely. To write his last will and testament was still left unchecked. He wasn’t sure how or when he’d do it; sitting down and accepting his fate like that was a terrifying ordeal. “There is one that’s pretty tame, but I’m thinking of just crossing it out completely.” 

“Which?” 

“To go on a date.” Yeonjun laughed at the thought of it. It seemed so trivial now. 

He’d put it down because he hadn’t really had the time to go on a proper date. Though his mother tried setting him up with her neighbors’ daughters— and even though Soobin offered a double date every now and then— Yeonjun found that he was always too busy, too disinterested, too insecure.

A small part of him wished he’d said yes to at least one of them so he could have a memory at a cafe or a cinema. But he was so caught up in thinking that he had so much more time than he actually did, and he thought his first date would be something special— only to have it not happen at all. 

Nothing good comes to those who wait, he thought woefully. 

Beomgyu whipped out his phone and clicked on an app. Leaning over to peek, Yeonjun saw that it was for dating. He knew that Beomgyu and Soobin had profiles. He just couldn’t be bothered to get one, too. Putting himself out there like that felt scary. 

“This is a great way to find a date, even if you’re in a bit of a clutch,” Beomgyu chirped. “I’ve used it before when I needed someone to go with me to a wedding or a school fair.” 

“That’s smart.” 

“I know right? Anyway— we’re not here to talk about the obvious.” Yeonjun rolled his eyes, but Beomgyu barreled on. “Let’s make you a profile.” 

“I don’t know…” Yeonjun started hesitantly. Beomgyu was quick to interject. 

“What are you scared of?” he challenged. “What do you have to lose, really?” 

Yesterday, Yeonjun might have answered his dignity or his pride. In the thrift shop, though, he begrudgingly had to admit that Beomgyu was right. He had nothing to lose. 

“Sign me up,” Yeonjun conceded, and Beomgyu broke out into a proud grin. 

After arguing over which photos of Yeonjun to choose, Beomgyu typed out a prospective bio to go on his profile. Urgent: Dying boy seeking a mind-blowing date that will let him go out with a bang. 

“You make it sound so dirty,” Yeonjun groaned, grabbing the phone from Beomgyu and deleting the entire text.

As the latter protested, Yeonjun tried his hand at a bio. Less than 24 hours left and looking for love. Be my baby before burying me six feet under? 

“How pessimistic!” Beomgyu cried disapprovingly, though both of them were shaking with laughter. For a short while, they took turns writing terrible descriptions.

Beomgyu typed out Let’s kill this love, to which Yeonjun added ‘Till (my) death do we part.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Beomgyu concluded as he gasped for air. “Come on, we’re not even in the actual app yet.”

The next screen asked for Yeonjun’s dating preference.

Beomgyu tapped on the ‘Women’ button, showing it to Yeonjun for approval.

Riding on their shared joy and his newfound confidence, Yeonjun mindlessly blurted out, “Can you actually choose ‘Both’?”

In our life, we often experience “oh” moments. Modest points in time where so many things can shift in a split second. For both Beomgyu and Yeonjun— in that thrift shop line, with their sore arms carrying more clothes that either of them could ever need— that was one of those junctures for the two of them.

“Oh,” Beomgyu said, and it occurred to Yeonjun, suddenly. What he’d asked for. 

Fear went off in Yeonjun’s brain like a screeching, bright red fire alarm. He wanted to take it back. He could say it was a joke.

But there was something in Beomgyu’s face— an expression that wasn’t of judgment or disgust. There was a gentle hopefulness to the way he looked at Yeonjun then. He looked so painfully reassuring, so ready to accept whatever Yeonjun wanted to do, wanted to be. 

So how could Yeonjun lie to him? 

“Yeah,” Yeonjun choked out, clenching his jaw nervously. 

“I never knew,” Beomgyu mumbled before switching the options. Then, quickly, he added: “Me, too. I mean—I chose ‘Both’, too. I’m… I am, too.” 

It was Yeonjun’s turn to say “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Beomgyu chuckled. “I guess you never know, huh?” 

Yeonjun nodded wordlessly, hoping that Beomgyu wouldn’t prod any further. Thankfully, the cashier finally called them to the front.

As Yeonjun unloaded the clothes they’d shopped, Beomgyu gestured that he’d do it. He shoved his phone at Yeonjun and pushed him to one side.

“If you want a date, you should get busy swiping,” Beomgyu said, beaming with amusement as he geared up for his punch line. “Let them know you’re dead serious.”

Hueningkai, Soobin, and Taehyun were watching something on Netflix by the time Beomgyu and Yeonjun got back. 

The three were settled comfortably on the couch, sharing several opened bags of junk food and two bottles of cider. “Is that Squid Game? You’re watching without me?!” Beomgyu whined, trying to grab the remote from Soobin. 

“I’m dying. I think I deserve to know what happens in episode six,” Taehyun said blankly before popping a chip in his mouth. Beomgyu pretended not to hear him, still scuffling with an indignant Soobin who was trying hard not to tear his gaze away from the screen. Meanwhile, Hueningkai greeted Yeonjun and helped him carry the bags into the room. 

“Oh, this is so soft!” Hueningkai cried, zeroing out on the sweatshirt from earlier.

“Beomgyu picked that out for you,” Yeonjun said proudly. 

“Thank you, Gyu!” 

With Beomgyu successfully pausing the show, Soobin leaned over to inspect the pile of clothes that Hueningkai had toppled over. “This is a lot,” he said in awe.

“Please, this is barely half of what Yeonjun and I have,” Beomgyu scoffed. 

As Taehyun ducked out to go to the bathroom, the boys sorted through the articles of clothing. Hueningkai and Soobin were incredibly enthusiastic, building each other’s pile of new clothes; mixing and matching some on the spot. While Beomgyu was criticizing their pairings, Yeonjun once again noticed a gap in their group.

A space that was left unfilled. 

Yeonjun excused himself and stumbled over the clothes, towards the bathroom. It was unlocked. He peeked inside and found it empty. Something in his stomach sank at the sight of minuscule blood droplets on the toilet lid. How had no one noticed Taehyun slipping away? 

Suddenly hyperaware, Yeonjun heard the distant, muted click of the front door closing. 

Why was Taehyun trying to slip away? 

Telling the rest that they were going on a quick 7-Eleven run— and swearing to the other boys that they’d both come back in one piece—Yeonjun grabbed his windbreaker and rushed out to follow Taehyun. It didn’t take much to find him. He was hanging out at the bus stop nearest his dorm, a city map in his hands. 

Taehyun didn’t look surprised to see Yeonjun jogging up to him. 

“Of course you’d notice,” Taehyun said once Yeonjun had reached him. “Do the others know?” 

“We’re at 7-Eleven,” Yeonjun responded stiffly. The other boy cocked his head to one side as if assessing the lie. 

“Believable. You should grab some bread for Soobin on your way back.” 

“On our way back.” 

“I’m not going back there, and you know it.” 

Cold, callous, and calculating. Those were the typical words one would use to describe Taehyun. In their group, Taehyun was the most stable and reliable; he managed Beomgyu’s erratic moods and always looked out for Hueningkai.

It was easy to forget that he was on the younger end, considering how mature he always presented himself to be. 

None of that maturity seemed to shine through in that very bus stop. Yeonjun saw Taehyun for what he was: A teenage boy counting his minutes left. 

“Why not?” Yeonjun asked. He was firmly rooted to his spot. As much as Taehyun looked like he wanted to be alone, Yeonjun just couldn’t cut him some slack. “Come on, Taehyun. Come home with me.” 

“I’m sick, hyung. I’ve been for a while now,” Taehyun said with a sad, sad. “You’ve noticed, right?” 

Yeonjun had noticed. He’d taken trips to the drug store to buy Taehyun some painkillers. He’d cooked him soup for comfort. He’d even insisted that they should go to the hospital and check it out, but Taehyun was dead set on riding out what they thought to be a run-of-the-mill flu. 

“I finally got it checked this morning. My sister brought me. No one could figure out a proper diagnosis, but right after our appointment—” Taehyun faltered. He met Yeonjun’s eyes. “The damn Death-cast call is so scripted, isn’t it?” 

Yeonjun slumped down onto the vacant seat next to Taehyun.

“Anyway, I told my family over lunch,” Taehyun went on. “I wasn’t planning on letting the boys know—I just wanted to have a nice dinner and call it a day—but you…” 

“How did you know before I told you? You looked like you already had a feeling.” 

“I’ve always been the smartest one,” Taehyun retorted. Yeonjun wouldn’t have contested him either way. 

Humoring Yeonjun, Taehyun folded his hands over his lap and smirked ever so slightly. “We both balked at Hueningkai saying that the pizza was ‘to die for’,” he said. “I don’t think you would have reacted that way were it any other day. For you to react to something as offhanded as that, you must be worried about dying.” 

“Why aren’t you saying goodbye?” Yeonjun asked abruptly, the words tumbling over each other as his curiosity got the best of him. Taehyun winced in the slightest.

Taehyun didn’t owe Yeonjun an explanation, but Yeonjun couldn’t think straight. If he could, he would keep Taehyun by his side for the rest of their 24 hours. It was cruel to admit that Yeonjun didn’t want to be the one left living.

“I want to die alone,” Taehyun said decisively after a pause.

“Where no one I love will have to find me. My family thinks I’m with you. And you,” he looked straight at Yeonjun. “Will let the boys think that I’m with my family.” 

Yeonjun recoiled as if he’d been punched. “You want me to lie to them?” 

“Consider it my dying wish.”

“Taehyun!” 

“Yeonjun.” The missing honorific made them both falter a bit. Taehyun took the edge out of his tone for his next words.

“I won’t be in the middle of nowhere. There’s a wing at the Seoul National Hospital for people who have been called. They make the funeral preparations and when you— when you’re— they let your legal guardian know. My sister knows, so she’s ready to pick me up.” 

“I don’t want any of you to see me lose any more of my strength than I already have,” Taehyun went on steadily. “Let them remember the Taehyun who went to Lotte World with them. The Taehyun who tried his best not to spoil Squid Game. Let that be who I am. Not the Taeyun who’s coughing up blood.” For added effect, Taehyun reached out to clasp Yeonjun’s hands. He clung tightly, even as Yeonjun tried to pull away. “You’ll do that for me. Won’t you, hyung?” Taehyun pleaded, voice cracking. “You’ll let me have this.” 

“You are cruel, Kang Taehyun,” Yeonjun responded through gritted teeth. “You are heartless and insensitive, and I will never forgive you.” 

In turn, Taehyun gave him a gentle smile. The bus was rolling up to the stop. There’s no one here for you, Yeonjun wanted to yell at the driver. You’re not going to take him from me.  

“There are letters on the bedside table,” he said. “I’ve left my phone at home, too, because when they start calling, I’ll want to answer— and it will take everything in me not to.”

Taehyun released his grip on Yeonjun. “I’m sorry, hyung. I’ll never be sorry enough.” 

“If you’re really sorry, you wouldn’t be leaving,” Yeonjun seethed. He knew that he sounded hopeless and whiny, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. Not when he was hurting. 

Taehyun flinched at his words; Yeonjun didn’t take them back. He trusted that Taehyun knew the depth of his distress and why this was so difficult for him. 

It was a sorrow so deep that Yeonjun couldn’t bring himself to hug Taehyun back as the latter mumbled his goodbyes. 

At his own death, Yeonjun will think of that moment. It will be his one regret. 

Taehyun boarded the night bus that would shuttle him to Seoul National Hospital. Contrary to Yeonjun’s belief, Taehyun was oblivious to Yeonjun’s pain of mourning someone who was still alive.

The younger boy sat with his heavy heart, wondering if he was making the smart— no, the right— choice. 

The bus pulled away from the stop and Taehyun glanced at Yeonjun through the window’s reflection. Slumped in defeat, his friend remained motionless before standing. Taehyun expected Yeonjun to head back to his dorm. 

But then Yeonjun hit the ground running. 

He darted down the sidewalk, following the bus’s route. Taehyun sat up. Palm against the window, he watched Yeonjun sprint past pedestrians and haphazardly slide down the pavement.

“That boy’s crazy,” the bus driver commented offhandedly. 

It was a scene straight out of a television drama, and it made Taehyun laugh in spite of himself. Thankfully, Yeonjun’s chase was cut short as the bus stopped at a red light. To Taehyun’s absolute horror, the older boy started banging his fists against the bus’s sliding doors.

“Hey, stop that!” the bus driver yelled. “I’ll call the police on you, you psycho!”

Yeonjun kept knocking, demanding entry. “I just need one minute! Please, just give me one minute!” 

“Get the fuck away from this bus right now, kid!” 

Unnerved, Yeonjun took a step back and did a quick scan of the bus until his eyes met Taehyun’s.

Without missing a beat, the older boy hollered loud enough that Taehyun could hear his sincerity through the glass: “I forgive you, Kang Taehyun! I forgive you!”

The stoplight turned green and the bus quickly pulled away from the intersection, leaving Yeonjun standing dejected on the street. As the bus driver cursed him and the other commuters whispered among themselves, Taehyun buried his face in the crook of his elbow to hide his face. 

He was stupidly relieved to finally be alone. Later, when they give him a room to pass away in, he will assure the attending nurse that he has made peace with his fate. But in the bus where there are nothing but strangers, where no one knows who Taehyun is, he allows himself the grace of fearing death. 

And for the first time in a long time— for the last time in his young life— Kang Taehyun let himself cry. 

As Yeonjun expected, the boys weren’t happy with the lie of Taehyun heading back home. 

They weren’t angry. None of them could seem to be mad at the dying boy.

Hueningkai was upset, constantly ringing Taehyun’s cell; Yeonjun itched to tell him that it was futile. Soobin buried his head in his hands, the forgotten episode of Squid Game playing on in the background.

“The last thing I said to him was that I hated him for watching without me,” Beomgyu said. His empty gaze was trained towards the television. “I’m never going to be able to take that back.” 

“I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean it,” Yeonjun said. He thought of his last image of Taehyun; hand to the window, jaw slack with shock. “This is what he wanted.”

Hueningkai collapsed onto the couch after his nth phone call went unanswered. No one could look at each other, so they quietly sat through the duration of the show’s episode.

The sounds of Soobin’s sniffles echoed in the small room, overlapping with Taehyun’s voicemail recording. 

Hello, this is Kang Taehyun. I can’t answer your call right now. Leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. 

“He left letters,” Yeonjun announced as Squid Game ’s credits rolled. “They’re in his room.” 

No one responded. It was as if Yeonjun hadn’t spoken at all. 

“I’m going to go read mine. You can come with me if you want.” 

Neither Beomgyu, Hueningkai, nor Soobin moved an inch. 

Standing so suddenly that he knocked into the coffee table, Yeonjun let out a hiss before glancing at his remaining friends. They refused to meet his eyes. He wished he could do something for them, but he was honestly just as broken and betrayed. 

“Suit yourself,” he said wretchedly, not meaning to have so much venom in his tone. He stalked into Taehyun’s room and made it a point to slam the door close behind him. 

It took Yeonjun a moment to realize that Taehyun had prepared for this. Most of the room was bare, save for a few cardboard boxes in one corner.

When Yeonjun took a peek, he realized that Taehyun had packed away everything; his camera, his posters, his clothes. All that was left was his mattress, where four envelopes were neatly laid out in a row. 

“You’re not actually going to read your letter.” 

Yeonjun didn’t jump at the sudden intrusion. Beomgyu wasn’t asking a question, either; he was stating a fact. 

“No, I’m not,” Yeonjun admitted, staring at the precise handwriting that lined the outside of the named letters. “Not yet.” 

“Okay. Well, I will.” 

To Yeonjun’s shock, Beomgyu stepped past him and snatched the paper that had his name. He ripped open the envelope and got to reading. Cautiously, Yeonjun watched Beomgyu. 

Slowly, Beomgyu’s shoulders dropped. When he bent his head, Yeonjun realized what was happening.

Beomgyu’s sobs were quiet— unassuming and wounded. The grief washed over the two of them like waves. Yeonjun did not know how to keep his head above the water.  

“He loved us, right?” Beomgyu asked suddenly, turning to face Yeonjun. “Even if he left. He loved us.” 

“He did.” 

“And he knows I never hated him. He had to have known that.” 

“He did.” 

With the back of his fist, Beomgyu forcefully wiped the tears out of his eyes. Yeonjun is struck by how young he looks; by how young they all are, to have to deal with all this. 

“I should have been nicer to him,” Beomgyu said. He glanced down at the letter before shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. “Then maybe... “ 

“It wouldn’t have changed his mind,” Yeonjun said quietly. Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he simply repeated himself from earlier that night: “This is what he wanted.” 

Beomgyu didn’t point it out, anyway. He sighed heavily and shut his eyes, seemingly letting the worst of the news hit him. Yeonjun knew he ought to have done something then— maybe reached out and hugged the younger boy— but he was too lost in his own misery to realize that Beomgyu’s heartbreak ran deeper, if only because Taehyun’s affections for him were different. The letter gave away as much.

Like a switch that had been flipped, Beomgyu forced himself to speak in a lighter tone. “You’ve still got a few things on your bucket list, right? Why don’t we get them done?” 

“I hardly think that a date is appropriate right no—” 

“‘This is what he wanted,’” Beomgyu parroted, mimicking even Yeonjun’s intonation. “I’m sure Taehyun would hate to see you moping.” 

Yeonjun shook his head, too tired to argue. “I haven’t matched with anyone on the app. And besides, I can’t imagine going out with a stranger who will have no idea what I’m going through.” 

“Then go out with me.” 

The shocked silence that followed stretched between the two of them, filling every corner of the room.

Yeonjun was taken back to the compliment he paid Beomgyu earlier that night. I’ve always loved how shameless you can be. The thin line between brashness and bravery blurred at that moment as Yeonjun gawked at Beomgyu, who refused to falter. 

“I won’t ask why you seem sad or what your thoughts are on death,” Beomgyu insisted. “We’ll grab a coffee. Share a bingsu. And I’ll pretend not to know much about you so I can ask you what your blood type is, then I’ll lie that we’re compatible.” 

“That’s a thing?” Yeonjun asked dumbly. 

Beomgyu gave the older boy a watery smile. “Anything for a second date. But since we can only have one, I promise to cram in everything you’ve been missing out on. I’ll even fight for the bill.” 

“Why?” 

“Why would I fight for the bill?” 

“No, no. Why are you— Why are you doing this?” 

Beomgyu’s hesitation was fleeting. Yeonjun caught it nonetheless. If he had only been a little more observant, he might have noticed the blush tinging Beomgyu’s ear or the tremor in his twitching fingers. 

“Because it’s on your bucket list,” Beomgyu said. “Taehyun finished his. You should get to clear yours, too.” 

There was no way for Yeonjun to know if Beomgyu was lying. Taehyun had kept his bucket list mostly a secret, though he had assured Yeonjun at some point that it was ‘short and sweet’. It was likely that he had divulged in Beomgyu, and Yeonjun wasn’t in the business of doubting such a simple fact.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a little more to Beomgyu’s offer. Yeonjun reflected if the proposition would have still come up had their thrift shop conversation not happened.

But Beomgyu was never insincere, and Yeonjun wanted to give him a tender memory that only the two of them shared. 

And so Yeonjun said yes. When Beomgyu tried his hardest not to smile too widely, the older boy forced himself to quiet the fluttering in his chest.

This was not part of the plan. Vaguely, he felt like he was making a mistake. 

How could he be, though, he thought, as Beomgyu beamed and blabbered about where they should go? 

How could such a good thing be wrong? 

It happened like this.

The two agreed on a nearby breakfast cafe. Yeonjun had avoided counting down, but it was difficult to miss the fact that the sun had already risen. That meant he had only a few more hours before his 24 were up.

Yeonjun got to the cafe first because Beomgyu said he’d stop by somewhere with Hueningkai. Soobin was initially reluctant, finally letting them go and succumbing to the fact that he was emotionally spent. When Yeonjun left Taehyun’s dorm, Soobin was napping on the couch.

Yeonjun made it a point to tuck a blanket around him.

Bored out of his mind, Yeonjun was carving Taehyun’s initials into the wooden table when it happened. 

And it happened so fast. 

He heard Beomgyu calling his name. He looked up to see the younger boy holding a bouquet of tulips.

There was a sweet smile on his face and a spring in his step as he locked eyes with Yeonjun and skipped down the pedestrian lane. It touched Yeonjun, that Beomgyu had gone out of his way to buy him blue and purple tulips; his favorite flowers in his favorite color.

A grin was tugging at Yeonjun’s lips when the speeding car slammed mercilessly into Beomgyu’s frame.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying. Yeonjun had always wanted to know what his highlight reel would look like. He had never thought that you could imagine someone else’s life while they were dying.

Vision blurring with panic as he rushed to Beomgyu’s side, Yeonjun found himself flooded with flashbulb moments of Beomgyu. 

The first time he’d lost a game to him. Their arguments over mint chocolate chip ice cream. Beomgyu coining the term ‘hiccup’ for the trip-ups on Yeonjun’s Good Days, after Hueningkai had accidentally cleaned out his hard drive while downloading anime. 

This was the worst hiccup that could possibly happen, Yeonjun thought as he dropped to his knees.

Beomgyu looked dazed, lying motionless on the pavement. As Yeonjun scooped him up, the younger boy looked up at him with a bleary expression, seeming more confused than hurt.

“Hey,” Beomgyu croaked. “I think I got hit.” 

“Hey,” Yeonjun responded, trying his best not to sound too hysterical lest he scare Beomgyu. “You’re fine, though. You’re fine.” 

The driver of the car stepped out of his vehicle, looking horrified. One side of Yeonjun filled with a searing, murderous rage. He was about to stand and swing at the stranger until Beomgyu started coughing vigorously. 

“Call a hospital! Now!” Yeonjun bellowed at the driver. His voice cracked with desperation. “He’s not supposed to die today. He’s not supposed to die!”

“Hyung—” Beomgyu tried to say, failing to finish his sentence as he spat up more blood. 

Cradling Beomgyu’s head in his lap, Yeonjun clung onto his friend tightly. “I don’t understand,” he stuttered. “I don’t—I can’t—”

Beomgyu was mumbling something incoherent. Yeonjun leaned in closer, catching Beomgyu’s repeating words: “I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, idiot?” Yeonjun whimpered. “You can’t die. You’re not going to die. You haven’t been called yet, Beomgyu.”

It’s in that earth-shattering moment— as Beomgyu wasted his breath apologizing, struggling to keep his eyes open but trying his best to look straight at Yeonjun anyway— it’s then that it dawned on Yeonjun.

Beomgyu had known about Lotte World and Death-cast. Beomgyu had tried his best to squeeze into all of Taehyun and Yeonjun’s photos. And Beomgyu at the restaurant fronting had echoed the script Yeonjun heard in the studio’s locker room.

Don’t you want to live the rest of your life fully? 

“You haven’t been called yet,” Yeonjun repeated. He knew he was in denial at this point, but this was the worst possible thing that could happen to him. “Come on. Tell me you haven’t been called.”

Instead of doing as he was asked, Beomgyu reached out to hold Yeonjun’s face.

The slightest movement seemed to take so much of his remaining energy, yet he persisted despite Yeonjun’s protests. Delicately, Beomgyu cupped Yeonjun’s cheek with one of his hands. 

“I didn’t want anyone worrying over me,” he admitted softly. It broke Yeonjun, how uncharacteristically frail Beomgyu sounded. “I thought death would be a little easier on me.”

Yeonjun wailed, doubling over to bury his face in Beomgyu’s shoulder. The sharp smell of smoke and blood hit him hard. “Damn you, Beomgyu. We wasted all your time doing things that Taehyun wanted— that I wanted—”

Beomgyu laughed and winced immediately right after. 

“All I ever wanted to do was to be with you four,” Beomgyu said, and Yeonjun started crying so hard that he was sure this would be the cause of his own death— the way the sobs wracked his frame, the pure fear that struck his heart.

Beomgyu’s voice was barely above a whisper as he went on. “I’m sorry you never got to go on your date, hyung,” he mumbled, gesturing weakly at the bouquet he had been carrying.

Save for a petal or two, the tulips had miraculously survived the impact. Red spots stained the kraft wrapping paper. “I like to think I would have been a good one,” Beomgyu breathed.  

“You would have been the best,” Yeonjun said fiercely. Beomgyu smiled contentedly.

“I know you’re just saying that, but I’ll take it,” he responded. His eyes fluttered to a close and the pained expression on his face softened. For a heartbeat, Yeonjun was scared that he’d lost him.

Thankfully, Beomgyu exhaled sharply, his unfocused gaze trying to find Yeonjun’s own.

“Hey, don’t give up on me now,” Yeonjun begged. He closed his fingers around Beomgyu’s shoulder, pulling the younger boy closer to his chest.

They could both hear the distant sounds of an ambulance siren. “We’ve still got a lot to do. Hyuka and Soobin are still waiting for you.” 

“Hyuka and Soobin…” Beomgyu repeated slowly. “Tell them I love them, won’t you?” 

“Tell them yourself.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t buy them more clothes.”

“Don’t say that. Please, don’t say that.” 

“And I’m sorry to be leaving you, hyung.” 

Yeonjun let out a broken sob. “You’re not leaving me. You can’t,” he said. “Stop apologizing, because we’re going to get you to a hospital and patch you up, and we’re going to go on the best date, and you’re going to live many happy years—” 

“Do you want to hear something selfish?” Beomgyu interrupted. The ambulance was rounding the corner. “This whole time, I prayed to go before you.” 

“Why?” Yeonjun asked wretchedly.

The ambulance parked and the driver ran to meet them. “I can’t imagine a world without you, Choi Yeonjun,” Beomgyu said with bated breath. Yeonjun wondered why he’d never noticed it before; the devotion in Beomgyu’s tone, the star-like shine in his eyes. “And I’m glad that I won’t have to.”

As the paramedics rolled out a stretcher— as Yeonjun kept insisting that he could still be saved— Beomgyu thought nothing of the blinding hurt ripping through his body. He closed his eyes, finding comfort in the fact that he was in the arms of someone he loved. Not everyone could say they were half as lucky, he decided. 

Throughout the night, he was curious what his last words would be; if he would have a choice at all. He had wanted it to be something cool, something awesome. But as he clung to Yeonjun, he knew that there was only one last thing to say.

Grinning, he wiped away some tears from Yeonjun’s panicked expression. 

The paramedics were already swooping in and grabbing his ruptured body away from Yeonjun, but the older boy was still hanging on to him as if his own life depended on it. Beomgyu tried to commit the scene to memory.

Yeonjun, with his wild expression and tousled hair; his lips quivering, his eyes full of fear. It pained Beomgyu to leave him like this. Greedily, it relieved him that he would be the one going first. 

“Take all the time you need,” Beomgyu assured, giving Yeonjun’s hand a final squeeze. 

Beomgyu managed the ghost of a smile. “But don’t keep me waiting too long, yeah?” he said. 

Then he shut his eyes— and nothing much was left after that. 

It turned out that Choi Beomgyu did get to choose his last words after all.

 Yeonjun was the one who made the calls. He let Beomgyu’s parents know, then his brothers.

He called Soobin, who didn’t answer; he called Hueningkai, who picked up on the first ring. 

Hueningkai and Soobin made it to the hospital within ten minutes of the call ending. 

Disoriented, they all listened to a doctor rattle on about comas and chances. “This means he’ll get better, right?” Hueningkai asked no one in particular once the discussion was over. “He hasn’t been called, so he’ll wake up soon enough.” 

The two older boys shared a look. Yeonjun shook his head, and Soobin squeezed his eyes shut. Hueningkai watched the brief interaction unfold, stumped by what he was missing out on.

“Beomgyu didn’t get called by Death-cast,” Hueningkai repeated louder, as if his first statement was simply too quiet to be true. “He’s going to wake up from his coma.”

At a loss for words, Yeonjun reached out to hug Hueningkai. Soobin followed in suit. The youngest tried to squirm of their grip, not wanting to accept the implications of their remorse. “Let go of me. Don’t act like— don’t make me think that he— you’re both being—”

Eventually, Hueningkai stopped fighting.

For a moment, he stayed completely still as Soobin and Yeonjun held on to him. The trio stood there in the middle of the hospital hallway, huddled together while bawling over a betrayal that only they could share.

For Yeonjun, it felt like the world was closing in on him. He was spared by the harsh comfort of Hueningkai and Soobin feeling the same emptying loss.

After what felt like an eternity, they stumbled over to one of the waiting room benches so they could regain some strength.

“Did you know?” Soobin asked, voice hollow. 

Yeonjun shook his head. His throat felt raw from all the crying. He couldn’t imagine speaking without wavering. 

Instead, he turned to Hueningkai, who was staring at a photograph. It was his latest Instagram post from an hour or so ago— a shot of the flower shop he and Beomgyu had visited. The bouquet Beomgyu had bought lay a few seats away from the trio. 

“You should make a post here, too,” Yeonjun said suddenly. Hueningkai looked up at him skeptically. He had a right to be dubious; updating one’s Instagram didn’t seem like it ought to be a priority.

But Yeonjun wanted to honor Beomgyu somehow, wanted to immortalize him somewhere. 

“You have to remember,” Yeonjun insisted. “Even the bad things.” 

The rest of the sentence lingered between the two of them. Because soon enough, I won’t be around to remember any of it. 

“Even the bad things,” Hueningkai repeated.

He took a picture of the hallway. As he typed a caption with shaky fingers, Yeonjun rested his head on his shoulder, and Soobin held Yeonjun’s hand.

They drew from each other what little strength they could share. 

They had no other choice. 

Heading back to Taehyun’s dorm was too painful, so they made for Soobin and Yeonjun’s apartment.

They tried to fall into some sense of normalcy by playing a round of a computer game and putting on some bad Netflix film, but it was difficult to will away their loss and pretend that they weren’t waiting to lose a little bit more.

So they talked about Taehyun until there were no more stories to share.

They shared their favorite memories of Beomgyu, laughing so hard at some of the anecdotes that by the end of it, Yeonjun’s sides were in stitches.

They took photos for Hueningkai’s Instagram. They gave Yeonjun time to write his ‘will’. 

Hueningkai asked him if he was scared of dying.

Yeonjun lied and said he wasn’t. 

Soobin asked if he was lying.

Yeonjun let his silence speak for him.

At one point, Yeonjun glanced at the clock, did the math, and realized he had survived 22 hours. Was it possible to cheat Death-cast? Yeonjun wondered, foolishly amused. 

He didn’t have the energy to dwell on the thought. He didn’t have any energy at all, really.

He was so drained that he didn’t even remember dozing off while snuggling with Soobin. He jolted only at the sound of Hueningkai’s loud snore.

The couch was cramped, so Yeonjun dragged himself to his bed. Half-awake, he typed out a text to his parents that meant to let them know that he was okay and that he’d call them after he napped. He was too tired to even know if he hit send. The moment his head hit the pillow, he fell right back to sleep. 

He was dreaming of tulips and brown-eyed boys when the cardiac arrest happened.

Choi Yeonjun could not cheat death after all. 

Hueningkai found it nearly impossible to live in the aftermath.

It was made particularly difficult by how much the city reminded him of the past. Like how the dance studio had renamed to YJ Entertainment, honoring their star student by using the script on his final note as their logo. Like how the breakfast cafe never threw out the table with Taehyun's carved initials. Hueningkai once sat at it, only to be dragged under at the sight of KT etched into one corner. 

Soobin was an immense pillar of support. The two remaining boys clung to each other in the first few years, doing everything they could to work around their complex emotions.

Eventually, they realized that the grief would never really go away. All they could do was grow around it. 

Their frequent meetings trickled down to weekly occurrences until they decided to stick to first Fridays— it lasted a few months, but it brought the both of them too much pain. They decided not to force it. They went their separate ways and learned how to live with the mourning.

And they did, really. Hueningkai kept up with Soobin through social media. They never lost touch. They just took some time to heal separately.

It had been a while since they last saw each other. Their last conversation was about how Yeonjun's dance break trended, and how Hueningkai's father was encouraging them to copyright the song. 

The posthumous success that Taehyun joked about, Soobin had said laughingly. Hueningkai found some comfort in the fact that he was not the only one left remembering. 

He never went back to the restaurant they last ate at, though it was hard for him to miss out on the snowball Beomgyu and Yeonjun had unintentionally started.

Unbeknownst to Hueningkai, the two had left a doodle that night; he would only see it spreading on social media a few months later, after the restaurant recognized a tradition that was happening to its patrons. 

"This is pretty cool, isn't it?" 

Hueningkai nodded, staring at the scrawled last words scaling up the restaurant wall. Soobin stood at his side, the two having agreed to meet-up for lunch.

Beomgyu and Yeonjun's little act of vandalism inspired a chain reaction of some sort. Now, those who were called by Death-cast could visit the restaurant for their final meal and, on their way out, leave a small part of themselves behind on the storefront.

"I think Beomgyu would be happy to see this," Hueningkai chuckled. "He'd be excited to be so famous." 

"Yeah, he really would."

The two made their way into the restaurant, making small talk and catching each other up as they waited for the waitress to stop by their booth. When she finally stopped by, Soobin looked up directly at Hueningkai as he spoke.

"I heard the food here is to die for," Soobin said casually. 

Hueningkai stared back, momentarily thrown off. 

And then he smiled— finding peace in the fact that he and Soobin could share one last thing. 

hueningkai's instagram account: @hyukatheloser.

[fuctacles]

For @batboysxprompts Secret Steddie event. My prompt:

Quote: "You've never been touched like this before?" Song: 'Raw Deal', by Judas Priest Optional:  a leather bar AU/place, +18 content, set in fall Don’ts: Pregancy/breeding kink, choking/breathplay, vomit, scat, watersports

E | 2365 | cw: drugs | loose Cruising AU, leather bars, bicurious Steve, going undercover | tape dividers by @cafekitsune heart dividers by me

The door slammed closed behind him, leaving Steve alone in the empty hall outside the Captain’s office. In his hands, he was holding the turning point of his career, a special assignment he was dreaming of, handed him by the captain himself. A leather jacket. With his new address and keys in its inside pocket.

He was still buzzing with anger at his colleagues, at the hateful words they used and their unwillingness to take this on. It was mostly that, which pushed him to bite back and offer himself.

By the looks from his peers, it seemed it was their plan all along. To send the gay sympathizer in as one of their last straws. But will he be a short or a long one?

It’s not what he dreamed of when joining the force, certainly not something he felt comfortable with. But he was too pissed to back out, and the whole case was hitting a dead end.

A strip of paper with a crude map and a name led him through alleys until he passed the first leather-clad guy, then another, then groups of them. He kept catching stares that were both the same and completely different from the ones women would send him. He knew he was in the right place.

The bar itself was suffocating with its loud music and weird smells. But most of all, the mass of bodies, glistening with sweat and smattered with hair.

So much hair on so much bare skin.

The beer was lukewarm, giving no relief from the heat around him and he knew he was on his way to a bad headache. It was like stepping into a hazy dream. He was pretty sure there was a threesome happening in the right corner of his vision. There was also a real possibility he was getting intoxicated on the fumes hanging in the air alone.

A guy, clad in a dark tank top and sweat, leans on the bar beside him, his dark eyes flitting up and down appraisingly over his body.

“You look new here.”

“I am new,” Steve admits.

“New here or new-new?” The man raises his eyebrow, intrigued.

“New-new.” 

He lights up at that.

“I could show you the ropes,” he offers with a smile suggesting a joke Steve’s missing. He lets him pull them into the pulsing mass of bodies on the dancefloor anyway.

It takes him a couple of minutes to figure out the rhythm, let the music and the crowd seep into him, and guide his movements. While everything here was different, he’d been to bars before. He knows how to dance, knows how to flirt.

“What’s your name?” he asks loudly over the music.

The man’s smirk moved his trimmed mustache. He leans in, closer than any man ever has before.

“You can call me Spike.”

Steve nods.

“Sven.”

The man doesn’t move away, stays close and so does his lopsided mustache. 

“You look like Sugar to me.”

Steve smiles, surprised and flustered.

“Then Sugar it is.”

They dance, now closer but not uncomfortably so. Two guys beside them are grinding against each other, and the sight lights a fire under his skin. It’s a dangerous feeling, considering he’s on a job. Ah, and there’s a killer on the loose. It’s not the best moment to give in to his homoerotic fantasies.

So he plays the part of Sven, a shy, closeted bisexual who doesn’t make first moves, afraid of where it might lead him.

The last part distinguished him from Steve, who was insanely curious about what could happen.

Some making out, hopefully, wouldn’t foil his plans.

He doesn’t put Spike’s hands on his hips like he wants to, but steps a bit closer, and sways his hips in a certain way. 

A hand does land on him, but instead of pulling him in, it’s dragging him away.

“Back off, we’re dancing!” Spike pushes between him and the owner of the hand. Steve looks back, ready to snark at whoever is groping him, but he finds a familiar face.

He’s frozen for a second too long, but Edward Munson, the man still considered a main suspect by many, takes it in stride.

“Relax, Spike, we’ve met before. Haven’t we?”

Steve nods, earning himself a glare from Spike.

“The Freak? You said you were new to the scene.”

“Never said we’ve met here,” Munson clarifies, voice growing sharper with a warning. “Go find a different virgin, you perv.”

Spike grumbles something before leaving, and Steve is pulled into Munson’s chest. He huffs when their ribcages collide painfully. Everything is hot and sticky, and he wants to go home. Or rather, the temporary flat he’s renting while undercover.

“So Spike likes inexperienced men, huh?” he asks conversationally. 

“Yeah, but he also lives with two roommates who've known him for the past five years.” Munson rolls his eyes. “An unlikely suspect.”

“Thought you weren’t going to help us?” Steve raises an eyebrow. 

“Maybe I’m not helping you. Maybe I’m just keeping my eyes open because someone is killing gays in the area.”

Steve humms at that.

“So what’s your name, stranger?” he asks mockingly but Steve already knows he likes pushing buttons. Especially with cops, suspect or not. 

“Sven. But Spike seems to think Sugar works better for me.”

The man snorts, giving him a quick once over. 

“It does,” he decided. “Well, if you hear about the Freak or Popper, that might be me.”

“Popper?”

“Care for a hit?” He reaches into his leather jacket, bringing Steve’s attention to his bare chest. There were a couple of tattoos on his pecks and a fine dusting of hair.

From an inside pocket, he brings out a tiny bottle. It looks like a nasal spray with two cones instead of one.

“What is it?”

“Poppers,” he answers shortly before putting the thing in his nose and inhaling. “Probably my most popular ware. Great for anal, relaxes your muscles and stuff.”

He shakes the bottle in an offer and Steve takes it. Plunges into the sweaty world of leather and testosterone, as were his instructions.

They keep dancing and take a couple more hits. Munson tells him about all the regulars, the dos and don’ts of this world. His hand is under Steve’s shirt and his mouth is on his ear to keep their conversation private.

There is so much to take in.

“Where do I get pants like that?”

Munson follows his line of sight and sees a hairy ass peeking from a cut-out in leather pants. He grins back at him.

“I can show you a place.”

Two weeks in and Steve is barely focused on his assignment. The breeze on his ass is all he can think of. The stares he attracts, the fact that he’s almost offering himself on a silver platter. He could just lean a bit more forward on the bar, bend his spine, anyone could just stand behind him, grind against him, and…

His cock gets heavy just at the thought and he does lean in. Can’t help himself.

He almost sighs when a hand scopes the globe of his ass.

“You’re blending in quite nicely,” he hears Munson, Eddie, in his ear. Of course it’s him. “Just another slut begging to be touched by a random pervert.”

Turns out he’s into dirty talk now as well. Who would have thought?

“You have a really nice ass, too. I think the pants were a good choice,” he says, squeezing. “How do you feel in them?”

Frozen between pressing into the touch and squirming away, Steve weighs his words.

“Like candy on display. An offering.”

Eddie humms, suddenly closer.

“Yeah? What are you offering?”

He doesn’t know. The idea of gay sex had never really crossed his mind but for the past week, it’s all he can think about. He keeps wondering how far he is willing to go with the charade. If his curiosity will turn into exploration.

The palm presses on his tailbone and slides down, a single finger tracing his crack, but not pushing between the cheeks. It’s still tantalizingly close to his hole. Steve’s fingers scrape on the bartop in front of him.

“What? You’ve never been touched like this before?” Eddie asks teasingly. “Of course not,” he answers himself. “This is not your scene. You shouldn’t be here.”

Steve straightens up. He doesn’t want to turn around for some reason, so just presses against him, back to chest.

“I’m doing my job.”

“I could do it.”

“You’re not trained,” Steve reminds him, angry at the turn in the conversation. Places Eddie’s free hand on his middle. His fingers flinch at the skin-to-skin contact and Steve feels pride in his choice not to wear anything under his jacket today. Eddie traces the hair on his chest.

“Well, we have the same chances against a gun to the head.”

“He uses a knife.”

“And now you’re spilling confidential details. Not very professional.”

“Everyone knows that,” Steve argues but he’s already irked by Eddie’s prodding.

Speaking of prodding…

There’s still a finger, lazily tracing his ass.

He likes it. He can admit this much.

“Maybe it could be my scene,” he says quietly, turned enough for the other man to catch. Eddie makes an inquiring sound, to which Steve puts his palms against his, making him press harder against his skin. The finger on his ass slides between his cheeks.

“You could show me the ropes?”

Eddie lets out a husky, surprised laugh.

“Pun intended?” 

“Pun very much intended.”

He’s making a mistake. None of this is worth it and he’s risking his assignment, failing his precinct. Letting a murderer run around, knife in hand, killing innocent men.

These are his thoughts when Eddie slips his fingers in and out of his ass. It’s weird but not unpleasant, the drugs are doing their job of helping him relax. But the appeal is lost on him and it’s a pity because he really warmed up to Eddie, hoped they could be friends, solve the case together. But now it’s gonna be awkward, because-

All his doubts are cut short when Eddie finds his prostate, nearly making him choke on his spit.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “Okay.”

Eddie chuckles from between his legs.

“Okay?”

Steve nods, blinking at the cracking ceiling.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get it. Do it again?”

“Of course, Sugar.” He leans in to plant a kiss on his leather-clad thigh before going to town on his prostate.

Steve arches off the bed in a silent scream and with a little help of a hand on his dick, comes all over himself and the pants he’s still wearing. His head is too heavy to lift properly and the gasps of breath aren’t helping but he looks down Eddie’s body with a frown. This was so much easier with a woman. He licks his lips and tries to get an elbow under himself. 

“Do you want to…”

Eddie looks up at him from where he’s wiping cum off the leather.

“Want to what?”

Steve scrunches his nose.

“Fuck me.”

He stops what he’s doing and sits up. He lost his pants before so his dick stands hard and proud between his legs.

“I do,” he shrugs matter-of-factly. “But I’ll be fine.”

Steve’s shaking his head before he’s even finished talking.

“No. Do it.” He uses what little is left of his strength to flip on his stomach and raise his ass. He moves it in a way he hopes is inviting. “I’m still curious.”

Eddie’s silent for alarmingly long and he’s starting to feel he said something wrong, but then the man lets out a choked sound. The mattress dips under his weight when he moves closer. 

“Are you sure?”

Steve considers the ugly pattern of Eddie’s wallpaper.

“No,” he decides. “But I want to know. Just use a fucking condom.”

Eddie scoffs and grabs his ass in both hands, kneading his cheeks.

“Of course.”

When he enters him, it’s like nothing else Steve’s ever felt. His dick goes so much deeper than the fingers and the stimulation on his prostate is twice as prominent. Especially now that he’s already come. He didn’t think he was gonna do it again any time soon but Eddie’s dick might just prove him wrong. 

And it’s not just the stimulation doing him in. There’s so much more to take in now.

There’s a man behind him, pounding into him with big hands holding his hips. He’s under him, bent with his ass up, face in the sheets, and rubbing against them as his whole body rocks for another man’s pleasure. He likes being used, likes being on the receiving end, he realizes. Already knows it’s not going to be a one-time experiment.

Eddie grunts behind him, low and deep, and his hips snap harder against his ass, fingers digging painfully into his skin. He can feel him twitch inside as he climaxes and Steve follows, stuffing his face in the sheets to hide his pathetic whine. He hasn’t been this drained after sex for a long time, and he wasn’t even the one doing the fucking.

Eddie probably felt the same, because he collapsed on him, all heavy limbs and itchy stubble against his back.

“You were so tight, so hot and perfect,” he mumbles against his skin, leaving tiny kisses in his wake. Steve didn’t know what to do, because he never thought what he would do after the sex. What they would do.

Thankfully, Eddie’s hazy blissed-out brain has an idea.

“Can we cuddle?” he asks, almost inaudible with his face pressed into Steve’s shoulder.

“Sure,” he answers in a hoarse voice because the idea sounds heavenly. “Lemme just…” he shimmies out from under Eddie who makes a displeased sound but Steve has to get out of the leather pants before he falls asleep. He does so as quickly as possible and falls back on the bed.

It takes a moment for their boneless limbs to align comfortably but it happens and Steve finds himself being the little spoon for the first time in his life. He quite likes it, he decides. 

[2000sanimeop]

I finished FFIII on Monday and am now partway through replaying IV (zot). Are you ready for my at-this-exact-moment-in-time ranking? I am not joking.

9

7

3

2

1

15

12

8

4

6

10

13

16

Some superlatives

Best battle system straight outta the box: FFII

Pissed me off the most: FFVIII

Funniest: FFIII

Most hangoutable: FFXV

Made me cry the most: FFXV

Best towns: FFIX / FFVII

Best end-game gameplay: FFII / FFIII

As far as biases are concerned, here's my play order in the order that I played them:

played as a kid: 10, 7, 8, 9, 4

played as an adult: 6, 12, 13, 15, 16, 1, 2, 3

Yeah, that's right. Make sense of that.

General takeaways

If you tried playing some FF games that everyone recommended and didn't really gel with them, try playing the ones they don't recommend.

You would not believe how hard my esteem for FFIV plummeted upon playing it again after playing I-III for the first time. The narrative is clumsy by comparison and the gameplay is downright unpleasant. I still like a lot of elements but I'm honestly shocked.

There's. something. about the evenly numbered FF games... something that people who are not me clearly enjoy. I kinda want to ask even number FF likers their opinions on Les Miserables and Saving Private Ryan.

Anyway, thank you for reading! If any of this resonates or if I am now your nemesis, please let me know. :^)

[karezaru]

replaying all of resevil, so expect yagami's au soon

[dandyrebel]

Dammit, I'm on this blue hell site again

[tagring]

i still so badly wish they let larsa cry like this little emperor boy is 12 and he just lost his father and brother one after the other. Come on man

[mielleuccello]

The Rising │ 2024-2019

[necrotic-nightshade]

im sure you have already been asked this before, but,

did you name these after songs? the only ones i recongize is

Who is she? - I Monster (if i remember correctly)

Vanished -Crystal Castles

Lotta True Crime - Penelope Scott (ofc)

Heartaches - Al Bowly

Heatwaves - Glass animals

Ghost Choir - Louie Zong

Caligula just made me think of Dragula by Rob Zombie lol-

Yep! I made it a couple years ago so my music preferences have shifted a smidge, but these are all songs that listen(ed) to a lot :P

I don't remember if I've ever listed them in full though, so for anyone curious, here's all the sources:

Widdershins - Houseghost

Hunter's Moon - Ghost (B.C.)

Saccharine - Jazmin Bean

World Vision - Blank Banshee

Ghost Choir - Louie Zong

Lotta True Crime - Penelope Scott

Null Moon - Akira Yamaoka (Silent Hill 2 OST)

Heat Waves - Glass Animals

Pink Smoke - The Scary Jokes

Caligula - Windows96

Vanished - Crystal Castles

Carousel Waltz - Jack Conte

Astral Alley - Alec Holowka (Night in the Woods OST)

Who Is She? - I Monster

The Insides of Tears - Oliver Buckland

Heartaches - Al Bowlly

Perfumed Letters - Graham Kartna

No Fun Summer - Houseghost

Pop Culture - Madeon

Volatile Times - IAMX

White Noiz - Akira Yamaoka (Silent Hill 2 OST)

Youth - Glass Animals

Dance Macabre - Ghost (B.C.)

Uncanny - GHOST and Pals

Flying - Oliver Buckland

Today Today - Jack Stauber

Weird Autumn - Alec Holowka (Night in the Woods OST)

Crying Lightning - Arctic Monkeys

[arcane-vagabond]

im here to share my love for the new fool’s fare chapter! such an interesting read and i can’t wait for more 🥰🥰🥰

Ahhh!! Thank you, Nonny!!! Fool’s Fare is probably my favorite story to write in terms of action and what happens in general. It is genuinely so much fun to write and I always hope that you guys have just as much fun reading it. I mean, who doesn’t love pirates??

I’m gonna be sad when it’s over. 🫤

[noirrelite]

you ever just realize you're missing some details days after you just posted your artwork edit: omg thank god I can replace pics in my posts

[ladyswillmart]

That's right, I'm playing FFTactics!! 😊 One of my all time favorites! I kinda forgot that Gaf(f)garion and Agrias had the kinda wacky sitcom-style bickering going on at the beginning... Also I have only ever played the original PS1 version, so the PSP version will be something of a new experience for me. I am definitely looking forward to a hopefully more coherent story experience.

Wow, also this game looks really good! Nice and crispy! Controller is a little janky but that is not the game's fault 🤔

[thursdayg1rl]

thats it im just emptying my chemistry folder and putting it in my bag

[heyitsrink]

Things are tough lately so I’m revisiting some comforting Fitzloved sketches. This one turned into a post-FF AU where the boys are healing together <3

[mistninja]

The "he loves me!" Scene is so so so fucked up. First of all the fact the Fool didn't actually believe fitz loved him before that moment and then he Saw that Fitz loved him for real and fitz was so appalled. Second of all how it echoes fitz's own belief that nobody truly loves him, which gets revisited in FF and he realizes how deeply he loves and is loved back by the fool. One of the few moments in fitz life where u know he is 100% convinced of the fool's love for him. And then all those years later of doubting that love. Which is similar to the years that the Fool was away in bingtown when he doubted fitz's love. And then in the end when bee calls out the Fool for doubting that he is fitz's Beloved. It's all about seeing the love that's in front of you. Should I die