#frequently come from a place of bias

[valalice]

Hello there!! I really love your work! Could I request some older! gf caitlyn with some subtle and soft dominance? Doesnt need to be nsfw [but won’t complain if it is ;))]

It could just be about how she acts with the reader when in public, at home, etc. [i.e: cooking for reader when they’re busy for exams, putting her hand on reader’s thighs when sitting in public, or big spooning reader when they head to bed.]

That’s all. Please remember to stay hydrated and take frequent breaks! Keep being you and don’t overwork yourself :)).

— 🐢

ꪆৎ HEAVEN, HEAVEN. ft. 𝓬𝓪𝓲𝓽𝓵𝔂𝓷 𝓴𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓷.

ʚɞ summary. subtle ways your older girlfriend caitlyn shows dominance towards you.

warnings. fem!reader. reader is in college. age gap (10 years or more). no use of y/n. modern au! where cait is an office worker. fluff. in one headcanon there's a mention of curly hair (it's all for inclusivity and bias tbh—coming from a girl with curly hair). pet names ie: darling, love, baby, ect. smut nsfw. bottom!reader. dom!cait. hair pulling. mommy kink (reader calling cait mommy & cait calling herself mommy). squirting. cait had a bush. reader is a brat kinda. slight exhibition. fingering (r!receiving). orgasm denial. oral (c! receiving). strap (r!receiving). the strap is referred to as cait's cock. not proofread. wc. roughly 2k to 3k

an. thank you for the request, lovie! and i'm happy that you're enjoying my work ☺️ i decided to take this request and turn it into a headcanon format so i hope that's okay! you are too cute with your kind words and i hope you are taking care of yourself, drinking lots of water and eating yummy meals <3 i also decided to add some nsfw headcanons 🙈 so i hope you guys enjoy them. and for any of these headcanons i am willing to expand on them if you guys are interest :) remember to support your writers by reblogging & commenting !

m.list. | arcane m.list.

࣪ ˖ SAFE FOR WORK.

‣ straight away with caitlyn you notice her dominance. even before the two of you started dating and she was courting you, as she'd say when reminiscing with you or her friends on the early stages of you two, she exuded an air around her that's nothing less than confidence, pride, and dominance. she's already tall at 6 foot, but her posture is always upright, her appearance sleek, and she reveled in maintaining eye contact. and before her you usually didn't find people who were overtly dominant attractive, but when it comes to caitlyn it's completely different, natural. it's the way she carry's herself and it rubs off on you.

‣ the first subtle way of cait's dominance you noticed was her ability to make decisions. she's knows what she wants and how she wants it, and that's something you're relieved about, being too indecisive at times. so being able to let caitlyn reign free on decision making was something that gave you peace of mind. and it wasn't that she was a control freak (she kind of is, but that isn't the point), she helps level out the playing field when you're iffy.

"what would you like to eat for lunch, darling? my treat." she ask, clicking on her keys to unlock her car, taking the bag from off you shoulders to hold it in her hand.

"hm," breaking away from cait to walk around her car to the passenger seat, just before your slide in. "i don't really know." you cringe, you couldn't even count on your fingers how many times you've said this phrase in your relationship so far.

you hear caitlyn hum and the sound of her swinging open the back seat door and the shuffle of her setting your bag in the backseat before you enter your seat. she joins you in the driver's seat, clicking in her seat belt, her gaze settling upon you scrolling away on your phone. "would you like to eat out somewhere or pick up fast food and we can take it back to my place?"

your head darts up to look at your girlfriend, lips twisting up, thinking about your options. "i want something good."

that's earns a chuckle from cait, "i know that silly," her hand coming up to boop you on your noise, which caused you to scrunch it and giggle, swatting her hand away. "but what is exactly good?" she presses.

"well what do you think is good?"

"that wasn't the question."

you grumble, "you're so difficult."

"says you." she teases.

"'m always the one who picks. what would you like." you ask turning in your seat towards her as best as you can.

"i'm fine with whatever you'd like. you know that."

biting your lip you think about the choices she gave you earlier. "i think we should go back to your place."

"that's a start. do you have a taste for anything."

"i already answered that."

"darling." she sing songs in a tone similar to a warning.

she starts the engine, finally, and you immediately connect to the bluetooth.

"y'know we haven't had chinese in awhile." she proses, eyeing your expression from the corner of her eye.

"oh, that sounds really good actually."

cait perks up in the drivers seat, "you're usual?"

"yep!"

"alright," she stretches forward to twist the volume nob lower. "i'm going to call it in and we'll pick it up on the way home."

‣ cait also does the general dominate things; like opening up doors of any kind for you when she can, interlocking your fingers when the two of you walk together, walking slightly in front of you at all times as well as guiding you. you secretly love it though when instead of guiding you through a crowd by being in front of you, you love it when she does it by standing behind you, a hand or both hands securely on your hips as she leads you forward from behind. she's also a firm believer of switching places when walking, on the street and you're near the road? she's switching with you. in the parking lot and your facing the intersections? she's using her hand on your lower back to guide you to be the closest near the parked cars.

‣ she will also never let her girl look out of place, so she fixes anything that is "off" with your appearance. like fixing a certain stand of hair, taking that fallen eyelash off of your cheek and raising her finger with the piece of your fine hair on it in front of your lips so you could wish and blow it away, fixing your jacket so it's straight or the neckline of your shirt or dress, the straps of your bra will never be showing when you're wearing thin strapped items as long as caitlyn's around. holding your little compact mirror while you fix up your makeup or reapply your lipgloss. your necklaces will always be facing the correct way. picking off lint or stray hairs from your clothing. and she somehow always notices when your sneakers are starting to untie before your, pulling you aside so she can get on a knee and pat her propped up knee so you can place your foot there and allow her to tie your shoe, when she's done she pats your foot to let you know and she dust herself off before leaning down to give you a kiss.

‣ when out in public she'll usually always keep one hand on you at all times. in a comforting way for the both of you, especially if the two of you will be around her friends or people her age. she knows you get antsy around them and there's anxiety about being the youngest in a room full of older people. so, there will always be a comforting arm wrapped around your waist or a hand in or lap or on your thigh.

you look around the room, there's people you've met before. caitlyn's friends and a few colleagues, but for the most part a majority of them are new faces. and you can't help but feel like everyone is looking at you.

you've never been insecure about being with caitlyn. yes she's older than you, but it's never stopped you from feeling head over heels for her and that feeling overpowers any doubt or insecurity you could ever have. it's the fact that it seems like you're the youngest in the room, there's nothing inherently bad about that. but everyone here is successful, and you're well. . . a college student working a job that has nothing to do with what you're going to school for.

a warm hand snaps you out of your thoughts. lifting your head, caitlyn's already looking at you with a soft expression. "you're shaking your leg, love."

"oh," looking down at the leg with cait's hand on it, still shaking. you stop it on command, focusing your gaze back on your girlfriend.

"are you okay?" she tilts her head, her eyebrows furrowing and the ponytail her blue hair is in swishes behind her, cute.

you give her a tight smile, nodding your head. "hm." you hope you're convincing enough.

caitlyn takes in a breath, breaking her gaze from you to look around the room. "y'know that woman over there went for the same major as you." she points out.

"really?" observing the woman who's talking with a few of their colleagues before turning your wide gaze back to your girlfriend.

"hm. she doesn't do work with it," she pauses, turning her head back to you with soft eyes. "but, what she does now is something she loves."

her hand smoothing up and your thigh, comforting you. "what i'm trying to say is that don't worry about your path right now being different from others around you." she reassures. reaching out to take a hand from your lap to take it in hers, bringing your hand to her lips and pressing a kiss.

flushing at her gesture, "thank you, cait." your voice small enough for only her to hear in the chatter of the room. your hand stays up near her lips and she presses a few more kisses, causing you to giggle.

"there she is." she muses.

you bring her hand holding yours down down into your lap to clasp her hand in between yours. leaning forward, a few inches from her face.

"kiss?"

caitlyn leans forward to meet your lips, not connecting them just yet. "any thing for my darling." she whispers against your lips.

‣ it was also established pretty early that caitlyn is the big spoon in the relationship. she enjoys and you love it. caitlyn also finds it pretty cute whenever the two of you are laying anywhere whether it's the sofa or in bed that you turn your back to her and keep shifting until she notices your moving form, coming up to wrap herself around your backside. not really big spooning but caitlyn enjoys the feeling and pressure of your laying on top of her, always telling you how it grounds her whenever she pulls you along to the bed and flops you on top of her. but you never complain because you find it comforting too, the side of your head press against her soft chest, focusing on the steady rise and fall of it and the buh dumbs of her heartbeat, you usually fall asleep quickly like this.

‣ older gf!caitlyn knows how draining it is to be in college. you get so focused on your education by sainting grades or completing assignments, not to mention the exams. so, she's always doing her best to help you out and make sure that you keep yourself in check rather that be mentally or physically. during hard times where you have midterms or finals or just back to back exams caitlyn will always tell you to not worry about picking up shifts at your job, she already knows you're overworking yourself by studying and doesn't want you to exhaust yourself further by working long hours. because she knows you and that if you could study then work a shift and study some more afterwards you would, but she knows that isn't healthy for you. so she always reassures you by saying that she'll support you financially for a little bit, transfer sums of money into you bank account for rent, bills, groceries, ect. it gives her peace of mind to know that she able to take a weight off your shoulders and provide for you. cait is also an insanely amazing cook and you always rave about her cooking, so she began taking a day out of her week every week to cook you some premade meals. she always comes stocked and ready on a weekend to your place with her tote full of meals to pile into your fridge. and during exam season it became pretty common for you to send time at hers for a few days. she does it to watch over you to make sure you're not running on fumes, but you like to think of her as a built in study buddy for reviews. during these days cait will come home from work to most likely find you at the dinning table studying, she'll kiss you on your forehead, and she'll head straight to the kitchen to cook dinner. as much as you dread exam season you don't dread spending this time with cait, there's just something so inherently domestic about cait providing for you. coming home and cooking dinner for the both of you, it makes your mind go numb. and it makes her feel successful when at night when she drags you to bed and for her to wake up to begin getting ready for work that you're still in bed soundly sleeping and that you didn't sneak off somewhere to study.

"dinner's ready." caitlyn chims, poking her head into the dinning room where you sit.

you lift your head up from your notes to eye her. sniffing the aroma around you. "chicken alfredo?"

"hm. you said something about craving it last week, so when i went shopping i picked up the ingredients."

"you're so sweet, cait." you hum, watching as she exits back into the kitchen. you prop your elbow up the table to rest your head in your hand, eyes flicking back down to your notes. you needed to understand—no—absorb this material into your brain for your exam coming up in a few days. listing off multiple curses within your head for taking this course and major and your professor for being a difficult teacher.

there's crinkling of sheets of paper around you. cait's suddenly bending across the table to organize the scattered papers in her hands. "c'mon, love. you can study a little more later."

fixing your gaze back up causing your eyebrows to raise, dumbfounded as you watched her. releasing your head from your hand to reach it out for the papers. "but—"

"but?" her tone is questioning and harsh. blue eyes narrowing at you.

"just a few more minutes, please, baby. i almost have this down."

you watching her graceful figure walk to the edge of the table where the rest of your materials lie and she places the stack down. she stands tall, placing a hand on her hips. "you can always study some more afterwards," she begins to walk over towards where you sit. "your notes aren't going to miraculously grow legs and run away, love. they'll be here." she assures. you blink and look back down at the notes in front of you, then back up at caitlyn. and for the first time you notice her attire, her hairs in a messy ponytail, still in her work attire but she's discarded her blouse and is only in her under tank top and slacks, she too has has had a long day.

"okay." you agree.

caitlyn smiles, showing off her toothy grin and her front gap you adore. she takes the material in front of you and places it with the rest.

"we're eating at the island. i have a sneaky feeling your cute bum has been sat on that chair all day." she teases.

you stand, bones cracking. your eyes shoot straight to look at cait, the both of you bursting into laughter. the noise proving her suspicions correct.

she sways back towards you, "come before the food gets cold." she muffles out, taming her laughter.

beelining to the kitchen island you sit back down, but now on a high top chair. lifting yourself up by your hands on the counter to eye the dish of chicken alfredo on the other side of the counter.

"looks s'yummy, cait."

"hope it is."

"always is" you correct.

watching as she stands on the other side, empty plate in hand with tongs in the other, dishing up some pasta and chicken.

"good?"

you eye the plate, "hm" you nod.

she heads behind her to the stove where steamed broccoli lies, piling some onto you plate. opening a drawer next to the stove, grabbing a fork and slamming it shut with her hip. she turns around and walks around the island. the clank of the plate landing on the counter, placing the fork down next to it.

"dig in, darling." pressing a kiss into your hair before going to fix her plate.

‣ she takes care of you in softer domestic ways. such as taking off your makeup for you after a long day or a night out with friends. bathing you and carefully washing over you in the shower. washing your hair, even going as far to learn the type of products you use and buying spares for her place so she's always stocked if you happen to spend days at her place and it's a wash day. she even learns how to care for you hair type if you have curly hair, hearing you complain endlessly about the process of washing and styling it, so she'd take it upon herself to observe you and learn so that way she can help and maybe even completely take over the process to give your poor arms a break. a certain domestic thing she does is call her place home. not just her home but your home too. whenever you're spending the night and the two of you out she'll always say "alright, let's head home, love." at the end of it. and it never fails to make your heart skip a beat that she views her space as your guys's collective space. she makes it knows that she's ready for you to move in whenever you feel most comfortable, and the day that you announce that you're ready to live together she is beaming.

࣪ ˖ NOT SAFE FOR WORK.

‣ a subtle way she asserts dominance is maintaining eye contact with you. she relishes in being able to make you flustered from simple eye contact, watching you get all fidgety and stumble over your words. but it's also her silent cue whenever you're acting out in public. a tilt of her head, dark gaze, heavy lids and a narrowed eyes will usually set you in place.

‣ caitlyn knew a lot about herself before she met you, she kept a list of all things she liked and didn't like, and those things rarely changed. but what she didn't know is that she'd find being called mommy so attractive. she knows she can be assertive and demanding at times, always the one with the plan. she was even deemed the "mom friend" when she was younger, but not once in any of her other relationships had anyone called her mommy. and maybe it's because she's never dated anyone, before you, with a large age gap. but the first time the word escaped between your sweet lips it was when cait had you face down, ass up, drooling into a pillow. fucking you at a particular angle with her cock that caused you to go dumb and roll your eyes to the back of your skull. realization didn't strike you when it muttered out, you were too far gone, but of course caitlyn heard it, she hears everything. her hips stilling. "what was that?" you barely heard her question, only worrying about the fact that she stopped fucking you, pressing your hips back to gain her attention to begin thrusting again. "please—mommy." oh. she liked that.

‣ older gf!caitlyn expects nothing but the best behavior of her sweet darling. she finds it intolerable and disrespectful when you decide to be a brat and act out, and when you take it further and push her past her warnings? she's seething. but two can play that game.

cait lets out a laugh along with her friends. the two of you were where at this restaurant for hours now. you didn't mind your girlfriend's friends, you loved and enjoyed their company. but you didn't expect to be here for this long and it's getting antagonizing having to sit and pretend like your understanding anything any of them are saying, especially when cait looks like that, blue hair flowing down her back, dainty silver jewelry decorating her body, in that black silk dress the one with the modest (you don't think do) slit. you begged her to cancel the moment you saw her, but she persisted, and now you're suffering.

she's even been uptight today, shutting down your sly advances, saying something about acting out and wanting to enjoy a night with her friends in a long time when the two of you took a bathroom break. the bathroom break had backfired too, you prosed the question about going to the bathroom hoping she'd shuffle you into a stall and finger you, but that was a bust.

when you peak down to look at the time on your phone you catch something interesting from the corner of your eye. caitlyn's exposed thigh from the slit, her dress is bunched up a little at her waist so the amount of skin showing is more.

your nimble fingers trace down her thigh, smirking at the feel of goosebumps rising on her skin. settling your hand on her thigh, not too far low and not too high, just yet.

cait turns her head to peer down at the hand on her thigh, your pinky rubbing back and forth on the soft skin. then to your face, you flash her a smile and she does the same, pressing a quick peck to your lips before she turns her attention back to her friends. you feel as though a grey gloomy cloud was cast over you in that moment.

in a burst of inspiration you begin to inch your hand high, little by little until a few of your finger tips are dipping past the slit of that dress towards her clothed cunt.

her head instantly snaps towards you, eyes narrowed.

"what do you think you're doing?"

"i want to play." you shrug.

"and i told you not here."

"but i really want it," your gaze on caitlyn growing dark. "mommy." purring out the name so only the two of your could hear it

caitlyn's eyebrows raise in shock before they settle back down, turning her head to see her friends are still deep in conversation. her hand pulling yours from between her thighs. there isn't a harsh grip around your hand but it is tight, and with that hand she pulls you forward.

"fix your attitude and behave. maybe i'll think about touching you when we get back home."

you sit up straighter a grin forming on your face. nodding your head "m'kay." caitlyn squints her eyes at your sudden sudden change, releasing your hand.

a few moments pass by and you're already thinking of defying cait again. this time your hand finds her shoulder. you're bored so you begin to trace shapes on it, but then that gets boring so you start toying with her dress strap.

"stop that." her voice startles you.

you roll you eyes, confidently, because caitlyn isn't even looking at you.

"'m not even doing anything."

"yet." the pronunciation of the word is precise and harsh.

she turns back to you, "you're thinking of doing something. so i suggest before you do, that you don't."

"cait." you whine.

"what's going on with you, hm?"

"i told you."

"you're never this bad in public." that's true, but you've never had to wait this long for your girlfriend to touch you.

"you don't get it."

she eyes you. "no, i think i do," leaning forward her lips ghost yours. "seems as though i've spoiled you rotten which is causing you to act like a little slut in front of all my friends."

her voice dropped to an octive, enacting a reaction of chills down your body, wetness pooling between your thighs.

"be quiet or you won't cum for a week." she commands, pressing a kiss to your lips and refocusing herself.

"wha—"

suddenly caitlyn's hand dismisses the fabric of your skirt to between your thighs. fingers getting to work by rubbing at your clothes clit. you look up to see that cait now has her drink in her other hand, bringing it up to her lips to take a sip. her peripheral vision catching you and flicking her eyes to you, corking an eyebrow up at you.

as she is finished with her drink and sets it down her fingers push past your panties, spreading your legs a little wider to welcome her large hand. slow lazy circles on you clit was all you got for awhile, but it was enough to simmer your ache.

without warning cait bullies a finger into your sopping heat, causing you to let out a loud gasp. the entire table turning to you.

"are you okay?" one of her friends asks.

"yeah. you feeling alright, love?" her voice is laced in false concern. slipping another finger into your greedy cunt, observing your reaction.

you shuffle, looking around the table, then down at your empty plate. you can see cait's hand flexing as she pumps fingers in and out of you.

"uh— none of us has ordered dessert yet! it's not a dinner without dessert," you prose. "hm, right?"

the table agrees, and someone beckons the waiter over.

while everyone is occupied, caitlyn leans forward to your ear. "quick thinking, little one." she praises, watching as the waiter takes everyone's dessert orders. "order up, love."

"and what would you like?" the waiter asks.

biting down on your lip, hard. "hm, what's good?" there was an infliction on your voice from cait pressing her thumb against your clit as she fingers you.

"the molten lava cake is our most popular—"

you cut them off. "i'll take that!" a muffled moan escaped through your mouth, "hmm, sounds very delicious." hoping that saved yourself.

the waiter writes it down on their pad, turning their attention to caitlyn. "and for you ma'am?"

"oh, her and i will share." she confirms.

as the waiter walks off your head turns to cait, glossy eyes boring into her cold blue eyes. "cait—"

"i know" she shushes, she already knows you're close by the way you're desperate sucking her fingers back in. you're not sure if it's all in your head, but you swear cait fingering you underneath the table is causing the obscene squelches from your messy cunt to reverb and echo through the restaurant. to combat the noise you squeeze your thighs around cait's hand, but she persists.

flinging a hand down to grip at the hand between your thighs, you're so close that you don't even care if her friends caught on. not when her slender fingers that spot so deep within that only cait can reach.

just as you legs begin to shake uncontrollably, caitlyn whips her fingers from you needy cunt and between your thighs. grabbing the cloth napkin to wipe off your juices from her fingers, an icy glare is sent your way as she sets it back down, one that tells you everything.

brats don't get to cum.

‣ going back to spooning with caitlyn, she also loves to place you in her lap while the two of you watch tv. your head in the crook of her shoulder and a hand of hers in your hair, playing with it. until suddenly when she was innocently twirling a piece of your hair you'll feel a tug at it, causing you to gasp unexpectedly. or she'll get straight to it, so a her hand will find its way on the nape of your neck, slim fingers threading themselves through the underside of your hair before she yanks, now this will cause you to moan out, head falling back so she's cradling it in her hand. wet lips finding their way to your exposed neck, kissing and nipping away at the sensitive skin. you'll whine out, only for cait to shh you, "let me have my fun, love."

‣ there's something intoxicating about you being naked while caitlyn is completely clothed. the contrast between your crumbling figure and her composure. she also loves seeing how your sensitive body reacts to the feeling of her clothes on your body. her favorite is to press her clothed chest to your bare one while the two of you are messily making out, your nipples immediately hardening. even the way she can feel your slick soaking through her slack covered thigh, tainting the material. it drives her insane when she makes you squirt, your juices all over her button up making the material darker.

‣ when you're particularly needy and need something to shut you up she'll shove a few fingers in your mouth, watching the way your eyelids drop and you focus on sucking on her fingers. on other occasions she'll order you on your knees, grabbing a cushion for them. and she'll strip slowly and teasingly for you.

you watch her hips sway, raking in her naked body. her blue bush in your face and you feel drool pool into your mouth, gulping. a hand comes to your chin, pushing your head up to look up at her.

"you've been needy," she begins. "but, you've also been good. so i was thinking of putting your neediness to use, i want your mouth."

nodding your head aggressively, eyes dropping back down.

"words."

a hand still on your chin tips your head, peering up with wide doe eyes, cait's expression is cold as she stands over you. "yes, use me mommy, please."

her face relaxes and she smiles down at you, "good girl." your chin is released and her hand smooths over the back of your head, pushing it forward.

taking her clit in your mouth, you moan into her. lapping her up, you free your hands from your lap, placing them on her hips to burry yourself further between her pretty thighs. eyes fluttering shut, savoring the taste of the woman standing above you.

"ah, that's it. s'good." cait's noises of pleasure sounds like music to your ears. opening your eyes to view up her body, she truly is a stallion. her eyes are shut, her shirt long discarded on the floor as she toys with one of her breast, her hand still on your head keeping you pressed up close to her, and her mouth is agape.

your wet muscle working away at her, gliding through her sticky folds. slurping up all her arousal, not wasting a drop.

"so—" she begins. but gasp when you take her clit and suck on it. "shit. so," she gasp again, "so eager to please."

nodding into her, not wanting to let up. releasing a moan into her, causing the grasp in your hair to tighten.

"c'mon, love. make me cum," doe eyes staring back into her drowsy eyes as she lazily talks. "make mommy cum."

caitlyn addressing herself as mommy made you clench your thighs, the ache between your thighs becoming very apparent.

your pushed so far into her that your nose is up against her bush, her scent only enhancing your eagerness.

cait begin to slightly rock back and forth in your mouth maneuvering your head so she's practical long dragging her cunt against your face. your finger nails grip into her hips, adding to her movements. her juices dripping down your chin to dip down your neck.

"fuck!" she yelps, her sweet release washing over her shuttering body and you quickly slurp it up.

the grip in your hair releases. when your satisfied you let up, but quickly you place a kiss upon cait's clit, letting up with a mwah. a shiny sheen covering the bottom half of your face, even the tip of your nose.

cait's hand finds it's way on your face once again, but it cradles you jaw this time, thumb swiping over your plump, slick cover lips.

"my baby always knows how to care of me, doesn't she?" she purs, droopy eyes sparkling down at you with a dazzling smile to match.

‣ whenever cait is strapping you she prefers to be gentle with you. it'll take a lot of begging and or pressing your luck to get her to be really rough with you (like the first time you ever called her mommy). she also just prefers it. she likes taking it slow with you whenever she fucks you with her cock, in missionary so she's able to see your twisted up face from pleasure. she's also just a plain sucker for intimacy, the two of you so close that you're not even sharing space the space you two take up is its own completely new thing. everything of the outside world just washes away, and she gets to focus on you and only you. she loves being able to look you in your eye and dip her head in the crook of your neck to litter kisses and love bites across it and down your collarbones to your tits. and she really loves when you cum, your back arching off the bed your chest pressing further into hers, your head falling back, mouth agape and releasing pretty moans and whines of your climax, even your toes curling and uncurling. she eats it up. she loves it. she loves you.

[evenyvn]

All You ; part 02

Idol!San x SingleMom!Reader

Summary : San's visits to the quiet restaurant grow more frequent, drawn by something—or someone—he can’t quite name. A casual conversations with the owner's teasing smile stir something in him, but it’s her little daughter's innocent words that truly shake him.

Cw : she/her reader, sfw, fluff, third person POV, a little smau at the end, downbad san, reader has a daughter, stranger to lovers, un-established relationship (san thought reader are still married), san is girl dad coded, yn feeding san like he didn't eat for a week (lmao)

prev — masterlist — next

San found himself frequenting the cozy little restaurant over the next few days. It had quickly become his favorite escape—a warm place where the food was delicious, the air smelled like comfort, and the company was even better.

He'd grown close to both Hana and her mom—Y/N. They welcomed him like family, and San, without realizing it, began craving the simplicity he found within those four walls. The humble atmosphere somehow reminds him of home—of his family back in Namhae.

Today, he sat at his usual spot on a table near the counter, sipping on warm tea while waiting for Hana to come home from school. Y/N was wiping down the counter when San finally worked up the nerve to ask something that had been lingering in his mind since their first meeting.

"Hey, uh... can I ask you something?" San began, swirling the tea in his cup.

Y/N looked up, curious. "Of course."

"Back when we first met, you said, 'I know.' What did you mean by that?"

A small smirk tugged at her lips. "Ah, that. I recognized you. You’re an idol, right? From that group called... ATEEZ?" San blinked in surprise. "Wait—you know ATEEZ?"

"Oh I know of you. You're from KQ just right on the corner of the street from here right? some of my customers work as a staff there and sometimes play your songs and talk about your groups during break hours. I don’t really follow idols, but I know a few names. Including you."

San rubbed the back of his neck bashfuly, trying to hide the pink rising to his ears. "I know this might sound a bit weird... but who’s your bias?"

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to ponder seriously. "Hmm... Wooyoung. He's adorable." She said with a playful grin making San gasped dramatically, eyes wide with betrayal. "Wooyoung?!"

Y/N laughed as she slid a small dessert plate toward him. "What? He's got that cheeky charm from what I've heard."

San pouted, but the moment his eyes landed on the dessert, his expression brightened like a child on Christmas morning.

"Eat a lot, San. You're still young," Y/N said teasingly making the pout on his face came again. "I'm not that much younger than you, noona."

She raised an eyebrow with a knowing smile. "Still older than you." San raised both hands in surrender, grinning. "Fine, you win."

They shared a light laugh before Y/N stepped away to the kitchen. San stay seated, picking at his dessert and glancing around the space. The restaurant felt even more homely now—he could name most of the regulars, and there was always a seat saved just for him.

At one point, Y/N reemerged and placed a freshly made roll in front of him. "Try this. I'm testing a new recipe."

San took a bite, eyes lighting up. "Oh, this is amazing. You should definitely add it to the menu." Y/N beamed at his words, "I was hoping you'd say that. Your taste is starting to matter here, San." She said as she walked back to the kitchen.

Before he could say more, the door flew open and Hana burst in, her hello kitty backpack bouncing with each excited step. "Uncle San!!"

San turned just in time to catch her as she jumped into his arms. He lifted her with ease, spinning her once before setting her down with a warm chuckle. "Hey, princess! How was school?"

"It was fun! I drew a picture of a big dragon and I got a star sticker from my teacher!" Hana began rambling about her day, words tumbling over each other in excitement.

San listened intently, occasionally nodding, but every now and then, his gaze drifted behind the counter to Y/N, who was busy wiping a plate, completely unaware of the attention.

There's something in San's eyes whenever they set on the woman, there's crystal clear admiration and perhaps awestruck look on his face.

Hana noticed.

She stopped mid-sentence, squinting up at him suspiciously, "You like eomma, don't you?" San choked. "Yes—I mean, what?? No! I mean i do like her but not in like that-"

Hana raised a suspicious eyebrow as she playfully poked San's dimple. "So you don't like her?" He flailed slightly, embarrassed. "W-what even makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "You make the same face my friend Eunji does when she looks at the boy she likes." San opened his mouth, then closed it again, completely lost for words.

He doesn't like Y/N... does he?

San shakes his head, what was he thinking?? he can't have a silly crush over someone who's married let alone with kid at that!

While San having an inner turmoil with himself—Hana just beamed innocently. "It's okay! I like eomma too! Everyone likes eomma. She's the best eomma in the world!"

San smiled, secretly sighing in relief and heart melting at the little girl's innocence. He ruffled her hair softly. "Yeah... I think you're right about that."

A little later, after Hana was off doing her homework in the corner booth, Y/N returned with another plate—this time, something sweet and warm.

"Is this for me too?" San asked with a playful tone.

"You keep helping out around here and keeping my daughter company. It’s the least I can do," Y/N said, her eyes soft.

San helped clean up some trays as the afternoon sun spilled golden light into the restaurant. He was humming softly to one of his group’s ballads when Y/N paused mid-step and chuckled. "You really can't escape music, can you?"

San grinned sheepishly. "Not really. It's kind of in my DNA now."

Y/N leaned against the counter and watched him for a moment. "It must be strange, going from all that attention and chaos to this little restaurant. Not many people came in here, only regulars and occasionally new curious people"

San looked around, then back at her. "Honestly? I think I like this kind of quiet more."

Their eyes lingered for a beat too long before San looked away first, cheeks faintly pink. Y/N seems aware of San's bashfulness just smile teasingly at the younger man.

And somewhere behind them, Hana peeked from her homework—mischievous smile on her lips as she whispered to herself, "He definitely likes eomma..."

taglist : @sunnysidesins @spenceatiny18 @flambychan @dumplingsyum @iwuberic @kirilunimimi @thedistractedwriter @d3kstar @rosydipity

honestly this series is just something that i didn't really mean to continue lmao so i didn't expect so many people enjoyed it and even asked to be tagged, nonetheless it really means alot to me🥹🫶

taglist are closed!

divider by @.adornedwithlight | likes, comments, and reblogs are very appreciated ♡

[nxlx96]

The Boy Saviour - Oscar Piastri x Reader (she/her)

Hi, this is my first time writing x reader, and the idea came to me at 3am a few nights ago while i was trying to sleep and hasn't left me live ever since. This is also my first time posting on tumblr so bear the simple format.

Trigger Warning: Non-consensual drug use, as in, reader gets roofied in a bar (Not by any named character nor any of the drivers, so rest assured on that sense). There is also recreational alcohol consumption and a bit of off-camera violence.

WC: 8381

Also, this is more of a pre-slash story rather than a romantic one. That's all I have to say, I'll shut up and let you read.

Please let me know what you think!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Post race driver parties are not an uncommon thing, although it is much more frequent in the European leg of the season; when everyone is in the same country or near enough they don’t care for a few hours of commute -Today's crowd was composed of Charles, Oscar, Max, Lando, Alex, George, Pierre, Carlos and as a star guest, Daniel-. These parties were often the perfect way to try and unwind from the pressure of the season and to smooth out whatever incidents happened on track. A few passive aggressive interchanges, three shots and everyone’s usually back to laughing and buzzing along.

Tonight they had followed Charles’ recommendation and gone to a club in the more residential area of Monaco, away from the yacht club and the casino. It was still tightly packed with people dancing on the dancefloor and the bar was busy as the drinks kept on coming, but the people there didn't care much for them and they were able to enjoy themselves without worrying about having too many eyes on them.

They had a booth in the second floor alcove, allowing them an almost full view of the dance floor if anyone cared to look down, but they were too busy roughhousing and laughing. She’d gotten used to it, of course, having grown as a girl in motorsports it’s simply part of the package. But sometimes she still needed a break when they were behaving like that, because while they recognise her as a proper rival, a true competitor despite gender bias, being drunk they sometimes forget they have size and strength to their favour while having their fun, and their brawling and heavy shoulder slaps felt a tiny bit too annoying while tipsy. Overwhelming.

So she excuses herself to the bar, shaking the glass that now only tinkers with half melted ice cubes. She gets a few nods and a stray thumbs up but the chatter continues like before.

The layout of the club had the bar as the centerpiece gemstone, the first thing you see when you come though the main entrance across from the massive dance floor. The dance floor’s design is full of different height platforms, similar to those at Jimmy Z. Their booth on the second floor has a perfect view of all the first floor, except for the public entrance, which is right underneath it.

Coming down the stairs, she followed the platforms' paths that led her to the bar once again, choosing a stool to sit and wait for the bartenders to take her order. 

On the wall to her left, the DJ booth rises itself over all the platforms in its own little block, colored lights sprouting from the base towards the right of it, in the corner between the bar and the DJ there is the smaller door they were escorted through, directly from the parking lot behind the establishment. On the opposite wall there's a hallway that leads to what she assumes are the bathrooms, judging by the long queue of women she can see standing in the hallway.

A tap on the countertop brings her attention back. The bartender asks for her order in French, and her basic understanding of the language allows her to order a raspberry mojito without spluttering too much. A sweet enough concoction to help smooth out the straight Vodka shots they downed back at the table. 

In no time, a new clear plastic cup was placed in front of her. A tall cup full to the brim with rum and sparkly water. A mix of raspberry puree, lemon and mint sitting at the bottom. She grabs the straw and starts mixing the cocktail, but the ice floating on top, and the decorative mint leaves that float at the top threaten to overflow the cup when she does, so she has to take another bitter sip of almost pure liquor before actually enjoying the sweetness.

She rested her elbow on the bartop and her chin in her hand, alternating between swaying to the music, looking at the bartenders preparing fancy and complicated cocktails and looking around the crowd dancing on the floor. It wasn’t exactly a quiet place, but it did provide respite from the boys’ rowdiness. Occasionally there would be people who sat in the barstools next to her. Some of them made some sort of small talk while waiting for their drinks to be ready, but no one lingered in her space for too long, allowing her to unwind on her own.

♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ ♩ ♪ ♫ ♬ ♭ 

As a woman in life, you learn to know when to follow your instincts. Call it bad omen, gut feeling or sixth sense. Sometimes you subconsciously register danger before you see or hear something. In this case, she felt a tight coil in her stomach -looking back it might have been more of a natural reaction than not a bad omen-, her adrenaline spiked like she’d been in the car after miraculously avoiding a collision. Her hands trembled a bit as she sneakily tried to look around. There was a couple at the bar two seats to her right, too engrossed in each other to be the source of panic. As she swiped to the other side, her hand caught the straw of her cup, pulling it from inside. She tried to catch it but it rolled over the edge of the bartop, falling to the ground. 

Fucking breathe!

Straw forgotten, she grabbed the cup and twisted around in her stool, swiping the room with her gaze. To her other side there was a group of friends rowdily chatting, no different from the drivers’ table upstairs. He made eye contact with one of them, a guy not participating in the conversation. He seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring as he turned red and avoided eye contact. Too shy, too far away, probably not that either. She started scanning the crowd on the dancefloor with her heart almost at her throat.

Without a straw, she was left to swirl the whole cup to stir its contents. No one in the vicinity was particularly close to her bubble, or paying special attention to her, but the sensation didn’t go away. Some movement from the group at her side made her tense up, but it was a small part of them that walked towards the dancefloor. Shy boy included. The ones left at the bar were immersed in conversation, crowding together to hear themselves over the music. So she relaxed again.

She’d been tilting the drink to her lips when she finally realised that her nearly melted ice cubes had sunk to the bottom of the cup, and the whole thing looked cloudy. Her heart stopped in her throat, closing her airways.

I’ve been drugged.

The realisation sinks in, but it feels unreal.

Is this really happening to me?

The glass is on her lips, and she tilts it back, but keeps her mouth sealed; knowing that whoever did it must be keeping an eye on her. Her jaw is clenched so hard it’s almost difficult to breathe. Her first instinct is to throw the whole thing on the ground, but it’s less than half full now. Whatever they put in it has been in her system for long enough. Her next thought is to notify the bartenders, but she hesitates before turning around. There had been no one near enough on her side of the bar to get close to her drink, and she’d kept her hand over it at all moments; but of course the rim was wide and there were gaps between her fingers where someone could have dumped something in. For now the bartenders are also suspicious. Twisting her arm, she sets the drink on the table behind her; uncaring now to leave it unsupervised. 

The damage has already been done anyway. She figures.

Her heart rate does nothing to slow down, and her thoughts do not help at all. She is in imminent danger with no way out. She’d left her purse at the booth upstairs, and doesn’t have her phone at hand. She looks up in the direction of their table. Under the strobing lights she can see the crowd of drivers has dwindled down. She can distinguish Alex, George, Carlos, Max and Lando sitting up there; the rest of them might be somewhere in the dancefloor. The idea of trying to get the attention of the guys up there was also discarded, since it will alert her assailant too, and she has no guarantee it’ll get the guys’ attention. Trying to find the others in the crowd sounds just as impossible a task as to find a needle in a haystack. 

Her hands shake. The safest alternative that comes to her mind is to run to the women’s bathroom. The crowd queuing in the halfway has reduced, and the hallway looks dark; but it’s her best shot.

Over the corner of her eye something catches her attention. A white button up shit that looks almost fluorescent under the black lights. The figure skirts around the dancefloor, following almost the same path she took to get to the bar, but it’s clear his destination is not the same, since he doesn’t slow down and seems to be aiming for the bathrooms instead.

“Oscar!” She yells before she realises. It might have sounded a bit too strangled, a bit too panicked, but it catches his attention. She’s reaching a hand out to him, and he extends his arm for her to grab as he gets close to her stool.

“Oh hey,” He looks sort of confused, and she doesn’t blame him. They do gravitate to the same groups, But they’re not particularly close friends, so her calling out feels awkward for both of them. “Didn’t realise you came here.” He gestures awkwardly to the bar, but she’s too relieved to have found a safe person she doesn’t even hear what he’s saying. 

She jumps from the stool, holding onto his wrist. “Come dance with me!” 

He hesitates “... You know I’m not-” She’s still not listening, she hesitates between abandoning her cup at the bar, but grabs it at the last second and turns back to him.

“Just one song, come on!” 

“I was going to-” He tries again, but this time she digs her nails into his skin, and desperately tugs him with a trembling hand. He doesn’t put any more resistance, simply trailing behind her as she tries to find a pocket of space for them among the moving bodies. As she walks she feels her blood rushing to her head. She’s feeling too tipsy and woozy for the amount of alcohol she’s consumed; and whatever hopes the whole thing had been in her head crumble like sandcastles at the sensation of her bambi legs. But she has her way out caught in a deathgrip by the wrist, she can still get out unscathed.

As soon as she finds space for them, she stops and turns around to face him, getting close in his space to be heard over the loud music. She wraps Oscar’s arm she’d been tugging on, around her waist, in hopes he can hold her up in case her legs give out and wraps hers around his body too.

She can feel Oscar’s hand in her back, blindly trying to find a patch of fabric to settle on top of. His avoidance of the naked skin of her back settles a minute worry in her mind. Yes, he is a man. Yes, she would probably feel more comfortable coming to her own teammate for help. But Oscar is still safe, he won’t take advantage of her. He is safety.

“Are you sober?” Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth once they’ve settled their positions and start to loosely sway to the beat of whatever song is playing.

Oscar is looking more and more confused at the sudden serious tone of her voice and the way it contradicts the easy smile on her face. She’s still acting up like nothing’s wrong. “Uhh yeah, I came in my car.”

Oscar you blessed man.

“Great! I need you to take me to the hospital right now.” Oscar freezes completely and she tries to keep the easy smile on her face. “Someone put something in my drink and I think I’m going to pass out soon.” His face does something complicated, and one of his hands tries to go for the cup on her hand, but she moves it out of his path, tripping over her own heel in the process. He catches her before she can stumble.

“Why are you still-?” He looks tense in a way she hasn’t seen him many times, he instantly understood the seriousness the situation entails. She’s so glad he believed her, a worry she hadn’t even processed having.

Her confidence starts waving, there is not much time to explain and her voice shakes as she tries to fill him in. “You have to take it- I- I don’t know what they put in- The doctor can… I don’t know-” She feels like she's twelve again, trying to explain to her mother that she accidentally broke her favourite mirror and cut her hand. “They can analyse it or whatever,” she finishes lamely. 

She can see it more clearly now, he’s not just tense, he’s angry. At her or on her behalf? She doesn’t know him well enough to be able to tell the difference.

“You’re so…” Careless. Irresponsible. Stupid. Her eyes fill with tears and he feels like a scolded child. “... smart.” He says instead, not following the script in her mind.

“I kno- Wait what?” He shakes his head, moving past the topic. His voice holds urgency now. 

“Do you know who did it?” He’s looking past her, scanning the crowd behind her.

“No I- There was no one near except the bartenders… I-I didn’t know if they-  A-and I didn’t know who to ask for help!” She sniffs, and clears her throat, swallowing around the tightness in her throat.

He notices her trying to maintain her composure, and smoothes out his expression. “It’s alright. You found me, and I will help you, okay?” In a very unlike-himself moment he wraps his arms closer to her, holding her in a loose hug. Maybe it’s the relief that comes from Oscar’s reassurance that makes her body relax, loosen up. She takes the moment to really get a deep breath, trying to regulate her heart rate, knowing an accelerated heartbeat will only speed the effect of the drug. The music is already hard to hear even with how the deep base thrums in her bones. She lets her head fall forward onto his shoulder and Oscar’s arms tighten around her like a vice, but when she stays standing up he relaxes. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah?” She’s pretty sure she just gave him a small heart attack, but she can’t really find the strength to apologize, so she simply takes another deep breath, this time taking in the smell of his cologne, and nods her head. 

She steps back, trying to maintain balance on the small heels of her shoes, and allows Oscar to grab her arm to guide them through the crowd. It’s a bit scary, how fast she seems to be falling under the effects. What would she have done had Oscar not been there? 

Oscar is aggressively polite as he makes a path for them towards the exit, loudly excusing them as he pushes through. She walks behind him, gaze set on his broad shoulders. They’re almost out of the crowd when she feels a hand closing in on her arm. She flinches and removes her arm before they can grasp her, and steps even closer to Oscar, almost stepping on his heels. “Oscar-” She manages in a squeaky voice, but he must hear her because he holds together and broathens his stride. The hands do not follow, only shoulder bumps as they make their way though. 

They get out the doors in no time. The space outside is deserted, late enough that everyone is either at home asleep or inside the club. Oscar turns to her, scans her and points toward the side street that she assumes would lead them around the building towards the private parking lot. “My car’s this way.” She briefly looks back to the doors, but they stay closed so she nods. Maybe the hand was her imagination, or a simple accidental brush of a hand. 

Her steps are still mostly steady but Oscar still keeps a hand on her left forearm, the warmth from his hand is a stark contrast to the cold air of the Monegasque night. The sweat that had layered over her body is cooling off rapidly as they round the building and by the time they’ve walked the length of the side street and caught sight of the actual parking lot, shivers have started to rack her up.

Oscar briefly lets go of her arm to fish the keys from his pocket and she instantly misses the warmth. Now untethered she slows her walking, paying a bit more attention to where she’s placing her feet. He clicks off the alarm and the navy blue McLaren Artura at the other end blinks its lights at them. “There’s our ride.” Oscar is smiling as he looks back, extending his arm for her again, but his eyes stray over her shoulder and the expression freezes in his face. 

A hand wraps on the arm that Oscar hadn’t been holding and it feels nothing like the Australian's careful and grounding hold. It burns as it takes a bruising hold of her and tugs her to the side. She stumbles with the force of it, body already feeling too close to a ragdoll to comfort. Her voice is strong but not steady as she demands, “Let me go.” She tries to back away from the foreign body, but her ankle gives up and twists painfully. She stumbles but holds her stance and tries to push away from the nasal french voice speaking at her in a sultry voice. The arm that had been trying to push away from the tall man gets caught from the wrist. The drink sloshes and some of it spills over her fingers and onto her dress. 

Just as he’s starting to use his weight against her, a body steps in between them. She collides with Oscar’s shoulder a bit, but her right arm is freed, and she pulls it back towards her. “Get your fucking hands off.” She has never heard him sound so angry. His accent has deepened like she’s never heard before. But he is still gentle as he wraps a hand firmly on her left arm. She can feel him pulling the guy’s hand and prying his fingers open to release her. She uses his back to support herself as she helps pull her arm free from those thick fingers. 

Once freed she stumbles back again, but the Aussie has a firm hold on her and keeps her upright. The guy tries to go around Oscar to get her again, and over the driver’s shoulder she looks at his face for the first time as Oscar pushes firmly with his forearm to keep him away. Tan complexion, prince-y dark hair and a well groomed beard. 

In any other circumstance she would have said he was attractive, but now she can only feel nauseous at the fake nonchalant smile the guy is sporting. With her muddled brain she half understands he’s trying to excuse this as a misunderstanding. He catches the words ‘friend’, ‘together’, ‘mine’ and ‘drunk’. She has no idea if Oscar even understands what the guy is saying, but he seems set on getting him away from her. 

After a more forceful shove that makes the assailant stumble back, Oscar looks over his shoulder and lets go of her, pushing her towards the parking lot. “Get in the car.”

She nods dumbly as she turns in the direction where the lights flashed earlier. The parking lot is only mildly illuminated, but it’s enough for her to be able to locate the Artura among the other luxury cars parked there. There are more confrontation sounds coming from behind, and what sounds very much like a hit, but she doesn’t look back. All her attention and remaining brain power is going to try to reach the car at the end of the parking lot. Her right ankle throbs painfully with each step, and the uneven terrain makes it three times harder, because when the fuck did the pavement turn to gravel?

She leans on a pink Porshe 911 as her legs buckle, the McLaren is right there. There’s the sound of another car starting up, more yelling but she’s already rounding it from behind towards the passenger door. The sound of angry screeching tyres spinning out without traction in the gravel grinds her head and the pain in her ankle is too much; her right leg gives out completely, the other one follows shortly and she’s going down. She tries to drag her hand on the car to find a purchase on something but there’s nothing other than the squeak of her sweaty hand on the polished paint. Her knees take the brunt of the impact, and it stings.

The angry car has sped off, and she’s pretty sure she hears it clip the wall of the sidestreet. She takes a deep breath and lets herself fall seated against the car, knees to her chest, back to the door. Dumly, she notes that the cup still has some liquid on it, its red is just as dark in the low light as the small pinpricks of blood on her knees.

She registers footsteps getting closer to her, and for a second her heart rate speeds up again until she hears her name called by a worried Australian. She bangs her head against the door, willing herself to keep her eyes open as she answers back. Oscar’s footsteps speed up and in no time he’s kneeling in front of her, warm hands on her biceps as he looks over her body. He brings a hand to remove stray pieces of hair from her face and she can see a hint of blood on his knuckles.

“Are you okay?” The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Oscar cannot believe his ears. “How am- Are you forreal?” An incredulous chuckle escapes him because this girl, shivering on the floor with scraped knees and blown out pupils, who almost got kidnapped by a stranger in a foreign country, is more worried about him than about herself. He shakes his head and wipes his knuckles, showing her the unbroken skin. “I’m alright, see?” Her eyes scan his hand for a second too long before nodding. Her head bobs in a sleepy manner, and he knows he has to hurry. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” She’s breathing heavily, but Oscar can’t be sure if it’s an after effect of whatever drug the asshole put in her drink or the exertion of the situation. “My ankle hurts,” He looks down at her feet, still clad in heeled slippers with a complicated ribbon. Neither of her feet looks particularly swollen or bruised for now. “I’m scared…” Her voice is much softer, almost a whisper, but in the emptiness of the parking lot at night, it almost seems to echo. 

He grabs her arms again, rubbing up and down “It’s okay, it’s over now.” She keeps shivering under his arms and Oscar doesn’t know if it’s the cold or shock starting to settle in, “Can you walk?”

Her eyebrows furrow and she tilts her head in a terribly adorable gesture, “Walk where?”

“We need to get you into the car”

“But-” She slaps the back of her hand against the car, “I’m here”

Oscar can’t suppress the smile, “Yeah, but unless you’re planning on driving, we need to get you around the passenger side.”

“... Fuck.” 

“Force of habit, yeah.” He grabs onto her forearms. Her skin feels cold and sticky with dried sweat. “Come on, let’s get you up.” She pulls alongside him, but as soon as her right foot is firm on the ground, she makes a face and he takes more of her weight as she falters, her other leg not cooperating much. 

“Oscar” The slugginess in her voice makes the R in his name sound much breathier. “I don’t think I can walk.”

“Alright, well-” He bends down and swipes her legs off the floor, holding her in a princess's carry. She makes a strangled sound and her arms come to grab at his shoulders. The cup tilts dangerously but she rights it just in time. “Much easier this way.” He makes his way over to the passenger seat and bends his knees to open up the door, depositing her in the seat. “Ah look!” Wedged right in between the seat and the door, is a hoodie he’d abandoned maybe a few days ago. He pulls it and sets it on her lap, taking the cup from her hand. “Think you can get it on by yourself?”

“Mm-hm”

“‘kay, you do that while I figure out where to keep this.” He closes the door and rounds the car again to his seat, looking around the small space to find a safe place to place it without spilling what little liquid remains on it. As his companion wrestles with the fabric, she kicks an abandoned water bottle. “Bingo.” He leans down to grab it. A small shake reveals to still have stale water he poured out of the window before pouring in the remaining cocktail into it. He screws the lid back on and keeps the cup too, just in case. He drops both items in the footrest of the passenger before looking at the occupant. She’s relaxed into the seat, and her eyes are closed. Fear creeps in for a second, “Ready to go?”

thumbs-upHe gets a thumbs up in response. Still conscious it seems. He reaches over and pulls her seatbelt on, knowing he will ignore all speed limits to the hospital. After a second of consideration, he shakes her arm until she’s blinking up at him. “Try to stay awake, yeah?” He grabs his phone, to call Lando. It hasn’t been longer than 10 minutes since he left their table, but he needs someone to call the police on the guy, and let Lando know he needs to get a new ride. He looks at his companion, she’s looking at his phone as it rings in his lap. “If you feel like throwing up let me know, yeah?” He says as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“m’not throwing up.” Her angry eyebrows are back. 

“Okay, then you can help me explain to Lando-” Just then, the Brit’s voice comes through the car speakers.

“Heeellooo? Mate did you get lost on your way back or what?” He’s half yelling to hear himself over the music. It’s a miracle he even heard his phone ring.

“No, I’m taking the Alpine princess to the hospital.” He sneaks a look at her as he accelerates down the narrow monaco streets. She’s still awake, biting her lip as Lando processes the words.

“You what! What happened!? The fuck Oscah?”

He’s about to start explaining, but she speaks up “Some guy spiked my drink, I found Oscar and he got me out.” He has to keep his eyes on the road, but he can see out of the corner of his eye how she cuddles up into the seat. “I’m alright… Pinky promise.”

“Lando, listen, I need you to get Charles to call the police.” The traffic light up ahead has turned yellow, but Oscar doesn’t slow down. It’s the middle of the night and there are no other cars around, so he floors it right as it turns red. “I’ll give you a description, and his license plate. I need you to report him to authorities.”

“Fuck.” He says, eloquently. “Yeah I-” There’s a bit of silence from him, but the music is still humming loudly in the background. “I think I see Charles upstairs, I’ll go get him now.” Oscar can hear him speaking to someone, but it’s muffled like he lowered the phone. Almost a full two minutes later he speaks up again. “Kay, got Charles and Pierre here. They want to know if you’re really okay, sprout?”

Oscar is slowing down for a curve. Because as much as he would love to go as fast as during the actual race, he doesn’t know these streets as well, so he has to be careful. The silence stretches for too long, and as he turns to look at her again, he finds her completely asleep. 

“Shit, she passed out.” He presses harder on the gas pedal, Lando curses too. “He tried to grab her when we were getting to the parking lot. She twisted her ankle and scraped her knees, but other than that, she’s physically alright.” Streets and buildings blur as he speeds by. “Asshole was as tall as George or Alex. Lanky and tan. Dark hair, beard. I broke his nose, and probably his cheekbone before he ran away.” As he approaches a speed bump, he throws his hand over her chest to prevent her from flying around. 

This time it’s a new voice, Charles “He took off running?” 

“No, in a car. Porsche 911 Turbo S, Dark green.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

Of course I did, who do you think I am? 

“M3T9. He busted a backlight as he drove off, if that helps.”

“I will get on it, do not worry he will not get away.” Despite the noise, Oscar can hear how dark Charles’ voice becomes, and he remembers that Charles is a very prominent figure here; the prince of Monaco who is friends with the actual prince of Monaco.

“I’ll leave you to take care of him, then.”

“Yes yes, I will get him. You just get the petite poupée to the doctors, yes?” He has no idea what that means but it sounds like an affectionate nickname.

Oscar nods to himself in the car, “We’re already here, she’ll be alright” He can see the URGENCES sign of the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace. He eases his foot off the pedal, as he turns into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Keep us updated!”

“Will do.” 

The call disconnects and he’s left to pick a parking space that isn’t reserved for ambulances. Once he’s turned everything off, he turns to her and shakes her arm, calling her name to try and wake her up, but it’s futile. She’s breathing deeply, sound asleep. He rounds the car and opens her door. He leans over her legs to grab the bottle and scoop under her knees and in the process he discovers she did not manage to get both her arms though the sleeves of his hoodie, and that her right is still tangled inside. He almost huffs a laugh at that. Almost.

Picking her up again feels different than when he did it 10 minutes ago, because her body is too lax, too malleable. This time she makes no sound when he hoists her up, and her head lulls back, stretching her neck over the arm he has under her shoulders. She looks and feels like a ragdoll in his arms as he stands up and uses his elbow to drag the door down and closed; he quietly seethes at the thought of her being like this in the hands of such a vermin. 

How anyone could find such an unresponsive body attractive is a question he doesn’t even want to think of. Instead he stops to adjust her neck, letting her head rest on his collarbone instead of the previous uncomfortable position and fixes the hood over her head to cover up her face. It is the middle of the night, but he has learnt that every wall has eyes and that everything can and will be posted online. He has nothing to hide his face with, but protecting her identity in a moment of such vulnerability is his only priority in his mind after getting her help.

He’s careful of pushing the doors with his shoulder. The reception is empty except for the receptionist behind the desk. He sighs inwardly at that. The woman looks up and stands up immediately upon his arrival at the desk, his French skills are nonexistent, so he wholeheartedly hopes she understands English. “We were at a club and someone put drugs in her drink.” The woman nods once, so Oscar takes that as a sign that she does and continues. “She passed out in the car while driving here, like five minutes ago.” He’s not as oblivious as to think he looks innocent holding a dead looking girl, and the face of the woman, carefully stoic, sets his nerves on fire.

“Did she say what was put in it or who did it?”

 “No, but she asked me to bring what was left of the drink, because she said you could analyse it to treat her,” He sets the bottle on the counter and hikes her up in his arms. “She’d thought it was one of the bartenders, but as we were getting to the car the guy came and tried to take her by force.” He omits the part where he punched him and instead lets his trump card subtly show. “My friend Charles has already called the police to report the assault.” Despite how common it is, the name must register in her mind, because she makes a double take, between Oscar’s face and the face half hidden in his chest. “Please help her,” 

“Of course we will help.” She shakes her head like the thought of them refusing attention was a personal offence. She presses a button behind the counter and rounds the desk to take a better look at the girl in his arms. She produces a penlight from a pocket and gestures towards her. Oscar twists to allow her to get closer. “How long ago did she consume the drink?”

“Uh…” The nurse opens one of her eyelids and flashes her light, studying pupil reaction. “I have no idea, she found me around 15 or 20 minutes ago, she’d already realised by then and didn’t drink the rest of it, but I don’t know how long it was.” He can hear footsteps from behind, another nurse is coming from the personal hallway. “She started shivering too, but I don't know if it was cold or shock. I gave her my hoodie and it has stopped now, at least.”

The woman nods, and as the new nurse comes closer, she starts -hopefully- translating what he’s said in rapid French. It’s like watching Charles, Pierre and Lance gossip during drivers’ parade. The bottle is handed too, and when the exchange ends, the new nurse takes a cursory look, stops at Oscar’s face and mumbles something back before continuing their path towards the next hallway.

“We will get a room set up for her, do you want me to bring a wheelchair in the meantime?”

“No, I’m alright.” She’s deadweight, but not as heavy as Oscar would have imagined, he’s also trained enough during his life, he can hold a few more minutes. The receptionist goes back around the desk and starts asking questions about her for what Oscar assumes is a registry sheet. A new concern sparks in his mind, and he accidentally interrupts one of her questions with his own request. “I don’t know if I’ll be allowed to stay with her, but could you at least make sure she doesn’t get a male doctor?”

Her serious and stoic facade falls at that, and for a second she reminds Oscar of his own mum. “I’ll make sure of that, and I do think you might be able to stay with her. It’ll help her to see a familiar face waking up.” She gives him a reluctant smile and resumes asking if he knows her blood type. 

The other nurse comes back just as they’re finishing, and leads him to a room where they’ll be treating her. As he lowers her from his arm, he remembers to mention a detail he’d forgotten. “Hey, uh- Her ankle… She said it hurt, and might have twisted it.” 

The nurse nods, and answers in a much more prominent accent. “We will take x-ray of it. Your hand is okay?” 

Oscar looks back to his hand. There’s redness on his knuckles and a bruise is starting to form around the bones, but he flexes his fingers a couple of times and it only stings a bit. “No, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Okay, now you wait outside, I call when ready, yes?”

“Yeah, thank you.” 

He closes the door behind him and walks to a nearby bench, using the time to update Lando via text. In return he gets told that Charles stormed off the bar, Pierre, Carlos and Daniel in tow. The rest of them are deciding how to carpool home; and that everyone will keep the situation under wraps, including whoever Charles has contacted. He says that Alex will be stopping by the hospital soon, to drop off her forgotten bag and phone and whatever else she’s left at their table.

The receptionist nurse passes by Oscar in the way to her room and lets him know they’ll take her for an x-ray; and that after that, he might wait inside her room if he wishes, in turn he lets her know he will jump out for a second because another friend will bring her stuff from the bar. The woman nods and gives him the number of the room they will take her after the x-ray for him to come back. 

His phone rings just as they’re rolling her bed out. He only catches a glimpse of an IV line connected to her arm before they wheel her down the corridor, he too turns away. 

Alex is waiting with his emergency lights on. When he sees him come out of the doors, he gives him a tired smile. Oscar leans against the door and they stay in silence for a while. It’s colder out now, or at least it feels like that now that adrenaline is no longer coursing through him. The light sweat he’d worked up earlier is drying cold against his back. He raps his knuckles against the blue paint of Alex’s car, bringing the Thai’s attention to his bruised hand.

“I heard you broke his nose?” Alex’s tone is teasing, if maybe a bit impressed.

“Got a couple hits, yeah.” Oscar closes his fist, the skin tightens over his bones. The memory of a bone cracking under them probably shouldn’t feel as satisfactory as it did. “Should’ve done more.” 

It comes much more bitterly than he’d expected, and Alex places a hand over his wrist, patting him “You did more than any of us, don’t beat yourself up.” He reaches to the passenger seat and pulls a small handbag and Oscar spots a jacket hung behind the seat. “You cold?” Alex must have seen his eyes stray, and as he pulls it from its perch Oscar notices the Williams logo on it.

“Nah mate, I’d rather be cold.”

“Ah, come on I can’t let the boy saviour freeze tonight.”

“No, no, never in a million years you’ll catch me wearing Williams merch,” He grabs the handbag and steps away when Alex tries to push the jacket into his arms too. They’re both laughing as the jacket falls to the ground and Alex is left half hanging off his window to grab it. Oscar watches him struggle for a second or five before deciding to have mercy; so he grabs the jacket and stuffs it in Alex’s face, turns on his back and starts walking back to the doors so he can’t attempt to hand it to him again.

“Oscar!” Alex calls between fabric and laughter, and Oscar turns just in time to catch a juice bottle headed straight to his face. A second one follows right after, he fumbles with it since both his hands are occupied, but he manages not to drop it, Alex snaps his fingers in faux frustration at that. “Take care of her!” He says as he starts his car again.

“Will do, mate.” He watches as Alex drives away until his tailgate lights disappear behind a wall, just then he turns back into the hospital. As he makes his way back, he rearranges the stuff in his hands; he holds the purse under his arm since it doesn’t have any straps, and studies the bottles. Alex had gotten orange and apple. 

Which one would she prefer?

He has no idea, really. He always sees her drinking either water, isotonic drinks, or energy drinks. Apples or oranges? There is a new receptionist at the desk, and when Oscar rattles the new room number, he is directed to the elevators with instructions to the second floor where lower grade emergencies are treated.

He only has to wait around 10 more minutes before she’s wheeled back in. The initial receptionist seems to be the one assigned to her, as she is the one that stays and explains to Oscar that there isn’t any fracture in the ankle. It seems like just her soft tissue was affected and she’ll get by with wearing a brace and sports tape for a few days. The lower half of her body is covered by the sheets while his hoodie covers the rest. One of the sleeves has been pushed up to make space for the IV, and Oscar can see that her foot is resting on a couple of pillows to keep it raised. Her shoes are in a little cubby under the bed, cubby to which he adds her purse.

He gets told there isn’t much they can do about the drug except keep her hydrated and let her body work it though, because it has already been absorbed by her bloodstream, along with the alcohol she’d consumed. But that the sample analysis revealed it to be non-threatening, it’ll just leave her with a nasty hangover. Despite the slight pessimistic tone, the information leaves him relieved, and he relaxes into the chair he’d sat to wait. He thanks the nurse and watches as a new person in different colored scrubs, carefully and efficiently wraps her ankle in neon blue sports tape.

Before long, he’s left alone with her, with instructions of pressing the call button if anything happens, but to try and rest because it could be hours before she wakes.

He tries to keep himself busy whilst keeping an eye on her. He messages Charles with the name of the drug that was put onto the drink, and the only answer he gets is a demon emoji, a fist emoji, hands clapping and another fist. Confused, he simply reacts with a thumbs up. He updates those who have messaged him to ask about her condition, but doesn’t go further than that. He settles on drinking the orange juice, and leaves the apple one in the bedside table next to her bed, scrolls through social media for a while and checks up on her again, but it has been a long and eventful day, and when his eyelids become too heavy, he doesn't fight them very hard.

🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎🏎

Waking up feels like a heavy G crash. There's a pounding in her head that goes at the same tempo as her heart, and it takes conscious effort to take a deep breath. There's a slight throbbing on her bicep, on the wrist of the opposite arm and a sharper throb on her right foot.

She's laying sideways in a soft enough bed and there is little light from what she can see through her eyelids. 

But it doesn't smell like her bed at all.

Instead there's the smell of a different laundry detergent, artificial minty eucalyptus shampoo and a herbal mix. It smells distinctly like men, and the unfamiliarity of it makes her heart race, worsening the pounding of her head.

There's a blank in her memory when she tries to remember the previous night. She knows she was going out with some of the Monaco based drivers, and that she'd abandoned the table at some point. That's where everything starts to get fuzzy. 

There are flashes. 

A body close to hers in the dancefloor. The cold air outside the club. Falling into the gravel. Hands roughly grabbing at her, and a french accent. Falling asleep in a car.

Panic really does settle in at this point, and tears blurry her vision when she opens her eyes; but the room is nothing like she expects it to be. She's in a single bed, and there is a heart monitor that is displaying her rabbiting heartbeat. A saline drip that is halfway empty connected to the back of her hand.

A hospital?

The light is warm and dimmed, seemingly coming from a lamp behind her. She looks down at herself and finds a hoodie that is not hers, and totally is the source of the smells; but looking under it’s collar reveals the same dress she wore last night.

She slowly turns her head, still wary of the raging headache. The overhead lights are off, and her foot is propped on a pillow under the blankets. She wiggles her toes and twists her ankle. A sharp pain sparks, but it's not unbearable.

The other side of the room is half hidden by the glare of the lamp that makes her blink before her eyes adjust to the light.

A figure is sitting in a chair, sound asleep and covered with a blanket identical to hers. Oscar’s arms are crossed across his chest and his neck looks like it will hurt when he wakes up. 

More memories rush to her mind as she turns fully to that side; Lando's voice over the speakers of the car, Oscar's worried face in the dancefloor, his broad back as he pushed another man from her. The light is low, but she can see a bruise forming on the hand where Oscar is holding a half full bottle of juice. 

Slowly, she registers the smell of stale car and something so uniquely Oscar that brings tears back to her eyes.

“Oscar?” Her voice is low, croaky and shaky, full of tears when she speaks. But the reaction is immediate, he's awake in a second. His head snaps back into the right orientation and he clutches the bottle in his hand. Maybe she should feel guilty for waking him up, but that is a too complicated emotion to think of right now, instead there is a pool of relief as he meets her eyes, and an immense amount of trust as he whispers her name and detangles himself from the blanket to get close.

“You're okay, you're okay.” It's obvious he doesn't know what to do about tears, his hands move around uselessly and he looks so constipated it's almost funny. “Are you hurt anywhere? I can- I can call a nurse?” His hand finally decides to hover over a call button at the side of her bed, but she claps hers over his instead, and attempts to dry her face with the other.

“No, it's okay. I'm- I'm okay,” She hiccups again, and his other hand comes to rub up and down her arm; an action that also feels familiar and warm. “Thank you, Oscar.” Her voice is still choked up, but very earnest. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes right back. 

“You don't have to thank me,” She wipes her eyes again and looks back up at him, he's giving her a half smile that pushes a dimple into existence. It's such an adorable new discovery that she can't help the rush of emotions that comes. She lets go of his hand and sits up to pull him into a hug.

“The fuck you mean i don't have to thank you!?” It sounds half muffled against the fabric of his white shirt. “You saved my fucking life, Oscar” His hands come to wrap around her back and tears spring up again at the thought of what could have been. “He could've-”

“Shhh, let's not think about that, yeah? You're alright and that's what matters.” His hands rub circles between her shoulders, “Charles took care of everything else.”

“What’s that mean?” She sniffs, trying to keep the tears from soaking up his shirt.

“I have absolutely no idea, but he knows people who can hide his crimes, I'm not worried about him.” I'm worried about you, “How are you feeling?”

She takes another deep breath. The smell of eucalyptus and laundry detergent is stronger when it comes from the source. She lets go and wipes her face again with the sleeve of her -his- hoodie. “My head hurts and my ankle stings, but I'm alright,” Thanks to you. “I just feel very hungover.”

“Here,” She hears the shake of liquid, and upon removing her hands, Oscar's is offering an unopened bottle of apple juice. “Alex got us these.”

She grabs it and pouts at him, “It's my favourite. Thank you.” The last line comes out more charged than intended, but that's alright because she doesn't think she'll be able to stop thanking him anytime soon.

Oscar simply smiles like he knows, he lightly shakes his head and starts filling her in on what happened after she “fell asleep” as he says. She has no idea what time it is, but there is no rush right now, she's safe and in good hands, and when sleep starts lapping at her feet, she lets herself be swiped by the tide because she trusts Oscar to be there when she wakes up again.

The end.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · · 𖥸 · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

well, if you got here, i want to thank you for reading this the whole way through. as i said earlier, this came to me at 3 am and did not leave my head again, so i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoyed despite the slightly dark topic.

from my research, i learned that not some drugs are undetectable to the naked eye, so always be aware of your drinks and who is close to you. i hope this story stays as a fictional thing and that none of you ever have to deal with something like that.

taka care and thank you again for reading!

Love,

Nini.

[mullermilkshake]

Sebastian Michaelis

Sebastian Michaelis x you Tags- age gap, sexual tension, mysogny, graphic depictions of murder/death, decapitation, arranged marriage

“I simply won’t be going!” After all the times you had protested to your parents that they would not be hunting for suitors to take your hand, they still did not listen.

“Mistress, might I suggest you entertain your parents to show them your understanding in the formalities. You do not need to select a suitor right away, but it may delay them for a while.”

You glared at your butler as you paced the room, hands firmly on your hips and stomping around in utter frustration. Maybe your corset was fastened too tight, or that your shoes were a size too small that made every step a challenge with the anger surging through your body. Either way, you were not about to yield to your Father in any respect.

“I said no, Sebastian. I will not repeat myself to them any longer. Especially my Father; who’s side are you on anyway? I do not need any of those pigs hovering around me, trying to impress me with their wealth and sweaty fists while they hold a brandy.”

You knew how it worked, you just did not want that for yourself. You were perfectly competent to run a household by yourself without a man taking all the glory. The only one who was usually in your corner was Sebastian, but even then, he was an enigma in himself.

Sebastian Michaelis was a man you did not trust one bit, but he still did everything you asked with unquestionable loyalty. Though you often caught him watching you or getting in a little too close when it was not necessary, he never did anything that would be deemed unsatisfactory for a butler.

“I am a butler, I do not take sides or develop a bias. My orders from your Father is to serve you, protect you and make every wish you desire to become reality. So I shall.” He stopped folding away your petticoats and waited for you to look him in the eye. “But if you wish for something to go a certain way, then order me to do so.”

It was tempting to wish for all the suitors to want nothing to do with you like he was some Genie out of a fiction book, a magical wish to make your parents forget all about what was right and just let you go about your life as you wanted to.

Alas, Sebastian Michaelis did not perform miracles, he was just an incredibly fascinating and accomplished butler who up until now, really did make every order you gave him come true. Outlandish ones seemed to come naturally when you barked them to him as a child, though now you were a woman, you were running out of more loops to toss him through.

More so now, he was more just someone to air your frustrations to. You imagined he got bored frequently listening to you vent, yet he did not ever complain.

“My Lady. What is your wish?”

There had to be some compromise on your side, or your Father just would not allow it. “I will go and see this man today, but he will be the last. Sebastian, convince him to change his mind, to see how capable I am on my own… That is an order.”

He bowed and placed his hand over his chest respectfully. “As you wish, Mistress.”

Sebastian left your bedchamber and vanished without a trace. Something he did exceptionally well. It left you waiting, pacing around the room until you were inevitably summoned, which was an entire lifetime until Sebastian returned, his face as unreadable as ever.

“He is ready for you.” You followed him reluctantly and he seemed to notice that. “I took the liberty of serving cake in the parlour, your favourite.”

It was an attempt to soothe your seething stomach, however it did not work. “I do believe your suitor is the Earl of Dover, a well educated man with great ambition in the arts. I am assured you will have much to speak about.”

“The Earl of… Dover.” He was an outright bastard.

You recalled from your childhood when he came to visit that he displayed foul behaviour. Rude enough to coax you to stop holding your tongue, pull up your dress to reveal your leg up to the knee and kick him rather harshly until he cried.

It had been a long time since. For you had not received company with the Earl of Dover since you were sixteen years of age. And even then, he was dreadful company to keep when all he spoke about was himself.

Sebastian opened the door to the hall and allowed you through, bowing as he did so. Respectfully and nothing like the Earl, Sebastian announced your appearance starting with your name and title. And then, he addressed the Earl of Dover.

“He has come to converse with you, my Lady. To extend the warmth of the Dover name and make the acquaintance now that you are no longer a young lady.” Sebastian pulled out the chair for you and tucked it in as you were seated. “I shall pour the tea, a delightful syrup flavour shipped in from Bavaria just for this occasion.”

“Ah, Sebastian, around the Lady as usual.” The Earl had not changed in appearance one bit. He was still sat with the posture of someone who assumed he was better than most with an ugly heart.

“I go where my Mistress commands. No task is too big nor small and I will do what my she desires, no matter how challenging to others it may appear to be.…” He stopped as the tray lifted off of the moist cherry cake drizzled in icing  “For I am simply one hell of a Butler.”

A milky tea, more like coffee your parent’s drank. You could not stand the stuff, but as you watched Sebastian place a spoon of syrup into the liquid, it was all suddenly more appealing.

“Sebastian does whatever I ask.” It was not ladylike to gloat, but you could not help yourself seeing the Earl so uncomfortable in Sebastian’s presence.

“I bet he does, Little Bird. If only I had a house maid that was beautiful enough to do whatever I asked. I would have a good day indeed.”

“Sebastian is under my Father’s orders. How dare you insinuate anything with such vulgar words.” You scoffed at the insinuation. And that pet name. “And do not call me Little Bird.”

The Earl smirked and lent in to pick up his cup, Sebastien remained silent as he handed you a slice of cake as delicately as he could. “You are little are you not? You always have been and therefore I assume you always will be.”

“I am a lady.” The Earl was further ahead in years by six. Though he acted like a petulant child stomping away his toys for no reason other than to be a total fool.

It was common knowledge that the Earl of Dover often used jest as an excuse just to be hurtful. And it had always been with you and you only from what you observed. Your Mother reminded you that men who were rude or spiteful towards women meant that they would ask them to be betrothed.

That sentiment made you want to vomit, and up until now, you had escaped being betrothed. The first in line to put his hand forward for yours was the Earl of Dover as though he had been waiting for you until your Father put his foot down.

Either way, you did not want a part of this.

“That you are, my Lady.” He was almost a predatory animal, looking to devour you.

“Why did you really come today? Out with it.”

He brought the cup to his lips and drank for far too long, leaving an uncomfortable silence. He even audibly swallowed, the absolute pig. “I came to ask for your hand in marriage.”

How you were able to sit through the entire encounter and not order Sebastian to ring his neck was incredulous, or that you did not do it yourself. Utterly unladylike at the thought of swiping away the crockery on the table that Sebastian had courteously laid out and strangling the fellow with your own bare hands after launching yourself across the small circular table.

Now you were sounding like your Father.

“That ghastly man!” Stomping back into your room, you kicked the dresser and your left shoe came flying off.

“If you would like your shoes off, then please allow me.” Sebastian approached you and knelt down, sliding his hand under your calf and pulling your other shoe off.

“I cannot help it if the Earl of Dover infuriates me, you saw how he was. He must think he is awfully clever in trying to provoke me. I will simply not marry him, he is an awful man and would become an even worse husband!”

“That might be true, so how do you plan on combating your Father? I convinced him to send no more suitors, but this is a predicament I did anticipate.”

You thought about that, quite a lot in fact and just the idea of marrying anyone made your skin crawl. “Please undress me Sebastian, I hate this garment even more now.”

“Of course, Mistress. Might I interest you in your riding attire? You are always refreshed after a long ride.”

“Yes.” You didn’t know what to do. A ride might have been the best solution to your immediate problems. “I do not know what to do about my Father, he never listens to me even though I am a woman now. He hardly listens to my Mother either.”

Once your Father had an idea, that was it. Just like you. A trait you hated how alike you and your Father were.

Then, you thought back to the Earl of Dover. “Oh, he just makes me so angry! He thinks no one can see through his facade with that large head of his. He would not be so foolish if he did not have it on his shoulders. If someone else had his head, they might use it for better than just being a horrid fool!”

Sebastian began to undress you, pulling the ribbon from your hair to let it fall naturally. One sleeve off, and the other, hidden behind the ornate wooden privacy frame. Sebastian was delicate, tenderly revoking and folding each article of clothing.

“He is insufferable and I do not wish to see him again.”

Sebastian stopped, his hands were touching your bare skin and he left them there. “Do you have an order for me?”

Taking a deep inhale to calm yourself, you closed your eyes and thought for just a moment. “Sebastian, I order you to keep the Earl of Dover away from me and this manor for good. Convince my parents that he is no good.”

Then he continued to dress you, getting close enough to keep his voice low. “Of course, my Lady. It will be done swiftly.”

He left as soon as you were dressed, leaving you for no more than an hour, though he came to your chambers with your Father.

“Father, I will not be seeing that man again, he was ghastly-”

Your Father held you close out of nowhere, abruptly. “No, my child. I must apologise.”

“For what?” You glared at Sebastain who kept his distance.

“The Earl of Dover, he will no longer be coming to see you. On his way back, he was unfortunately involved in an accident.”

“Accident?” You stood there and let your Father hold you, eyes so wide you did not blink and watched Sebastian observe you back. Never breaking his line of sight.

“Decapitated by a low hanging branch they said. Not far from here.” Your Father pulled away and held your cheek. Studying you with a solemn expression. “It was a mistake to force you into marriage, right now we will let you grieve. Your Mother is beside herself.”

He turned to leave and placed a reassuring hand on Sebastian's shoulder. “Look after her, fellow. It may not be now, but today’s events will sink in eventually. Give her anything she wants.”

“Yes, my Lord.” He bowed and waited for him to leave.

“Sebastian… What did you do?” You knew immediately, just Sebastian’s look, his glare into your very soul gave you every possible clue you needed to arrive at the conclusion that he had something to do with it.

“I did as you commanded. I took his head.”

He was a bastard, but you did not wish him ill intent, nor did you want him dead even if you had fantasised about hurting him. He did not deserve that. “No- no I did not want that; I did not ask for that.”

Sebastian approached you and you mirrored that, backing away until you hit the dresser with an abrupt squeal from your lungs. “You ordered me to drive him away so you would not have to marry, did you not?”

His hand brought your chin up to look at him, he was so close. “I did as ordered. Now you will stay at the manor for a time until the next one comes along who will be just as vile. I will drive him away also. Because it is what I do best when I have you behind me to protect.”

So close, you weren’t sure where to look. “Why did you do that, Sebastian?”

“What kind of butler would I be, if I didn’t fulfil all of your wishes, my Lady?” 

[birb-tangleblog]

I know we all hate Chris, but where does the idea that he wrote Varian out of season 2 as a reaction to his popularity in the fandom come from?? I've been here for a long time and it seems like I'm only recently hearing ideas like this get circulated and repeated more frequently. It feels like since the show ended the fandom has turned into a rumor mill/game of telephone.

When you purport the idea that Cass replaced Varian due to creator bias, it implicitly places blame for Varian's lack of inclusion on Cassandra as a character. It unnecessarily pits the two characters against each other when this is already kind of an obnoxious issue in the fandom.

Varian also isn't the only victim of bad or messy writing in the show and I find it hard to say he was specifically targeted/excluded when there were tons of other character inconsistencies, loose ends, or concepts that were introduced and then dropped. (As an aside, when you look at the lead time on production for animated shows, the timeline just seems unrealistic/unlikely to me.)

I don't want to preclude the idea that Varian really was deliberately written out of S2 - of course I could be incorrect, but in that case, it's an example of why citing sources when making claims is important and responsible.

[girlkisser13]

nemesis cabin headcanons

children of nemesis

• they’re the ONLY cabin that is safe from pranks by the hermes cabin.

• they never have problems with balancing chemistry equations.

• whenever someone from camp needs to settle a debate/argument, they always ask someone from the nemesis cabin to be the mediator/judge.

• they're also frequently asked to be referees for games of capture the flag, as their reputation for fair judgment makes them ideal for ensuring the game is played with integrity and without bias.

• when a child of vengeance is saved of a certain death by another demigod, they now owe a debt to their savior.

• whenever the savior calls for help, they are obligated to come and help them no matter the danger.

• they are all CRAZY competitive. it’s like they're in pre-revenge mode.

• the demigod that nemesis traded the ability to make a difference in the world for one of their eyes was nick fury (and ethan).

• at this point, she just has a passion for children with eyepatches.

• i can just picture nemesis cackling and pointing to her children "you get an eyepatch" "you get an eyepatch!" "but mom-" "EYEPATCH FOR YOUUUUUUUUU!!"

• they care the least about the appearance of other people, because they see their mother as the person they hate most.

• the hephaestus cabin helped them build a gigantic celestial bronze scale in the middle of their cabin.

• they don't get along well with the children of athena, largely because many of them struggle with hubris as their fatal flaw.

• since nemesis is the goddess who punishes those who are overly prideful or self-assured, this same principle extends to her children, creating natural tension between the two groups.

cabin exterior

• the cabin has dark stone walls, almost like slate or obsidian, giving it a brooding, intimidating appearance. the stones have subtle cracks running through them, symbolizing the balance of vengeance and justice.

• deep red and crimson accents are used around the cabin to signify blood, vengeance, and the balance of power. the entrance to their cabin is a red door. it has the scales of justice etched into it, representing nemesis’ role.

• above the doorway, there is a carving of an eagle, nemesis' sacred animal, holding a sword in its talons. the sword represents retribution, and the eagle embodies her watchful, unforgiving nature.

• a small statue of nemesis herself stands in front of the cabin, holding her sword and scales, symbolizing the ever-present concept of justice. her eyes are made from rubies, watching those who come and go.

• the shadows cast by the cabin seem to move subtly, giving the impression that the cabin itself is watching or judging those nearby. these shadows stretch and shift depending on the actions of the people passing by.

cabin interior

• the central theme of the cabin is balance. there are symbolic representations of scales EVERYWHERE— on the walls, carved into the furniture, painted in murals. every item in the cabin is placed with perfect symmetry, reinforcing the idea of equilibrium and fairness.

• instead of modern lights, the cabin is illuminated by dark iron lanterns or torches with low, flickering flames, casting dramatic shadows around the room. this lighting adds to the cabin’s mysterious and foreboding atmosphere.

• the furniture is made of dark wood— oak and mahogany— each piece sturdy and simple, but elegantly crafted. the chairs and beds have an almost throne-like quality, with high backs and intricate carvings, to emphasize power and authority.

• large mirrors are placed strategically around the cabin, but these mirrors do not show your true reflection. instead, they show you as balanced with your opposite. for example, someone who is overly confident might see themselves looking unsure or humble. these mirrors serve as a reminder that nemesis governs balance in all things.

• the floor is made of glossy black marble, cold and smooth underfoot. some areas are etched with swirling, abstract patterns that represent fate and karma, with a glowing red hue filling in the designs at night.

cabin traditions

• they have a tradition of making penance offerings or performing acts of restitution for any personal wrongs they’ve committed, reflecting their dedication to correcting imbalances.

• every month, the members hold a ceremony where they balance scales to symbolize their commitment to justice and fairness. this involves a ritual where they offer symbolic items representing their past grievances and mistakes.

• they frequently engage in debates about justice and morality, using these discussions to hone their skills in resolving conflicts and understanding different perspectives on retribution.

• each member keeps a small stone where they inscribe significant personal experiences related to justice and retribution, creating a collective memory of the cabin’s journey and values.

divider by @strangergraphics-archive

[diz-eaze]

I’d idol yn was rude I feel like Scara even with his whole twisted ur nice bc u are on screen! Persona would just make him want to fuck u up, in any way, to see u cry for him wether it’s bc he snaps or not is what he needs to see

Also IMAGINE YAN! Idol SCARA?!?? He’s madly in love with u but plays it off bc ur his fan, he just.. keeps finding u places, and ofc uses his fame as an excuse for anything, he snapped at someone who wanted a picture when ur around? Well bc he was focusing on a more important fan! U ofc!! Him asking to walk u home, oh he’s famous wouldn’t u want that? He needs to know where u live anyway! Won’t invite him into ur room? It’s ok he’ll break in and goon over the fact u have poster after poster of him! Get scared bc he’s starting to come off as.. strange.. he’ll dox u as an anon so u have to run to him for safety!

yan idol scara is so funny because instead of you being the one who's trenches deep in a parasocial relationship, it's.. still him, unfortunately. he met you during a fan meet back when he was still a rookie and hasn't stopped clinging to you since, all without your knowledge, of course! :)

he tries to look for you in every venue his group performs at, tries to hide his disappointment at every fan meet you miss, tries to not bang his fists against the wall when he sees that you didn't comment on the images he posted on twitter that day. tries to console himself that you probably saw it but forgot to like his post, being too busy freaking out. he's so delusional it's crazy.

during group interviews, the highlights of these types of events are always the "are you dating anyone right now?" or "what's your ideal type?" type of questions. in the past, scara's mouth actually had to be muffled over by venti's hand as he almost blurted out on live television that he's been dating you (in his head...) for 6 months 😣😣 !! after that blunder though, and a strict scolding from his company, he's had to content himself with just sending out hints :( but he makes sure to describe you in full detail, save the name drop, each time he gets the "who's your type?" question <33 gives himself a pat on the back too because he thinks that it's a way of showing you off,,,

during the rare day offs his group is granted with, scara makes sure to wisely spend the time by going to the places you frequent, internally gooning over how you've probably touched the same statue he touched, or that you probably sat on the same park bench as him !! during these trips of his, he constantly fantasizes about running into you at some point <3 preferably a meet-cute where he'll save you just as you're about to fall or something.

and he's so dismayed at how you don't have any merch, either :'( like ofc you don't !! you're a civilian after all, but scara views you as a deity so he can't help but genuinely be baffled that there's a severe lack of content creation when it comes to you. though, he supposes that him being your only worshipper also has its merits. but since there are no pre-existing merch of you, it has led scara to selfishly demand that his company create some based on the pictures he sent them through email 😭😭😭 like my brother in celestia... your management company is not a printing company....

but imagine that all this time he's so sure in his head that he's your bias, only to find out through stalking your stan account that you actually ult a different member :( even worse if it's his arch nemesis groupmate kazuha,,, or that you've even lost interest in his group altogether 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 yikes.

[sungbeam]

nonidol!kim younghoon x f!reader

neither you nor younghoon were party people, but you did find love in the convenience store down the block.

▷ genre, warnings. friends 2 lovers, mutual pining, college au, swearing, fluff, humor, comfort, reader has crowd anxiety, reader has a lot of siblings lol, mentions of math/physics/chemistry/etc sorry it was necessary for the character, kissing, puns and pick-up lines, mentions of academic stress, lots of carbs haha, drinking, guys younghoon was my first bias and im remembering why

▷ total wc. 29.3k (TUMBLR MADE ME CUT OUT SO MUCH I FKN HATE THIS HELLSITE)

this is the seventh installment of the love in unity series! this should be fine as a standalone, but there are multiple references to party people & i highly encourage u to read it!; all other yns will be referred to as _!yn. (ayc occurs DURING party people)

a/n: in an alternate world, i would still be obsessed w kim younghoon, isn't that crazy. anyways, enjoy + reblog!

EPISODE ONE (PILOT): OF ALL THE COSMIC COINCIDENCES

KIM Jungwoo's message materialized on your lock screen in a bombardment of photons: Hey, you sure you don't wanna come with us tonight? Feel free to still join :')

You slung the strap of your bag over your head and shoulders before shooting him a reply. No thanks Woo :') Appreciate it though! Have fun tonight <3.

Some of the people in the social circle you orbited were heading to the bay tonight for a bonfire rager to celebrate (read: mourning) the beginning of the new university term. Though you hadn’t seen many of the people attending tonight in a couple months, you were never much for big crowds. Plus, the start of the school year brought a whole dumpster fire of things to worry about, so taking a quiet evening with yourself would be well worth it to keep your head on straight.

With the message sent, you hauled your apartment door open and headed out into the late evening. There was a convenient store at the end of the street a couple blocks over that you had been frequenting since freshman year, and you could taste the sweet brioche buns as the store’s fluorescent lights entered your view. It was a small corner store that reminded you much of a traditional 7/11, except there was a corner inside the store where patrons could eat and chill, and the food, arguably, tasted better than alright.

(The seating area inside this place had definitely seen many of your midterm and finals grind nights. And tears. There were lots of tear stains on those tables.)

Your roommate and good friend Miyawaki Sakura often accompanied you here whenever you came to do some studying, shopping, or recreational snacking. Tonight, she was holed up in her room video chatting with some of her cousins in Japan, but most other nights she would be online playing some kind of first person shooter game.

The walk to the nearby convenience store was a short, yet familiar one. You played a song at a faded volume in your earbuds, your hands tucked into the safety of your pockets. It was a warm night out, as late summer clung onto the coattails of early autumn, leaving a strange mixture of green, red, and yellow in the trees. The streets weren’t barren—plenty of people were out and about on a Saturday night—and still, you tilted your head up to the sky to appreciate the beauty of the obsidian sky.

When you reached the end of the block, you entered into the comfortable embrace of the convenience store. It was quiet, as expected, with only the muffled sound of jazz acoustics from the overhead speakers as white noise. The latter combined with the noise from your own device made it all the easier for you to be unaware of the other people here with you.

Your mouth was already watering from the mental image of brioche, and you made a sharp swerve into the familiar bread aisle when you realized—oh, you weren’t alone.

Standing exactly where you knew the brioche buns were stationed was a tall, lanky man with a pair of earbuds hanging from his own ears, one hand examining one of the bread packages while the other was tucked away in his pocket. His dark colored bangs were shaggy and hung in his eyes, but you could’ve recognized that side profile from a mile away. You’d spent nearly half a quarter staring at it, after all—the other half was looking at his front profile and forehead, but those were just as identifiable.

For a moment you stood at the mouth of the aisle weighing your options. Did you say hello, or did you walk away and pretend you didn’t see him?

He decided for you.

Kim Younghoon glanced up from the bread after feeling your eyes on him for a considerable beat of time. He blinked once before you saw the sharp surprise in his expression melt away into soft fondness. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled, tugging his earbuds out with a charming smile. “Long time no see, Yn.”

You mirrored his actions and slipped the wires into your pocket. “Long time no see,” you agreed, returning his pleasant expression.

You met Younghoon just last year when he stumbled into the math tutoring center with his head held high and a notebook full of question marks. While your friends on shift at that time (Chanhee coaching someone through their linear algebra worksheet; Jungwoo yanking his hair follicles out with a group of freshmen over trigonometry) were busy, it was you who ultimately became Younghoon’s go-to calculus tutor. For the quarter that he took calculus, you helped the drama major through it.

Of course, finding a drama major in a calculus class was a rare occasion, but you both blamed the university’s awful general education requirement. Either way, you’d both found a friend and good company in one another. It didn’t help that he was terribly charismatic, and often filled the spaces in between long text messages about how to calculate the cross-section area of a vase with “good morning”s, “good luck on your midterm!”s, and corny STEM-themed one-liners.

Younghoon was the kind of guy people took home to meet their parents. Not… not that you ever thought about him like that. It was just what you overheard from this group of girls in the tutoring center once—

“I guess we both had the same idea tonight then,” he chuckled as you came to stand beside him to scour the shelf for your victim tonight.

You hummed. “I guess so,” you said. “I usually don’t see you in this area of the district though.” Because you definitely would have seen him. You lived around here, after all.

“Oh,” he grabbed the back of his neck sheepishly, “it’s a funny story actually. I dropped my friends off at a party and I went to the store near them and they had no good selection of bread.” He made a helpless gesture. “So I couldn’t just accept defeat, and now I’ve ended up here.”

You plucked a package of soft brioche from the shelf, then passed him an amused look. There was something unfair about how the harsh LED lights fell so lightly over his facial features. “I guess some form of cosmic coincidence brought us bread-lovers here.”

Younghoon knocked his bread package against yours like he was cheering a glass of champagne. “And might I say what excellent taste you have.”

That drew a laugh from you. “Ditto.”

He pursed his lips then, considering you. “So what social event are you dodging tonight, Miss Mastermind?” Younghoon’s eyebrows arched upwards at you, and you suddenly took on the sheepishness he had before. Though, you definitely noted that familiar nickname that followed his question. You wondered if that was still the name your contact was saved under in his phone. (If he even still had your contact information saved.)

You raised the palm of your hand up to hide half of your face from comical shame. “Now why would you just assume that I’m here because I’m avoiding a social call?”

“Yah,” he chided jokingly, “because I know you.” His eyes turned up to the ceiling for a moment before he added, “And you’re friends with Kim Jungwoo.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

He laughed. “Gotcha.”

“And you say I'm the mastermind?” You quipped back at him, all light-hearted. When he first dubbed you with the nickname, you hadn't known what to do about it. He claimed it was because you somehow made learning calculus fun for him—some “sorcery,” as he accused back then.

“You are!” He exclaimed with excited, wide eyes. “You've hexed me with a love for math puns and acute angles,” he groaned melodramatically, clutching his chest like his heart was about to burst for added effect.

You clicked your tongue, unable to hide your amusement. “Acute angles is a new one.”

“'Cause they remind me of a-cute-ies like you,” he said with his hand shaped into a finger gun, tongue between his teeth.

Your hand went over your face again. “I forgot that you did that.”

“You missed it!”

The smile on your face couldn't even be fully covered with your hand. Maybe you did miss it—or maybe it was just him. When the quarter had wrapped up last year and Younghoon was no longer taking calculus, neither of you had any “excuse” to be around each other anymore. Though you still had his number, you always chickened out of texting him to see how he was doing or if he wanted to hang out.

In your mind, Younghoon was always too cool for you. You didn't feel like you fit into his world.

Younghoon took your hand and drew it away from your face, a slow smile filling his lips. “There she is. You missed me.”

“If you stop asking, I will pay for your bread.”

“As if I'm going to let you do that,” he shook his head. “I'll take that as a yes.”

You both began making your way over to the counter to purchase your individual pastries. You always knew Younghoon liked bread, and you shouldn't be so surprised that he drove halfway down the district just to find a specific brioche bun. It was funny and strange how the universe worked. At times you wondered if the probability of fate could be calculated—

“So it's just you tonight?” You asked him as the two of you lingered just outside the convenience store with your freshly purchased breads in hand. You had both immediately torn into your brioche as soon as you cleared the threshold, and the fluffy pastry filled your mouth and stomach with utter joy. It was buttery and sweet and soft… perfection.

Younghoon shoved the piece in his mouth into his cheek. “For the most part, yeah,” he replied, his shoulder lifting in a half shrug. “You?”

“Yeah, Kkura's at home, but she's on call with someone. Jungwoo did invite me out to that big bonfire at the bay tonight, but…” You shook your head.

His head tilted slightly. “Oh yeah I heard about that.” For a second, he didn't say anything, and then he murmured, “Crowd anxiety.”

You hummed, eyes shooting over to his. “Hm?”

“Crowd anxiety, right?” He asked with more confidence. “I—you can correct me if I'm wrong—but I just remember you mentioning something about crowd anxiety last year.”

Your chewing slowed for a moment, and a small smile curled onto your lips. “No, you got it right.” He remembered. Of course, he remembered. A warm feeling made itself comfortable in your chest.

Younghoon seemed to brighten. “Good, I'm glad I remembered correctly,” he said while leaning his shoulder against the wall of the convenience store. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Did you ever happen to watch that performance of 12 Angry Jurors I recommended?”

Uh oh. You could physically feel your neurons spark at the familiar title. It was the equivalent to a bell—no, alarm—rattling around inside your noggin.

Younghoon threw his head back in a laugh at how your face rearranged into an expression of pure mortification. "You look like I just caught you with a hand in the canary cage—oh my god, you should see your face!"

You were helpless at this point, and no words were coming to your tongue to rescue you. Screw all the differential calculus—where was language ability when you needed it? “I can explain myself,” was all you came up with.

He crossed his arms over his chest, fixing you with a pointed look, albeit still amused. "I'd love to hear this."

“You know that some things just slip my mind—”

“Yes, and that's why I watched you put it into your calendar.”

“And you know that the school has a bad habit of scheduling big events on the same night—”

He cocked a brow at you, leaning forward slightly. “I don't like where this is going, you workaholic.”

You gestured at him with the piece of bread in between your fingers, and he had to cover his mouth to keep from snorting. “I am not a workaholic,” you said firmly.

“Sure you aren't,” he replied back in a tone that indicated he thought the exact opposite.

“Anyways, they put the research symposium on the same night as the last showing—”

“Ah-ha!” He cried with a triumphant finger pointed at the sky. You were convinced that any second now, he was going to start twiddling an immaculately curled mustache. “So you did procrastinate!”

You pressed your lips together as you crumpled your empty packaging, then raised a finger up to scratch your head sheepishly. “Maybe I did.”

Younghoon drew out an exhale. “Aye, I knew it. You know, I think you're just about married to your work, Yn-ah.” His mouth quirked to the side and he scratched the underside of his jaw. “But I guess that's not a bad thing.”

You gave a small wince. “You're not mad I missed the play?”

“Mad? No, of course not. It wasn't my play,” he joked. “I know you have priorities, and me being mad would just be silly.”

“But you are disappointed,” you countered pointedly.

“Disappointed for you,” he countered. “That was a pretty good performance of 12 Angry Jurors. Though… there is one part that I would have chosen to represent differently, but…” He shrugged, letting the thought float out into the ether.

“What is it?” You prompted.

His lip curled upward and he let out a little chuckle. “I'm not telling you; it'll spoil the ending!”

You were unconvinced. “I'm never gonna see the play, Hoon.”

“Not with that attitude,” he shot back.

You couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of you from his sass that came out of left field for you. The sound of your joy made his smile widen and his eyes narrow into pretty, upturned crescent moons. The warmth all around you wasn't just from the evening's temperature. You'd forgotten just how easy it was to talk to Younghoon, and you decided that yes, you definitely missed him. But with all good things, it was written with a curtain call.

Younghoon seemed reluctant to push off of the wall and away from you. “Well, I shouldn't keep you any longer,” he said. There was a down turned angle to the corners of his smile now. “I do need to go re-find parking for when I have to go hunt my drunk friends down.”

Your laugh was small. “Good luck with that. And… don't worry about keeping me anywhere too long.”

“Thanks, and I'll keep that in mind.” His tongue stuck out between his teeth for a second, his head ducking down to shake his hair out of his eyes. “Hey, you still have my phone number, right?”

“I do.”

Whether harsh or dim lighting, it highlighted his features beautifully regardless. His eyes twinkled. “Now I know you won't ignore me if I send you another calc pun.”

“I'll look forward to it,” you promised.

The two of you were beginning to step toward your opposite directions, but failed to make your legs move any further. “Get home safe, Yn,” he murmured in goodbye. The possibility of him never reaching out crossed your mind. It wasn't like you didn't have faith that he would; rather, it was your own thoughts creeping into your head that you two came from different worlds. Despite the friendliness between you, that was the whole reason you shied away from ever reaching out. It was nothing personal against him.

EPISODE TWO: PASS GO & COLLECT TWO HUNDRED

GRAVITY reminded you of its existence when a bundle of fabric hit you square in the head. (Then again, you were always reminded of gravity’s existence when you thought about it…) “Yah—hey!” You clawed the article of fabric off your head and whirled around in your desk chair with a scowl. “Kkura!”

Sakura blinked innocently from where she stood at your closet, hand on her hip. “Put it on.”

You made a face as you straightened out the garment in your hands, the frown deepening when you realized which top it was. Or rather, which dress it was. “I haven’t seen this since I unpacked my clothes from boxes two years ago,” you whistled lowly. It was a black satin piece, something you brought along with you from home in case you ever decided to go to an event that called for a cocktail dress. Most of the formal events you attended though usually allowed you to get away with dress pants and a blouse. This poor piece of fabric had been relegated to the back of your closet since.

Your friend resumed sorting through your clothes for any alternatives or more of that kind. “I didn’t even know you owned something like that. I thought all your bottoms clung to your ankles unless they were shorts.”

“I have variety,” you sniffed and draped the dress over the back of your chair. “And what's wrong with bottoms going to my ankles? I like when they get to be warm.”

“That's what socks and shoes are for.”

“Says the girl who wears jeans that pretty much cover her shoes.”

Sakura shot you a look that reminded you of when your mother was exasperated, but she didn't want to admit that you were right. “Okay, so maybe we both have problems. But that's besides the point!” She walked away from your closet to sit herself on the edge of your bed, her hand dragging the arm of your desk chair to roll you over away from your desk. “We're going to a party tonight!”

She beamed, waving her hands around. When you only gave her a blank stare, she cleared her throat. “Ahem, I said, we're going to a party tonight! Woo!”

You pursed your lips. “Not very woo, to be honest.”

“You're not very woo,” she quipped in a deadpan.

“No, no, no!” You cut in, waving your finger back and forth. “Don't pretend like you wouldn't rather stay home than party either. And besides, you know that I don't do crowds.” You gazed off into space as if recalling the Great War with glazed-over eyes, already smelling the sweat and booze, and feeling the suffocating pressure in your chest as people squished up against you, and as you lost sight of your friend or anyone you knew for that matter, in the sea of—

“I know,” Sakura pushed out an exhale, and your eyes shuddered as you came out of that headspace. “But I think it'll be good for us. I mean, you need to get your eyes away from that grant application for one second, and I—”

“Need to stop playing League?” You suggested cheekily.

Your friend's scowl coaxed a high pitched wheezing sound out of you. She pursed her lips. “I was going to offer to hold your hand while we were in the house, but I guess not—”

“Okay, now let's not get ahead of ourselves!” You countered. The glint in Sakura's eyes when you interrupted her told you all you needed to know. Damn her cleverness; she'd got you once again.

Maybe she was the real mastermind.

Two hours later—the both of you dolled up and willpower strong (ish)—you clung to Sakura's hand as you and she slipped into the lively host house for tonight's festivities. Sweat already dampened the lines in your palm, and you moved your grip on your friend to hold onto her arm instead. You hadn't been to a house party or a frat party in a while, the last one being a birthday party for one of your friends from differential calculus turning twenty-one.

This instance was different. For one, there were far too many people packed together per square inch. And second, who thought turning down the lights was a good idea? You were already half blind as it was…

“I think we should get a drink!” Sakura shouted as she sent you an encouraging smile.

Your eyes widened as you narrowly missed getting someone's shoulder shoved into your face. “Yes, a drink sounds great!”

It was a war zone as the two of you maneuvered yourselves through the crowded living room space. The only reason people seemed to converge in that room in particular was because it had been turned into a makeshift dance floor. There were also people seated on the stairs, leaning over the upstairs landing, and meandering around in the halls.

You could feel your head begin to fog up as you unconsciously shifted closer to Sakura's side. Your friend curled her arm around your shoulders, deftly guiding you through the fray to the light at the end of the tunnel—the kitchen. There was a distinct lightening of your chest as you stepped foot into the less crowded space. The kitchen was still only dimly lit with the most minimal of light switches flipped on, but it was still enough where you could at least see your hand in front of your face and the light layer of sweat on Sakura’s brow. You made a swift scan of the area and spotted three people over by the kitchen counter, one of whom was slumped over the countertop, dozing off.

Oh, to be him right now.

“Oh, hello,” greeted one of the trio. He was stationed behind the counter like a bartender, his purple bangs brushed out of his face. The girl with him lifted her hand in a friendly wave.

“Hi, we’re not—uh, interrupting or anything?” Sakura said as your hold on her arm loosened considerably now that you were in an area that was much less crowded.

The two of them shook their heads with too much enthusiasm. “No, no! Definitely not.”

You and Sakura exchanged glances of incredulity, but didn’t push the topic any further. With pleasantries aside, the two of you excused yourselves to peruse the display of alcoholic beverages on the island space. You knew Sakura could hold her alcohol a decent amount, and so could you, so you both looked around for bottles of flavored soju to hold you over for the evening.

You dug around in one of the coolers and withdrew twin bottles of strawberry-flavored ones. “Kkura!”

Her blue-colored head perked up and she brightened as you waved your treasures around in the air. “Ooh, yay! You know, I think we should restock our stash of melon soju at home,” she mused and came over to where you were.

With your drinks secured, you each took the first sip like a shot, then linked arms to face the crowd again.

Drinking either made your anxiety rocket or relax—it depended on the beverage and the kind of day you’d had, but as you nursed your bottle for moments longer, the heaviness in your chest began to gradually recede.

The crowd anxiety you harbored was a byproduct of being the middle child of five siblings. You loved your family to bits, but sometimes home life was overwhelming. It wasn't that you got nervous around people, but more so in large bodies of people. The first year or so of your university life spent in large undergraduate lectures were absolute hell; there was an appeal to the upper division classes besides specialized interests.

But your friends were all aware and took good care of you, which you were more than grateful for.

“Is it just me—” Sakura said to you loudly with blue and purple lights painting her features, “—or does this soju taste really good tonight?”

You smacked your lips together as you savored the sweet taste. “You're definitely right,” you said. “We might have to go back for more.”

“If we can remember how to get there,” she giggled.

“Wait, what's in here?” You steered the two of you into a doorway to your left.

From the looks of the massive table stretching from one end to the next, you had stumbled upon the dining room. The room was large enough for there to be a few different groups of people occupying sections, but the largest one took reign over the farthest end. Your eyes widened in delight when you recognized two people in particular. “Oh wow.”

“Yn?” Chanhee exclaimed in disbelief. He was partly hunched over what looked like a board game as his deft fingers counted out paper money. “You're here?”

Everyone—well, almost everyone—turned their heads to see who Chanhee was talking about. Nonetheless, there were still quite the amount of eyes looking at you and you felt your palms begin to get sweaty around your bottle neck.

Younghoon gasped. “YN!” He grinned, lumbering over with his jelly-like limbs, tripping over people's legs and chairs. You could see the alcohol in his expression before you smelled it, but you couldn't just not hug him when he wrapped his arms around you in greeting. You hadn't seen him since last week at the convenience store but even then, the surprise had yet to escape you. What a cosmic coincidence.

“Hey, Hoon,” you chuckled in amusement, patting his back affectionately. You didn't know he would be so affectionate when drunk, but then again, this was the first time you were experiencing him like this.

“Big guy's a little drunk,” Sakura observed, then lifted her bottle to her lips. “Are you guys playing Monopoly?”

One of the guys, who looked the most of sound mind and state, nodded. “Yeah. D'you guys wanna play?”

Younghoon placed his hands on your shoulders with a goofy grin slipping onto his face as he pulled away. “You should play with us! Guys—” he announced to his friends, “—this is my bestest friend, Yn!”

“And her friend, Sakura,” you cut in, gesturing to Sakura with jazz hands.

“And we would love to play,” Sakura added.

You passed her a glance. There was mischief dancing in her eyes. You supposed at least you knew what you were getting into before jumping into any game with the Miyawaki Sakura. These poor chumps never stood a chance.

“Okay, but Chanhee's the iron,” remarked one of the other boys while you, Sakura, and Younghoon made your way over to where they all were gathered.

You snorted at Chanhee's less than pleased expression. “Why does he insist that you be the flat iron?” You nudged your friend. You met Chanhee and Jungwoo in a shared freshman differential calculus class where the three of you weathered the war together.

Chanhee sighed, his tongue poking his cheek. “Because apparently I have no ass.”

“BECAUSE YOU DON'T!”

“NEITHER DO YOU!”

With none of that settled, a good majority of the people present gathered around the Monopoly board on the table to play. You, Sakura, and Chanhee all clambered onto the dining table to sit while the others rounded the end of the table. It also gave you a little room to breathe while playing with such a large group.

“Ladies first,” declared one of the boys, who's name you learned was Sunwoo, his eyes at half mast and cheeks flushed like red grapefruit.

“If you insist,” Sakura sang and did a little dance as she swiped the dice up to roll.

You placed a hand over your eyes jokingly. “Look away!”

Haknyeon blinked with his eyes wide. “Why?”

“Because she's about to win faster than you can say pass go and collect two hundred.”

In retrospect, you saw this coming. Even if the universe could construct more possible futures than you had atoms on the tip of your pinky finger, you definitely could have seen this coming.

The aftermath immediately following Sakura's utter domination of the Monopoly board left all of her opponents in a sputtering mess. Your friend dusted her fingers off as if there were crumbs on them, a very satisfied Cheshire's cat grin crawling onto her lips. “You can fight it or just accept it,” she shrugged, taking the last swing of her soju.

Eric stared up at her from where he knelt in front of the table, gripping the edge with his palms. He was all wide-eyed and full of wonder. “Teach me your ways.”

“If you get me another soju,” she offered, gesturing with her empty bottle. She probably didn’t expect him to take her up on the offer, because her eyes widened a comical amount when the kid rocketed up to his feet and darted out of the room, faster than she could blink.

“Is he usually like that, so hyper?” You jested to Chanhee as you and he began reorganizing the paper money.

Your pink-haired friend laughed. “Kind of. Youngjae's cute.”

“And what am I, Channieeee?” Came an inebriated Changmin. He teetered over to where you and Chanhee were, then unceremoniously draped himself over the latter's back.

“Ahhhhhh,” Chanhee groaned, “Ji Changmin!”

“Answer my question!” His friend slurred. “I think Yn thinks I'm cute. D'you think I'm cute?” He asked, gazing up with you in a deep pout and puppy dog eyes.

“Don't answer that question, Yn. It's like making a deal with the Devil.”

Changmin scoffed, straightening to a surprisingly perfect posture. He slapped a hand to his chest in offense. “How could you! Chanhee-ssi! We're supposed to be friends!”

You chuckled, leaning out of that dumpster fire of a conversation, and finding yourself in the company of one very loopy bread enthusiast. Younghoon had slipped back from watching the game about three quarters of the way through and slumped into a chair with a can of beer and his phone. At some point, you had given up on Monopoly, too, and considered joining him. Now, you really did move over to join him.

His head perked up when you leaned over and poked his shoulder, a smile coming to his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you smiled back. “Tired?”

He gave a slow, drawn-out nod. “Mhm,” he hummed. He lifted the can of beer to his lips and finished it off, then dropped his phone into his lap so he could rest his face between his hands. “I'm kind of hungry.”

You laughed. “I bet. How much did you drink, Hoon?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged.

“Long week?”

“Veeeery long week,” he nodded. “Like…” He spread his arms to his full wingspan, “this much.”

A giggle bubbled out of your mouth at how adorable he was when he was drunk.

Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “Oh my gosh, Yn! I never sent you the joke I found,” he frowned. “I found it and thought about sending it to you, but then…”

“You forgot?” You offered.

“I just didn't wanna bother you, to be honest.”

Oh. Something in you softened a great deal at the confession. You were always so sure that you would have been the bother, because it was difficult to imagine that someone who seemed so sure of himself like Younghoon might also feel the same. You mimicked his position with your hands holding up your face. “You're never a bother, Younghoon.”

“Even when I ask dumb questions about factoring?”

“There is no such thing as a dumb question.”

He pursed his lips into a line, unconvinced. “You're too nice. No wonder I liked doing math homework.”

You laughed again at the unexpected compliment, and Younghoon smiled to himself. “I'm glad you enjoyed doing your calc homework.”

He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, then snapped it shut with wide, doe-like eyes. “I was going to say a joke, but I realized that I probably shouldn't say that one in particular.”

“Wow, you have a filter when you're drunk?” You teased.

“Hey!” He pretended to sulk. “I'm not that drunk!”

A beat passed, and then he said, “I am still hungry though.” Yeah, definitely drunk.

Within fifteen minutes, you convinced Sakura to accompany you and Younghoon to the convenience store a couple blocks from your apartment. The three of you together managed to snag Chanhee to drive you all, as well as Changmin as an accessory since he and Chanhee lived together. Younghoon had once again insisted on this place in particular because he thoroughly enjoyed the brioche bun from the other day and had been missing it since. You and he settled down at the seating area in the corner of the store with your freshly-purchased bread, while the others traipsed around in search of other sustenance.

Younghoon's cheeks were full of brioche as he muttered a muffled, “You know why I like—calculus jokes?” He swallowed his bite, his eyebrows braiding together as he stared at his now empty package.

You quietly plucked the empty bag out of his hands and replaced it with yours.

He melted at the action. “I do.”

You bursted into a fit of giggles and Younghoon followed straight after you. Your face filled with fire and his bloomed like a blood red rose. The alcohol was slowly settling in. You were a lot more refreshed now that you were outside of the crowd setting, and your chest felt much lighter. “You do?”

“I do,” he reaffirmed, tearing the last bit of bread apart for you both to share instead. “You know why I like—” he hiccupped with the bread half in his mouth. His face morphed into one of confusion, then utter disdain.

You stifled a laugh with your bite of carbs. “Why do you like calculus jokes, Younghoon?” You asked to help him out.

He swallowed his bite. “Because—trig jokes are too graphic and algebra ones are too for—” He hiccupped again, his eyes shooting up toward the ceiling in exasperation.

“Formulaic?” You offered.

Younghoon frowned. “You know this one?”

“I enjoy guessing.”

“Hm,” he grunted, unconvinced. “There is one outlier though.” When he hiccupped for the third time, you patiently waited for him to fill in the blank. “Statistics.”

A small smile wormed its way onto your face. “I have to say, that was very subtle but very good.”

Younghoon beamed with pride. “I knew you would get i—” Another hiccup. He deadpanned. “I hate this.”

You stood up with a chuckle. “Let me get you some water.”

“Thanks,” he pouted. You felt his eyes on you the whole time you went over to the free water cooler over at the counter, and even as you brought him back the little paper cup of liquid.

As he drained the cup, you lingered next to where he sat rather than sitting back down. “Better?” You asked, then held your hand out to take the cup back if he wanted more.

He shook his head though, and he raised it up to his eyes while squinting one of them to aim it at the trash can behind your seat. “How do I get this exactly inside the trash?”

You blinked, eyeballing the distance between his seat and the trash can. The paper cup wasn't going to have a lot of weight while it was empty, but if he threw it with the opening facing him instead…

Younghoon made a noise that sounded a lot like a child's giggle. “Hehe, you're actually doing the math in your head.”

“You don't know that,” you muttered.

“Of course I know that.” He shucked the paper cup and it landed in the trash can with a clean swish sound. He threw his hands in the air. “Woo! Crowd goes wild.”

You laughed and slid back into your seat. “See, you didn't need math to get the cup into the trash can. Nice throw, Hoon.”

He grinned at you. “Thanks. You know how I knew you were doing the math in your head?”

“How?” You humored him amiably.

“Because you get this cute little wrinkle between your eyes, riiiight there—” He leaned forward and booped the place between your eyes, making you go cross-eyed for a split second. “—when you're processing info.”

“Processing info makes me sound like a computer,” you joked.

“Too bad you're not a keyboard,” he said with a sigh, “you'd be just my type.”

An unnaturally loud guffaw came out of your mouth and you slapped your hand over it. There was far too much mirth between the two of you right now. “You're telling me you're good at this drunk, too?” You shook your head, the laugh lingering on your tongue, “Y'know what? I shouldn't be surprised.”

If Younghoon could come up with pick-up lines to remember how to do calculus sober, then you should not have underestimated him drunk.

“Changmin, can you put the plunger down before we get kicked out?” Your head turned toward the sound of Chanhee's pure exhaustion as the three others rounded the corner. You imagined Chanhee dealt with drunk Changmin more than a few times to sound so exasperated. You didn't even want to know what Changmin was doing with the plunger.

Sakura, Chanhee, and Changmin bumbled over to where you and Younghoon sat, the supposed plunger nowhere to be seen. Chanhee brushed a lock of pink out of his eyes with a deep sigh. “Alright; shall we?”

EPISODE THREE: DO AS THE PHYSICISTS DO

THE hungrier Younghoon woke up, the more he likely had to drink the night prior. His stomach growled something horrific and he groaned, rolling his body over to squish his face into his pillow. There were no trains of thought running through his mind at the moment; there was only blissful quiet. And hunger. Goddamn it, he was hungry.

With a huff, he dragged himself upright as if he were rising from the dead. He gave his head a rough shake, eyes bleary as he blinked once… then twice… Oh, yuck. Sticky eyelashes.

There was something white on his desk that caught his eye. There was a yellow sticky note marked with Chanhee's chicken scratch beside it: Yn sent you home with this bottle of painkillers. In case you don't remember, lol.

Dear god, it was coming back to him now.

Younghoon lowered himself down onto the edge of his bed and dragged a hand down his face. Had he been weird? Did you think he was weird now?

His phone was buried somewhere beneath his mess of sheets, and he pulled up your contact that he still had saved from last year. The last message sent was from a brief conversation you both had after his calculus final about what you were both doing when you went home for the winter break. He could feel the warmth creeping up to his cheeks from his neck as he typed out the first message to you since: heyy… about last night…

It was a bit of a surprise when he saw your reply come in nearly straight away.

miss mastermind: LOL good morning, did u sleep okay? younghoon's phone: decently ig 😅 thanks for the painkillers btw i will def take a couple of those miss mastermind: yeah no worries younghoon's phone: how bad was i last night, yn 😭 u can tell me miss mastermind: 😭 u weren't that bad… okay maybe u started singing the calculus parody of bohemian rhapsody on the way to my apartment…

Younghoon snickered into his palm as he stared at the messages on the screen. That memory was definitely rolling back into his head now. It was that, along with the Monopoly game, then the convenience store, and finally, the walk to yours and Sakura's apartment before Chanhee dropped him off here.

miss mastermind: i can't say im too surprised u remembered it tho 😭 sometimes i forget that ur trained to remember things younghoon's phone: that's a funny way to describe being an actor LMAO younghoon's phone: but also i'd be lying if i didn't admit that im so embarrassed abt last night miss mastermind: nooo don't be!! it's all good, i thought u were a very cute drunk

He smiled against his hand. He typed: Well now I just have to make it up to you.

miss mastermind: u absolutely do not younghoon's phone: actually i do younghoon's phone: if i recall correctly, u gave me the rest of ur BREAD. that's like…|

He paused, having nearly written “marriage proposal.” Quickly backspacing, he replaced it with “donating an organ.” Maybe he was a little delusional, but he could've sworn he heard your laugh echoing in his head after he sent it and saw the indicator appear that you were typing. He reached over to grab the bottle of painkillers as he monitored your texts coming in.

miss mastermind: DONATING AN ORGAN… miss mastermind: yk, i knew u liked bread, but not THIS much younghoon's phone: but ofc :0 she's my first love miss mastermind: understood o7 now ik how to sway ur judgment ☝️ younghoon's phone: le gasp younghoon's phone: truly evil mastermind things only miss mastermind: the le gasp is taking me out 😭 younghoon's phone: how abt /i/ take u out instead 😗

As soon as he sent it, he grimaced. Oh no, this was going to be taken out of context. You were going to go through the whole “sorry, I'm not really interested in you” talk, and he would have to sit through it pretending like it didn't hurt—he didn't mean for it to sound like that. You were just friends after all.

younghoon's phone: I MEAN LIKE younghoon's phone: for watching over me and humoring me last night yk! it doesn't have to be something fancy either, just something that we can do as friends! and to say thanks

His grimace deepened. Those clarification texts did nothing to help his case. It also did not calm his nerves when you failed to respond immediately like you had been for the past few minutes. “Well, you've done it now,” he muttered to himself as he frowned down at the screen.

For a couple minutes, there was nothing from your end and he forced himself to drag his ass off the bed in search of sustenance. Hyunjae's door was closed, so the rest of the apartment was quiet as he bounded out of his room toward the kitchen. Periodically (read: every couple seconds), Younghoon would glance at his phone screen waiting for your reply. “What are you scared of?” He said to himself as he opened the fridge and scratched his jaw. “You literally came up with pick-up lines for calculus terms with her.”

There were leftovers from a couple nights ago, and Younghoon grabbed those to heat up. He closed the refrigerator with his hip, eyes darting to his phone, only to see his screen light up. He dropped the leftover container on the counter and scooped the device up.

miss mastermind: i really don't think it's necessary to pay it back or anything, but we can def hang out! miss mastermind: also sorry my sister stole my phone TT but i got it back haha It was sad how fast relief flushed through him at that moment. younghoon's phone: oh no dw abt it lol ur with family rn? miss mastermind: i am! my aunt's in town and so i was summoned home for brunch 🤧 younghoon's phone: …is there :’)) uhm french toast :’)) miss mastermind: *sent a photo* younghoon's phone: that was cruel. miss mastermind: HAHAHA SORRY 😭

Younghoon stuck his leftovers into the microwave to heat up, but was suddenly craving French toast. He knew for certain he didn't have everything to make it right this second though. Maybe he would wake Hyunjae up to go impromptu grocery shopping.

younghoon's phone: i don't wanna keep u away from ur family any longer, but lmk if u have any preferences for what we should do together miss mastermind: no prefs in particular and dw, talking to u helps distract me from the amount of chaos happening in this house :’) miss mastermind: i do have to go now tho unfortunately :l my sister looks like she's abt to snatch my phone again 😭 younghoon's phone: LOL 😭 okay i'll talk to u soon then younghoon's phone: enjoy ur toast :/ miss mastermind: HAHA i'll save u a slice hoon 😋

The microwave beeped its conclusion, and Younghoon pulled the piping hot bowl of leftover food out. As he took a stab at it with his fork, he came to the swift conclusion that he was not going to be full on this. As he shoveled the food into his mouth, he started toward Hyunjae's room to give his friend a very rude awakening. “HYUNJAE! WE NEED FRENCH TOAST!”

There was no better place than the convenience store at the ripe timestamp of ten o'clock to meet with a friend. You'd gotten back from your house at around four o'clock in the afternoon, so you weren't too tired, though the cleanup and all the social interaction was threatening to take you out. Any school work or grant application work would have to wait until tomorrow.

Nonetheless, you felt a giddy sort of excitement bubble up in you as you hustled yourself down the street to the convenience store to meet Younghoon. In your hands, you clutched a small, sandwich-sized Tupperware container with a slice of holy French toast within. It was your older brother's favorite thing to make when he had to contribute to a brunch (or, let's face it, any meal) spread.

Younghoon had never been tardy to your tutoring sessions last year, so you weren't surprised when you saw him seated at your usual table in the corner. He glanced up from his phone as you walked in, waving. There was a blue colored beanie over his head and a brown corduroy jacket draped over his shoulders.

He noted the container in your hands and his eyes widened like saucers. “You did not.”

“I told you I would save you a piece,” you said sheepishly as you set the container down in front of him and took a seat.

“You—” His bottom lip jutted out. “I can't accept this.”

“You have to. It has your name on it,” you insisted, pointing out the little “Younghoon” scrawled on the side in Sharpie with a smiley face. It was customary in your household to write names on containers if they weren't already color coded or marked with a label. Label makers cost more than Sharpies did, and most of the time, your family didn't mind scrubbing the ink off if needed.

Younghoon's smile was sweet like the pastry sitting in the Tupperware. “I literally made French toast as soon as we stopped texting.”

You laughed. “No way.”

“Yes way! I dragged Hyunjae's ass out of bed,” he told you with great energy, eyes alight as he recalled his late morning antics to you. “I really didn't expect that you would bring me a slice, Yn, you sweetheart.”

“We had lots of leftovers and I just knew the most enthusiastic bread fanatic I knew had to try some of my big brother's toast,” you told him, pleased with his reaction.

He seemed at a loss for words; he just kept looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and you wondered how you could replicate this reaction over and over again. “Thank you,” was what he settled on. “I—” He gestured to the container, to you, to the container, “It means a lot.”

“You're welcome,” you said simply.

Younghoon heaved a great sigh and stood up. “Now I have to buy you some snacks—no. Yn, sit your ass down.”

Your eyes widened a comical amount and you plopped yourself back onto the chair.

His lips wiggled as he held back a smile. “Don't move.”

“You don't have to do this, Hoon,” you shook your head as he began making his way over to the aisles.

“What's that rule in chemistry? Energy can neither be created nor destroyed?” He queried from within the drinks aisle.

“The first law of thermodynamics,” you supplied. “It's not just chemistry though. It's relevant in all the sciences.” You weren't sure where he was going with this.

“Yeah, well—” He paused. You couldn't see him from where you were, but even the rustling noises stopped. “Shit, that's not the right rule.”

You bit back a laugh. Oh, he was too adorable.

“What's the one where equal and opposite and…?”

Your brain tripped. “Uh, the—the 'for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction’ one?”

More crinkling. “Aha! That's the one. Yeah, so for your actions, I must do as the physicists do, and react accordingly.”

Younghoon returned to you with an entire treasure trove of goodies that you swore amounted to more than what was due. (That number to you was technically zero, but for Younghoon's insistence, it was slightly over zero… maybe one one-thousandth.) It was a smorgasbord of peach drinks with lychee jelly, potato chips, daifuku mochi, and of course, bread buns. It was a feast in its own right. You both dove straight into the snacks before you. When life gave one lemons, one was to make lemonade.

Younghoon popped a chip into his mouth. “Do you come here often? Is this your hangout spot?” He suddenly asked, then dipped his hand into the bag and waved a chip around in the air, a quizzical kink in his brow. “I mean, you do live close by and you seem to be very familiar with the place.”

You screwed the cap of your bottle of juice back on and wiggled your fingers as you surveyed what snack to eat next. “I do hang out here often—you’re right,” you replied. The daifuku looked very appetizing right about now. “I've been coming by since school started to knock out my grant app.”

He perked up curiously. “Grant app?”

“It's for the Space Grant.” In partnership with the national space organization, your university offered something called the Space Grant, which would grant three applicants with a monetary award that could be used toward their education in aerospace. You'd had your eye on it even before you began attending this school, and you were determined to be one of the three who won it this year.

After you briefed him on the cause of much of your recent stress, Younghoon gave an indulging nod. “Mmmmh, I see. You're still aerospace engineering then, right?”

“Yep,” you chirped. “me and propulsion theory to the end. I guess I'm an airplane kid.” At the latter, you made a face. You were the space version of an airplane kid… the alternate of train kids and car kids…

“Don't think about it too much,” he said with corners of his smile peeking out on either side of where he pressed his fist against his lips.

You tried not to. “How about you? What have you been up to?”

He breathed out an exhale. “Hm? Oh, like, with drama?”

“Sure, anything and everything about you.” You leaned your cheek against your fist and peered over at him. “We've been talking about me too much.”

“Nonsense,” he tsked. “You already know I recite lines, dabble in the hilariously good pun on occasion, and am incredibly obsessed with carbohydrates.”

“What more could I possibly wanna know?” You played along.

“Exactly.” He chuckled then, tongue darting out for a second to wet his lips. “Jokes aside, nothing too much. Hyunjae's best friend, HJ!Yn—she’s a director and writer, and she's putting on her own play in the spring that I'll be auditioning for.”

Your eyebrows arched in interest. “Oh? What's it about?”

“No clue.”

You nodded. “Ah, well, good luck—or, break a leg. People say that, right? It's not just in movies?”

“People do say that, yes,” he affirmed. “And thank you. I'm gonna start a part-time teaching job at a school nearby for their theater program, which I think will be fun.”

“That does sound fun,” you agreed. Because you had two younger siblings yourself, you knew that taking care of young ones was a lot, but if anyone could do it, you knew Younghoon could. You imagined he would do quite well with them. “Let me know when they have a performance!”

His eyes twinkled in the fluorescent lights; you were beginning to grow more accustomed to the way the harsh brightness painted his features softer. “You have to promise to come though. This is more important than 12 Angry Jurors.”

You placed a hand against your heart in playful solemnity. “I, Yn Ln, do solemnly swear that I will try my very best to make it to see their performance.”

He cleared his throat, his expression falling into an expertly grave facade. “I accept your promise,” he said and extended his hand out to you across the table, “shake my hand, and may the deal never be broken.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from breaking out of character as you shook his hand. When you'd both withdrawn your hands, you watched him, fascinated, as he exited out of character. It was like a switch had been flicked off behind his eyes. Crazy.

Satisfied, Younghoon laced his fingers beneath his chin with a giddy, little smile on his face. “I'll save you an aisle seat.”

“I appreciate that,” you said. You really did—and he really remembered.

“And I'll make silly faces at you from the curtain wings.”

You laughed, telling him you couldn't wait.

EPISODE FOUR: TRAINS GO BOOM?

THERE were too many fires to put out at once. You were becoming the humanoid version of that dog in a burning house meme, and you didn't like it. It was not fine.

“Girl, I wish you'd told me, like, three weeks ago—”

You tasted the rejection a mile out.

“—I already committed to this robotics thing that night,” Jungwoo cried in anguish as he threw his head back. “I could've gone to the Space Gala! Instead, I'm watching people play with robots.”

You passed him a sympathetic look. “Robots are cool.”

“But I don't even get to do anything! I can only spectate!” You both stopped in the middle of your walk as he made unintelligible noises and gesticulations. Jungwoo grabbed your shoulders and shook them. “YN! WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE? I have to pay to watch people have fun.”

Your head was wobbling back and forth like a bobble head. Thank god for spines. “Woo—I’m gonna be honest—”

He stopped shaking you.

“I have no idea,” you said to him. “But we are in the same boat.”

The two of you were currently situated on the engineering side of campus. Most of the buildings around you were geared toward the great spectrum of engineering students—from electrical and computer, to aerospace and nautical. You just got out of a numericals simulation course and caught up with Jungwoo coming out of the engineering library to present to him your newest dilemma.

Jungwoo's posture sank. “I only have regrets after pursuing MechE.”

You pursed your lips, lamely patting him on the shoulder. “I told you aero is cooler.”

“I won't dignify that with an answer,” he sulked. Jungwoo picked himself up, however, as he always did. He carded a hand through his floppy brown bangs, eyes flickering down to his phone screen before his eyeballs nearly fell out of his socket. “Oh shit—I’m gonna be late to advanced mathematics. Chanhee is gonna murder me.”

He bumped your shoulder with the back of his hand. “Good luck on finding a plus one, Yn-ie!”

“Good luck getting there before Chanhee,” you hollered back.

Jungwoo threw you an expression that needed no subtitles, but fitting ones would read, That was so unnecessary!

As your friend sprinted in one direction, you began walking in the opposite direction. You had a little more than a couple hours before your next lecture, so you could probably either walk around and enjoy the day's nice weather or find a place to work. All bets were off when you felt your phone buzz from your pocket, and you saw the message on the screen. It was a text from your older sister: hey mom's asking if u have something to wear to the wedding lol.

The “LOL” at the end really downplayed how much stress this was going to give you. The entire event of The Wedding had slipped from your mind over the past week—actually, you were pretty sure you forgot the moment you got back into your car to drive home from brunch last weekend.

If you thought you had a large immediate family, your extended one would silence all thoughts instantly. One of your cousins-in-law was getting married in December, which meant you needed to find an outfit and mentally prepare yourself for the amount of people there were going to be in one room.

The Wedding made you anxious.

You shot your sister a frazzled text back. It was something along the lines of: maybe… lemme check the back of my closet… or pray I have funds in my bank account.

You somehow made your way to one of the green spaces on campus. It wasn't the main lawn that people picnicked or hung out on, but it was still just as beautiful as the main one. It also sat right by the café located down here in the engineering corner; you and your friends liked to loiter around here when the weather was nice.

It was exactly why you thought you were hallucinating when you saw Younghoon walking toward you.

“Younghoon?” You voice incredulously. “What're you doing here?”

He beamed at you, reaching a hand up to cup the back of his neck. “Oh, you know, just taking a walk and enjoying this nice, autumn weather…”

“Down in the engineering buildings?”

He sniffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wasn't purposely trying to look for you or anything,” he said and rocked back and forth on his heels.

You didn't need to know rocket science to read him. “Okay,” you drawled. “Say I believe you.”

“Divine coincidence,” he shrugged helplessly, jovially, even. His eyes were upturned in cute crescent moons. “Oh! And would you look at that—” He swung his backpack around to the front of his body and withdrew your plastic container from its depths, empty and clean, with even his sharpied name scrubbed off. “I just happened to have this on me.”

You sputtered out a laugh and accepted the container from him. “How funny that this pattern of events keeps happening.”

“Pfft, I know, right?” He brushed a hand through his hair. “So, uh, what're you up to?”

“What am I up to?” You parroted. “Not sure, to be honest. I've got a couple hours to kill. What about you?”

Younghoon gestured to the walkway that bordered the perimeter of the engineering lawn. You fell into step beside one another. “Nothing much, too. I kind of just needed a little walk outside to clear my head.”

You sighed, nodding. “I get that.”

“That sounded… very heavy,” he said, passing you a glance. “Something on your mind, Mastermind?”

“Oh, well,” you trailed off, uncertain of where to begin or how to begin. It seemed like Younghoon had something on his mind, too, and you didn't want to give him something else to hold onto. But when you looked over at him, there was a concentrated, concerned furrow in his brow; he was nowhere else but present with you.

You clasped the back of your neck and felt the knot in your muscles. “There's this thing.”

“Mhm.”

“Colloquially, it's referred to as the Space Gala, but it's kind of just an evening prepared by the Space Grant Consortium with a bunch of booths and a Q&A panel—things like that.”

His eyebrows lifted. “Wow, a whole consortium?”

“Yup.” You'd been a member of the student club associated with the consortium since freshman year, not just to keep up to date with information about the space grant, but because you enjoyed attending the events and learning about new innovations related to your desired field. “And it's a little formal where everyone dresses nicely to a degree, and each member can bring a plus one. Usually, Sakura comes with me, but something just came up for her that she can't avoid so—” You made a helpless gesture with your hands.

It was no fault of her own that she couldn't avoid the personal matter that came for her. You just needed to find someone to go with you now, but finding someone on such short notice was proving to be less than swift.

“Ah,” Younghoon said in understanding. “You'd like to attend with someone you're comfortable with because it's a large gathering of people, and—when is it?”

“Next Friday,” you grimaced.

He blinked. “Oh, wow.”

“Yeah.”

Younghoon pressed his lips together. “Hey, I mean, if you're looking for someone to go with—I dunno if you're comfortable with me compared to your closer friends—and I don't want to seem as if I'm inviting myself, but—”

“Younghoon,” you cut in with the knots in your neck and shoulders suddenly dissipating. You pressed your hands together, touching them to your lips. “Would you like to go to the Space Gala with me?”

The most beautiful smile blossomed onto his face then, and you swore to go it was warmer than the sun's beams. For a second, his cheekbones darkened with something bashful, but it was hidden in the blink of an eye, and you were met again with the charming Younghoon you knew well. “Why, there's nothing I would love to do more.”

“You are a lifesaver.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” he laughed. “I'm happy to go with you, Yn. I mean, what does Sakura usually do to help you when you're in crowded places?”

Hold my hand. That thought was immediately cast aside. That was probably far too much. You coughed, “Uhm, just—you know—stick around me. I get kind of overwhelmed when there are a lot of people around.”

“Overstimulation?” He offered sympathetically.

“I suppose that's the word I'm looking for.”

Younghoon nodded. “Okay. Hey, that's okay. You just tell me what I need to do to make you feel safe and I'll do it.”

Your heart pounded in your chest and you couldn't figure out the right words to express your gratitude. It was hard not to downplay your own misgivings; it took time to practice being patient with yourself. “Thanks, Hoon. I don't really… know what to say, but I really do appreciate it.”

“You don't have to say anything,” he said easily. “And I think, personally, I'm a great plus one.”

If only all of your troubles in life could be fixed so simply by Kim Younghoon being your plus one.

Your stroll together took you down toward the environmental science building. It was a path through a heavily forested area, though a little strange even being located somewhere south of the main campus. The paved sidewalk faded into a worn dirt path, and sunlight filtered in through the layers of leaves crisscrossing overhead.

“I've spilled my guts,” you piped up, “now what's on your mind?” You added swiftly, “If you're comfortable with sharing.”

Younghoon blew out an exhale from his mouth. “You know that job I mentioned? The one where I'm working with a youth theater program nearby?”

You nodded. “Yeah, how's that going, by the way?”

“I'm not sure,” he admitted with his mouth shifted to the side. “I had my first day with them on Wednesday, and I'm seeing them again today. I think I'm just nervous that they'll get bored of me.”

Ah, you could understand that. Surely your years helping out with your younger siblings could lend some use. It was rare to see Younghoon in this state of unease, and it was even more rare to think of someone who wouldn't like him. Seeing him troubled even a little made your stomach churn, and you wanted to help find a solution. “How old are they?”

“They’re all older primary school kids,” he said. “Young enough to not be scary middle schoolers and old enough to have some kind of attention span.”

You smiled to yourself. “Oh, I know exactly what you're talking about.”

“I knew you would.” He brightened. “You have younger siblings, don't you? Any chance one of them wants to become an actor?”

“Oh, hm,” you murmured, “Sadie's got her eyes set on ballet right now and I think Quincey's really only fascinated about his trains. They can be swayed though, I'm sure.”

“How do I keep a kid's interest though?”

You wish you had a formula for that. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth. “To be so honest with you, kids just like learning about dangerous shit.”

Younghoon wheezed. “What?”

You grabbed his shoulder as you both stopped in the walkway so he would face you. “Listen—no, I'm being serious, Younghoon!” You were trying to get a hold of this man as if you weren't gradually losing it, too. “Do you know how many times my little brother has made his trains go boom?”

“Yn.”

“He has problems, I know; he's like, four and a half or something.”

Younghoon's eyes were filled with mirth as he pressed his knuckles against his mouth. “Yn, do you know how insane that sounds?”

Your eyes shuddered in a blink. “Huh?”

He grappled onto your shoulders with another wheeze, eyes moist with laughter and a twinge of something else you couldn't process. “Yn, are you free next Friday at three?”

“Yeah?”

“Come with me to see the kids?”

“Okay.”

His tongue ran over his teeth as he grinned. Younghoon's head dipped in a nod, and he dropped his hands to the side. You didn't know what the hell just happened, but you had a feeling a solution was very much found.

EPISODE FIVE: TO INFINITY & BEYOND

“PLEASE tell me you're leaving the medieval torture devices out of the discussion.”

You passed him a look from the passenger's side of Younghoon's Prius. (It was objectively hilarious to watch this man fold his long limbs up to get in and out of this car; you didn’t know how the laws of nature even allowed a human with his height to own and drive one of these things.) “You say that like you were sure I wasn't.”

It was currently the Friday following, and the day you and Younghoon would both be each other's plus ones. Presently, you were in his car as he drove you both over to the elementary school where he was part-timing. Once this class was over, you would split off to prepare for tonight's Space Gala before meeting again at the venue on campus.

He turned his signal on as he pulled into the parking lot. “I'm just making sure.” He glanced over at you. “Are you excited?”

“To have about two dozen pairs of eyes on me?” You had faced crowds before and they weren't your forte, but you supposed if they were all bite-sized people this time, it wouldn't be so bad. Plus, Younghoon said they would be sitting down and working in groups most of the time anyways. The appeal of this crowd was that you didn't have to worry about getting swept up.

“They're all nice kids,” he said as if consoling you. “It'll be fun!”

“But I can talk about the trebuchet, right?” You asked after he parked and you were clambering out of the car. That one time you went down a fascinating rabbithole of medieval machinery was about to come in handy.

Younghoon paused with his hand on the top of his door. “That wasn't the one with the horse-pulling, was it?”

“Oh, definitely not.”

He locked the door and the two of you began walking side by side to cross the parking lot. There was a plastic clipboard in his hand made of a material in a shade of translucent neon green, something you expected a PE teacher would carry around, except this clipboard was armed with scripts and instructor notes. The little drama program at this school was currently only an after-school occurrence, but if this all went well, they might be granted permission from the school to start integrating it into everyday classes. It was exciting—you could remember your first years of exposure to things like liquid nitrogen ice cream, egg drop competitions, and the National Geographic issue called Astronauts. Perhaps in another life you would've been an astronaut, rather than the engineer who designed the vessel that would take them into space.

Needless to say, these were some of their most impressionable years, and Younghoon was going to be a big part of these kids’. It made you warm and fuzzy inside.

Sometime between today and last week, Younghoon brought you up to speed on what the kids were currently working on. The head instructor picked out something from an adapted version of How to Train Your Dragon, which in all honesty, was cool as fuck. Immediately, thoughts about how to build a harness apparatus for an actual dragon model came to your mind, but you would need to take a look at the dimensions of the stage and preferably leave flamethrowers out of the end result. That was if you were allowed to or even had the time to.

It would be fun though. Of course it was going to be fun.

Younghoon was the first one to enter the auditorium room. It was a multipurpose building with a large, open concept space lined in carpet with a stage at the furthest end and the doors to the library across the way. With the impending introduction, you stuck behind your friend as he poked his head in. Instant squeals of delight erupted at the sight of him. (He was kidding when he said he was worried about the kids ever getting bored of him, right?) “Younghoon!”

Younghoon’s smile was so big that you could see it even when his face was half turned. “Hi everyone—I brought a friend today. Let’s give her a nice, warm welcome, hm?” Younghoon stepped completely into the room now, his hand coming over to gently sweep you in with him by your shoulder. “This is Yn.”

You raised your hand in a small, awkward wave, a greeting somehow managing to come out of your mouth. There were so many little ones present and they were all sitting in a misshapen blob in the middle of the carpet, their backpacks lined up against one of the side walls. Interacting with children who weren’t your siblings or relatives was a lot different.

“Oh my gosh,” you heard one of them gasp. “Is she his partner?”

“No, she is not my partner—she’s a friend,” Younghoon replied pointedly. “Boys and girls can be friends, Roni.”

There was a boy with a gray colored Lightning McQueen jacket on who said, “That’s exactly what my brother said before he asked his best friend to be boyfriend-girlfriend.”

Well. You angled your head toward your counterpart and murmured to him, “How old did you say these kids were?”

“Now you know why I needed your help,” he joked. “Their brains run too fast.”

“And you think the two of ours can measure up?”

Another small one—she had her dark hair in twin pigtails, knotted off with bows—raised her hand. “Are you an actor like Younghoon?”

“Me?” You pointed at yourself as if there was someone else she could’ve been asking. “Oh, no, I don’t have the skillset to be an actor,” you mused. “I basically make airplanes and rockets.” Basically.

A flurry of excitement kicked up like a snowstorm, and you could feel your skin warm at the sudden increase in energy. Perhaps you should have led with that..? But even so, it was abrupt, and you didn’t quite know what to do with yourself—

Younghoon cleared his throat, “Hey guys, let’s keep our noise level down, please.”

In response to his request, the kids miraculously managed to quiet themselves down to a buzzing chatter. It hit you at that moment; Younghoon wasn’t just good with kids—he was incredible. Why did he ever think he needed your help when you could barely stutter out a sentence about what you did instead of acting?

“I told Yn about the show we’re putting on,” he said with everyone’s attention now settled on him, including yours, “and she was very excited about seeing it.”

“Is she gonna make us fly?” Someone asked with their eyes wide and big, and you swore you could fit the whole Milky Way within the awe that was in their irises. Kids, man.

“Only if you guys do good today,” Younghoon said. “Why don’t we break off into groups and show Miss Yn what we’ve been practicing, hm?”

You managed to pick out the Star Trek theme over the volume of your hair dryer, and swore loudly as you cut the device off and scurried into your room to find your phone. “Hello?” You answered as you brought your phone back with you into the bathroom.

“Hey,” answered Younghoon, “I was thinking of just picking you up to go to the thing tonight instead of just meeting there.”

It was approximately two hours since you and Younghoon departed from the elementary school. You were back at your apartment now, attempting to get your bearings and clean yourself up for the evening's festivities.

You could feel the gears turning in your head as you weighed your options. “I mean—only if it’s convenient.”

“Okay, I’ll be by at say… 7?”

“Sounds good,” you replied as you finished up styling your hair. Though nicknamed the Space Gala, it wasn’t meant to be incredibly formal like dinner jackets and evening gowns—nice shirts, ironed pants and skirts, and non-sneakers or non-sandals would do fine. “Thanks, Hoon.”

“Mhm!” He chirped to the accompaniment of rustling in the background.

“Also—” You grabbed your phone and flicked the bathroom light off. As you were making your way back into your bedroom, you saw Sakura peer out through her open doorway with curious eyes like that of a cat. She wagged her eyebrows at you knowingly and you shooed at her playfully. “Kim Younghoon, you are such a liar!”

His laugh was sincere and bright. “Technically, I never lied.”

“You are great with kids.”

“Being good with kids is a subjective quality, my friend,” he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “Besides, you did great with them, too. They loved you.”

You pursed your lips in a sad, silly attempt to stay petty, but you couldn’t deny that you had a nice time with him and his students this afternoon. Once the initial jitters subsided, you loosened up a considerable amount. Adults oftentimes underestimated how perceptive kids were, but you had a feeling that they caught onto what made you feel overwhelmed pretty quickly. At least, most of the groups you were working with did.

But… you had fun. That was all that mattered in the end. You would enjoy going back to see them again. You kicked your door closed with your foot. “I had a good time,” you replied at last. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“Yeah, of course. It was really fun having you there with me—us.”

You both paused on either end of the phone as the conversation reached a natural lull point. As you fitted on the freshly-steamed blouse you planned to wear tonight, you caught the time at the top of your phone screen. “Uh… so I’ll see you in about twenty minutes then?”

Shuffling from his end, and then, “Yep—twenty minutes! See you in a bit, Yn-ah.”

“Bye, Hoon!”

Twenty minutes flew by faster than 299,000,000 meters per second—at least, to you. One moment, you were ducking into the passenger side seat of Younghoon’s Prius, and the next, the two of you were being admitted in through the doors of the annual Space Gala. The usual “venue” that the consortium booked for this event was one of the campus’s main buildings that housed three large lecture rooms on the first floor, as well as two lecture halls on the second floor across from another large event space.

The lobby was filled with a crush of people, with some faces you recognized and others that you didn't. There were tables draped over with black cloth that hosted educational mini games where one could win free button pins and stickers, booths with companies associated with the consortium present to pitch potential internships, and everything in between. Younghoon stuck to your side like glue. You felt the warmth of his hand either between your shoulder blades or on one of your shoulders as the two of you maneuvered your way through the crowd.

It wasn’t until you hit the farther end of the lobby where there was a clearing of people that you felt the pressure in your sternum alleviate. You imagined your gaze appeared a little empty, glassy even, but it was all just an overwhelming wave of sensations on all ends.

“How’re you feeling?” You heard Younghoon’s voice close to your ear so you could hear him but anyone else around you couldn’t.

You focused on that—his voice. “I’m fine,” you assured him with a small smile. “I’m excited to be here and it’s just a lot.”

Younghoon smiled back at you and you felt his palm warm little circles on your back. “Take your time. The guy at the front says it’ll be another half hour until we can expect the panel to start.”

“Kkura and I—we, uh, usually go in a little earlier than everyone else.” Depending on the year, you and Sakura either occupied seats in the front couple of rows or one of the balcony seats. The former was to distract you from the idea of several hundred other people being in the room behind you, whereas the latter was so you had a large space between you and the crowd. Both were methods that you and your friend deduced were the best at soothing any feelings of overwhelm.

He nodded. “Okay, yeah, we can still do that. Are there any tables you wanna visit before we go in?”

“Actually,” you said, and your heart leapt at the memory of one booth you visited every year, “I have to show you this one thing—it’s so neat. It might be on the other side of the lobby, but we can cut upstairs and get to it that way.” Where there was a will, there was most definitely a way.

Younghoon’s expression mirrored the excitement in yours. “Lead on, Yn-ah,” he chuckled and let you grab his hand to show him why you loved what you did.

This year was dubbed a balcony year.

From yours and Younghoon’s perch up in the balcony rows, you could peer down at the hundreds of heads below, as well as the presentations given onstage. You were always blown away by the new information and possibilities brought up during the year’s presentations, as well as during the question and answer section where audience members could either line up to ask the panelists their queries directly or send them anonymously to an online platform.

Your preferred method was most definitely the latter because public speaking was not your forte, even though it meant you would have less probability for your questions to be answered. One year, Kkura had practically escorted you up to a panelist when everyone was leaving because you had a burning question.

But this year was different. All of your awe was coupled with the amount of marvel expressed by your partner for the evening. If you were fascinated by what was being discussed below, then Younghoon just entered a whole new galaxy.

You found yourself glancing over at him the whole night to watch his reaction. Periodically, your eyes would meet, and you might have been embarrassed to be caught looking at him, but it was completely dashed away by the pure reverence that was stark on his face.

At some point, the evening did have to come to an end, and you and Younghoon lingered up in the balcony to let everyone else below you trickle out first.

“That,” Younghoon whistled low, “was incredible. I’m so—” He made unintelligible hand gestures before coming up with a word, “—bedazzled. I’m positively bedazzled.”

You grinned. “I’m very pleased to hear that you’re bedazzled.”

“I mean, why don’t we hear about this on the news?” He queried, eyebrows knitted together in disbelief. He reached up to adjust the wiggly star headband on top of his head that he won from a spin-the-wheel stall earlier. “If they talked about finding organic chemicals on faraway planets on the evening news, viewership from my devices would skyrocket for them.”

“Don’t we all wish they talked about space on the news,” you sighed as you leaned your cheek against your fist. “But also, as Dr. Cho mentioned, we can’t get too excited yet. Organic chemicals for us might not mean organic chemicals for an alien species.”

Younghoon nodded slowly. “Right,” he drawled. “That’s so interesting to think about… that we’re possibly not alone and that they could either be very similar to us or very different, or maybe even somewhere in between.”

“Isn’t it crazy?” You couldn’t count the amount of times you got lost in a rabbithole of research when you were supposed to be working on assignments instead. Your eyes darted down to the lower levels to check the population density, and garnered that you could still wait at least a couple minutes more. “Hey, you know, if you're interested in this stuff, then you should come to some of the planetarium’s presentation nights sometime.”

Your counterpart’s eyes widened like the lens of a telescope. “We have a planetarium?”

You giggled. “Yeah, silly. What did you think the astronomy tower was for?”

“We have an astronomy tower?”

You smiled wide against your knuckles as you nodded. “Maybe you should wander down by the engineering buildings more often.”

Younghoon made an incredulous face. “Maybe I should.” He considered something for a moment and you watched the smile blossom onto his face again. “Though, I have a feeling that if I looked into a telescope, I'd only see you—’cause you're a star.”

“That was awful,” you snorted into your hand, shaking your head.

“Not my best work,” he admitted. He could admit defeat when he was met by it, but he wouldn't let it hinder his efforts. “You know, I think Galileo was wrong.”

“How so?” You asked as you motioned for the two of you to start gathering your things.

“You're the center of my universe.”

You were pretty sure the lower levels could hear your laugh echo against the walls. “Oh my god.”

“Or maybe that just makes you the sun,” he said to you in a singsong tone while trailing after you.

“I’m walking home, Younghoon.”

“You can try, sunshine.”

EPISODE SIX: THE ONE WHERE IT GETS WORSE

MURPHY'S Law stated that “anything that can go wrong will go wrong,” with an adage of “at the worst possible time.” You needed to have words with this Murphy.

You were now in the thralls of midterm season. It was common knowledge and experience among STEM students that once midterm season began, it didn't stop until finals hit. You hadn't even realized how fast midterms had arrived until it was pouncing on you like a predator in the brush. You were currently being torn apart by the jaws of a hungry lion called Life.

“I haven't finished the grant app, Kkura.” You stared at the white wall behind your desk with a blank glaze over your eyeballs. There were sticky notes and pieces of paper tacked there with reminders and diagrams like they were makeshift whiteboards, but you weren't looking at them.

“My aerothermo exam is in two days,” you continued on in a droning voice, “and the internship interview is the day after.”

You spun around in your chair to face where Sakura was perched crisscrossed on your bed with a sympathetic frown. The internship addition was a new one. You had sent in your application a couple months ago, and results of applicants who had passed to the interview phase were only recently released. While you were relieved beyond measure that you made it, the interview couldn't have come at a worse time.

“Well,” she began, “we already decided that I'm going to help you prepare for the interview, Yn. The grant app isn't due for another month. All you need to worry about right now is the aerothermo exam, right?”

When she put it that way… “You're right,” you sighed and lifted your hands up to dig the heels of your palm into your eyes. Sometimes it just took an outside perspective to knock a little logic into you.

The Star Trek theme song blared from your phone, and you both startled at the abruptness. You fumbled for the device, then quickly picked up the phone call when you saw that it was from your mom. “Hi, mom. Everything okay?”

“Your brother can't make it to the wedding.”

You made a face. “I'm guessing you don't mean Quincey…”

You could imagine the exasperation on your mom's face from the other side of the phone. “Yn, I call you because you're the logical one in the family.”

If only she knew what pain you were putting yourself through because of your current lack of sense. You leaned back in your chair, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Why can't Justin make it?” Justin was your eldest brother who had the divine French toast recipe.

“He's flying to Paris for his culinary school interview. You know I always tell that boy to double check his schedules—he never listens,” your mom exhaled sharply. You could hear the loud clatter of the dryer in the background; she must be doing laundry.

“Sounds like Justin,” you murmured. “So what's the problem? Can't we just go sans Justin?”

“We already RSVP'd with the seven of us, and your cousin already paid for the reception meal in full. We can't have an empty, wasted seat, Yn-ah.”

You frowned. You supposed that would be a problem then. “Why don't we just find someone to bring along as a plus-one?”

“That's what I was thinking,” she replied. “I was going to invite Rian, you know, the boy from next door.”

Somehow, your mood managed to sour further. You and Sakura made eye contact, and she tilted her head to the side in question. You gave her an emphatic thumb's down before replying to your mom, “Wait—can we—mom, can we not invite Rian?” You dragged your free hand down the side of your face, and you saw Sakura grimace when you said that guy's name.

“Why not?”

“Be… because,” you stammered, pushing out a sigh when you weren't sure how to describe your incredible disdain for your childhood next-door neighbor. He was your age, and fortunately, you were never matchmade with him. Unfortunately, he was a jerk with inferiority issues and delighted in competing with you in everything. “He wouldn't want to come with,” you said lamely. His presence would do the exact opposite of soothing your anxiety.

Sakura gestured with her hands. Tell her he's full of shit!

Oh, you wished.

“Yn.” Your mother could smell lies, even through the phone. “I wouldn't know who else to invite.”

“Daphne's partner!” You exclaimed desperately. Daphne was your older sister who attended another college on the other side of the city getting her master's degree. “Can't we invite Sam?”

“Sam's in Vietnam in December.”

“Goddamn it.”

“Yn.”

“Sorry.” Dear fuck, you were slipping. You needed a solution—anything at all. Something to put out one fire, even temporarily. “What if I came up with a plus one?” You regretted it immediately.

“Oh, like Sakura? I wouldn't mind if you brought her.”

Anyone but Rian, anyone but Rian. “Yeah,” you drawled. “That's who I had in mind.” You lifted your head to meet your friend's eyes again, and she knitted her brows in confusion. You mouthed that you would tell her in a moment.

When you and your mom hung up, you deflated in your chair, dropping your phone onto your chest. “I'm fucked.”

“Hit me with it.”

“I told her I would bring you to the wedding with us.”

Sakura sat there for a moment to process the information. “Yn, honey, I'm going to be in Japan in December.”

“I know,” you cried.

“Who are you bringing then?”

“I don't know.”

Murphy of Murphy's Law had better sleep with one eye open.

It was likely in your worst interest to be at the convenience store at midnight rather than in your bed asleep, attempting to let your brain process the concepts from your aerothermodynamics course. Against your better judgment, though, you were here, slumped over your usual table and seat as you watched YouTube and sipped on a box of chocolate milk.

In the distance, the door opened and closed, but the sound was muffled through your earbuds. Out of your peripherals, someone materialized next to you. You peered up at the tall man beside you now, blocking out the fluorescent LEDs from burning your eyes. “Hey,” you said quietly.

Younghoon took in your state with sad eyes. “I got your text.”

“I didn't think you'd be awake.” Didn't he have a rehearsal tomorrow morning? Or rather, later this morning.

“Well, I'm glad I was awake, for starters.” He frowned and then leaned over you to gently wrap you up in his arms. “Rough night?”

Your face was buried in the fabric of his hoodie. This was nice. “Rough everything.”

“Ah, one of those,” he sympathized. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Thank you for coming though.” You leaned back and patted the empty seat next to you. “Wanna watch squirrels with me?”

You watched his expression falter and fill with surprised amusement with a pinch of confusion. “Did you—you just said squirrels, right?”

“Yeah, they're competing in a backyard Olympics for this trophy of walnuts.”

He sat down with you to watch the squirrels. In your free time, you liked watching engineering or science-type videos on the internet. Most of them were as educational as they were entertaining, like the backyard squirrel series, where this man used his mechanical engineering degree to build advanced obstacles to test and observe the vast capabilities of the squirrel.

You shared your earbud with Younghoon so he could listen, and you were now connected by a wire. He mimicked your position, too, with his chin nestled onto his folded arms over the tabletop.

You weren't sure what possessed him to drive all the way over here at such an ungodly hour of night, but you were grateful for his company, nonetheless. Even if it felt like the sky was falling, you could let this moment in time exist outside the conventional timeline. It could be its own singular moment, just you and Younghoon.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered how it all came back to this. You'd never thought you were meant to see him again after tutoring him, let alone having spent so much time with him again these past few weeks. If you didn't belong in his world, and vice versa, then what was this?

You swore the monotonous buzzing from the lights above was making your eyelids slowly fall with the weight of lead.

Younghoon's eyes fluttered over to you just as you were about to doze off. He sat up and turned the video off. “Hey,” he whispered, gently shaking your arm.

You hummed, the bags under your eyes becoming worse by the second. “Huh?”

He chuckled under his breath as you put your head back down. “We can watch this another day,” he promised, patting your head. “We should get you home though so you can sleep.”

“Oh my gosh,” you groaned and picked yourself up, “you have rehearsal tomorrow morning—what time is it?”

“Hey, don't worry about it, love.” He was wrapping your earbud wire around his fingers into a neat, little bundle. “I'll be fine. Let's go home, though, yeah?”

You pressed your palms to your eyes in a desperate attempt to rehydrate them. “Okay, yeah. Sorry, Hoon.”

“Don't say sorry,” he cooed, pressing your earbuds into the palm of your hand and tucking your phone into your pocket. “I felt a lot better meeting you here. Do you feel a little better?”

You gave a small nod. Your brain was too muddled, too exhausted, to really comprehend what was being expressed as plain as the sun at high noon on his face.

“Then that's all that matters.” There was a pause. Your vision was blurry for the second that his eyes wandered somewhere else. You didn't know if you just didn't see it or if you just chose to not acknowledge it.

Then the moment passed, as all things did in the flow of nature, and he walked you home.

EPISODE SEVEN: PARTY PEOPLE (BBANGNYU'S VERSION)

“CHANHEE?”

Choi Chanhee swirled the straw of his melted iced americano around in its cup. “Yup.”

“Who would you invite to a wedding?” You posed, twirling around the mechanical pencil in your hand between your fingers. You didn't even know why you still had the writing utensil out—everyone had pretty much gone home for the evening.

He released a sigh indicative of a very tired data science major, who doubled-majored in math. “The person I'm marrying? I dunno.”

You and Chanhee were stuck with the late shift at the math tutoring center on a Monday night. The crowd usually cleared out by nine o'clock, but the two of you weren't technically allowed to leave until nine-thirty. Most nights when you were stuck with this shift, you and he didn't mind the quiet in order to finish assignments of your own.

Jungwoo would have been here to suffer with you, too, but he had an excuse tonight. Something about an emergency at the NCT fraternity house.

You blew a puff of air through your mouth. “Not your wedding; just a wedding. One that you're invited to.”

“You're not inviting me, are you?”

“You don't wanna be my plus one for a wedding?” You grinned.

“Depends…” He hummed pleasantly, “what're they serving?” That was a valid question that you lacked an answer to.

In front of you on your laptop screen sat your incomplete space grant application. After the hell that was last week, you somehow survived it by the seat of your pants. Now, you needed to focus on your two other exams for this week, the wedding debacle, this grant app, and praying that the interview had gone as well as you thought it had.

So many things to think about, so little brain cells.

You glanced over at the corner of your laptop screen to see how much time you had left to try and be productive. From the corner of your eye, you saw the swift movements of Chanhee's thumbs flying over his phone keyboard.

You turned to your application to read over your responses for the ten thousandth time. “Who've you been texting all night, Chanhee?”

“Huh? Oh, my best friend.”

You hummed. “The one that goes to the uni across the country, right?”

His response was cut off by the sound of the tutoring center doors opening. Both of you looked up in tandem, mentally bracing yourselves for—

“Younghoon?”

There was a weird fluttery feeling in your chest as he beamed at the both of you and bounded over from the front doors. “Hey guys! I was just walking past and thought I would swing by.”

Chanhee's eyebrows flew all the way up to his pink hairline. “Yes, because it makes complete sense why you would be meandering around south campus at nine o'clock at night,” he quipped.

Younghoon seemed, to his credit, unbothered by Chanhee pointing out the obvious. He stole one of the chairs from another table and sat down across from you and Chanhee. “You guys don't play any music when everyone's gone?”

“Sometimes we do,” you replied, glancing up from your computer screen before replacing your word choice somewhere.

Chanhee nodded his agreement as he set his phone down on the table and laced his fingers under his chin. “Oh, Younghoon-ah, I've been meaning to discuss something with you.”

Younghoon perked up. “What's up?”

“What're we gonna do about your friend and my friend?”

You figured out pretty quickly that you had no idea what they were talking about. Even after having played Monopoly with some of them a few weeks ago, it still hadn't hit you as to the full-scale of these two guys’ shared social circles. Sure, you orbited some friend groups of a decent size, but it felt like they all hung out with each other at least once a week.

“Ah,” Younghoon drawled with a knowing sparkle in his eyes, “Jacob and JC!Yn, right? I don't know; I find it kind of amusing.”

Chanhee frowned. A furrow had formed between his brows. “If amusing means to the extent where I'd like to rip my hair out, that is. Did you know that Jacob sent me to go intervene when Jaehyun was talking to JC!Yn at the hot tub?”

“Wait, really?”

“Mhm.” Chanhee made a vague flourish with his wrist in the air. “And did you see how they were at the movie night on Saturday?”

Younghoon pressed his lips together. “I did see that. He kept looking over when Juyeon was braiding her hair,” he chuckled.

“I am at odds, Younghoon-ah!” Chanhee groaned into his palms. “I just need them to kiss already and get it over with.”

“So you wanna meddle?”

“I'm not saying we should meddle, but…” He drawled with cheeky, puckered lips and his palms open upward. His gaze went to you on his right side, and he knocked the back of his knuckles against your arm. “Oy, Yn-ah. What do you think?”

You hummed and drew your eyes up from your laptop screen, meeting Younghoon's gaze first. Glancing over to the friend who addressed you, you said, “What are we talking about?”

“Girl, you need to get off that grant app.”

“This grant app needs to get off me,” you shot back. “I need it to be perfect, Chanhee.”

“Nothing is perfect, Yn,” he told you. “You know what you should do? You should ask JC!Yn to look over it. That might ease your mind.”

“I'll think about it,” you said at last in order to appease him. The smart thing would've been to heed his advice and ask his friend to proofread it. Perhaps you would later this week.

“Good. Anyways, I was asking you what you thought about how to matchmake our two friends,” resumed Chanhee. He tucked his limbs inward as he spun around in his chair.

“You’re going to have to give me more context than that.” Besides that, were you really the best option to ask for advice? You weren't in a relationship, and now that you thought about it, neither were the two of them.

You saw Chanhee and Younghoon exchange glances and there seemed to be a silent conversation taking place between the two of them. At last, Younghoon gave his counterpart a flourishing gesture with his hand as if saying 'all yours.’ Chanhee cleared his throat. “So Younghoon's friend Kevin, who is Jacob's best friend, introduced JC!Yn to Jacob.”

“And we're pretty sure they like each other,” Younghoon added on. “There was this pool party a couple weekends ago, and they came to the party together. This past weekend, they looked pretty cozy at the movie night that Jacob and Kevin hosted at their apartment, too.”

You had only ever met JC!Yn once in passing, and it was because Chanhee forgot his calculator at the library right before an exam, and she had been the champion to deliver it to him in the examination hall lobby. She was a real one, that was for sure.

You pursed your lips and rested your chin on your fist. “Aren't all of you guys single?” Was what you led with.

Chanhee deadpanned. “That's not the point…”

“I do have to point that out though because you ask me like I would know what to do,” you laughed, vaguely gesturing back to yourself. “I'm just as single as the rest of you.”

The two boys’ eyes whipped back to one another for a millisecond, before looking away.

You nearly leapt to your feet, exclaiming, “I saw that! What was that?”

“Nothing,” they answered at once. They did realize it made them look all the more conspicuous, right?

“We just realized that not all of us are single,” Younghoon raced to smooth over his and Chanhee's fib. “My friend Sangyeon—”

Chanhee snorted, “Hyunjae told me he doesn't believe him.”

“And you believe Hyunjae?”

“Touché.”

You unconsciously began spinning your pencil around your fingers again. “Wait, so Sangyeon is cuffed?”

Younghoon turned to you to explain. Apparently, his original group of friends that didn't include Chanhee's extension, kept a running joke that Sangyeon was either making up his girlfriend or was keeping her stashed on a secret island in the Bahamas. None of them had seen any evidence that she truly existed, but Younghoon wasn't convinced that Sangyeon was the type of person to go through all of this strife just to prove a point.

After all of that, you were more confused than before. “But why wouldn't he just show you a picture of her and prove that he met this girl?”

“That's what I'm saying,” Chanhee interjected, flinging his arms up in the air. “It would be so easy to just silence us with a little picture!”

Younghoon, clearly amused by the discourse taking place, leaned back in his chair with a shrug. “Beats me. I personally think it's because she works for a secret government agency, which is why she can't exist online.”

Chanhee's expression flattened. “Uh-huh.”

“But Juyeon says that it's probably because if he only shows a picture, we might accuse him of Photoshop,” Younghoon continued. “Which, in retrospect, says a lot about his faith in us.”

You made a face, your eyebrows arching high. “Oh, for sure.”

Debating on conspiracy theories about mystery girlfriends made the last thirty minutes of yours and Chanhee's shift fly by fast. Suffice to say, you hadn’t worked on your application nearly as much as you wanted to, but you were entertained for thirty minutes, which was just as well. Didn’t doctors say that it was good to laugh at least three times a day…? Good thing you weren’t going into medicine.

The three of you started packing everything up at exactly nine-thirty. There was no reason to stay any longer when there was literally no one else here anyway.

As you shoved your laptop into your backpack, Younghoon knocked on the table in front of you. “Wanna grab dinner after this?”

You opened your mouth to reply when Chanhee beat you to it. He hadn’t seen Younghoon grab your attention, and didn’t know who he was addressing. “Oh, that’s nice of you to as—”

“I meant Yn.”

You closed your eyes and sank your teeth into your bottom lip to have some dignity left (read: not start wheezing). Chanhee’s eyes had gone wide, eyebrows rocketing back up to his hairline. He scoffed, “Wow.”

Younghoon grinned cheekily. “Sorry, Chanhee. We have a routine.”

With Chanhee now thoroughly offended, your little trio filed out of the tutoring center. You locked the doors up behind you once you flicked off all the lights in the room. The walk down in south campus was arguably nicer than north campus, even if you were a little biased because this was where you considered your “turf” to be. South campus was much better illuminated than north campus with pretty, little lamp posts and five different styles of architecture from building to building. You were sure it was an eyesore to any of the architecture majors here, but they were interesting to look at when you were suffering in the engineering library. (And at least they had windows.)

You took up the position in between Younghoon and Chanhee, the latter of whom seemed to let his pettiness about the rejected dinner date go.

“Guys,” Younghoon suddenly said. The corner of his lips were turned upward in a degree you could only define as mischievous. “What is the most terrifying word in physics?”

You scrunched your brows together. There was no way you should get this wrong, but then again, physics wasn't exactly a subject where anyone got everything right—

“Oops.”

You snorted, and beside you, Chanhee's lip wobbled as he desperately held in a reaction. You couldn't believe you didn't see this coming and tried to think about it logically.

Younghoon shoved his hands in his pockets and swiped his tongue over his lower lip through a smile. “Aw, come on! I cracked up when I heard that one in a TikTok for the first time.”

“I've just heard some of your better ones,” you confessed. “Chanhee, did I tell you that Younghoon used to wax poetic to study for calc?”

Chanhee's mouth curled up into an amused little smile. “You did! I think it's cute.”

“You know, I think it's cute, too.”

In the dim lighting from the nearby lamp posts, Younghoon's cheekbones flushed something rosy. “You flatter me.”

As the three of you climbed up the stairs that would bring you to main campus, Chanhee piped up, “What if we just slipped Jacob and JC!Yn notes from the other person?”

You shook your head. “Not this again.”

“I'm serious!” He said in earnest. “It would just be innocent, little pick-up lines or something. Nothing like a whole ass confession.”

“We're reading Much Ado About Nothing in my Shakespeare lecture right now,” said Younghoon, “and the cast does something similar to one of the couples they're trying to get together. Sounds kind of fun, to be honest.”

“Not you, too!”

Younghoon slung an arm around your shoulders and flourished his free arm out toward the heavens. There was a pleasant feeling attached to the weight of his arm around you. “C’mon, use that mastermind brain of yours and imagine! Jacob's would just say something like—I dunno—if I whispered in thine ear that thou hast a body of beauty, wouldst thou hold it against me?”

“Wow,” you marveled, ignoring the amount of fluttering happening in your stomach, “that was pretty good.”

He flashed you a boyish smile. “Thank you.”

“But you're not doing it.”

The boys on either side of you released twin groans of anguish into the night, as if their mother had just denied them access to their Xbox for the evening. You rolled your eyes lightly. “I feel like relationships are like spontaneous processes—they’ll get to the right configuration eventually, organically. In other words, we should leave them be and let them figure it out for themselves.” You walked in front and turned around to face them so you could pin them both down with a firm look.

Younghoon raised his arms up in playful surrender. “Promise we won't meddle.”

“I hate when you use entropy statistics against me.” Chanhee gave a reluctant nod, sighing once again, “But I agree. We won’t meddle.”

EPISODE EIGHT: DON'T ASK ME THE COLOR OF ANYTHING

IT was the Star Trek theme song that blasted you out of your study bubble. In retrospect, the theme song was quite a subdued piece compared to something like the Star Wars theme, but for some reason you thought it was a good idea to turn the volume all the way up for your ringer whenever you were home. (God forbid you accidentally left it on when you were in class…) From your desk, you scooted over to grab your phone from where it was on your bed. Younghoon's caller ID beamed its cute smile up at you—the picture you'd set was of him and his dog from home, Bori. You had yet to meet Bori, but when you asked him for a picture for his contact photo, he sent this one.

You accepted the call. “Hello?”

“I just realized I pressed Call instead of Facetime. Please accept the Facetime thingy.”

Why did he sound so cute? You lifted the phone away from your ear and saw the request on the screen. While pressing the green accept button, you said to him, “What if I said no?”

“Then it must be Opposite Day,” he sang from the other side of the screen, his face manifesting before you. He was holding his phone up above him so you could see he was lying down in bed, his dark hair strewn over the pillow beneath his head. His initial smile widened to reach his eyes when your side of the screen loaded and he could see you. “There she is.”

“Hi Hoon,” you greeted with a small chuckle. You looked around your cluttered workspace for a place to prop your phone up against.

“What're you up to?” He asked while he adjusted himself to sit up against his headboard.

“I—” you made a sound of accomplishment as your phone stayed upright in the space between your desk lamp and a pebble paperweight painted like a rocket that your little sister made you, “—am brushing up on fluid mechanics.”

“Aah… fluid mechanics.” You could hear the slight intonation in his words.

“Don't say the joke.”

“I wasn't gonna say the joke!” He giggled. When he calmed, he pressed his mouth in a smile and made his cheeks look as squishy as a loaf of bread. “Is this a bad time though?”

You shook your head, slipping your pencil behind your ear so you could lace your fingers beneath your chin. “No, it’s not a bad time. This isn’t super important; I just didn’t want old material to jumpscare me when I go into our quiz this week.”

Younghoon nodded in understanding. “I see, I see. That means it’s good that I interrupted your workaholic tendencies.”

You glanced away with your hand half covering your face, and it coaxed a laugh from him that seemed to warm the room. You sputtered, “In my defense—” you paused, your lips parted; it hit you then that you had no defense.

His eyes were the shapes of upturned crescent moons, like shallow bowls filled with mirth. “It’s cute when you try to deny it.”

“It’s not denial—I didn’t deny it,” you pointed out.

“Uh-huh,” he snorted, completely unconvinced, “whatever you say, Miss Mastermind. I should call you Miss Workaholic instead.”

“Aish,” you chided weakly. You glanced down at the old notes that were splayed out before you on your desk. All of the concepts were relatively familiar to you; it was just to refresh yourself. To be frank, though, it wasn’t like you’d spent all evening reviewing old material. Every thirty minutes or so, you could spend another half hour on your phone, getting lost in the entertainment there. You weren’t that much of a workaholic.

You realized that there had been a pregnant moment of silence just then, and when you looked back over at the phone screen, found him watching you with a certain look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. You cleared your throat, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear and to take the pencil there down. “So, uhm, any reason in particular for calling?”

His eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, as if snapping out of a daze. “Hm? Oh, not really. I just wanted to see what you were up to.” He cocked his head to the side in thought. “Random question, but are you doing anything for Halloween?”

Ah, you nearly forgot that was coming up. With all of the chaos happening in your life at the moment, Halloween was the last thing on your mind.

“Not at the moment,” you told him. You mused, “I don’t think I’ve done anything proper for Halloween since I moved out of my childhood house.” Going Trick-or-Treating as an adolescent was definitely a core memory for you, and was still a prevalent tradition in your household because of the little ones, Sadie and Quincey. As you got older, however, you usually opted to stay at home and answer the door to hand out candy. You still dressed up for the fun of it, and decorating the house was always half the joy of the holiday. You always considered trying to build some kind of candy contraption or maybe setting up a haunted maze in the front lawn, but alas, maybe in the future. “What about you?”

“Well, there’s that party that Changmin and Chanhee are hosting at their place.”

That rang a bell. “Ohh, shit. I totally forgot about that.” Chanhee had mentioned something about that the other night at the tutoring center, but you didn’t make any promises about attending—he knew your crowd preferences, so he didn’t push it. You were sure his and his friend’s parties were a blast though.

Younghoon shifted his lounging position, so now he was laying on his stomach with his legs kicking up from behind him. “Would you wanna come with? I remember that you went to that party with Sakura in September, but I wasn’t sure if you were going to come to this one.”

You tapped the end of your pencil against the pages of your notebook. “I’m not really sure,” you confessed. “I think I originally didn’t plan on going.”

“Ah.”

Guilt swirled around in the pit of your stomach at the disappointment in his voice. “I’m sorry; I probably sound like such a party pooper.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” he rushed to assure you. “I get that it might not be something you’re into, and that’s completely fine, you know? I think it would be fun to go with you, but not if you wouldn’t have fun there.”

You inhaled deeply. “I mean… it’s not that I don’t think I would have fun once I—y’know, drank something—but yeah, I think a night of just horror movies or something will do me better.”

He nodded and carded a hand through his hair. “Of course; I understand. And your schedule’s been pretty packed lately, so it’ll be like a little break for you,” he offered.

“Yeah, thanks, Hoon.” You shot him a small smile. It was really cool that he was being so understanding, but you shouldn’t have anticipated anything less from Kim Younghoon. He’d always been this cool.

You learned to read the room, and the energy definitely was lower than before. “Do you know what you’re gonna go dressed as?” You asked in hopes of bringing that energy back up.

He perked up a bit at the question. “I—actually, I have no idea,” he chuckled. “I was thinking a vampire, but I feel like that should just be saved as my backup. That idea’s a little tired.”

Younghoon as a vampire—? Wake up, Yn. You laughed to yourself as a thought popped into your head. “It would be so funny if you showed up as Bill Nye the Science Guy.”

He snorted. “That's not a bad idea. I'm not a science guy, but I am an actor.”

“Hey, there you go,” you said. You pursed your lips. “Hm… I feel like your face is too pretty to fuck up—”

“Thanks?” He guffawed, hand propping his head up. “I'm scared to ask you what that even means.” You didn’t want to tell him exactly what you had in mind, but it seemed that he beat you to a punchline. “To be honest, I'd so let you fuck up my face.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

“Hyunjae? Hyunjae, is that you?” Younghoon called out behind him toward his closed bedroom door. His ears were rosy as blood, and he was biting his lip through a grin. “I've gotta go, Yn-ie. Byeee!”

“Younghoon, hey! Don't hang—”

He hung up. You took a moment to collect yourself after what he said, as if you could even begin to unpack its meaning.

You could hear the partygoers even from the relative serenity of the back corner of the convenience store. It was Halloween night, and when the sun sank down into the horizon to signal the coming of night, so too did it mark the beginning of the Hallow's Eve festivities.

You had just dropped Sakura off at one of her friends’ house for a party, and she would text you later when she was done. The plan tonight was originally to chill at home and watch scary movies, but you instead found yourself at your second home with your laptop playing The Nightmare Before Christmas. On your head sat a deep purple colored witch's hat on a headband, with glittery black tulle creating a skirt at its base. Even if you didn't dress up completely, you would still pop on a bit of holiday spirit.

With you was a 6-pack of Halloween themed mini cupcakes and a carton of strawberry milk. They would function as your popcorn for the movie and your candy for the night.

From beside you on the table, your phone buzzed. You could see the words diffuse rapidly onto your screen, your eyes snagging on the parts where your older sister was asking about Sakura coming to the wedding even though she was supposed to be in Japan. Your eyes widened as you scrambled to text back. Fuck, the wedding. You texted back a very fast, ‘uhm abt that.’

daphne: ykw don't tell me anything ignorance is bliss daphne: okay what i came here to do originally… daphne: *sent images* your phone: awwwh how cute!! wait wtf since when was quincey into power rangers 😭😭 daphne: dear god don't get me started

You laughed and sent her a final text back commenting about the pictures she sent of her, Sam, Sadie, and Quincey all dressed up to go Trick-or-Treating tonight. As usual, your family extended an invitation to you, but you declined for this year.

“Damn, I should've dressed up like the power rangers.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden voice right by your ear, and you ripped your earbud out, whipping around to see who it was. There was Younghoon, laughing at your expense with a very amused smile flitting over his face from your reaction.

About five different emotions passed over you at once, preventing you from coming up with an adequate response to his sudden appearance. Your mouth, frankly, had gone dry. His hair was colored and highlighted with strands of platinum silver, artfully arranged around a pair of black sunglasses atop his head. He was clad in all black—the leather jacket seated on his shoulders embellished with white detailing, and his skin glimmering with silver chains. He had on a pair of motorcycle gloves that he was now shucking off, and you realized his lips were a shade darker than they usually were—wait… were they moving?

“—Yn. Yn-iee—”

You blinked long and hard. “Yeah. I'm here.”

The corner of his lips curled upward. “I just said I was sorry for sneaking up on you.”

“Oh.” Wait, he smelled so good right now… Not that he didn't smell good every other day, but…

“Oh,” he parroted with a cock of his eyebrow. “So, what do you think?” He asked the question you didn't even realize you would fear him to ask, and gestured down to the outfit. Younghoon sighed and it sounded half like a laugh. “I feel ridiculous actually. Hyunjae was like—you should do the biker thing with me. And I was like, what do you mean 'biker thing?’ Apparently this is the biker thing.”

You were slapping yourself across the face internally to say something. “You went from Prius driver to motorcycle rider.”

Younghoon nearly keeled over and had to turn to the side to laugh. “I still am a Prius driver,” he said sheepishly.

Your eyes flickered up and down his form again, unable to string together words once more. “Uhm, your hair is silver.”

“Excellent observation.” He reached over and poked the little witch hat on top of your head. “This is cute, by the way.”

“Thanks,” you said with a smile, reaching up to touch either side of the headband. “I'm just here waiting for Kkura.”

“Oh, are you guys watching something together?”

You shook your head and turned back to your computer screen to wake it up. “No, I volunteered to be her chauffeur tonight. She's at a party right now, but I figured since I had time to kill, I could chill here.”

“It feels like a crime for you to be here all alone,” he said with one of his hands braced against the back of your chair and the other on the table next to your laptop. He was leaning over you now to peer at your screen because the brightness of the store lights made it difficult to see from where he stood, but it made him all the more apparent to your senses.

Goddamn, he was everywhere. “Well, I should be asking you as to why you're here,” you said with a cough. “Don't you have a party to go to, Biker Boy?”

He chuckled at the nickname and stood back up. “I do, but Chanhee and Changmin forgot to get triple A batteries for their battery-operated creepy candy bowl,” he said. “But I'm glad I was sent out to run an errand now.”

You shifted your mouth to the side in a sorry attempt to hide your contentment with that answer. “I'm glad, too. You—the costume looks good, by the way.”

Younghoon sat down in his usual seat across from you. “Thank you,” he replied, pleased. “I almost went out as a loaf of bread. Did you know Party City has these bread loaf costumes that you can wear around your head?”

“I'm not surprised at all,” you said, shaking your head in amusement.

You found yourself unhappy with the idea of Younghoon leaving after this. Once your conversation was over, you would go back to your movie and he would go back to his party. Before, you didn't mind the idea of having an evening to yourself, but with him right here in front of you, it was difficult to go back.

Him being here with you felt right. You couldn't explain why you felt that way. He looked like he was about to say something, and you rushed to beat him to it. “Want a cupcake?” You blurted. Before you could go back on your words, you gently pried a miniature cupcake out from its containment and offered it to him.

Younghoon lit up, delicately transferring the treat to his own hands. “I wasn't going to ask, but don't mind if I do. Thanks, Yn.”

You hummed happily as he peeled off the cupcake wrapper and took a generous bite. He did a little happy dance in his seat, and you smiled half into your fist as you leaned part of your cheek onto it.

“That's actually so good,” he said with wide, confused eyes as he reached toward the furthest end of the table for a napkin in the aluminum canister. “Why haven't I tried those before? I think I'm gonna have to take some back.”

“I don't have them often, but they are quite the guilty pleasure,” you agreed. “I would totally sponsor a couple packs for you to take to the party.”

Younghoon made a nodding motion with his head as he dabbed the napkin over his lips. He pulled the napkin away to inspect it, frowning. “Shit, I need to reapply,” he murmured and fished around in his jacket pocket for a tube of the shade that he had wiped off his lips.

Some force from the universe compelled you to do something fucking stupid. “I can help.” No, you can't! Why would you say that, why would you say—

Surprise flickered across his face. “Oh? Sure, I'd appreciate it,” he said, and held the lip gloss out to you. It was a muted brown-ish pink color that would leave a stain of itself upon the wearer's lips, but also had an initial glossy appearance.

With no room for backpedaling, you stood up and took the lip product from him. You stood before him now, between his legs with his hands resting on his knees.

He peered up at you through his dark lashes, lips parted gently.

You wiped the excess product off the doe foot applicator against the rim of the packaging, and then smeared the product over his bottom lip. You took your finger to smudge the color around, making quick work with a second layer for shine. When you were done, you hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath the whole time. You passed the lip product back to him quietly. “All done,” you whispered.

He didn't even look at your handiwork—he didn't need to. He smiled; you thought you saw him steal a glance at some place other than your eyes. “Thanks, love.”

You were right before when you thought you would dread him leaving. He did go, at some point, after retrieving what he had come here for along with at least three half-dozen containers of cupcakes. He sent you a wave from the door, and then he was gone into the night.

You sat there without doing much or thinking anything for a moment or two, your fingertips stained with the color of his lips.

Regret wormed a hole through your stomach, and it felt like it was gaping wide open. Maybe you should've gone to the party, or maybe you should have asked him to stay. Maybe you should have said something different, and maybe… maybe you should have…

Kissed him?

Your eyes stared unblinkingly at the seat across the table from you, and you arrived at a truth you could no longer ignore.

your phone: how do u know u like a guy

kkuramon &lt;3 : IM LEAVING THIS PARTY RIGHT NOW.

EPISODE NINE: ARE YOU A CHICKEN, YN? I DIDN'T THINK SO!

“I'M not going to tell him.”

“Yn,” Sakura said gravely with a deep inhale, “for the last time, are you a chicken?”

You blinked. “I'm sorry, wha—”

“Bawk bawk. Are you a chicken?”

You narrowed your eyes slightly at her. It was a crazy image, this view of your best friend, as she stood in front of you with her futuristic spacecore outfit from the Halloween party she left early, squawking like a chicken. “I think you are drunk.”

Sakura deadpanned. “I'm not drunk.”

“And I'm in denial.”

“Oh, good. So you admit it.”

After rapid discourse in your texts, you went to pick Sakura up from her party, then brought her straight home so you could both deconstruct what exactly you concluded while at the convenience store. You recalled everything that happened while Younghoon was there with you, reliving that exact moment it hit you square in the face like an oncoming train.

And now you were here, being asked if you were a chicken and being accused of denial.

You huffed. “I can't just tell him that I like him! It's not—it’s not that big of a deal. It's not like I'm in love with him or anything!” You… you weren't in love, were you…?

Sakura braced both hands on her hips. “You say it's not a big deal, but here we are,” she said with a vague gesture to your bedroom. “Honey,” she continued, but softer, “whether you're in love with him or you just like him more than a friend, it's something. It's different. Are you sure you never felt anything for him before? Not even unconsciously?”

“I mean—” you started, “—I might have. I probably have,” you corrected, cradling your chin in your palm. “I thought he was really cool when I met him last year, but I think that was just one of those silly crushes, y'know? Like the ones you get on people you pass by and know you probably won't meet again?”

She hummed and lowered herself onto the edge of your bed. “Yeah, I get that.”

You scooted your desk chair over to where she was and flopped face first over your bed with a groan. You felt her hand gently smooth down the back of your head. “I dunno, Kkura. Maybe I've always felt something different about him.”

“That could be it,” she said. “And you just didn't realize until it was in your face. Sometimes it sneaks up on you.”

If that wasn't the understatement of the century.

“Why are you so scared of telling him, Yn-ie? From everything I've seen and heard from you, it feels like he probably feels the same way.”

“I'm biased.”

Sakura exhaled. “Logic your way out of this one.”

“Okay, if I logic my way out of this one, I could still get rejected.”

You could feel her eyes roll, even with your face smooshed into the sheets. “I know the prospect of all this is scary, but it's meant to be. That means you care, Yn. That means you care about your friendship with Younghoon, and that's inherently a good thing.”

When you didn't say anything else in response, she added, “You know your feelings will intensify if you leave them unaddressed. Murphy's Law.”

You hated when she was right.

You didn't see Younghoon for at least another week. Once Halloween had gone and passed, November hit everyone in one big fell swoop. Midterms the Sequel was abound, and it did not choose mercy. But amongst the abundance of fires cropping up, you managed to spray some water on a couple to keep the flames tame. (Do not do this to real fires; it won't help.)

It was the middle of the week when you and Younghoon agreed to meet back at the convenience store to hang out. Over the past few days, you kept your interactions with him over text and call as normal as possible, even though you felt like your newly realized feelings were glaringly obvious. If Younghoon thought you were being awkward though, he didn't say.

You and Sakura were in the kitchen right before you were about to take off to head to the convenience store. She was busy making a late lunch (read: dinner); you were busy worrying about everything.

“I've got an idea,” she said, raising the spatula in her hand into the air. “You should bring Younghoon to the wedding.”

You nearly choked on air. “I'm sorry? Say that again.”

With her back turned to you, she gave an emphasized shrug. “If you insist. I was suggesting that you bring Younghoon to the wedding instead of me. It would be killing two birds with one stone.”

“How in the world is that killing two birds with one stone?”

“Well, when you inevitably confess your feelings to him, and he confesses that he reciprocates, you will then have a date for the wedding.” She turned the stove off before twirling around on her slippered-heel, a proud smile on her face. “Ta-da!”

“I just think that if—and big emphasis on if—we do end up together, a wedding would be a lot as an outing.” You imagined how horrific and intimidating that would be, meeting your entire family and extended family after only just deciding to try out dating someone. Even thinking about it sounded overwhelming beyond means, and you couldn't do that to Younghoon.

She angled her head to the side. “But this is Younghoon we're talking about. He literally went to the Space Gala with you on short notice and made you feel safe and comfortable the whole time.”

You sent her a pointed look. “That's not the same thing and you know it.”

She sighed. “Alright. Then what about driving over to meet you at the convenience store at midnight when he had an early rehearsal the next day? He calls you and texts you day and night; he drops by the tutoring center on your shifts to keep you company… I don't know what else you need to convince you.”

You didn't like the spark of hope she was lighting up in your chest. You didn't want to lose a good friend if you were reading him wrong. Was he not charismatic to everyone he met though?

At some point, you got your ass up and down the street. There was a soft tune playing in the background as you wandered through the aisles in search of something to distract you from the anxious racing of your heartbeat. Younghoon had sent you a heads up about an hour ago that he was going to be late because he was coming from an outing, so you had a little more time to mentally prepare. Maybe you would chalk up the courage to tell him. Maybe you really could do it. If you just ripped off the bandaid, whether it be for better or for worse, you could at least say you tried.

You made up your mind then, somewhere in the bread aisle between the wheat and rye.

By the time Younghoon arrived, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear, you managed to hype yourself up to tell him.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said between breaths as he claimed the seat across from you. He paused, sniffing, then grimacing. “And also for the fact that I reek of barbeque.”

“Don't worry about it,” you assured him, teasingly, “the only thing you should be sorry about is not inviting me.”

Younghoon laughed. “You're very right, as always. My friends and I were having an emergency meeting about Jacob and JC!Yn.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh? Any updates?”

He groaned then, burying his face into the palms of his hands. Uh oh. “They almost kissed until Eric interrupted them.”

“No,” you gasped.

“Yes!” He wailed in agony, eyes screwed closed with imaginary tears running down his cheeks. “It was painful to hear but it was also painful watching those two idiots interact at the table. My friends and I, minus JC!Yn and Jacob—we met a little beforehand to talk about what went down when Eric interrupted, and the lovebirds just came in later.” Younghoon huffed a rough sigh from his lips, partnered with a shake of his head. Then he broke into a smile, the corners of the expression soft, as he looked at you from across the table. He rested his cheek against his hand, chin inclining toward you, “So what's going on with you, hm? I feel like we haven't seen each other in ages.”

“We did call on Tuesday,” you pointed out.

He wrinkled his nose with a frown and shrugged. “It's not the same. I missed you.”

Your heart was beating so loud that you could count them out—thump, thump, thump— “I—missed you, too,” you said in earnest. Tell him, Yn. Tell him.

“You know, I think it's funny how we lost touch for so long, but we eventually came back together,” he murmured as he absentmindedly traced out shapes along the table top. “I guess if it's meant to be, then it'll be.”

The way he worded it… you were spinning yourselves in circles in your head trying to define it, to crack it open and solve it like you could a word problem. If the rotator wheel spins at a velocity of—but at this point, you were certain that you could figure out one of those much faster than this. “Yeah,” you agreed quietly.

“Something on your mind, Yn?” He asked you then. His eyes returned to you and you were suddenly stuck. The earth stopped spinning for this single moment in time, all because of the way this man looked at you.

You swallowed. “I…” The words dissipated in your throat. You couldn't do it.

Younghoon waited patiently, though. He considered you and your wide eyes filled with something he didn't know how to label, and maybe a dash of another thing he hoped to find. “Why don't we take a walk?”

With no reason to refuse, you stood up from your seat with him. He smiled at you as he brushed his hand over your back to guide you to the door, then retracted it to tuck his hand into his pocket.

November had so far shown the city a brisk, deep autumn. The trees were already close to completely shedding their leaves for the oncoming winter, and they were often swept away by a cool draft. You zipped up your jacket as the two of you began walking in the direction opposite to your apartment. Whichever way the wind took you both, you supposed.

For the first time in a long time, you and Younghoon were quiet. You were trapped in your own head with the courage you had earlier having mysteriously disappeared. He seemed content enough to let you ponder on it and to speak whenever you were ready.

“My cousin is getting married,” you found yourself saying.

That didn't seem to be the thing he expected to come from your mouth. Surprise flashed across his features and he clambered for a response. “Oh, well, congratulations. When's the wedding?”

“Thanks.” You said, “It’s in December. I… you know I have a big family.”

“Right.” His gaze softened considerably. “I imagine it must be a lot for you then—a family event of that size.”

You realized that you didn't convey exactly what you wanted to get across, and yet, you were reminded again how much he cared. “Yeah,” you murmured. “My brother Justin isn't gonna be able to make it after we already RSVP'd under my immediate family of seven people, and so my mom and I are trying to find someone to fill that space. She wanted to invite this one guy—he was my next-door neighbor for some time. Not my favorite person in the world because he's kind of got it out for me,” you said next.

You were rounding the corner again to loop back down the street toward your apartment. The organ in your chest was flying against your ribcage now; there wasn't much time left to tell him. You could see the metaphorical sand in the glass draining.

“So you're not going to invite this guy then, right?”

You nodded. “And I offered up Sakura just to appease her for the time being, but Sakura's gonna be in Japan in December.”

Younghoon trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. “I see.”

“That's my… that's my dilemma.” No, that isn't your only dilemma, Yn! Tell him! But the apartment was coming up in view, and you would be at the entrance in just a few more minutes.

You and Younghoon slowed your pace as you rounded the block again to cross the street. When you glanced over at him, you swore you could see the conflict warring across his face. If he saw gears turn in your head, you could see a battle scene in his eyes.

“Is this all that's been bothering you?” He asked at last, and you didn't know what to do about the slight intonation in his voice, like he was hoping for something. “I'm not invalidating your stress or anything, I was just—you know, if you had anything else you needed to get off your chest—”

“No, it's just that.” You could practically hear Sakura clucking like a chicken from wherever she was. You quickly added as the apartment door came into view, “It's—it’s not a big deal—finding a plus one, I mean. I'll figure it out.”

Plus one. He'd been your plus one to the Space Gala, but this was different. This was so much more different than that.

But maybe your words sounded like a dismissal or he was thrown off today. He cupped the back of his neck with a small nod. “Okay. If you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Hoon.”

He smiled then, the same soft-cornered one that reached his eyes, and that you'd come to be familiar with. You couldn't imagine seeing that face reject your feelings even if you knew he would probably let you down easily.

EPISODE TEN: YOU SPELL PARALLELISM WITH THREE L'S BECAUSE THERE ARE THREE LOSERS

THE engineering library at nine o'clock at night was a familiar environment for you, Chanhee, and Jungwoo. Dead week—the week before finals—meant that it saw the three of you twice as much, even on the weekend before Dead week began. It didn't mean you got studying done though. Sometimes you were just there.

“You guys are so fake! How could I not be updated on every single microevent in your lives?” Jungwoo cried, gesticulating his hands around far too fast for your brain to comprehend. He was about three shots of espresso and five hours in, if that explained things. You were all aware that your habits were not healthy, but no college kid was. “And you call me your friend?”

The thing that had triggered this reaction from Jungwoo had been Chanhee's fault. Or maybe that was your fault. Either way, the topic somehow had gone from calculating your respective grades with probable curves (calculating failure, at this rate) to you and Younghoon.

You liked to argue there was no you and Younghoon—it was just you-comma-Younghoon. Chanhee had sassed back at you with a swift, “Oh, so she's an English major now?” As if English majors were the only ones who could understand grammar and punctuation.

Jungwoo, having had no context given whatsoever, realized quickly that he was out of the loop. Now, you were here.

“I demand the tea!” He screeched, hitting the palm of his hand against the table. Thank god there was no one else here to listen in or shush you and your friends. If there was one thing about the engineering library, it was how out of the way it was from the main campus.

“I really don't think you should have anything else caffeinated—”

Jungwoo's head whipped toward you and his nostrils were flared. “You must think you're so funny,” he said with narrowed eyes and a saccharine smile. You would have been scared had you not seen this man once blow a massive snot bubble all over his differential calculus homework. (If anyone found out about that, it most definitely didn’t come from your lips…)

Your eyes shuddered, an innocent smile coming to your lips. “I was just saying.”

“Shuuush!” He stopped, thought about it, then retracted. “Actually, don't shush. Tell me what you and Chanhee know, but I don't.”

Chanhee snorted from his side of the table. “That's a long list.”

Jungwoo cut a glare toward Chanhee. “I despise you both,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay, but all jokes aside,” Chanhee said as he tucked his tablet stylus behind his ear. He cocked a high-arched brow your way. “What is going on, Yn? Do update us. Or for Jungwoo’s sake, start from the beginning.”

Your eyes widened like a deer in headlights. You hadn’t expected Chanhee to turn on you, too, but perhaps you should have seen this coming. A generous amount of time had passed since you last failed to confess your feelings to one Kim Younghoon. Between that day and today, you had managed to finally submit your space grant application and passed your second round of midterms by the seat of your pants (hip, hip, hooray). Since that day, you and Younghoon would continue to interact as normal, except for the fact that you were practically walking on eggshells around him.

Just the other day, you both fell asleep while on-call with each other. When you’d woken up the morning afterward, you discovered that, one, it was a good thing you plugged your phone into its charging cord; and two, that Younghoon was just as pretty asleep as he was awake.

To this news, Chanhee merely fluttered his lengthy lashes, unimpressed. “And you’re telling me you don’t think he feels the same way?” He asked.

At some point, Jungwoo had broken out a half-eaten granola bar from his bag to munch on as a replacement for popcorn. “I can’t believe I’ve missed so much,” he said, shoving the bite into his cheek so he could speak. “And Kim Younghoon, Yn? Wooooow, I see you girl. That guy was insane as Charles Bingley in freshman year.”

“You’re so right,” Chanhee chimed in with an indulgent nod, pointing his stylus at Jungwoo. “I don’t know if insane was the right word, but he encapsulated the Bingley gent essence quite nicely.”

“I never saw that one,” you confessed.

Jungwoo’s face scrunched up on one side. “Clearly. At least he knows that you’re not just in it for his celebrity status.”

You leaned back in your chair and dragged your hands down the length of your face with an embarrassed groan. Only your guy friends; Chanhee and Jungwoo, as expected, gave a light laugh at your expense. “I don't like you guys.”

“C’mon Yn-ie,” Chanhee teased and reached over to poke your arm with the butt of his stylus pen. When you peeked one eye out between your fingers, he puckered his lips at you like a penguin. “Love you.”

You reluctantly slid your hands down. “If I'm gonna be clowned for my feelings, I'd rather be in bed!” You declared, taking your phone from the pile at the center of the table to check the time. It was nearly ten o'clock at this rate. Ah, and had anything productive been done? Absolutely none. Perfectly on track for the three of you.

“Nooo, don't go, Yn! You're too sexy,” Jungwoo whined.

“I think you should tell Younghoon your feelings,” said Chanhee. He hiked his feet onto the chair, hugging his knees to his chest. “You need to razz him up.”

You frowned. “I thought it was ‘rizz.’”

“You don't have rizz, though, so I thought razz would be the next best thing,” he said flippantly.

“Burn!” Jungwoo exclaimed with his hand cupped around his mouth, and you were suddenly reminded that he was in a frat.

You leaned your cheek against the palm of your hand with a dramatic sigh. “You're right; I do not have rizz.”

Chanhee's brows scrunched together in concern. “Oh my god, I thought you would fight back—of course, you have rizz, Yn! You snagged Kim Younghoon!”

Before you could tell him you’d given up on fighting back or before Jungwoo could give up on his sanity, Chanhee's phone buzzed from where it was sitting at the center of the table. You expected it to be Chanhee's friend, CH!Yn, since she was the most probable person texting at this hour; instead, Chanhee let out a delighted gasp, slapping his hand to his mouth at whatever notification he found waiting for him.

Both you and Jungwoo leapt to your feet and scrambled to peer over his shoulders. “What? Who is it?”

“It's JC!Yn,” he shrieked. “She's asking about flower shops.”

You and Jungwoo stayed perched over either of Chanhee's shoulders to see what would transpire. It was a brief exchange within the group chat of three people that included JC!Yn, Changmin, and Chanhee. Chanhee somehow knew about a flower shop in the university district that was open until eleven o'clock. After all your years of attending this school, you had no idea it even existed.

But once JC!Yn was off on her way, Chanhee turned his phone off with a prediction that he would not be hearing from her until at least tomorrow morning. “Looks like someone's getting confessed to tonight,” he snickered to himself.

Jungwoo was back in his original seat—a generous wording, since he leaned a good eighty percent of his body over the table with his knees braced on the chair, legs kicking up behind him. “You know what you should do, Yn? You should sweep Younghoon off his feet just like that. I'm sure he adores receiving flowers.”

“Would it not be as special though if he gets flowers after every show?” You asked genuinely, pressing the butt of your pen between your lips. “I'm not against getting him flowers.” Flowers would be a good idea… you'd seen plenty of movies that had romanticized the idea of giving and receiving flowers in your mind, and it would be an obvious gesture. At the very least, you could pull a Younghoon and tell him the flowers reminded you of him because they were gorgeous—or something to that effect. Maybe you really didn't have rizz…

Jungwoo shrugged with one of his shoulders. “I'm sure it would be special coming from you. I dunno. It's just something to think about.”

“So,” Juyeon drawled with his head lolling over the back of the couch to look over at Younghoon, “now that Jacob's situation is solved, what about you?”

Younghoon glanced up from his phone. “What about me?”

There were five of them holed up in Sangyeon's apartment presently, and four of them had invaded the eldest friend's abode to hoard his TV and play Super Smash Brothers. He was the only one with a working TV and decent WiFi to game on that wasn't Jacob and Kevin's apartment. Only, a couple hours in, Juyeon received a text message from Eric with a live update that JC!Yn was going to confess to Jacob.

Eric had ended his update with an ominous: Tell Kevin hyung he shouldn't go home tonight 🤣. That definitely livened up the place.

Kevin sat up from where he had been lying on the floor. “Oh, yo, you're so right. What's going on with you and Yn?”

Younghoon's eyes widened. “Nothing.”

“Don't give us that bullshit,” Hyunjae clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Didn't you say that you liked her?” He teased with a glint in his eyes as he wiggled his fingers Younghoon's way.

The man at the heart of the interrogation rolled his eyes and smacked Hyunjae's hand away. “I will not object to having said that I liked her, if that's what you're getting at.” Frankly, he would own up to having admitted that was how he felt about you. So what, he liked you? He wasn't embarrassed by it. The only problem was living with this knowledge and not telling you.

Sangyeon came over from the kitchen to lean against the back of the couch. He had a drink in hand, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Do you have a plan or are you gonna pull a Jacob and be a chicken?”

Kevin arched a high brow. “Only I can call Cobie a chicken, thank you very much.” He turned on Younghoon next with an accusing finger. “And you—I can't even go home right now, so let's get down to business.”

Younghoon blinked. “What business—”

“Order in the court!” Juyeon interjected. He grinned like a bunny. “Sorry, I know I have to wait until I'm a lawyer first, but it's just so fun to say.”

Sangyeon sputtered a laugh against the rim of his drink, blindly patting Juyeon on the head. “It's cool, man. Very appropriate timing.”

“We should play Marvin Gaye,” said Hyunjae. “It'll get us in the mood to tell Younghoon how to properly woo somebody.”

Younghoon swore his face was probably the shade of a ripe tomato. This was in no way how he thought his evening would go. And to be honest, he never ever expected having this conversation with his friends, ever. The last thing he wanted to do was to make his feelings all the more forward in his mind, and he was already having trouble whenever he was around you, and all you did was remind him of all the reasons why he wanted to be with you.

The thing was that he couldn't tell if you reciprocated his feelings. Sure, he could flirt and insert himself into your life all he wanted. But you could just be playing nice!

…actually, you probably were just playing nice. Dear god, he was back at square one.

He simply didn't want to lose your friendship, at the very least. Even if you didn't want to be with him in that way, he would pull up his big boy pants and be a friend to you instead. Then he wouldn't have to live without seeing you smile or listening to you work out problems aloud while he did mundane things in the background—

“And we lost him.”

Younghoon cleared his throat, raising a hand up to scratch his jawline. “You did not lose me,” he protested. The amount of attention on him right now was uncanny. Of course, he could go up onstage and be a character—but reality was different. He couldn't put on a mask or another personality; these people knew him… wasn't that scary? And yet, somehow freeing, at the same time.

Kevin inclined his chin to him with a little smirk. “You did have hearts in your eyes, my dude.”

“Aww, he's in love,” Sangyeon gushed while standing up to go refill his drink.

“I'm not in love!” He said with his index finger pointed at the sky. (He was in love. Of course, he knew he was in love. Because when all he did for the past three months of his life besides school was be around you and think about you and you you you… how could he not? Younghoon could fake any emotion in the world in front of an audience of people, but your eyes alone would devastate him.)

The entire apartment, sans Younghoon, chorused altogether now, “Yes, you are.”

Younghoon balked, rocketing upright. “There is no way all of you agreed on something for the first time and it was this.”

Hyunjae patted his friend's thigh from his position on the floor. “Believe it, Lover Boy. So what're you gonna do about it?”

“I wouldn't even know how to tell her,” Younghoon huffed, leaning back against the couch cushion with his arms crossed over his chest in thought.

That day when you'd told him about the wedding, he had been so hopeful that you were going to say something about feelings. He was so certain that he read you right, but you said nothing else afterward. He would totally go to that wedding with you, though; he just figured you might not want him to go, considering you'd dismissed it so quickly afterward.

Sangyeon came back to the couch and perched himself onto the arm of the sectional next to Juyeon. “It doesn't have to be fancy—you just need to be clear and straightforward.”

“Flowers could soften the blow,” suggested Juyeon.

Kevin chuckled. “For him or for Yn?”

Younghoon clicked his tongue at him with a playful scowl. “Quiet, you. But thanks, guys. I guess I just want to do this right. I don't wanna ruin what we already have.”

Juyeon pursed his lips and reached over to clasp his hand on his friend's shoulder. “You won't, man. I guarantee you that.”

“So if I get my heart broken, I can sue you for false advertisement?” Younghoon asked with his lips stretched in a grin, eyelashes fluttering innocently.

“Pssh,” Juyeon laughed, “try me.”

EPISODE ELEVEN: THE USUAL TIME & PLACE

IT was a frightening sequence of events when you texted Younghoon and he texted you at the same time. The Monday after Chanhee and Jungwoo had hyped you up to confess, you went around different items of furniture in your apartment with your phone in hand, pencil behind your ear, trying to work up the courage again to send the text.

And you did… eventually.

The usual time and place was decided upon, and it had snuck up on you as the day went on. You tied your shoes on and slipped out the door, making sure to pat your pocket down for where you had tucked your secret weapon for the night. As soon as you and Younghoon had confirmed a meeting for today, you ran to your (favorite) grad student, Seulgi, and asked very nicely for her set of keys into the planetarium, promising to treat her to brunch if she did.

The walk over to the convenience store was a jitter-filled one. Your stomach was doing cartwheels alongside the flips your heart performed in your chest. There was still activity on the streets, even at nine o’clock on a Dead week evening. You jumbled through the routine you had in mind over and over, a broken record of hopes and wants. The plan was to take a walk to the planetarium and use said walk to work up the courage to tell him. If anything went wrong, then you could cover it up with a cool presentation of stars overhead.

This isn’t lame, is it? You thought to yourself as you let yourself into the store. You were so in your head, you nearly didn’t notice that Younghoon was standing right in front of you, having just walked out of one of the aisles. You startled, breath hitching in your throat.

He smiled, the expression soft. “Hey,” he said to you and had to clear his throat, a hand brushing through his hair. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“All good; guess my head was just somewhere else,” you laughed nervously. You gripped the key in your pocket until you were sure your skin would smell like metal by the time you got to the planetarium. The two of you had met and hung out here a bundle of times before this, but this time in particular was different. The energy shifted in a way you couldn’t foretell if it was good or bad. For your sake, you hoped it was the former.

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked and took a step toward you.

You inhaled, nodding. “I do,” you said. “I—actually, uhm, do you want to go to the planetarium with me?” From your pocket, you withdrew the keys Seulgi gave you and wiggled them around by the keyring. “I bribed one of my seniors for the keys.”

Younghoon brightened, a laugh falling out of his mouth, and now he was standing right next to you. “Oh my god, you evil genius… my beloved mastermind, are we about to break some rules?” He teasingly bumped your arm with his, his eyebrows wagging up and down.

“Only if you’ll break them with me,” you beamed and reached for the door to the front door.

“But of course,” he played along with a giddiness shining through his expression. “Anything with you. Though, I’d like to stop somewhere on the way first.”

Without even visiting your table in the back of the shop, you and Younghoon took off into the night together. You couldn’t imagine where Younghoon wanted to stop by on the way, but you thought it was probably to run an errand of sorts. But for the moment, it was at the back of your mind as you tried to keep this as normal as possible. “Different” was so intimidating—you wanted to sink into the comfort that was whatever you and Younghoon had.

It wasn’t difficult to slip into that normalcy, though. He always made it so easy.

“—and they did so well, Yn-ah. You need to come back and see them in person; they’re always asking me where you are,” he told you with an invigorated passion. He gave a feigned sniffle. “Pretty sure they like you more than me.”

You shook your head, laughing, “You’re so dramatic. They love you, Hoon. I mean, I can’t even believe that they would remember me after having met them only once!”

“Well,” he drawled, glancing away for a spell, “that might be my doing.” He confessed sheepishly, “I do talk about you a lot—but hey! You can’t blame me! I like talking about subjects that mean a lot to me.”

Your heart made a full stop in your chest, and you nearly physically halted in the middle of the walkway. The gears in your head could barely process what he had just said without going into a spiral. It was a reminder of what this night was originally about. You sputtered out a reply, “You’re too sweet, you know that?”

“I try,” he jested.

“I do finish all my finals next week by Tuesday,” you told him. “I can totally come by that Wednesday and Friday for a little wing fitting. When’d you say the show was?”

He squinted one of his eyes in thought. “Err… it should be the Friday night after next, but if you do come through with those props, that should still give them enough time to get used to them before the performance.”

You nodded, mentally mapping out your schedule. Once your finals were through, you would have plenty of time to tinker with the props and have some proper fun after such a long quarter. “Sounds like a plan.”

“I appreciate it a lot, Yn,” he said, ducking his head as he nudged you with his elbow, “thank you in advance. I call you a workaholic, but here I am encouraging it.”

You chuckled. “It’s no trouble, Younghoon. Seriously. I like doing crafty things, and it’ll be a nice project. I promise.” To the end of that, you stressed further, “And if you think about it like you’re encouraging my hobbies and passions, then it feels a lot less like work.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right.” His head perked up when his eyes caught onto something in the near distance. His fingers unconsciously caught onto your wrist. “Here it is.”

Wherever you expected to find yourself, it was not a flower shop. There was no shop name or title anywhere that you could see, just the sketched posters and advertisements in the windows of chrysanthemums and hydrangeas. Troughs of vivid blooms lined the front windows like testaments to the plants one might expect to find within. Hanging planters dangled from the overhang, vines and foliage spilling over in an elegant mess.

There was one other sign posted in the window of the door that read its opening hours from 8am to 11pm.

Younghoon's cheekbones seemed to flush in the light streaming out from the inside of the shop. “Shall we?” He asked shyly and grabbed the door handle to open it for you.

You stepped inside before him with the door closing behind the two of you softly. You weren't sure where to go first—the room was constructed with two long tables in the center to hold smaller planters, then the perimeter was covered nearly from floor to ceiling with the larger plants, as well as the hanging garden pots like the ones outside hung from the ceilings by the lights.

There was someone to the right side of the room with a large, green watering can in hand. She glanced up when she heard the two of you come in. “Hi! How can I help you two?” She asked, reaching up to take out one of the earbuds she had in.

Younghoon placed one of his hands on your shoulder. “Would you mind if we took a look around?”

“No, not at all. Help yourselves; if you need anything, don't hesitate to holler.”

He smiled, “Sounds good, thank you!”

Did he know what he was here for? You followed him toward the leftmost table, unsure of where to wander yourself since there was so much stimuli. He stopped at one of the pots and you stood beside him. Leaning closer, you whispered, “I don't really know what we're looking at.”

“Me neither,” he admitted with an embarrassed grin, but then he pulled out a planter tag at the front of the pot he was examining. “But these might help.”

“You're probably right,” you mused, patting him on the arm.

“Look, these are carnations.” He scooted over to the next one over. There were an array of different colors of them, ranging from white to the deepest red. He placed a finger against his lips, then pointed at the white ones. “Those mean innocence, and those—” these were directed toward the blush pink ones, “—something along the lines of 'I'll never forget you.’”

You still stood close to him, and you reached over to gently warm the velvety petals between your fingertips. “I hope it's okay to touch them,” you suddenly said, swiftly retracing your fingers and peering over your shoulder at the worker.

“I'm sure it's okay,” he chuckled. He pointed out a buttery yellow set of petals a few pots down. “Aren't these gorgeous?” He breathed in awe.

When you arrived at the petal of choice, you raised the tag to see its name—daffodils. They were beautiful indeed, with pristine petals and tall stems, the color of them a rich yellow as if it had been painted rather than grown.

“What do these mean?” You asked.

“Unrivaled love? I think,” he answered with a slight tilt of his head.

You considered him for a moment with lips parted. “You're incredible, you know that? How do you know all this?”

His smile sweetened into something that made your chest feel warm. “You say that as if you're not the incredible one. But, Google. Don't look at my search history,” he muttered sheepishly.

It made you smile anyway.

You turned your head to scan the rows upon rows of diversity in one room. You were never quite the foliage fiend, but you could appreciate nature's beauty as much as nature's laws. Even if you might never be able to grow flowers of your own (because trust that you'd tried), as long as these places still existed, you could still admire and appreciate them.

Your eyes snagged onto a bundle of tulips at the front of the shop and you wandered over to take a look. Younghoon trailed after you to see what you wanted to look at, and stopped with you to admire the tulips. Their buds were near perfect, and they varied in so many colors—all soft purples, reds, yellows, pinks.

“Wow,” you said.

“Wow,” he agreed. He caressed the outside petals of one of the bulbs, then took the individual flower by the stem. He took yet another in his opposite hand and faced you. “What did the tulip say to the other tulip?”

You blinked. “Do indulge me.”

“We should put our tulips together and kiss,” he answered, and he pressed his own lips together in a barely contained smile.

You covered your mouth with one hand, a smile of your own blossoming under your palm. “I don't know about that one…”

“I don't be-leaf you when you say you're not a fan of that one.”

At this point, you could feel your face heat up and you could no longer hide your smile. “You're incorrigible.”

“It made you smile,” he quipped back with a smirk. He placed the tulips in his hands gently back into their pot, then swiveled on the balls of his feet. “They’re beautiful.”

“They are,” you agreed.

“Like you.”

Your eyes snapped up to his, but he already had his back turned to you as he surveyed the shop for the person who was on shift. Yet, you still spied the bit of red creeping up the back of his neck, and found yourself content.

“Hi, excuse me!” He caught the worker's attention. “Could we get just a little bundle of these tulips, please? Thank you so much.”

Your eyes widened and you tugged on the sleeve of his jacket. “Younghoon, what're you—”

He had a satisfied smile on his face. “Getting you flowers.”

“You don't need to get me flowers.”

“I’d like to,” he said simply, and that was the end of the conversation.

Less than ten minutes later, you and Younghoon were back out on the sidewalk with a new addition to the group. You cradled a small bouquet of tulips in the crook of your arm. The girl working there tonight had told you that being open so late caught a lot of last minute gift-givers as she wrapped your flowers in a tan colored butcher paper. She seemed to be an expert at tying ribbon bows that were just as beautiful as the flowers she tended, too.

You were already spinning far from your original intentions. You hadn't accounted for Younghoon making this gesture, and you wondered if he planned something for tonight.

Your counterpart suddenly cleared his throat while the two of you resumed your journey to the planetarium. You were only a few minutes away from the planetarium now. “I know I asked earlier if there was something you wanted to talk about,” he said, “but there is something I wanted to also talk about.”

Your heart fumbled over itself. “Uhm, yeah—yes, what's on your mind?”

From where you were on the street, you could see the broad dome of your target building just across the street. There was a rapid leap in your heart rate as he faced you beneath the street light shining over your heads like some kind of strangely timed, solo spotlight. The crosswalk turned green, but you stayed rooted to your place.

“I've been trying to figure out how to tell you this,” he began. He sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. You could only imagine how long he spent training himself to hold a poker face, but it was the liminal spaces where you could see right through him. “I like you a lot, Yn. It's—it’s an overwhelming amount, what I feel about you.”

You peered over at him wordlessly and hung onto every syllable coming from his mouth.

He wrung his hands out; this perhaps wasn't a script he was prepared for. But who ever came prepared for something like this? “And I think it's pretty obvious what I was hoping for tonight to be like from the flowers and all, and I was hoping that I was being just as obvious with how I felt about you, and… I don't know. I just… I had to tell you.” His lips pressed together so that the small divot in the side of his cheek appeared.

You didn't know how to describe the wave of emotion that washed over you. There was the rapid heart beat thundering in your ears, the tingle of relief in your shoulders, the happiness taking flight in your stomach.

“I have to be honest, I—I feel the exact same way you do.” You ducked your head, tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, “And I didn't know how to tell you either because I was really scared.” Your voice tripped, and you picked yourself back up. He waited for you, as always, patiently letting you say your piece. “I didn't want to lose you as a friend, at the very least, because you've come to mean so much to me over these past few months.”

Younghoon's smile widened and the amber color from the streetlight above haloed around his head for one dizzying second. “I didn't want to lose you either. I'm literally head over heels for you; you're every… you're everything.”

You didn't know how else to express your feelings through words, and you wrapped your arms around his middle, the flowers coming around his back to avoid being crushed. “Not good at words, sorry,” you mumbled into the fabric of his jacket.

You could feel the vibrations of his warm chuckle as he slowly wrapped his arms around you, his lips pressing against the side of your head. Message received.

Not everything went to plan, and it was important to exercise flexibility in such times. You still snuck (broke) into the planetarium with Younghoon, hand-in-hand, but all feelings were already known and laid sprawled on the table.

There was a center platform in the main showcase hall that was carpeted in a layer of fake grass that you and Younghoon gladly lounged upon to watch the universe. The image projected above your heads now of faraway solar systems and galaxies was unfortunately not real—they were produced by a specific software rather than the lens of a telescope. It was breathtaking, nonetheless.

You laid with your back against the fake grass next to Younghoon, your arms pressed against one another. The light projecting onto the dome above filtered down and painted you both in colors of stars and dark matter, all of those swirls of oranges and purples and blues and white.

“There is one thing that's still on my mind.”

He hummed. “What's that?”

“I was wondering—and you can totally say no—but the wedding…” You glanced over at him, and you wondered if he could understand what you were probing at. “I was wondering if you'd be comfortable going as my plus one. It's just the reception, but I understand if it's a lot.”

He smiled at you, big and bright, “I'd love to go as your plus one.”

Relief and joy fluttered in your chest now. It was a miracle your heart didn't grow wings and fly out then. “Thank you, really.”

His fingers inched over yours until they intertwined as a silent acknowledgement. He knew. He always knew somehow.

In the silence, you returned your gaze up to the night sky. It was crazy how vast the universe was and how small you were in relation to it. When put into perspective, your problems here on Earth were so much smaller than the world—and yet, they were still important.

“When I was a kid,” you started to say, and heard a small sound from your right as he looked back over at you, “I wanted to touch the stars.” You turned your head to look back at him.

His lip quirked upward fondly. “Something of yours will touch the stars one day.”

“I hope so,” you mused back. That was the dream.

His eyes dropped down to your mouth now, and everything quieted, as if you were in a vacuum with only the two of you. In this reality, no one and nothing else existed.

You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin as he leaned toward you and pressed his lips against yours. His body rolled half over yours, one hand cupping your jaw with a tenderness you were certain to become addicted to. It was your chest against his, your nose slotting beside his, your cheek beneath his thumb. His lips were a perfect marriage of pressure and softness at once.

When he pulled away, he didn't go far. “I think I just touched a star,” he murmured.

The breath in your throat hitched. “You're too good with words, Kim Younghoon.”

His eyes crinkled. “We can do something more your speed and study the space between us instead.”

You had to turn away to laugh, the sound of his own joining yours.

“Hey, it's a yes or no question,” he giggled, turning your chin back toward him. He bit his lip through a grin. “Can I kiss you again?”

You would be a fool to refuse him. In an instant, he lowered his lips over yours again, enveloped you in his embrace. And with every moment passed, you sank further and further into him. Maybe the universe was uncharted and alluring, but the universe could wait.

You had all the world right here.

a/n: tumblr fcking hates me and my dialogue, confirmed. anyways, pls remember to reblog + comment if u enjoyed! for now, i'll see u in hot commodity!

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @tinkerbell460 @kaaimins @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @zzoguri @floatingpluto @winterchimez @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @polarisjisung @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @loveliestfelix @bless-311 @zhaixiaowen @leaz-kpop-life @amourdsr @pxppxrminty @kqyutie @sseastar-main @kxthleen14 @fluorescentloves @mosviqu @jaerisdiction @super-btstrash-posts @jundundun @http-gyu @mvvnsseul @vernonburger @maessseongs @ericlvr @mars101 @moonyswolf @your-mirae @richasdiary @sunramzi @deobi0412 @kflixnet

[lollytea]

Today's huntlow post is Darius centered, specifically on whatever the fuck he believed was going on.

I think that post-ASIAS his relationship with Hunter was steering in a tentatively positive direction and Darius was plenty capable of giving him some praise and brisk affection. But he still didn't entirely know how to get involved with Hunter's newfound teenage problems.

Hunter started texting Willow regularly during the time when he was getting along with Darius. And Darius, who thinks of most teenagers with disdain, does NOT like where this is going. He's developing a bit of a protective streak towards the Golden Guard and doesn't like how he is clearly getting rather obsessed with some girl that Darius can barely get a read on. All he knows about her personality from his brief interaction with her is that she's impressively gutsy. But that doesn't matter much in this situation.

Darius keeps asking, casually of course, if he can read Hunter's text threads with her, only for him to get all red and defensive and stress that his messages are private. It's endlessly frustrating. Like, how else is Darius supposed to get a temperature on this girl's intentions? Hunter? Hunter is not a reliable source in the slightest. Titan bless his stupid heart, he's not the best judge of character.

Though he's noticeably cagey about the messages, Hunter still ends up yapping about Willow frequently and Darius doesn't know if he believes a word coming out of that boy's mouth.

Darius was a high schooler once. Darius knows what high schoolers are like. Darius even knew a boy who was so uniquely eccentric and socially awkward that their peers found him entertaining. They strung him along for his unintentional comedic appeal rather than valuing him as a person.

There was a time when the idea of the Golden Guard marching into Hexside and subsequently getting humbled by his ruthless peers who do not give a Titandamn fuck about his title would have been hilarious to Darius. But not anymore.

Now Darius is beginning to see that the brat he's known all these years is a lot more vulnerable than he seems. Sensitive even. And though he's beginning to get attached to his peculiar disposition, Darius can still point out every mannerism that a conventionally socialized teenager could bully him for.

He does not like the thought that Hunter is exhausting all of his clumsy affection towards some girl who, as far as Darius is aware, does not care about him NEARLY as much as he cares about her.

Darius is self aware enough to know he might have a bias. The boy he knew ALSO got himself tangled up with a girl with a big frame and an even bigger personality and the consequences of THAT whole mess were literally apocalyptic. It's probably not the same, but it makes him uneasy nonetheless.

What if she's baiting him for interaction only to screenshot his messages and mock him to her friends? What if she's working him up to execute a prank? Or maybe she simply pities him. Somehow Darius finds that just as distressing as the other possibilities because it will probably shatter Hunter just the same.

If Darius is watching a catastrophe in slow motion there is nothing he can do about it. He has his hands tied with more pressing matters, such as preventing armaggedon. And every time he TRIES to subtly discourage Hunter from putting Willow on a pedestal (*scoffs* "She's just a teenage girl, little prince. There's hundreds just like her") he gets huffy and storms away for some reason.

ANYWAY

Timeskip. A few months later. The morning after their whole realm was Collector detoxed. Some people are still complaining that they feel phantom strings but the weird sensation is beginning to fade away.

There's no solid plans for where Hunter will take up permanent residence, so Darius has offered him a temporary place in his home until they can find a more suitable guardian. (Spoiler: not as temporary as they thought)

Hunter sleeps. Hunter sleeps a LOT. He has a lot of troubling experiences to recharge from, so Darius just leaves him to it.

That's when the girl appears at his doorstep, wringing her dishevelled braids. She doesn't look like she's slept soundly. "Can I see Hunter?" She asks.

(I imagine that the kids, specifically Hunter, Willow and Gus develop a bit of fire forged seperation anxiety after the events of season 3. They want to be in each others pockets for a few weeks to months afterwards.)

"Well," Says Darius. "If you hadn't arrived unannounced and actually given us some notice, I could have told you that he's dead to the world right now."

Her eyes widen.

"Asleep." He quickly corrects himself. "You'll have to come back later."

Willow is no longer the enigmatic high school girl who may or may not pose a threat to Hunter's confidence from Darius' perspective. He knows that she's the person who rescued him during the scout attack on Hexside. He knows she kept him company during that time and the Day of Unity. He knows he spent months with her in the Human Realm. He knows their bond had become far more serious than vapid high school friendships. He saw them in the hall of the Collector's Palace, standing close together for comfort, Hunter holding her as they searched for her parents.

Darius decided that even if he had no idea how their relationship began, it hardly mattered. The last few months had aged them considerably. There was no way Willow had the capacity to be a petty mean girl after all she had been through.

And now she wanted to visit Hunter, presumably because he mattered to her. Darius still didn't know the angle of this relationship. He simply knew that it was important to both of them.

And Willow does not give up. She frowns, dejected, before her brow scrunches up in determination. She asks to visit him anyway. She would just like to look at him, just to know that he's there. It doesn't matter if he's sleeping, she just wants to see him.

There is a lengthy pause.

"Not in a weird way," Willow clarifies.

"Right," Nods Darius. "You want to watch him sleep in a normal way."

Somehow, Darius allows it and lets Willow venture up to the room. Mostly because he knows he'll get an earful from Hunter if he finds out that he turned his special girl away.

Even if he still doesn't know how to feel about her, he knows she's harmless. To Hunter anyway. Maybe not to Darius. Once she realized that the man standing in the doorway was the barrier between her and Hunter, her eyes had flashed menacingly for a second. Titan only knows what she had considered doing before she caught herself.

It's about five minutes later when Darius wanders up to the doorway of Hunter's room himself. He leans in the threshold and observes.

The girl has perched herself on the side edge of Hunter's bed, her fingers dancing across his forehead as she delicately wipes back stray strands of ashy blond hair. She's watching his sleeping face with such unreserved tenderness that Darius wonders if they've been building teenagers different these days. They weren't this kind when he was young.

Darius clears his throat, sending Willow springing to her feet. She throws up her hands, as though to prove her innocence.

"I was just..." She mumbles, rose cheeked. "Leaving."

"Mmhmm."

Well. Darius knows one thing for certain now. This relationship is clearly not as pathetically one-sided as he initially feared. But....the reality of the situation is sure to prove very annoying. He's not looking forward to this.

[flower-boi16]

Apology Tour Made Blitz Do The Right Thing for The Wrong Reason

There's a common critique of Apology Tour I've seen regarding Verosika is that the fact that she went out of her way to create an entire annual party dedicated to shitting on her past ex makes her look overly obsessive. While at first glance I can see where this argument is coming from I'd like to disagree.

Blitzo has been frequently established as a fairly destructive person who thanks to his own self-hatred ends up hurting others and pushing them away, the fact that there's this many people in the party shows how destructive of a person Blitzo is, and we see that it's not just limited to his exes, but people in general who he hurt (like Dennis, for instance).

And Verosika is one of Blitz's later victims who Blitz bailed on after she told him she loved him, a very vulnerable moment for someone to be in, and that's the point where Blitz broke her heart. And so she created this party both out of spite for Blitz seeing how much of a horrible person he is and out of sympathy for his many victims who were just as heartbroken by him as she was. She created this party so she could help the people Blitz has hurt cope with what happened and heal from it, creating a sense of community amongst victims.

Apology Tour shows how much Blitzo damages people, how his self-destructive tendencies always end badly for both him AND his victim, leaving his victim broken and making him more broken, the fact there's a whole party made for the sole purpose of helping his victims cope shows that. And Blitz is forced to see how damaging of a person he truly is because of this...or at least, that's the route the episode should have taken.

Apology Tour is an episode with an absolutely fantastic set up with Blitz going to a party where he sees how many people he's damaged and chooses to start becoming a better person, but the problem is HOW the show gets him to see that. The show gets him to start to change himself...through Stolitz.

Blitzo realizes how he hurts others through seeing how he hurt Stolas, who Blitz previously just believed was some classist dick and nothing else only for Stolas to pour his heart out in a musical number, making Blitz realize that Stolas' feelings were genuine all this time and what he was saying to Stolas did, in fact, hurt him...

...at least that's how the writers want you to look at this scene. However, thanks to the general problems with Stolitz writing this development ends up falling flat on its face. The reason for why this development fails despite the perfect set up is because the show is holding Blitz accountable for something he isn't even in the wrong for in the first place. I've ranted about Stolitz many times before but I'll just repeat the same points because it's relevant for my argument here; Blitzo had no reason to ever think that Stolas' love for him was genuine.

Throughout the whole first season, Stolas consistently looked down upon and belittled Blitz, calling him demeaning pet names and always invading his boundaries even when Blitz says no, yet Stolas continues it anyway. YET, the show tries to paint Blitz as biased here because "oh he only hates Stolas for being a royal and is repressing his feelings for Stolas due to self-hatred" or some bullshit.

However, once you factor in the outside context, Blitz never comes across as biased here whenever he rants about Stolas, because he doesn't have a reason to believe Stolas has any genuine affection for him beyond some small, off-screen "nice things" he did for him, and even then, you can still look down upon someone while caring for them. The show wants to present Blitz as in the wrong here for "hurting Stolas' feelings" and being consumed in his bias, but that doesn't work because Blitz had no reason to believe that Stolas didn't look down on him when he literally did.

But despite Blitz not being in the wrong in the situation, he's portrayed as the abuser here and he's the one who apologizes to his abuser, and HE says that Stolas "deserves better than HIM", making Stolas out as the victim here in this situation when the context and framing say otherwise.

Speaking of Stolas, many people have torn him apart this episode already so I won't go that in-depth here, however, it's still relevant to my point. The episode portrays Stolas as sympathetic here when he isn't - in fact, Stolas comes across as extremely unsympathetic in this episode due to claiming that he "never looked down" upon Blitz despite doing that throughout all of season 1.

He THEN gets angry at Blitz for not saving him when Striker captured him even though 1. Blitz was busy and 2. HE LITERALLY SENT HIS CO-WORKERS TO SAVE YOU WHY TF ARE YOU MAD???

Stolas doesn't have a legitimate reason to be angry at Blitz due to the outside context - instead, all of his interactions with Blitzo in this episode come across as him playing the victim and gaslighting him. And All 2 U is the pure culmination of this. A song that is supposed to be the moment where Blitz realizes his mistakes instead comes across as Blitz being repeatedly gaslighted and guilt-tripped into apologizing to his abuser.

HE is treated as the problem, HE is treated as the one who is meant to apologize to Stolas, even though he is NOT IN THE WRONG FOR THIS IN THE SLIGHTEST. Yet, the show ignores past interactions for this to work. It doesn't address anything Stolas did beyond just making the deal - it acts as if that was the only bad thing he ever did even when Stolas did more than just that to Blitz.

Yet, that's never called out by anyone. Stolas doesn't have a good or sympathetic reason to be mad at Blitz - yet the show treats him as another one of Blitz's victims anyway. So, Blitz was essentially gaslit into becoming a better person, which isn't really great writing. Apology Tour had all the ingredients of a fantastic episode but it's severely held back by this specific aspect, Stolas drags the episode down so much and it sucks that the Stolas crap in the episode has to be tied to Blitz's development. Blitzo should have seen his mistakes through someone who actually had valid and sympathetic reasons to dislike him, someone who does actually come across as a person deeply hurt by Blitz's actions.

In other words....Verosika. Verosika should have been the character they used here, not Stolas. Verosika has an actually good reason to dislike Blitz and one the audience could actually sympathize for, SHE should have been the character to get Blitz to realize his mistakes and decide to change and grow as a person. Have All 2 U be sung by her instead of Stolas, with the song detailing how Blitz met and Blitz broke her heart.

Seriously, the concept of the begining scene and All 2 U can work, but they'll work better if you replace Stolas with Verosika in them instead, because Verosika has a good reason to dislike Blitz that could easily be expanded upon and developed, and Blitz would've had better reasoning to become a better person rather than being gaslit and guilt tripped into it. Apology Tour had all of the ingredients for a fantastic episode but the Stolass trash drags it down HARD.

[byo-fic]

Fanfic | Into You

— Lee Soohyuk x FemReader

syn: A cafe owner secretly in love with his part time staff.

(ii)

Lee Soohyuk looked around the cafe. He didn't see you anywehere.

His forehead starts frowning. "Where's Y/N?" he asked.

"She on leave today."

One of the staff answered.

"On leave?" Lee Soohyuk, frowned.

"I told her to inform you..." Sora chides in.

Lee Soohyuk just nodded.

He knows you are not wrong. Even tho he is the owner, he is not frequently in the cafe as he has another few branches to look after. Sora is the manager, and any staff should inform Sora or get her approval for leave. But he thought you and him are close.

He chose an empty table, at the secluded area and place all the cafe reports on the table. Before he starts working, he pulls out his phone..

You go to the hospital today? - he sends a text to you. He knows you sometime take leave for your hand physiotherapy.

___

You look at your phone. Feeling guilty to not telling Soohyuk about your whereabout.

But thinking back... he is your employer, and you are just his part time employee.

"You move out from your apartment without telling me," - a man sitting across you spoke.

"Why should I tell you?" you asked.

The man sighed. His face mixed with feeling guilty and frustrated. "I know you are mad-"

"I'm not," you cut him off. "I already move on." You give him a small smile.

The man across you is your ex-fiance, Minho. Your engagement with him broke because of his family blame you for the accident happened with his little sister. His little sister hurt her head, but you know his family hates you and use the accident as a proof that you are a reckless woman. They have been showing their bias towards you since the first day Minho introduce you to his family.

"Fine, at least tell me where you live," Minho said in a calm voice.

You chuckled dryly. "I don't want to tell you." You look at your phone and type a simple reply to your boss...

No. I'm meeting an old friend.

Minho look at you. "I thought you said you are not mad, but seems like you still mad-"

"I just don't want you to know where I live," you cut him off again before continuing "There's nothing between us, not even my family know where I live now so why should I tell you."

Your phone vibrates, another text from your boss...

You should tell me. I can drive you there.

You smiled reading his text. Typical Lee Soohyuk, always kind.

It's far. I take bus. - you replied.

Minho across you just watching how you are smiling texting on your phone. "Who is that?" he asked.

You look up at him "My boss. I forgot to tell him I'm on leave today."

"You are working?" Minho asked again. He knows about your hand, and he knows you stopped drawing. He thought you are focusing on healing your hand.

Another text come...

Bus? the nearest bust station is 15 minutes walking distance from your place. Let me know when you finish, I will go fetch you.

You read the text a few times. This is not the first time Lee Soohyuk offer to drive you from one place to another. He always fetching you from the hospital after your physiotherapy session.

"Yeah, just working part time." You replied to Minho. Then you look at the time on the phone. You plan to visit a few stores after meeting with Minho. You calculate the time in your head.

Fine. I want to buy few items after this. I will be at XX shopping mall. - you replied to Soohyuk. You know there's no point refusing his help, he is persistent once he offered you help.

"What kind of work?" Minho asked, he felt bothered looking at you not focus on him.

"Secret." You answered with a smile. You know Minho won't believe it if you tell him you are working at the cafe.

The you that he knew is someone who prefer to work by your own. and with less people. The you that he knew is someone who prefer to work from home. The you that he knew is someone who love drawing a lot.

When you received a reply text from Soohyuk telling you that he will fetch you and telling to wait for him, you decided you should quickly end your meeting with Minho.

"I have somewhere to go after this. Say hello to your sister." You pack your things.

"Where? I can go with you..."

"Please don't, you will make me uncomfortable." You said, honest.

Minho sighed. Already familiar with your straightforwardness. He can only see you leaving the restaurant. One day he hopes you can open up to him again like you used to.

___

Lee Soohyuk noticed the shopping mall you told him in the text is in the same city you live before and it's 1 hour drive from his cafe.

He wonders who you met. He can't help but to know more about you and the people around you. But he also noticed how you hardly talking about your family and friends. The only person you always talking about is your grandfather.

He looks at his wristwatch, then he closed the files on the table.

"I need to go somewhere..." he walks to Sora who busy at the counter with other few staff. "Just email me the sales report like usual," he left the cafe without waiting for answer.

[desert-flowerz]

actually CANNOT explain to you how thrilled i am about this one oh my goodness.

once again, going off this post, this time in response to @tigerbears !! i couldnt screenshot the whole message so im doing this in segments going from top to bottom and cataloguing my thoughts and counterpoints.

of course, this argument does make sense — queen showcases the hologram of a knife, kris is pretty known for their connection to knives, they even use their knife to create the dark fountain at the end of chapter two. seems like a pretty solid bout of evidence. but not necessarily.

see, I'd like to argue that queen doesn't truly know much about the knight, nor how the fountain was created, not in detail. for certain, she knows dark fountains are created via a lightners determination, that they stab into the ground and darkness is born from the act. but, if you look at the video she has — no actual further information is given, pretty strongly suggesting queen herself might not have a whole lot of further information, either. we know she's prone to making assumptions, particularly in regards to the knight — why can't the idea that a knife in specific was used be just one more assumption?

queen is just a computer, she doesnt know everything, after all. she might not necessarily be the most accurate source of information. and wouldnt it make sense, if the only thing she knows for certain is that the knight stabbed into the ground, that she'd draw the conclusion they used a knife? that's certainly what first comes to the frint of my mind witg the association of stabbing (but, then, i might have some confirmstion bias).

kris would also know that the knight, whoever it may be, must have left the computers on. its shown through text interacting with objects in the computer lab that kris has a decent understanding — at least by this point — of how dark worlds work, how they're affected by the light world and the surroundings of the fountain.

... ignore that theyre out of order ive only just realised how to put images side by side but i cant get them to go in the order i want.

BUT ANYWAY, back to theorising and debating. what im trying to say is — kris saw and understood all this before they made the fountain, they easily could have copied off what the knight was doing. of course, this doesn't account for the fact the tv got plugged in overnight, but if this was the plan all along, why make the cyber worlds fountain in the first place, why not simply create the fountain within the dreemurr residence to begin with? especially knowing we as the player would simply seal it as we did with card kingdom.

there could be a number of other reasons for this, i feel, that make a lot of sense as to why the knight has not yet managed to start the roaring. for example, if we were to ascribe to the theory that mayor holiday is the knight (among others, but this was the first i thought of and one i see discussed frequently enough to be of note), it could easily be written down to her being busy — a point that's made again and again whenever she's brought up. in other cases, it could be argued that the knight has to be careful about being discreet, as the more people find out about what's going on, the more people that will try to stop them, thus making their job tremendously more difficult.

and finally, to flip this on its head and argue in the oppisiye direction (because i am an unstoppable force) — i dont think the line in question is referring to what people assume it is, honestly. the closet is supposed to be the city — electronics, wires, all that good stuff. and, as seen interacting with other objects, particularly in chapter two — the text will at times reflect what we saw in the dark world.

i think, more likely than this line in particular being some reference to the knight, is simply another example of this established pattern. of course, there could be a double meaning to it, but it could also been a plain reference to giga queen, seen as that fught occurs within the city.

BUT thats all i gotta say on this, i think — might add on at a later date but honestly who knows. yet again, all screenshots were found on the deltarune text project so all credit there since my points definitely wouldn't hold as much weight without the visual reference (and its honesty just a cool as fuck project).

[heavy-paws]

MAKING FRIENDS 🌿

A post about Self Health and discovering Friendships in a Social Setting.

I often see and hear many forms of inquiry and advice surrounding this subject, and you can't go a posts throw away without finding someone who in some way may hold difficulty, discomfort or uncertainty in this avenue of development, so I thought I'd come to offer the best I've read:

Circulate

Find spaces that bring you peace, particularly public ones. Library, Book Store, Aquarium, Museums, Parks, Community areas,. Frequent them, give the space a chance one day a week, make it the same one and consistently show up.

Others will come and go and after a while, as much as you take notice to the regulars of that day, many will take notice of you and your new placement. Your presence in a space they've previously held unknown to you and most of the time, you don't even need to be the first one to speak., they'll approach and even if you don't know what to say, you're already relating by doing the same things on the same days as a shared activity of interest. Lead with that topic and go from there., gradually books lead to ownership of copies, adventures, places you read, if you like coffee or tea or whatever else..

I'd like to say I have advice for the ones at-home, I suppose much along the same lines, you frequent familiar or friendly web pages. Tumblr, this..that. wherever you feel you can comfortably hold a presence. Show up, be consistent.. give some of yourself to the world to be seen. We often times forget online instances are without tone in many cases apart from what's taken into assumption of whats written in those tones, which can be a bit messy.

I utilize feeding my blog with related imagery, interests, passions, and definitely the occasional thought, feeling, or posts like these because it helps me think, breathe, and help others do the same. When people recognize a bit about you from your established interests, passions, and demographics, they tend to find grounds they can relate to, if not hold specific interest in how you wear it. Write it. Feel it.

Circulate.

Be a presence. Make yourself known. Be honest and genuine with YOURSELF,. I know that's scary. As a girl who is all of what I am, I GET that,. But you have needs, and those should be met if not with some of the passionate effort you can dedicate to courage you find over time above the fear it won't work, then the kind input of those who hear you, recognize you in your energies, efforts and determination.

Don't give up on yourself. You deserve this. Friends. Consistency. Connection. A fair and healthy bond of balance and peace for your mind and spirit in confirmation from them and of you, you are both equally accepted, welcome in that space. Ready and open minded to learn.

About yourself and about others.

Circulate. ♻️

____________________________________

Need a boost?

Hard day?

Hard LIFE?

Shit Sucks?

I have things about helping that in this tag Here : 📖 [it can be found in posts of mine like this or in my Pinned!]

Please feel free to turn some pages any time you feel the need to hear good. Truth. Healthy placement. Development. Growth for you. This is only one in a series of self health posts I've written based on my own personal experience and transcriptions to provide with as minimal bias as my perspective allows in reaching others clearly and mutually.

It's for anyone who needs it. Any time.

[watermeezer]

OCs are

Sabia “Bia” Spencer-A brave, extroverted, warmhearted prankster/dreamer with a bad habit of saying whatever comes to mind. She’s constantly labeled as an insane maniac. She views the world as a place needing to "lighten up" and she's just the little pied prankster to lead the way. She is apparently cheerful and always tries to make people have fun. However, this is no doubt part of her efforts to disassociate herself from her own difficult childhood and parental issues. While not malicious, the lack of discipline and mischievousness made her a troublesome guest for anyone willing to take her in. She often plays practical jokes on her friends and abuses their hospitality, but she has frequent Pet the Dog moments. Her usual mindset is basically that of a Troll. Bia is bold, adventurous and loud. Only her siblings and boyfriend (Jason Scott) can calm her down. Bia finds her kindness and compassion. She has a sweet loving spirit buried within her. The people who first see this after her siblings is her boyfriend, his teammates and Shadow. But it’s coming out after she was captured and thought killed. Can be emotional at times and prone to outbursts. Ironically, she seems to have inherited this from her responsible though abusive mother rather than her calmer, but less reliable father. Averted at times since very often when not bursting out she can get easily depressed and insecure.

Dalila “Dalia” Spencer-A temperamental but brave, extroverted, warmhearted prankster/dreamer with a bad habit of saying whatever comes to mind. She’s a friendly, easygoing, free spirited, carefree, creative, whimsical person, curious, gullible, well-meaning and chatty, rebellious and easy to love, but her laidback nature is hiding a dark secret. She has a darker side to her nature. A trauma from her past which puts her face to face with an old enemy. She’s extroverted and wild, with a mischievous streak, despite having an extremely kind soul. She’s smart but ditzy, shallow, spoiled and a poor judge of character. Mildly petty, air-headed, and hedonistic, but has sweet moments. She's more ditzy and clumsy than actually evil. She’s spoiled but not mean-spirited and callous. Loyalty is her greatness strength and weakness. Can be emotional at times and prone to outbursts. Ironically, she seems to have inherited this from her responsible though abusive mother rather than her calmer, but less reliable father. Averted at times since very often when not bursting out she can get easily depressed and insecure. Dalia has ADHD is intelligent but impulsive and unbalanced, with many of her mannerisms having a childlike air. While she’s not malicious, her lack of discipline and mischievousness have made her a troublesome guest for anyone willing to take her in. With her high-energy, she is lively as she’s loud, playful and crazy. She can’t hide her emotions, at all; it is a constant struggle for her.  She is emotionally fragile and disturbed, out of a desperation for love and affection and sometimes cries as a result.

“Tabia “Tabi, baby Bia” Shelby-A brave, extroverted, warmhearted prankster/dreamer with a bad habit of saying whatever comes to mind. She and Sabia are practically inseparable. Only three years difference between them.

Elaria “Laria” Shelby-She’s coolheaded, distant, and rarely lets herself show she cares for others. She is a kind if firm individual, but pissing her off is one of the worst things someone can do, she has a temper. She’s the level-headed, attentive and patient type who puts her foot down when needed. She has a kind heart. She’s protective towards her siblings, stepchildren and own children trying to be a better mother than her own mother was to her. Can be emotional at times and prone to outbursts. Ironically, she seems to have inherited this from her responsible though abusive mother rather than her calmer, but less reliable father. Averted at times since very often when not bursting out she can get easily depressed and insecure. And she shares her mother’s trait of killing the father of her child.

Tagging: @themaradwrites @theimperiumchronicles @annieradcliff @iredastead @cosmic-psychickitty @whovianwholikesgirls @celestialbat @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @chickensarentcheap @diamondoftheball @dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @queenzee27 @vipervampyrmorsus @clairelsonao3 @pheita @pluttskutt @songbirdmunson @loserboysandlithium @whatwedointhecraft @lordkingsmith @herrmannhalsteadproduction @residentdormouse @cecexwrites @destroya2005 @rattkween86 @dyrewrites @illarian-rambling @bumblingwitch @mrsmungus @violetfairydust @writinginthesecrettrees @verba-writing @cynicalone94 @darleenjade @ashirisu @mr-orion @riveriafalll @magicsuperheroes @bardic-tales @gyrovagus-bibliophile @dreaming-goblin @megandaisy9

[iydiamartinx]

FLAMES OF STARLIGHT

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 | 𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌

Pairing: Poly!Azriel x OC x Lucien

❝ 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘧𝘶𝘭. ❞

— 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐥

THE LAST TIME Feyre saw Valda, she had resembled a walking corpse. Yet, standing before her now, her body seemed to have become more filled in, looking healthier and stronger. Unlike the dresses Elain and Nesta wore, Val was dressed in a loose cream-colored tunic and dark brown breeches that were tucked into a pair of leather hunting boots that reached just below her knees. A plethora of weapons were strapped across her back, hips, and even legs. Compared to everyone else's fine clothes, Val looked rugged and untamed, yet somehow it didn't take away from her beauty, if anything her wild appearance seemed to enhance it.

Val's eyes danced with that familiar playful twinkle as she took in the stunned yet relieved expression on Feyre's face. For a moment, the smirk on Val's lips reminded Feyre of a certain fox, but before she could dwell on that thought, she shook it away.

Feyre couldn't help but instantly relax at the sight of her sister, a smile of relief curving on her lips. All three Fae males, on the other hand, had unconsciously straightened up in their seats at the eldest Archeron's entrance. Feyre had spoken of her frequently, always speaking her name with a great deal of love and even reverence, enough so that it garnered the intrigue of the three males. Seeing her now, there was just something about Valda that commanded their attention. The eldest Archeron held herself with a quiet unyielding confidence, something unusual to see from a mortal, especially in the presence of Fae. Even Nesta showed her discomfort in the form of defensiveness, yet her twin remained wholly unbothered.

"Valda," Feyre breathed. Her eyes tracked Val's movements as her elder sister pushed off from her position at the door and casually strolled into the room.

Those silver eyes scanned the occupants at the table, barely giving much attention to the three males before focusing back on Feyre, "Sorry, I'm late. Now, mind telling me what has my twin in such an uproar that she refuses to listen?"

"Val—" Nesta tried to protest, but Val's eyes cut to her, glaring colder than Feyre had ever seen on her face. Nesta cut herself off, her jaw flexing as she snapped her mouth shut.

"Feyre is our sister," Val used the same soft tone she used to use back in the cottage, one that brokered no room for argument. "We owe it to her to listen to what she has to say."

Yet, Nesta was her equal, and just like her twin she wasn't one to back down. "I did listen, and we cannot help. They are fae," She growled out in disgust.

"And?" Val questioned lazily, her demeanor remaining completely relaxed, "You are placing judgment on your bias, Nesta." She chided in an infuriating casual tone that had Nesta grinding her teeth. "Until proven otherwise, Feyre and her...friends are more than welcome here."

She sent Feyre a wink. A silent signal that Feyre, so far, had Val's full support.

That small action was finally what spurred Feyre into moving, she was out of her seat in an instant—mindful of her new strength—she wrapped Val into a tight hug. For a brief moment, Feyre let the familiar safety and comfort that Valda's arms provided wrap around her, making her feel like a young girl once more. 

It was a conscious effort for her to pull away, knowing she couldn't stay there forever. When she finally did, it was then did she get a proper look at her sister's face, catching the sight of an inch-long cut on Val's cheek which was partially hidden by her dark locks. It was new and Feyre had seen enough wounds to realize it had come from a weapon with a smooth edge, such as an arrow or a blade.

The last time Feyre had seen Val, Feyre was too focused on Tamlin to really question what her sister had been doing during the time she had been away, but now with a clearer mind, Feyre was certain it was something dangerous. The cold disapproving look of displeasure on Nesta's face when Feyre asked about Val also began to make more sense. Nesta was worried for Val, and when she was worried she tended to cover it up with anger.

Val's hand came and gently tucked a few locks of Feyre's golden-brown hair behind her now-pointed ears. Feyre had to fight the urge to flinch as she expected to see a flash of disgust in Val's eyes, but it never came. All that shone in her silvery-blue eyes was love and acceptance.

"Now, this is a new look," Val murmured, also using the moment to take in the new changes to her sister. "It suits you." Feyre's cheeks reddened at the compliment and Val's lips curved. "But you know if you wanted to send our sister into an early grave, there are plenty of other ways to do it," She teased.

Feyre choked back a laugh that threatened to spill out as she heard Nesta let out a low growl from where she was sitting behind her. Val, however, ignored it and grinned, but suddenly her whole body stiffened, and her eyes flashed with pain. Immediately recognizing the look and what was happening, Feyre's expression shifted into one of concern.

Pitching her voice lower as she addressed Val—not that it mattered as the males in the room could still hear the pair clearly with their Fae hearing. "You're still in pain? Could the healers do nothing?" As she spoke, her hand was already clasping Val's, trying to heal her sister with her magic, only for nothing to happen.

Val, somehow, realizing what Feyre was trying to do, placed her other—slightly shaking—hand over her sister's and gave her a sad smile filled with resignation and acceptance. "Some things my darling sister cannot be healed as easily." With a gentle squeeze, she pushed Feyre's hand away. "Not even by magic."

Feyre opened her mouth to insist, but Val just waved a hand towards the table, "Later. Sit, eat, and you can tell me what it is that you all need."

Not leaving Feyre with much of a choice, Valda turned and took a seat at the head of the table. It was a subtle and strategic move on her part, conveying her neutrality but also a reminder that as the eldest she was the head of the family and thus held the power to make the final decision. Feyre sighed and moved to regain her old place when she realized she hadn't introduced her sister to the boys, who had been silently watching the whole interaction.

Feyre awkwardly cleared her throat as she looked towards the three males. "This is my eldest sister, Valda Archeron," Feyre explained, and she couldn't help the slight note of pride that seeped into her tone.

Feyre glanced at Val before nodding her head towards where Cassian sat at the far end of the table across from Nesta. "This is Cassian."

Cassian grinned broadly at Val, and she returned it with a small polite one, inclining her head in greeting.

Feyre gestured towards the next male sitting beside Cassian. For a brief moment, when their eyes connected, Val felt her heart skip a beat. He was devastatingly handsome. Resembling a marble statue come to life.

"This is Azriel." The elder girl cleared her throat, giving him the same nod of greeting she gave Cassian.

Azriel returned the gesture, his golden eyes filled with intensity, something that Val matched. Neither was willing to look away, and slowly, a ghost of a smile twitched at Azriel's lips, and Val found her own lips copying the gesture.

"—And this is Rhysand," Feyre's voice had Val snapping out of her little stare-off and breaking eye contact with Azriel as she turned to the final male, sitting beside Feyre. "The High Lord of the Night Court."

Val glanced at Feyre, and she raised an eyebrow, and Feyre knew precisely why. The last time they spoke, Feyre told her that she had fallen for the High Lord of the Spring Court named Tamlin—also known as the beast who invaded their old home—while Rhysand was the wicked one. It seemed fate had once thrown a twist in her sister's life.

Unlike the other two males, Rhysand stood up and gave Val a warm smile. When he had greeted Nesta and Elain, he had formally bowed, but with Val, he instead held out his hand. "Thank you for your willingness to hear us out."

It seemed everyone held in a collective breath as they waited to see if Val would accept Rhysand's hand or not.

Val gave him a contemplative look and saw nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Standing, she reached out and firmly grasped his forearm, and he copied giving it a small shake—a warrior's greeting.

"I apologize for the cold reception. We were taught better than that." A small reprimand to her sisters. One which had Nesta lifting her chin unapologetically, while Elain's tipped in shame. Val motioned to the untouched food, "Please, sit. We can discuss what you need of me and my sisters over dinner."

Val may not have had an interest in living amongst the high society, however, it didn't mean she had forgotten the rules and manners her mother had instilled in her as a child, she knew how to act like a proper host when she needed to.

Rhysand inclined his head and retook his seat, and Val waited for Feyre to do the same before finally taking her seat. Both Feyre and Rhysand swiftly caught Val up to speed and explained what they needed and the situation they were in. Val listened attentively, and when they finished, she let out a sigh.

Feyre felt her heart sink as she realized that there was an equal possibility that Val would choose to say no. Her sister would always put their family's safety first and what they were asking went against that.

"I'll be honest to say I am not entirely pleased with the plan," Val stated her gaze on Rhysand. "This puts my sisters at extreme risk if something were to go wrong." Feyre felt her shoulders drop, and she prepared herself for the inevitable 'no.' But Val wasn't finished speaking. "However...I understand its merit, and it would be selfish of us to say no. From what you tell me, war is inevitable, and all of us will need every advantage we can get. You can have your meetings here. I only ask you to keep my sisters safe," Val looked to Rhysand before giving a pointed glance at Feyre, "All my sisters."

Hopelessness was replaced by relief, and Feyre could've sobbed at the sudden weight lifting off her chest.

Rhysand nodded swiftly. "Of course, I'll have my guards watch the manor. Any sign of trouble, they will get you and your sisters out and bring you all to my court," He said.

"Then it's settled," Val said, nodding in agreement, before gesturing to the food, "Please, eat."

Nesta's lips were tight in displeasure, but she said nothing even though it was clear she wanted to disagree. The entire table was quiet as everyone scooped food onto their plates.

Feyre's eyes glanced around the table and saw that Rhys had dug into his chicken without hesitation. Even Cassian and Azriel ate as if they hadn't had a meal in months. Nesta and Elain, on the other hand, ate like proper ladies, taking small and dainty bites.

Feyre never grew up learning the proper etiquette, and it had her pausing. Feyre glanced at Val, and when Val noticed her gaze, she paused. She, too, had been eating with the propriety of a lady, but when she saw the lost look on Feyre's face, her eyes softened in understanding. Casually, she changed her mannerisms and began eating more like how the boys were. Feyre shot Val a grateful look, relaxing.

However, the second she had her first bite, she had to fight back a cringe. It tasted like ash.

"Is there something wrong with our food?" Feyre looked up to see Nesta watching her with narrowed eyes.

From beside her, Val tensed, but she continued to eat her meal. Yet, her motions were stiffer, ready to jump in if Nesta went too far.

Feyre forced herself to take another bite.  She swallowed and gulped down a healthy drink of water. "No," She lied.

"So you can't eat normal food anymore—or are you too good for it?" It was both a question and a challenge.

Rhysand's fork clanked sharply against his plate. Elain made a slight, distressed noise. Val, on the other hand, shot Nesta a warning glare but still refrained from jumping to Feyre's defense, giving her youngest sister a chance to stand up to her twin.

Feyre laid her hands flat on the table and met her sister's gaze head-on. "I can eat, drink, fuck, and fight just as well as I did before. Better, even."

Cassian choked on his water. Azriel shifted in his seat, angling to spring between Feyre and Nesta if need be. While Val had to look down at her plate to hide the proud smirk that threatened to cross her lips.

Nesta let out a low laugh, but her eyes, they shone with disapproval and disgust.

"If you ever come to Prythian, you will discover why your food tastes so different," Rhysand told Nesta evenly.

Nesta sniffed haughtily, and she all but looked her nose down at him. "I have little interest in ever setting foot in your land, so I'll have to take your word on it."

"Nesta, please," Elain murmured, giving the headstrong woman a pleading look.

Val continued to watch, noticing as the one Feyre called Cassian sized Nesta up. His eyes held the gleam of a warrior facing a new opponent.

Nesta's attention cut to Cassian, noticing the same look Val had, and she too recognized what it meant. She snarled softly, "What are you looking at?"

Cassian didn't miss a beat, "Someone who let her youngest sister risk her life every day in the woods while she did nothing. Someone who let a fourteen-year-old child go out into that forest, so close to the wall." The tension in the room grew thicker, and from beside her, Feyre could feel Val going dangerously still, "Your sister died—died to save my people. She is willing to do so again to protect you from war. So don't expect me to sit here with my mouth shut while you sneer at her for a choice she did not get to make—and insult my people in the process."

Nesta didn't bat an eyelash. Her cold eyes studied the handsome warrior before her before turning to look back at Feyre, dismissing him entirely.

Cassian's face went almost feral, a slight snarl curling at his lip.

Elain spoke up, her voice shaking as she recognized the predator in Cassian. "It...it is very hard, you understand, to...accept it. We are raised this way. We hear stories of your kind crossing the wall to hurt us. Our own neighbor, Clare Beddor, was taken, her family murdered...It's all very disorienting," She finished in an attempt to justify herself and Nesta.

"I can imagine," Azriel said, a polite smile on his face as Cassian glared at him.

Val placed her palms flat on the table, "However disorienting it may be, I still apologize on behalf of my sister. It is no excuse to insult Feyre or any of you," Val spoke up, her tone even and controlled despite the roiling storm she felt inside of herself.

Elain slightly sunk down in her seat at Val's words, her cheeks red with embarrassment. Azriel, however, inclined his head, the smile marginally warmer.

For a moment, neither said a word. They only stared at the other; an understanding passed between them before Val finally broke eye contact when she heard Nesta snarl softly.

Val's eyes shifted to Cassian, meeting his heated gaze head-on. "I won't have you judging Nesta for matters you don't fully understand. If you want someone to blame for failing Feyre, blame me. As the eldest, the responsibility of taking care of the family fell to me. Feyre should never have gone into those woods alone, and it is a mistake that I regret every single day of my life for letting happen."

Elain's suddenly found her plate interesting unable to meet anyone's gaze, and for the briefest second, shame crossed Nesta's face, a crack in her armor. If there was one person who hadn't failed in taking care of their family, it was Val, she had given up everything for them, and all the Archeron sisters knew it, all except Val—she was a giver and even when she gave everything, she still believed she could give more.

Feyre could feel her eyes burn with unshed tears, and suddenly none of the Archeron sisters could look at Val. But Val, she kept her gaze locked with Cassian's even as she felt a painful ache in her heart. 

She didn't like Cassian talking to Nesta that way, despite what he said was wholeheartedly the truth. For all Nesta's faults, Val would always protect her. But the other reason she spoke up was that, in her eyes, she believed she could've done more despite her own struggles at the time.

However, Val didn't see that. All she saw was that she failed to give her sisters a better life, she failed Feyre by letting the beast steal her away, she failed Nesta for not being there when Thomas Mandry tried to force himself on her.

What Val didn't realize was that she had given them a better life. She gave them joy when there was none, strength when all they wanted to do was give up, and most importantly, she gave them her love. She loved each of them so fiercely that they knew she would die for them. Even when their father gave up on them, Val never did, despite being a child herself. Val was their shield and their sword, pushing her own pain aside to make sure that they would be alright. She would do anything and had done everything for them.

Feyre's thoughts were so loud that Rhysand heard everything, and he felt a new wave of respect for the eldest Archeron. Val's loyalty was as fierce as his inner circles for each other, if not more.

He hoped that one day he would get the honour of being a part of those she considered family. Unlike Nesta and Elain, Rhysand found himself genuinely wanting to know Val as more than just his mate's sister. He wanted to know her as a friend.

Feyre gently grabbed Val's hand, yet Val didn't look away from Cassian until he finally broke eye contact. "You did the best you could," Feyre whispered, bringing Val's attention to her.

Val shook her head. "I could've done more. I failed you. It should've been me who killed that wolf. If I had just been there—" Val cut herself off and forced a smile onto her face. The smile was fake, but her words were genuine, "No matter now, you seem happy. That is all I ever wanted for you."

Feyre knew what Val was going to say. She could see that her sister still blamed herself for letting Feyre get taken away but never once in her life did Feyre blame Val. It wasn't her fault for the illness she suffered. It wasn't her fault for not noticing when Feyre went out to hunt. Val had been suffering, having been one of the most painful moments in her life—far past any physical pain—and the second she found out what Feyre had done, she had pushed her pain aside and once again stepped up for their family. Doing her best to provide for them, and even now she was still trying to do her best, despite Nesta and Elain's displeasure. Everything she had agreed to, was for their family's safety. That was all Feyre could ask for.

The conversation quieted after that, and everyone went back to their food. After the comment Nesta made, Feyre tried to force herself to eat, but when Val saw what she was doing, she just silently grabbed Feyre's plate and cleaned off all the food onto her own plate, shooting her a wink.

"Can you truly fly?" Elain asked breaking the silence as she looked at Azriel.

Her question had Val looking up from her plate curiously, and for some reason, it was Valda whom Azriel found himself glancing at almost self-consciously as he put his fork down, before turning to Elain.

"Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We're born hearing the song of the wind."

"That's beautiful," Val murmured, and Elain nodded in agreement.

Azriel's eyes once again glanced over at Val, and Feyre could have sworn the Shadowsinger's cheeks darkened slightly at her compliment.

Feyre had to stifle a smirk as she wondered if Azriel might be attracted to her sister and vice versa. The more Feyre thought about it, the more she found a small part of herself hoping for it to be true. Her sister hadn't shown interest in anyone for years, and Azriel was a good male. He would be good for her.

"Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?" Elain, once again, questioned, bringing Azriel's attention back to her.

"It is sometimes," Azriel answered. Cassian tore his relentless attention from Nesta long enough to nod his agreement. "If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we're out of swaddling."

"I always imagined what it would be like to fly, it sounds...freeing," Val smiled, a touch of wistfulness to her tone.

Azriel looked at Val, and he looked contemplative like he was debating on saying something, but before he could, Cassian clapped him roughly on the back.

"Well, if you ever want, I'll be happy to take you for a ride," Cassian grinned. No one missed the slight innuendo in his tone. 

Val's lips twitched, but she fought back her amusement. "Something tells me that might be a bad idea," She responded drily.

Cassian winked suggestively before wincing when he felt Azriel swiftly kick his leg in warning.

"You look like High Fae," Nesta cut into the conversation sharply. "But you are not?"

"Only the High Fae who look like them," Cassian drawled, waving a hand over to where Feyre and Rhysand sat, "are High Fae. Everyone else, any other differences, mark you as what they like to call 'lesser' faeries."

"It's become a term used for ease but masks a long, bloody history of injustices. Many lesser faeries resent the term—and wish for us all to be called one thing." Rhysand explained.

"Rightly so," Cassian nodded, slightly tipping his glass in agreement before drinking from his water.

Val tilted her head curiously at Feyre, "But you weren't High Fae—not to begin with, at least. So what would you be?"

Rhysand said, "Feyre is whoever she chooses to be."

Val's lips quirked up, and she couldn't help but be amused at his casual protectiveness towards Feyre. She wondered how long the High Lord had feelings for her sister and if Feyre could see just how much he cared for her.

"As she should," Val agreed, knowing which battles to leave be.

Nesta once again spoke, this time her voice stiff and laced with even more displeasure, "Write your letter to the queens tonight. Tomorrow, Elain and I will go to the village to dispatch it. If the queens do come here," she added, casting a cold glare at Cassian, "I'd suggest bracing yourselves for prejudices far deeper than ours. And contemplating how you plan to get us all out of this mess should things go sour."

Val sighed, but she didn't say anything. Like she had said. She didn't like the plan, but she understood why it needed to be done. If war were indeed inevitable, then she would do everything in her power to make sure her sisters were safe, even if that meant putting them at a bit of risk to achieve it.

"We'll take that into account," Rhys answered smoothly.

"I look forward to hearing the plan," Val commented equally as smooth. Nesta was right. They needed a plan if everything went wrong, something much more than having the Night Courts guards whisk them off to Prythian. "I assume you'll be staying the night?" Val questioned.

"If it's not too much trouble, then yes. We'll leave after breakfast tomorrow." Feyre answered, looking at Nesta uncomfortably.

Val snorted at Feyre's words. It was her home too. "Of course, it isn't."

Elain beamed. "I think there are a few bedrooms ready—"

"We'll need two," Rhysand interrupted quietly. "Next to each other, with two beds each."

Val rose an eyebrow, yet Rhysand was looking at Feyre when he explained.

"Magic is different across the wall. So our shields, our senses, might not work right. I'm taking no chances. Especially in a house with a woman betrothed to a man who gave her an iron engagement ring."

Val stiffened slightly at the dig at Elain while Elain flushed slightly. "The—the bedrooms that have two beds aren't next to each other," she murmured.

"We'll move things around. It's fine. This one," Feyre said, shooting a pointed glare in Rhys's direction, "is only cranky because he's old, and it's past his bedtime."

Feyre's words eased the tension, earning a snort from Val, a chuckle from Rhys, a grin from Cassian, and a timid one from Elain.

Nesta just rose to her feet and said to no one in particular, "If we're done eating, then this meal is over."

Val shot the others an apologetic glance before she too got up to follow after Nesta. Not at all looking forward to the conversation and inevitable argument they were about to have.

The sound of Nesta and Val arguing echoed throughout the entire manor. Elain, who remained with their guests, looked as if she wanted the ground to swallow her up whole as everyone sat in silence listening to the carrying voices of the sisters arguing.

"How can you trust them?! Their kind enslaved ours for centuries!" Nesta snarled out.

"Do you honestly think Feyre would bring them here if that was the case? They are trying to fight the one who wants us back in chains for Mother's sake!" Val huffed, exasperation clear in her tone.

"How do you know that?! The Fae cannot be trusted! They are evil!"

"You say it as if humans are so much better!" Val snapped back, her tone the harshest it's ever been. Her words held the weight of someone whose seen just how evil their own kind could be, someone who suffered from it.

Suddenly the manor went silent, almost eerily so.

Feyre exchanged looks with Rhys, and for a few moments, no one even moved. They waited for either of the sisters to say something, but neither Nesta nor Val spoke again.

Finally, Elain cleared her throat. Her face flushed red in embarrassment. "I-I should show you to your rooms."

It was apparent Elain wanted to get away from the group as fast as possible, yet she was too polite to outright voice her displeasure. After she showed Feyre and the boys to their requested rooms, she made a hasty excuse before all but scurrying away.

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

banner credits: saradika-graphics & reveriesources

[oiblackestsheep]

Introverted Sensing (Si) is More Valuable than You Think it is

I touched on this a little in another post I made, but it wasn't the main focus, so I'm making this it's own thing.

Introverted Sensing (Si) is most frequently referred to as using tradition as a way of perceiving things that lead to your judgements later. Some examples include following instructions to a T (or being unable to do things without said instructions), making lists, keeping daily planners, and referring to the past (often times personal memories, but can also be previously reported data) to inform the present.

These examples aren't necessarily wrong, but they are sometimes twisted in a negative way that can makes this cognitive function (and the associate types ISTJ, ISFJ, ESTJ, ESFJ) become interpretted as simple, thoughtless, repetititve, useless, boring, and "basic".

There is a much deeper side to Si that I think needs to be talked about, so that's what I'm going to do.

Introduction

Now, the flaws I listed above, also are not necessarily wrong. High Si uses can embody all of those negative traits, but it is much more rare than the iNtuitive bias would have you believe, because those negative traits come out when Si users are at their absolute worst.

And how often is anybody truly at their absolute worst?

I choose to think of Si predominantly not as tradition, but as a Standard Operating Procedure (SOP).

Standard Operating Procedure and Si

What is an SOP? An SOP is a detailed step-by-step list of instructions that you follow from start to finish in order to obtain a completely finished, fully function product/result.

Sounds very Si, doesn't it? That's because it is! And SOPs are absolutely mission critical to so many things in our daily lives because they ensure that a certain level of quality control (QC) and quality assurance (QA) is in place at all times. Some things absolutely need to be the exact same every single time because there is very little room for error and products need to consistently pass quality checks in order to be viable for general public use.

SOP Examples

If you don't follow the instructions exactly right, the cake you are baking will taste very badly. The furniture you are building will not be fully functional, or even unsafe to use. The scientific experiment you are doing will include bias, contamination, or simply will not work, and you won't produce any results.

Si is incredibly vital because by ensuring that everthing is done the exact same way every time, you should expect the same results every time. So when you do not get the same results, it is incredibly easy to notice, and focus heavily on why results are different than expected.

This is how we learn and make discoveries.

Conclusion

We aren't wrong about Si or what it means. We aren't wrong about it's potential pitfalls. We are wrong to focus so heavily on pitfalls and not focus on how effective and essential Si can be when it is being used productively.

Yes, Si can be very dry sometimes. But it is an essential dryness. It is intentionally dry and repetitive because it minimizes the possibility for error. And it constantly updates and innovates its step-by-step instructions as new information becomes available so that the instructions we follow are the most effective as possible.

Si ensures our success. We don't have to change what Si means, we have to change how we choose to view it. It may not always be the most exciting cognitive function, but it makes the world go round, and we need to appreciate the high Si users just as much as we do everyone else.