#multi-touch technology

[thepastisalreadywritten]

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗘 𝗨𝗡𝗩𝗘𝗜𝗟𝗦 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗙𝗜𝗥𝗦𝗧-𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗣𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗘📱

On this day in 2007, Apple CEO Steve Jobs (1955-2011) announced their latest revolutionary product - the iPhone.

This ushered in a new era for modern smartphones that eventually conquered the globe a decade later.

"𝘪𝘗𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘳𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘯𝘦." — 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘑𝘰𝘣𝘴

At a highly anticipated Macworld convention in San Francisco, California, Steve Jobs unveiled a groundbreaking device that seamlessly combined an iPod, a mobile phone, and an internet communicator into one compact, powerful gadget.

Unlike earlier smartphones, Apple’s iPhone was lightweight and introduced a large screen that replaced traditional keypads, harnessing emerging multi-touch technology to let users interact directly with the display using intuitive fingertip gestures.

The first iPhone hit the global market on 29 June 2007, sparking a frenzy as thousands flocked to stores to own the revolutionary device.

Priced at $499, the gadget quickly became a phenomenon.

By the end of the year, Apple had sold over 1.39 million units, and the iPhone was honored as Time Magazine's "Invention of the Year."

[paxtonvaldovinos]

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[ajaydmr]

Global Surface Computing is expected to Reach a Market value of USD 1,183.7 billion by 2032 at a CAGR of 37.5%

Insights into the Global Surface Computing Market: Trends, Growth, and Future Outlook

The Global Surface Computing Market is on a rapid upward trajectory, as cutting-edge technologies reshape industries ranging from healthcare and education to entertainment and retail. This revolutionary technology allows users to interact directly with digital content via touch, gestures, and other innovative input methods, offering an immersive user experience. With projections showing a rise from USD 67.6 billion in 2023 to USD 1,183.7 billion by 2032, surface computing is set to play a pivotal role in transforming how we engage with digital environments.

This article delves into the dynamics of the surface computing market, including the factors driving its growth, regional trends, applications, and key challenges.

Market Overview

Surface computing is a transformative technology that redefines human-computer interaction. Unlike traditional systems that rely on keyboards and mice, surface computing enables users to manipulate digital content using natural gestures and touch. This immersive experience is increasingly becoming the preferred choice across various sectors.

As the technology continues to evolve, surface computing systems are benefiting from advancements in touch technology, display systems, artificial intelligence (AI), and machine learning (ML). These developments enhance the user experience, pushing the boundaries of interactivity and usability.

For more detailed insights, download the free PDF sample.

Market Size and Growth Projections

The Global Surface Computing Market was valued at USD 67.6 billion in 2023 and is forecast to grow exponentially, reaching USD 1,183.7 billion by 2032. This significant increase is largely driven by the growing adoption of interactive touch-based systems, which are being utilized in digital signage, point-of-sale systems, education tools, and more.

Technological innovations, combined with an increasing preference for intuitive user interfaces, are pushing the market forward. As more businesses and consumers embrace this interactive approach to computing, surface computing is set to revolutionize sectors globally.

To get more personalized insights, contact our team for tailored information.

Key Drivers of Growth

The growth of the Global Surface Computing Market is being propelled by several factors:

Technological Advancements: Multi-touch display technologies, gesture recognition systems, and haptic feedback innovations are enhancing the functionality of surface computing systems. These technologies are providing users with more precision and interactivity when engaging with digital content.

Widespread Adoption Across Industries: Industries such as retail, healthcare, education, and entertainment are increasingly adopting surface computing. Retailers use it for interactive displays and customer engagement, while in education, interactive whiteboards enhance the learning experience.

Consumer Demand for Enhanced User Experience: Surface computing's ability to create highly intuitive, interactive, and immersive experiences is driving demand across consumer electronics, such as touchscreens, tablets, and interactive kiosks.

Growth of IoT: The expansion of the Internet of Things (IoT) creates more opportunities for surface computing systems. As the number of connected devices increases, so does the need for user-friendly interfaces to control and interact with these devices.

For more in-depth data, access the full report.

Regional Insights

The adoption and growth of surface computing vary across regions, driven by factors such as technological infrastructure, economic conditions, and consumer demand. Here's a closer look at key regional markets:

North America: The Market Leader North America leads the Global Surface Computing Market, accounting for an estimated 39.2% of the market share in 2023. The U.S. is home to major tech giants like Microsoft, Apple, and Dell, which are at the forefront of surface computing innovations. Furthermore, the region’s strong technological ecosystem and research and development initiatives continue to fuel market growth.

Europe: Emerging Market Europe is witnessing a steady rise in surface computing adoption, especially in sectors such as retail, education, and transportation. Government initiatives supporting digital transformation are likely to further accelerate the growth of surface computing technologies in this region.

Asia-Pacific: Rapid Growth The Asia-Pacific region is poised for rapid expansion in the surface computing market. Countries like China, Japan, and South Korea are investing heavily in technology infrastructure to support the adoption of interactive systems. The growing middle class and increasing tech-savvy population in countries like India and China are key drivers for the market.

Trends and Innovations Shaping the Future

Several exciting innovations are transforming surface computing, including:

AI and Machine Learning Integration: AI-driven systems are allowing surface computing devices to adapt to user behavior, creating personalized and more effective user experiences.

Gesture Recognition and Haptic Feedback: Combined with advanced touch capabilities, gesture recognition and haptic feedback technologies are revolutionizing interactions, especially in fields like gaming and virtual reality.

Flexible and Transparent Displays: Advancements in display technology, such as flexible and transparent screens, are opening up new opportunities for surface computing in sectors like retail, automotive, and advertising.

Challenges to Market Growth

While the surface computing market is poised for growth, it faces several challenges:

High Costs: The development and deployment of advanced surface computing systems come with high upfront costs, which may limit adoption in price-sensitive markets.

Security Concerns: As surface computing systems become more integrated into business and consumer environments, securing sensitive data and protecting against cyber threats becomes increasingly important.

Technological Limitations: Despite rapid advancements, surface computing technologies still face limitations such as display resolution and integration challenges with other systems.

FAQs

What is the current size of the Global Surface Computing Market? The market is valued at USD 67.6 billion in 2023 and is expected to grow to USD 1,183.7 billion by 2032.

What factors are driving growth in the surface computing market? Key drivers include advancements in technology, adoption across industries, the demand for engaging user experiences, and the expansion of the Internet of Things (IoT).

Which region leads the surface computing market? North America holds the largest market share, with 39.2% in 2023.

Which industries are benefiting from surface computing? Retail, healthcare, education, and entertainment are major sectors adopting surface computing.

What challenges does the surface computing market face? Challenges include high costs, security concerns, and limitations in technology.

Conclusion

The Global Surface Computing Market is on the verge of substantial growth, driven by technological innovation, increased industry adoption, and the growing demand for interactive and immersive user experiences. As key players like Microsoft, Apple, and Dell continue to lead the way, and regions such as North America remain at the forefront of adoption, surface computing is set to revolutionize how businesses and consumers interact with digital systems. However, challenges such as cost barriers and security risks must be addressed to unlock the full potential of this technology.

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[just-ornstein]

[JK]  My first job was as an Assistant Producer for a video game company called Interplay in Irvine, CA. I had recently graduated from Boston University's School of Fine Arts with an MFA in Directing (I started out as a theatre nerd), but also had some limited coding experience and a passion for computers. It didn't look like I'd be able to make a living directing plays, so I decided to combine entertainment and technology (before it was cool!) and pitched myself to Brian Fargo, Interplay's CEO. He gave me my first break. I packed up and moved out west, and I've been producing games ever since.

[JK] I loved my time at EA. I was there for almost a full decade, and learned a tremendous amount about game-making, and met the most talented and driven people, who I remain in touch with today. EA gave me many opportunities, and never stopped betting on me. I worked on The Sims for nearly 5 years, and then afterwards, I worked on console action games as part of the Visceral studio. I was the Creative Director for the 2007 game "The Simpsons", and was the Executive Producer and Creative Director for the 2009 game "Dante's Inferno".

[JK] I haven't played in a long while, but I do recall that after the game shipped, my wife and I played the retail version for some time -- we created ourselves, and experimented with having a baby ahead of the actual birth of our son (in 2007). Even though I'd been part of the development team, and understood deeply how the simulation worked, I was still continually surprised at how "real" our Sims felt, and how accurate their responses were to having a baby in the house. It really felt like "us"!

Now for some of the development and lore related questions:

[JK] So I ended up in the incredibly fortunate position of creating the shipping neighborhoods for The Sims 2, and recruiting a few teammates to help me as we went along. 

Around the same time, we started using the Buy/Build tools to make houses we could save, and also bring them into each new build of the game (correcting for any bugs and incompatibilities). With the import tool, we could load Sims into these houses. In time, this "vanguard QA" process turned into a creative endeavor to define the "saved state" of the neighborhoods we would actually end up shipping with the game.

On playtesting & the leftover sims data on various lots:

Basically, we were in the late stages of development, and the Save Game functionality wasn't quite working. In order to test the game properly, you really needed to have a lot of assets, and a lot of Sims with histories (as if you'd been playing them for weeks) to test out everything the game had to offer. So I started defining a set of characters in a spreadsheet, with all their tuning variables, and worked with engineering to create an importer, so that with each new build, I could essentially "load" a kind of massive saved game, and quickly start playing and testing. 

It was fairly organic, and as the game's functionality improved, so did our starter houses and families. 

The thought process behind the creation of the iconic three neighborhoods:

I would not say it was particularly planned out ahead of time. We knew we needed a few saved houses to ship with the game; Sims 1, after all, had the Goth house, and Bob Newbie's house. But there wasn't necessarily a clear direction for what the neighborhood would be for Sims 2. We needed the game to be far enough along, so that the neighborhood could be a proper showcase for all the features in the game. With each new feature that turned alpha, I had a new tool in my toolbox, and I could expand the houses and families I was working on. Once we had the multi-neighborhood functionality, I decided we would not just have 1 starter neighborhood, but 3. With the Aging feature, Memories, a few wacky objects, plus a huge catalog of architectural and decorative content, I felt we had enough material for 3 truly distinct neighborhoods. And we added a couple of people to what became the "Neighborhood Team" around that time.

Later, when we created Strangetown, and eventually Veronaville, I believe we went back and changed Pleasantville to Pleasantview... because I liked the alliteration of "Verona-Ville", and there was no sense in having two "villes". (To this day, by the way, I still don't know whether to capitalize the "V" -- this was hotly debated at the time!)

Pleasantview:

Anyway, to answer your question, we of course started with Pleasantview. As I recall, we were not quite committed to multiple neighborhoods at first, and I think it was called Pleasantville initially, which was kind of a nod to Simsville... but without calling it Simsville, which was a little too on the nose. (There had also been an ill-fated game in development at Maxis at the time, called SimsVille, which was cancelled.) It's been suggested that Pleasantville referred to the movie, but I don't think I ever saw that movie, and we just felt that Pleasantville kind of captured the feeling of the game, and the relaxing, simple, idyllic world of the Sims.

Pleasantview started as a place to capture the aging feature, which was all new to The Sims 2. We knew we had toddlers, teens, and elders to play with, so we started making families that reflected the various stages of family life: the single mom with 3 young kids, the parents with two teens, the old rich guy with two young gold-diggers, etc. We also had a much greater variety of ethnicity to play with than Sims 1, and we had all new variables like sexual orientation and memories. All these things made for rich fodder for a great diversity of families. Then, once we had family trees, and tombstones that carried the actual data for the dead Sims, the doors really blew open. We started asking ourselves, "What if Bella and Mortimer Goth could be characters in Sims 2, but aged 25 years? And what if Cassandra is grown up? And what if Bella is actually missing, and that could be a fun mystery hanging over the whole game?" And then finally the "Big Life Moments" went into the game -- like weddings and birthdays -- and we could sort of tee these up in the Save Game, so that they would happen within the first few minutes of playing the families. This served both as a tutorial for the features, but also a great story-telling device.

Anyway, it all just flowed from there, as we started creating connections between families, relationships, histories, family trees, and stories that we could weave into the game, using only the simulation features that were available to us. It was a really fun and creative time, and we wrote all of the lore of Sims 2 within a couple of months, and then just brought it to life in the game.

Strangetown:

Strangetown was kind of a no-brainer. We needed an alternate neighborhood for all the paranormal stuff the Sims was known for: alien abduction, male pregnancy, science experiments, ghosts, etc. We had the desert terrain, which created a nice contrast to the lush Pleasantville, and gave it an obvious Area 51 vibe.

The fact that Veronaville is the oldest file probably reflects the fact that it was finished first, not that it was started first. That's my guess anyway. It was the simplest neighborhood, in many ways, and didn't have as much complexity in terms of features like staged big life moments, getting the abduction timing right, the alien DNA thing (which I think was somewhat buggy up until the end), etc.  So it's possible that we simply had Veronaville "in the can", while we put the last polish on Pleasantville (which was the first and most important neighborhood, in terms of making a good impression) and Strangeville (which was tricky technically).

Veronaville:

But my personal favorite was Veronaville. We had this cool Tudor style collection in the Build mode catalog, and I wanted to ship some houses that showed off those assets. We also had the teen thing going on in the aging game, plus a lot of romance features, as well as enemies. I have always been a Shakespeare buff since graduate school, so putting all that together, I got the idea that our third neighborhood should be a modern-day telling of the Romeo and Juliet story. It was Montys and Capps (instead of Montagues and Capulets), and it just kind of wrote itself. We had fun creating the past family trees, where everyone had died young because they kept killing each other off in the ongoing vendetta.

[JK] You know, I have never seen The Lone Gunmen, and I don't remember making any kind of direct references with the Strangetown Sims, other than the general Area 51 theme, as you point out. Charles London helped out a lot with naming Sims, and I'm pretty sure we owe "Vidcund" and "Lazlo" to him ... though many team members pitched in creatively. He may have had something in mind, but for me, I largely went off of very generic and stereotypical ideas when crafting these neighborhoods. I kind of wanted them to be almost "groaners" ... they were meant to be tropes in every sense of the word. And then we snuck in some easter eggs. But largely, we were trying to create a completely original lore.

[JK] Well, I think we kind of pushed it with The Sims 2, to be honest, and I remember getting a little blow-back about Bunny Broke, for example. Bunny Broke was the original name for Brandi Broke. Not everyone found that funny, as I recall, and I can understand that. It must have been changed before we shipped.

We also almost shipped the first outwardly gay Sims in those neighborhoods, which was bold for EA back in 2004. My recollection was that we had set up the Dreamers to be gay (Dirk and Darren), but I'm looking back now and see that's not the case. So I'm either remembering incorrectly (probably) or something changed during development.

In general we just did things that we found funny and clever, and we just pulled from all the tropes of American life.

[JK] The alien abduction started in Sims 1, with a telescope object that was introduced in the "Livin' Large" expansion pack. That's when some of the wackier ideas got introduced into the Sims lore. That pack shipped just before I joined Maxis in 2001; when I got there, the team had shipped "House Party" and was underway on "Hot Date". So I couldn't tell you how the original idea came about, but The Sims had this 50's Americana vibe from the beginning, and UFOs kind of played right into that. So the alien abduction telescope was a no-brainer to bring back in Sims 2. The male pregnancy was a new twist on the Sims 1 telescope thing. It must have been that the new version (Sims 2) gave us the tech and flexibility to have male Sims become pregnant, so while this was turned "off" for the core game, we decided to take advantage of this and make a storyline out of it. I think this really grew out of the fact that we had aliens, and alien DNA, and so it was not complicated to pre-bake a baby that would come out as an alien when born. The idea of a bunch of guys living together, and then one gets abducted, impregnated, and then gives birth to an alien baby ... I mean, I think we just all thought that was hilarious, in a sit-com kind of way. Not sure there was much more to it than that. Everything usually came from the designers discovering ways to tweak and play with the tech, to get to funny outcomes.

[JK] Possibly we were just testing the functionality of the Wants/Fears and Memories systems throughout development, and some stuff got left over.

[JK] I can't remember, but that sounds like something we would have done! I'm pretty sure we laid the groundwork for more stories that we ended up delivering :) But The Sims 2 was a great foundation for a lot of continued lore that followed.

--

I once again want to thank Jonathan Knight for granting me this opportunity and taking the time from his busy schedule to answer my questions.

[jedisupernova]

compress, repress (part iv) — kwon jiyong & choi seunghyun

summary it is said a lot can happen in one night, but what about two years? the three of you have ventured into different lanes: jiyong ascending into tennis superstardom whilst you and seunghyun make compromises to build a life together. there's only so much avoiding one can do, however, and so much tolerance the universe has before reality implodes.

notes minors dni contains challengers au (for my girls who know: the sauna scene, art crawling to tashi on the bed, challengers: match point), fem reader, unabashedly plus sized reader as i am myself but anyone can read, mainly takes place in the late 2000s (hence mentions of certain music, technology, media, etc.), takes place over the course of multiple years (from two years post-college to their mid-thirties,) tennisplayer!jiyong, tennisplayer!seunghyun, angst (dealing with a friendship break-up, description of accidental bodily injury, all three are at times depicted as not the greatest of people, insecurity, unresolved tension, avoidance, life-altering events, severing ties, this does not have a happy ending,) domesticity, fluff, smut (oral f receiving, p in v, sub!seunghyun,) i made up my own tennis tournament bc the actual olympic qualifications were too difficult to understand and write into this fic naturally so pls don't laugh at me, and some inevitable typos though some are purposeful.

author's note we made it . . . welcome to the fourth and final part of my challengers au 🍾 i cannot thank you enough for your love and enthusiasm for this series 🩷 its crazy that its coming to an end!! a brief disclaimer: these are only characters; in no way do i claim either would act this way in real life. please read the previous parts (linked below) or else you will be very confused! this is about the same length as part iii (long as fuck) so get comfy. it was bittersweet writing this. this part really goes into the sports drama of it all. please lmk what you think, my ask box is always open!! enjoy 🎾

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

the next six months were of visceral change. summer was avoidant: jiyong spending it either lodged in his bedroom and maintaining physical regiment on the tennis court. seunghyun spent copious amounts of time catching up on sleep—no longer riddled with complex equations and multi-part exam questions written in a different language—spending long afternoons at the court, ushering in the transition into going pro, and talking to you on the phone. these conversations took a more serious turn with each dial—talking of your future and how either of you desired to share it. “i got in touch with my former mentors at the academy i went to growing up,” he told you over the phone one afternoon, mouth full with cornflakes. “they say they know somebody willing to take me on as my coach.” he swallowed, wiping a drop of milk off his lip with the back of his hand, “to go pro.” “that sounds promising.” you said, kicking your feet up onto the couch. you meant it when you said summer was for turning your brain off. like seunghyun, you also slept in, taking time in making your perfect bagel before putting the view on the living room television at a low volume. “i’ve been thinking . . . if i’m going to be with a tennis player, i might as well know a thing or two about the game itself. because i’ll be honest. right now, i couldn’t give two shits.”

seunghyun let out a hearty laugh. “just wait until i get into wimbledon.” he ate his last spoonful. “then i’ll show you a real game, baby.” “i don’t want to be clueless.” “there’s no way with that brain of yours that you’ll ever be clueless about, like, anything.” your eyes diverted to the window, watching a bird land on a tree branch in the front yard. “there’s always a first time for everything, though.” seunghyun kissed his teeth, “you and your stubborn ass.” you smiled, “it's why you like me so much. it's like looking into a mirror.” “love.” he corrected. “i love you.” “i know you do.” you said. “i miss you. badly. horribly, one would argue.” an amused upside-down grin tugged at his lips, “you have no idea.” he said smoothly. you licked your lips, trying to subvert your warming face. seunghyun inadvertently did it for you: “what movies are on the docket today, hm?” “i haven’t had the chance to head to blockbuster yet.” you told him, hearing him hum on his side of the line. “but i’ll text you the titles once i do.”

"this is going to be my sixty-seventh time begging you to watch 'donnie darko.’” you let out a laugh, “i’ll make it a hundred.” seunghyun kept his phone to his ear with his shoulder, washing his dishes. “what’ll convince you, huh?” “well, first of all,” you said. “it's summertime. not purgatory.” “its art, though.” you waited for him to say sike. when he didn’t, you laughed harder, “you’re insane.” he raised his eyebrows, though a smile molded his mouth. “you’re annoying.” “that’s another thing you love, too.” “yeah, well—” he had a witty comeback in his arsenal, but the time on the oven decimated it. “shit—it's already 1:30?” he thought aloud. “i’m late for practice. i’ll call you later, baby.” “no problem.” “i love you dearly.” your vernacular rubbed off on him, hearing him give his blackberry’s receiver a big kiss goodbye. you laid there on the couch, amused: if seunghyun a year ago knew he’d be acting like this now, he’d break down in tears.

jiyong’s birthday came and went in august. many family, friends, and cousins were invited, so it made skirting around seunghyun easier. what he couldn’t avoid, however, was knowing it was most definitely you on the other end whenever he looked at his phone, or when seunghyun attempted to hide his smile after putting it back into his pocket. come autumn, though, seunghyun was up and out of town, down in berkeley to meet a group of possible coaches. when his birthday rolled around in november, he was back home for the party, shocking his relatives with the news he was moving to britain before the new year to begin training professionally: “i’ll be home for thanksgiving. but i’ll be leaving before christmas, unfortunately.” jiyong remembers his heart collapsing to his stomach, hands almost dropping his utensils. he looked to seunghyun’s parents, watching their bittersweet yet prideful expressions over their son’s mature decision for his future.

if things were different, jiyong would have been part of every fiber of seunghyun’s planning: helping him choose between coaches, sorting through housing options, making sure he’s surrounded by good people, etc. but now? he was just a stranger. a bystander. adjacent to a nobody. he kept it together, though he could feel seunghyun’s eyes on him for something. a twitch of an eyebrow, remnants of a grimace— anything. but jiyong continued eating without a word. “she's—she’s coming with me, yeah.” he overheard seunghyun tell his aunt. “my new coach got her in touch with a firm in london. helped her fax over her resumé, too. we’re in the middle of sorting our visas out, but everything’ll be fine. she’s really excited, yeah. her parents are too, thankfully.” laughs reverberated around the table, though jiyong didn’t lift his head. “she’s always wanted to live there. so i guess it worked out for her, y'know?”

others would argue your twenties are enviable, but you would immediately point to how quickly life became real for you. though you made a decision that in your gut you knew was not only the right one, but what you wanted to do (and you have the arguments with your parents to prove it,) it didn’t make it any less scary. let’s be clear: you were in a new country less than six months after you graduated college with a man you’ve been with for barely a year. objectively speaking, that’s fucking insane. most would think someone who’s spent her life thinking rationally in unpacking arguments wouldn’t make a decision that is nothing but brash. in that case, however, you would point to exhibits a through z: seunghyun’s undying devotion. he, who gladly went out of his way to find you a job, landing you an entry-level policy analyst position with a comfortable wage; lined up your work visa interviews to prep together and alleviate the nerves for something so intimidatingly complex; flew out to your hometown a few nights before you two were flying to england  (which he paid for too, by the way)—helping you pack and finalizing your arrangements.

seunghyun was fully aware of the sacrifices you continuously made to be with him and didn’t take it lightly whatsoever. he said his thanks in many ways: doing his best to ensure your cut of the rent was lower than his; covering the groceries; quickly showering after an intense practice to make a hot meal to eat together once you came home; paying for as many calling cards as you would ever need to phone family back home; ironing your work clothes and packing your lunch before leaving for his early morning run preceding training; and his utmost favorite, his tongue penning his routine letter of thanks to your clit, dutifully signed by his fingers kneading the plush of your thick thighs.

though it was a mere matter of time before he weighed your left hand down with a diamond, it felt as if the nuptials had already been signed off on. perhaps it was the level of trust necessary to keep what you two had going. not to mention, you came out swinging for one another, like how jiyong came out swinging at the australian open in january 2007. his added efforts and re-centered energy in training paid off big time, landing him the grand prize and into a different tax bracket overnight. his sudden star status combined with impressive academic credentials to back him at a young age incited an influx of sports press attention he had never received before, granting him the novel task of finding a manager. seunghyun hadn’t qualified for the australian open, opting to focus on the french open and wimbledon coming in the summer instead. your heart stopped beating when he won his final qualifying match, nearly launching out of your seat in the stands after the realization hit you. you hadn’t accumulated enough paid time off to cover the entirety of the two week tournament, though seunghyun was quick to assure you whilst he packed for paris: “i’ll stay in long enough for you to come see me.” he told you. “i’ll play good for you, baby.”

something shifted on your train ride from london to paris. it was early june, zeroing in on the last few days of the french open. seunghyun kept his promise: he was inching closer to the final rounds of the men’s singles. he called you every night to recap his day, including the uncomfortable parts: “jiyong walked out of the locker room when i was walking in today.” he said. one hand held his blackberry to his ear whilst the other worked his razor against his stubble, eyes trained on his reflection in the bathroom mirror. “he’s doing real well.” he muttered, rinsing his razor underneath the running water. he grinned to himself, “looks like a fuckin’ hot shot, too. even from the back.” as the scenic landscapes and buildings passed by you on the train, your face turned more stoic. your vision mimicked a tunnel. a feeling stirred in your gut—but what was it? nerves? maybe … well, it was seunghyun’s first professional event. maybe that’s it: it's your first chance to see if his hard work was going to pay off. on a famously prestigious stage, no less. but it’ll work out, right? right? you were ushered to your seat in the player’s box, reserved for the athletes’ families, friends, significant others, etc. seunghyun spotted you easily in the stands, waving with an unabashedly joyful smile. you blew a kiss before sitting down, readjusting how your sunglasses sat on your nose, happy that your hair was out of your face.

you remained straight-faced through his sets against the player from italy: relief exiting your nostrils whenever it went seunghyun’s way, your posture stiffening when it didn’t. from his recent games, you developed a foundational understanding of the mechanics of the sport. visual cues were your greatest aid, along with listening closely to the umpire—the official who enforces rules, makes decisions about plays, judgment calls, disciplinary actions, etc. you knew you made progress when grimacing at one of his calls against seunghyun. not because he’s your boyfriend, but because it was just wrong. you mentally logged questions to ask him, readjusting your posture as he and his opponent switched sides before starting the next odd-numbered set. it was seunghyun’s turn to serve. he got into position, placing the tennis ball in the center of the neck of the racket. beads of sweat trickled down the bridge of his nose, hitting the floor of the court. he took a deep breath, raising his racket into his service motion, but his inhale caught in his throat—descending into a coughing fit. it didn’t stop. the umpire called a time-out after seunghyun began wheezing, clutching his chest. concerned murmurs percolated around the court, all eyes on him whilst medics took his vitals, offering him an oxygen mask.

seunghyun accepted with a nod. he closed his eyes, taking his time to breathe. you closed your eyes, too, fingers rubbing your forehead, chin lowering. it's the cigarettes, your inner monologue just knew, the stress has been making him smoke more the usual. seunghyun was back on his feet ten minutes later, ensuring his throat was secure by drinking a generous amount of water. jiyong watched the whole thing go down from the locker room. he stood in front of the mounted television with his arms crossed over his chest, ignoring his mother ringing his cell. he never coughed like that when we played, he thought. jiyong ran his hands over his face, palm brushing past the nike logo on his custom-made sponsored polo. though the match was close, seunghyun wasn't completely there after coughing like that in public, handing italy a spot in the semi-finals. it was quiet that evening in seunghyun’s hotel room. he sat at the end of the untouched one of the two queen beds, head hung low with how elbows on his knees. he hadn’t changed out of his jersey nor taken his shoes off. you were stood, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest. he felt your stare. he heard your silence.

all you did was ask him a simple question: “do you want to win?” “i do.” he answered. “where are they?” “in my duffel. the left pocket.” “your lighter?” “in there, too.” you unzipped his duffel, collecting both items, walking out of the room. you entered the room at the end of the hall housing the ice machine, tossing his cigarettes and lighter into the garbage bin. seunghyun didn’t move, hearing your footsteps return to the room. “go shower.” you said, closing the door behind you. “our dinner reservations are at eight. it's six-thirty.” it took a moment, but he listened. he felt your hand between his pecs, beckoning his attention. “hey.” you spoke softly. your hand rode up his chest, palm molding against his cheek. seunghyun couldn’t help his fucking innate reaction, turning his head to kiss your palm, feeling the pad of your thumb lightly tug at his bottom lip. “i love you tenderly. always.” his lips parted, a shaky breath of what sounded like relief slipping between his teeth. “i love you dearly.” he whispered.

his forehead fell to yours. either of your mouths hovered the other’s, yet neither leaned in. you inched closer. seunghyun nearly retracted, not knowing what this kiss would do to him in such a vulnerable state. he trembled upon feeling your lips against his, kissing you back firmly and with fervor. his whimpering into your mouth was as pitiful as much as it was beautiful. he melted into you, inadvertently pushing your back against the wall. his hands found your hips, palms penning a letter of trust to your lower back. thus a new layer of your relationship was discovered, cemented by the tear escaping his closed eyes, trailing a messy line down your palm: you’re in this shit for life. you’re his for life. he’s yours for eternity; bed-bound to desire, a worshipper of the divine feminine. not co-dependent per sé, but symbiotic nonetheless. there’s no you without him, and there’s sure as fuck no him without you.

on your early sunday afternoon train ride home to london, jiyong was declared the winner of the french open—officially halfway to a grand slam—whilst seunghyun snored next to you, half of his face snuggly hidden behind his hoodie, working as a makeshift eye mask. upon returning home, he trained like a madman for the wimbledon qualifiers in london later that month. he ran more strategically in the mornings, purposefully working different muscles depending on the day; ran tennis drills like it was his life’s work, because it is; switched out a few of his supplements; fucked you harder to let out the pent-up energy and maintain a consistent sleeping schedule, and took up yoga to hone in on the key to maintaining demanding physical regiment was heavily dependent on mindset. he won his qualifiers with flying colors, all the while gnashing nicorette like a motherfucker in-between. this time, he made it to the semi-finals—and nearly went up against jiyong, your inner monologue reminded you—but was tapped out by a seasoned player from ireland. “he offered to buy me a pint when we ran into each other after the game.” seunghyun told you on the taxi ride home. “but i said i just really wanted to see my girl right now.” after helping him set up and naturally warmed up after his ice bath, seunghyun settled into your shared bed, taking a much-needed nap on your chest.

two days later, on the living room television in your shared flat, jiyong accepted the trophy for wimbledon’s gentleman’s singles. he looked and was triumphant, holding the silver-git cup in the air, smiling so hard seunghyun could feel it on his face. you read jiyong’s surname—embroidered on the side of his nike baseball cap—as he took a photo with members of the british royal family who were in attendance. you both watched from behind the kitchen counter in mutual silence. the bottom of seunghyun’s ceramic mug scraped against the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. “all he needs is the open,” he muttered, referring to the final major championship taking place in the united states come august, and also the last one needed for jiyong to win a grand slam, “and then he’s got it.” you hummed in acknowledgement, eyes trained on the screen. there it was: your unspoken language. the same cogs turned in either of your heads. you wanted to win and you wanted it bad, though seunghyun had a different plan: “i wanna skip the open.” you turned to look at each other at the same time. he read your mind: “to focus on the olympics.” you learned a lot in these last six months, particularly when it came to how complicated qualifications are for prestigious tournaments. to qualify for the olympics tennis tournament, for example, it is determined by many factors like national rankings, but also participation in team competitions.

jiyong’s post-game press conference played in the background. “do you think you can get on the team?” you asked. “i will.” said seunghyun, looking you dead in the eye. you stared right back at him, “does this sound like a smart idea to you?” “yes.” “how about here?” you rubbed his stomach through his shirt, referring to his gut. he was stubborn, “yes.” “fine then. i trust you.” you said. “get to work.” “i will.” and he did—tenfold. he used his earnings from competing in france and london to bring on a new team equipped with a like-minded nutritionist and physiotherapist, respectively. sooner than later, you mimicked his routine. seunghyun reached over, turning his alarm off at 5:30 am. it was barely light outside, yet you were already up, applying body lotion in the mirror. you topped yourself off with body oil, the vanilla scent rubbing off on his bare back. your touch woke him up, “good morning, my love.” you leaned down, kissing his warm temple. “i’ll get your smoothie ready.” he mumbled something in response, exhaustion meddling in his words. “let’s go.” you called out as you left your shared bedroom, heading to the kitchen. seunghyun groaned, getting up soon after.

your morning routine was the exact same for seven months straight: get up, shower, wake up seunghyun, prepare his breakfast smoothie, pack your lunch, make your breakfast, and observe his physiotherapy session before going to work. you weren’t an expert by any means, but knew enough from shadowing about where his pressure points were. it came in handy whenever a knot in his shoulder kept him from sleeping, hearing his tears of relief muffled by his pillow after your elbow dug into him just the right way. his coach lent you footage of seunghyun’s past matches, reviewing them in your spare time. you eventually started showing up to weekend practices, too. you fed him tennis balls from the net, calling out shots: “inside in! line! inside out! inside in! line! line!” seunghyun hustled from side-to-side, hitting the cones you set up along the court as targets. every ice bath ended with cuddles; petty arguments ranged from him being upset you wouldn’t be able to make it to his practice to you calling him out for finishing your moisturizer; if he was pissed at his coach over some petty disagreement, seunghyun would purposefully make himself late to practice the next morning: spending the extra time fucking you from below, sending you to work with glossed eyes and a firmer grip on the grab bars in the london tube.

without a shadow of a doubt, however, your days ended in conversation, wrapped in bed. sometimes serious: “do you think we’ll ever find time for ourselves?” “of course we will, baby. what makes you think that?” “my world revolves around you and tennis. and i want to get married someday.” “well, mine revolves around you, too. and we will. it's only a matter of time.” sometimes sweet: “something’s in my eye,” seunghyun rubbed his left one whilst laid next to you in bed, diverting your attention, “been bothering me since i was in the shower.” he stopped rubbing, blinking a few times to adjust his vision. he looked at his finger, flicking something away, “just an eyelash.” he muttered. you grinned to yourself, “they’re so heavy they blind you, hm?” his face warmed immediately, soon burying his nose into your neck. “you can’t just say shit like that so casually, baby…” he drew out his syllables, trying to avert his sheepishness, but failing miserably.

you chuckled, hand reaching into his hoodie, fingers carding through his hair. “they are very pretty.” you said. “your eyelashes, i mean.” “stop.” “what? i look at your eyes, like, all the time.”; or when you’re telling him about a disagreement between your co-workers, elbow on your pillow, palm against your temple propping your head up as he laid on his pillow, listening intently. “and then he—” you glanced in his direction, cutting yourself off. seunghyun’s eyes were soft, a small yet faint smile on his face as he listened to the love of his life ramble about her day, the sweetest expression on his face. “don’t.” you covered his eyes, feeling warmth creep up your neck. “don’t look at me like that.” he let out a giggle, manuevering out of your grip. “like what, huh?” he asked knowingly. “i’m just using my eyes, baby.” “use them elsewhere.” seunghyun sat up on his elbow, dousing your cheek in kisses, arm around your waist keeping you close to him. “i make my baby so shy, hm?”

jiyong fell to his knees, breaking down in tears after hitting the winning shot at the us open, clutching himself a grand slam. the cameras caught his parents in the crowd, his father holding onto his mother tightly, the pride so overwhelming that her muscles temporarily gave out. seunghyun’s parents were in the player’s box, too, buying the bottles of expensive champagne at the celebratory dinner that evening. jiyong’s relatives went around the table, making speeches regarding the pride he’s brought to the family name. “it's the one thing you wish for when you have children.” his father said, teary eyed. “and he’s done it. and knowing him, he’ll continue to.” when it was seunghyun’s father’s turn, he kept his son out of his sentimental remarks, though how he ended it was telling of their rift has affected either family: “and—and . . .” he came to a brief pause. “if only. if only he was. . .” he nodded, unable to say the words, hands characteristically behind his back, settling back into his seat. jiyong nodded to himself, cutting into his steak without another word. a year ago, he was a heartbroken nobody. now, he was a fresh-faced millionaire with a budding agenda: “i’ll see you in beijing.” he winked to the cameras before leaving his post-game press conference, ushered into a van by us open security.

despite his newfound fame, jiyong kept a close circle, ranging from his family and a few friends. besides a few fleeting anecdotes from his relatives at holiday dinners, he hadn’t kept tabs on you and seunghyun all that much. it was very different in those first few months, however: jiyong checked both yours and seunghyun’s facebooks borderline obsessively when you first moved to london. he was craving proximity that was once his, blinking away tears before heading to his practice court, or completely succumbing to them in bed whilst looking through old photo albums him and seunghyun compiled on his family’s computer. though his best friend was alive and well, jiyong couldn’t shake the feeling that someone he loved dearly had passed into the next life. it felt as if part of him went missing and he didn’t know how to put the pieces together again.

he had to rewire his brain, reminding himself his go-to person wasn’t there for him anymore, and he wasn’t there for him, either. it made his past break-ups look like child’s play in comparison to the deepening abyss in his chest. there was some closure between him and seunghyun, but jiyong still had a million questions. knowing seunghyun his entire life, jiyong knew he would have a million and one, but neither made the move to contact the other, and didn’t plan on it. though they weren’t talking, the metaphorical threads tying them together remained tightly-bound: evident in their dependence on the court to absorb their pain and frustration; re-focusing their energy to lift this indescribable weight off their chests; taunting themselves with the what ifs before falling asleep at night.

jiyong had to protect his peace before flying to australia for the open. he unfriended you before you found out whether you were admitted at oxford for your master’s. he unfriended seunghyun after he posted a status about qualifying for the french open. his body remembers the trauma from the night in the parking lot, but instead of shutting down, he exhumes the frustration with the meanest grunts ever heard after performing a stellar back-handed swing, hurling his opponent in a loop. 2007 was his year for re-centering and conquering, and he did just that. jiyong just kept his mind on the next thing as he finished another, focused yet charmingly sweet in interviews, earning him more fans with the delicate bunch of his cheeks every time his wide, sheepish smile appeared at the mere mutter of a compliment. as an athlete, he was quickly gaining respect and acclaim to his name as a professional, but did not let that get to his head.

he stayed grounded at home, oftentimes speaking with his mother about his worries. though there was only so much a mother could do: “seunghyun would know what to do,” she told him one afternoon over lunch. by the look on her face, jiyong could tell she’s been meaning to mention him. she did it periodically: “don’t you think?” on seunghyun’s end, it was the same: “have you told jiyong about your olympic training?” his father asked him over the phone. “he’s doing it, too. his coach is spectacular.” “i know.” said seunghyun, keeping his phone to his ear with his shoulder, opening the window in your shared bedroom to filter in some fresh air. “and no, i haven’t told him. we don’t talk, remember?” his father huffed, “the three of you are so stubborn.” he tsked. “you’re too mature to let something ruin your friendship. especially when you’ve all built such good lives for yourselves. be adults, i beg of you.”

you and seunghyun celebrated new year’s 2008 at a pub in dublin. he finally took his opponent at wimbledon up on his offer for a pint, spending the rest of the three day weekend being tourists before boarding the plane home. it was officially olympics year, meaning extensive conversations with his coach regarding qualifiers, matches, and travel for the upcoming summer. it was settled that come april, seunghyun would compete at the national championships in oregon back in the states, hopefully earning him a spot in the olympic trials in june in new york city—a month before the opening ceremony in beijing. it was a quick turn-around period, but: “we’ve worked way too hard to get nervous now.” you told him, passing the necessary spices to season the roast chicken you two were making for dinner. “plus, i’ve accumulated way too much pto to let it go to waste. you’re gonna show up and decimate the fuck out of those bitches.” and that seunghyun fucking did—making you jump out of your seat and clutch your chest upon his securing a spot for new york. “yes!” you yelled from your gut, clapping your hands approvingly like a suburban father watching his team at the super bowl, “that’s what the fuck i’m talking about!”

the first time jiyong saw you or seunghyun face-to-face after nearly two years was at those championships. he flew to oregon a week before everyone else to get good practices in—his qualifying match for the olympics trials being the next day. at first, it was passive. he was a good enough distance away having just walked out of the bathroom and into the bustling crowd emerging between the day’s matches. but then, he caught his mother’s eye. she hoped to usher in a good-faith reunion: “over here!” she called to her son. seunghyun’s father caught her drift, his eyes lighting up at the possibility, waving jiyong over, too. jiyong glanced at you and seunghyun, seeing you both in conversation with his seunghyun’s mother. seunghyun was still so sweaty from his match, using the back of his hand to move strands of hair stuck to his forehead. his mother gestured for you two to turn around. the air shifted. it wasn’t comfortable, yet it wasn’t entirely horrible. almost bittersweet: “hey, man.” seunghyun’s tone was bland, unsure of where they stood with so much time having passed. though his eyes held warmth, “congrats on the grand slam.” “congratulations, jiyong.” you added amicably, you and your boyfriend nodding cordially. “thanks.” jiyong murmured, offering a tight-lipped expression before immediately looking away.

to jiyong’s fortune, one of the many professional photographers working the event asked for a group photo, diverting the attention away from him. either family got into an appropriate position: you and seunghyun on the left end, jiyong on the far right; on opposite ends, ironically enough. another was taken of just you and seunghyun with his family—the two of you posed in the middle. in his periphery, seunghyun saw jiyong look away entirely. he thought it was pitiful. can’t even look me in the eye, huh? his inner monologue tsked. after all this time? he checked his watch, “baby?” “yeah?” “car’ll be here soon.” seunghyun let you know, seeing you nod. he turned to his parents, “are we all going for dinner tonight?” he gestured to the entire group. “i think jiyong’s family has their own plans.” his mother relayed. “that’s fine.” said seunghyun. “our reservation’s at seven-thirty. don’t forget. and remind dad, too.” he looked for you over his shoulder, gesturing that it was time to head out. you both said your goodbyes for the day, switching between polite waves and brief hugs. the door you needed to head out of was coincidentally in jiyong’s direction. he couldn’t stomach turning around when you two walked past him. a subtle one-sided, amused grin tugged at seunghyun’s lips. he shook his head, just completely over it. jiyong froze, feeling seunghyun’s palm pat his shoulder, “see you in new york, ji.”

jiyong’s eyes widened. chills ran down his spine, looking over his shoulder, seeing seunghyun hold the door open for you before taking your hand in his. he spoke to me like nothing happened, his thoughts ran a mile a minute. like it was just another fucking day. the fuck is his deal? and the way he spoke, too … so knowing … so … definite. like he knew something jiyong didn't—a dynamic-defining imbalance between them ever since they were kids. seunghyun could’ve been referring to jiyong’s grand slam, thus making his advancement to the olympic trials a no-brainer, but still. it's like he has something planned, jiyong thought, albeit irrationally. the strange, contradictory feelings of annoyance coupled with an odd sense of relief toyed between his temples. some part of him felt at ease that seunghyun spoke to him to begin with, let alone like the brothers they once were. mourning their friendship hasn’t been linear. jiyong was smart enough to understand what he felt, that it was normal to wish things went back to as they once were whilst acknowledging it would never be the same again. too many feelings unaddressed. too much time passed. but still, his inner monologue remained stubborn. he feels so familiar. after all this time.

seunghyun took his time drying off after his ice bath, attempting to warm his body back up gradually. he came out of the bathroom of your hotel suite twenty minutes later, rifling through his luggage for a fresh pair of boxers. he came over to you on the bed, settling into his routine laying on your chest, but without the duvet. for now, at least. his teeth quietly chattered, feeling your palms dotingly rub up and down his bare back, trying to soothe his goosebumps. “i’m okay.” he assured. “i know you are.” you said gently. “think you want the blanket now?” “y-yes, please.” his nose burrowed into the side of your neck, pressing a kiss of gratitude onto your skin once his teeth ceased chattering. you both unpacked your afternoon, seunghyun addressing the elephant in the room without hesitation: “didn’t even spare one fucking glance.” he grumbled about jiyong. “is it too much to ask for? i mean, we haven’t seen each other in two fucking years.” “i mean,” you began, fingers combing his hair back. “the last time you saw him, he found out you fucked his ex-girlfriend. and that i cheated on him with you. and that we were dating behind his back.” “but it's been two years.” “wounds don’t heal easily for some people. do they for you?” “are you asking if i miss him?” “i think you bringing it up answers your own question, seunghyun.”

he sighed, knowing you were right. “of course i miss him. he was the literal other side of my brain.” he said. “none of that ‘two peas in a pod’ shit. we were like night and day—complementary.” you hummed, letting him know you were listening. “its not like i’ve forgotten him. you know me, baby. i haven’t.” “you haven’t, yeah.” you affirmed. “right,” said seunghyun. “so—i mean, i didn’t think things would be back to—back to normal, or whatever. but i just…” he fell silent. “i don’t know, baby.” “its fine not to know how you feel.” you assured. “or not know how to describe it.” “no—i know how i feel,” seunghyun corrected, arms wrapping around your waist. “its just that … i don’t how how he feels. does that make sense?” “it does.” you said. it was quiet for the next few minutes, nothing but the white noise of the air conditioning percolating in your ears. you looked down, seeing the top of seunghyun’s head. he was comfortably warm now, melting into you. something you meant to bring up earlier crossed your mind: “did you see the look on his face when you touched his shoulder?” seunghyun lifted his head, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at you. “no.” he shook his head. “did you?” you nodded, thumb tracing the temporary sleep lines on his face from laying on your wrinkled shirt. “what’d he look like, baby?” your eye contact didn’t waver, “like a deer in headlights.”

seunghyun didn’t like the sound of that. he kept his front up, “he did?” his tone was leveled. you nodded, seeing right through the well-hidden quiver in his eyes, “mhm.” “oh.” the volume of his voice lowered to a perishable degree, returning his temple to your chest, “okay.” as expected, jiyong clinched the last spot to new york with ease. his post-game press conference was brief, much of it spent trying to say his thoughts coherently in the midst of patting his sweat dry with a towel and leveling his adrenaline. he downed water in the van whilst on the way back to his hotel, grimacing at the aftertaste of the energy gel he ate during a set break just wouldn’t wash away. he glanced at the rearview mirror, eyebrows furrowing at the unexpected sight of three motorcycles tailing him. is that—are those paparazzi? he wondered, perplexed. the car came to a gradual halt at a traffic light. jiyong rolled down his window, peeking his head out, but quickly retracted, caught off guard by how quickly they sped up; camera shutter going off. jiyong put his window back up with haste, i knew that i was known, but does this mean i’m famous? and in the middle of oregon?? he sunk into his seat, grateful the windows were blacked out, and the speed in which the traffic light turned green. a little shaken up, he hurried into his hotel, back in the quiet of his suite. he took his nokia out of his duffel, phoning his mother: “i think i just got paparazzied.” “paparazzied? is that even a word?” “it is now, mom. do you think i need a bodyguard?” “maybe. i’ll call your accountant today to see how much it’ll cost, and loop in your manager.”

the distance was far, but the parallels went farther. “seunghyun?” you called to him from the bedroom of your flat. he was in the kitchen making dinner, feeling fresh and clean from his post-practice shower, “yeah?” “could you see if the washing’s done? and put it in the dryer, and bring what's in the dryer to our room?” “you got it, baby.” he put the pasta on a low simmer, walking past the living room, opening the closet housing both appliances. “here we are.” he kicked the door open enough to let him and the filled laundry basket inside, setting it atop the duvet. “i can fold these for you after dinner.” “s'fine.” you waved your hand in assurance. though it was a week and a half away from flying to new york, you slowly started packing, knowing the closer it got the crazier the time crunch would become. you stepped around your open luggage on the carpeted floor, peering into the basket with your hands on your hips, “need to sift through this for a few things.” you told him, seeing him nod in your periphery. “do you think it's too hot to wear my creme blouse tomorrow?” “the long sleeve one?” “mhm.” “might be,” he thought aloud. “i read the humidity’ll be up.” “shit.” you bit the inner part of your lip in thought. “i washed that thinking i’d wear it. whatever. i’ll figure it out.”

you lifted your head, looking at your boyfriend. so much had gone down in the last two years, yet the sight of the kt tape on his wrist stilled the world for a brief moment. so much sacrifice, so much compromise, and copious trial-and-tribulation, all leading up to next week. you saw the work in his calloused hands; determination in his pilled sunscreen; devotion as his love language. he ran a hand through his hair, completely clueless to your softening heart whilst he scratched a itch on his temple. “seunghyun?” he met your eyes, “yeah, baby?” “you know i’m really proud of you, right?” he couldn’t stop his bashful smile if he wished upon a shooting star. he tucked into himself, crossing his arms over his chest, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “course i know.” he muttered, glancing at the floor. “i wouldn’t want nothing else from my baby.” you grinned, feeling your heart stutter. he turned towards you, unfolding his arms at the feeling of your hand riding up his chest, palm settling against his cheek. the way he looked at you would make the stars alternate their gravitational pull in creation of your constellation. you both let out an exhale, his hands finding your lower back, breath warm against your neck. he pressed kisses on your supple skin, spelling out his gratitude up to your cheek. “m'real fucking proud of you, too.” he spoke lowly, voice like honey. “you’re built different. not everyone could do what you do. no one has a head like yours, baby.” you chuckled, “at least you’re aware.”

seunghyun smirked, vibrations from his laugh tickling your cheek. “of course i am.” he affirmed. “c'mere.” he kissed you sweetly. you reconnected your lips with intent, hand slipping into his hair, keeping him close to you. seunghyun gradually broke the kiss, lips doting on your forehead before returning to your gaze. “i love you so much.” “i love you, too.” you were quick to respond. your knuckles softly grazed down his cheek, pad of your thumb gently pushing against his chin, making his lips bunch together briefly. a low chuckle rang from his chest, making you laugh sweetly, too. suddenly, your mind worked in flashes, reminding you of what may lay ahead. some call it anxiety, others call it being prepared. you would say it was being realistic, whereas seunghyun took it as a sign. “something’s on your mind.” he clocked it immediately. “you have that look in your eye.” your eyebrows furrowed, buying yourself time. “what look do i have?” “the same one you had when i told you i wanna skip the open.” he said, “and when i wanted another guinness on new year’s.” you tsked, amused by the memory. “you don’t tend to hold your alcohol well.” he smiled, “probably would’ve maxed out my credit card buying pints for everyone on the block.”

comfortable silence brewed. you held his face in your hands. he could practically see the thoughts swirling around in that head of yours. his lips doted on your palm, moving to your inner wrist. “tell me, baby. i’m here.” the pasta could wait: “what if you end up playing jiyong, hm?” seunghyun’s face dropped somewhat. “you got close at wimbledon.” seunghyun nodded, though didn’t provide a direct answer to your question, “i know.” you didn’t prolong his chance to avoid it, your eyes spelling out something different: be honest with me. it took seunghyun a moment, but he licked his lips, nodding. “i’d beat him.” “okay.” you said. you leaned in closer, honing in: “but what would you do?” he knew exactly what you were asking: his personal reaction; any individual vendettas that could come out the moment he hears of his opponent. you weren’t looking for the correct answer per sé, but more-so where seunghyun’s head was at. like always, he read your mind: “i’d keep my shit straight.” not a fraction, let alone an iota of hesitation was present in his tone. “i’ve been working too hard to let something petty fuck it up.” you were surprised by his word choice, though you didn’t show it on your face: he thinks what went down that night is petty now? your inner monologue voiced. or is this the man in mourning i’m speaking to?

you didn’t give it much thought, knowing seunghyun needed your assurance. “okay.” you nodded, tone soft. “i trust you.” he kissed you, tilting his head to the left upon the re-connect, deepening it with intention. you breathed him in through your nostrils, a subtle yet brief squeak erupting between your mouths. “when we get back from beijing,” seunghyun said against your lips, “we’re getting married.” your chuckle made chills run down his spine, “don’t surprise me with a connecting flight to vegas.” jiyong, on the other hand, was in the passenger’s seat of his father’s car. he had offered to take him to practice that day, spending the thirty minute commute in either amicable quiet, muttering something about a song on the radio, or what his coach was planning.

it was reflective of his childhood, though now there was a new air of respect with his acclaimed status as a decorated professional athlete. there were rarely any comparisons made—twelve year old jiyong fighting for his dignity at the academy would never believe him at twenty-four—but with prestige, comes minimal sugar-coating. his father gradually applied less pressure on the pedal, stopping at the yellow-turned-red traffic light. a feeling stirred in his gut, “i think you’re going to play against seunghyun in new york.” jiyong looked out the window, not wanting to give the possibility power. let alone admit that he’s contemplated it, too, “what makes you say that?” “you two have avoided each other long enough.” his father said. he pulled into the training center, unlocking the car doors as jiyong unbuckled his belt. “it's a matter of time before you’re forced to face each other.”

the tournament was cutthroat. 48 of the country’s best tennis players—24 men and 24 women—fighting to the brink for the next two weeks. the first week was to weed half of them out, the second for determining who had the chance to play for a medal the following month. a competing nation can send no more than twelve qualified athletes (six men, six women) to compete across the olympic tennis events. in other words: you lose, you’re out. it was easy money for seunghyun that first week. he built a routine for himself after overcoming the jet lag: get up, go on a morning run in central park, return to your hotel suite for a shower before ordering breakfast; or on mornings where his pheromones dripped off him (it's been reported high intensity workouts can increase libidos, and you can attest to that with being his girlfriend) he claps those cheeks like the goddess you are or makes the bed creak as his hips rut into yours, all whilst your omelettes and fruit platters are being prepared in the kitchen, finishing your shared shower just in time to open the door for room service, kissing you sweetly before heading to the national tennis center to do his warm-up drills, looking to you in the stands in every in-between moment during his match; you sat next to his parents, nodding to one another in your unspoken language only discernible by either of you, sending his opponents’ sorry ass home, setting his mind and pumping adrenaline right in the sauna every other day afterward, lulling you both to sleep with either your fingers carding through his hair or his tongue lapping your clit, repeat. he survived that first week with flying colors, spending the weekend regulating his nervous system with you and his family.

jiyong had a great week, too. his parents stayed with him in the penthouse suite he rented for those two weeks in manhattan, ending his days with a hasty throw of his duffel onto the couch after letting his bodyguard off for the night, starting his mornings at six am sharp, heading to the gym after having a protein shake. he didn’t give his opponents a fighting chance. jiyong didn’t go many post-game interviews either, thinking it would jinx his chances of getting a spot on the olympic team, often booking it to the locker room after hitting the winning shot. to his astonishment, he didn’t physically see seunghyun the entire week. though he saw his name on rosters whilst speaking with his coach regarding changing certain plays with certain players—but jiyong kept his focus in the right place, at least to him.

he saw you, however—sat in the stands after seunghyun won his match in the middle of the intensive first week, speaking with his seunghyun’s mother whilst the court was swept and prepped for jiyong’s match. you didn’t see him, getting up and leaving the player’s box soon afterward, but jiyong eyes stayed on you the whole way through. he hated the fact he knew you were going home to seunghyun—but none more than the realization that it still pestered him to this day. sure, one could argue everyone has the one thing that never sits right with them no matter how much time passes. but jiyong felt straight-up childish. so much in his life had changed these last two years . . . why was his mind trying to convince him it could all be thrown away at the mere sight of you? he kissed his teeth, running his hand over his face, re-centering himself before picking up his racket, proceeding with his warm-ups.

at the start of week two, a showdown between jiyong and seunghyun felt it was coming to fruition. it was especially pertinent after seunghyun won his match on monday. he saw the look on your face when joining you in bed tuesday night—the evening before his match that would really solidify the line up. he read your mind: “i know, baby.” he spoke lowly. he got underneath the fluffy duvet with you, kissing your forehead tenderly. you let out a long exhale, feeling his hand make residence on your lower back. his palm soothed you, his lips finding your forehead once more, “everything’ll be okay.” “i just worry about you, seunghyun.” you said candidly. he hummed in acknowledgement. “you’ve put so much into this.” “we’ve put a lot into this.” he subtly corrected. “i won’t be the one to fuck it up for the both of us. you get me?” “i do.” “good.” he pressed doting kisses to your cheek and neck, “get some rest f'me. i need all of you tomorrow.” “c'mere.” you beckoned gently, fingers pulling at his bare shoulder. “need to hold you, baby.” seunghyun didn’t hesitate, laying between your legs wordlessly, resting his temple on your chest. light snores followed after your fingers began combing through his hair. you fell asleep relatively quickly as well, head comfortable on the pillow.

jiyong, however, didn’t want to hear it. he could smell it from across the table at dinner—either of his parents giving him a knowing look similar to yours. ironically enough, he said the same thing seunghyun did, just with different tonality. “i know what you’re thinking.” jiyong said curtly without looking up, cutting into his steak. “i know you wanna say i told you so. go ahead.” “it's not about who’s right and who’s wrong, jiyong.” his mother tried to ease the tension. “we just—we just miss you two. being together.” “i know you do,” jiyong said, taking a sip of his water. “even if you don’t say it, i see it on your face everyday.” “can you blame us?” his father interjected. “two years and we still don’t know why you and him parted ways. what could’ve been so bad that even his parents won’t tell us clearly?” jiyong let his father’s words hang in the air, stubborn. “was it really because of—because of some girl? that you threw a lifetime of friendship away?” jiyong put his utensils down, taking a deep breath. “it's more complicated than that.” “you’ve made all this money,” his father gestured around the luxurious restaurant, “yet you still can’t afford some common sense?” jiyong’s head shot up, looking at his father sharply. “will anything be enough for you?” his mother jumped in, extinguishing the fire: “thats enough.” both backed down, though his father wanted the last word. “you’ll see.” he muttered. jiyong’s knuckles turned white from how hard he was gripping his fork. “sooner or later, you’ll wake up.”

seunghyun won his match wednesday morning, cementing a place in his final match come friday. with how names were drawn and the order of matches were decided, seunghyun’s match was going to be for the final spot on the olympic team. you two rushed back to the hotel, keen on watching the afternoon match on television—the winner to be seunghyun’s opponent. fate would have it: seunghyun was stoic after jiyong made his winning shot, his arm stiffening around your shoulders. he was taken out of his head in the feeling your temple resting against his shoulder, a long exhale deflating your chest. neither of you spoke. he grabbed your hand, letting his kisses to the back of it speak for him. you responded by sitting up, bringing his lips to yours. “i love you.” he whispered. he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your neck before wrapping his arms around your waist. you accepted his embrace, “i know you do.” your arms found him, palm rubbing tenderly up and down his back before settling on the back of his head. seunghyun’s grip around you tightened, burrowing his face into your neck protectively. “i love you too.” you spoke softly, hearing and feeling his vulnerable huff.

thursday was as normal as seunghyun could make it. in an effort to not completely obliterate his nervous system, he treated it like any other day. the humidity wasn’t so bad that morning, making his run in central park a breeze. after washing up, he made the sweetest of love to you: fingers intertwined over your head, hips rutting into yours poetically. you took up as much space as you wanted, spreading your legs as far as your body could handle so early in the morning, sprawled out in a way that made renaissance painters envious. seunghyun was a mess in your ear, somewhere between panting and whimpering. “f-feel so fucking good—g-goddamn.” his voice quivered, bed creaking underneath his knees. “you gonna—” you cut yourself off, suddenly feeling how dry your throat was. you swallowed quickly, “you gonna cum for me?” “y-yes!” he mewled, toes curling into the air, his hands gripping yours tighter. he didn’t halt his thrusts, “c-can i? can i cum, baby? pl—please—mmph!—please le—lemme cum.” “let go of my hands.” “wh—what? o-okay.” seunghyun halted his thrusts, letting go of your hands, swiftly sucking in a breath, pulling out temporarily. you turned onto your stomach, turning your pillow vertically to rest on it comfortably, spreading your knees as far as you could.

seunghyun got the message, knees dipping into the bed, closer to you. his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, palms kneading both large cheeks of your ass, watching the right recoil after a characteristic smack. you re-adjusted how you laid, inadvertently deepening the arch in your back. seunghyun separated your puffy lips with his condom-wrapped tip, gradually pushing back in. you gasped, expression sinful: “fuck!” your mouth was agape. “thats so fucking d-deep!” you gasped again, mind stirring the more his cock was inside of you. “you’re so fucking d-deep—oh my god. y-yes—” you praised, voice falling meekly, overwhelmed with how whorish you suddenly felt. seunghyun wasn’t any better. his eyes were glossy, unable to look away from your ass, or his dick disappearing into heaven. “sh—shit. . .” his voice shook, swallowing harshly. “s-shit, baby. y-you’re so fucking hot. i—i can’t take it.” he looked like he was about to cry, but didn’t stop himself. you felt so fucking good. “i can’t handle you, baby.” he whimpered, letting out a small cry, bottoming out. his voice cracked, throwing his head back, “oh my god!” “i n-need you to give it to me,” you said, breathing heavily. you looked over your shoulder, catching him in your periphery, “i need you to give it to me like the good boy i know you are, s-seunghyunnie.”

the clapping was heard from the elevator—clear as day to your hotel neighbors, who hated either of your guts. your arms wrapped around your pillow for dear life. your boyfriend listened to you diligently, as he always did, pummeling you from behind. he rendered himself mute, eyebrows stuck in a perpetual furrow with his jaw hung open, eyes glued to your globes recoiling lewdly against his pelvis, hands firm on your waist. seunghyun alternated between grabbing your ass or lush waist to propel his thrusts, nearly thrown off track when you reached behind you to grab his wrist, egging him on. your constant moans and lewd cries of pleasure didn’t help the illustrious horny haze enveloping his brain; contracting his muscles to go faster, making you stuff your face into your pillow. he whined aloud pathetically, “am i d-doing good? am i—f-fuck! ngh! a-argh!—am i g-giving it to you like a good boy?” his athletic strength was no joke, humbling you after all this time. it was delectable: feeling your thighs jiggle with every thrust, ass clapped so good seunghyun finally figured out why it's been looking even better than usual these days. you lifted your head, trying your best to maintain your balance. “you’re g-gonna make me a mess,” your voice shook. “you’re gonna make a mess of me, seunghyunnie.” you drew out your syllables, biting your bottom lip, moaning every time your body was launched an inch back-and-forth with his thrusts. “i-i’m gonna cum!” he exclaimed. “p-please—lemme cum. i’m so c-close—” “keep going. m'c-close t-t-too—oh fuck!”

seunghyun sat in the sauna in peaceful silence. another arduous day of training in the books, capping it off with relaxing his back against the wall; head and periphery covered with a towel, eyes closed, taking his breaths in and out: entering his routine meditative state. hearing the door open, he adjusted the towel around his waist. seunghyun thought the heat went to his head: it was jiyong. he nearly backed out, though seunghyun spoke too soon: “all the other ones are full.” he said. “i’m all you got.” jiyong clenched his jaw, taking the loss. he stepped inside wordlessly, making sure his towel was secure around his waist, taking a seat on the other side of the room. his eyes were avoidant, steady on the wooden floor tiles. “could you—” jiyong cleared his throat. “could you pour water on the rocks.” his voice was so monotone no question mark was detected in his inflection, “it's not hot enough in here.” seunghyun purposefully let his words hang in the air, a darkly humorous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “not hot enough for you?” he saw jiyong’s eyes flicker, but not meet his. “what? you made some money and now you think you’re too good to do it yourself?” jiyong kissed his teeth, getting up. he grabbed the ladle, looking into seunghyun’s eyes for the first time in two years: “do you mind?” jiyong asked the rhetorical question with a bite of unabashed attitude. seunghyun didn’t say a word, laying his head back, closing his eyes. he heard the rocks steam and jiyong’s bare feet patter.

in the awkward silence, seunghyun couldn’t help himself: “congrats on becoming an olympic trials finalist.” he said, a shit-eating grin stretching his lips at his own joke. he opened his eyes, straightening his posture to look at jiyong whom still wasn’t looking at him. “or did some bushy-tailed reporter tell you that already?” jiyong didn’t say anything. “too good to talk too, huh?” seunghyun took the towel off his head, using it to gently dab his perspiring forehead and temples. “we’ve been here a week and have barely said two words to each other, ji.” “don’t call me that.” seunghyun raised his eyebrows, “what? your name?” “ji.” jiyong corrected sharply. “you don’t get to call me that.” seunghyun was dismissive, “you’re being dramatic.” it was jiyong’s turn to raise his eyebrows in disbelief, “am i really?” “no, yeah. really.” seunghyun nodded. “why’re you still so angry with me? i won’t buy it if you said its 'cause of,” the mention of your name made jiyong’s skin crawl. “or what happened with her. its been two years. i think you’re just disturbed by the fact that she could’ve been—i mean, is—into someone like me.” seunghyun didn’t know why he came out swinging. he knew it was partly from the frustration he’s felt from their severed friendship and no-contact over the years—tipped off by jiyong’s disregard for any iota of professionalism in oregon. he didn’t want to inadvertently say i got her and you didn’t. get over it, but it seemed his notorious wielding of his ego took the words out of his mouth. the passage of time can sour any relationship, but it seemed these layers were impenetrable—but not if seunghyun had anything to say about it, however. if anything, their dick-swinging contest is perpetual. a cycle. a constant.

though he tried to forget seunghyun these past two years, jiyong’s familiarity with his antics deepened the annoyed furrow of his eyebrows. jiyong attempted to deflect, “i left that shit in college.” seunghyun didn’t give him a chance, “with how you looked at me when you walked in here, i’d think a day hadn’t gone by.” they stared at each other—the moment pregnant with tension. jiyong was the first to give in, nodding before laying his back against the wall; skin glowing, “you’re right. i did find it disturbing.” “there’s no need.” seunghyun shook his head. “it's two years behind you. both of our lives have changed. especially yours, ji.” he ignored the annoyed grimace on jiyong’s face. “anyway,” seunghyun cleared his throat. “that shouldn’t be what i’m for. not after this long.” jiyong looked up at him sharply, “what are you for then, seunghyun?” it felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with skin for jiyong to say his former best friend’s name, but none-more than for seunghyun to hear jiyong say it. in pure brotherly fashion seunghyun deflected, too: “honestly?” he began. “i thought you’d be happy i was in the draw.” he brought the conversation back to tennis. “i mean . . . you’ve always wanted to beat me in a tournament, right? since we were kids.”

jiyong didn’t look away. he was in awe of his seunghyun’s sheer audacity, “and a few weeks before the olympics? that’s the perfect confidence booster.” the tension thickened to the point of it being humorous, tugging at the corners of jiyong’s mouth like a poorly-written joke. he tried to bare his grit, speaking in a sing-song tone: “i know what you’re trying to do right now.” seunghyun dismissed him like the master he is. the master he’s always been: “i’m not trying to do anything, ji.” he chuckled. “you’re a grand slam champion. you have a fucking bodyguard. this is nothing to you. i don’t need to play mind games with you.” “right,” jiyong affirmed, getting some of his lick back. “you don’t give a shit.” seunghyun backtracked, albeit minutely. “i didn’t say that.” a beat went by before jiyong spoke, “we both know you have considerably more at stake here than i do.” seunghyun looked up at the ceiling in faux-thought, condescending smile making jiyong’s blood curdle, “i do?” jiyong looked at seunghyun for a long beat, letting out a hearty laugh, “holy shit.” he couldn’t believe it. seunghyun wasn’t sure where this was going, but he laughed along aimlessly. “fuck,” jiyong shook his head in disbelief. “where do you get your swagger, man? i mean, you try to swing your dick in my face like i’m supposed to be afraid of it, but . . . do you realize how embarrassing it is that you’re here right now?”

“not as embarrassing as you being here.” seunghyun tried to bite back. “you’re above something as tv as the olympics.” jiyong didn’t waste time allowing himself to be spun in circles, nipping this right in the bud: “i’m just stopping by, man. this is where you live.” seunghyun stalled himself. his smile gradually fell, gaze diverting to the water-soaked rocks in front of him. jiyong’s gaze was unwavering, eyes piercing into seunghyun’s soul: “always so close to being a runner-up. but far enough to be put in your place.” he said. he watched seunghyun’s jaw tighten, his grin sharpening in return, “i always tried to figure out what happened to you. but, you know, the more i’ve thought about it, the more i realize . . .  it's what didn’t happen. you never grew up. your old habits die so fucking hard you coughed yourself out of the french open. you say i’m still caught up in what went down with,” he said your name, hoping he wouldn’t be caught in his minute lie, “yet you’re the one who brought her up the first chance you had. you wanna tell me because of the look on my face it feels like we’re not a day out of stanford? i look at you and i see you’re still playing in the sandbox. being so cowardly fucking territorial, yet wondering why no one wants to come play with you.”

seunghyun turned his head, starting to speak, but jiyong cut him off: “you still think you can talk to me like i’m your peer because we came from the same place.” jiyong shook his head dismissively, “but it's not about where you come from in tennis, seunghyun. it only matters if you win.” seunghyun’s gaze darkened, though his expression was hurt. pitiful, even. jiyong was unrelenting: “and i do. a lot.” seunghyun had one last tool in his arsenal, “you’ve never beaten me.” it's true: in the games they’ve played either in practice, at the academy, or leading to stanford, jiyong has never outright won. he laughed it off, however: “so what? like you said, things have changed for me.” he said. “this is a game about winning the points that matter, anyway.” a long beat filled the room. a strange weight pressed into seunghyun’s chest, blinking rapidly to deter the uneasy feeling of shame and embarrassment stirring between his temples. when he did open his mouth, it would take a fool for his subdued tone to go unnoticed: “i don’t matter?” jiyong stared right back at him, “not even to the most obsessive tennis fan in the entire world.”

“i’m not talking about tennis, jiyong—” he didn’t let seunghyun’s uncharacteristic use of his full name stop him, “what the fuck else do i have to talk to you about?” there was another long, tense beat between them. seunghyun broke the tension for himself, a grin tugging at his mouth. he gradually stood to his feet, adjusting the way his towel wrapped around his waist, “i promised myself i’d wish you luck if i saw you.” jiyong looked away, his stare blanking. he slowly shook his head, trying to work his way out of this riddle, “that makes no sense.” “i wanted to say that i’m looking forward to it,” though seunghyun’s words held edge, his tone was melancholic. “and i miss playing with you.” jiyong looked at him, “oh yeah?” seunghyun nodded. jiyong’s expression soured slightly, manifesting in his pitiful frown, “i don’t miss playing with you. i’m too old for it.” jiyong watched seunghyun leave the sauna, turning away at the sound of the door slamming. after a moment, jiyong got up, walking over to the other side of the room. he poured water onto the rocks, sitting in silence, stirring in his complicated frustration.

you entered the bedroom of your hotel suite, keen on calling it a night after finishing the dishes from dinner. you undressed, overhearing the running tap whilst seunghyun brushed his teeth in the en suite, putting on shorts and spare french open t-shirt you wore to sleep. seunghyun turned the tap off after rinsing the toothpaste from his mouth, suddenly alone with his thoughts, and mirror view of a lump the shape of a small, velvet box protruding out of the left pocket of his pajama pants. he snuck it onto his person whilst you finished in the kitchen, fishing it out of a well-hidden and cushioned pocket in his luggage. it resembled a prospect you two have discussed at length and were agreeable on, knowing he was just waiting for the right time to ask. blessings from either of your parents were in order, and both of you were on the same page . . . not that the likelihood depended on whether he won tomorrow, but it would be ideal, right? the cherry on top, so to say. or maybe seeing jiyong at the sauna put a level of spite in him, though he knew it was in his bones to marry you, and you him. seunghyun turned his head, seeing you sat on the edge of the made bed, back turned to him as you did your routine applying of body cream on areas that tended to dry out at the end of a long day: your knees, elbows, wrists and hands. he walked to the threshold of the bathroom, stopping and looking at you for a long beat.

“tell me it doesn’t matter.” he voiced. you massaged the body cream into your hands, taking your time, back facing him. “tell you what doesn’t matter?” “if i win tomorrow.” that made you glance at him over your shoulder, but the direction of your body remained intact. “where’s this coming from? its a different tune than in london.” it didn’t take much for seunghyun to come clean, “i saw . . . i saw him today.” “you can say jiyong’s name.” you said. “he’s not an ancient curse. you shouldn’t be giving him power like that, anyway.” seunghyun nodded, listening to you diligently. he crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the threshold in thought, “i saw jiyong at the sauna today.” “how was he?” “different.” answered seunghyun. “in a good way. more grown. finally got a haircut that suits him.” “you’re all those things, too, y’know.” you said, screwing the cap securely onto your moisturizer, returning it to your nightside table. you adjusted how you sat on the bed, looking at seunghyun comfortably. “you’re not the same person you were two years ago, either. and i like your hair shorter, too. i can see your face better.” you grinned at the sound of his sheepish chuckle. “did you talk to him?” seunghyun nodded, “i did, yeah.” “what’d you say?” “our conversation was . . . messy.” he was truthful, though the returned feeling of shame begged him to say more, “disjointed.” he added. “i wished him luck for tomorrow. he said that didn’t make any sense.” his words lingered in the air, punctuated by your brutal honesty: “it doesn’t.”

you didn’t say anything more. his gaze narrowed in on you, “tell me it doesn’t matter if i win tomorrow.” you stared at him, “no.” you took a breath. “you tell me if it matters, seunghyun. you’re the professional competitor.” he didn’t say anything. “it can’t be about avoiding my judgement. not when you’ve made it this far. not when you’re this close.” you shook your head. “i’m not a nun. i’m not your mommy.” seunghyun pushed his back against the threshold with a huff, bringing his arms to his sides. he peered down at his left hand, playing it off as he picked something out of the nail of his ring finger, “i’m just asking that you love me no matter what.” you let out a small laugh of disbelief, “who am i? jesus?” “yeah.” he affirmed, completely and unequivocally. this halted you in your tracks. you turned to face him entirely, legs and hands resting comfortably atop the duvet. “you’ll beat him.” you said. “you will beat jiyong.” seunghyun lifted his head, meeting your eyes. “what if i don’t? how are you gonna look at me?” “just like this.” you told him, holding his gaze. seunghyun took a long breath, deflating his chest with a much-needed exhale.

he approached the bed, crawling to you as the duvet softly crunched underneath the weight of his elbows, hand reaching for yours, eyes capacious with an insatiable desire for validation only the love of his life could provide. “we’re doing this together. we’ve always been doing this together.” he said, looking up at you. “i’m playing for the both of us. i know that.” “i’m the only reason you’re here.” you told him. “nothing else.” his head sunk to his wrists, so overcome by relief, succumbed to his devotion to you, you heard his muffled sniffle. your free hand reached over, tracing down the nape of his neck, gently sneaking past his shirt’s neckline, touch soothing between his shoulder blades. you sat in silence for a few moments, co-existing tenderly. “i’m serious. does that help you?” you whispered, fingers filing through his hair. seunghyun lifted his head, naturally moving your palm to mold against his cheek. he turned to his left, pressing a kiss to your palm, descending to your inner wrist, feeling your thumb dotingly trace his cheekbone. seunghyun lifted himself up, pressing a kiss onto your exposed arm before planting one of your clothed shoulder. he found your neck before taking your lips for himself. “i’m coming to you.” he whispered, swiftly scooting to your side of the bed.

seunghyun stood in front of you, leaning down, returning his lips to yours. his fingers wrapped loosely around your ankles, gesturing for you to bring your feet forward. you thought he was going to pen his routine letter of thanks, spreading your legs enough to allot ample standing room for him between your knees. his kisses were slow and steady—romantic, just the way you liked them. your hands reached up to hold either side of his face, silently pleading for him to deepen the kiss. he obliged, tilting his head to the left. in the midst of your satisfied huff, breath brushing against his pores, you didn’t notice he got down on one knee. or when he muttered something against your lips, caught up in how good it felt. “baby,” his voice was low, dripping over your ears like honey. he accepted the kiss as it came, palms dotingly tracing your thick thighs up and down. “i need to . . . i need to ask you something.” “hm?” you broke the kiss, either of you opening your eyes. “what is it, baby?” you murmured. you glanced down, realizing he was eye-level and on the floor. wait—he’s on the floor, your inner monologue was stunned, and on one fucking—"oh my god.“ was all you could say in you realization of what was happening. you looked at him, floored. "i . . . i—”

he swallowed, his eyes glossy. “i am person because of you.” he said sincerely. “you’ve made it so i can’t exist without you. i—” he briefly tightened his mouth, feeling his bottom lip tremble. “i walked this earth aimlessly. i thought i knew fuckin’ everything—that i was hot shit.” he dismissed his past self with an abrupt wave. his vision blurred, feeling a hot tear trail down his cheek. your sinuses loosened, holding his face as he cried. “but holy fucking shit, baby. i was clueless. i didn’t have any sense of direction until i met you.” he sniffled. “you don’t tolerate me,” he shook his head, looking into your eyes. “you love me.” your eyes closed, succumbing to your tears, pressing your forehead against his. “i do.” you affirmed in a whisper. “i love you.” “i love you so fucking much.” his voice trembled. he shook his head, forehead rubbing against yours, “no one moves this earth like you do. they could only be so lucky. i don’t know what i did in a past life to earn you in this one. i must have ended a war or some shit.” you chuckled meekly at that, sucking in a weak breath, sniffling. he leaned back an inch or so, looking into your eyes. you wiped your cheeks, pads of your fingertips wiping his stray tears. “but i’ll be fucking damned if i don’t show you how grateful i am, baby. for the rest of our lives. 'till death do us part.” “oh my god.” your heart couldn’t take it, sinking your face into your palms to steady your mind and chest.

seunghyun let himself breath, too. co-existing beautifully with his soon-to-be wife, palms tenderly rubbing up and down the sides of your thighs. “baby,” he called gently. “lemme see those eyes. i miss you.” you put your hands down, returning your gaze to his. “ask me, seunghyun.” you told him softly. “i’ve waited long enough.” he reached into his left pocket, pulling out the small black velvet box. upon seeing the ring, you hid your face again, hot tears falling. “it's so beautiful.” you sniffled. “you know me—” your voice quivered, “you know me so well.” it wasn’t cartoonishly big nor modestly small, but just the right size that complemented your divine beauty; cementing your souls together. seunghyun frowned, heart doubling over as he actively tried to thwart crying again, feeling his bottom lip shake. “look at me when i ask you, baby.” he coaxed softly. you did—cheeks wet and eyes glossy. “go ahead. i’m ready.” he held the ring up to you in its box, the diamond glimmering underneath the warm-toned suite ceiling lights. “can i—will you—” he cleared his throat, wanting to ensure his voice was stable. “will you marry me?” “yes,” you answered, nodding. “of course i fucking will. hand it over.”

a grand, stupidly happy smile graced his face. he took the ring out, placing the box next to your body cream. in his rush of emotion, he forgot something crucial: “i don’t remember which—i don’t remember which hand it goes on.” he sniffled. you let out a chuckle, understanding where his head was at. “t-the left, i think.” you nodded encouragingly. the ring fit somewhat loosely, but not enough to warrant worry about losing it. “we can—” he cleared his throat again, sniffling, overcome with joy. “we can get it adjusted when we’re back home.” “c'mere.” you beckoned, bringing his lips to yours. you pulled him into bed with you, feeling his hands ride up your hips and waist before settling in between your legs, kissing you as if you were a life source. “we’re getting married.” you murmured, giggling into the kiss as he smiled. “i get to be your husband.” he said, hearing you hum in response, feeling your hands ride up and down his back. he reconnected the kiss, slowing the speed in which your lips separated. “how cool is that?” “you’re the luckiest man on earth.” your hand held the nape of his neck. seunghyun let out a satisfied huff, feeling the cooling chill of the ring against his warming skin. he didn’t hesitate to affirm, “abso-fucking-lutely i am.”

you gradually broke the kiss. your fiancé doted on your soft jawline and neck, allowing you to get a good look at your engagement ring. “you picked well.” you told him. “yeah?” he murmured, the vibrations of his voice against you making your eyes nearly flutter closed. “mhm,” you hummed. “when did you get it?” “i was eyeing it for a few months. i was stuck choosing between, like, four. the jeweler had the same taste as you, coincidentally enough.” his lips pressed a kiss to your temple. “she helped me pick this one. remember when you had that last minute work conference? like, two days before we flew here?” “you’re kidding. that’s when you bought it?” “mhm. i took it as a sign and got my ass right on the tube.” he smiled, heart warming at your bright laughter. he nestled his head into your chest, eyes fluttering closed when your fingers combed his hair back, “and here we are now. i’m glad you like it.” “i love it.” you corrected, feeling him hum. comfortable silence brewed. “here we are now.” you affirmed like him, tone soft. “our parents are gonna have a field day when they see this tomorrow.” he couldn’t help his hearty laughter, “they will—oh my god. entire facebook albums dedicated to it.” “immediate wedding planning before you even get on the court.” you riffed, laughing harder as he did, too.

seunghyun left his wired headphones at home for his run the next morning. you woke to his arms wrapping around you in bed, skin cold from his shower, nuzzling into you once you turned around to face him. your engagement ring was safely tucked away in its velvet box, ready to shine in the sunlight during his match today. “morning.” you mumbled, eyes closed whilst your senses cleared from lingering sleep. “how was your run?” “good morning, baby.” he kissed your clothed shoulder. “it was normal. how’d you sleep? good?” you hummed weakly in response, his chuckle tickling your neck. “m'not gonna tear your shit up today.” he said, seeing you grin. you gradually opened your eyes, rubbing out the last remnants of sleep. “just wanna hold you.” “fine by me.” seunghyun moved higher on his pillow, welcoming you into his embrace. you were secure against his chest, soothed by his palm tenderly rubbing your back. “how long until you go for warm-ups?” you muttered. “about two hours, give or take.” he nestled his chin atop your head, feeling and hearing you hum in response. “do you think you’d be able to come with me? i just . . . really need you there,” he paused, “today.” “of course.” you answered sincerely. “it's just another day, seunghyun. treat it as such.” “i know,” he spoke lowly. he kissed the top of your head, lips staying there. “i’m trying.”

seunghyun kissed you firmly after finishing his warm-ups, left to his own devices in the men’s locker room whilst you went to the stands to meet with his family. jiyong arrived on the court before his opponent did, waving to his family in the player’s box. he spotted you not long after, in deep conversation with seunghyun’s mother, showing her something on your hand, but he couldn’t make out what it was. not that i care, his inner monologue voiced. he adjusted the way his nike cap rested on his head, beckoned over by his coaches to his side of the court. seunghyun stepped out roughly ten minutes before the match was set to begin. he approached the designated bench on his side of the court, setting his duffel bag down. he unzipped it, pulling out his racket and setting it aside. he looked up, searching for the player’s box. he offered a friendly wave to jiyong’s family, blowing a kiss when he saw you sat with his.

to jiyong’s detriment, as he got into position, he couldn’t divert his gaze. he twirled his racket in his hand, freezing when he realized what was on your hand. he watched you wave to your fiancé gleefully, a grand smile shining under the sun. your eyes were hidden behind your sunglasses, but he could just feel the spark—happiness pulsating, potently reeking off you. jiyong thought he understood what it meant to feel bitter, but it was as if his body succumbed to it. he was known for striding onto the court with nothing but tunnel vision leading the way. he’s known the game seunghyun has played their entire lives. he let out a long exhale, centering his balance—nothing mattering to him but winning.

the first of their five sets went to jiyong. either played relatively calmly, almost as if they disassociated from their history—hell bent on just getting through this game. both showcased the reason why they made it this far in their careers: jiyong’s muscles lending unwavering power into his dependable backhand swing; seunghyun’s height and quick reaction time never missing a beat, sending that ball back with pointed sharpness. to you, sat in the stands, it felt a little too safe. at the start of the second set, however, you got your answer why: avoidance. these two could evade reality for only so long. to face one another so viscerally and so suddenly, it could only manifest in seunghyun sending his first serve into the net. he wasn’t any better in the reset—thwwaacckk!—the ball went wide, landing out of bounds, nearly handing jiyong the second set. seunghyun’s parents adjusted their postures anxiously, watching you in their periphery. your face sunk to your palms. you tried to ignore the gasps rumbling throughout the court at his double fault, pinching the bridge of your nose in muted frustration, “get it the fuck together.” you muttered; addressing both yourself but more importantly him. you took a long exhale, straightening your back into your seat, re-centering your focus.

seunghyun looked to you, seeing your stoic expression. he cleared his throat, bouncing the ball before going into his service motion—thwwwaaaccckkk! the game resumed, but not for long. seunghyun rushed to the net quicker than he should have, landing his hit out of bounds again. he saw jiyong’s shoulders relax in real time, comfortable in the knowledge he was basically halfway to winning the match. seunghyun didn’t dare look at you, though he could feel your tut of disapproval. the umpire announced a break before the next set in which jiyong and seunghyun would switch sides, setting the clock to a countdown of ten minutes. seunghyun made way to his bench, sitting down before peeling off his sweaty polo. he let his melanin breath in the sunlight, shoulders relaxing as the universe gifted him a generous gust of wind.

jiyong used the wind to dry his hair, leaving his nike cap behind to let his dark follicles air out. he wiped his face with a towel, having water before downing an energy gel. as the time ticked, the umpire felt someone’s eyes on him. he looked to the stands: it was you; eyes narrowed in the sunlight, sunglasses resting on your head. you turned and looked at your fiancé, who was already looking at you. though there was ample distance, you felt the weight of his eyes, wordlessly asking for any semblance of its going to be okay. you gave it to him: you tapped your finger on your temple as if to say you got this. seunghyun nodded, straightening his posture, letting his face soak the warmth of the sun in, calming his heartbeat. you put your sunglasses back on, hearing the umpire call time. seunghyun put a new polo on before heading to his new side of the court. you caught the look on jiyong’s face: resentment.

seunghyun came back strong in the third set, clutching it securely. jiyong didn’t flinch, keeping his logic at bay. still plenty of chance i walk away with that spot, his inner monologue relayed like a mantra. he started the fourth set with his graceful service motion, both his and seunghyun’s movements echoing the junior us open when they were teenagers: seunghyun dictated, jiyong sprinted from corner to corner, both metronomes; working in tandem though their energies collided instantaneously. it was a recipe for a perfect storm when they used to play together, scaring the ego out just about anyone. now, it was fuel to the fire—each grunt a more visceral grab at power than before, each skid and slide of their shoes a vivid command of respective grit, each wipe of sweat off the forehead a trained target. you fell into a trance yourself, keeping your eyes on either, thinking. your head was the only one not swiveling to follow the ball. thwacckk! thwacccckkkk! seunghyun pumped his fist, looking to you after the umpire announced the fourth set went to him. you met his eyes, expression complicated—not comfortable celebrating victory just yet—sending him off with a curt nod of approval.

another break was called before the fifth and final set. jiyong and seunghyun crossed each other at the net, heading to their benches. jiyong settled with a huff. not one of defeat, but reflection. it was cosmic coincidence that this came down to a tie after everything he’s been through and with the person sat some feet away from him. he took off his custom-made nike top, wiping himself off with a towel. he pulled a fresh polo from his duffel, putting it on the bench next to him. he reached back down, trading his current racket for a fresh one, pulling the plastic off. he set it beside him, unzipping his backpack for his water bottle and packed banana, pacing himself through re-hydration.

he peeled the banana, intaking potassium in a cerebrally meditative state, elbows on his knees. his stare wasn’t vacant. it was the opposite: fruitful—disciplined. though he was one game away from losing, he wasn’t betting on it. he turned his head, seeing seunghyun finishing an energy gel. he watched him swirl it around in his mouth before definitively swallowing, his eyebrows and mouth molding into a muted grimace. he never liked those, jiyong remembered, i don’t know why he’s forcing it on himself. seunghyun downed water the first chance he got. he closed the cap of his reusable bottle, tossing it back into his duffel. he inhaled sharply through his nostrils, fingers wiping away thick beads of sweat from his temple. he turned his head, glancing at jiyong. his gaze remained steady, realizing he was already looking at him—exuding cocky ease. jiyong extended the banana as if to say want a bite? seunghyun’s expression didn’t falter from its unreadable state, but his eyes darkened with the unmistakable look of hatred. looking at me with the same cocky shit he did in the sauna, his inner monologue voiced, i gotta to decimate the fuck out of him.

seunghyun looked to the stands, seeing you getting back to your seat, having returned from a quick trip to the bathroom. you fixed your hair with your left hand after a gust of wind flew by—the diamond of your engagement ring glinting in his eyes from a distance. you felt your fiancé’s eyes on you, seeing him staring behind your polarized lenses. the stakes were getting to him; the tension reaching its peak. you waved, hoping it would alleviate the fumes radiating off him. you watched him exhale, slumping his posture with his elbows on his knees, contemplating. you thought quickly: setting your purse on your lap, pulling your blackberry out.

you looked at the ticking timer by the umpire’s chair, seeing five minutes were left. you typed a text, waving your phone in the air since his gaze was still on you. seunghyun understood, unzipping the side pocket of his duffel. you knew it worked when his head sunk, spotting his attempt at hiding his amused smile once he came into view again. You look so hot right now—unserious, disarming, but most importantly playful. he texted back on his blackberry, Youre hoterr—sweaty hands making way for typos. seunghyun was a little more at ease now, putting his phone back. you felt accomplished. by chance, you glanced to your right, seeing jiyong also looking at you. you thought it was mere coincidence, but as he put on his polo, his gaze remained steady. right then, seunghyun’s mother grabbed your attention for something, stealing looks back at your fiancé and jiyong.

jiyong and seunghyun stepped onto the court after the umpire called “time!” into the microphone. they looked at each other across the net. sets one through four were history—all that matters is what happens next. though it was jiyong’s turn to serve, either came out swinging. it was intense, neck-and-neck—enough to warrant your head swiveling, following the ball. they went back and forth in earning points, jiyong inching closer to the cusp of winning. seunghyun’s knuckles whitened around his racket’s grip, though he kept his cool. he took a deep breath, resetting—it was his turn to serve, anyway. he took the spare tennis ball out of the pocket of his shorts, bouncing it on the court. he looked up, staring at jiyong like two old-town rivals in an aged western. seunghyun brought his racket up, about to go into his service motion, but paused. he glanced at jiyong, crouched down, ready to the win the match. he looked to you in the stands, seeing your unreadable expression, though you were holding your breath. he looked back at jiyong, who was wondering why he was taking so long. seunghyun started his service motion again, but stopped abruptly. “time violation.” the umpire spoke into the microphone. “warning, choi.”

a brash breath separated his lips. seunghyun tightened his mouth, reaching up, using the back of his hand to wipe sweat off his forehead. this is all so fucked, his inner monologue complained. not even unfair. just fucked. jiyong saw a smile on seunghyun’s face. his eyebrows furrowed, confused: to this day he’s a fucking riddle. he sucked in a sharp breath when seunghyun unexpectedly looked up, meeting his eyes. his heart stuttered like an instinct: i know that face, he thought to himself. he just got an idea. his gaze followed seunghyun’s; the two of them looking to you in the stands. jiyong swiftly re-centered his attention, keen on heightening his reaction time for whatever was coming next. but if seunghyun knew how to do anything, it's humbling somebody. he went into his service motion again, but this time, he made sure jiyong saw him put the ball in the center of the racket, just like the day after jiyong’s first date with you. it served as a reminder—of everything lost; everything taken. thwwaacckk! jiyong was too shocked to even move for it. he just stood there, frozen. the ball landed in, giving the point to seunghyun. you looked back and forth between them, unsure what was going on. jiyong glanced at you and seunghyun before making it crystal clear: “fuck off.”

seunghyun smiled, chuckling when a wave of shocked gasps reverberated through the stands. “code violation.” the umpire said into the microphone, “audible obscenity. point penalty, kwon.” jiyong ignored the grumbles from spectators. seunghyun moved over for his next serve, seeing jiyong’s cold expression. jiyong just continued looking at his opponent bouncing the ball. the umpire covered the microphone with her hand, “jiyong?” he didn’t move: “he can serve.” “you need to get into position.” a pregnant beat went by. still looking at seunghyun, jiyong backed up to the other side of the service line, just standing there. the grumbles throughout the crowd were now confused. you looked at seunghyun, then to jiyong, then back at seunghyun—unsure of what the fuck was going on, assuring your future mother-in-law that you had no idea, either. jiyong remained just standing there, racket at his side. “serve.” he said with conviction. seunghyun followed his petulant order, hitting a soft-as-a-pillow underhand serve, like he was feeding jiyong the ball during practice. jiyong didn’t even move for it. he let the ball sail right by, not sparing a glance. he hated the way seunghyun was smiling at him.

the umpire tapped the microphone, “tie break. kwon to serve.” patches of scattered, confused applause peppered through the crowd. in a swift panic, you looked at jiyong, then to your fiancé—suddenly, it all clicked. your eyes went to the jumbotron, showing jiyong. it then switched to seunghyun. as they stood there, looking at each other wordlessly, they both thought the same thing: let’s really play now. jiyong received the ball for his serve. seunghyun readied himself for the return, getting into position. jiyong didn’t waste time going into his service motion—thwwaacckk!—sending the ball right at seunghyun’s head, like he was trying to decapitate him. seunghyun dodged it, returning the ball with matched power—thwwaacckk! they rallied: it's immediately clear to spectators and fans alike that they’re playing their best tennis in their careers—the best tennis in their lives, frankly. they traded blows: smacking and whacking the ball furiously—each hit more angrier, more vengeful than the last. though malice polluted the air—poignant in the sweat trickling down their backs and grunts deflating their lungs—your head swiveled back-and-forth; you’ve never seen seunghyun look so alive. you never imagined disdain could flex muscles and irritate the soles of shoes like it did jiyong’s. each hit released something, forming them into one, electrifying unit: like the good old days.

you subconsciously gritted your teeth, hands gripping the armrests, leaning forward in your seat; playing as jiyong, playing as seunghyun, playing as the ball itself—thwwaacck! thwwaacck! thwwwwaaaacccckkkk!!!! jiyong was on auto-pilot. he moved like a machine, hitting the ball like it was target practice; mind turned off, completely in a trance. seunghyun wasn’t trying to keep up, he was the pacemaker—swinging his racket hard enough to change weather patterns. though his ball came in hot, it hit the top of the net, slowing its trajectory. jiyong narrowly sprinted to the net, trying to prevent it from dropping shallowly onto his side. his foot slipped, but he caught himself, succeeding in his return. he swiftly ran backwards to where he was before. he shifted his body to make seunghyun’s fierce return, but once again, he was on autopilot. he went into his wind-up, stepping forward, not noticing seunghyun’s ball was coming off the court with just the tiniest bit of spin to it. jiyong tried to correct his stance mid-swing, but his legs went one way and upper body went the other, and he slipped again: his left knee contorted in a way that was completely unnatural.

SNAP—his knee popped out of place, sending his racket clanging and himself falling to the ground. the crowd gasped. you instinctually rose to your feet; petrified, hearing his mother howl in horror as her son screamed in pain. a medic was already by his side, trying to calm him down. jiyong writhed around, sobbing profusely, holding his knee for dear life. though he was in a state of shock, his subconscious begged whichever cosmic force sinisterly wrote his fate: “no no no no no no,” he cried, sweat mixing with his hot tears, a blubbering mess. “please. please. no no no no—” he cut himself off with a curdling yelp of indescribable pain as another medic turned him onto his back, reminding him to breathe. it all happened so quickly, but seunghyun’s face went cold. he dropped his racket, leaving any and all petty grievances behind. in milliseconds, it was as if nothing happened between them—all that mattered was making sure his best friend was okay. he leapt over the net without thinking, falling to his knees behind jiyong’s head: “ji? ji!? oh my god—what the fuck!?” he panicked. he tucked his hands underneath jiyong’s shoulders, lifting to prop his head on his knees. “look at me—oh my f-fucking god, look at me, ji. just breathe, okay? just breathe for me, man—oh my god.” his bottom lip quivered, looking at his best friend, completely helpless. “this wasn’t supposed to happen.” he shook his head, vision blurry. “this wasn’t supposed to fucking happen.”

jiyong stared at the ceiling of the hospital room, mute, completely drained of life. the painkillers have long since kicked in, but he can’t stomach looking at his knee. wrapped in what looked like yards of stretchable gauze, propped up by two fluffy pillows. he’s been there for hours, replaying the moment in his head in a torturous loop. he was numb, but felt everything at the same fucking time. he forfeited the game since he couldn’t continue playing, giving the last spot up to seunghyun, so what does this mean for his career? would he ever play again? what was he going to be known for now? how was he going to move forward? what did this all mean?

he didn’t have the energy nor the bandwidth to even consider thinking about the logistics or the after—but the look on his mother’s face, who was sat beside his bed, desired otherwise. his father stood outside the room, in intense conversation with his doctor, prolonging it long enough for his physiotherapist to arrive after being stuck in hellish new york traffic. his father peered inside, gesturing for his mother to come out. she looked to her son sympathetically, having no tears left to cry, “you’ll get back out there.” she said meekly. she got up, putting her purse on her seat. before she turned, a mother’s intuition kicked in. she picked up jiyong’s backpack, taking out his cell phone, setting it on his over-bed table next to his cup of chipped ice. she walked out without another word, closing the door behind her.

ten minutes later, his phone rang. he didn’t pick up, too lost in his mind. his eyes flickered downward when it rang a second time, though he didn’t budge. it was the third time that he hastily picked up: “what?” “jiyong?” his palpable frustration in the moment didn’t let him recognize your voice on the other side of the line, “what do you want? who is this?” “it's me,” the sound of you saying your name humbled him. “you still have my number?” he asked. “i wasn’t—i wasn’t sure if it would still work, but i wanted to try.” you explained. “i deleted yours.” he told you. “a long time ago.” there was a brief pause on your end, “that makes sense.” “why are you calling me?” “i wanted to see if you were doing okay after what happened.” “no, i’m not okay. why would i be okay?” you shook your head, “that was bad word choice.” you thought aloud. “i just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

silence. you expected jiyong to hang up, but he didn’t: “does he know you’re calling me?” “he does.” you turned around, looking past the kitchenette counter in your hotel suite, seeing seunghyun sitting with his face in his hands on the couch. “he’s . . . he's—” you ran your free hand over your face. “you were wheeled away so quickly. we didn't—we didn’t know what to do.” jiyong didn’t say anything. he heard you take a breath. you were sure this next part was for sure going to make him hang up. but you had to say it. you felt it wouldn’t be right if you didn’t: “i know a lot has happened in the last few years.” you spoke. jiyong’s chest tightened, “but we still care about you. i still care.” you crossed your arm over your chest, “that will never change. no matter how hard it gets.” jiyong’s mouth morphed into a frown. his eyes watered, unable to shake the feeling of just wanting his best friend there. jiyong felt naked in a way that had nothing to do with skin or clothing; exposed like a child who lost their parents at the mall; lost at sea though anchored to the casualties. he wanted to brashly push the petty chess pieces off the tainted checkerboard, sending each and every one to their demise though it was the same collective and muddled selfishness that cemented them in the first place—every stride seunghyun took following after you in the parking lot; every swing of jiyong’s racket at the international opens; every avoidant glare whenever the universe brought them together again.

you were another piece of the unsolvable puzzle, one he was so emotionally exhausted over he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. now that life got fucking real, and he didn’t know whether his days would be tempered on the court in the same way, providing distractions in the guise of goals apt enough to convince himself he was living in technicolor, he just wanted community. he wanted familiarity. though the history between you three was hard, his life worked out in a way that the people who hurt him most also understand him the most, too. it was complex and complicated. jiyong became nauseous. seunghyun felt it, too. you were caught off guard when he abruptly got up from the couch, not immediately processing him saying “let me talk to him.” jiyong overheard, along with your “hm? oh, okay.” you handed the phone over to him. “ji?” seunghyun’s voice cracked. he cleared his throat, “ji? are you still there?” jiyong was frozen in his panic, blinking so hard that a few tears inevitably fell. “listen, man. i just—” seunghyun stopped himself, feeling his sinuses loosen. “i j-just need to know how you’re holding up.” jiyong couldn’t take it anymore, feeling suffocated, wanting the call to end: “have a nice life. okay?” he hung up with a quivering bottom lip, taking the battery out of his nokia, throwing it onto the floor.

ELEVEN YEARS LATER

it was never the same for jiyong. his twist of fate made unfiltered rounds in not only the sports community, but mainstream pop culture, too. he ignored requests for interviews left and right, focusing on getting himself right after surgery and throughout physical therapy. nine months after his injury, he steadily ushered his return to the practice court, equipped with a knee sleeve. though his coach tried to ease the pressure, jiyong knew the truth: its over. it wasn’t initially easy to accept, however: he smacked the ball way out of the court when it was apparent the player he was training with was tip-toeing, “stop going easy on me. i won a grand fucking slam.” or the shouting match he got into with his coach—“hit the ball! actually start hitting the ball! what’re you afraid of!? hurting me?”—only to be reduced to frustrated tears after failing to hit a shallow drop shot; his knee having given out from under him. his coach rushed over to help him up, but jiyong did it on his own: “i’m fine. i’m okay, i’m okay,” limping back to the baseline. he suddenly smashed his racket into the concrete a few times before throwing brashly to the side, walking off the court without another word.

his parents tried to help regroup: “you’ve done enough in your life already.” his father said over dinner one evening. “maybe it's time to take some for yourself.” “i could’ve done more.” jiyong said bitterly. “if you think that way, you won’t have another day of peace.” his mother warned. jiyong put his utensil down, eyeing the both of them: “how has my life ever been peaceful?” he retorted. “my entire life has been on that court. it became my purpose. you never taught me otherwise.” he didn’t watch any coverage of the olympic games in beijing, overhearing his parents rejoice over the news seunghyun had won bronze in the men’s singles and silver in the doubles. a year later, jiyong went outside to get the mail after breakfast, inadvertently being the one who opened his family’s invitation to your’s and seunghyun’s wedding. a couple years after that, some months after seunghyun clinched his second grand slam in the men’s singles, jiyong heard through the grapevine about you greeting your in-laws at the door of your london flat with an apparent baby bump. photos of you and your well-behaved two year old in your lap, equipped with protective headphones around your baby girl’s precious ears, sat in the stands at seunghyun’s singles match at the london olympic games in 2012 went semi-viral on twitter. the photos landed on jiyong’s feed, along with the ones of you rejoicing with your daughter clutched in your arms when your husband won the gold.

jiyong did many things to pass time over the years: coaching gigs that didn’t feel right or he said yes to too early in his recovery, tried starting a foundation but ended up backing out over logistical disagreements with his team, dating around, journaling until he spent the last drop of ink in his pen, and taking up meditation. it wasn’t easy adapting to a life-altering change. but over time, he learned to give himself some grace. in 2015, seven years after his injury, he accepted a coaching position at stanford. not only was it fulfilling, but his pupils began to heal his severed heart. they were good kids: listened well, trained better, and performed phenomenally come game days. jiyong also started seeing an adjunct professor, who taught english literature to sophomores to fulfill requirements for her master’s. she saw him as a person and not a tragedy. that alone was good enough for him. however, every morning before going on his routine jog, without fail, jiyong pauses after putting on his shorts. he runs his fingers over the scar on his left knee, thinking about what could’ve been.

on a foggy morning in 2019, jiyong walked onto the practice court, seeing a group of his players huddled around a bench. “break it up, guys.” he called aloud. “your drills aren’t gonna do themselves.” they dispersed, one turning to him: “sorry, coach.” she apologized. another one joined her: “we were just talking about how someone’s, like, having this q-and-a thing on campus and were trying to see if any tickets were left. i think you might know him?” her teammate nudged her with her elbow, giving her a look of are you serious? read the room. this piqued jiyong’s interest, “show me.” she reached into her backpack, unlocking her iphone, showing him a post on stanford’s student programming association’s instagram page. it was a digital flyer for the event, though jiyong recognized the photo used of seunghyun instantly—taken at wimbledon last year after shaking hands with the player he beat not only at that tournament, but also in rio for the gold in 2016—accompanied by caption: Only a few tickets left: Come see 3x Olympian, 4x Grand Slam Champion, and proud Stanford alum Seunghyun Choi this Friday at 8 PM!

jiyong kept it professional, offering a curt nod with an unreadable expression. “we played together a long time ago.” he left it at that. “go do your drills. or you’ll be late for class.” he pondered whether he wanted to go. when friday morning came, though, he called a colleague who also was the faculty member overseeing the student programming association, scoring him a spare ticket. the auditorium was packed—filled to the brim. a mixture of athletes, student reporters, actual reporters, professors, and the like. jiyong spotted his kids sitting together on one side, waving gingerly as they waved excitedly back. he found a seat in one of the last few rows, closer to the aisle, giving him a good view of the stage. all there was were two cushioned armchairs with a table in-between, equipped with two glasses of water and microphones, respectively. the applause was rapturous when seunghyun came out, dressed in a tailored suit as he humbly waved to the crowd before sitting down next to the moderator. it was odd: hearing someone’s voice for the first time in over a decade, let alone seeing them. though jiyong was a distance away, he could tell seunghyun’s aged in the same way he has: a wider frame complemented by muscle, a new hairstyle that looked handsome but teenaged-them would have made fun of, and an inexplicable air of maturity naturally enriching his aura.

seunghyun answered run-of-the-mill questions: “how’d you get your start?” “what was the transition into going pro like for you?” “what's it like in olympic village?” “what advice do you have for student athletes today?” and perhaps an arguably cheesy one, “what does tennis mean to you?” he exited the stage an hour and a half later the same way he entered: graciously, and with a smile. in the traffic of the crowd funneling out of the auditorium, jiyong was led away from the entrance he came in from. he hoped to pass time, thus lessening the amount of people he had to squeeze through, by making a pit stop to the bathroom before the drive home. to his chagrin, there was a line there too, but he took the loss, hoping as a result he wouldn’t have to sit in road traffic for long. his plan worked: it was much quieter. jiyong mistakenly walked out of the wrong entrance, though, only realizing when he didn’t recognize the side of the block he was headed towards. he pulled out his fob, hearing his car beep! in the opposite direction. he walked down those couple of blocks, past parking meters and flocks of students headed downtown to start their weekends, looking to his left at the sound of a door opening.

it was seunghyun, shaking hands with the heads of various stanford athletic departments sponsoring the event. they then turned to you, shaking your hand diplomatically, before leaning down to your daughter, offering high fives. she returned them shyly, quickly turning to you for assurance. you sported a black blazer and trouser set, aptly matching with your husband, whilst your daughter wore a dress her father sped to macy’s for this morning. you said your amicable goodbyes before parting ways, headed to the suv to take you back to your hotel. your daughter stood between you two, holding both yours and seunghyun’s hands—your free one reaching over to fix her hair after a gust of wind flew by—listening to her shoes skid against the pavement whilst her parents talked casually. seunghyun, by chance, looked to his left. he stopped in his tracks. you and your daughter did too, the only difference was you didn’t know why. though it didn’t take long for your husband to provide, like he always does: “ji?” he asked aloud. “ji? is that you?” “y-yeah,” jiyong nodded, clearing his throat. he scratched the back of his neck, “it's me, seunghyun.”

in a sudden moment of panic, your husband turned to you. you didn’t hesitate, “go to him.” you said. “we’ll wait.” “i don't—i don’t know how long we’ll talk for.” “that’s okay.” you thought quickly on your feet. “we’ll head to the hotel. is your ringer on?” “y-yeah. i think.” he nodded, hand patting his left pocket, feeling his phone there. “good. i’ll send the car. now go, baby.” he bent down, kissing your daughter’s head, “go with mom for a little bit, okay? dad’ll be right back.” she nodded, earning a kiss to her cheek. he came up to you, planting a chaste kiss to your lips. “i love you.” “i love you. now go.” you kept your daughter’s hand in yours, walking to the car. seunghyun turned around, walking to jiyong. “did you—” he cleared his throat, nervous. “did you come to the event tonight?” he gestured to the venue behind him. he took a moment, but jiyong eventually nodded: “i did, yeah. my—my kids told me about it.” seunghyun’s heart stuttered out of near shock, “kids?” jiyong quickly clarified with a swift shake of his head, a ghost of smile tugging at his lips, “the ones i coach. they were here tonight, too.” “thats right, you do coach.” seunghyun nodded, remembering. “its about four years sinc you got the gig, right?” “yeah.” jiyong nodded, eyebrows starting to furrow. “how’d you know?” seunghyun smirked, though it wasn’t arrogant. “our families still talk, ji.” “sure.” said jiyong. “but we don’t.” “yeah,” seunghyun confirmed. his expression fell, albeit minutely. “but we don’t.”

a beat went by. seunghyun looked to his left, seeing a bench. he took a seat, looking at jiyong with an expression reading if you’re willing, i am too. jiyong was hesitant, “you don’t have somewhere to be?” seunghyun shook his head, jutting his bottom lip. “not right now, no.” he checked the time on his watch. “but my daughter’s stubborn and refuses to go to bed until both mom and dad are there to read her a bedtime story. so it's up to you.” he quipped, an upside-down grin on his face. jiyong snickered, taking a seat. “is she more like her mom or dad?” seunghyun smiled, thinking of her fondly: “a lot like me, unfortunately.” he chuckled. “when the missus was getting her doctorate at oxford,” he referred to you. “and she had, like, long lectures or meetings, or if anything came up, i’d do pick up, drop off—y’know, everything. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve been pulled off the court during practice to help with math homework, man.” jiyong exhaled through his nostrils, grinning. “one day—” seunghyun said your name, “—came home and said it felt like talking to two of me. she demanded we have another, until we both realized we only just caught up on the sleep we didn’t get while raising the one we have now.”

jiyong couldn’t stifle his chuckle if he tried. “does she have an accent?” he asked, referring to the fact she was born and raised in london thus far in her life. seunghyun shook his head, “weirdly enough, no. i guess we won in that case.” he grinned. a pregnant beat went by. seunghyun’s eyes widened, “i just realized you haven’t met her yet.” jiyong’s mouth tightened awkwardly. the emotional gravitas of their reunion; everything left untouched; the passage of time creating what felt like a void of the unknown of how either of their lives have progressed, humbling the both of them. “i haven’t, no.” said jiyong. “she’s turning nine next month.” seunghyun told him. “we’re having the party at my parents house. you should come.” “you’re staying for that long?” jiyong asked. seunghyun shook his head, “we’ll be back in town for it.” perhaps it was a symptom of long distance: traveling frequently to lessen the effect of living an ocean away from your loved ones, or a symbol of seunghyun’s wealth. the bountiful fruits of his labor on the court, winning one grand slam after the next, collecting olympic medals the same way he did flight miles, bagging unimaginable salaries from multiple nike campaigns—living the life jiyong once knew. not that he was living in destitute conditions whatsoever: living off a six figure salary with savings that kept him in the top one percent come tax season. but like anyone else, the what ifs preface his rem cycle.

jiyong looked ahead, at the other side of the street, avoiding both seunghyun’s eyes and invite. “i don’t think i could’ve imagined you being a dad.” seunghyun kissed his teeth playfully, “with how i was back then? it’d be like expediting the end of the world.” jiyong tried to keep his laughter in, but failed miserably. he let it ring out from his diaphragm, making seunghyun smile stupidly, too. they both felt nineteen again—staying up late; clueless about what they were going to make of their newfound independence after moving into their respective student apartments. “holy shit, man.” jiyong ran his hand over his face, posture relaxing in the bench. he crossed his arms over his chest, “you’re right. it would.” “you see yourself being a dad one day?” seunghyun asked.  jiyong nodded, “yeah, i do.” he said earnestly. “i’ve been seeing someone these past couple of years. but we haven’t had that talk yet.” he heard seunghyun hum, letting him know he was listening. “y’know, to be honest,” jiyong continued, licking his lips in thought. “between us, i thought i’d be the first to do so. but i guess—i guess it just didn’t work out that way. like a lot of things.” he descended into a mutter, avoiding eye contact, picking something off his jeans. his heart stuttered with anxiety, palpitating between his temples. a heavy pit of shame weighed on his chest. his mind ran through the last several years: “look, man.” he said. seunghyun looked at him, but jiyong didn’t move. “i'm—i’m sorry i didn’t come to the wedding.” seunghyun blinked, taken aback. “that was ten years ago, ji.” he said. “you’re good.”

jiyong shook his head, stubborn. “it wasn’t right of me to not go.” “that’s because you’re speaking with hindsight.” countered seunghyun. “don’t forget how you felt in the moment. if i’m being completely honest, we would’ve been surprised if you did come. i mean, with everything that happened, and how you were in recovery . . .” his voice trailed, cutting himself off, verging into sensitive territory. jiyong’s posture stiffened, though he could see seunghyun glance over in his periphery. “how—how is your knee, ji?” jiyong inhaled sharply through his nostrils, “tough as ever.” he patted his left knee. “strong enough to keep me upright when i’m telling other people how to play tennis, but stubborn in letting me play.” jiyong joked blandly, tightening his lips. seunghyun’s expression was sympathetic, though proud: “i heard one of your kids is a favorite for tokyo.” he referred to the host city for the olympic games the following year. “you’ve done well.” “i haven’t done enough.” jiyong countered stubbornly.

seunghyun let out a long exhale. he turned his head, momentarily looking at the traffic light a few blocks down. he tightened his lips in thought, rallying: “i’m gonna say something, and it’s probably gonna confuse the fuck out of you. but i want you to hear me out.” he cleared his throat, swallowing afterward. “i’m not going for tokyo. matter of fact, after the open, i’m hanging it up entirely.” jiyong turned his head sharply, eyebrows furrowed, “you’re retiring?” seunghyun simply nodded, “mhm.” he confirmed. “you’re the first to know. well, after my wife, of course.” he corrected himself with an endearing grin. “what’d she say?” jiyong wasn’t sure if was asking out of plain curiosity or to use your reaction to mitigate his own, ensuring he didn’t lose his goddamn mind. “i let it slip when we went for dinner to celebrate getting her doctorate.” seunghyun explained, face warming at the memory. “she thought it was her graduation gift. so i guess you could say she was relieved. everything—all of this,” seunghyun gestured around, referring to the hustle-and-bustle of his career, “it's been a lot on her, too. i’d say it's about time.”

“but why?” jiyong couldn’t wrap his head around it. “why would you? you have plenty of good years left.” “because i’m over it, ji. i’m tired.” seunghyun said earnestly, looking into his eyes. “i don’t wanna be one of those guys that don’t know when to walk away. i don’t wanna be doing this in my forties.” he shook his head. jiyong was flabbergasted. seunghyun continued, “and plus, i love being a dad. i love being a husband.” jiyong was nearly rendered speechless. his expression was almost offended, “you’ve changed.” seunghyun’s eyebrows fluttered in and out of a furrow, “you say that like it's a bad thing.” “no, that’s not what i—” jiyong cut himself off, trying to find the right words. he only grew more frustrated, trying to make sense of his complicated feelings, “you’ve always had the freedom of choice, seunghyun. since we were kids.” he said, looking at him in disbelief. “doing whatever you want. getting to do anything however you want to do it.” seunghyun’s expression faltered to one of defense, though his tone didn’t follow: “it wasn’t either of our choices to be good at tennis.” he said. “just like how it wasn’t my choice for that last match to come down to us.”

jiyong tried to bite back, “you don’t know what i’d do to be in your shoes. to be able to just—resume.” seunghyun didn’t give in to his trap, “you’re more than tennis, ji.” he said. “you always have been.” jiyong turned his head, looking at seunghyun, but for once in his life, he didn’t have anything to say. as they both sat there on that bench, unbeknownst to them, their unspoken language rose from the ashes. one conversation didn’t bare the teeth nor the bandwidth of making up for over ten years lost to time, but it was a stepping stone into a new chapter. of what? jiyong didn’t know yet, and neither did seunghyun. as they parted ways and left that bench behind—seunghyun quickly taking off his shoes and hustling to where you and your daughter were waiting for him, quickly finding his place in her choice of book for the night; jiyong walking into his quiet apartment, getting ready for bed—it seemed cosmic destiny could be re-directed.

their shared intuition was reborn in this new, matured stage in their lives: spoken in jiyong’s knocking on the door of the choi family household, carrying a gift bag for the birthday girl; seunghyun’s prideful gaze when finally getting to introduce his daughter to the man he owes his life to; in your comforting touch to his lower back, both you and your husband in awe, watching your daughter come out of her shell in a way you hadn’t seen before. “she really is a mini-you.” you told her father, tone soft; loving. “yeah.” seunghyun muttered. he quickly turned away, growing emotional. you caught on, turning with him. “c'mere.” you beckoned, welcoming him into your embrace. he sniffled into your shoulder, arms holding you close. “i’m really proud of you.” you told him. “i’m nothing without you.” he spoke sincerely. your fingers carded through his hair, palm falling to the nape of his neck, feeling his lips press a doting kiss to your cheek. “i love you, too.”

seunghyun saw jiyong out at the end of the night, walking him to his car. “you really opened a new avenue by getting her that lego set.” seunghyun smiled, hearing jiyong chuckle. “like, i knew she inherited her smarts from her mom. but now it's gonna be that, but tenfold.” “yeah.” jiyong laughed. “sooner or later, she’ll start talking circles around you.” “are you kidding?” seunghyun countered. “she memorized her times tables when she was six. i’ve been fucked.” they shared a brief hug. some of the awkwardness had yet to be overcome, but that was okay. if either have learned anything, it's that things take time. seunghyun gingerly waved as jiyong put his key in the ignition, waving back before putting his car in reverse. ushering off of the driveway, jiyong glanced at his rearview mirror. he caught sight of seunghyun ensuring he got out safely, walking inside the house once he approached the curb. jiyong came to a gradual halt, looking both ways before merging onto the street. it occurred to him he wasn’t the little boy at the block party anymore, but rather a man lucky enough to have a brother.

honey's taglist ☕️: @gongyoosgf @infinetlyforgotten @riddlerloveb0t @mesopotamism @pepsicolapussi @breakmeoff @thanosspills @moontabi @tabibabib @lexalith @lavenderobsessed @heartubeatusalon

[athena-gundampla]

MG 1/100 Gjallarhorn Arianrhod Fleet Unit No. 21 Gundam Frame ASW-G-XX "Gundam Vidar"

It's done!! After completing the frame last week, adding all of the surface armour and acessories went quite smoothly. I'd already weathered and prepped everything, but even then I had to move quite quickly to get it done during the build meet I was at.

The Vidar is a disguised and revamped Gundam Kimaris Trooper, incorporating new technology and armour onto the ancient Kimaris frame, including a 3rd Ahab Reactor (done in a really nice trans-pink), knee thrusters, and these really nice rapier sheaths on the skirt armour.

Being a modern Master Grade kit, it comes colour separated from the get go, with a complete inner frame that peaks through the multi-layered armour plates. The Iron Blooded Orphans MGs in particular seem to show off a lot of the inner frame, so I'm happy I took the extra time to weather and detail it, although a lot of the frame marking stickers did get covered completely.

The colours chosen for the kit are really nice, especially the almost lavender blue that makes up the majority of the armour panels and contrasts really well with the bright pink marking stickers. I had a lot of fun with these - there are far fewer than on a RG kit, and they're nice and big so they're easy to apply. I even added a few extras, including the Bauduin family crest on the shoulder and cockpit. There's also some really nice shiny gold and chrome pieces for the frame.

There wasn't much for me to do in terms of further detail, apart from panel lining. I used both a liquid enamel liner as well as felt tip to touch up any mistakes. For some of the black armour panel pieces, I also experimented using a light grey liner, to give them some extra contrast, as black can tend to get lost and look like it isn't there at all. I've seen people do this on aircraft and it usually looks quite good, and I think it gave a few of the armour pieces a really nice worn metallic effect.

I also painted the little pilot figure and added some weathering. For the armour panels, I tried adding some drybrushing to the edges before assembly, helping to accentuate the seams between panels. I tried out a new weathering technique too using a chrome paint marker on a few of the sharp edges, and spreading out the self-leveling paint using a q-tip. This added some super shiny worn edges that catch the light and add a bit of textural variation over the matte finish.

A neat feature of this kit are the eyes and rear camera. They're moulded as a single hidden trans-pink piece that's also UV reactive, so you can make them light up both by shining UV or blue light on them, as well as placing a light source behind the head. Unfortunately there's no room in the head for an LED, although you could probably hollow it out to fit one in, and hide the battery in the backpack.

This kit is super poseable, with nicely designed joints that aren't difficult to move but are decently stiff and can hold themselves in place. Apparently the hips have been redesigned from the original MG Barbatos, although I still found them a little looser than I would've liked.

There's a decent number of gimmicks for this kit, as well as weapons and option parts. The feet include the fold-out "Hunter's Edge", which is partially missing on the HG version.

There's a few gimmicks included on the side-skirt/sheaths. There's two small verniers that swing outwards, and a little extra joint piece to let you move the skirt around for more flexible poses. The sheaths include 6 replaceable blades for the rapier, as well as the handle, and you can recreate the "reloading" action by sliding the entire sheath down, which actually pulls out a single blade attached to the handle.

There are also 2 extra "detached" blades, representing used blades that have been deposited as explosives in another mobile suit (although there's not really anything to attach them to for display, until Bandai releases more MG IBO kits).

One of the coolest parts of this kit are the twin pistols hidden in the front skirt. The holster gimmick can be a little finnicky when replacing the pistols, but they're held there securely when in place. The pistols themselves are nicely recreated, and you can even rack the slide of each one!

Finally, there's the large 110mm rifle. This has little tabs that slot in to a few holes on either side of the skirt, and an aiming camera in trans-pink that even has a foil sticker behind it to make it stand out. The rifle was always the funniest aspect of this suit to me, as it's clearly IBO's homage to the RX-78-2 beam rifle, and yet it's used by a suit that shows up as a transitional form in like 3 episodes and it gets fired once.

It's still undeniably one of the coolest parts of the kit, and it even has a removable magazine, although the part lacks a catch and so can be removed a little too easily. I wish it had had an actuating bolt as well, although it didn't really have one in the show.

Alongside all the weapons are a few hand options for holding the weapons. The hands are rather nicely done, with only a single hand that needs to be built, alongside a single moveable thumb. Instead, you switch out the fingers, between a pre-posed left and right pistol grip, open fist, closed fist, or open hand. This was much more preferable to working with the poseable hands I've seen on other MG kits. I still have sour memories of the fiddly poseable hands from the RG kits. The removable fingers also make it easier to swap out weapons for posing, and there's a little slot in each hand that clips into the weapons to hold them securely.

Overall, the MG Vidar was an excellent introduction to proper MG kits, and I'm really tempted to pick up the upcoming MG Barbatos Lupus in August.

[thephantomsdream]

so I've been reading real published romance books and they cannot fill the void that ao3 and company do fill, but they did give me an idea. ok, lmfao, hear me out. (I've had this in my drafts for way too long, i decided to release it because why tf not)

content: alien!141, soulmates!141, abduction, intergalactic human trafficking, space shit; very vague idea of anything ever; probably made up alien names; writer is at work while dealing with annoying costumers so it's rushed and dumb.

imagine:

Good ol' you, in your house, unaware that in the deep, vast universe, trafficking also existed. Not long ago, a reptilian race found out about our warm bodies, interesting features and intelligent yet primitive brains, and started to abduct and sell men and women to rich buyers. It was good business, especially considering our side of the universe wasn't even aware of extraterrestrial life, so they couldn't even guess where they disappeared! The treaty and all intergalactic laws were vague about us. "Let them be" meaning "Let them fuckers figure their shit out, lol idk".

Well, as you can understand, the Sheh'deauz (lmfao stay with me) decided to in fact not let us be. So back to lovely you, yeah?

Home alone, playing videogames or something, when suddently you see some flashes of light out the window. It was weird considering it wasn't raining but you remained calm, as you assumed maybe a storm is approaching? Mainly, you couldn't give a shit but the moment you heard scratching and hissing outside your door, you panicked. Long story short, your house slowly started filling with an invisible gas that just made you pass out, but you did see your door opening, same weird blue-white light emanating from under it as it did, and a scaly leg entering your home as you fell on the floor.

You figured, as the genius that you were, that you were, in fact, not dreaming as you spent many hours (days? felt like days) in a cage. Very oddly technologically advanced. In another strike of genius, and of course, after seeing your kidnappers, you figured it was a spaceship and you were in some deep sci-fi shit. (maybe after laughing and asking them where are the hidden cameras. i would...)

After throwing tantrums and having the ugly multi-colored creatures mock you and hiss at you, you kinda gave up and sat by the very human bed you've been given and allowed time to pass. You were given food every so often, a toilet nearby, water at your disposal. But you feared for your life.

Well, let me tell you something. You have the luckiest misfortune of all, really. Or maybe, just maybe, things are meant to be this way. Maybe it was all meant to happen like this. Allow me to explain.

In another corner of the universe, four of the greatest warriors of the Intergalactic Army frowned at a holographic screen. A female alien, older, still beautiful, ethereal looking, skin creamy white with some lavender edges and striking blue eyes was frowning back.

"You're fucking kidding me." Their captain said (in a different language than ours but your writer here is multi-lingual, don't worry), getting closer to the screen. She just nodded, rubbing her forehead.

"Where is that again?" Asked another.

"So like—" a third one, this one with a distinct accent compared to the others, tilted his head incredulously. "They're our cousins genetically?"

"You can say so." She groaned. "The Council decided to not touch that part of the galaxy. They are being observed. Fucking hell! They were going on the right path."

"If they don't destroy their own planet before." The captain muttered, voice tired and coarse. In his many, many years lived, he's seen it happen again and again. Greed and stupidity almost whipped their race, so he's been following the Terrans close-by, as close as a mere Intergalactic Task Force Captain (stick with me lmfao) could follow.

"So what's the plan?" The tallest one asked, mask made of what others assumed was one of his most dangerous prey's skull was placed on his face.

"We give them hell." Captain commanded, Laswell nodding.

"Stay close, at the outskirts of their galaxy. We intercept any package and find their buyers."

"What do we do with our lil cousins then?"

"Eliminate any witnesses."

Shit went down really quick. You figured they were preparing for something as the guards by your cell somehow summoned some advanced looking chairs from the walls to strap themselves on and hissed at you mockingly, as they've done before. You just sat in a corner, by the bed, and wanted to cry. You were going through all stages of grief every few hours and it was getting exhausting. You were just now starting to understand how dire your situation was and how little chances you had of going home.

They turned off the main lights and a thousand scenarios crossed your mind. It was as if they were bracing for something. You frowned as you saw the guards tense as some alien hieroglyphics appeared on a holographic screen. It looked... like a countdown... You grasped the bed, trying to brace yourself for something. And good that you did because it felt as if the ship collapsed with something.

It basically shook you off to the ground, and while you'd think this was supposed to happen, you quickly realize it wasn't since the guards unstrapped themselves from the chairs and started shrieking as alarms suddently blared. After that? Seconds and it was over. Two white blasts ended them both, hitting them exactly in the middle of their ugly skulls. You did not hear any footsteps but you saw a shadow approaching your cell, so you scurried closer to your bed and now presumably magic shield that will block blasts that melt alien skulls.

The barriers from your cell unlocked, sliding to the sides and someone jumped in front of you. Someone big, dressed sleekly in black, although you could swear the edges of his frame looked transparent for a second. It was big, yet had the complexity of a human so you stayed locked in place, big scared eyes on the person pointing a big son-of-a-bitch gun at you. You heard it growl and speak something shortly, and the hairs on your whole body pricked.

World stopped for Price as he cracked another neck, just after locking eyes with the leader of this "cargo" ship. He was about to take a step forward to gently guide this person towards personal enlightenment by confessing all the information they needed, even if it would be involuntarily, when Soap spoke... well, growled just one word in their comms.

"Mate."

[cripplecharacters]

How do you think multi-use public restrooms could be reconfigured to better accommodate wheelchair/crutch/cane users in a roughly modern setting? (By multi-use, I mean the ones with a line of stalls rather than a whole room with one toilet).

I always thought it ironic that the large stall tends to be at the end of the line and believed it may be better to have that reversed (large stall first). Is that a sensical thought? What other suggestions would you have besides a lower sink and, of course, room to move the wheelchair/crutch/cane?

Although this setting is roughly modern in terms of technology ability and knowledge, feel free to provide your most creative answers. I'd even appreciate a difference between slight changes in real universe that would make an impact vs alternate modern universe where accessibility was thought of by default. All stalls are large? Better layout than a single file line of stalls? Etc.

Thank you for your time!

Hello!

I have... a LOT of thoughts about this. For reference, I use a cane full time and have used a wheelchair in the past when it was needed, though I no longer have access to it (I was borrowing my boyfriend's old one but have since moved cities).

So a few things:

Grab bars in every stall. These are the metal bars along the side of the stall that you usually see in accessible stalls. They're used to help people with stability/balance issues sit and stand from the toilet. There are a lot of people who only use the accessible stall because they need the support of the grab bars. If these were in every stall, it would open up the larger accessible stall for people who need it for the other supports (More space, the emergency call cord, etc.). These are relatively cheap and easy to install too.

Hand sanitizer dispensers in the accessible stall or, ideally, in every stall. These are another thing that's relatively cheap and easy to install and would benefit everyone. I usually carry hand sanitizer on me anyways because I dislike the idea of using my cane before washing my hands. This would also help people who have the same problem with their wheelchair (Not wanting to touch the wheels before washing their hands), people with sensitivities to hand soaps, and even just people who want to use them.

More accessible stalls. This one is a bit less realistic to hope for as it would be more expensive and difficult to change but it would also be one of the most beneficial, especially in places where there are lots of disabled people coming and going at once. I'm thinking places like hospitals, school accessibility offices, etc. but also places with large amounts of people in general like stadiums and event venues.

Also just more stalls in general. Especially in the men's washroom. I keep meaning to write a post about this for my own blog but it's an issue I think about a lot. It's 2024 and there's STILL a lot of men's washrooms where I live that either only have one stall (Usually an accessible stall) or don't have stalls at all. I'm sure it's some sort of 'ADA/AODA/whatever it is where you are' violation but it's also a problem for trans people, people that are shy, kids, people that just prefer to sit, the elderly, etc. It's kind of ridiculous that this is still a thing in 2024.

More actual fully accessible washrooms. These are not at all feasible for a multiuse washroom (The kind you're referring to) but should be in addition to one. With this, I'm referring to a large washroom with adult-sized changing tables, emergency call cords, lots of space, large garbage cans, sharps containers, etc. This is something that I rarely see even in hospitals but it's so important for people that have caretakers and need that extra support. As for the sharps container, it can be very beneficial for people that need to inject medication and it's something I wish that more places had. (My general alternative is to cap the needle and return it to my "pouch" in a separate pocket from the unused ones)

Having everything in reach of the toilet. By this, I mean things like toilet paper, garbage bins, sinks (If they're in the stall), hand sanitizer dispensers, etc. This is usually already the case with toilet paper and such but it's incredibly annoying and difficult to navigate when this isn't the case.

Also just having garbage bins in all stalls (Or, at least, in all washrooms). A lot of women's washrooms already have this in some capacity but most men's washrooms don't even have a garbage bin in the main section of it (Outside the stalls). This is another thing that would be incredibly easy and cheap to do and would help so many people including disabled people that need to discard medical supplies (Catheters and incontinence supplies are the big ones that come to mind since it's not sanitary or easy to discard of them elsewhere whereas you can easily pocket an empty medication bottle or bandage remnants to throw away later), people who need to throw away sanitary products, even just people who use toilet paper to blow their nose or something. There's literally so many uses and I don't see any downside to this at all.

More hooks in stalls to hang things like jackets and bags. This is something I see a lot in the regular stalls but strangely not as often in the accessible stalls. Which... seems especially odd to me as a lot of us rely on things like small, over-the-shoulder bags and fanny packs as we don't always have access to both hands to carry things. These would also be beneficial to hang things like canes (I'm mostly thinking of white canes, which usually have a fabric loop on the end) while using the toilet. This is another super cheap and easy thing that can be done and would benefit everyone.

More accessible doors to washrooms. For whatever reason a lot of the multi-use washrooms where I live don't have accessible doors and it's incredibly frustrating and inconvenient to be fighting for my life to open a door when I already need to pee. Just... not fun.

The placement of the accessible stalls is an issue too, just usually not in the way most people would assume. At least for my boyfriend and I, it's more of a problem when the washrooms are crowded. I'm thinking of our recent experience at a concert where we had to navigate through the crowd to reach the very far end where the stall was. Not a huge thing or something that happens all that often, but it is annoying.

The other thing that comes to mind is lower sinks and also having the paper towels, hand dryers, or what not closer to the sinks. It's incredibly annoying and uncomfortable to have to use a cane, wheelchair, or crutches when you have soggy hands just to get to the dryer. This isn't something that's too hard to implement in most cases but it could be expensive depending on what drying method is used (Such as hand dryers versus paper towel dispensers). This is another reason that I usually use my hand sanitizer instead.

Aside from the facilities themselves (And this is less for mobility disabilities and more general accessibility), things like having braille on the signs as well as clear symbols if the washroom is separated by male vs female. None of those minimalistic aesthetic ones. Not everyone can differentiate by those.

There are countless others but I think I've spoken enough about this for one post 😅. Hopefully some of this is helpful.

Cheers!

~ Mod Icarus

[ghostwarriorrrr]

🇹🇷🔥 Turkish Air Force - F-4E 2020 Terminator

The F-4E 2020 Terminator represents a significant leap forward in the capabilities of the Turkish Air Force. This comprehensive upgrade enhances the venerable F-4E Phantom II with modern Turkish-made weapons systems, showcasing Türkiye’s commitment to self-reliance and advanced military technology.

Background

With a storied history dating back to the 1960s, the F-4E Phantom II has been a pivotal player on the global stage of air combat. Serving multiple nations and seeing numerous conflicts, the Phantom carved out its place in aviation history as a versatile and rugged aircraft. Türkiye’s decision to upgrade this aircraft stems from a strategic imperative to leverage existing assets while infusing them with cutting-edge technology to maintain relevance in modern aerial warfare. The 2020 Terminator program is the Turkish Air Force’s ambitious initiative to retrofit these fighters with state-of-the-art systems.

Strategic Importance

The ability to exert air superiority and conduct precision strikes is paramount in a region marked by dynamic security challenges. The F-4E 2020 Terminator’s enhanced capabilities contribute significantly to deterrence, and the demonstration of Türkiye’s advancing aerospace industry serves both a strategic and diplomatic purpose.

Upgrade Overview

The 2020 Terminator upgrade, realized by Turkish Aerospace Industries in collaboration with ASELSAN, constitutes a multifaceted improvement over the aircraft’s original design. It touches every aspect of the aircraft’s systems, bringing its avionics, armaments, and electronic warfare systems into the 21st century.

Avionics:

The modernized multi-mode pulse Doppler radar extends the aircraft’s detection range, allowing it to lock onto and engage targets from greater distances. Integrating a Hands-On Throttle-And-Stick (HOTAS) system enhances pilot control, minimizing response time during high-stakes manoeuvres. Color Multifunctional Displays (MFDs) replace outdated gauges, providing pilots with real-time data visualization for improved situational awareness.

Armament:

The Terminator’s weapons suite has been revolutionized with a mixture of Western and indigenous munitions. Long-standing armaments like the AIM-9X Sidewinder are joined by Türkiye’s own precision-guided munitions, such as the SOM cruise missile, capable of striking strategic land and sea targets with formidable accuracy. The UAV-230, a domestic innovation, represents the pinnacle of Türkiye’s missile development, offering supersonic ballistic delivery of a range of warhead types over substantial distances. The BOZOK, MAM-C, MAM-L, and Cirit missiles exemplify Türkiye’s expertise in laser guidance and smart munition technology, enabling the Terminator to engage and defeat a broad spectrum of target profiles with unerring precision.

Electronic Warfare:

To contend with the contemporary battlefield’s electronic warfare environment, the F-4E 2020 Terminator incorporates an advanced Electronic Support Measures (ESM) system for rapid threat identification and an Electronic Countermeasures (ECM) suite to confound hostile tracking systems. Moreover, chaff and flare dispensers have been integrated to provide decoys against incoming missile threats, enhancing the aircraft’s survivability in hostile airspace.

Operational Capability:

The F-4E Phantom II, transformed by these integrated systems, emerges as a multirole platform capable of dominating beyond-visual-range air-to-air engagements and precision ground-attack missions. It can operate in complex electronic warfare environments and deliver various ordnances based on mission requirements, making it a flexible asset in the Türkiye Air Force’s inventory.

Significance:

The F-4E 2020 Terminator project is a hallmark of Türkiye’s aerospace ambition and its push toward defence autonomy. By retrofitting and modernizing its Phantoms, Türkiye maximizes the value of its existing fleet while also establishing a foundation for future indigenous aircraft development projects.

Munitions Details:

The advanced, indigenous Turkish weaponry integrated into the F-4E 2020 Terminator underlines a significant shift toward self-reliance in defence technologies. Each munition type brings unique capabilities that enhance the platform’s lethality:

UAV-230: A domestically-developed ballistic missile, this supersonic weapon delivers high-precision strikes at long ranges, challenging enemy defences with its speed and reduced radar cross-section.

BOZOK: The versatility of this laser-guided munition makes it ideal for engaging both stationary and moving targets with high precision, ideal for close air support.

MAM-C/L: These smart micro munitions are designed for tactical flexibility, allowing for precision targeting in complex engagement scenarios, from anti-armour operations to counter-insurgency roles.

Cirit: A highly accurate laser-guided missile system designed for low collateral damage, Cirit is adept at striking soft and lightly armoured targets with pinpoint accuracy.

SAGE Munitions: TUBITAK SAGE, Türkiye’s leading defence research and development institute, has contributed a range of munitions enhancing the Terminator’s operational capabilities across various domains.

Conclusion:

The upgraded F-4E 2020 Terminator is a testament to Türkiye’s determination to retain a competitive edge in aerospace and defence technologies. The integration of modern avionics, armaments, and electronic warfare capabilities ensures the aircraft’s continued relevance in modern air combat, and its presence in the skies serves as a deterrent in a strategically complex region.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Idk if u answered this before but would color have social media

cause idk why but I find it funny as hell that they would know brainrot and the souls would be laughing about it so much

I personally don’t think he’d be on social media much, at least not compared to Epic or Killer.

He’d definitely have a phone and probably has a few games and social media apps downloaded, like Tumblr mainly because he likes the stimboards and looking at posts about his interests, probably has YouTube.

I can only see him having TikTok because Killer and Epic kept sending him videos via text messages that he could never watch because he didn’t have the app downloaded.

Other than that, I think not only is Color very behind on recent apps, trends, memes, etc. due to his decades of isolation and having to figure out how to operate and adjust to technology again (especially recently developed technology that he might’ve missed out on during his time in the Void), but I also don’t think he spends much time on his phone except during periods where he felt too alone and isolated (during his time in the hospital perhaps) and during the period where his and Killer’s friendship was still developing during Killer’s time under Nightmare.

I’m considering the idea that maybe lurking on social media apps, not doing anything but watching videos and reading comments or just silently watching other people talk to each other in discord servers or group chats, could potentially help Color feel less alone without the overwhelm and stress of having to physically be around people before his mind and body has time to adjust to it.

But there’s also the possibility that lurking in group chats and not being acknowledged because he’s not chiming in to chat—or worse, deciding to chime in and being ignored—could trigger an episode of derealization in him.

He can’t see, touch, or even hear the people that’s supposedly behind the screens and typing those messages—he has no proof they’re actually real. He has no proof that his existence is still real, and that he hasn’t been forgotten or erased again.

These times are probably when he needs to take breaks from social media, from his phone, and try to find a way to ground himself before he spirals into a panic attack or an episode of psychosis.

On top of this, with time still moving on while he was in the Void and there being no technology during his time in captivity—and very little activities to do to keep his mind and body active—not only would Color be very far behind in technological advancements, but he may struggle with cognitive decline—such as memory degeneration or struggle with memory retrieval.

So even if he’s handed a phone he knew existed before he fell into the Void—even if he knows that he understood how to use this phone before—he’ll still struggle to recall how to use it.

Skills require reinforcement. Without practice, even basic technological skills (like using a phone, typing, or navigating software) could deteriorate. If he used to code, edit videos, or operate specific devices, those abilities might be rusty or completely forgotten.

Without the mental exercise of problem-solving daily issues (which technology often requires), their ability to “figure things out” could be impaired.

He might experience anxiety or frustration when encountering technology, feeling overwhelmed by how much they don’t understand.

Phones, computers, smart assistants, AR/VR, and even basic interfaces would feel foreign. He might not immediately understand touchscreen gestures, biometric security (face ID, fingerprint scanning), or AI assistants.

With social media platforms, he wouldn’t understand what’s popular, how they work, or digital etiquette. They might not recognize how entertainment has shifted from DVDs or early internet platforms to on-demand streaming.

Entire ways of communicating—like meme culture, slang, internet trends—may be lost on him. Multi-factor authentication, encryption, and cybersecurity concerns would be unfamiliar.

They may not understand how to navigate digital privacy, potentially making him vulnerable to scams or data exploitation. He might expect direct phone calls rather than texting or social media messaging.

Emojis, GIFs, and shorthand might be confusing or seem meaningless to them. Color might begin to feel frustrated and alienated, feeling like a “time traveler” thrown into a world he doesn’t understand, struggling to keep up.

They may resist using modern technology due to intimidation or resentment. He could avoid it as much as possible, or even grow to develop Technophobia.

The sheer speed and saturation of digital life (ads, notifications, video content, instant access to information) might be too much at once—and Color could struggle with overwhelm and sensory overload, the stress leading to episodes of dissociation.

He might try to make a call but not understand why payphones no longer exist or how smartphones work. He might struggle to use a self-checkout machine because he expected cashiers.

He might not recognize voice-activated AI assistants like Siri or Alexa, thinking a person is speaking to them. He might find modern websites overly cluttered and overwhelming compared to the simpler internet he knew.

He might get lost in a city because he expected to read paper maps rather than use GPS apps. He might feel isolated in conversations when people reference digital culture, memes, or slang he doesnt understand.

They might have an emotional reaction to something like facial recognition or biometric security, feeling watched or controlled.

They’d need gradual reintroduction to prevent overwhelm. Someone patient would need to walk him through even basic things like using a phone or searching online.

He might prefer physical books, notes, and manual methods rather than digital alternatives at first. If he focuses too much on how far behind they are, it could fuel self-loathing or despair.

This could be a deeply frustrating and alienating experience, reinforcing the sense that the world moved on without him.

On top of all this, too, is the fact that 1. he is a Sans alternate timeline, therefore he likely ‘grew up’ Underground and only had access to whatever technology fell from the Surface intact or whatever was able to be scavenged and repurposed, and 2. he has the souls of human children inside him.

He can potentially be effected by their knowledge of things on the Surface and human culture based on their what they’re able to tell him, show him, what he dreams about (potentially souls’ memories), or even if something triggers one of the souls and he sees whatever they’re remembering.

Taking further into account that not only have the souls been removed from the rest of the world for about two decades like Color has, but they were removed from the Surface and human world for even longer via being locked away in jars.

On top of that, it all depends on what year the souls were born and what year they Fell/were killed, and how far apart the six of them were. One soul might know something about technology none of the others do, because the other souls either weren’t born yet or died before getting to know.

[jackrabbit-fandom]

Mystery is next!

I feel like some of this might upset people because they have a set view of him in their mind that i dont share (its not like big big stuff but ya know) so just keep that in mind when reading

Also, my friend and I came up with human names for them, so I'll be sharing those, too. You dont gotta like em. they were just ideas we thought up. We donno alot about these guys, so we gotta kinda just make it up as we go, so please keep that in mind too

I was the most nervous about writing for the other saja boys sense we know so little about them

Once again, forgive misspelling. i am still dyslexic

Platonic and romantic just as before and gn reader

Platonic (these are more so general ones, mystery is quite genuinely, a mystery):

- i feel like it's hard to get close to this guy, even if you are friends. It's part of his whole thing, ya know? I think he's always kinda calm and laid back though, even when you do get closer to him

- i kinda feel like he's the oldest, even more so than jinu. Which likely means he wouldn't have been a 'idol' in the past but more so just a popular musician in some way

- due to how old he is and how long hes been wondering the demon realm he kinda struggles on human stuff, so he might get a tiny bit to close, or act a bit strangely what do you mean hes not supposed to drape himself over you to try and see what your doing?

- if you're his friend please show him how to do stuff normally, technology is fuckin confusing. The others adapted quickly, but he's still kinda...behind. dont get me wrong, he's not stupid just confused

- i think his eyes aren't anything super 'monsterous' tbh. At most, i feel like he can't change their color, so they still shine gold and have the 'cat-like' pupil, and he can't fully make the patterns on his face disappear. Though the multi-eye thing is a cool concept, lol

- as for the name my friend and i gave him, it was hye-jin (yes ik its mainly a female name but hear me out ok- it can also be unisex) i did research on trying to find names and some just didnt seem to fit him? This particular name has quite a few different meanings depending on how it's written, and apparently, it can be considered a 'mysterious' name lol of course if anything is wrong feel free to correct me please

i dont have a ton of platonic ones for him, lol. Sorry for that

Romantic:

- so we all saw the thing where the creator said he liked zoeys affection, right? Im other words, he loves affection. His expression barely changes but even the smallest thing makes him happy

- heres the part that i think will upset some people: while he doesnt mind being called 'good boy' and he does have a tendency to bark at someone who gets to close (going back to the not good at being 'human') , he hates being treated like a actual dog. Dont try to get him to do 'tricks' with some sort of treat. Demon or not, he's still a person, not your pet. And forget a collar. He feels it's demeaning

- outside of that, he does actually like it when you play with his hair, though. It feels nice, and it's calming.

- he doesnt talk a lot. He mainly prefers to stay quiet and listen to you talk about whatever is on your mind. Though if you want, he will add his own opinions

- hes not overly touchy, but i think they are all a bit touch starved. I think he mainly would just like holding your hand, or like i said before, having you play with his hair.

- i can not explain why i think this, but i feel like he's a sleepy person? Not like constant naps, but one of his favorite things is just cuddling with you and napping. It could possibly just be his color palette tbh, kinda a soothing lavender color and all that.

- he has...weird habits. While he doesn't like being treated like a dog, he does have a few animalistic behaviors. For example, you can point to your cheek for a kiss but get a lick or a bite instead. It's not exactly a sexual thing. He just likes leaving little love bites. Sometimes, he thinks it's just funny to see your reaction, too.

That's all I've got for him for now. Man, i really wish we had more info on these guys

We also have sorta mini backstorys we came up with? So lemme know if yall wanna know those too

[paxtonvaldovinos]

Enhance Your Home with Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades

In the era of smart homes, window treatments have evolved far beyond traditional curtains and blinds. Lutron, a leader in smart home technology, offers a revolutionary solution with its Smart Window Electric Shades. These innovative shades combine advanced technology, elegant design, and user-friendly features to provide unparalleled convenience and comfort. In this blog, we’ll explore the benefits of Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, how they work, and why they are a perfect addition to any modern home.

What Are Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades?

Automated window coverings, Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, can be operated from a distance via voice commands, a tablet, or a smartphone. Thanks to the quiet and effective motors that drive these shades, smooth and accurate adjustments are possible. Lutron shades, which come in various designs, materials, and hues, may blend in with any interior design while offering practical advantages like light control, privacy, and energy efficiency.

Benefits of Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades

Convenience and Control: With Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades, you can easily control the amount of natural light entering your home. Using the Lutron app, you can raise, lower, or adjust your shades with a simple tap on your smartphone or tablet. Additionally, these shades can be integrated with voice assistants like Amazon Alexa, Google Assistant, and Apple HomeKit, allowing you to control them using voice commands.

Energy Efficiency: Lutron shades can significantly enhance your home’s energy efficiency. They automatically adjust based on the time of day and help regulate indoor temperatures. During the summer, the shades can be lowered to block out heat, reducing the need for air conditioning. In the winter, they can let in natural sunlight, helping warm your home and reduce heating costs.

Enhanced Privacy and Security: Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades offer increased privacy and security. You can schedule the shades to close at specific times, ensuring your home remains private, especially during the evening. Additionally, while you’re away, you can program your shades to open and close at different times to give the appearance that someone is home, deterring potential intruders.

Aesthetic Appeal: With many different materials, colors, and patterns, you may personalize these shades to complement your interior decor perfectly. Lutron offers solutions that can improve the visual appeal of any room, whether you prefer the sleek appearance of roller shades or the elegance of draperies.

Smart Integration: Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades integrate seamlessly with other smart home systems. This means you can create custom scenes that involve multiple smart devices. For example, you can create a “Movie Night” scene where the shades are lower, the lights dim, and your home theater system is turned on, all with a single command.

How Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades Work

Lutron shades operate using advanced motorized technology that ensures smooth and quiet operation. Here’s a brief overview of how they work:

Installation: Professional installation is recommended for Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades to ensure they are correctly fitted and integrated with your home’s electrical system. A certified installer will measure your windows, help you choose the right shades, and set up the system.

Control: Once installed, you can control the shades using the Lutron app, a wall-mounted keypad, or voice commands. The app allows you to set schedules, create scenes, and easily adjust individual shades or groups of shades.

Automation: Lutron shades can be programmed to operate automatically based on your preferences. You can set them to open in the morning to let in natural light and close in the evening for privacy. To maximize energy efficiency, sensors can also change the shades according to how much sunshine enters the space.

Why Choose Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades?

Lutron has pioneered smart home technology for decades and is known for its high-quality products and innovative solutions. Choosing Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades means investing in a reliable, durable, and stylish solution for your home. These shades enhance your comfort and convenience and add value to your property.

Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades are a fantastic addition to any home, offering a blend of modern technology and elegant design. With benefits ranging from improved energy efficiency to enhanced privacy and seamless integration with other smart devices, these shades provide a comprehensive solution for today’s smart home needs. Transform your home with Lutron Smart Window Electric Shades from Palm Beach Audio Visions! Experience unmatched convenience, energy efficiency, and elegant design. Control your shades with ease using your smartphone or voice commands. Schedule your consultation today and elevate your living space with cutting-edge bright window solutions!

[onegayastronaut]

Loyalty and Justice Part 1 (JJ X Reader)

Requested by anon, wanted a longer fic. This is going to be a multi part series because the description was long and I wanted to break it out into parts lol

Standing at the edge of the rooftop, you surveyed the bustling city below, taking note of everything that took place. Your eyes narrowed, focusing on a nondescript sedan parked across the street. The target had arrived.

You touched your earpiece, speaking in a low, controlled voice. "JJ, I have eyes on the subject. Moving to intercept."

"Copy that," came JJ's steady reply. "Be careful, this one's dangerous."

A ghost of a smile played on your lips. "Aren't I always?"

With practiced ease, you scaled down the side of the building, years of training evident in every precise movement. As your feet hit the pavement, your demeanor shifted. Gone was the warmth in your eyes, replaced by a cold, professional detachment.

As you approached the sedan, your hand instinctively rested on the concealed weapon at your hip. As you drew closer, the driver's window rolled down, revealing a face you hadn't seen in years, a face you never thought you’d see again. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Hello, (Y/N)," said the woman behind the wheel, her voice a mixture of warmth and wariness. "It's been a while."

You fought to keep your expression neutral, even as your mind raced. It was Elena, your former fiancée, the woman who had left you to rot in prison. "Elena," she replied, her tone carefully measured. "This is... unexpected."

Elena's eyes, once so familiar, now seemed foreign. "I need your help, (Y/N). I know I have no right to ask, but—"

"You're right," you cut her off, her voice sharp. "You don't."

But even as the words left your mouth, you felt the old pull. The years of training and discipline warred with the memories of love and betrayal.

"Please, just hear me out," Elena pleaded, her eyes darting nervously to the rearview mirror. "I'm in trouble, real trouble. And you're the only one who can help me."

Your hand tightened on your weapon, mind racing through possible scenarios. Was this a trap? A ploy to lure you in? Or was Elena genuinely in danger?

"You have one minute," you eventually answered, your eyes scanning the street for any signs of a threat. "Make it count."

Elena took a shaky breath. "It's about my father's old associates. They think I have something they want, and they're willing to kill to get it. I've been running for weeks, but they're closing in. I didn't know where else to turn."

Your eyes narrowed. "And what exactly do they think you have?"

Elena hesitated, then reached into her jacket pocket. You tensed, ready to draw your weapon, but Elena slowly pulled out a small flash drive. "This. It contains details of all their operations, their contacts, everything. My father left it to me before he died. I didn't even know what it was until they came after me."

You eyed the drive warily before finally taking it. If Elena was telling the truth, that tiny piece of technology could bring down one of the most powerful criminal organizations in the country. But trusting Elena again could be suicide.

"Why come to me?" you asked, voice barely above a whisper. "After everything that happened?"

Elena's eyes met yours, filled with a mix of regret and desperation. "Because I know you, (Y/N). Despite everything, I know you'll do the right thing. And... because I never stopped loving you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken history. You could only imagine what JJ was thinking, as memories of your past threatening to cloud your judgment. She took a deep breath, centering herself.

"Love isn't always enough, Elena," you said, your voice low and controlled. "You taught me that."

Before Elena could respond, your earpiece crackled to life. "(Y/N), we've got movement. Three SUVs approaching your position, fast."

Your training kicked in instantly. "Time to go," you said, reaching for the car door. "Move over."

Elena's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly complied, sliding into the passenger seat as you slipped behind the wheel. With practiced precision, you pulled out into traffic, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror.

"Who was that?" Elena asked, her voice tense.

"My team," you replied curtly, taking a sharp turn down a side street. "And right now, they're the only reason you're not in handcuffs."

The SUVs appeared in the mirror, gaining ground rapidly. Your mind raced, formulating and discarding plans in seconds. You needed to lose their tail, but you also needed answers.

"Start talking," you demanded, swerving to avoid a delivery truck. "Everything you know about who's after you, what's on that drive, all of it. And Elena," you added, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "if I find out you're lying to me again, it'll be the last mistake you ever make."

Elena nodded, her face pale. "It's the Moretti family. They were my father's biggest rivals, always trying to muscle in on his territory. That drive contains evidence of all their illegal operations - money laundering, human trafficking, assassinations. Everything needed to take down their entire organization."

You processed this as you wove through traffic, the pursuing SUVs still visible in your mirrors. "And how did you end up with it?"

"My father gave it to me right before... before the FBI raid," Elena said, her voice catching. "He told me to keep it safe, that it was insurance. I didn't understand at the time. I hid it away and forgot about it until the Morettis started coming after me a few weeks ago."

Your jaw clenched at the mention of the raid - the day everything had fallen apart. You pushed the memories aside, focusing on the present. "Why now?" you asked, taking another sharp turn. "Why are they coming after you years later?"

Elena hesitated. "Because... because I started looking into what happened to my father. And to you."

Your hands tightened on the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

"I never believed you betrayed us, Lex," Elena said softly. "It took me too long to realize it, but I know you would never have turned on us. On me. I started digging, trying to find out what really happened. I must have tripped some alarms, because suddenly the Morettis were after me."

Alexis's mind raced. If Elena was telling the truth, it could change everything. But years of betrayal and hurt had taught her to be wary.

"JJ, if I’m taking her to the location that we agreed on if anything were to happen." You waited for a response, but none came. “JJ?” You pressed on your device again, but received nothing in return. It seemed as if you were on your own again, only this time, you had your ex with you.

[mariacallous]

These days, when Nicole Yelland receives a meeting request from someone she doesn’t already know, she conducts a multi-step background check before deciding whether to accept. Yelland, who works in public relations for a Detroit-based non-profit, says she’ll run the person’s information through Spokeo, a personal data aggregator that she pays a monthly subscription fee to use. If the contact claims to speak Spanish, Yelland says, she will casually test their ability to understand and translate trickier phrases. If something doesn’t quite seem right, she’ll ask the person to join a Microsoft Teams call—with their camera on.

If Yelland sounds paranoid, that’s because she is. In January, before she started her current non-profit role, Yelland says she got roped into an elaborate scam targeting job seekers. “Now, I do the whole verification rigamarole any time someone reaches out to me,” she tells WIRED.

Digital imposter scams aren’t new; messaging platforms, social media sites, and dating apps have long been rife with fakery. In a time when remote work and distributed teams have become commonplace, professional communications channels are no longer safe, either. The same artificial intelligence tools that tech companies promise will boost worker productivity are also making it easier for criminals and fraudsters to construct fake personas in seconds.

On LinkedIn, it can be hard to distinguish a slightly touched-up headshot of a real person from a too-polished, AI-generated facsimile. Deepfake videos are getting so good that longtime email scammers are pivoting to impersonating people on live video calls. According to the US Federal Trade Commission, reports of job and employment related scams nearly tripled from 2020 to 2024, and actual losses from those scams have increased from $90 million to $500 million.

Yelland says the scammers that approached her back in January were impersonating a real company, one with a legitimate product. The “hiring manager” she corresponded with over email also seemed legit, even sharing a slide deck outlining the responsibilities of the role they were advertising. But during the first video interview, Yelland says, the scammers refused to turn their cameras on during a Microsoft Teams meeting and made unusual requests for detailed personal information, including her driver’s license number. Realizing she’d been duped, Yelland slammed her laptop shut.

These kinds of schemes have become so widespread that AI startups have emerged promising to detect other AI-enabled deepfakes, including GetReal Labs, and Reality Defender. OpenAI CEO Sam Altman also runs an identity-verification startup called Tools for Humanity, which makes eye-scanning devices that capture a person’s biometric data, create a unique identifier for their identity, and store that information on the blockchain. The whole idea behind it is proving “personhood,” or that someone is a real human. (Lots of people working on blockchain technology say that blockchain is the solution for identity verification.)

But some corporate professionals are turning instead to old-fashioned social engineering techniques to verify every fishy-seeming interaction they have. Welcome to the Age of Paranoia, when someone might ask you to send them an email while you’re mid-conversation on the phone, slide into your Instagram DMs to ensure the LinkedIn message you sent was really from you, or request you text a selfie with a timestamp, proving you are who you claim to be. Some colleagues say they even share code words with each other, so they have a way to ensure they’re not being misled if an encounter feels off.

“What’s funny is, the low-fi approach works,” says Daniel Goldman, a blockchain software engineer and former startup founder. Goldman says he began changing his own behavior after he heard a prominent figure in the crypto world had been convincingly deepfaked on a video call. “It put the fear of god in me,” he says. Afterwards, he warned his family and friends that even if they hear what they believe is his voice or see him on a video call asking for something concrete—like money or an internet password—they should hang up and email him first before doing anything.

Ken Schumacher, founder of the recruitment verification service Ropes, says he’s worked with hiring managers who ask job candidates rapid-fire questions about the city where they claim to live on their resume, such as their favorite coffee shops and places to hang out. If the applicant is actually based in that geographic region, Schumacher says, they should be able to respond quickly with accurate details.

Another verification tactic some people use, Schumacher says, is what he calls the “phone camera trick.” If someone suspects the person they’re talking to over video chat is being deceitful, they can ask them to hold up their phone camera to their laptop. The idea is to verify whether the individual may be running deepfake technology on their computer, obscuring their true identity or surroundings. But it’s safe to say this approach can also be off-putting: Honest job candidates may be hesitant to show off the inside of their homes or offices, or worry a hiring manager is trying to learn details about their personal lives.

“Everyone is on edge and wary of each other now,” Schumacher says.

While turning yourself into a human captcha may be a fairly effective approach to operational security, even the most paranoid admit these checks create an atmosphere of distrust before two parties have even had the chance to really connect. They can also be a huge time suck. “I feel like something’s gotta give,” Yelland says. “I’m wasting so much time at work just trying to figure out if people are real.”

Jessica Eise, an assistant professor studying climate change and social behavior at Indiana University-Bloomington, says that her research team has been forced to essentially become digital forensics experts, due to the amount of fraudsters who respond to ads for paid virtual surveys. (Scammers aren’t as interested in the unpaid surveys, unsurprisingly.) If the research project is federally funded, all of the online participants have to be over the age of 18 and living in the US.

“My team would check time stamps for when participants answered emails, and if the timing was suspicious, we could guess they might be in a different time zone,” Eise says. “Then we’d look for other clues we came to recognize, like certain formats of email address or incoherent demographic data.”

Eise says the amount of time her team spent screening people was “exorbitant,” and that they’ve now shrunk the size of the cohort for each study and have turned to “snowball sampling” or having recruiting people they know personally to join their studies. The researchers are also handing out more physical flyers to solicit participants in person. “We care a lot about making sure that our data has integrity, that we’re studying who we say we’re trying to study,” she says. “I don’t think there’s an easy solution to this.”

Barring any widespread technical solution, a little common sense can go a long way in spotting bad actors. Yelland shared with me the slide deck that she received as part of the fake job pitch. At first glance, it seemed like legit pitch, but when she looked at it again, a few details stood out. The job promised to pay substantially more than the average salary for a similar role in her location, and offered unlimited vacation time, generous paid parental leave, and fully-covered health care benefits. In today’s job environment, that might have been the biggest tipoff of all that it was a scam.

[sorentymn]

The Istanbul incident.

A highly volatile piece of technology had been stolen from an MI6 courier. Suspected involvement with highly trained counterintelligence warrants the presence of 007 and the recently appointed Quartermaster himself.

───────────────────────────────

Content: Multi-chapters, 18+, mentions of violence and probably smut down the line. :p

A/N: I recently rewatched James Bond again, and the love I have for this ship is beyond unhealthy so here's a treat for fellow 00Q fanatics. 

This is set sometime after Skyfall.  

In which Bond has the fattest crush ever, honestly.

───────────────────────────────

←

CHAPTER II.

This was the handiwork of FSB agent Zhenya K., the very same operative responsible for a seismic leak at Interpol some years back, whose monitoring since has been a colossal effort.

Put up against the natural course of time, this leak's harrowing consequences faded in the minds of ever-changing MI6 staff. New terrors manifest every other day, and eventually, the big bad wolf of now fades into the topic of casual chit-chat at the coolers until it resurfaces to give everyone a great big headache. 

"CCTV surveillance last recorded her around here." Q looked up briefly to point out a lavish townhouse, then returned to his laptop, his fingers working the keyboard like a manic pianist. When he was certain the earbuds were in working order, he passed them to Bond like spare change, his mind already migrated to something else in his mental checklist. 

As Bond watched the young Quartermaster, a piece of information returned to him. Moneypenny had mentioned in passing that this was Q's first time operating in the field. If Q hadn’t been less verbal than usual, Bond would've never guessed. He'd followed the ritual without a hitch since they left the hotel.

It is one thing to remain tethered in an office miles away from danger, and then there is the real threat of physically being in it. To someone without years of exposure to direct violence, even the potential alone could be a heavy load. Bond couldn’t sympathise fully anymore, but he can remember the first kills. 

As Bond was putting in his earbud, he rested his other hand gently on the younger man's shoulder, which caused him to stiffen more than he already was. Q looked up for the first time since they entered the car with a puzzled look and was met with something tender.

That ice-capped gaze that made most people scurry and hide was saying something gentle without a sound, and briefly, the men exchanged the faintest of smiles before they returned to reality. 

Back to business.

As smoothly as breathing, Bond checked the cartridge, then smoothed the fabric of his dark long sleeves; a brief run of his fingers through his hair as the final count before he opened the door.

"Good luck, 007" 

Bond paused for a beat, then nodded at the young man. He always found Q's finishing touch comforting.

Bond enters the house through the back door with a deceptively small and efficient decryption device courtesy of the Q branch. The lights were off, the only sign of life being a faint tune humming from upstairs as if it was luring him in. He couldn't detect a voice amongst the sombre jazz, no footsteps either, only running water and his sturdy heartbeat.

So he followed the melody up to the third floor, positioned, poised to shoot all the while thanking the homeowner's aesthetic choice of carpeted floors for his muffled steps.

When he was finally pressed up behind a wall separating the corridor and the only room with lights switched on, he heard a window being pulled open harshly. Shit.  

Bond rounded the corner, narrowly avoiding a bullet, during the brief seconds Bond took to recenter, she slipped through the opening with the case in hand. It seemed something tipped her off, but he didn't have time to analyse his mistake. The hunt was on, and he leapt out of the window onto a neighbouring ledge, an uneven terracotta roof that shook with every rushed step.

The target is remarkably fast considering the weight she's carrying. He is now running at top speed, the adrenaline pulsing in his veins, silencing everything else around him as he steps out of her bullet path one after the other. Bond is now 007; all that he is condensed into one objective, and he’s willing to bet his mortality to win. 

After some daring stunts and high-speed home invasions, his lungs were beginning to seriously burn, a harsh reminder of his limits. His bad knee started to creak, pressuring him to end the pursuit.

He managed to close in on her, but just as he reached out, one of the tiles slipped from its place, sending Bond careening off the roof. He clung onto the rain grate seconds before falling off the edge. With that same momentum, he directed the swing up to fire his Walther and luckily managed to put a hole right in the middle of her right leg, subduing her.  

He found her clinging to the edge with one hand, the other gripping the handle of the case so tightly he could tell by the look in her eyes she was fighting whether to protect the case or her own life. At her creative string of profanities, Bond only looked on completely vacant, with a hand outstretched, beckoning for the case. 

He continued to watch her inner turmoil play out on her features, making no move to ease her situation.

"The case." He waited and waited; he had no reason to press her as it seemed like she was edging towards an answer, but as she lifted the case to him, the sound of a gunshot broke the air, iron and wetness everywhere as Bond fell back against the roof. He could feel the wetness sprayed across his face.

Someone shot her off the edge, and along with her body, the case fell to the ground with a gnarly sound upon impact. 

"Fuck!" 

Q, who'd remained silent over the comms since Bond entered the house, finally spoke. 

"007, it seems we've got company-" 

"Yes, I noticed Q." Bond bit back harshly as he picked himself up, eyes locked on the motorbike that appeared from nowhere to retrieve the case from the former target's lifeless clutch before speeding off. 

"Are you seeing this?" 

"Yes, I'm tracking him now, he's headed towards a highway leading out of the city he must be headed towards the airstrip." 

Q's voice remained still despite Bond's gnashing. With new intel, Bond rushed down the narrow alley and not so politely annexed a retro-looking bike from a teenage boy preoccupied with a group of girls who only gaped wordlessly in Bond’s direction as he sped off. 

For the next tense minutes, Q expertly relayed shortcuts after another, which required sheer luck and being James Bond himself to execute. (This man's pension for borderline suicidal athleticism will never cease to amaze.) Finally, he managed to deliver Bond right behind the shooter, and now it's the battle of motor strength. 

"007, get him, if you miss him at the next turn we might lose him." 

"Very helpful, Q. Don't suppose you've got magic words to make this bloody thing go faster than a geriatric donkey." Bond caught a sigh from Q. 

"That's not very nice" 

"Well, do you?" 

Bond somehow jokes in his bout of adrenaline madness, as he does, Bond dodges a collision that sends a car flying in a pirouette mid-air as they speed closer and closer towards a line of cement barricade that would effectively cut him and the target into separate tunnels. 

"007, you grab that case and I'll do more than recite magic spells." Q barks in an attempt to alleviate the pressure in his chest, which means that, unlike his usually filtered self, the mildly suggestive nature of his outburst was lost on him until it was too late. 

Bond despite being under the kind of pressure that would send any normal man into shock honest to god smirked and not that Q could see his face but somehow he was more than sure the agent was absolutely mocking him in that silence. 

"Is that a promise?" Bond said this as he sped the poor bike to its maximum, then leapt off onto an adjacent car that was steadily speeding to make the tunnel just behind the target. 

He put a bullet into the shooter's hind wheel, sending the bike sliding off the side of the road mere seconds before the shooter made the tunnel. Bond then jumped off, landing quite roughly on his bad shoulder, but was too hopped up on adrenaline to notice. 

He found the target in a gruesome position, confirming he did not survive the crash. 

"007 status report" 

"Target eliminated, I've got the case" 

"Is it damaged?" 

"No" 

"Good, excellent, well done, 007. We are on our way to you now." 

════════════════════════════════════════════

They were driven outside of the city to a barren valley with no sign of civilisation. It was all rocky mounds with patches of green here and there, it looked apocalyptic and perhaps that's fitting for what they’re about to do.  

The two men hurried to flat ground, Bond and Q dropped their respective rucksacks to the dirt and then swiftly began unpacking the items into separate groups.

Q made as many deductions as he could manage about the contents of the case and brought several sets of bomb diffusing kits tailored to various types of explosives. A separate set should it be a biological component and several decryption tools of his own making.

Beside Q is a vigilant James Bond. As the quartermaster got busy organising tools for the operation, he remained on his feet with a rifle sturdy in his hands. The clearing leaves them vulnerable, but it was the closest location to extract the contents without compromising on time.

Bond finally crouched when he could sense no threat but his eyes continued to sweep along the mounds. The extraction process frankly makes him nervous; the not being able to dictate the process is something he'll always have a hard time trusting. Q had never failed him throughout the few times they'd worked together, and he is undoubtedly one of the brightest minds currently living, but the threat of what's inside chafed at him regardless.

When Bond peered behind him, Q was finally starting the process. In the same way, he easily became the young man behind the moniker, Q switched on his genius to tackle the threat. His focus is singular, effectively erasing just about everything around him save for the screen embedded in the case.

Q reached for a box containing a cubic machine with several wires attached and began to plug it into the exposed sockets on the case. The screen in the case blinks to life displaying complex web pixels to which Q starts typing long numeral sequences attempting to untangle the abstract lock. 

"Pandora, do be careful with that." Bond eager to assess the threat tried to draw out something from Q but his effort when wholly ignored. 

Q’s rapid punching of numbers continued until eventually the screen lifted from its mechanism exposing a screwed lid, what Bond assumed is housing the chip powering the case’s elaborate lock mechanism. Q started to unscrew the impossibly tiny screws but as he did a beeping sound announced itself, this made the two men pale. 

"Should I be saying my final words?" Bond joked again, but his face did not match the tone.

“If my little one here serves its purpose you might not have to" Bond frowned at this, noting the use of ‘might’

"Q, Is that you saying you're not sure?" 

"Not unsure, just calibrating, the lock mechanism on this case is not something I’m familiar with" Too candid. Q delivered this in a cold, analytical, and uncaring tone, Bond’s inquiry more a nuisance than anything he could be bothered to explain in the face of this deadly puzzle. 

"That's unsure" Q was determined to ignore this, but when Bond attempted to reach for his hand, Q swatted him away. 

"Oh, for Christ's sake! No, Bond, calibrating means I'm still figuring the bloody thing out. Would you like to die arguing semantics, or would you like to not be vaporised? Let me do my fucking job!”

Loud and clear. Bond squinted at him, and it's remarkably communicative, not to casual acquaintances but to those who've been around him enough to see more than a smirk or his resting poker face. Experts would conclude: "You little shit"

"Yes, I much prefer the silent brooding." Despite the alarming beeps, the cubic toy, Q’s trump card, seemed to have finished its battle with the ominous pixels. It announced its task done with a beep and Q with clinical precision, unscrewed the lid to reveal sets upon sets of tiny wires connected to the central chip. 

“Bond, I need your help” Bond assumed that the lack of beeping meant they were in the clear, but that was just the first layer because a countdown had started on the screen once again. 

“Bond”, Q repeated. The agent quickly moved to the opposite end of the case, grabbing the equipment laid out and quickly familiarising them with his grip.

His heart rate felt prominent before, but now it’s hurling itself against his ribcage, fighting its way out of his chest. He could feel the wetness at the back of his shirt, and Q looked no less dishevelled. 

"Alright, hold onto this wire", Bond complies, willing himself to do some meditative breathing only to make sure he is still in fact breathing. It won't do if his hands begin to shake. 

"And?" 

"Shut up, I'm thinking" Q was angling his wrist in different directions like he was choreographing the approach. 

"This one here, Bond", Q points at one of the blue wires, and Bond cuts it swiftly, only for it to backfire. The two cocked their heads to the timer only to see it cut by half. They now have exactly 10 seconds to disable the bomb. 

"Why is the timer down by half!" Bond roared. 

"Fuck.." Q genuinely seemed stressed, and that was one of the most terrifying things to witness. His life is put completely at the Quartermaster’s will, and he’s being all too revealing.

"Which one do I cut!" 

"...." 

"Q!" 

"Here the red one on three" The men's focus now clung to one another, They breathed in sequence 1...2...3...both wires were snipped, disabling the counter, and the screen that displayed their impending doom dimmed into nothing. 

There were successions of clacking sounds, and then the contents were revealed to them. Three vials sit neatly in their casing, inside which is a clear liquid that seems harmless if not for the several layers of clear casing and a series of interlocking lids. Identification will have to be done at the headquarters' secure labs.

Q hurried to the task, reassembling the case back to its initial state, effectively lifting the thick sense of doom permeating between them both.

A gust of wind exited Q as he put his tongs down into the kit box, and Bond threw them away as if they were burning his hands. They were both so taken by the sheer relief of not being exploded to pieces that the contents of that case no longer mattered.

They were both panting, staring at one another wildly as their chemicals hijacked their central control. Nothing was processing, no signals were going in or out, only sensations. 

If you asked Q, he would not be able to describe what happened in the seconds leading up to this. Bond seemed to lunge at him in slow motion with a look on his face like he was going to rip him in half, but it wasn't pain Q felt, no, he didn't get punched across the face for his life-threatening error.

He's now at this moment being kissed by James fucking Bond. 

His eyes fluttered shut out of instinct and shock. He was stone still, and only after long seconds later did he notice Bond’s lips gliding against his own, and he was kissing him back without realising it.

It was a tangled mess, like all the stress translated into a heated momentum. Finally, shaking hands pushed at James’s chest, and Q stared at him wide-eyed, lips beet red, and his glasses lopsided. 

"Bond wh-" 

"Sorry- I" He looked no less puzzled, which is bizarre on Bond's usually unreadable face. Q could see Bond bare for a brief second before they went cold again. The agent turned away, suddenly packing up the tools scattered around them with a very telling efficiency.

As Bond ferociously packed, Q lagged slightly behind, starting on the kit closest to him, unable to process the situation. All things considered, Bond's intentions were not concealed despite the surprise; what bothered Q was that he wanted more. So far, he'd been denying any attraction to the man, deciding it's a surface-level appreciation considering the agent's appeal and, well, his own lack of sex life.

Do I want him?

Before Q could reach out to him, the agent got up from his spot on the ground, along with two rucksacks slung on one shoulder to avoid the one he landed on. He staggered a little as he rose and began to limp in the direction of the van without a single word.

The ride back to the hotel was in uncomfortable silence. Neither one of the men looked at the other as they quietly processed the events. This silence extended to their return flight that same evening, without so much as a look shared between the two men as they parted ways after a dispatch team retrieved the case from them at the airport. 

═══════════════════════════════════════════

“Circe? That better not be you in the office!” Hearing no yowls in response to his call, Q sagged with the kind of exhaustion often seen on new mothers. The little witch in question had recently blossomed into an even more rambunctious teen, worse than she was as a kitten. Q is normally understanding to a fault, often spoiling Circe and Sybill the elder, but not today.

He’d had a particularly bad sleep, the source being the INCIDENT gnawing at him since it happened until now. So, there will be retribution for mugs knocked off tables this fine Saturday evening. And by retribution, he just means a particularly dirty stare at best. 

He stared emptily at a piping hot tea in his hand and decided against thwarting Circe’s onslaught in his home office and made for the sofa where Sybilla, his eldest feline daughter, was curled up with a look of pure hatred at her father. “Your sister, your turn today, Sibi, now scoot.” That she did, but more so to get away from him rather than tend to her sisterly duties. 

Q immediately fished for the remote somehow crammed beneath the slit in the sofa and flicked through the selections determined to settle on something as quickly as possible so he could ignore the gnawing bitterness in his chest.

Just when he was narrowing down on a sappy period drama, the doorbell sounded. Great. He reached for his phone and tapped on the surveillance app that connects all the cameras in and around his flat, ready to yell at a delivery man who did not deserve his temperament, but- 

“Q, my darling!” Eve. Of course, it's Eve. He hesitated, wondering if he’d rather pretend to be asleep. In some way, he did expect this visit. The woman seems to have some mystical abilities, he’s concluded, despite being a firm man of science. The way she always seems to know exactly what to say or when to manifest cannot be explained by excellent spy craft and audacity alone. 

This was his own doing, despite protocol which demands his presence at MI6 the minute he lands, he decided to take one out of Bond’s books and ignored his debrief meeting. He was too tired and too confused to pretend otherwise. So, seeing as the case got delivered safely, he dragged what was left of himself back into his flat and crashed face-first into deep sleep. 

This, of course, tipped off his best friend, who no doubt waited very patiently for the past week to hear how it all went.

“Q I know you’re awake, If you pretend to be asleep and ignore me I will tell Mrs Copeland you’re feeling under the weather” This part she whispered into the microphone (hidden behind a wooden panel she should have no idea is there), Despite the volume, the effect is instantaneous Q is more than anything terrified to catch the lovely Mrs Copeland’s attention again.

There were several incidents he would very much not like repeated; his elderly neighbour simply would not leave him alone, and the minute Eve learned of this ammunition, she’d been exercising it too often for his liking. 

Q groaned up at the ceiling and stomped his way to the door, and when he swung it open, there she was, dressed head to toe like she’d just walked off a runway. Q, however, is frowning at her behind his glasses that haven’t been wiped; he’s drowning in a large T-shirt that’s not his own, no doubt left by one of his one-night stands some century ago; oh, and his hair could rival Medusa’s.

“You look-” Eve did her best to look encouraging but that was the thing with Eve, despite her recent history as a field agent she would only pull up that mask when it was strictly business. Sometimes Q wished she’d extend the courtesy to their relationship, the woman is unrelentingly honest even if she pads them up nicely a lot of the time. 

“Like I’ve been run over, yes, I know, are you coming in or not?” 

“Alright, settle down this is supposed to be a lovely house call” She adjusts the shopping bags in her arms and makes her way inside sparing sickeningly sweet hellos to Q’s littlings that’ve come to the door. 

“I heard the case made it back to the labs safe, no one got hurt, why are you…this-” She waved her hand at Q’s entirety as she settled the bag down on the table, and he had to stifle a bitter laugh. 

“Did you come bearing gifts?” 

Of course, she did bring something; she always did. Eve peeled away the shopping bags to reveal two bottles of his favourite Merlot, and that managed to brighten him up a bit. So they settled into his sofa, the TV show softly murmuring away as the two started with something rudimentary at first, office happenings he missed that week and eventually after the fourth glass they revisited the topic. 

“You know, half the women on the top floor wanted to swap bodies with you” 

“Why on earth would they want to be an ache-riddled scarecrow?” Q mused as he let himself sink further into the back cushion enough to almost fold his chin back into his chest, the wine glass atop the flat expanse of his chest.

“I imagine the idea of getting to be in the same room as Bond for a few nights sounds like heaven to them” Eve turned to him with a knowing look that said: Bliss to those who've never had the pleasure, the man is actually a menace even if he is undeniably sexy.

“It’s hardly h- wait, how did they know we shared a room?!” Q's voice spiked, animated by the alcohol.

“One of your minions got cornered”, she smirked.

“Fucking Brian” 

“Yeah- fucking Brian” Eve grinned in a suspiciously fond way, he’ll have to pry that out of her later. 

“Exactly how much did ‘fucking Brian’ let slip” Q downed the remaining wine in his glass then pushed himself upright aiming for the opened bottle his eyes still glued on her determined to get to the bottom of this.

“He might’ve gotten threatened into snooping on you on the first night” Q crinkled his nose initially unfazed, but then it dawned on him.

“Oh-” 

“So what was that late-night riverside stroll about, Q?” 

“It’s not what you think it is” That sounded more believable in his head.

“Says every single person who’s about to lie” Eve is suddenly closer now, like she wasn't going to let the truth escape. Later, he will blame the wine, but Q relented.

“Listen, alright, yes, we did go for a walk. They were pulling the records, and we couldn’t work till then, and you know Bond being well, Bond” 

“He wanted a drink” 

“Yes, he wanted a drink"

“So you two went for a ‘walk’ and drinks," she squints.

“....” Oh, Eve, you bloody witch.

“It’s sounding a little like a date, sweetheart” 

“I could go for a walk and drinks with you, I don’t know why you’re making this a thing”, he waved dismissively, suddenly interested in his very mundane glass.

“Yeah- well, I don’t happen to be someone you eat up with your eyes every time he appears” At this, Q frowned, defensive.

“That's silly, I don’t do that” 

“You absolutely do” 

“You’re impossible, you know that?” 

“Think you’d be bored of me otherwise” They stared at one another challengingly but then they broke into a short fit of laughter at that sweet admission but no this did not erase the secret he's hiding. This is only an intermission.

After a knowing silence, Q cleared his throat.

“Oh fuck it-” He took a large gulp of the wine.

“....” 

“Bond kissed me” 

“WHAT!” He only nodded quietly at her explosive reaction.

“Are you joking?” He shook his head.

“Ok, so you’re not joking, how?” 

“I don’t know, adrenaline?"

“I did not expect a nuke when I came through the door, this is too good” 

“I’m glad this is amusing to you?"

"What is this reaction? This is exciting and sexy. Why do you look disturbed?" Eve is so close to him that their laps are almost stacked.

"I don't know, he looked disturbed by it. I know he kissed me, but why was that his reaction?"

Eve's head tilted, not following.

"He looked shocked and didn't speak to me the rest of the way back. I know rejection when I see it, but this is something else?"

"Alright, we're going on a mission"

"What- to unravel what that was?"

"Yes, I refuse to let this gnaw at you until you get over it"

"Oh—I mean," Q's glassy gaze trailed off into the distance. Eve is exactly right. He's not insecure about most things, but he is very much human, and rejection of him rather than his work often lingers way longer than it should.

He felt the warmth of Eve's hand atop his own, and when he turned to her, she already had an air about her like she was ready to hunt, and that was disturbingly comforting.

"Shall we open that third bottle?" Q asked, despite himself.

"Yes, yes, yes!"

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

What do you think are the members' favorite sex positions?

What are you talking about, they're pure pristine angels that would never - I'm just kidding, alright, on the assumption that no one is repulsed by sex, let's make some completely unfounded guesses!

No repeats because that's not fun. It's very likely there's overlap in reality. Classic sex positions are popular for a reason. This is just for giggles and because I like ranting about sex. ;) This wasn't intentional, but the list turned out to be genital neutral. Don't tell me men can't have boobs. I've seen Jeon Jungkook.

Kim Namjoon: Cowgirl. Did he not tell us he likes a a pro rida? Pfft, but on a real note, I feel that cowgirl can be a very empowering position. Frontal is great for titty bounce, reverse is great for ass bounce. Versatile! Plus, he can grab your hips and rail you to change the pace if needed. Just imagine his hands holding your waist as you ride his dick. Mhm. Let him see you feel sexy for him. He likes that.

Kim Seokjin: Against the wall, with one leg around his waist and your hands on his shoulders. He's a bit tricky because I think his favorite sex position will depend on his partner (he's gonna match your freak, as they say). So, while his mouth will probably complain, "this is unconventional, idk about this", he would enjoy the passion. That kind of position requires both partners to be actively involved, and seeing a display of your desire for him will bring out the best in him. I wouldn't be surprised if he only did vanilla missionary though, if that was all his partner wanted.

Min Yoongi: 69. Okay, yeah, that's giga obvious. Dude thinks he can continue going on and on about his tongue technology and not expect me to think he's all about it? HUH?! (ft j-hope) But also I think he's a multi-position in one session kinda guy. He doesn't wanna be bored. He's gonna be intense. Sex is never "just because", sex is because he wants it and he's gonna put his all into it. Be prepared. This is a threat.

Jung Hoseok: All fours doggy. With one hand handcuffed to his. Well, he'd do regular doggy purely to watch that ass bounce. I just feel that he would be the most interested in adding some flair into the bedroom. Let's have some fun! A vibrator here, one there, casual handcuffing, make it flashy, larger than life, tomorrow everyone is asking you why you're walking weirdly.

Park Jimin: Standing doggy. He's standing, you're bent over, hands on the floor. A different angle than elbows and knees, extra deep and you'll feel his balls smack you with each thrust. Push back. He likes to feel you contribute. Before this, he would probably want to make out with both of you doing the most of your hands. He expresses his feelings are in his touches. Also, have you seen his lips? Can't leave him unkissed!

Kim Taehyung: Missionary with your legs on his shoulders. Yup, folded in half. He likes looking at your face. He likes making you tight as possible so you feel all of him. He's not gonna let you escape. Also, he likes being able to dip down and kiss you when he wants to. Aww. What a cutie. He'd cuddle you every chance he has. That's probably what started this. Spooning into humping your ass.

Jeon Jungkook: On your side, one leg against his chest. Works the best if you're laying on the edge of the bed and he's standing. Can also work if you have flexibility and he's on top. This way his hands have access to front and back, he can show off his power, and see your cute face. Expect a long night. He's got a lot of energy. He's gonna want to show off. He'll make you feel so good so many times, you'll wonder if you're still alive. He's gonna make sure you'll never think about anyone else.