#nsh let him

[capricoopla]

Hunter vaping

[maiios]

hello lilypad shippers the robot yuri has arrived

designs by @lyss-butterscotch

[jiwuu]

꒰ 𑄽୧ ꒱ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 you steal niki's famously baggy clothes

0.5k── fmr x nsh niki, est. relationship, fluff

Niki is lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone when he hears the door to his room creak open. He barely looks up at first until he sees what you’re wearing.

His hoodie. His baggy jeans. His Chrome Hearts necklace resting against your collarbone.

His brows furrow as he takes you in, his phone lowering slightly. “Wait… is that—?” He pauses, eyes narrowing as he notices how ridiculously loose the jeans are on you. The waistband is folded over slightly, barely hanging onto your hips. And then, just above the denim—

He sees it.

The waistband of his boxers peeking out.

Niki chokes. “Are you serious?” He pushes himself up on his elbows, eyes wide as he points at your waist. “You stole my boxers too?”

You shrug nonchalantly, spinning slightly to show just how oversized everything is on you. “What? They’re comfy.”

Niki groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t just take my whole wardrobe like that!”

“Oh, but I can.” You flash him a grin before plopping down onto his bed beside him, adjusting the sleeves that hang past your hands. “I think I pull it off pretty well.”

Niki’s jaw tightens as he stares at you, looking way too good in his clothes, his jewelry, and now—his freaking boxers. He sits up fully, reaching for the chain around your neck, tugging you closer by it. “At least give me back one thing,”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “Or what?”

His lips twitch. His grip on the chain tightens slightly, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. “Or I’ll just take something of yours instead.”

You smirk, pulling back just slightly. “Well, I was actually about to go out like this. I think it’s a fit.”

Niki’s face drops. “No you’re not.”

You blink. “Uh, yes I am?”

“No you’re not.” His voice is firm as he gestures toward your waist. “Everyone will see our boxers.”

“Relax, it’s just the waistband.”

“I don’t care.” He grabs the hem of his hoodie on you, tugging it down as if that’ll fix anything. “You’re not going out like that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what exactly are you gonna do about it?”

Niki doesn’t even hesitate. In one swift movement, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you backward onto the bed, rolling onto his side to trap you under his arm. “Guess you’re staying in,” he says smugly, voice right by your ear.

You squirm, half laughing, half annoyed. “Niki, let me go—”

“Nope.” He tightens his hold, pressing his cheek against your shoulder. “Not unless you change.”

You huff, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “Possessive much?”

“Damn right.” He doesn’t even deny it, smirking against your hoodie. “Now, stay here. Forever preferably.”

© jiwuu, all rights reserved.

letters from author ୨୧ late post pls no flopers

[woniefication]

Video Game Lover. NSH Riki

⟡Je t'adore, mon amour// 𝐵𝑓! 𝑁.𝑅𝑖𝑘𝑖 𝑥𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟//oneshot//Warn:skinship// G~Fluff,crack⟡西村 力/// Enjoy!᭪ 𝘔.𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

A/N: Am I having a comeback?? Maybe...

Perm. taglist: @orimuraa @douqhnxtss @chrrific @liwinly @fleurynz @leaderwon

Niki was in his usual spot,slouched in his gaming chair, eyes glued to the screen, fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard he had custom done for him. The glow of his rainbow monitor illuminated his face, highlighting the soft smirk he always had when he was deep in a match. Meanwhile,You sat on his messy bed, arms crossed, staring at him.

“Niki,” You called, voice laced with a playful whine.

“Mm?” He didn’t even look away from his game.

You sighed dramatically and rolled onto your stomach, kicking your feet in the air. “You’ve been playing forever. What about me,what about me~?”

“Babe, one more round,” he promised, fingers tapping rapidly. You heard gunfire through his headset. “This is the ranked match, I swear, last one.”

You huffed. That’s what he said an hour ago.

You decided to get creative. Sliding off the bed, You walked over and draped your arms over his shoulders, resting your chin on his head. “Niki,” You whispered into his ear, “do you love me or the game more?”

He chuckled, still focused on the screen. “That’s not a fair question, babe.”

You pouted. Alright, desperate times call for desperate measures. You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss just behind his ear, letting your lips linger. That made him pause for a second;but just a second.

“You’re evil,” he murmured, but you saw the slight grin forming.

“I just miss you,” You admitted, nuzzling against him. “You spend more time with your game than me.”

He sighed, then—finally—turned his chair to face you. His eyes softened as he took your hands in his. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Before you could respond, he suddenly pulled me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around you. “How about this,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I close the game, and we do whatever you want?”

You blinked. “You’d do that?”

“For you? Always.”

You felt your heart melt as he reached over and, with a single click exited the game. Then, with a mischievous grin, he leaned in closer. “Now, what was that about missing me?”

And just like that, You had his full attention. Finally.

@woniefication 2025. M.list

[lovegreenie]

Love, Copycat | NSH Riki | 西村 力

synopsis. 3 times you wonder why Riki likes copying you, and the 1 time you realize why

pairing. bsf! riki x fem! reader

tags. fluff, reader is oblivious, college! au, extremely self-indulgent, reader is a bit of a nerd, Riki indulges her nerdiness… a little too much, childhood friends to almost lovers (they’re getting there), attempt at comedic narration

essie's ✉️. “Soft Spot” by Keshi inspired this (I was possessed by it while writing this actually) Also please tell me someone has this as their love language too like it’s got such a special place in my heart:( And thank you to bestie @sweethoneyjays for beta reading !!

wc. 2.9k

Copycat.

It’s what you’ve always called Riki.

It’s his contact name on your phone, it’s the name you use whenever you talk about him, and it’s the name you call out whenever any minor inconvenience graces you with its presence.

Like right now.

“Mm?” He hummed in response when you groaned out your little nickname for him, his eyes never leaving the switch in his hands as he lay sprawled across your bed. 

All you could do in that moment was let out a sigh as you went slack against the backrest of your desk chair, your head hanging from its edge while you stared at the ceiling.

“I thought I’d love it, I truly did. It's a mystery, has secret societies, a commentary on classism and misogyny; everything I love in a book,” you said as you picked up the one on your desk and looked at it with contempt, “so why can’t I get through this one? It’s barely 500 pages.” 

Riki paused his game to walk over and sit on the ottoman you keep by your desk. You handed over the book for him to check out, and he mumbled as he read the title on the cover.

“Can’t you just do your assignment on ‘Babel’? It’s the same genre, has a secret society, explores the same problems, and it’s dark academia like this one, no?” He handed the book back to you after he finished reading the synopsis.

You blinked at him.

“You’ve read… ‘Babel’? As in… 1830s Oxford, the power of translation, daddy-issues-Robin ‘Babel’?”

There was a hint of confusion and amusement behind your surprised look, and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. You never took Riki to be a book-worm in the nine years you’ve been friends, never once saw him pick up a book if it wasn’t for school.

At this point, you were less upset with your professor’s poor literary choice for your first assignment of the term, and more so delighted by the fact that your best friend had read what is probably your all-time-favorite book by your all-time-favorite author.

Unprompted.

Riki huffed out a little laugh as he got up and plopped back onto your bed, not before annoying you with a hair ruffle though.

“Yeah well it’s the only book you’ve been carrying around since last year. You’ve even filled it up with tabs and annotations” He resumed his game as he continued to talk.

“If it was good enough for you to keep around that long after finishing it, I figured I’d give it a shot.”

You didn’t know how to respond.

A comforting silence blanketed the both of you like it usually did when you guys would hang out, the sound of his game being the only thing filling in the space between the two of you.

All you did was stare at the switch-occupied boy on your bed, thinking his answer would make sense if you did.

You stared, and you stared, and you stared,

but to no avail.

You sat up properly and turned back to face your desk, opening the book to the page you left your bookmark on, and started to read like you weren’t just complaining about it a minute ago.

“Copycat…” You murmured to yourself, your reddened cheek pressed against the palm of your hand, elbow settled down on your desk.

Riki explained himself like that was the most normal course of action ever… and you know what? Maybe it is.

For him at least.

It’s then that you realize that you really shouldn’t be surprised at this point, not when it’s happened so many times before.

It is how he earned his nickname after all.

The birth of “Copycat” happened about two years into your friendship, some time in between grades 9 and 10, with your 9th grade second semester English finals being the catalyst of it all.

You were working on your paper during lunch break, stationed in front of one of the library computers as you scribbled down notes and did your research.

“I didn’t realize watching cartoons was considered data gathering.”

You pulled out your earphones and paused the show that was playing on the monitor. The sight of Riki and his teasing smile greeted you when you turned around in your seat.

“We’re tasked to do a literary analysis, Riks,” you gestured towards the computer screen while hitting him with a deadpan look, “and this cartoon is literature.”

Your retort didn’t wipe the playful grin off his face, instead it only served to widen it. Riki sat himself in front of the computer next to yours, setting his bag down on the floor as he switched on the CPU.

“What’re you in the library for?” You asked as you put your earphones back in.

“‘M also doing my English paper.”

“On?”

“‘Weathering With You’.”

“And yet you have the audacity to come at me for watching a cartoon for my finals,” you quipped and shook your head disapprovingly, earning a soft chuckle from him. “Tsk tsk tsk.”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just call ‘Weathering With You’ a cartoon for the sake of our friendship,” Riki feigned offense, to which you fondly rolled your eyes.

“What’s…” He leaned towards your screen for a second to get a better look, “What’s ‘Voltron’ about anyway?”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, opened a whole can of worms.

You went on a tangent about how you have a love-hate relationship with the show, about how poorly the writers treated the plot and the individual arcs of two characters, and about how the main romance was bullshitted and didn’t even make sense—a tangent that lasted 10 minutes at the very least.

You were hit with a belated sense of embarrassment by the end of your little spiel, realizing that you just kept rambling on about the what-should-have-beens of a space lion cartoon.

You were about to either apologize or thank Riki for sitting through all of that, but he did you one better by asking;

“Is it cool if I watch with you?”

You were slightly taken aback; you weren’t expecting him to ask if he could watch your silly little show with him.

That’s how you two ended up spending the rest of that day’s lunch period in the library, sharing your earphones as the rest of Voltron’s season 3 played on the computer screen, Riki’s own research for his finals be damned.

Now, how exactly did this little library watch party serve as the catalyst for “Copycat”?

Well a week later, he came up to you saying that he watched the rest of the show. You didn’t think much of it besides being happy that Riki picked up one of your interests, now getting to geek out about the show with him; but then you noticed he started doing that with every other interest you’d mention from then on out.

You found out on a random Tuesday that Riki started liking a band that you absolutely love but only mentioned in passing; you were hanging out in your house, in the middle of Just Dance, when Riki brought up getting into that one movie series you talked about the week prior; and you were walking side by side one afternoon, Bisco in between both of you, when Riki told you that he picked up a hobby of yours.

“Copycat,” you muttered for the first time, right after he told you he tried that egg tart you really like from the bakery near your high school.

It was summer break. The both of you had just gone for a couple of rides around your neighborhood on your bikes, and now you guys were sitting curbside, cooling off with popsicles.

“What? You don’t like that I like what you like?” Riki asked as he took a bite out of his tangy ice lolly, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“No no, I never said that; I’m happy you’ve been refining your taste,” you quipped back with a smirk as you licked your own treat, “but that doesn’t make you any less of a copycat.”

The humming of cicadas filled the silence between the two of you, and for a while you simply appreciated the way the trees swayed and the way speckled sunlight hit the pavement you were sitting on. 

You didn’t think about how the both of you would still carry that silly off-handed nickname years later, well into your sophomore year of uni.

You never stopped to wonder why.

Why Riki kept copying you, to be specific.

It’s not like you minded, far from that actually—though you’d never admit to that and give up the fondly annoyed front you put up with him.

You were simply curious.

And so were Jake and Sunoo, apparently.

“No, because you’d have to strap Riki to a chair if you want him to actually watch something.” Sunoo explained, exasperation laced in his voice.

“That isn’t an exaggeration, by the way,” Jake chimed in, “we had to hold him down just so he’d watch ‘Love, Rosie’ with us.”

“You’re serious?” You laughed at the thought of Riki being held down exorcist-style just for a movie.

The three of you had been doing uni work in a cafe for about two hours at that point, hunched over your laptops and lecture notes while sipping on watered down iced coffee. Your much needed study break came in the form of Riki slander.

“I honestly don’t know how you do it.” Sunoo sighed as he closed his laptop.

“Hmm?” You hummed in response, not quite sure what he was referring to.

“You know, getting Riki to do the things you like with you.”

“Yeah whenever he gets into something new or recommends something to us, we ask him how he found out about it and he’d say ‘She likes it, so I thought I’d give it a shot too.” Jake added.

“Oh-”

You didn’t really know how to answer that, because you never had to ask Riki in the first place.

“Well if I’m being completely honest, I don’t. He just…” You vaguely gestured to nothing, “does it himself lol.”

The apples of your cheeks went pink and you tried to play it off coolly by pretending to write notes down, but it was too late because Sunoo already had a knowing smile on his face.

Jake was about to ask Sunoo why he was grinning from ear-to-ear when Riki arrived, immediately sitting next to you and greeting you with a pinch on your cheek. You pretended to swat it away but made no real effort to get him off you.

“Copycat,” You greeted with a blank tone, acknowledging his arrival without having to look at him, not with your face all red.

“Hello, Shortie.” Riki greeted back with a fond smile before he turned to face the two other boys at the table, “My dear hyungs.”

Jake went in for a dap, and Sunoo just rolled his eyes.

“Why’re you late? We’ve been here for two hours already.” Sunoo scolded, though there wasn’t any real bite to his words.

“Sorry, should’ve texted you guys; Sola needed help with homework, and my older sister needed a ride to her part-time.” Riki explained as he set down a box in the middle of the table.

“I also took a detour and bought snacks for you guys.” He added as he opened the lid. You looked at the box and sure enough, it was from that bakery you mentioned to him all those years ago. The sight of the egg tarts’ golden caps and the smell of their buttery crust felt like a hug from a dear old memory.

Jake immediately grabbed a tart, and Sunoo did a little happy dance before thanking Riki (he even threw in a “you should be late all the time if you’re gonna buy us snacks like this~”)

“Oh my God these are amazing.” Sunoo groaned as soon as he took a bite, face crumpling in what looked like anger from how good the tart was.

“Where did you buy these?” Jake asked, equally as impressed by the little pastry in his hands.

“A bake shop near our old high school,” Riki answered simply.

He pulled out a tart from the box and handed it over to you, a soft smile on his lips as he glanced your way. “These tarts are her favorite, and the bakery was en route to here so…”

Riki didn’t finish his sentence, instead opting to dig into an egg tart himself as he opened up his notes and started to work.

You were too surprised by his last statement that you forgot to take a bite out of the treat in your hands.

It tasted a lot sweeter and felt a lot warmer since you’ve last eaten it. And no, it’s not because the bakery switched up their recipe.

You started to understand why; why Riki kept copying you, for that matter.

And it only took one last push in the right direction for you to fully come to your senses.

“You’re not getting anything?” Riki asked. He followed closely behind you as you browsed the shelves of the music shop you guys were in.

“Not today at least,” You answered, eyes still focused on the jewel cases in front of you, “I just wanted to check the place out to see if they’ve got any of the albums I’m looking for.”

“I saw Big Thief and The Marias back there.” Riki mentioned.

“Yeah, I did too.” You smiled.

“They’re definitely on my list; I just need a little more time to save up so I can buy a few of the CDs I want in one go.” You explained as you placed back a Sade album on the shelf. “I kinda want to have more than one album on hand with me; more variety, y’know?”

The both of you left the music shop empty-handed that day.

On a bus ride home from uni about two weeks later, Riki asks you if you’ve saved up enough to buy the albums you want.

“Not yet, almost there though,” You answer simply before sporting a cheeky smirk, “Why? Want to buy them for me instead?”

“Please, if I had that kind of money, it’d go straight to my Steam wishlist.” Riki mused.

“Ahhh yeah, Hades 2…” You sucked in a breath.

“Exactly.”

There’s a momentary silence between you two, filled up by the humming of the AC unit and the thrumming of the engine.

“Why’d you ask anyway?” You asked, looking out the window.

“Hmm? Oh- uhhh…” Riki stammered for a bit as he rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a CD before handing it over to you.

You looked at the jewel case in Riki’s hand and then at him.

“What’s this?” You asked as you slowly took it from him and scanned the front cover. 

It read, “Love, Copycat,” with a drawing of you below it.

Before he could even answer, you realised what it was.

“I uh… made you a playlist,” Riki said in a hushed and bashful tone, a contrast to his usual confident and playful demeanor. “I thought I’d make you one while you saved up for the albums you want. You seemed pretty excited about using that CD player.”

You felt a pang in your heart when you looked up to see the sincerity in Riki’s eyes and in his shy smile.

“I added all your favorites—Clairo, The Japanese House, Adrienne Lenker.” He tapped the case in your hands, and his timid grin made way for a little pride to shine through, “I even drew a little portrait of you for the cover.”

You couldn’t stop looking at Riki. You were consumed by the thought of him going through the effort of buying the blank CD and jewel case, curating the playlist, downloading the songs, burning them into the disc, and making a custom cover—a hand-drawn portrait of you.

And then it hit you, all in one go.

Oh.

I’m stupid.

All those shows he watched, those hobbies he tried, those songs he listened to—all those interests he wouldn’t have been within a 10-foot radius of if it wasn’t for you;

He wasn’t copying you.

Riki did all that for you.

To say that he tugged at your heartstrings would be the understatement of the century—he straight up yanked at them. You only realized then that Riki had your heart in the gentlest of  chokeholds, and you wished he’d never let go.

Thwack.

A flick to your forehead.

…Okay maybe you did wish he’d let go, just this once.

You rubbed the spot Riki struck as you stared daggers into him, “WHAT THE HELL MAN?”

“WHAT??? You were zoned out for ages,” Riki laughed, “had to make sure you were still alive.”

You shook your head and scoffed before your eyes landed on the jewel case in your hand, another wave of silence—this time bubbling with tension—washing over the both of you.

You hesitated for a moment, but for once everything was clear to you—how you feel, what you should do.

So you threw all caution to the wind and rested your head on Riki’s shoulder, a quiet “thanks” making its way past your lips.

Though you might’ve not seen it,  Riki bit back a smile in hopes that it would quell the pounding in his chest. Slowly, he reached for your hand and gently intertwined your fingers together.

Riki’s voice was barely above a whisper, it was only for you to hear the smile in his words.

“Took you long enough.”

[wonwoosmagnetic]

I'll Remember, for Us. | csc

ONESHOT!

Pairing: sad! seungcheol x sad! oc Warnings: heartbreak, angst, shit ton of grief, mention of deaths, accidents, loss of memory. Word count: 6.1k words. Synopsis: He was the peace you found while losing everything else. Author's Note: A little (big) drabble I wrote in between drafting my newest no saints here chapter! that's why it took me double the time to update that LOL. But, till the story builds in NSH, I need to feed the people the angst. Honestly, this one was a little hard to write because no matter the amount of media one can consume regarding the emotions of grief, it can never, ever be put down in mere words. So if in anyway, this might seem underwhelming to you, I understand.

The wall behind his head was cold.

Seungcheol didn’t notice it at first—just felt the pressure where his skull met the plaster, the steady thud of his pulse echoing behind his eyelids.

He wasn’t asleep. He hadn’t slept.

Not since the night of the crash.

The hallway reeked of bleach and despair. The kind that clings to your clothes no matter how many showers you take. He didn’t remember the last time he left the hospital. Just that he couldn’t. Not yet.

Not while she was still inside that room, wires in her skin, machines breathing for her.

The silence around him wasn’t peaceful. It was loud.

The clock ticked. Someone coughed. A nurse laughed too brightly somewhere down the corridor.

And then— A shift. A quiet one.

Someone sat beside him.

The air changed. Just slightly. Like it exhaled.

He opened his eyes.

You are staring straight ahead, as if looking at the same nothing he was. No makeup. Tired eyes. Vending machine coffee clutched between both hands like you were afraid it might disappear.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But your presence didn’t feel like an intrusion. It felt like… company.

The kind you don’t realize you need until it’s there.

Seconds passed. Then minutes. He wondered what brought you here. Wondered if it was worse than what brought him.

“Long night?” you asked, voice soft, almost hesitant.

He blinked. Nodded.

“Yeah.” A pause. “You too?”

You gave a breath of a laugh, humorless and low. “Been a long week.”

Your fingers tapped against the cup, rhythm like a heartbeat. He noticed the way your knuckles were red, raw in some places. You hadn’t been sleeping either.

“Family?” he asked.

“Grandmother,” you said. “Yours?”

He swallowed. “Girlfriend. Car accident. Three days ago. They’re still not sure if she’ll—”

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t.

You didn’t push. Just nodded like you understood. Like you didn’t need the end of the sentence to feel the weight of it.

And they sat there again. In silence. In something heavy and unsaid.

---

You didn't cry.

That was the first thing he noticed.

There was a glassiness in your eyes, sure. A kind of far-off fog that only people in hospitals seemed to wear. But no tears. Just a tightly held composure, like if you let go even a little, you might unravel.

“She was diagnosed last year,” you said after a while, still looking ahead, not at him. “Stage four. It came fast.”

Seungcheol didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

“She raised me,” you added, like that explained everything. And maybe it did.

He shifted slightly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. The vinyl of the hospital bench creaked under him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And he meant it.

You nodded, like you'd heard that a hundred times already. “It’s okay. Or it’s not. I don’t know anymore.”

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Somewhere down the hall, a heart monitor beeped steadily.

Neither of them looked at the other. But neither moved away, either.

It was you who broke the quiet again.

“You’d think after three nights of this, I’d learn not to buy the coffee,” you said, wrinkling your nose as you sipped. “But here I am. Still pretending it helps.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. It was the first one in days.

“Try the tea,” he said. “Tastes like cardboard. But at least it smells like something real.”

That got a soft huff from you. Almost a laugh. Almost.

They fell back into silence again, the kind that started to feel less like strangers and more like a truce.

And then—

“I’m Seungcheol,” he said, quietly.

You turned to look at him for the first time. Her eyes were a soft brown, tired but warm. Your lips twitched into something like a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Seungcheol.”

But you didn’t offer your name.

---

The second night, you brought the coffee.

Seungcheol was in the same spot. Same posture. Same wall holding him up. Eyes closed, head tilted back, pretending for a moment that if he stayed still enough, time might stop moving without him.

Then the scent hit him.

Not bleach. Not hospital.

Coffee. Cinnamon. And… something soft. Vanilla, maybe.

He opened his eyes.

You were there again. Sitting beside him. This time, you were the one holding two cups.

“I upgraded us,” you said, offering him one. “The café on the second floor has actual espresso. A miracle in this place.”

He took it with a quiet thanks, fingers brushing yours. Warm skin. Cold fingertips.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, voice still rough from disuse.

“Me neither,” you replied honestly. “But here we are.”

He took a sip. It was actually good. Strong, a little bitter, the kind of taste that settled in your chest like something solid.

They sat in the same silence, but this one felt different. Familiar. Comfortable, almost.

“I found her talking to the air yesterday,” you said softly. “My grandmother. She thought I was my mom.”

Seungcheol turned to you. Your jaw was clenched, throat tight with the weight of the memory.

“She kept calling me by her name. Begging me not to leave again.”

He didn’t speak. Just listened. Really listened.

“I never met my mom. She left when I was a baby. Gran raised me alone. She’s… the only real family I have.”

Your voice broke on the word only. You blinked quickly, but didn’t wipe the tear that finally escaped.

Seungcheol shifted closer. Not touching you, just… near.

“I haven’t gone home in three days,” he said after a moment. “I sleep in the waiting room. My parents keep telling me to rest, but how do you rest when you don’t know if she’ll ever open her eyes again?”

Your head tilted slightly. “You love her a lot.”

“I do.” He stared at the floor. “But I don’t know if she knows it. Not the way I should’ve shown her.”

And just like that, the air between them cracked open. Two strangers, stitched together by grief, regret, and stale hospital air.

You held out your hand—not for a handshake, but just to hold.

No name. No promise.

Just presence.

And this time, Seungcheol took it.

---

The room was too quiet.

Not the kind of silence that brought peace—but the kind that screamed in his ears.

Machines beeped in a steady rhythm, too steady. A reminder that the only thing keeping her breathing wasn’t her.

Seungcheol sat beside the hospital bed, fingers curled into a loose fist on his lap. He’d been sitting there for an hour. Maybe more.

She looked the same. Pale. Still. Like a painting that hadn’t been finished. Like if he blinked too fast, she might disappear altogether.

His throat ached with all the words he hadn’t said.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bed.

“Hey,” he whispered. “It’s me.”

He let the silence answer. Let the emptiness respond.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say anymore,” he admitted, voice cracking. “They tell me to talk to you, that maybe you’ll hear me, but I…”

He trailed off. Swallowed hard.

“I miss you,” he said finally. “I miss your laugh. The way you’d tease me when I left dishes in the sink. I even miss your bad singing.”

His eyes burned. He looked away.

“I wish I’d held you longer that morning. I wish I’d told you not to rush out. I wish I—”

He stopped. Breathed.

And then, like a thread pulled loose, something surfaced. Your voice. Not his girlfriend’s—

Yours.

The girl from the hallway. “You’ll break if you keep holding everything in.” “You don’t have to be strong every second. You’re allowed to fall apart.” “Let her feel your love, not just your guilt.”

Seungcheol closed his eyes.

And when he spoke again, it wasn’t guilt that guided him.

“I love you,” he said softly, reaching for her hand. “I’ve always loved you. I just… didn’t say it enough.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I’m saying it now. I’m here. And I’ll keep being here. Just… if you’re somewhere in there, please… come back to me.”

The machines kept beeping. Steady. Relentless.

But for the first time, his heart felt a little lighter. Not because things were better— But because he wasn’t holding it all alone anymore.

---

The hallway smelled like antiseptic and wilted flowers.

It was the kind of day where time felt sticky—too slow to bear, but too fast when you blinked.

Seungcheol sat outside Room 203, the plastic cup of coffee cooling in his hand, untouched. He hadn’t gone in yet. He didn’t know if he had the strength.

Then he heard it.

A voice.

Soft. Steady. Familiar.

He turned slightly, just enough to peek through the glass panel in the door across the hall.

You were in there—curled in a chair beside your grandmother’s bed, knees tucked to your chest, a worn book in your lap. The afternoon light spilled through the window, gold and forgiving, catching in the strands of your hair.

You were reading aloud.

Not loudly. Not for anyone but the two of you—yourself, and the woman who couldn’t speak anymore.

“‘And even in the darkest parts of the woods,’” you read, your voice barely above a whisper, “‘the girl remembered the sound of home. Not a place. A person. The way they said her name, the way their hand lingered on her back before a goodbye.’”

Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t stop.

Seungcheol didn’t mean to eavesdrop. He just… couldn’t walk away.

It was like her words reached through the walls and found something buried inside him—something aching and wordless.

He closed his eyes and listened.

“‘She missed them every day, even when she swore she’d stopped. Even when the world told her to move on. But grief doesn’t work that way. It’s not a thing you carry. It’s a thing that lives with you.’”

You stopped. He could hear the turn of a page. Your breath shaking. Your grandmother didn’t move, didn’t respond. But the you smiled anyway, like maybe that silence still meant something.

After a while, you spoke—not from the book, just from your heart.

“You’d hate this hospital, Gran. The tea tastes like sadness and cardboard, and they keep the lights on too bright.”

A pause. A sniffle.

“But I found someone,” you said, her voice suddenly gentler. “Not in that way. I mean… maybe. I don’t know. He’s hurting, too. Quietly. Like you used to say I did when I was little. Like he's trying to keep everyone else from seeing him bleed.”

Your fingers curled around the edge of the book, knuckles white.

“I think I want to be around him. Is that wrong? I feel guilty for looking forward to anything when you’re…” You stopped again. Swallowed. “When you’re going.”

You laughed suddenly. Broken. Real. “God, I sound like a cliché. Falling for someone in a hospital hallway while my world’s falling apart.”

And still, Seungcheol listened. Still frozen. Still holding onto a breath he hadn’t meant to take.

Your voice dropped lower, softer.

“I don’t want to forget how your voice sounded when you laughed. Or the way you made pancakes shaped like dinosaurs even when I was fifteen. Or how you braided my hair when I was too tired to get out of bed.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Something shattered quietly inside him.

Before he knew it, his legs moved. His hand touched the door frame.

You looked up. Startled. Eyes wide and glassy.

“I—” he said, throat thick. “I wasn’t trying to… listen. I’m sorry.”

You wiped your cheek, fast. “No, it’s okay. You’ve probably heard worse here.”

Seungcheol stepped into the room slowly. His voice barely carried. “Your voice... it’s steady. Like a melody.”

You gave him a small, sad smile. “It’s how I learned to survive.”

He looked at the book in your lap. “Would you… mind reading in her room too? For my girlfriend?”

You blinked. “Me?”

He nodded. “Your voice feels like… home. And I think she’d like that.”

Your eyes searched his for a long moment. Then you nodded.

“Okay,” you said, standing, holding the book close to your chest. “I’ll read for both of them.”

---

It’s late.

That kind of late where the vending machines hum too loudly and the only light in the hallway flickers like it’s tired too. Seungcheol stands near the window down the corridor, one hand braced against the glass, the other holding his phone like it weighs more than it should.

He should be sleeping.

Instead, he dials.

Again.

The phone rings twice, and then—

“Hi! You’ve reached Haeun. I’m probably dancing somewhere or stealing Seungcheol’s fries, so leave a message after the beep and I promise I’ll get back to you… eventually!”

Beep.

He doesn’t speak.

He just closes his eyes and breathes. Listens to that sliver of her voice that still exists, somewhere safe, somewhere untouched by tubes and machines and the cruel silence that’s overtaken Room 203.

Call ended.

He dials again.

Same ring. Same smile in her voice. Same beep.

Still no words.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Maybe for her to pick up. Maybe for the universe to reset.

By the fourth call, his hands are shaking.

By the fifth, he finally speaks.

“Hey.”

It’s hoarse. Barely there.

“I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I just… I miss you.”

His voice breaks on the last word. He coughs, wipes at his face like it’ll make a difference. The hallway is empty. He’s glad. No one should see this.

“I brought the stupid green grapes today. The ones you hate but pretend to like because they’re healthy. I even peeled them. Like you always wanted me to. They’re still in the fridge.” A bitter laugh. “I don’t know why I did that.”

He hangs up.

Redials.

Sixth call.

“Hi! You’ve reached Haeun—”

He doesn’t wait for the beep this time.

“I had a dream last night. You were wearing that yellow dress you said made you look like a banana, and we were dancing in our kitchen. No music. Just your laugh.”

He pauses.

“God, I’d kill to hear you laugh right now.”

He ends the call.

But he dials again.

Seventh.

Eighth.

By the ninth call, he’s on the floor, knees pulled to his chest, phone pressed against his ear like it’s all that’s keeping him together.

Beep.

His voice is quieter now. Smaller.

“Please.”

Just that.

Just please.

Please come back. Please wake up. Please tell me how to keep going.

He doesn’t say it all. He doesn’t have to.

The phone slips from his fingers. His eyes are red. There’s no sound in the corridor except for the faint buzz of electricity and the way he breathes like the air hurts going in.

And then a whisper, almost like a prayer.

“She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead.”

He repeats it like maybe if he says it enough, the universe will make it true forever.

But the truth is— She’s not alive either. Not in the way he needs her to be.

And maybe the worst part of it all isn’t that she’s gone.

It’s that he’s still here, and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

---

It was late again.

The hospital lights were dimmed to a muted hum, the world outside the windows blurred into inky blue. Seungcheol had just returned from Room 203, hands shaking, heart heavier than his footsteps. He turned the corner toward the waiting room, expecting silence.

But there you were.

Curled in on yourself on the narrow couch, knees pulled tight to your chest, arms hugging them like you were trying to hold yourself together. Your face was buried, but the tremor in your shoulders gave you away.

You were crying.

No—you were breaking.

He froze in the doorway.

"Hey..." he said softly, unsure if he should come closer. "Are you okay?"

A stupid question. You didn't look up.

So he sat down beside you, far enough not to touch, close enough to offer warmth.

You wiped at your eyes, but the tears just kept coming.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “God, I’m sorry, I just— I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“You’ve seen me like this,” he murmured.

That got a small, bitter laugh from you. But it faded fast.

Then you said, quieter than before, “I left her.”

He turned, brows furrowed.

“My grandmother,” you clarified, breath catching. “Before all this… before the cancer... I stopped coming around.”

He waited. Didn’t push. Just listened.

“I was busy. I moved to another city. Work was stressful, and I kept saying I’d visit next weekend, next month, next—” You swallowed hard. “But she always called. Always left voicemails. She'd tell me she made pancakes, the ones with blueberries, the kind I used to beg for as a kid. And she'd say she was waiting. Just... waiting for me to come home.”

Your voice cracked.

��I didn’t come.”

His chest ached.

“I told myself she was fine. Independent. Strong. I told myself I was allowed to live my life.” Your eyes welled again. “And now I come every single day. Now I sit next to her bed like if I do it long enough, she’ll forgive me. But she can’t even say my name anymore.”

Seungcheol reached out then—tentatively—placing a hand over yours. You didn’t pull away.

“She used to sit by the door,” you whispered. “Like clockwork. Every Sunday morning. Dressed in the sweater I bought her three Christmases ago. Just waiting. Because she thought... maybe today I’d come.”

The tears wouldn’t stop.

“I was dancing at some bar. Laughing. Kissing someone I don’t even remember. While she sat by the door making pancakes for no one.”

Your voice broke open then, sobs slipping through like glass cracking beneath pressure. Ugly and honest and full of a grief that had nowhere to go.

Seungcheol turned toward you fully, pulling you into his arms. You fought it at first—because that’s what guilt does—but he held on.

“You came back,” he murmured. “You’re here now.”

“But what if it’s too late?” you sobbed into his chest. “What if she never knew how sorry I am?”

He rested his chin against your head, eyes burning.

“She knew,” he said. “She knows.”

They stayed like that. In the stillness. In the mess. In the pain.

Two people broken in different ways, holding each other like they could keep the world from falling apart again. No promises. No solutions.

Just presence.

And sometimes—that was everything.

---

The hospital room was too white. Too quiet. Even the ticking of the clock felt like an accusation—steady and cruel. A reminder of every second you had not been there.

You sat beside the bed, your hands wringing the hem of your sweater. The chair creaked beneath you, but your grandmother didn’t look.

She was staring out the window. Blank. Soft. Eyes that used to twinkle with laughter now just... drifted.

“Hi, Grandma,” you said, voice barely a whisper.

No response.

You leaned in, trying again with a gentle smile. “It’s me. I brought your favorite. Blueberry pancakes. From that little diner you like.”

Still nothing.

You swallowed down the lump rising in your throat and set the small to-go container on the bedside table. The smell of syrup and warm sugar floated through the air, but your grandmother didn’t even flinch.

Silence. Thicker now.

“I remember when you used to wake me up with the smell of these,” you tried, eyes burning. “Every Sunday. You’d hum while you cooked. Said blueberries were brain food.” A sad laugh slipped out. “Guess they weren’t enough, huh?”

The silence felt like punishment.

You reached out slowly, brushing a strand of silver hair from her grandmother’s forehead. She used to braid that hair. Used to play salon with it as a child, while her grandmother pretended she was being pampered in a palace.

“You used to wait for me,” you whispered. “Every week. In that old cardigan I bought you. Remember that one? With the missing button?”

Nothing.

And then—finally—your grandmother blinked, slowly turning toward her. Her eyes focused on your face.

Hope rose, sudden and aching. “Grandma?”

The old woman tilted her head. Confused.

Then, softly: “Are you... the nurse?”

It felt like being stabbed.

You forced a smile to your lips, even as your heart shattered. “No... I’m—”

Your grandmother smiled faintly, distant and kind. “You’re very sweet, dear. Just like my granddaughter. Beautiful girl. Works too hard. Never comes home, though.”

The breath caught in your throat. Your vision blurred instantly.

“She... she sounds great,” you managed, voice trembling.

“She is.” Your grandmother looked out the window again, a ghost of a smile on her face. “She used to sit on the porch and sing while I made breakfast. Blueberry pancakes. Said they were her favorite.”

You clutched the side of the bed, your knuckles white. “Do you remember her name?”

“No,” your grandmother said, softly. “But I know I love her. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

A sob escaped before you could stop it. You covered your mouth with your hand, shoulders shaking.

Your grandmother turned again, blinking slowly. “Don’t cry, sweetheart. You’ll make me sad.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. “I’m okay,” you choked. 

And in that moment, you didn’t care that your grandmother didn’t know who you were. Didn’t care that your name was gone, that their memories were tangled and buried.

Because the love—that was still here.

Even if it was misdirected. Even if it was broken.

You leaned forward and wrapped your arms around the frail woman, holding her tightly, burying your face into her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered. “I’m so, so sorry I left.”

Your grandmother patted your back, gentle and absent-minded. “There, there. You’re a good girl. I can tell.”

You cried harder.

And outside, the day went on like nothing had changed.

But inside that room, everything had.

---

It was late. Past visiting hours.

But the little courtyard garden behind the hospital didn’t care about time. It was overgrown in places, the stone bench cracked, the flowerbeds mostly dirt now—but there was a kind of comfort in its forgotten state. Like it belonged to the night. Like it understood people who didn’t fit in the daylight anymore.

You sat on the bench, your knees tucked under your chin, a paper cup of hospital coffee cradled in your hands. Seungcheol joined you without a word, sitting close enough to feel the same night breeze, but not enough to crowd you.

For a while, they just sat. Listening to the wind brushing through brittle branches. The distant siren of an ambulance arriving. The faint hum of machines behind walls.

Then, quietly, you asked, “What was she like?”

He looked down at the cup between his hands. “You mean... before?”

You nodded.

He took a breath. “Loud. In the best way. She used to sing to the radio even if she didn’t know the lyrics. And she’d burn toast every morning because she always forgot it was in. Once, she put our house key in the freezer because she thought it was her phone.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds chaotic.”

“She was.” He laughed a little, and then the sound faded. “But she made everything feel... alive. Like the world was just a little brighter because she was in it.”

The silence settled again, heavier now.

“She sounds like someone I would’ve liked,” you said, softly.

He nodded.

“What about you?” he asked. “What were you like before all this?”

You let out a slow breath, eyes fixed on the cracks in the stone path.

“Busy,” she said. “Too busy. I thought I had time. That I could always go visit later. I kept putting it off. ”

Seungcheol didn’t speak, but she felt him listening.

Your voice broke, raw and exposed.

“And now she doesn’t even know my name.”

You turned your head, wiping your cheek roughly with the sleeve of your hoodie. “I was so selfish.”

“No,” Seungcheol said immediately, turning toward you. “You were living. That’s not a crime.”

“But I left her behind.”

He looked at you then, really looked. “You came back.”

You didn’t reply.

He reached over slowly, fingers brushing your. Not holding. Not pushing. Just offering.

And you let him.

Their hands stayed there, barely touching, as if the warmth between them could rewrite time. Could pull them out of the past and plant them firmly in the now.

After a moment, you murmured, “I used to love dancing.”

He blinked. “What?”

You smiled, sad and sweet. “Just... before all this. I’d dance in my kitchen. In my socks. Spill coffee, stub my toes. I haven’t done that in forever.”

He let out a breathy laugh. “You should. You should do that again.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy.

“What about you?” you asked. “What’s the one thing you miss most about yourself?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear:

“I used to dream.”

The words hung between them like fog.

You turned your hand, finally holding his.

And under the pale light of the moon, with bruised hearts and paper coffee cups, two people who had lost everything began to find something again—

Not peace. Not yet.

But maybe the possibility of it.

---

It was just after midnight when the nurse called him.

"Mr. Choi? She's... she's showing signs. You should come."

Seungcheol had stared at his phone for a full minute before he moved. Then he ran. Down the silent corridors. Past the quiet night-shift desk. Past the vending machine and the courtyard and everything that had held him up for weeks.

Room 203.

His hands shook as he pushed the door open.

She was there. As always. Pale. Fragile. But her fingers were twitching. Her lips parted slightly, a rasping breath falling from her throat that sounded like a word caught halfway to being born.

He stepped in slowly, as if afraid the moment might vanish if he moved too fast.

“…Seung…cheol?”

He froze.

Her voice.

So faint. So broken. But there.

“Yeah,” he choked out, stumbling forward and falling to his knees beside her bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

She blinked slowly. Her eyes were heavy with confusion, still swimming in a haze, but they found him. Like she was clawing her way back to the surface and he was her anchor.

His hand found hers, trembling. “You’re… you’re awake.”

She gave the smallest nod. Barely there. But it was everything.

And he wept.

Outside the room, you sat on the hallway floor with two cups of coffee—yours long cold. Your legs were cramping, your back sore, but you didn’t move. You had watched him go in and hadn’t followed.

He needed this moment.

And even though your heart ached—throbbed, even—as the sounds of his voice broke through the crack in the door, you stayed. Because you knew what it meant to finally get a piece of someone you thought you’d already lost.

You lowered your head, pressing your forehead to your knees.

And when he came out an hour later, his eyes swollen, cheeks streaked with tears—but smiling for the first time since you met him—you looked up and gave him one back.

It was small. Wobbly. But real.

“She said my name,” he whispered.

You stood slowly, offering the cup to him.

“I’m so happy for you, Cheol.”

He took it, their fingers brushing, his smile faltering just a bit.

“And your grandma?”

“She’s…” Your voice caught. You cleared your throat. “She’s getting worse.”

The silence held everything that couldn’t be said. A strange mirror. One of them rising. One of them falling.

Seungcheol reached out and touched your wrist. Gently. “You’ve been so strong.”

You looked down at the floor, then back up, your eyes shimmering. “I’m trying. It’s like... I don’t want her to go, but I also don’t want her to keep hurting. And I don’t know how to exist when she’s not in the world. So I stay. And I hope she sees me, even for a second.”

He nodded, his heart splitting open at the seams.

You looked at him, then—really looked. At the hope blooming behind his tears.

You smiled through your grief. “I think she would’ve liked your girl. The way you love her. It’s rare.”

Seungcheol's lips parted, a thousand emotions crashing into each other. “You helped me hold on. Even when I didn’t want to anymore.”

Your breath hitched.

“You held me, Cheol,” you whispered. “When I needed it most.”

He stepped closer.

The air between them was thick with everything they hadn’t said. And everything they couldn’t say.

Because this wasn’t a fairytale. It wasn’t about choosing. It wasn’t about perfect timing.

It was about love in its rawest form—grief, joy, loss, connection—all tangled together in this broken little hallway.

“I don’t want you to disappear now,” you whispered.

“I won’t,” he said. “I promise.”

You took his hand, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

And in the silence, there was music. No instruments. Just hearts— Beating beside each other. Still aching. Still healing. Still hoping.

---

Seungcheol stood in the stairwell.

It was quiet there. Sterile concrete, humming fluorescent lights, the faint clinking of a janitor’s cart on a lower level. The kind of place where you could fall apart and no one would notice. Maybe not even yourself.

He ran a hand down his face, the skin beneath his eyes raw from crying, not just today but for weeks. And now—she was waking up. His girlfriend. The love of his life. The person he had sat beside, begged, bargained for.

And he felt like a fucking traitor.

Because all he could think about… was her.

Not the girl in the bed, trying to find her voice again. But the one who sat beside him at 3AM with vending machine coffee and bruises beneath her eyes. The one who whispered broken memories about pancakes and absence and a grandmother who forgot everything except love. The one who never asked anything from him except presence. And somehow that made him want to give her everything.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his chest. Right over the place it hurt most.

What if she knew?

What if the woman inside that hospital room opened her eyes fully, smiled at him with her old self again, and realized—

That while her world had been on pause, his had kept moving.

And somewhere along the way…

He’d started to fall.

The guilt came in like waves. Sharp. Unrelenting.

He thought of your laugh—that small, sad, brave thing you'd let slip in front of him that day in the courtyard.

He thought of you telling him, “You held me.”

He thought of how you never reached for him first, never asked for comfort, never once tried to cross the invisible line between grief and want. And yet he was the one who blurred it, every time he caught himself staring too long, hoping too hard, wishing things were different.

A voice broke into his thoughts.

“Cheol?”

He turned.

You stood there in the stairwell doorway, hoodie sleeves pulled over your palms, hair a little messy, eyes a lot sad.

You.

Of course it was you.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

You stepped in slowly, not expecting anything. Not demanding anything. Just there.

Like always.

“I’m happy for you,” you said softly.

“I know.”

A beat.

“You don’t look happy.”

He let out a hollow laugh. “I should be. Right? This is what I prayed for.”

You didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I feel like I’m… cheating on her,” he finally admitted, voice cracking. “Even just standing here with you. Even thinking about you when I’m with her.”

Your gaze fell to the floor.

“I never meant to,” he said. “It just… it happened.”

You nodded. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t—”

“I do, Seungcheol,” you said, meeting his eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I knew this wasn’t real. I knew I was just… the wrong place, the wrong time.”

He stepped forward, something desperate in his expression. “You were the only thing that felt right.”

Your breath caught.

“I just don’t know how to live in both,” he whispered. “The before and the after.”

Silence settled between them.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” he said. “I don’t want to lose her. But losing you—”

He broke off, choking on the words.

You blinked back tears, chest rising and falling with the weight of every unspoken thing.

“I won’t ask you to choose,” you said gently. “But I won’t lie either. You matter to me. And if this is all it is—a hallway, a few coffees, a handful of broken nights—then I’ll take it. And I’ll let go.”

Your voice cracked like glass.

“Just don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, eyes shining. “I could never.”

And then—

A breath.

A heartbeat.

His forehead dropped to yours, just barely, as if touch alone might anchor him to something real.

Neither of them kissed.

But something inside them did.

And it broke. Quietly. Beautifully.

Right there on the stairwell steps of a hospital neither of them wanted to be in.

---

The hospital smelled the same as always—like antiseptic, old coffee, and waiting.

Seungcheol moved slowly down the corridor, step by step, clutching the small plastic bag of belongings the nurses had packed for his girlfriend. Discharge papers tucked beneath his arm. A bouquet of tulips from her mother poking out the side.

She was getting better.

She was going home.

And still… he felt like he was leaving something behind. No—someone.

He paused at the end of the hallway, where two paths met. One to the exit. One to the oncology wing.

The bag crinkled in his grip as he stood there, torn in a silence that pressed into his ribs.

He hadn't seen you since that night on the stairwell.

You.

The one who’d cracked his chest open and shown him he still had a heart, even while it bled.

The one who sat beside him when his world was ending, and gave him pieces of her own shattered one just so he wouldn't drown alone.

He’d meant to go back.

He wanted to go back.

But life has a way of moving without asking if you're ready.

The next morning, the room was empty. Your name scratched off the whiteboard. No answers. No goodbye.

He’d asked a nurse. She looked away. "I'm sorry. The patient in Room 204 passed away in the night. Family discharged shortly after."

And that was it.

Just like that, you were gone.

And he never got to say goodbye.

Now, days later, as he stood there at the fork in the hallway, everything in him screamed to turn around. To check. To hope that maybe somehow, somehow, you'd still be there.

But you weren't.

You had left.

And so had your grandmother.

All that remained was the memory of that last vending machine smile—the one with the tears hiding just beneath.

The sound of your voice when you said, “Just don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

God, if you only knew. If you knew what you meant. If you knew what you took with you.

“Seungcheol?” his girlfriend called softly from behind, her voice weaker than he remembered but full of cautious hope.

He turned slowly.

She was standing just outside her room, hair brushed back, wearing the soft hoodie he used to sleep in when she first went under.

Her eyes searched his face. “Are you ready?”

He looked at her.

This girl he’d loved. Still loved, maybe. But not in the same way.

Not in the way that twisted and broke and healed. Not in the way that made him want to live again.

He offered a small nod and walked toward her.

They exited the hospital slowly, carefully, like the world was something they weren’t sure how to re-enter.

Outside, the sky was a dull gray.

A car waited at the curb.

He placed her bag in the trunk, then helped her into the passenger seat.

But before he closed the door, he glanced back.

One last time.

Toward the entrance. Toward the hallway. Toward a girl who wasn’t there.

And in that one look… everything ached.

You would never know how often he still looked for you in crowds. How sometimes he woke up wanting to tell you something, only to remember he couldn’t. How even in someone else’s recovery, he felt like he lost something irreplaceable.

He closed the door gently.

And with it, their story.

Not with fire. Not with fanfare. But with a quiet kind of sorrow. The kind that lingers.

The kind that asks, What if?

And never gets an answer.

---

[redfirefox-55]

Alright instead of doing my homework I will attempt to put my thoughts in a coherent order and explain my off the strings AU (which I’ve given the super long name the Picking up the Pieces AU)

Uhhh just wanna warn you that it’s not super well thought out and it’s purely for self indulgent fun and for me to play with character dynamics and personalities and relationships and such- try not to take it too seriously lol

The main story happens decently post Rivulet campaign and well before Saint’s campaign, but the AU really starts wayyy back right before Hunter’s campaign.

Basically No Significant Harassment had just sent Hunter off to deliver his care package to whatever is left of Moon, and he’s left losing his mind since after Pebbles closed access to his and Moon’s area NSH can’t send an overseer to make sure his messenger even arrives at all (feat some stupid doodles I did to go along with it lol)

And in his desperation, a frankly stupid idea pops into his head.

Obviously the very idea of removing a crucial piece of an iterator’s body and expecting it to be able to continue to function and even travel long distances is logistically shaky at best, and even if it did work would essentially lobotomies their intellectual capacity.. but as things were, if NSH had to choose between living out his days as he was, but without Moon, or live as a fractured version of himself with his best friend.. he had to at least see if it was possible.

If it was possible though, it would no doubt take ages to figure out and make all the necessary preparations, ages which NSH was worried Moon didn’t have.. so he decided he needed help. And who better to help him than the person who has already shown they would research radical and dangerous theories about iterator body alterations :)

I do plan on making a little comic of this conversation, but I’m too lazy right now-

At first Suns is absolutely NOT on board with this idea. They already feel like they’ve basically caused the death of two iterators already, they don’t want NSH of all people to be added to that, but NSH is not dissuaded by their words at all and basically tells them that they can either continue to mope about their previous mistakes or continue to work on fixing it, and if they don’t help him he’s still going to do it anyways. So eventually they fold and agree to help. Besides, it would give them a chance to right their wrong and apologize to Pebbles.

A very long time skip later, turns out even with help this project would take years.

(Also if anyone was hoping I would go into detail about how they even make it possible, I am currently not gonna do that. I feel like I’m not clever enough to really come up with a convincing way for an iterator to literally detach a vital part of themselves without triggering a taboo.. and it’s just a self indulgent little fix it story, not meant to be taken too seriously :P)

By the time Suns and Sig finally have everything prepared for their plan, the iterator population is in pretty bad disarray. The equipment to communicate with one another is eroding, and by this point many iterators are completely radio silent, and a few of the older unluckier ones have even begun collapsing.

This does make the choice of detaching your puppet from your structure easier, because it’s clear that only a matter of time and every iterator will just collapse and be left completely alone in the silence of their structure.

NSH decided that he would detach himself first, and walk all the way over to Suns’ structure, then they could both make the trek to Moon.

Before he does that, NSH broadcasted all the files of the project out, just in case anyone is still around to use them..

The journey doesn’t go as smoothly as he would have preferred.. traveling isn’t very easy it turns out since their puppets aren’t meant for standing let alone walking or running (they definitely end up making and using tools to make getting around easier. I plan on explaining their equipment and outfit changes and stuff later-) but he survived and then they both set off to Moon and Pebbles’ area.

Thankfully there aren’t many animals outside of the iterator areas due to how freezing cold the world is, so all they really need to worry about is the terrain and the weather.

Meanwhile the siblings are not doing very well. This is post Rivulet (rip Ruffles though.. unfortunately there are no slugcat companions in this au…), and Pebbles’ structure had just collapsed very recently by the time Suns and Sig make it to their area. The siblings had already made up by this point and were keeping in contact before the collapse.

Moon was planning on sending her overseers out to see what was left of him once the rubble settled a bit, but she was currently mourning her brother and didn’t notice the two rouge iterator puppets making their way through their facility grounds until they reached her chamber

I plan on making a little comic for this too but here’s a cute little thing I made-

(Iterators can’t actually cry but shhh it’s for dramatic effect let me do what I want-)

I just know their reunion is precious. NSH is so thankful that Moon is actually still functional, and working better than he expected even thanks to the rarefaction cell! Best friends reunited after years apart.. She probably thought she was going crazy at first though because how are these two just standing in her chamber-

So at this point NSH’s plan has worked almost perfectly and he has done everything he set out to do. He’s definitely not pointedly ignoring the existence of someone he has been slowly building resentment for over the past however many years. (They have a complicated dynamic which I will definitely get into later..)

Yeah anyway there’s no way Moon and Suns are leaving without Pebbles.

So whether NSH wanted to or not, as soon as Moon got the hang of walking around the three of them headed off to what remained of Pebbles’ structure. Probably the worst place anyone could go honestly, especially with the walking skill level of a toddler.

Somehow miraculously they survived the trip there, they got lucky idk but yay reunion time!

At that point Pebbles had already resigned himself to his fate, sitting in a pile of rubble with his broken chamber around him for eternity. He definitely thought he was losing his mind when the other three suddenly show up..

Anywayy this is the point where I don’t really have too much of a story planned out! The four of them will probably end up traveling a little before setting up a base somewhere as they get used to this new state of existence. I guess a lot of post apocalyptic slice of life stuff? lol if you wanna call it that maybe. Idk! Just a lot of getting used to living together, and getting over past issues. Lots of fix it stuff

It’s a WIP obviously- but this is at least the beginning main plot beats ^ ^

[thunder-opossum]

Hunterrrr mah guy. He's going through some shit in this au.

He is a sophomore. His grades are low but passing. He's nearly always asleep in class. He has an anxiety/comfort hoodie he nearly never takes off.

He scraps a lot with other students outside of school.

Currently the few people he has by his side are Saint a close "friend" and NSH, who lets him down whatever in his class and still gives him good grades and a safe space.

He chews in everything out of stress, his hoodie strings have had to be replaced multiple times.

[cinaerii]

LOVEFOOL, a series — nsh. riki x fem!reader

— gamenight date!

✧ syn : in which, you date the most nonchalant boy in your school, yet he’s the opposite with you.

✧ cws & notes : non-idol au! established rls. with riki, typos, grammatical errors, kisses | my humor is not that funny

today was a club day, meaning there is no one running, distinct chatters from students, pulling pranks on one another in the hallway. it was quiet and empty.

everyone is expected to be in their respective club venues, working on projects or practicing for an upcoming competition.

though by the time the bell rang, giving a few seconds to spare before each door of the classrooms burst open with students having their backpacks slung on their shoulder, running out.

it felt like rush hour in the hallways. it was quite the struggle for some people to wait for their friends outside of their venue due to the pushing crowd in front of them.

at least you and your friends avoided the crowd of students, blocking the way.

“guess who was leading our dance practice today..” your friend spoke in a disappointed tone, both of her hands covering her face.

you eagerly shift your attention right away. “the most nonchalant guy i’ve ever met! i was dying of boredom just from his voice.” your friend started to ramble.

“riki?” you mention casually, tucking your hands inside the two empty pockets on your cardigan.

“you sound like you know him, do you?” she asked, a glint of curiosity behind her eyes.

“he’s just a classmate.” well you had to lie for yours and riki’s sake since the two of you decided to keep this relationship private to everyone.

speaking of your boyfriend, you have a scheduled indoor date at his apartment.

###

less than ten steps away from you was riki’s door to his apartment. you knocked once and was about to tap the grayish steel door until someone pulled you inside.

you were greeted with your very tall boyfriend giving you a warm embrace by wrapping his arms around your figure.

your face was buried in his plain and knitted sweater vest yet somewhat cozy. “i bought new games for our nintendo switch.” he tilted his head down to look at you, his eyes glimmering with excitement.

when you were still getting to know riki, he’d always pull out his switch out of the blue and play games freely.

however, by the time you started dating him, he constantly referred his switch as yours and his to share and have date nights at his apartment space.

“comfy?” riki whispered, his hot breath fanning over the side of your neck as he snuggled closer to you.

“mhm, let’s play!” you exclaimed, pressing one of the buttons on your controller to start. “aren’t you forgetting something?” riki spoke quietly.

“after this round, okay? my lips are too cold right now, i’ll warm them up first.” even if the heater was on, it was still freezing cold so you slump under the blankets more.

hearing no response from riki, you took that a yes from him and adjusted the game settings on the screen.

“how many minut—“ you were about to ask him but you were cut off by two pecks on the lips. both of them were so quick for you to process it in your head.

he then blew the top of your lips to hide the huge grin on his face in which he failed to supress his small giggles coming from his lips.

“is it warm enough yet?” riki teased.

“i have a good feeling that i’ll win this race tonight. thank you very much for giving your luck to me.” you returned with a smile on your face, indicating a bit of sarcasm.

“nevermind, take back my kiss right now.” he leaned closer, a push from the back would be enough to close the gap between the two.

“nuh-uh! this is a priced fortune coming from you.” your hands went in the middle of both of your faces, protecting your lips from his.

from supposedly having a game night to having an intense tickle fight.

— end. thank you for reading!

written by; @cinaerri ⋆ do not steal, plagiarize, or translate my work.

[sapphicrot]

who broke the coffee machine

SOS: [to local groups 037 and 1650, who are gathered around a coffee maker] So... who broke it? [Nobody says a word] I'm not mad. I just want to know.

EOI: I did. I broke-

SOS: No, no you didn't. Wind?

CW: Don't look at me. Look at Sig!

NSH: What? I didn't break it.

CW: Huh. That's weird. How'd you even know it was broken?

NSH: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken.

CW: [leans in on him] Suspicious.

OSO: If it matters - probably not - but Yui was the last one to use it.

UI: Liar! I don't even drink that crap!

OSO: Oh, really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier?

UI: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles; everyone knows that, OSO!

EOI: Ok, ok! Let’s not fight! I broke it, let me pay for it, Sliver!

SOS: No! Who broke it??!

ABL: [looks at Pebbles, then at Sliver] Sliver... Pebbles has been awfully quiet.

FP: REALLY??

ABL: Yeah! Really.

FP: Oh, my God! [everyone starts arguing at one another except Sliver]

SOS: [to the crew inside her can] I broke it. It burned my hand, so I punched it. I predict ten minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with war paint on their faces and a lizard head on a stick. [turns to look at the local groups as they continue to argue, then looks back] Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

(OSO is Once Stagnant Opportunity, EOI is Echos of Indigo, and ABL is Alienated By Light, theyre all my OCs, for anyone confused lol)

[the-real-rain-world-confessions]

Ok, as a person who uses they/them for Suns.. i think some of you are overreacting about some people using he/him on srs. It's really not that serious.

Suns' pronouns are mentioned like 3 times throughout the game at most and it's easy to miss. For some time i wasn't even sure if NSH was he/him and SRS was they/them until i reread the dialogue.

Yes, defaulting to masculine pronouns is a problem, but it is not an rw community problem and it's not getting solved anytime soon, at the very least because a lot of languages don't have a neutral pronouns like english and a lot of non-native speakers are gonna default to he/him out of habit. (i know, i am the non-native speaker who has this problem)

AND on top that the person who designed srs and spearmaster said that their pronouns is just their hc, so none of you are actually misgendering SRS. Please let's just end this argument or be at least a little more patient. I'm sure noone who uses he/him on srs means to invalidate non-binary people. We have an extremely pro-LGBT community, c'mon..

.

[princess-self-shipping]

NO!! you dont have to refrain!!! write your full serious essay if you want.... as a bit;3

@sapphicrot (Tagged so you see this as well since you and anon asked for the same thingy!)

HEHEHHEHEHEH THANK YOU ANON AND SAPPH

OKAY

SO

TRIPLE DIVORCE! LET'S FUCKING GO

Okay! So! First and foremost with these dweebs! I love the dynamics they all have with each other individually and the way they can grow and change as they get to know each other, which I shall summarize shortly in order for my thought process to be understood

Pebbles and Suns -> Mentorship with admiration to leveling the playing feild and getting to truly know each other

Suns and NSH -> Genuine friendship without bounds that grows iinto something deeper as time goes on

NSh and Pebbles -> Personalities that don't mesh well on the surface but learning the two get along SURPRISINGLY well when given the proper chance

The main thing I love about this dynamic is that it requires WORK to get there and that work is not simple! It's messy! Shit breaks! Canon happens and holy FUCK things are falling apart by the seems because of mistakes made absolutely fucking EVERYWHERE man (Not by Sig for the most part, they are the one with the brain cell in this situation and probably NOT happy about it)

But that's the appeal of it for me. It's a mess, it's tearing apart, it's figuring out how to make things work now that everything has broken and splintered and shattered. It's getting to know one another once everything falls apart, once words are said in hurt, in anger, in pain and frustration. The idealizations or perceptions that one can have of those around them that break apart at the seams once you are given a chance to get to know one another on an equal playing field, on the same level. Everything falls apart and breaks, and allows for something new to grow from the remnants in its place

Suns and Sig have the earliest chance for that to begin, talking after everything breaks and cracks and begins to fall apart. Talking with Pebbles after everything is going to be messy, it's going to be complicated because even after all this time with emotions given a chance to simmer and cool down, it doesn't take away what was said in the moment. It doesn't take away the hurt, the betrayal, the mistakes and the pain. It doesn't take away the preconceptions and assumptions of hatred and anger and ego.

What does is time. Talk. Communication. Suns and Sig have a head start, but Pebbles is so vastly different than they would've known him to be. They all have to get to know each other again

And that journey is beautiful to me.

Wow okay this DID turn into a short essay I. Apologize geoiwhgioehwog

ANYWAYS ENJOY YALL

[rev-xce]

I adore how your nsh thinks all he's doing is completely ok actually and I just can't stop thinking of if they manage to get rid of moons rot nsh being like "guys it didn't work moon's still mad at me :C". Like honestly we've seen very little but it is clear that he see nothing wrong with what he's doing

#honestly we (in general) should let moon be a hater

Sig is often characterized as a funny guy but I think he would have some pettiness to him! Petty petty green jolly rancher will absolutely be upset once he figures out Moon is still locked in on NSH hater mode even when cured :)

im ngl u made me think abt what Moon would look like when cured, and I think she would look rly pretty even with just a eye switch!!

surprisingly Moon with a mouth isn't that cursed SKKDAJDFJJ(only reason why i dont post speedpaints other than ai is bcuz yall will watch me attempt to put mouths on the robots and it ends up very...interesting looking pffff)

[cowboysnz]

you are my sunshine

i literally just made this blog but i wanna post this fic i had in my notes app that i actually like

987 words of: photic!s/teve, hints of kink!b/ucky (might’ve just been me projecting tho), what was supposed to be a soft fic that got kind of kinky in the middle, author losing motivation towards the end

anyone who enjoys s/tucky and snz, um… enjoy

Brooklyn, 1940s

Bucky wakes to the sound of soft hitching, his arms tightening instinctively around Steve’s middle as he feels his small frame shudder against his chest.

“Mornin’, baby,” Bucky murmurs in that rough morning drawl of his, nuzzling into the soft blond hairs on the nape of Steve’s neck.

“M-m-morning, Buck,” Steve gasps out before curling in on himself with a pair of tickly sneezes. 

“Hh’itchew! Hishew!”

“Aw, bless you, doll,” Bucky coos, pressing a warm kiss to the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve lets out a soft little moan before dissolving into another hitchy gasp, his nose not yet done with its morning routine.

“Hehh… Heshoo!” This one is especially strong, and Bucky raises his head just in time to see the delicate spray glittering in the light shining in from their broken blinds.

A series of “Ish, nsh, tsh!” coming rapid and gentle, and Steve’s nose finally appears to be satisfied, leaving him sniffly and nuzzling into the covers.

“Bless, Stevie,” Bucky breathes softly, kissing the milky skin of the blond’s shoulder where his shirt has slipped down before reluctantly untangling himself with a whine from Steve and moving to get up out of bed.

“I’ll start on breakfast, huh?” And his bare feet pad out of the room, leaving Steve to tend to his nose.

☆ ☆ ☆

Somewhere in Europe, 1943

There isn’t much that doesn’t cause Bucky to stir anymore, but the cot shaking certainly isn’t one of them.

He’s startled momentarily, ready to spring up and fight, figuring someone has broken in and tried to ambush them. That is until he hears the familiar sound of hitching and feels the warm body pressed against his side, obviously the cause of the shaking.

It goes on for several moments longer than usual, Steve’s breath climbing and climbing, before Bucky both hears and feels a heavy “HECHIEW!” muffled (barely) into the pillow, Steve’s body shuddering violently.

Bucky should’ve expected it, really, that with the change in Steve’s size, his sneezes would’ve gotten bigger, louder, hell, wetter if the sound of it was any indication, but he still finds himself caught off guard, flinching involuntarily.

Steve notices, because of course he does; how could he not? Both with his increased senses and the way he’s always been so in tune to Bucky the way he himself is with Steve.

“S-sorry, Buck, didn’t mean to… s-startle you, baby, I…” Steve trails off, his voice lost to more desperate hitches.

He pushes himself up on one hand, his nostrils flaring widely, ticklishly, before he turns to the side, spraying his ground with a harsh triple.

“HESHAHH! HESHOO! Hh’hah… HATCHEW!”

His sneezes really are wetter, because even with Steve turned away, Bucky still feels some spray on his skin.

“Damn, Stevie… bless you, big guy,” Bucky says, possibly more breathless than Steve himself, as he sits up as well, placing a hand on Steve’s still shuddering back, rubbing in gentle circles.

“N-not done,” Steve gasps out in warning, even though that much is very clear to Bucky, with the noises the other man’s making and the way his shoulders shake.

But this one seems to tease the Captain, his lungs expanding against Bucky’s palm, his head tilting back so far they almost collide, his nostrils quivering with the tickle that seems to be doubled by the serum, and the sound of his hitching is starting to get whiny, bordering on obscene, that if anyone were to pass by, it would be compromising.

Bucky just stares, taking in the near-pornographic image before Steve finally snaps forward with a powerful “HEITSHEW!” that absolutely drenches his cupped hands.

And Bucky feels it all, practically shuddering with Steve, pressing himself closer against Steve’s back and reaching blindly under the pillow for a handkerchief, pressing it into the blond’s hands once he finds it, using it to mop up the mess before guiding the other man’s handkerchief-clad hands to his face with his own.

“Blow.” It’s softer than his sergeant’s voice, more loving, but it’s still a command, and Steve obeys it, letting out a honking blow that’s more productive than this reflex ever used to require.

Once Steve lowers his hands, Bucky leans against him, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing the junction between his shoulder and neck, shooting a glance toward the gap at the tent’s entrance, sunlight peeking through and shining a strip right across Steve’s pillow, which would’ve hit him right in the face when he woke up.

“Serum didn’t help with that?”

Steve chuckles softly and a bit stuffily, knowing immediately what Bucky’s referring to. “Guess it can’t help with a reflex.”

Bucky hums, kissing Steve’s cheek and standing up. 

“I’ll go get us some coffee before Dugan steals it all.” And with that he slips out of the tent, shaking his head fondly as he hears Steve gasp his way into another sneeze, clearly spurred on by the influx of sunlight he just exposed him to.

☆ ☆ ☆

Wakanda, 2016

Bucky wakes up before Steve for once. Another rarity is that he had no nightmares, allowing for a reprieve in the chaos that has been their lives to bask in the glow of the morning, feel the warm sunlight on his skin, and the even warmer body to his right, snoring softly in his ear.

He knows the exact moment Steve stirs, not only because the snoring stops but because he’s gasping his way into something ever so familiar, the sunlight shining right into his eyes and sending a furious tickle straight to his nose, sneezing a groggy “HASHOO!” right into Bucky’s chest, too riddled with sleep to even think about covering.

“Bless you, sunshine,” Bucky murmurs, planting a kiss on Steve’s forehead and running a gentle hand over his back.

Steve only burrows into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, muffling the rest of his morning fit of sun-induced sneezes.

Bucky only chuckles fondly. “Some things never change.”

[iteratorsex]

What is ur take on nsh? i dont think i fully understand his character and i dont really see many analysis of him and im kinda js collecting Harassment yaps (from the very small few that there are from what i know of)

Another side question to this is if you think NSH is mad or hates Suns after the Golden Pearl Incident. Ive seen fics where NSH either begins to hate Suns after it or just completely cuts them off or whatever.

I kinda just wanna hear ur own headcanons and thoughts on NSH, SRS and how you consider their relationship (not in a shippy way please. I love ships but thats the last thing im asking for 🙁🙁 /lh /nm sorryyy i dont know ur take on ships that might seem mean)

uhhh I don't have much to think abt NSH but I'll try

I think that NSH mostly reserves his Well Known Silliness for his friends, and otherwise seems to treat things with the right amount of seriousness.

I never really vibed with the interpretation that NSH is just this complete troll all the time who loves to fuck with everyone on purpose when I think he's just trying to stay lighthearted in the face of it all

Anyways, I don't think he's mad at Suns at all.

From the broadcasts:

SRS: I feel like I've doomed not one, but two iterators. SRS: And in the whole process I've lost a great friend, who won't even let me help him. NSH: We make mistakes, it'll be okay. You know Five Pebbles really looks up to you.

NSH: You should have sent the messenger to Moon instead of Pebbles. SRS: Do you think that would have helped anything? NSH: To be honest, no... I'm not sure that it would.

I think NSH is just as aware that there's not really anything that could've been done at this point

NSH and SRS are pretty close to me, but I think the bonding of their relationship was in Spearmaster. Before that they were probably just Normal friends. I don't mind them being shipped but they're like. "Kissing the homies goodnight" to me. They're friends who seem gay but they're not

My takes on ships are usually that the romance just tends to swamp out all other dynamics the characters have, ESPECIALLY with sunstone. But I don't think that's really an issue with these two idiots

[rma-au]

Have NSH or SRS been in any contact with FP after what happened with Moon and all?

ok i kind of turned this into a lore post woopsie. let me write that in all caps rq FIVE PEBBLES LORE POST

so. major canon divergence yet again wow (this is an au so i can do what i want :3)

recently within the timeline (in the time between Hunter’s and Gourmand’s campaigns. right now we’re kinda in the beginning/middle of Gourm’s), FP has opened communications again as he is sort of less angry and more introspective than in DP in this au.

so far he hasn’t done much besides that, but it’s still a big step from the DP canon (where he never reopens communications) (sorry i realize i’m kinda making it sound like i hate DP or something. i do not i’m just like trying to say him reopening communications in the first place is like a big deal since no one [even himself] ever expected him to)

ok for the ask:

has SRS had contact — no. They’ve considered, but they feel guilt over what happened, and they fear he will react with anger if they try to contact him.

FP’s anger has died down by now (basing this off of some pearl dialogue FP has when you bring them to him as Arti) and he’s realized what happened was more his fault than SRS’s or Moon’s. he would prefer not talking to SRS right now (he feels guilt over lashing out, has just complicated feelings, wants to fix stuff first, etc) and especially not Moon (A Volcano of Guilt has Hit Him. I mean what who said that.)

has NSH had contact — yes. only a few conversations (definitely at least one argument over what happened), all initiated by NSH, but still some communication. NSH is, slowly, trying to somewhat rebuild their friendship a little (which is obviously difficult due to uh… The Whole Incident) and maybe get FP to help with Moon (seeing as he is the closest to her out of all the iterators)