#third degree heart block

[amarantoestrella]

I love canonically shy/reserved Draken. He thinks it's such a big deal when he holds your hand for the first time, so small and warm, fingers interlaced with his. He's anticipated it for weeks and then when it finally happens he's trying to keep his cool but his heart is practically pounding out of his chest.

You notice how quiet he is when opening doors and pulling out seats for you because while these kinds of things might make your heart flutter, they make his race.

When you share your first kiss at your door after one of several dates, it's safe to assume he rides his motorcycle home in silence. He'll lie awake every night thinking circles about it, about you and how you make his heart jump and skip beats and completely stop at times.

[thewinter-eden]

That Your Man? pt. II

pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho patrols his usual haunts, one of which being the parking lot where you first met. One night, mid-mugging, he sees you through the window of the coffee shop where he first bought you cake--but you're there with the man he thought you were going to break up with. He decides stealing girlfriends (or, rather, you) is now included in his job description.

warnings: Mugging, Minho still has a gun, asshole bf (still), evidence of past successful muggings, cats, fake boyfriend, angst, Ateez (one member), more crack/slice of life than horror.

Author's Note: I don't even know what to say about this. It just kind of happened and then it kept going. Oh well. Here we are.

Word Count: 15k

series info PART 2 INFO

< part 1

You’re newly single, newly apartment-broke, newly jobless. Happy birthday to you. Your alarm wakes you at 5am even on Sundays, your phone battery refuses to last longer than two hours unplugged, and your printer is sick of spitting out wads of mangled cardstock for your resumes.

Three weeks after that fateful birthday night in the parking lot, when Jake gave you the last bit of persuasion you needed to stop putting up with his cool detachment from your relationship, and you’re already struggling to make ends meet. You hadn’t quit your job, nor would you ever have dreamed of it. You’d worked and schooled infinite hours to get it, at last landing the vet tech job of your dreams in a private boutique clinic, only to lose it with one phone call.

You’d never realized how very small Jake was until he coped with your breaking up with him by informing your place of work that you were implicated in an armed robbery.

It’s not true; the police never even looked you up after Minho called them and reported that some nondescript, unidentified woman had been robbed; your name wasn’t in any reports or investigations, but Jake had decided since it was his company card that had been stolen and maxed out on gift cards, you must have given it to the mugger (and, technically, true enough).

But the phone call was more than enough reason to your vet clinic, and they let you go without even a week’s warning.

You’re halfway through a stale, microwaved breakfast burrito, sitting in the dark at your kitchen table with only the painful light of your laptop screen beaming stubbornly through the tinted lenses of your blue light glasses when an email pops up in your inbox. The subject line reads INTRODUCTORY INTERVIEW - WAYWARD STREET CAT HOTEL.

You’ve never clicked into an email so fast.

A quick scan tells you they liked your resume, they want you to come in for an interview tomorrow afternoon, and their address is only four blocks away from your apartment—a major plus when you don’t have a car and you’d rather avoid public transportation if at all possible.

Typing back a hurried—and quadruple spelling checked—response accepting the invitation, you immediately add the appointment to your calendar. It fits snugly between two other interviews, one with a coffee stand that just barely promises to pay minimum wage, and the other for a receptionist position at the biggest commercial vet clinic in town, that made sure to inform you in their very first email that there were over a hundred other applicants being considered.

You don’t want to be a drive-through barista, and you don’t want to diminish your college degree to a receptionist job (although a foot in the door is a foot in the door), so your heart is fully set on Wayward Street Cat Hotel. There’s so much bubbling hope in your chest that you have to close your computer and eat the rest of your burrito in the dark, praying with all your might that the hope doesn’t pop.

Trudging through your full day of first interviews (and one second interview that definitely doesn’t seem like it’s going to lead to a third), you finally make it back home and crash into bed, barely managing to change out of your day clothes and brush your teeth before sinking into disappointed slumber.

Night turns to day, and after another chalky burrito and another cup of cheap coffee, another fruitless morning of refreshing your email inbox, you step into a fresh set of professional interview attire and try to face the day with renewal. It’s not like you try to anticipate another booked schedule of unsuccessful interviews, but after so many days of getting punched by one rejection after another, it’s difficult to approach each appointment with an open mind.

After a pleasant but uninspiring meeting with the manager of the drive-through coffee stand, you leave the interview with basically the promise of the job if you want it, but you don’t see yourself jumping at that opportunity until you absolutely have to. After the two remaining interviews of the day, you may reassess, but you withheld your commitment until you could actually be sure that it was your only chance.

The Wayward Street Cat Hotel is a charming little house-like structure on the corner with a picturesque coffee shop and a small business ice cream shop on one side and a positively blooming little florist on the other side.

As you approach the door, there’s a number of cat-related signs on the window. “No dogs allowed,” “This property is protected by attack cats,” “Free range cats at work, please knock before opening.” The soft and quaint feel of the warm green door and front step of the facility draws you in immediately, thinking of those hand-drawn greeting cards or water color canvases that portray little cottages surrounded by flowers. You knock on the door.

Not even a full minute later, a young man’s face pops into view, dimples cratering his cheeks as he tosses you a wave and then gestures for you to wait. You smile back awkwardly, watching as he bends down and scoops up a small white cat into his arms, cradling it to his chest and hurrying to close it into a room in the back. Moments later, the man comes jogging back, unlocking the door, and letting you inside.

“Hi there,” He greets cheerfully. “You’re the interview?”

You nod, pressing your hand into his palm to shake, and tell him your name.

He gestures for you to come in and sit with him at the tiny desk in the back, picking up a clipboard and brushing cat hair off of his black shirt. “I’m San. I’ll be heading our conversation today, is that okay?”

You’re confused. “Um. Yes?”

“It’s just that I’m only an employee, and that the owner won’t be in until tomorrow. But I promise I’ll be thorough in my notes.” He grins at you, encouraged by the polite laughter you give him as you wave off his concerns.

“That’s completely fine, no worries.” You spend the next few minutes discussing your education, your work history, and your personal experience with animals. He’s polite, charming, and pleasantly engaging as he runs you through a list of scripted questions, pausing between each one to pen down your answers and offer kind little comments as you bounce back responses.

“Okay!” He sets the clipboard down at last and fixes you with another dimpled grin. “Well, I feel good about this. You seem great, and I love your background for this. Why don’t you accompany me on my rounds this morning and we’ll see what you think of the actual work?”

This suggestion thrills you. No polite, tight smiles and tense handshakes and empty “We’ll be in touch” promises. Even if he decides that you can’t be trusted to work in cat boarding, at least you get to meet some kitties before you go home and cry into a vat of ice cream. You get up, leaving your bag on the chair you were just sitting in, and quickly follow him back towards the door.

The facility is a single large room, one half wall dividing the front from the back, with the desk you just had your interview at set on the back side of said wall. At the front of the room, there’s a sink, a set of cabinets, and a supply closet on the same wall as the door you entered through. To either side of you, the walls are lined with doors, all the way to the back of the room.

Each door is solid on the bottom and grated at the top so you can look in and see the kitty guests lounging in their own private rooms, blinking lazily at you as you pass by the windows. It’s not what you would have thought—all of the cat boarding facilities you’ve seen online look like sterile vet environments, with boxes in the wall that have barely enough room for a cat bed and a portable litter box.

This is small and cozy, but genuinely akin to a hotel for cats.

“So we have two shifts per day—but the boss said maybe we’d add a third since we’re looking for another worker. Every morning I come in around six am and check on everybody.” San begins, peeking into all of the rooms. It’s almost noon, so you figure he must have done all of this already, but that doesn’t stop him from chatting blithely about his entire morning routine.

When he’s finished his spiel, he guides you to a room about halfway down the row. “This is how far I got before your appointment. This is Bbam.” He steps aside so you can peer in and find the big gray tabby lounging comfortably on a plush bed. “He’s either an animatronic cat or a changeling.”

You give a shocked laugh at his playful words, but as you look at Bbam, you realize exactly what he’s talking about. The gray tabby has perfectly round eyes, about half the size of golf balls, which he pins to you the moment you appear in his line of sight. He meows at you, and when he does, his mouth hinges down at the jaw like a robot kitty. He does look like an animatronic cat. “Oh my god, he’s kind of freaking me out.” The moment you speak, Bbam’s eyes flick to the side, then down to the floor, then back at you—like he’s actually understanding your words.

San laughs at the sudden look of discomfort on your face. “Yeah, he appears in my nightmares sometimes. I frequently ask him not to answer me, if he has the ability to do so. Just in case. But he’s a huge sweetheart. Step back.” San turns the knob and swings the door open, and Bbam immediately jumps down from the bed and winds himself around your feet. “He’s a total love, once you get past the horrible expression on his face. So, he’s here for three more days—his owners went to Costa Rica.” He tells you every detail about the cat as he shakes out the blankets and the bed, sweeps the floor, cleans the litter box, changes the water, and then fills the food dish. “He gets totally nutty about meal times so he gets a Prozac at dinner.”

“Aw, poor Bbam.” You’ve spent the entire demonstration crouched in the doorway, letting the kitty bonk his head against your knees and curl himself around your hand and purr deep guttural grumbles at you. “He’s just a hungry little guy.”

“Bbam weighs thirty-one pounds.”

“He’s a hungry big guy.” You’re totally in love. Bbam the freaky animatronic changeling cat is the sweetest thing you’ve ever put your hands on, and every little mew he gives you digs right into your heart.

San notices the dumbstruck puppy love look on your face. “You haven’t even met the kittens yet. Come on.” He takes you all through the facility, introducing you to each of the cats and talking to them sweetly in a low, soothing tone. Some of them jump out and practically maul you for affection, while others tuck themselves safely under the stools that are set up specifically for the purpose of hiding. Every time one of them hides from you, San seems to know exactly why.

“She just got here this morning,” He’ll say. “That’s Bobae, she’s still nervous. She probably won’t eat her food tonight but I put just enough in to cover the bottom of the bowl, so I can see if she’s comfortable enough to try.”

Or— “That’s Kyong, he’s a little nervous. He hisses but as soon as we open the door he’ll run over here and start demanding affection, hissing all the while, see?—yep, there he goes. He won’t hurt you, just wants to make sure you know he’s a big scary cat.”

You follow along, soon jumping in to hand him things or going ahead to read the charts and starting on the food prep, even taking a few litter boxes from him to clean so he can focus on tidying up the rooms. By the time you’ve helped him finish his shift, your head and heart are chock full of cat information and your interview clothes are positively covered in kitty hair.

“Yeah, so that’s the morning shift. Evening shift starts at 4, and we do pretty much exactly the same thing, and then in between washing dishes and doing laundry we take care of emails and phone calls. It’s really simple, really rewarding if you like cats—you just have to hope the clients are nice. Most of the owners are little old ladies, and it’s kind of hit or miss with their temperaments.” San beams at you, standing back after letting you wash your hands and borrow one of the many lint rollers. “So? What do you think?”

“I think you must be the most peaceful person on the planet, if this is your day job.” You respond, somewhat in disbelief at the calm atmosphere and the instant gratification of seeing all of your efforts be either appreciated or at the very least quietly tolerated by all of these cats. “But I was wondering how our schedules would work? Like would we swap mornings and evenings, or do you do full days?”

He passes you a towel to dry your hands. “Since right now it’s just me and the boss, we’ve been trading days. I do the first half of the week, we both work Wednesdays, he does the second half of the week, and we alternate so that we can have weekends off. If he likes you and hires you on, then we’ll have more flexibility, which I’m excited for.”

You can’t think of a single better place to work right now, where your still emotionally-reeling brain can take a break and get 6-8 hours of kitty love as your day job. “That sounds great. So, um…” You clasp your hands. “I guess you’ll call me, or?”

He flinches a little, like he totally forgot that you weren’t a done deal yet. “Oh, gosh, yes. Hold on.” He runs back to the desk and returns to you with your bag, passing it to you as he scribbles a note on his clipboard. “The boss told me if I like you for the interview and the rounds both to go ahead and invite you for the morning shift tomorrow. I get here at 5:30, drink my coffee, look at emails and the schedule for the day. You’re welcome any time between then and 6am. Just knock on the door and I’ll let you in. If he signs off on you by the end of the day, I’ll get you your own door code. This is my personal cell number in case you need to reach me, and the internal email address for employees.” He gives you the piece of paper.

You hold it like treasure, your hands shaking as you tuck it carefully into your bag and then double check that it’s safely inside one of the pockets.

“I say employees,” He laughs at himself. “Right now it’s just me and the boss. But we both check it every day, so don’t hesitate to email for any reason. I’m kind of a stickler for punctuality, so please shoot an email or a text if you’re going to be late for traffic or something. Sound good?” He sticks out his hand, and this time you’re greeted with a warm and friendly handshake rather than the tight ones that reek of hand sanitizer from all of the other places you’ve been to this week.

“It sounds great. Thank you so much for having me in, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” You’re practically vibrating with excitement. He sees you out the door and waves through the window as you head for the sidewalk, and as you all but bounce your way home, you couldn’t pry the toothy grin off your face with a crow bar.

You don’t go to your next interview.

Instead, you finally take the time to cook yourself dinner. The first real meal you’ve had since the night you got robbed at gunpoint by a strangely considerate criminal who bought you cake on your birthday. You actually use pans and cutting boards and the oven fan and an egg timer and by the time it’s done, your stomach is growling so loudly that it’s automatically the best food you’ve ever eaten.

You take the time to shower, and wash your hair and shave your legs and then moisturize your skin until you’re glowing and pink in the dingy light of your cramped bathroom. You’re five seconds away from tumbling into bed in a set of matching cotton pajamas and a microfiber towel turban and the book you’ve been dying to read but haven’t had the energy to even look at when your phone dings.

Your heart slams like a jackhammer.

What if it’s San? Or the owner of the cat hotel?

What if they changed their mind?

You can just see the text—’sorry, we’ve selected another applicant. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.’

You snatch the phone off the nightstand, thumbing past the password and blinking hazily down at the dim screen. It’s not San, or anyone who works at Wayward Street Cat Hotel.

It’s Jake.

‘911—need to talk to you. It’s urgent.’

Your eyes reflexively well with tears, the raw edges of your heart still bleeding from the difficult emotions of breaking off your lengthy relationship, and you feel a clenching in your chest. Despite knowing that nothing Jake has ever thought of as urgent has ever been actually urgent, you glumly type back a response and get an address in return.

You blink at it in disbelief.

It’s that coffee shop.

The one in the parking lot that you got robbed in. The one in the parking lot that Jake left you in, with an armed robber. The one across from the McDonald’s where Jake tried to make you eat (and pay for) your birthday dinner. The one across from the movie theater where he made you feel like a child for crying through a sad movie on your birthday.

The one that Minho took you to and begged you to eat from after your heart broke into a million little pieces.

It doesn’t matter. Jake says it’s urgent, so you have to go. You toss back your covers, dig through your drawers for something to wear—and you’re far too committed to the comfort you’re currently wrapped in to go for any of the jeans, so you pull out your coziest sweats and swap one cotton set for another.

Shaking out your hair, scrubbing your fingers through the stringy wet tendrils, you fold it into the fastest, sloppiest braid you’ve ever embarrassed yourself with, grab your purse, and head out the door. Cool air wraps around your damp throat, digging fingers into your dripping scalp, laying it’s icy palm against your back where your hoodie is catching all of the water from your hair.

One hasty Uber and about twenty minutes of anxious hand wringing and mentally chanting reassurances to yourself, you arrive at the coffee shop with almost rock-solid certainty that you’re going to be able to face Jake without completely falling apart.

Yeah, you’re the one who broke up with him.

Yeah, he definitely had it coming, and you definitely deserve better.

But you’ve been with him for so long that sometimes you still feel like he’s missing from you, and to see him again after three weeks might just be the straw that breaks you. Running your hands over the awkward fly-aways that float around your hairline, already feeling the knobby lumps of your terrible braid but not wanting to prolong the inevitable by stopping to fix it, you make your way up the sidewalk, adjusting your jacket collar under the hood of your sweater.

In the darkening light of evening, the coffee shop glows a warm golden light out onto the sidewalk, and you take a deep breath to brace yourself. You can see him just inside, in a thin t-shirt and a pair of jeans that you’ve seen a million times before—clothes that he barely manages to drag on before going out in public without a care.

You feel just a little miffed. This meeting had better be an actual emergency if he pulled you out of bed to spend money on an Uber and didn’t even bother to dress appropriately for the high-dollar coffee shop.

A bell rings softly when you push the door open and step inside, instantly enveloped in a rush of warmth. The air smells like hot sugar and cinnamon and rich coffee, and your eyes automatically slide to the display case full of aesthetic cakes.

Even after your hard earned dinner, your stomach grumbles at the thought of that cake.

You make your way to the small table where your ex is seated, going around to stand across from him, one hand gripping the straps of your purse in a fist. “What is it? What’s wrong?” You didn’t realize your voice was going to come out with such a hard edge, but it’s too late to soften your approach now.

Jake looks up from his phone, brow furrowing at your words. “Can we talk?”

Frustration fills your entire chest cavity. “You said it was urgent. What’s wrong?”

He pushes his phone away and drops his hands into his lap, staring at you pitifully. “I just want to understand. I don’t get it. Why would you throw everything we had away like that? How could you do that? I thought we loved each other.”

You want to scream with disbelief and anger and the heartbreak that is rapidly evaporating to be replaced by incredulous resentment at the utter gall of this man. “What am I doing here, Jake? What do you want?”

He gestures for you to sit, and you stare at his hand blankly. “I need closure, babe. Please. I want to understand. I think we could give this another chance if we just talk about it.”

You slam yourself down in the seat and have to stop your body from lunging across the table and strangling the living daylights out of him. “You texted me 911 so that you could get closure? I was in bed, Jake. I have work in the morning—and don’t call me babe.”

His lips twist in confusion. “What work? I thought you got fired.”

You’re about two seconds away from having a psychotic episode in the middle of a coffee shop. “Yes. I got fired. Because you lied to my boss. And you expect me to come here and hold your hand?”

“I called your boss after you broke up with me. That’s not why you ended things. I want to know why. Was it the mugging? You know I called you all night long. I was worried sick about you, babe, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and you ignored me.”

All you can do is breathe.

Just keep breathing.

“I just think you could have at least talked to me before you ended it. I took you out for your birthday. I gave you a scarf, do you know how much that cost?”

“Yeah, about a buck fifty.”

He blasts right past the revelation that you somehow knew he thrifted it out of the clearance bin. “I was up the whole night just hoping you were okay, and the next thing I hear from you is a full 48 hours later, breaking up with me. How can you think that’s fair? How can you say I deserve that after everything we’ve been through?”

A waitress swoops by the table then, smiling sweetly at you. “Can I get you guys anything? Our cakes are incredible, or we have savory options as well.”

“Just a coffee for her, but I’ll take a slice of the chocolate cake, please.” Jake says softly, giving the waitress his most pitiful smile, and then fixes you with the same look. “Babe, please. Please, I just want to work this out.”

Your mind is so completely blown by everything that’s just happen that you can’t even pull a facial expression to reflect the shock consuming you. “What did you do?”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“For the 48 hours. What did you do?”

Stammering, surprised by the question, he lifts one hand in a pointless gesture. “I…I waited around. I mean, I had to go to work, of course. And then I caught up with a friend for dinner, because they were going out of town the next day, but you understand that I had to go. But I waited around for you the whole time, just hoping. I couldn’t even sleep, baby, I was so worried.”

“You left me. You left me there.”

“The guy had a gun! Everybody makes mistakes. Not everybody responds well under pressure. I was stupid, and I regret it, and—oh my god I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

His gushing words fill you with revolted disgust. “Please stop.” Nausea floods your senses. “Seriously, just knock it off. We’re done, Jake. There’s no talking about this, there’s no fixing anything. I will never consider it okay, or just a mistake, that you left me with an armed robber in a dark parking lot. You left me there.”

You don’t say anything about the fact that you ended up feeling safer with the armed robber than you had felt with Jake in a long time, because that’s entirely beside the point.

He doesn’t need to know that.

“I would never do that again. I could never dream of leaving you. Please, baby, please, I swear—”

“So this is the jackass, huh?” Somebody slips into the booth next to you, and you’re startled to find a warm arm looping around your back, fingers tickling you where they brush softly at your sides. “He looks like an accountant.”

Both you and Jake turn to the newcomer, wide-eyed, but you recover first.

Minho is sitting next to you.

Minho, the armed robber who held you up on your birthday. Minho, who took pity on you when you cried your eyes out in the cold. Minho, who took you to this very coffee shop and bought you warm food and a warm drink (with your boyfriend’s card) and told you that you were worth more than he made you think.

For a second, your gaze snaps to Jake, terrified that your cover is blown and that he’ll only be further convinced that you and your mugger were in cahoots against him—when you remember. Minho had taken his mask off only after Jake had burned rubber out of the parking lot.

You recognize him.

Jake does not.

Your ex straightens, instantly offended by the cool smirk and downward gaze of the criminal who currently has his fingertips playing with the hem of your sweater. “Who is this?” Jake snaps at you, scooting his chair back. “You moved on from me already? You were cheating on me, weren’t you? Who are you—what the fuck are you doing with my girlfriend?” He’s practically combusting with derision.

Minho just blinks lazily up at him, reminding you of the way the cats from the boarding facility earlier calmly stared at you as you walked with San. “I’m the one who knows everything about you, and, may I say, this charming display is entirely consistent with what I’ve heard.”

You gawk at him, only managing to close your mouth and swallow your surprise when he gives your side a little pinch. Clamping your jaw, you let him tug you into his side and smile smugly at your ex as the other man sputters angrily.

“This is why you broke up with me? You had some fucker on the side?” He snaps at you, and you really wish you had an answer for him, but you’re just as surprised as he is.

“I never cheated on you, Jake, this isn’t—”

“I think you should leave.” Minho says simply, interrupting you. “You’re disturbing the customers here, and your voice irritates me.”

“You expect me to stand here and believe that this guy with his arm around your waist isn’t some secret boy toy that you’ve been screwing while I’ve been taking care of you? Do you know how hard I worked to provide for you? I was going to give you safety and security and—”

“And McDonalds every year for her birthday? That she pays for and you bill your company for?” Minho finishes lightly. His hand slides up your side to smooth over your shoulder and then drag back down to your hip. Every inch of his touch is possessive and unthreatened by Jake’s presence. “I think she can do better. Can’t you, jagi?”

Your stunned expression meets his cool smile, and he blinks at you in a way that somehow very clearly and very subtly tells you to stop your gaping and pretend that you’re comfortable in his arms. Strangling the part of you that wants to ask just as many questions as Jake is asking, you force your eyelids to lower to a normal degree and finally turn to face Jake again. “We’re done, Jake. You should leave.”

Jake bursts out of his chair with frenzied outrage. “I asked you here to give you another chance, but that’s over.” He snaps, jabbing a pointed finger at you.

Pressed against you, you feel the solid muscles along Minho’s side tense as he closes his hand firmly around your hip and narrows his eyes at your ex.

“Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t even fucking try to explain.” He yanks his jacket off the back of his seat and then slams the chair up so hard that the edge of the table thumps harshly against your ribs at the impact.

“Then stop throwing a fit and get on with it.” Minho says harshly. “And calm down before I make you.”

From anyone else it would sound like your average amount of masculine posturing, designed to make the other man uncomfortable and test the boundaries of respect, but from Minho—the man who spends his nights holding people at gunpoint—it strikes you as a sobering promise.

Jake shoots you one last petulant glower and then storms out of the coffee shop, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he’s gone, you twist yourself to face Minho, seeing the cool smile drop from his face as his arm slides away from your back. “What are you doing here?” You hiss. “What was that? Last time I saw you, you were robbing me. And now you’re pretending to be my boyfriend or some shit? Are you bipolar?”

His eyes are hooded, and he picks up the coffee that the waitress left for you and sips at it quietly. “So you do remember that night,” He says. “And do you happen to remember the part where we discussed getting rid of assface?”

Your mouth falls open. “Excuse me? The part I remember is you pointing a gun in my face.”

He rolls his eyes, leans forward, hooks his finger on the lip of the plate with Jake’s untouched cake, and drags it towards you. “Eat. I saw you eyeing the cakes when you came in here.”

You push the plate away. “Minho.” The name is hissed through gritted teeth.

He pops an eyebrow at you. “And you remember my name. I’m flattered, jagi, you’ll make me blush.” The smirk drops once again and he scoots the plate back towards you. “It’s nine o’clock at night and you look like you got your hair caught in the door of a car. Eat the cake and go home.”

“I don’t want to eat the cake. I want you to tell me what the hell you’re doing here—and how long have you been watching? What do you mean you saw me eyeing the cakes?”

“I’ll tell you if you eat it.”

“I don’t want to eat it. I don’t eat in public, remember?”

“You do with me.” He’s watching you, expressionless, firing back responses as quickly as you can scrounge up an argument.

“I was under the unique pressure of being held at gunpoint.” You snap under your breath.

“I wasn’t holding you at gunpoint when we had birthday cake together. Eat it while I’m still trying to persuade you unarmed.”

You grab the fork on impulse, a jolt of fear striking you before you realize he’s kidding. His eyes are tracing your face, reading the reflexive terror as it rises and then fades slowly, and he settles on a small smile when you breathe again. “I don’t feel like eating this here.” You tell him quietly. “I still have the—” You break off, filled with frustration. “Look, I’m already thrown off by you being here, sitting here, I don’t really want to feel even more vulnerable by eating in front of you, too.”

“I want you to. See? I can be vulnerable too.”

“Why are you being so damn pushy? Who cares about the cake? Why won’t you just tell me what the hell you’re doing here?”

“Because you’re shaking. And you’re uneasy, and eating the cake will distract you. And you deserve it after that prick didn’t let you order one for yourself.”

God, how long had he been watching?

“That’s because it’s embarrassing.”

“It’s cute. Your face scrunches like a baby’s, like you’re afraid of what you’re eating but you want it anyway. It’s cute. Eat it, jagiya, I’ll answer your questions.”

You scoop a bit of the cake onto the fork and stare at him, heart pounding. “Are you sure?” Like you’re giving him an out. This fucking criminal who has inserted himself into your personal space and considered it a personal favor that he’s not pointing a gun at you while he’s doing it. There’s no reason for you to be offering him the chance to not be seen in public with you, twitching every time you take a bite.

“I’m sure, babyface, just eat it.”

You scowl. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then eat it.”

You do. Finally, after practically wearing yourself out arguing over your biggest, deepest insecurity, you begin to eat the cake, and do your best to ignore the warmth you feel when Minho’s arm settles against your back again.

“I was outside with…some friends, when I saw you show up. I recognized you, I got curious, and imagine my surprise when I see you meeting good ol’ assface for coffee, like we hadn’t already promised each other we were gonna break up with him.”

“We?” You mumble around the tiniest bite of chocolate cake. “I don’t remember us being in that relationship.”

“Tell me you haven’t been dating him all this time.” Minho leans back with a sigh, watching you pick daintily at the cake, his fingertips walking up your spine to tug at the lumpy, damp braid that’s still soaking through your sweater.

“I haven’t. He said he needed to talk to me. Said it was urgent.”

“It’s always urgent.” Minho mumbles, and you feel him picking at the end of your braid. Suddenly the elastic is gone, your hair stiffly unwinding against your shoulders. “Tell me you didn’t go back home to him that night.”

“I didn’t.” You twist your neck around to see what he’s doing, but he puts one finger to your temple and turns your head back to face your cake, and then continues unraveling your hair. “I went home. To my apartment. I didn’t talk to him for two days and when I did, I broke up with him. I didn’t even get my iPad back from his house.”

“Good girl.” He twists your hair into a firm knot at the base of your skull and fastens it with the elastic. “There. Try not to contract pneumonia next time you get played by your ex.” He pats your back firmly, and it’s jarringly platonic after the tenderness of his hands threading through your hair. He pushes himself to his feet and holds his hand out, palm up. “Come on. Bed time.”

“Bed time?” You repeat, absolutely stunned.

Whatever he’s expecting from you right now is nowhere near what you’re prepared to give to the man who has at one point pulled a gun on you.

He turns his hand and flicks your arm softly. “Stop your blushing. I know you took an Uber here. I’m taking you home. You said you have work tomorrow, so let’s go.”

You just blink at him. “I’m not riding home with you. You have a car?”

“Of course I have a car, I’m not destitute.”

“You rob people.”

“It’s really more of a hobby.”

“Yeah, I’m definitely not going home with you.”

“Again,” He flicks your arm once more. “I’m not taking you home with me, I’m taking you home. Your home. Finish your cake and get up.”

Moments later, you are making the second inexplicably foolish decision of your life to follow Minho across the parking lot to the small gray car in the shadows. He opens the door for you, waits for you to get inside, and then closes you in to spend the next few seconds wondering if you’re going to survive the rest of the night.

Because there is stuff everywhere.

Purses. Backpacks. Wallets. A gun in the floorboard. A small document safe, busted open on the back seat. A crowbar. Numerous disposable masks. Multiple boxes of latex gloves.

The instant that Minho crosses around to the driver’s side and gets in, your fingers are grasping for the handle, seconds away from leaping out into the night. He frowns at you as he puts the keys in the ignition. “What? Where are you going?” As you gawk at him, terrified, his eyes skate the condition of his car. “Oh. Shit. Right, sorry.” He leans into your space, scraping up a handful of purses and wallets and tossing them in the back seat. He ducks back down one more time, grabs up the gun, tucks it in the glove compartment. “You can put your feet anywhere, it’s fine.”

You gape at him. “Minho, this is—”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t be such a prude. I robbed you, too, and look at us now. I’m a nice guy, I swear.”

“Have you ever killed anybody?”

“Would you believe me if I said no?”

“I…don’t know.”

“Well, let me know when you figure it out, and I’ll give you my answer.”

He wheels the car smoothly out of the driveway, and when he asks for your address, it takes an infinity for you to decide to give it to him. You live in a nice apartment building, with good security, and watchful neighbors. Even if he’s been nice to you so far, possibly scoping you out and getting you to trust him, it should be difficult for him to actually gain access to your apartment later.

“Block his number.” He tells you quietly, one elbow propped up on the window sill. “Don’t go chasing after his 911 texts anymore.”

“Why do you care?”

Silence.

Streetlights and traffic signals shine into the space between you, flashing over his face and illuminating the quiet consideration that he wears in place of the smug expression he had only moments ago. “I care.”

“Why?”

“God knows.”

He drops you off at your apartment, peers at you quietly through the window as you back away from his car, your eyes dubiously fixed on him as you scoot backwards into the building, and then he’s gone, racing off into the night, and taking all the evidence of his transgressions with him.

By some stroke of cosmic grace you get yourself to bed and convince your brain to abandon all thoughts of Minho and get a bare minimum amount of sleep. By the time your alarm sings its obnoxiously cheerful jingle at you, it feels like you only just closed your eyes. But it’s 4am and you have a day of kitties ahead of you, so you put your feet on the floor and trudge to your bathroom to get yourself awake.

Two pieces of toast, the last of your Folgers instant coffee, and one glass of water, off-brand orange juice later, you’re bundled up in your favorite winter jacket, watching your breath appear in the dark of morning as you walk to the Wayward Street Cat Hotel.

By the time you knock on the warm green door and watch San’s head pop around the corner of the half wall, your nose is pink and your fingers are cold but it’s only served to get your heart pumping and your brain wide awake.

San approaches the door with a sauntering gait and a dimpled smile that is far too kind for 5:30 in the morning, but he unlocks the door and ushers you into the golden warmth of the facility. “Good morning!” He greets, standing back as you unzip your jacket. “You are prompt, right on time.” He holds out a hand and takes the garment, showing you to the storage closet where he hangs it next to his own jacket.

“I hoped you might be punctual, so I brought you a coffee. Cream and sugar on the side, you can fix it how you like. Is that okay?”

You’re warm all over. “That sounds amazing, thank you.”

He leads you back to the desk and pulls up your chair for you. “So right now I’m just going through emails—oh, here.” He passes you a blue paper to go cup and a handful of cream and sugar packets. “If all goes well today, give me your usual coffee order. The boss pays for coffees on Wednesdays to warm me up for when he comes in and extends the shift by two hours.”

“By two hours?” You repeat, popping the lid off and dumping four of the creamers into the dark liquid that smells about a thousand better than your Folgers instant. You’re halfway through wondering if you should be reassessing your excitement for this job, adjusting your hope for success today and a contract by evening, mentally filing through labor laws, when San waves your worries away with one hand.

“Accidentally. He doesn’t make me stay, but I usually stick around and do emails or laundry and it gives me two more hours on my time sheet, so who cares? If you work here, he’ll let you go home at your normal time, don’t worry.”

“How does he make it so much longer? Is he a slow cleaner or something?”

“No, no, not at all. He’s the one who taught me how to be as efficient as I am, and he can still clean a room about two minutes faster than I do. No, he runs an Instagram page so owners can see their kitties while they’re gone. So when he comes in on Wednesday, he takes all kinds of photos and videos—plus he’s a total lush for cats so he spends like ten minutes with each one, just hanging out with them.” He sips from his coffee and lets out a slow hiss as the heat hits his tongue.

“Oh.” You blink, pressing the lid back onto your cup. “That’s sweet.”

“Yeah, he’s really great. I think you’ll enjoy working with him, if you’re good with rolling with a wry, dry sense of humor. He’s super chill and easy going and even though he looks at you sometimes like he can’t remember your name, he’ll listen to anything—even if you’ve forgotten for the fifth time how to print out the daily schedule.”

“Is this…experience speaking?”

San chuckles, ducking his head and sighing at his keyboard. “Ahhhh, yes, unfortunately. I was so nervous my first day. I thought he hated me until I asked him my hundredth inane question of the day and he noticed how bad I felt about it and he just took the time to kindly walk me through it again.”

You’re a little nervous now, both about the complexity that the shifts must be if San was so psyched out about it, and about the apparently closed off demeanor of your potential boss. “So, he’s nice about it, though?”

“Oh yeah.” San clicked through a couple of emails and then leaned back in his chair, spinning it lightly back and forth. “No he will full on stare at you like you’re speaking another language and then just when you think you’re going to cry for being the dumbest person on the planet, he starts talking to you in this very sweet, like, don’t-spook-the-kittens voice and answers whatever you’re unsure about and then tells you that you aren’t completely hopeless.”

“Aw,” You’re laughing at the utter embarrassment on San’s face.

“I had such a hard first day. I was so nervous. So please, whatever you feel about today, barring a medical emergency, it can never be worse than mine.”

You’re at ease almost immediately after that, relaxing in your chair and sipping at your coffee as he chatters about the process of checking emails and showing you where the form letters for rote responses are, and showing you how to use the database to check the schedule and make bookings and check kitty records.

By the time 6am rolls around and San pushes himself back from the desk, he’s finished his coffee. He shrugs out of his hoodie and gets up, instructing you to start on one of the rooms while he gets started on the other. For the next hour, you clean kitty rooms, check the database for feeding and medicating instructions, refresh water bowls, and clean litter boxes, all the while getting positively coated in kitty affection.

San keeps up a regular dialogue, occasionally breaking off to laugh as you react to whichever cat you’re interacting with at the moment, from a couple of calico kittens who jump on your shoulders while you clean their litter box, to Kyong hissing at you whilst demanding affection, to a little old lady cat who meows at you like she’s been smoking for fifty years.

“Why don’t you go do the last room and I’ll start washing the dishes.” San suggests at some point around 7, gesturing for you to go get started on a little black cat named Jia, who has been not so patiently waiting for her turn to be fed since you started. He begins pulling on dishwashing gloves and setting to cleaning the previous night’s dinner dishes while you hurry to comply.

“Hi Jia.” The moment you open the door, the older cat scoots out into the hallway, winding around your legs, whisper-meowing up at you constantly. She follows you back into the room, pawing and headbutting you as you shake out her blankets and sweep the floor. It takes you a few minutes to clean little splatters of her drool off the floor and sift out the litter box, but finally you scoop her up in your arms and begin the less pleasant task of giving her her daily medications.

“This is gonna be so fast, baby.” You whisper, letting her lean her head back against your chest. “Just a couple of nasty pills and then it’s canned food galore, I promise.” She squirms and cries at you as you push the pills into her mouth, and in a matter of seconds she’s swallowed both of them. “See? You did so good, and now it’s all over. What a good girl,” You lean over and pick up her bowl of wet food before she can get too upset about swallowing the tablets. “See? There you go, pretty girl.”

You lean back on your heels and stroke her as she abruptly forgets all about the terrible medication and chirps her way through her breakfast.

“Look who the cat dragged in.”

Before you can shoot San an unimpressed look for his very unoriginal one-liner, you realize that that wasn’t San’s voice. And the not-San voice sounded very, very familiar.

You twist around, nearly falling on your ass in the middle of Jia’s room, to see fucking Minho staring down at you through the window in the door, that smug smirk on his face. His eyes glance to Jia, then around the room, then to you. “She’s sweet, isn’t she?”

Jumping to your feet, thoroughly appalled by his sudden appearance, you glare through the grate. “What are you doing here?”

He blinks at you. “I’m the owner.”

Your eyes fall back down to Jia. “Oh. Yes, she’s very sweet. She took her medicine very well and her appetite is fantastic this morning. Are you checking her out?” You don’t remember San saying that Jia was going home this morning.

Minho’s smirk widens. “Isn’t it cute the way she whispers?”

Your patience is thinning. “Yes, Minho. She’s very cute. Can you just take your cat and go?” You’re praying, hoping beyond hope that San or the boss doesn’t show up and watch you snarl at a client, but you cannot cope with running into your robber for the third time.

This is it.

You’re going to lose another job before you even get the chance to have it, all because of the same night that lost you the first job.

You hate him.

You hate Jake.

You hate Minho.

You hate everybody right now except for Jia, and the knowing look on Minho’s face is not helping matters.

It is too early in the morning to be playing mind games with a criminal.

“Why are you still here?” You hiss. “Why are you even here at all? If you want your cat, take your damn cat.” You see San approaching from behind Minho, tossing a dish towel over his shoulder.

“Maybe I just can’t stay away from you.” Minho raises an eyebrow at you, eyes trailing down your body to examine the long sleeve button-up and soft, stretchy slacks that you’re wearing whilst crawling around on your knees in cat rooms. “You’re just so damn enchanting.”

“Do not bullshit me right now—” Your hiss is broken off and transformed into a sweet smile as San sidles up next to Minho and smiles that cratered smile at you.

“Looks like you’ve met the boss, huh? She’s pretty great, right, hyung?”

Your entire body stops functioning. Minho’s lips are spreading into a cheshire grin, watching your face go through all the stages of grief, looking one hundred percent pleased with your sudden inability to form words.

“Like I said, I’m the owner.” Minho tells you. “Of Wayward Street, not Jia. Though she’s quite the little sweetheart. I could just take her home with me.” The significance of his words settles on you with horrible weight, and your mouth falls open.

“Right, right, yes, this is Minho, he’s the boss. Hyung, this is our new prospective worker. She’s already done half of the rooms by herself, and I gotta be honest, she just took the routine and ran with it. She’s got it down.” That means a lot coming from him, especially now that you know his first day had been an utter disaster.

“Is that so?” Minho’s humored eyes haven’t left yours. “Does she maybe want to let Jia eat her breakfast and come back to the main room now?”

You scramble to grab up your cleaning supplies, leaving the kitty with one final scratch between the ears, and follow the men back to the desk. Minho sits before the computer, glancing at the empty email inbox, and sets his own coffee down next to your cup. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come in at 6 this morning, San, I had a task to do. Looks like the rooms are already done?”

San nods proudly. “All done. I just finished dishes and I was about to fold the clean laundry. Other than the floors, we’re pretty much good to go.”

Minho glances to the schedule. “Any appointments this morning?”

“Dakho and Hei are going home at eight, Ppang goes home at ten, and we get Mihi into room 4 at nine thirty.” San rehearses easily. “I’ve got Dakho and Hei ready to go, and I just need to prep Mihi’s room.”

Minho glances between you and San, San who is eager to get through the rest of his tasks, and you who is both too mortified and too frustrated to meet his eyes. “Alright, teach the newbie how to get Ppang ready to go, and show her how to reset room 4 for the new one. Then have her greet clients with you.” His eyes settle on you. “You can stand there and listen, just let him do it and pay attention.”

You nod quietly. “Will do.”

“Alright. You two get to work and let me know if you need anything. I’ll be reaching out to upcoming reservations so just give me a yell.” Minho meets San’s gaze, ensures that he’s been heard, and then shoots you another sideways glance. That same wicked smirk plays at the edges of his lips as you turn to follow San to Ppang’s room, your shoulders hunched almost painfully.

So much for your fresh beginning.

So much for your new start.

So much for Minho being an isolated incident—or even two isolated incidents.

You spend the rest of the morning shift doing exactly as you’re told, expertly finagling Ppang into his kitty carrier—a skill you acquired at the vet’s office and impressed San with when you completed the task with a few soft words and firm hands and got away without a single even attempted scratch. He chit chats companionably as you clean the room and start a load of laundry with the old blankets and beds that Ppang had used, washing the dishes and sanitizing the entire room from floor to ceiling.

Minho’s eyes can be felt on you as you move back and forth from the sink and the supply closet to Ppang’s room, hurrying to do San’s bidding, careful not to disturb any of the other cats with any clanging noises or anxious energy. The two of you handle both of the kitty pick-up appointments and Mihi’s intake, settling her into a freshly prepared room and leaving her to hide under her blankets until she feels comfortable enough to come out on her own.

When the shift is finally over, Minho dismisses San for the day and then turns to you with a levelling stare. “While I admit that we have a rather unconventional relationship that we just can’t seem to get away from, I want you to know that your performance is being fairly assessed.”

He’s giving you the courtesy of professionalism (sort of), so you relax into the role of prospective employee and fold your hands in front of you. Even so, you’re not entirely sure that you’re hoping you get the job anymore. While the work is simple and the cats are thoroughly enjoyable to be around, you can’t see yourself reporting to a known criminal every day.

That’s not ethical, right?

Shouldn’t you report him?

“Wayward Street is very important to me.” Minho says solemnly, eyes hooded as he speaks to you in a lazy drawl. “I won’t have some stranger come in and automatically be given trust over my cats without consideration for her existing or non existing ability to properly care for them.” His eyes scan you again. “No matter how intriguing I may find her to be.”

Heat rises in your cheeks and you look away. It bothers you that he’s speaking so frankly, but you’re not decided about your plans for the job yet, so you don’t say a word.

“I’ve arranged for San to take the evening shift off so that I can watch you work more closely. Come back at 3:30 and be prepared to take the reins. I’ll be available for any questions you might have. It’s not a trap, the work is just as straight forward as you’ve seen so far. I want my cats and my people and my company to be cared for. Do you understand?”

You nod soberly. “I understand.”

“If your work tonight satisfies me, I will be happy to offer you the job.” He leans forward in his desk chair, the cunning gleam finally disappearing from his eyes. “I also want you to understand that you can choose not to take it. It will not be offered with some kind of implicit agreement that you are expected to keep silent about my extracurricular activities. If you choose to go to the police, then so be it.”

You’re surprised by the sudden claim of accountability. Perhaps it’s some form of manipulation, that he’s wanting you to shirk away from accusing him while he’s being so kind to you, or that he thinks you’ll take pity on his boarding business and save it from going under if he were to go to jail. Either way, you’re now watching him with guarded interest.

“Additionally, if you choose to take the job and work here, with me, you can consider our previous interactions a wash.” He observes the slight confusion on your face and taps his fingers on the desk. “My behavior towards you to this point, extracurricular activities notwithstanding, would be inappropriate for an employer to express towards a subordinate. I will not be pursuing any kind of dynamic which might make you uncomfortable. Do you understand?”

You feel strangely calmed by this. “I understand.”

He leans back in his chair and slides his eyes back to the computer. “Come back at 3:30. Dress for comfort and utility. This business casual get up you’re wearing now is fine but it’s unnecessary. San prefers to work in a t-shirt and joggers, as the job requires us to be down on the floor quite a lot. You’ll see me in jeans most days. Please represent my company appropriately and choose attire that reflects self-respect, and that will suffice. Do you have any questions?”

He’s not looking at you, not smirking at you, not even treating you like he’s witnessed you bawling your eyes out and being humiliated by your ex boyfriend. “I don’t.”

“You can go, then. I’ll see you this evening.”

You check your watch. It’s only 10am. With hours of 6am to 10am and 4pm to 7pm, you have a good majority of your afternoon to do with as you please. You collect your things from the closet and head out into the bright, sunshiney morning.

When you return for evening shift, you’ve changed your clothes. Minho lets you into the facility with a quick glance at your cotton sweatshirt and breathable pants and gives an approving nod. “Did San show you how to answer emails?”

You nod.

He gestures to the desk. “Go ahead and start there. Ask me if you have any questions.”

You sit at the desk and spend half an hour shooting back emails, updating bookings, making reservations, and filing vaccination records. He watches in silence, occasionally spending time on his phone to give you space. When you finish, he follows you as you begin the rounds. He lingers quietly, doing little tasks like refreshing water and handing you supplies, but he lets you take the lead.

When clients arrive for pick-up and drop-off appointments, he chats with them pleasantly but lets you discuss care instructions and payment info on your own.

At seven o’clock, you’re standing in front of him, hands clasped once again in front of you, surprised to find yourself hoping that he’s pleased with your work. He sits at his desk and pulls a few pages off the printer. “I think the first thing we should talk about is whether or not you want this job.” He says quietly. “I think we’ve assessed each other fairly well today, don’t you?”

He’s right. His constant presence today has been one of steadiness and stability, not at all someone that you were worried to turn your back to or feel nervous questioning. He had been polite, unassuming, helpful, and temperate all day—excluding your brief fiasco with Jia.

“That depends.” You hear yourself say softly.

“On what?” His eyes are gentle, wondering, searching.

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

A light smile plays at his lips. “You’ll trust my answer?”

You will. He can see that on your face.

“I’ve never hurt anyone. I swear on my cats.” The words are delivered with a playful smirk.

You take a deep breath. “I don’t appreciate your extracurricular activities.” He watches your eyes dart around the desk, watches your mouth form the words. “But I do love your business here. I think I demonstrated a fair command of the work today, and if you’re willing to take me on, I would be grateful for the opportunity to be employed here.”

Minho grins at you. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He slides the pages from the printer towards you. All of a sudden you’re signing your contract, setting up your banking information, receiving a door code. He discusses a schedule with you, and the next time you meet his eyes, you have a job.

“Thank you, Minho.” You tell him quietly.

“I’m glad you want the job.” He responds. “I liked the way you handled Jia this morning.”

Your face scrunches in confusion. “The way I handled Jia?” Trying to think back to the moments before he made his presence known and made you assume he was here to take the little black cat home, you struggle to come up with whatever he’s referring to.

“She gets nervous when she knows the pills are coming. You were sweet with her, and she recovered with no hurt feelings. You’re good with them. You’re kind. I want someone like that taking care of my guests.” He leans back in his chair and places his palms flat on the table. “Now, if you’ll walk me out to my car, I’ll let you get home and we can start over again in the morning.”

You balk immediately. Follow him out to his car? What happened to him not trying to make you uncomfortable?

He sees the apprehension in your eyes and he gets to his feet, a chiding expression on his face. “Don’t look so scandalized. You’re safe with me. I just have something of yours in my car.” He scoops up his keys and tosses his jacket over his arm, gesturing for you to follow. “Keep your distance if you must, but it’s really no big deal.”

Resentfully, you follow him to his car.

He digs around in the passenger seat for a minute and then turns back to you, producing a familiar purple case. It’s your iPad. The one you had left at Jake’s house and never gone back to get. You gawk at him, snatching the device from his fingers. “Where did you get this?”

“You don’t want to know.” He’s smirking again.

“You robbed him? Again?”

“Shhh.” His eyebrows lower, glancing around the dark sidewalk. “I’d rather not announce it in front of my place of business.”

“Oh my god.” You can’t help the grin that tugs at your cheeks at the thought of him breaking into your ex’s house and robbing him without a care. “Thank you, Minho.” You shouldn’t be thanking him. You really, really shouldn’t be thanking him. But god, does it feel good to be holding your iPad and knowing that it’s only back in your possession because a smarter man than Jake got it back for you.

Minho struggles to control his own smile, forcing an aloof shrug. “Couldn’t have you coming up with any more excuses to see the assface again.” He shuts the passenger side door and moves away from you, around to the driver’s seat. “Go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You walk home with the iPad clutched to your chest, shocked and a little disappointed in yourself that you’re actually excited about how the day turned out, despite everything that’s happened to try to persuade you otherwise.

The next few weeks are spent accompanying San and Minho on their shifts, working under their supervision while they finish training you and getting a solid feel for your ability to manage the dynamic workspace and client concerns. San grows fond of your presence rather quickly, and soon enough you’re often getting lunch together after your morning shift.

Minho maintains a strict air of professionalism with you. He’s gentle, available, and cautious about your space, and it doesn’t take long for you to all but forget about the strange way in which you first met him.

Finally, at long last, you’re given your first independent schedule away from both San and Minho. It’s your first weekend by yourself, and the facility is yours to run and enjoy in solitude. Everything goes peacefully and beautifully well, until Sunday morning, when you step into your last room of the shift, and little Jia doesn’t wake up.

Your heart shatters.

You call San first, weeping over the phone in garbled words that he barely understands, until suddenly he gets the gist. “Calm down, it’s alright. I’ll call hyung, and I’ll be over there in two minutes. It’s alright. It’s not your fault, alright? I’ll deal with it. I’ll come deal with it. Sit down at the desk and wait for me.”

Less than a minute later, the phone rings, and it’s Minho. You answer in a storm of tears and apologies, your heart breaking into a million pieces over the phone. “I’m going to call the client,” He tells you. “I’ll handle it. I’m a little farther away than San is, so wait for him to get there. Just sit tight and wait, okay?”

You can’t stop crying. You can’t stop apologizing.

“Just wait for San. I’ll call the clients.” He hangs up the phone.

San arrives shortly after and finds you slumped over the desk, pouring out your tears into the keyboard, fighting the memory of discovery. He immediately shrugs off his jacket and pulls you into his embrace, letting you fling your arms around him and cry. “She was an old cat. She was old, it’s not your fault.” He holds you tightly, rubbing your back, letting the moments pass slowly. “You didn’t do anything wrong, okay?”

It doesn’t help.

You know you didn’t do anything wrong, but it doesn’t help.

The little bell chimes and quiet footsteps approach the desk, and then San is easing away from you. You lean your weight on the counter and try not to listen to him telling Minho that he’s going to go back there and take care of Jia so you don’t have to. The next thing you know, Minho is kneeling in front of you, tapping your hand lightly with a finger. “Hey. I talked to them.”

You turn your eyes to his and find him tense with anger, and your heart sinks. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Minho, I don’t know what happened.” The clenching of his jaw and the tightening of his fists fills you with guilt. “I’m so sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong. You hear me?” He covers your hand with his. “The client told me that Jia’s been sick. She got a new diagnosis about two months ago, and they chose not to take her in for the treatments. They said they didn’t expect her to last until they got back.”

His words feel like a punch. “They knew she was going to die?”

“They left her to die with us.” He confirms. The outrage on his face makes more sense now, that it’s not directed at you, but rather at the negligent owners who preferred to send their cat away to live the rest of her weeks with strangers and keep their vacation plans. “You did nothing wrong, okay?”

Your head droops, tears rolling down your cheeks, and he tilts your chin up with a finger. “You hear me, jagi?” The words are barely a whisper.

He doesn’t have a chance to apologize or take back the endearment that he promised he wouldn’t use anymore, because you’re blinking at him tearfully. “Can I not be your employee?” You ask brokenly.

He blinks, disappointment flooding his expression.

“Just for a second?” The rest of your sentence breathes past your lips.

Now more confused than anything, Minho’s brow furrows in consternation. “Okay.”

In the next second your arms are around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder, clinging to the comfort of the person who chose to comfort you when he was supposed to be robbing you; searching desperately for the man who protected you from your ex instead of just leaving you where you stood.

Minho returns your embrace without hesitation.

He holds you so tightly that he pulls you out of your chair, falling to your knees on the floor in front of him, trying desperately to close your ears to the sound of San taking care of Jia. “It’s alright.” Minho murmurs. “It’s okay.” But he’s fuming. He’s on fire with rage, mind racing through a dozen plans to access client records and track down their address and make them regret ever doing such a cruel and calloused thing, and leaving you to deal with it.

It takes a few minutes for you to pull yourself together, awkwardly shuffling out of the half-in-his-lap position that you’d fallen into and seating yourself back at the desk. He kneels on the floor and remains quiet as you wipe at your face, sniffling pathetically into your sleeve. “I’m sorry.” You say again. “I’m so very sorry, I know that this weekend was my first time in the hotel by myself, and I know it was supposed to be an exercise of trust and faith and everything went wrong—”

“Jagi.” Minho lifts himself on his knees so that he can better look you in the eye. “Everything didn’t go wrong. Something happened that was out of our hands before you ever got a job here. Don’t put this on yourself.”

Your eyes close painfully. “Minho, you trusted me with your cats and one of them died. Tell me you don’t have even a second of doubt about trusting me.”

“Not a second.” He says immediately. He takes your hand again. “Not even a second.”

“You don’t know me.”

Minho’s gaze traces every inch of your face, slides down the shaking length of your arms, watches your fingers clench into fists on the surface of the desk. “I do now.”

“Here you go, girlie.” San puts your usual coffee order down on the desk in front of you, pulling up a chair to peer at the computer with you. It’s been just over a week since the incident with Jia, and you’ve finally managed to come to work without feeling heart-shattering panic every time you approach any of the kitty rooms. You smile at him, accepting the hot beverage with grateful hands.

“Thanks San, I’ve been jonesing.”

“I can tell, your foot is doing that twitchy thing.” He rubs your shoulder and props one elbow on the desk. “We busy this morning?”

“Looks like five appointments, most of them pick-ups. We’ll have a lot of rooms to clean.”

“I’ll help.” The voice is succeeded by Minho’s sudden appearance around the corner of the half wall, carrying a pink donut box. “We’ll get it knocked out in no time.” There’s a second of shuffling papers and office supplies around so he has a place to set the donut box, and then he comes around behind your chair to peek at the screen.

You fight a shiver as his breath hits the back of your neck.

“Oh, Ara goes home today.” He murmurs, a touch of wistfulness in his voice. “I’m gonna miss her.”

You’ll all miss the tiny Russian Blue who stares at you patiently as you clean her room, and then makes her request with a single, kitten-pitched chirp so that you’ll pick her up and let her snuggle her little head into your throat and purr all your troubles away.

“Have a donut, girlie, he got your favorite.” San picks up an old fashioned cake donut wrapped in a napkin and passes it over to you.

You accept the pastry in silence, feeling Minho’s eyes on the side of your face as you pick crumbs off of it and try to nibble as minutely as you can manage. “Looks like we also have a cat named Bong coming in at eight.”

“Bong’s a sweetheart, he sits on my lap while I do emails.” San says, glancing at you right as you take a small bite and feel your cheek twitch involuntarily. He gives a soft snicker, mouth opening immediately to comment on it, but he never gets the chance.

“Do me a favor and go get started on food prep, would you, San?” Minho requests abruptly.

Glancing at his watch in surprise, San lifts his eyebrows and stands slowly. “Sure thing. Don’t eat all the donuts.” He grabs his coffee and disappears to the front of the facility, leaving you with Minho at the computer.

The boss comes around to sit in the seat that San had vacated. “Can you print the client info for Ara?”

“Of course.” You click around the screen to do as instructed. It’s easy now, navigating the database and booking system, and San regularly complains about how much faster you picked it up than he did. “He wasn’t laughing at me.”

“Sorry?” Minho’s voice is a light hum, but he knows what you’re referring to.

“San. He wasn’t laughing at my face. He knows about the twitch. You’re not the only person I’ve ever eaten in front of.”

“You really know how to make a guy feel special, don’t you?”

You meet his eyes, surprised. “You are special. In an armed mugger kind of way.”

He nudges his knee against yours, jabbing a finger into your ribs at the risk of your voice carrying to San at the front of the room. “Would you shut up?”

“So sorry, boss, I thought you wanted to feel special.”

He frowns, rolling his eyes at you and focusing on the printout you’ve given him. The displeased silence is rolling off of him in waves of tension, striking you with sudden realization.

“Oh my god.” You utter, gaping at him. “You want to feel special.”

He scowls, closing off his expression entirely. “I want to feel like you’re about to get up and do your job.”

The interaction sticks with you for the rest of the shift, tumbling through your thoughts at every turn. No part of it is a surprise or revolutionary in anyway, not after he called you jagiya five minutes after meeting you, or after he basically took you on a sorry-your-boyfriend’s-a-douchebag-but-I-can-do-better date on the night of your birthday, and then he strongly suggested and fully intended for your ex boyfriend to believe that he was your new boyfriend.

No, his attentiveness and interest and softness towards you, while inexplicable, is not a surprise.

What is a surprise, however, is the girlish fluttering happening in your chest at the realization that this man, dubious morals or not, just became flustered in the place of business that he owns because you teased him.

An entire world of possibilities opens up to you.

Possibilities that will come with a very firm, very condition-heavy conversation, but exciting possibilities nonetheless.

Your entire demeanor shifts by the time evening shift rolls around. Punching in your door code, already knowing that San won’t be here since most of the appointments are already done, you shuck your coat and bag into the supply closet. Minho is already here, you can tell by the scent of his laundry detergent and subtle cologne, and for a minute you wonder if he ever left after the morning shift.

He’s in the back with two white kittens named Choco and Nabi, sitting cross-legged in the floor and letting them scamper all over him with frenzied energy.

“Look how cute.” You ease yourself down to the floor next to him, wiggling your finger at Nabi and smiling as she immediately engages in a series of pounces.

“Good evening,” Minho greets flatly, once again maintaining his detached mannerisms.

Your shoulder brushes his as you lean forward to play with the kittens, and you feel him immediately move away from you.

“You can go ahead and get started on rooms whenever you’re ready.” He says, and moves to get up.

“Oh, sure, but, Minho?”

When he turns around, he finds you looking up at him, hand extended for him to help you to your feet as well.

“What?”

“Help me up?” You smile at him, eyes wide and innocent.

He frowns at you, begrudgingly stabbing his hand out to hoist you upright. “Let’s get our work done quickly, I have some things to do tonight.”

“More people to rob?” You chirp cheerfully, like you’re asking him if he’s going to run to the grocery store.

Minho’s expression flattens into severely unimpressed. “Are you never going to let that go?”

“Are you never going to stop mugging people as a hobby?” You grab the broom, dustpan, and trash can, and move into the first room to begin cleaning.

“My personal hobbies are none of your business.”

“They became my business when you held me up on my birthday.”

“I didn’t know it was your birthday.” He steps into the room, leaving a bowl of food for Eun, a big brown tomcat who immediately bumbles over to bury his face in the dish. “And I didn’t mug you.”

“You did, too.” You fire back, sifting the litter box.

“I stole the assface’s company credit card, bought gift cards, and used them to buy kitty litter and latex gloves and cat food. Fucking sue me.” Minho takes the water dish and dumps it, filling it fresh from the tap.

“No, you robbed me, too.” You flash him a sweet smile as you move from Eun’s room to the next one, saying hi to Bobae as she stretches and comes out from her covered bed.

Minho’s face appears in the door window, frowning with confusion. “I’ve never taken anything from you.”

You fake a gasp, pressing one hand to your chest like you’ve been emotionally injured. “You stole the very thoughtful and expensive gift that my loving boyfriend gave me for my birthday.”

There’s a second of recollection before Minho rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Fine, you can have it back.”

You immediately hold out your hand expectantly.

He just gestures to the supply closet. “It’s in there. We use it to clean the litter boxes.”

Your mouth falls open, shocked laughter bursting from your lips. “Oh my god, you’re so bitter.” You turn back to Bobae, kneeling down to run your hands over her white coat. “He’s so bitter, Bobae, baby.” She blinks one blue eye and one green eye up at you. “I think he’s jealous of the assface.” Bobae purrs loudly, bumping your hand with her freckled nose.

“I am not jealous of the assface.” Minho’s voice comes from the front of the room, and then he’s grumpily bringing a bowl of Churu for Bobae. “Here you go, sweetheart, don’t listen to the bad lady.” He scratches her between the ears, shoots you a surly look, and leaves with the water bowl.

“I think he is jealous.” You continue, shaking out the blankets. “Big bad Minho couldn’t even point a gun at me without feeling bad about it, Bobo.”

“Stop lying to my guests.”

Your voice lowers into a sweet croon. “He bought me cake and coffee, and called me cute names, and he told me I deserved better than the sucky boyfriend who forgot I existed.” You pause in sweeping to scratch Bobae’s back. “I think he’s secretly a softie, Bobo.”

“Are you done being delusional?”

“And right when I thought I was never going to see this insane psychopath again, Bobo, you’ll never guess what happened. Guess what happened? That’s right, he found me in trouble again, and jumped in to rescue me again. Does that sound like a big bad man to you, Bobo? I don’t think so.” You get on your hands and knees to run a sterile wipe over the floor, keeping Bobae up on her shelf while it dries.

“Do you mind not feeding your lies to my innocent cats?” Minho glares at you as you exit Bobae’s room and step into Kyong’s. Past the lowered brows and clenched jaw, you can see a flush of heat tingeing his ears a delightful pink.

The big orange cat immediately jumps off his shelf to greet you, no longer hissing his empty threats as he winds around your legs and demands affection. “You would probably understand him better than anyone, wouldn’t you Kyong? Why would a big bad mugger have mercy on me and choose to keep helping?”

“Maybe because he’s used to pathetic charity cases and can’t help himself.”

You start the cleaning process on Kyong’s room. “Why do you think he insisted so strongly that I get rid of my ex boyfriend? Huh, Kyongie? Do you think he likes me? Do you think maybe the big bad mugger Minho likes me just a little, teensy, weensy bit?”

He’s had enough of your ribbing, all delivered in a condescending baby voice for the sake of your adoring kitty guests. Minho opens Kyong’s door, drops off a bowl of food, and stands there, glaring at you. “Are you done making a spectacle of your boss, or are you going to keep talking your way out of a paycheck?” His ears are bright, flaming red.

You turn your back on him, shrugging innocently. “I’m just wondering when my big bad boss is going to go back to being the guy with his arm around my waist who called me jagi like he couldn’t remember my name.”

Utter silence follows in the wake of the bravest thing you’ve ever said to another human being—who carries a gun.

You’re too scared to let the silence fester. “What do you think, Kyongie, do you think he doesn’t like me anymore? Did I put my big fat foot in my big fat mouth? Wasn’t that silly of me? Yeah, I think it was—woah!” You’re halfway through bending down to scoop Kyong up off the floor and set him on his shelf when a pair of hot hands land on your hips, yanking you backwards away from the big orange cat.

The hands slide to your waist, spinning you around, and then you’re pressed into the chest of your boss, who is both entirely fed up with your patronizing crooning and just barely containing his evident excitement at the words that you’re saying to the cat instead of him. “Say that again.” It’s almost a whisper, breath tickling over your cheekbones, arms circling your waist like he doesn’t actually need you to say whatever you’re supposed to be repeating.

“Say what?” You can’t speak, you can’t breathe, you can’t feel anything but the hard lines of his body pressed against the soft ones of yours, and the frantic slamming of your heart.

“The part you didn’t say. The part you implied. The part that makes me think that this is exactly what you wanted to happen.” His eyes are darting back and forth between yours, hooded and piercing as they search for the words you haven’t had the guts to say directly.

“I think you like me, Minho.” Somehow you manage to peel off your latex gloves without ruining the moment, resting your clean, bare hands against his chest and breathing in the scent of him, feeling the hammering of his heart against your chest. “I think you like me, and I wish you would stop trying to make me comfortable and just say it.”

His arms tighten around your waist. “And if I say it?”

“You can’t mug people anymore.”

“What about really, really bad people?”

“You can’t be mugging anyone.”

“What if the person is the assface and he definitely deserves it?”

“Maybe I make an exception for the assface.”

“And if I stop mugging people?”

“I’m serious, Minho, I’m not going to jail for aiding and abetting or harboring or whatever crime I automatically commit by doing this.”

“Tell me what you’re doing.” His hips are pressed into yours, his face so close to yours that you’re breathing the same air, and you’ve only got a few more seconds of strangled focus before he completely breaks.

“I’m really, really hoping that the guy I like won’t make me kiss an active criminal.”

You can feel when his heart starts thudding infinitely faster. “No more mugging.” He breathes.

“Just like that?”

“Nothing bad will ever happen to you because of me, jagi. Just like that.”

This is nothing like how you thought this would turn out. You thought you would test the waters, see if your assumptions were correct, spend a little time teasing him and see if you could get a reaction. You never thought you’d lay him bare to a bunch of cats and wait for him to shut you up. You never thought you’d be crushed to his chest, breathing him in, watching his molten eyes burn into yours.

“Are you going to keep distracting me from Kyong or are you gonna do something?”

He kisses you. Hard and feverish, tugging you impossibly closer, his hands gripping your waist like you’re about to slip right through his fingers. Your hips feel like they’re going to give, your knees pressing together to keep you up. This is everything you never thought it could be.

Your hands go around his neck, letting him drag you up against his chest. His mouth presses and sucks and moves against yours, closing around your bottom lip, pushing at your top lip, and when he pauses to see just how badly you regret teasing him, you chase him.

He’s walking back, hitting the wall, fingers kneading at your hips, uttering a low groan as your teeth scrape his lower lip.

“I hope you don’t treat all of your employees like this,” You gasp when you break for air, your body leaned against his and his hands holding you securely by the waist.

He smirks that cunning, catlike smirk at you. “San doesn’t usually pressure me to kiss him this much.”

You scoff, smacking a hand against his chest, only to bite your tongue as he ducks in for another kiss, stealing your breath away. “Just let me do one more job.” He whispers against your mouth.

Your brain physically blinks. “No, Minho.”

His nose pushes at your cheek, lips littering kisses across your jaw. “Please. I promise they’re really sucky people.”

“No, Minho.”

“I’ll bring you back something pretty.” His lips latch to your throat, tongue tickling your skin as you beat lightly at his chest in protest.

“No, Minho!”

“What if they’re really, really sucky people?” He’s making his way down your throat, back up your throat, across your jaw. “What if it’s something really, really pretty?” His lips seal over yours again. You melt into his touch, wishing it didn’t absolutely reduce your brain to mush to be kissed and held by this relentless deviant, but you are completely enchanted by the heat of his touch.

“No more mugging.”

“God,” He kisses you again. “Fine. No more mugging.”

“Are you going to let me finish Kyong’s room?”

“Kyong can wait five more minutes. I’m not done with you yet.”

< part 1 | part 3 >

bonus feature banner because I probably won't write a separate cat cafe Choi San fic but the vibes are too good:

tag list : @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @dreamingartist13 @ebnabi @bangtan-sonyeondamn8 @lemonn015 @thepoeticpurplepotato @brbwritingfanfic @skzlover24 @stephanieeeyang @my-neurodivergent-world @xgridx @igotajuicyass @annovaz @robinnotgood24 @butterflybananabread @tirena1 @nougatjade @wickedbutlovely @justiceforvillains

[liketolaugh-writes]

Danny's medical tests

Vitals and thresholds:

Age: 16

Pulse: 20 bpm resting, 54 bpm active (54 atrial, 30 ventricular), grayout at 80/35, blackout at 90/35. (Can stop heart for up to three minutes without repercussions; becomes painful after two)

Respiration: 6 breaths per minute resting, up to 30 active, no more than 15 resting. (Can slow to 1 breath per minute for up to half an hour; strain sets in after twenty)

Blood pressure: 90/40 (blood reaches his brain with Magic)

Temperature: between 50° and 80° (human) or 0° and 32° (ghost) Cold tolerance is no lower than 3° in human form, heat tolerance no higher than 90°

Height: 5’3’’

Weight: 101 lbs (3/5 what his weight should be by build)

Ectoplasmic purity: between 80% and 90% (low, normal for halfas)

Core pitch: 29 kilohertz (low, normal for halfas)

Power level: 214 (out of 300)

Aura brightness: 154 (low, lack of obsession fulfillment)

List of tests, results, and consults:

ECG shows a third degree AV block with a ventricular escape rhythm.

Echocardiogram shows no physical abnormalities.

Event monitor shows mild strain (palpitations, discomfort) with normal exercise and stress, moderate strain (chest pain, shortness of breath, dizziness) with high activity and stress.

(“No, this is pretty much what I remember exercise feeling like.”)

Blood reacts violently to all potential donors

Blood tests:

>Complete blood count:

>>White blood cells: slightly elevated, also weird (green, have faces)

>>Red blood cells: low (thinner blood)

>>Hemoglobin: high (red blood cells carry more oxygen)

>>Hematocrit (percentage red blood cells): 29%

>>Mean corpuscular volume: slightly low (smaller red blood cells)

>>Mean corpuscular hemoglobin: high

>>Mean corpuscular hemoglobin concentration: high

>>Red cell distribution width: low

>>Platelet count: low and also they are all green

>Comprehensive metabolic panel:

>>Glucose: 50 mg/dl (low)

>>Blood urea nitrogen: low (good kidney function)

>>Creatinine: low (good kidney function + can indicate low muscle) (this is not because of low muscle this is because of Ghost)

>>Estimated glomerular filtration rate: high (good kidney function)

>>BUN/Creatinine ratio: 12:1 (normal)

>>Sodium: high (electrolyte)

>>Potassium: very high (ectoplasm component) (electrolyte)

>>Chloride: very high (ectoplasm component) (electrolyte)

>>Carbon dioxide: low (waste product)

>>Calcium: high (electrolyte)

>>Protein, total: normal (plasma)

>>Albumin: slightly low (should be normal) (sign of malnutrition)

>>Globulin, total: high (high immune function)

>>Bilirubin, total: normal

>>Alkaline phosphotase: low (slow metabolism)

>>Aspartate aminotransferase: low (no liver damage)

>>Alanine transaminase: low (no liver damage)

>Lipid panel:

>>Cholesterol: normal

>>Triglycerides: low (dietary)

>>HDL Cholesterol: slightly low

>>VLDL Cholesterol Cal: normal

>>LDL, calculated: normal

>>Chol/HDL ratio: normal

>Thyroid tests:

>>Thyroid-stimulating hormone: low

>>Thyroxine: low

>>Triiodothyronine: low

DNA test: Takes an extremely long time to fully process, but early results show that Danny’s DNA is covered in a thin layer of ectoplasm, making the underlying structure difficult to decipher. Programming a machine to recognize it could be difficult.

Urine tests: normal

Pulmonary function tests: normal

Allergy panel shows no reactions.

Hypermobility test shows hypermobility in spine, elbows, and knees. No other signs of EDS, tentatively ascribed to his abilities.

Dietitian consult: nothing concrete yet. They discuss Danny’s eating habits, deal frankly with the fact that they don’t know what his exact dietary needs are, and talk about intuitive eating. Danny gets a list of signs to look out for and things to try.

Endocrinologist consult: they discuss Danny’s concerns and assess his current stage of puberty. Danny states (visibly mortified) that he has grown two inches since his accident, no vocal deepening, no facial or body hair, no reproductive function benchmarks. They discuss various possible causes of delayed puberty (excessive exercise, psychosocial problems, physical trauma, irradiation) as well as treatment options. Danny asks what circumstances would normally have them recommend inducing puberty (bullying, ostracization, distress) and they finally decide to go ahead and induce it.

Semen analysis: Danny is producing normally but the sperm die before exiting.

Slit-lamp exam shows tapetum lucidum in human form and odd eye structure in ghost form.

Autonomic nervous system tests:

>Gag reflex: Sensitive in human form, inactive in ghost form

>Motor reflexes (jaw jerk, biceps, triceps, brachioradialis, finger jerk, knee jerk, ankle jerk, superficial abdominal): hyperactive, forceful, but controlled. Identical in both forms.

>Pathologic reflexes: None present

>Cardiovagal function:

>>Heart rate variability: [not applicable because of heart condition]

>>HR response to deep breathing: exaggerated. This is how he stops his heart.

>>Valsalva: perfect adaptation. (blood pressure self-regulates rapidly)

>Vasomotor adrenergic function:

>>BP response to standing: perfect adaptation.

>>Tilt table testing: perfect adaptation. (blood pressure self-regulates rapidly)

>Sudomotor function:

>>QSART: Exaggerated in human form, not present in ghost form. (sweat response)

>>Silastic sweat test: Exaggerated in human form, not present in ghost form.

>Salivation: Normal in human form. No response in ghost form.

>Pupillography: rapid in human form, not present in ghost form.

>Cold pressor test: done with salted ice water. Reduced response. (sympathetic nervous system test)

Human CT scan was normal.

Ghost CT scan was semitransparent but otherwise normal.

Vaccine test shows good immune system function.

Human fNIRS, EEG, and MEG brain scans were used primarily for mapping. Showed normal activity for motor function and sensory activity, slightly reduced activity for memory exercises and problem solving, and substantially reduced activity for emotional responses.

Ghost EEG and MEG brain scans were used primarily for mapping. Showed no activity for motor function, mild activity for sensory and memory functions, and moderate activity for problem solving and emotional responses. No brain stem activity. (fNIRS not performed because it monitors blood oxygen activity in the brain and his ghost form doesn't have that)

Human MRI scan is largely normal, but shows darkened nerves on the left hand.

Ghost MRI scan indicated that his insides are abnormally malleable but highly coherent. Nerve damage is much less apparent owing to minimal function.

Human EMF reading showed increased activity corresponding to reduced brain activity.

Ghost EMF reading showed moderate activity for everything except emotional responses, which indicated strong activity.

Nerve conduction study shows severe nerve damage in ulnar and median nerves in human form, no nerve response in ghost form.

Electromyography shows that very few electrical signals are being transmitted in his left hand, Danny moves his hand with Magic. Otherwise normal readings in human form, ghost form shows no readings at all.

Polysomnography shows several signs associated with hibernation, making Danny’s sleep deeper, but his brain waves still indicate REM sleep in a normal pattern.

All biopsies normal except the inclusion of ectoplasm.

Microneurography was for mapping only.

The doctors manage to create an external device that can monitor the EMF activity of Danny’s core in milligauss, as well as his core pitch. It outputs it as a graph. Danny’s core EMF is 3,210, and his resting surface EMF in ghost form is around 2,000, with a total range of 200 feet. In human form, this is significantly reduced to 800 mG at the surface, and a range of 80 feet. (GIW sensors only detect as low as 900 mG, while the Fentons’ goes as low as 750.)

Core EMF level varies from ghost to ghost, measured on a scale that goes from 1 to 300. This is found to be equivalent to 15 to 4500 milligauss. All but around 2/3 of radiation is naturally contained, but the amount rises rapidly with power use.

[beautifulandvoid]

Lessons In Him (chapter 1)

Jack Abbot x reader

You spot Jack across the bar, he doesn't think you actually like him.

warnings: none yet, it will become smut later on

Minors do not interact. If you don't have your age in your bio or pinned post, you will be immediately blocked. "18+" DOES NOT COUNT. No exceptions! I CHECK!!! IF YOU LIKE THIS POST, I WILL CHECK YOUR BIO!!!!!! I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU DONT HAVE AN AGE! IDK HOW TO MAKE THAT ANY FREAKING CLEARER!!!!!!!!!!

You stared at him as he lifted his beer to his mouth. “I swear to god, if you don't go over there, I will.” Kacey's thought broke you from your staring, “you wouldn't dare�� you shoot back at her. You know she would, she did it with the guy who you asked to prom, even if he did stand you up. “Who even knows if he likes younger women? He’s probably mid 40s, and I'm 26. He could be my dad!” She just stares at you, with a knowing look of ‘really?’. 

You huff at her, turning to the bartender. “The salt and peppered one sitting with the dark brunette. What's he drinking?”, she glances over at him, “a draft, i'm assuming you're asking so you can send him one?”, “yes.” She nods and pours one, bringing it over to him, tilting her head in your direction, as she sets it down. In front of the brunette, the wrong guy. You make eye contact with him, pointing at his friend. 

He laughs and sets in down in front of Jack, who whips his head to make eye contact with you. You smile at him, before ducking your eyes to your glass. It takes 5 minutes for you to look back and see he's ducked his head back down. You ask the bartender for a piece of paper, to write your number down. “He’s a war veteran with a prosthetic, he's probably worried you’ll run.”, she says as she hands it to you.  You quickly scribble your number down, asking her to give it to him. You see her drop it infront of him, the correct guy this time, and wait.

Jack stared at the beer in front of him, “C’mon man, she's cute and very clearly likes you!” Robby tossed his way as he slapped his shoulder. “She's young, she doesn't need to be shacking up with me. Besides, she'll see the prosthetic and run screaming." Jack tosses back at him and the bartender drops a piece of paper in front of me. “From your not-so-secret admirer.” He flips it open to see her number and a smiley face, moving to crumple it up before noticing her other note, ‘I don't mind the prosthetic, it's a part of who you are’. Robby leans over, “I told you man. Go get her!” Jack rolls his eyes at him, before chugging the last of the beer. Jack slid up next to her at the bar, “so, how’d you figure out about my leg?”, she turns and smirks at me, tilting her head towards the bartender.

 Laughing, “yeah, she tries to play matchmaker with everyone, she's too damn fast at her job, leaves her time to conspire.” She laughs like spring air, with a lightness that chips at his steeled heart. She places her hand on your elbow, leaning in when someone shoves behind her to the bar. His hand sets on her lower back, and she leans farther into him. “So, you and your friend are doctors, I could tell by the scrubs. 

If I guess the specialty, do I win a date with you?” she says after stepping back. “Ok, but first,” her friend chimes in, causing you both to look at her, “is your friend single?” You laugh at her, “he, well, it’s complicated.”, she hums, “good. I'm not either, but now I can grill him about you without having to date him.” she turns on her heel bouncing towards Robby. “Is he going to be safe around her?” Jack asks, “oh yeah, but she's about to give him the third degree about you.” She turns smirking at Jack. Jack gently grabs her wrist, pulling her towards an empty table, her staring into him as he sits next to her.

You stared into Jack as he sat down next to you in the booth. Looking around the bar as the sounds get louder, you hardly hear him asking if you're ok. “Huh, what? Sorry.” you say ducking your head down. He gently lifts your chin up with his thumb, “do you want to go outside? We can sit across the street, but it's getting loud and I'd like to not shout at you.” You nod, as he stands up pulling your hand with him. You feel him drap your coat over your shoulders, as you walk over to Robby and Kacey to let them know where you're going. Leaving the bar, the sounds instantly quieting, you're sure he can hear your heart beating now. Settling on the bench, he sets his arm behind you across the back. “Wow, didn't even do the fake yawn, you must be very confident Dr.?” “Abbot, but call me Jack.” You smile as you tell him your name back, him repeating it back to you, your mind wandering to him saying it in bed. 

“Hey,” he says startling you back, “sorry, was just thinking.” Jack laughs at you, stretching his legs out as he slides closer to you, you gladly leaning into his side. “So, do I still get a guess for what kind of doctor you are?” He laughs at you, “sure, but you get a date with me either way.” You feel your face flush, as you lean back, running your eyes over him. “Hm, the dog tags give away you were in the military, best guess Army. Sooo, Emergency Medicine. Bust guess attending, and most definitely night shift. You like chaos.” He looks at you like you're a psychic, and you laugh before he talks again. “How did you guess that? Like that's scary good.” You laugh at him, “you stitched up my roommate last year after she knocked her head after drinking too much at a party. But in full honesty I didn't realise it was you until you said your last name.” He laughs at you, before the wind kicks up and blows goosebumps up your arms. “Oh hey, here.” He says wrapping your coat around you more, leaving his arm hooked around you. 

As he wraps his arm around you, he feels your heart beating against his side. “Do you want to get something to eat? I know a 24/7 diner not far away. They’ve got great pancakes,” he says as he runs his hand up your arm. He stands up grabbing your hand in his, it sliding in perfect. He follows the sidewalk rule, keeping you close to his side, which he claims is because you are shivering. He holds the door for you, keeping his eyes not so subtle on your ass. He whips his head up when he sees you turn towards him, “where do you want to sit?” He rocks back on his heels as best as he can with his prosthetic. He follows you to the booth, the waitress coming up to give you two menus. “Do you trust me?” he asks you, you nodding at him in response, “i came with you didnt I?” you sass at him. He rolls his eyes, and orders for both of you, “so the usual Jack? This is the first time I've seen you with someone here.” she teases him, before leaning down to his ear, “she's very cute, but young…” She gently pushes his shoulder before smiling at you and walking away. He coughs, “so, that question is now, I'm not grave robbing am I?” he asks you. You laugh at him, “I'm 26, is that an issue?” He shakes his head, reaching his hand across the table for yours. You set your hand in his, as he rubs the back of it. “No, it's not.” he smiles at her, as the waitress comes back with your food. The two of you eat as you chat for an hour, you look at your phone to see 10 missed calls from Kacey. “Shit,” you say as he looks at you. 

“We forgot to tell them we left the park; they’re threatening to call the cops”

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you liked it! This will be cross posted on my Ao3, ElizaKazansky86, that is the only place and name it will be under!

Taglist: @mynameismckenziemae @rhettabbotts

[0and0its0doctor0]

C O F F E E

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader Summary: Spencer Reid is starting to crack under the pressure of his work. Constantly stuck in fight or flight headed straight for burnout. A chance encounter at a coffee shop leads him to a messy artist who slows him down. Shows him it’s okay to sip your coffee and watch the pigeons. He has to decide if he wants to let the color into his grey world. Warnings: Awkward fluff. Little angst. Overuse of pigeon facts. W/C: 5.8k

Author Notes: hi! I have a few blurbs of them going on more dates written for this. All the way up to an engagement! Let me know if I should keep going or hold it here. Thanks!

Spencer hated to admit it but he was getting buried under his workload lately and he was headed straight for burnout. 

One morning when he was getting his coffee his hands were trembling from lack of sleep so bad that the liquid sloshed over the side of his cup and spilled onto his hand. 

“Dammit.” He instantly stepped away from the coffee cup. Letting out a heavy sigh as he checked his watch. He was going to be late if he didn’t hurry up. “Can I help?” A voice came from next to him. He turned to see you standing there, hair pulled into a messy bun, your clothes had faint marks of charcoal smeared in a couple places. A smudge on your inner right wrist. 

“With what?” He asked, losing his bearings for a second. “Your hand.” You said pointing to the growing red spot. “Oh it’s fine, coffee really only burns the skin severely at temperatures above 130 degrees. I doubt this is that hot, just some minor discomfort I mean it could be at least a small burn…” He paused when he realized he was rambling. “Sorry. I uh I have to go. Thanks for the offer though.” And with that he turned and left in a bit of a rush. 

The door closed behind him with a soft jingle of the bell, but you didn’t move right away. You just watched the spot where he’d disappeared, brows furrowed and lips pursed like you were debating something within yourself.

Spencer didn’t stop moving until he was a block away, halfway to his car, heart still racing. Not from the burn, but from the way you’d looked at him. Like you saw through him. He rubbed his palm against his coat as if trying to erase the sting, both physical and something else he couldn’t name.

The next morning, he skipped the coffee shop.

And the one after that.

By the third day, he gave in. Habit, routine—whatever it was—pulled him back in. The coffee shop was warm, familiar, too woven into his daily rhythm to avoid forever.

He kept his eyes low as he approached the counter, slightly embarrassed by his abrupt exit days prior. But as he stepped up to order, there you were again except this time behind the counter. Your hair was still a mess, colored strands falling out of the bun like wild threads. The smudge was gone from your wrist, but a new one bloomed faintly on your collarbone, likely graphite or charcoal.

“You didn’t come in for two days,” you said simply, not accusing, not curious just… noting it. Spencer blinked. “I…uh. Got caught up.” You nodded like you understood more than he’d said. “Let me see your hand.” He instinctively started to protest, but you just held out yours, palm open, waiting.

After a pause, he offered his. It felt oddly intimate. Your fingers were stained but soft, and your touch was light, gentle in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. “Doesn’t look too bad,” you murmured. “But maybe take it as a sign to slow down. You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I haven’t,” he admitted before he could stop himself. Then a flicker of vulnerability flashed across his face. “Sorry, I don’t usually…talk to strangers like this.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” you said, handing his hand back with a faint smile. “I’m not a stranger now.” You gave him your name, that smile growing just a little. Even though it felt foreign on your cheeks. “Spencer,” he said automatically. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You smiled at the “doctor,” but didn’t tease. “Well, Dr. Reid. Maybe today you don’t burn yourself. And maybe tomorrow, you try sleeping.” He huffed a quiet laugh, surprising himself. As you turned to make his order, he didn’t rush off this time. He just stood there, watching the smudges on your skin and thinking maybe he could make time for coffee again tomorrow.

When he did come in the following day for his coffee he was a little disappointed to find you not standing behind the counter. But when he turned towards the area with the couches he noticed you focused on a sketch in your lap. As the pencil glided across the paper, your legs folded underneath you, he felt a smile cross his lips but quickly replaced it. He approached the couch hesitantly. 

“Do you actually work here?” He asked inquisitively. You grinned and shook your head. “I help when they need it. But no. I don’t actually work here.”

Spencer shifted his weight from one foot to the other, standing just beside the couch like he wasn’t sure if he was intruding. “Right,” he nodded slowly, eyes flicking from your face to the sketchpad in your lap. “So… you just camp out in coffee shops drawing strangers and diagnosing burnout?”

You smirked, not looking up from your sketch. “Only the really twitchy ones who talk about skin damage thresholds while spilling coffee on themselves.” A quiet huff of a laugh escaped him despite himself. “That tracks.” You glanced up at him now, tilting your head, pencil paused. “You look slightly less like you’re about to collapse today. Slightly.”

“That’s because I went to sleep before midnight for the first time in… too long.” You nodded with an approving hum. “And the hand?” He held it up, palm-out like he was presenting evidence. “Healed. Mostly.”

“Good,” you said softly, and for a moment the sarcasm in your tone faded, replaced by something gentler. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and finally set the pencil down, the edge of the sketchpad tipping just enough for Spencer to catch a glimpse of the page. His brow furrowed slightly as he leaned in. “Is that…?”

“Yup.” You didn’t even let him finish. “It’s you.” The drawing was unmistakable…him, hunched forward at the coffee counter, head down, one hand stretched out like he was mid-reach. Even in the loose, expressive lines, the tension in his body was painfully accurate.

Spencer blinked. “You drew that from memory?”

“I have a good one,” you said lightly, mimicking the understatement he so often gave when referencing his own intellect. Then you looked at him, really looked. “You’re interesting, Spencer. Most people are just… going through the motions. But you’re like a violin string wound too tight. One more wrong turn and you’ll snap.”

He stared at you for a moment, unsure what to say to that. No one ever said things like that to him. Not people who barely knew him. Not people who saw him. After a pause, he asked, “Do you always talk like that?” You shrugged, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Only to the ones who stop running long enough to listen.”

He sat down in the chair across from you without thinking, coffee still untouched in his hand. And for once, he didn’t feel the ticking of the clock or the pressure of the next crisis. Just the sound of pencil on paper, and you…half-wild, quietly bold, and utterly unapologetic, drawing the world like it was something worth noticing.

Spencer watched you and tried his hardest not to profile you. Just to observe like a normal human. So he observed. The way your fingers twitched slightly sometimes along with a small twitch in your right leg. Slight scarring along your collar bone that he noticed as your wide neck shirt slipped off one shoulder. He quickly pulled his eyes away as they started to travel lower. 

He found himself feeling…comfortable sitting in the careful hum of the coffee shop with you. But then his phone buzzed incessantly in his pocket. Checking his watch he cursed quietly. “I am so late for work I’m sorry I have to go.” You didn’t flinch at his sudden shift in energy, just watched him with a curious kind of softness as he stood, fumbling with his phone and trying to gather himself.

“You apologize a lot,” you said lightly, brushing a wisp of hair from your face. He paused, blinking at you, caught off-guard. “I…I do?” You nodded once, still seated comfortably, sketchpad now resting against your thigh. “Like you’re afraid taking up space is some kind of crime.” Spencer opened his mouth to reply but didn’t know what to say. No one had ever put it quite like that. He gave a breath of a smile, almost sheepish. “That… might be accurate.”

You tilted your head, studying him again. “Well, try not to apologize for leaving. You’ve got stuff to do. But…” You pulled a small charcoal-smudged scrap of paper from the edge of your sketchpad, scribbled something down, and handed it to him.

Spencer looked down. A phone number, messy handwriting. And beneath it, just two words:

Slow down.

He held it a moment longer than he should have. Something about it felt heavier than paper. Like an invitation. Like a lifeline. He looked back up at you, surprised by the sudden flutter in his chest. “Thank you.” You gave him a slow, knowing smile. “Go save the world, Doctor Reid.” And with that, he turned and left, your voice lingering somewhere between his ears and his ribs, like a song he didn’t want to forget.

When he arrived at the BAU he couldn’t help the fact his cheeks were a bit red when he stepped off the elevator re-reading the scrap of paper in his hand like it held the secrets to the universe. 

“You’re late.” Aaron said, looking at him with his stoic stare but slightly worried. “Is everything okay?” He asked. Last time he had been late to work repeatedly and was acting off was when he was hiding his dilaudid use. 

“Oh uhm yeah I just. Got stuck at the coffee shop.” Spencer said with a smile that seemed out of place on the doctor's face. 

Spencer got busy again. 

He was nervous sitting on the jet before it took off, his finger hovered over the send button on his cell phone. A text created. 

‘Hi this is Doctor Spencer Reid from the coffee shop.’ Was that too formal? He didn’t know what to say. A sigh and he hit send. What was the worst that could happen?

The moment he hit send, Spencer felt that familiar, fluttering rush of panic like he’d just jumped off something high and wasn’t sure if there was a net below.

He stared at the screen for a second, half-expecting it to burst into flames in his hand. Then he forced himself to set the phone down and refocus. They had a case. People’s lives were at stake. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about charcoal smudges and sharp-eyed girls who saw too much.

And yet… his thoughts kept drifting.

By the time they landed, his phone still hadn’t buzzed. He told himself it was fine. Maybe you were busy. Maybe you regretted giving it to him in the first place.

Or maybe I’m just overthinking again, he thought.

Still, when the team finally got to the hotel that night, Spencer found himself checking his phone before he even unlocked the door. Nothing. He let out a quiet sigh and tossed the phone onto the bed, running a hand through his hair.

But then—

Buzz.

He spun back toward the bed so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.

One message.

“Hi, Doctor Spencer Reid from the coffee shop. I was wondering if you’d ever text. Thought maybe you were allergic to casual communication.”

He stared at the message, a stunned laugh escaping his lips. He dropped onto the edge of the bed, fingers flying over the screen.

“It’s possible. I also might be allergic to not overthinking literally everything.”

The typing dots appeared almost instantly.

“Good. I’m allergic to boring people.”

And just like that, a smile broke across his face, unfiltered, genuine, rare. He leaned back against the pillows, something in his chest loosening just a little. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad risk after all.

Spencer wasn’t proud of it, how his phone had become a lifeline in the middle of a nightmare.

The case was awful. They always were, but this one was a particular kind of cruel: children, families, a pattern rooted in trauma so thick it clung to everything like smoke. The air in the conference room felt heavy. The team was quiet, tired, all their edges dulled by the weight of it.

Except Spencer. He kept checking his phone. He told himself it was for updates from Garcia. For case data. For relevant leads. But he knew better. It was you.

Your messages were small moments of color bleeding through the grayscale world he was in. The way you joked, the odd but charming sketches you’d text him. One of a pigeon wearing a lab coat, another of a crooked coffee cup with wild flowers growing out of it. Your words didn’t demand anything from him. They weren’t loaded with fear or expectation. They just… were.

“How’s the violin string today?” You’d asked one night, and he nearly laughed out loud in the hotel hallway.

But even as you brought lightness, a conflict started churning inside him. You didn’t know what he did. Not really. You knew he worked “long hours” and that it involved “a lot of travel and stress.” But he hadn’t given you the truth, not the full weight of it.

He told himself it was because he wanted to protect you. That he wanted to protect himself. That if you knew… you’d see the same look in his eyes he saw in mirrors during cases like this. And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want you to see him like that yet.

But the cracks were starting to show. Morgan caught him zoning out during the briefing, twice. Emily gave him a side glance when he didn’t notice the unsub’s timeline didn’t match the victimology. And Hotch? Hotch said nothing. But his silence was the loudest.

Later, back at the local precinct, Spencer leaned against the wall in the hallway, phone in hand. He knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should be pouring over files, cross-referencing data. Instead, he was staring at the last message you had sent:

“You ever feel like you’re running on borrowed time? Like the days are made of glass and someone’s breathing too hard near the edges?”

He read it three times before typing.

“Yes. All the time.”

He didn’t send it. He deleted it, shoved his phone deep into his pocket, and walked back into the conference room. He’d made a promise to himself to keep the lines clean. But you were already bleeding into places you shouldn’t.

And Spencer wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop you.

Back in the conference room, the air was saturated with tension. A new victim had just been found. Another child. The kind of detail that used to make Spencer feel physically ill. Lately, though, it just made him… tired.

He blinked hard, forcing himself to refocus on the board. Timelines. Geography. Psychological patterns. He could do this in his sleep, and maybe that was the problem, he was doing everything in a haze now. Half in the room, half with you.

That little slip of paper was still tucked into his wallet like a secret. The idea of you sitting in that coffee shop, sketching something that made you smile, felt impossibly far away from the blood on the concrete and the tear-stained interviews he’d just sat through.

But your words were still echoing inside him: the days are made of glass…

“Reid?” Emily’s voice cut in, sharp and low. He looked up. The team was staring. His hands had been still too long, eyes glazed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just…fatigued.” Hotch gave him a look that meant later, but nodded for him to continue. So Spencer pushed through. Made it through the rest of the day. Made it through the arrest. The tears of the parents. The end that never felt like an ending.

When they finally boarded the jet that night, he sat by the window. The stars outside blurred like streaks of cold light. It was quiet. Everyone was half-asleep, emotionally wrung out. He pulled out his phone. Opened a new message.

“It’s been a long day. Longer than most. Thank you for texting me. I don’t know if you realize it, but it helps.”

He stared at the blinking cursor. His thumb hovered, then added:

“You help.”

And he sent it.

For a few moments, nothing came.

Then:

“I don’t know what kind of storm you’re in, Spencer, but I’m not afraid of rain. You can talk to me. Even if it’s messy.”

His eyes closed slowly, your words washing over him like warmth against the cold landscape of his job. And for the first time in what felt like months, he let his body relax into the seat. Not completely. Not safe. But a little less alone.

Aaron waited until everyone had cleared out of the jet.

It was nearly 3 AM by the time they landed, the kind of quiet that only settles over exhausted people who’ve seen too much. Spencer was slowly gathering his things, mind clearly elsewhere. He didn’t notice Aaron watching him until he looked up and found his boss standing near the door, arms folded.

Spencer froze, bag half-zipped. “Is something wrong?”

Aaron didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched Spencer’s face. Red-rimmed eyes, shoulders tight, the tired tension of someone stretched thin. “You’ve been distracted,” Aaron said evenly. “Zoning out. Missing details. That’s not like you.”

Spencer straightened defensively, mouth tightening. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Aaron replied, calm but firm. “And I’m not accusing you of anything. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on.” Spencer shoved his tablet into his bag a little harder than necessary. “I’m not using again, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I never said you were,” Aaron said, watching him carefully. “But you thought it.” Spencer’s voice cracked, edged with something unspoken…hurt, maybe. Frustration. “You saw me checking my phone and got worried. I get it. History repeats, right?” Aaron was quiet for a moment. Then, with a gentler tone, “I thought maybe you were overwhelmed. You’ve had more on your plate than usual.”

Spencer exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… I’m trying to let myself have something good. Something outside of this place. Someone. And I don’t want to have to explain it or justify it like it’s a weakness.”

There was a long silence.

Aaron stepped closer, his voice quieter now. “No one’s saying it’s a weakness. God knows you deserve something good, Spencer. But you don’t get to push people away when they notice you’re struggling. You’ve been off. And if this… person is distracting you so much that it’s affecting your judgment, you need to figure that out.”

Spencer looked like he wanted to argue, but the fight softened out of him. “She doesn’t even know what I do. I didn’t want to mix it. I didn’t want her to look at me like everyone else eventually does…like I’m broken, or dangerous, or…” His voice caught.

Aaron studied him for a long moment. “Then you need to decide what you want from her. Because if she’s important to you, she deserves to know the truth. And if she’s not… then you need to stop pretending she’s a lifeline.”

Spencer flinched at that. It hit too close. Aaron reached for his go-bag, shouldering it. “We’re all trying to find pieces of light wherever we can, Spencer. Just make sure you’re not using it to avoid the dark.” He turned to walk away, then paused. “For what it’s worth,” he said without looking back, “I hope it’s real.” And then he was gone, leaving Spencer alone on the jet, the hum of silence settling in like a familiar weight.

The phone in his pocket buzzed.

“I don’t know what you’re doing right now. But I hope you’re okay. I sketched a fox drinking coffee for you. He’s wearing glasses. Obviously.”

Spencer stared at the screen for a long time, then sat down, letting himself smile…just a little.

Maybe it was real.

And maybe, just maybe, he needed to stop hiding.

A few days later you sat at the window in the coffee shop. It had become your window and your couch. You didn’t look away from the window. The pigeons fluttered and bobbed along the sidewalk, pecking at invisible crumbs, occasionally startling at a passerby. Your pencil tapped in rhythm with your humming, something soft and vaguely familiar, maybe a lullaby, or maybe just something you made up.

Spencer sat with his legs crossed in the armchair, one arm draped across the armrest, the other wrapped loosely around a lukewarm coffee cup. He hadn’t slept. His shirt was wrinkled, his eyes sunken in that particular way they got when his mind had been running all night.

“There are over 350 breeds of domestic pigeon,” he offered quietly, his voice softer than usual, stretched thin around the edges. “They’re actually incredibly intelligent. Can recognize themselves in mirrors. Have excellent memories. And, uh, they were used during World War I and II as messengers, carrying vital information across enemy lines. Some even received medals…”

His voice trailed off, not because he ran out of facts, Spencer never ran out of facts, but because you had turned to look at him now, your head tilted gently to the side. “You okay, bird boy?” You asked, voice just as soft, but without the teasing you usually laced into your words. He hesitated. Swallowed. “I didn’t sleep.”

“I guessed.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking.” Your pencil stilled. “About what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked down to the cup in his hands, thumb tracing the edge of the lid. Finally, he said, “I don’t usually tell people what I do. Not really. I give them a version of it…something that makes sense in small talk. Easier that way. Safer.” You leaned back slightly, arms folded across your sketchbook. You didn’t push, just waited.

Spencer took a slow breath. “I work for the FBI. I’m part of a behavioral analysis unit. We build profiles to find people, usually the kind who’ve… done terrible things. Serial offenders. Killers. The worst kind of people.”

Your expression didn’t change.

Spencer continued. “It’s hard. Sometimes I think I can handle it, and other times… I don’t know. It feels like I’m absorbing it all. Like it sticks to me. I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want you to look at me differently. Or to see all the broken things I carry around and decide I’m not… worth knowing.”

There was a long silence. Spencer stared down into his coffee like it might offer absolution. But your voice came softly, steady.

“Okay,” you said. His head snapped up. “Okay?” he echoed. 

You nodded once. “Okay.”

“You’re not… shocked? Worried?”

“I mean, the pigeon facts were a dead giveaway you were a weirdo,” you said, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “The FBI part? That’s just… more complicated layers. You’re still you.” He blinked, the weight behind his eyes threatening to break loose.

You reached forward and lightly nudged his foot with yours under the table. “Spencer, I don’t care what you do for work. I care how you look at the world. I care that you listen when I talk. That you ramble about birds and still somehow listen better than anyone I know. That you looked me in the eyes and didn’t flinch at the mess I carry around.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’m not scared of the dark,” you added, voice low now. “Not yours, not mine. So stop trying to shield me from it like it’s something I haven’t already danced through.” Spencer didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight. You picked your pencil back up and began sketching again, eyes returning to the pigeons outside.

“Also,” you added casually, “I’ve decided the next sketch is you in a trench coat chasing a pigeon that stole government secrets. You’ll be holding a coffee and yelling something about federal jurisdiction.”

Spencer laughed, and this time, it was real. The tension bled from his body little by little as he leaned back into the chair, letting the moment hold him. He was still tired. Still scarred. But maybe he wasn’t hiding anymore. Not from you.

It had become ritual, sacred in its simplicity.

The soft chime of the coffee shop door. The earthy scent of roasted beans and old books. You, always on the couch or tucked into a corner booth, sketchbook in your lap and hair never quite the same twice. Spencer came almost every day now, sometimes with case files in his satchel, sometimes just with tired eyes and a need for something quiet.

Sometimes you guys talked for hours. Other times you didn’t say much at all, just shared the same space, drinking in the calm like it was something vital. It scared him how much he looked forward to it. It scared him more how much it hurt when he had to leave for work, even more for long cases.

He hadn’t said anything about how he felt. Not directly. Not really. But it lived in the small things: the way he always brought you a second muffin without asking, the way your sketches had started to include a gangly man with wild curls and a distinct coffee addiction. The way your knees would sometimes bump under the table and neither of you moved away.

But today was different.

Spencer stood just inside the doorway, fingers curled into the strap of his messenger bag. You hadn’t noticed him yet… you were hunched over a page, tongue peeking out slightly between your lips as you tried to focus. You were wearing that oversized flannel shirt again, sleeves rolled up, charcoal smudged on your cheekbone like war paint.

He took a breath. Then he walked over.

You glanced up when he approached, eyes lighting up the way they always did when you saw him. “Hey, Bird Boy.”

“Hi,” he said, voice catching a little. “Uh. Hi.” You blinked. “Are you okay? You look like you just got off a roller coaster and realized you left your wallet in the seat.”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “Just, um—thinking.” An eyebrow arched, amused. “Dangerous.” He laughed, nervous. Fidgeted with the strap. Then blurted out, “Wouldyouliketogooutwithme?”

You paused, both eyebrows arched now. “What?”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush. “Would you like to go out?” You blinked once. “Go out?”

“On a date,” he clarified, voice just above a whisper. “With me. Like, a real one. Somewhere that isn’t here. Or the sidewalk outside of here.” There was a beat of stunned silence. Then your mouth curled into a slow, warm smile. You leaned forward, arms resting over your faithful sketchbook. “Well,” you said, pretending to ponder. “Do I get to pick the restaurant?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

“And will there be at least one awkward silence?”

“Guaranteed.”

“And if I get nervous, will you give me some weird pigeon trivia to distract me?”

He smiled, a little more himself now. “Did you know pigeons can detect cancer cells with about 85% accuracy?” Your laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. You reached out and placed a hand over his, steady and sure.

“Then yes,” you said softly. “I’d love to go out with you, Doctor Spencer Reid.”

He felt something loosen in his chest…something that had been locked away for a long time. “Okay,” he said, almost breathless. “Okay,” you echoed, squeezing his hand once before letting go. And as you went back to your sketch, and he sat down beside you, closer this time, Spencer realized something that maybe life didn’t always need to be compartmentalized.Maybe, just maybe, some good things were worth letting in.

That Friday Spencer stood outside a quiet little restaurant with its brick walls, ivy curling up the side, soft golden lights strung across the awning. It was cozy, intimate, tucked just far enough off the main street that it felt like a secret. He’d chosen it because it wasn’t overwhelming. Because it reminded him of you in a way…kind of quiet but full of character.

He checked his watch nervously again, even though he knew he was early.

And then the taxi pulled up.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. Maybe jeans. A band tee. Boots and a flannel tied around your waist. Something you. But when you stepped out of the cab, time seemed to stutter.

The black dress fluttered slightly around your knees with the breeze, simple but elegant in a way that punched all the air from his lungs. The halter tie left your shoulders bare, a curve of collarbone visible in the amber streetlight. Your skin looked soft in a way that had nothing to do with appearance, just something vulnerable and real.

The boots still grounded you. Not heels, you would never. But those slightly scuffed black boots said don’t forget who I am, even as the rest of you shimmered in a way he’d never seen.

Your hair, usually an unruly wildfire, had been tamed into a messy but intentional updo, the kind that said you’d tried, really tried. A few strands framed your face, curled just so. And for once, there were no charcoal smudges on your wrists or your cheek. Nothing to hide behind.

Spencer didn’t realize he was staring until you stopped in front of him, a nervous smile playing at your red lips. “Well?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Too much?” He opened his mouth and absolutely nothing came out. His brain refused to process language. Words were foreign.

You tilted your head, teasing. “You forget how to speak, Doctor Reid?” He swallowed, hard. “You’re…” He paused, cleared his throat, started again, softer. “You’re stunning.”

The smile that shifted from nervous to something softer on your face was something that Spencer wished he could have taken a picture of to keep forever. It was real. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.” You said taking in his appearance. 

Spencer glanced down at himself. Button-up shirt, dark slacks, jacket slightly too big on his frame, curls as tamed as they ever got. He shrugged, smiling crookedly. “I tried.” You stepped in a little closer, tugged gently at a stray thread on his sleeve. “So did I.” The moment held between the two of you.

Then Spencer, awkward, brave, offered you his arm. “Shall we?” he asked. You looped your hand through his elbow, your fingers light against his jacket. “Lead the way, Professor Pigeon.” He laughed, heart fluttering like the very birds you always teased him about.

And as the two of you stepped inside the small restaurant, the door closing behind you, he realized something simple and terrifying and beautiful. He hadn’t just survived all the darkness. He had made it far enough to feel the light again.

The hostess greeted you with a polite smile, leading the two of you through the restaurant to a small table by the window. The lighting was soft, golden, and your eyes, usually half-hidden behind wind-tangled curls, caught the glow and turned warm amber.

Spencer pulled your chair out for you before awkwardly sliding into his own across the table. You watched him with a half-grin that said you’re adorable, and you have no idea how much. His fingers fidgeted briefly with the edge of the cloth napkin before he folded his hands in his lap and looked up at you.

“So,” you said, resting your chin in your hand, “what exactly does a date with Doctor Spencer Reid look like?” He blinked. “Um. Mostly me overthinking everything and wondering if I should have brought flowers. Or if I’m talking too much. Or if the restaurant I picked is too casual. Or if you’re…”

You reached out and placed your hand gently over his. “It’s perfect.” He blinked again, quiet for a second. “Okay.”

The waiter arrived with menus, and after some brief back-and-forth about entrees (you teased him when he ordered his pasta in exact, clinical terms), you guys settled in. Conversation flowed easier than he thought it would.

He told you about a case from years ago…one that had a bittersweet ending but wasn’t graphic, wasn’t too heavy. You listened, eyes fixed on him, only interrupting once to ask, “Does it ever stop feeling like it’s too much?”

“No,” he answered honestly, “but some days… it feels worth it.”

You nodded and, in turn, told him about an art class you once took in a tiny attic studio where the instructor played old jazz records and made everyone paint with brushes taped to the ends of yardsticks. “It was ridiculous,” you said, laughing, “but I made the best painting I’ve ever done. Complete chaos. Beautiful chaos.”

“Like you,” Spencer said without thinking. You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Excuse me?”

“I mean…uh…not that you’re chaotic in a bad way. Just, you know. Beautiful. And… unpredictable. And real.”

You stared at him a moment, then said softly, “I’ll take it.”

By the time dessert arrived, something chocolate that was split even though Spencer insisted he wasn’t really a dessert person, you had both stopped pretending to keep any emotional distance.

You leaned forward, spoon between your fingers. “So, tell me the truth,” you said. “Was this your first real date in a while?” Spencer hesitated. “…Years.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t make a joke. Didn’t press further. You just nodded, finishing the last bite of dessert and setting the spoon down.

When you guys stepped outside, the night air was cool. Spencer shrugged off his jacket without thinking and draped it around your shoulders. “Thanks,” you murmured, tugging it closer. “You really are a good guy, huh?”

“I try to be.”

You looked up at him then, your face half-lit by the streetlamp. Your voice was steady. “You are, Spencer.” He smiled, slow and quiet. “Would it be inappropriate to kiss you?” You grinned wide. “Only if you don’t.”

So he leaned in, tentative but sure, and when your lips met his, it wasn’t fireworks or sparks…it was something gentler. Something that felt like being seen. Like a door slowly unlocking.

When you pulled apart, you kept your hand resting lightly on his chest. “So,” you whispered, “next time you bring up pigeon trivia, you realize you’ve officially lost the right to pretend it’s not flirting.” Spencer laughed, breathless. “Deal.”

And as he watched you walk back toward the waiting cab, his jacket still draped over your shoulders, he realized with aching clarity that he didn’t just want this once.

He wanted every version of it that came after

[fandoms-writings]

Let Go

Pairing: DBF!Bucky x college!reader (Part 3)

Word Count: 6.9K

Summary: Enough is enough. It's time to put your foot down with Bucky. You're tired of being hidden, but that means a whole new dynamic to your relationship - and a hard conversation.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY , making out, fingering, p in v sex, subby!bucky makes an appearance, Mentions of past sex acts, angst (this one is SAD for a little guys sorry), reader standing up for herself, confessions, bucky being a big ole dummy, cuss words ( I think that's it lol)

Part 1, 2 || Bucky Masterlist || Masterpost

Sorry! Can we raincheck?

Miles is down with a fever, can we reschedule?

I've got a surprise exam in the morning, I'll have to pass tonight.

The messages from your friends glared at you from your phone screen as you read them over and over. You hadn't actually opened them, they just sat in your inbox, one right after the other. 

Great. You sighed, glancing around the street corner where you were supposed to meet your friends for a night out. Your best cocktail dress clung to your hips as you shifted from heeled foot to heeled foot. You'd wanted to spend the night with your friends, finally taking a break from all the assignments and exams and responsibilities you had. 

But now, you stood alone outside the club, your uber already gone, and some guys eyeing you as they went in, giving you the wrong kind of chills. 

You huffed a breath and raised your phone back up, pulling up a number you haven't had the time to call - you were busy getting a degree - but that didn't stop him from trying to reach you. Bucky's name stared at you as your thumb hovered over the dial button. 

You took a breath to steady yourself as you pressed it and raised the phone to your ear. You hadn't seen Bucky in weeks, not that you didn't want to. You'd just been busy with classes and projects. 

And trying to get a hold over the feelings you had for him - the type of feelings you absolutely could not have for your fathers friend. 

He answered on the third ring, his voice and loud music coming through the speaker, "Hey!" 

"Hey, Buck," You couldn't help the way his voice made your heart start racing, even if he was just over the phone. "Are you busy?" 

"Not at all," His side got quieter as you heard a door slam shut, "What's going on?" 

"I was supposed to go out with some friends tonight, but they've all bailed. I was going to ask if you wanted to come out. I'm already downtown." You told him the name of the club you were standing in front of and he confirmed he knew of it. 

"I can be there in twenty minutes," He said and you could hear the smile in his voice, "Or ten if I run." 

"I'll wait inside for you," You smiled. At least you wouldn't be alone for the night and getting this dolled up wasn't a total waste of your time. 

You hung up before heading inside, letting the loud music rattle your bones as you made your way to the bar to order a drink and wait. 

~~~

The next fifteen minutes flew by faster than you thought they would've, nursing your drink and watching people dance against each other helped. But when those familiar hands landed on the bar next to you, you decided it was worth the wait. 

Bucky looked like he ran, his eyes clear and wild, his chest rising and falling at an uneven pace - though it was clear he was trying to steady it. 

"Where'd you come from?" You asked, a small smirk on your lips. 

"I was at the bar a few blocks down when you called. Started running as soon as you hung up," He said, sliding closer to your side, leaning to purr into your ear, "I've missed you." 

"Hm, have you now?" You fluttered your lashes up at him, and his smile grew.

"I have," His eyes flicked between yours then down to your lips and back up, "You've been so busy, I barely get to see you. It's a miracle I get texts back when I do."

You laughed at that, "Well sorry I'm trying to actually pass my classes with more than just C's"

He chuckled before smirking, "Did you miss me at all?" 

You let out a dramatic sigh, "A bit." 

"Ouch, only a bit, huh? Did I not make a lasting enough impression on you last time we got together?" The moment flashed in your mind - the dingy dive bar, the locked bathroom door, the cool mirror at your back, the counter under you ass, the arms holding your legs open, the way his lips felt on your neck, his hips snapping into yours - 

You pushed the memory from your mind as you felt your core go molten and your skin heat. Bucky knew as his smirk grew that he did indeed make a lasting impression, but chose not to say anything as you slid off the barstool, standing in front of him. 

"I want to dance," You downed the rest of your drink before lifting your chin at him. He chuckled before shifting out of your way, letting you lead the way to the dance floor. 

You didn't even get to take one step before a familiar voice called both of your names. Your heart dropped out of your ass and your skin turned ice as you turned to see one of Bucky's friends - one who also knew your father. 

"Sam!" Bucky smiled, clapping the other man on the shoulder, "What are you doing here?" 

"The wife wanted to have a night out dancing, and this was the spot her friends recommended, so here I am," he smiled, turning to you, "Hey you, I haven't seen you since that barbecue at your dads over the summer. How are you?" 

You pushed a smile to your lips, hoping it came across as natural as you stepped forward to give Sam a quick side hug. "Good, just needed the same thing your wife wanted - a night out." 

"I see," He glanced between you and Bucky, "So, did you two come together or. . ?" 

Your knees felt weak and you were glad you hadn't made it far from your barstool as you leaned on it for support. If Sam found out, there was no way he wouldn't tell you dad, and you dad sure as hell could never know about you and Bucky. But before you could respond, or even try to come up with something that didn't sound suspicious as fuck, Bucky's voice filled the silence. 

"No, I was walking back from the bar on 9th when I saw her standing outside," He smoothly said, putting a friendly hand on your shoulder, "She said her friends canceled so I offered to buy her a drink before she went all the way back home." 

It wasn't a total lie, but something about the way he said it made your chest tighten. The easy lie and simple dismissal of you two being there together, how it was just a coincidence. 

"Oh well I'm sorry," Sam looked at you with too much pity and you fought to keep your smile as you waved him off. 

"It's fine, don't worry," You took a breath, "I should probably go home though." 

"What? You just got here," Bucky argued and you shrugged. 

"My friends aren't coming, I'm not going to dance by myself." 

"Come hang out with us!" Sam exclaimed, adding a teasing, "Unless you think we're too old for you." Oh how wrong he was with that. 

"I don't want to be a bother," You said, "Really, I'll be okay." 

"No no no, c'mon," Sam got his wife's attention, pointed to you and you saw her face light up. "I think she wants to dance with you." 

"Okay, okay, I'll dance for a little bit," You laughed, following Sam to meet his wife on the floor, Bucky at your back. 

You tried to glance over your shoulder to get his attention, to convey how nervous you were - how nervous he should be, but he wasn't even looking at you anymore. His eyes were flitting around the dance floor. 

It was so easy for him to pretend nothing was happening between you two, to pretend like whatever you two had didn't exist. You fought off the uneasiness in that realization as you finally met Sam's wife on the floor and joined her in the music. Your body wasn't as fluid as it usually was when you danced, you felt stiff, but you couldn't help it. Especially not when another glance at Bucky dancing against another girl twisted your gut in ways you didn't know it could. 

Tonight was going to be a long one. 

~~~

Your feet ached in your heels as you quickly made for the exit. You needed air, you needed space, you needed to go home. 

You'd been able to stomach watching Bucky dance without you for the first couple hours - barely - but you couldn't take being ignored anymore. You didn't want him to fuck you in the middle of the dance floor for everyone to see, Sam included, but you would've liked if he'd offered to dance with you like Sam and his wife did. To join the group even or, fuck, just look at you once in awhile. Maybe smile. Or wink.

Instead, he gave you a wide berth, didn't look at you once, and didn't seem interested when you excused yourself to the restroom twenty minutes ago. You hid in the stall, gathering yourself before exiting, glancing out at the group to see not one of them bothered by the long time you took, and decided it was time to go home.

Pushing open the main door, you blinked in surprise at the rain that was now pouring down, and you sighed, shutting the door and stepping as far away as you could without stepping out from under the awning. You called an uber to take you home and watched impatiently as the car icon turned down various streets to get to you. The driver wasn't far, and would only take a few minutes to arrive, and you were hoping it was enough time before someone came out looking for you. 

But when the door next to you opened, and that familiar head of cropped brown hair peered around the edge, your heart sank. Your name fell from his lips in a confused tone as he took in the way your arms were wrapped around yourself and how you were basically hiding behind the door to stay out of the way. 

"What are you doing out here?" He shut the door and stepped next to you, his elbow brushing yours. You grit your teeth at the frustration that was brewing in you, the urge to shout and yell. You weren't normally someone who lost their temper, but you were so tired. Tired of not being enough, of being alone. 

"Waiting for my ride." You refused to look at him as he stared at the side of your face and you watched the road. 

"You. . ." He hesitated, tilting his head and leaning a bit, trying to get you to look at him, "You're leaving already?" 

"Yup." At the dismissive tone in your response, he straightened himself again, but still kept staring at your goddamn face. A sigh pushed past your nostrils as you glanced at the gps again, seeing the car was only two blocks down now. Thank god. 

"Do you want me to come with you?" He asked, following you as you stepped out from the awning and into the downpour, your dress and hair almost immediately becoming soaked through. "Or you can come over to mine, if you'd like?" 

"No, thanks." You declined, your voice beginning to strain, "I'm not in the mood to fuck you tonight." 

He flinched as if you'd hit him, but recovered as he sidled up to you again, "W-well, I've got a bottle of wine, your favorite brand, in the fridge unopened. We could have a drink and watch a movie? Or cuddle, or just talk? Whatever you'd like." 

You turned to him, surprisingly calm considering the way your chest seized and your eyes stung. His face fell as he took in the state of you, the misery lining your lashes and the anger pulling your lips thin. "Don't pretend like you actually care, James. Like whatever this is," you weakly gestured to the space between the two of you, "has ever been anything more than you wanting to fuck me," You turned back to the road, your voice dropping below a whisper, "and me letting you." 

His jaw went slack as he stumbled for words. 

A small car pulled up beside you, throwing its hazards on as the window rolled down. You leaned in, asking the driver for his name. The older man who was probably in his late sixties or early seventies introduced himself as Dominic, and after checking to make sure it matched your app, you pulled open the backseat door. 

Bucky's hand shot out to where yours rested on the car door, gently, "Wait. That's it? You're not going to talk to me about this?" 

You fought the tears in your eyes as you sniffed, turning your full attention to him. "There's nothing to talk about, James. I'm just stating how it is. I didn't ask you to come out with me just to ignore me all night, only for you to remember I exist when you want a good lay." The uber driver kept his gaze on the road, patiently waiting for you to get in, and pretended he wasn't hearing your entire conversation. You'd apologize to him once you were on your way. 

"You know why I - "

"Because of Sam," You calmly cut him off, "I know. But that doesn't mean you get to pretend that I don't exist. You wouldn't even look at me." You pulled your hand out from under his, climbing into the car. He held the door open, refusing to close it. "Close the door, James." 

"Can we please talk about this?" He begged, something you never heard him do - usually it was you begging him. You looked up at him, and you couldn't tell if your face was wet from the rain or the tears that could've fallen. It was probably both. 

"What's there to talk about?" You asked, your voice raw, "There are boundaries we can't cross, James. And I'm tired of being alone." You took a breath to try and steady the shakiness out of your voice, "And I'm tired of waiting for you to notice me." 

You leaned forward and grabbed the door handle, ignoring the way Bucky's face crumpled in disbelief. You tried to pull the door, but he held it firmly open. 

"Please let go," You asked. 

He shook his head, your name slipping from his lips like a prayer, "Please."

"Let go." 

He let out a shuddered breath as he looked at his feet for a moment. You were going to say it again, when he nodded and looked up at you, sniffling. 

"Okay," He muttered, "okay." His hand fell from the door, and you watched him through the window as you pulled it shut. 

"Please go," You gently asked your driver, who gave you a pitiful look in the mirror before he nodded, putting the car in drive. You didn't look out the window again, but you knew Bucky was still there, standing in the rain, watching you pull away. 

~~~

"Thanks, Dom," You gave the driver a small smile as you opened the car door. He hadn't asked about what he'd heard while waiting for you to get in the car, or about your tears. He asked if you were alright, if you needed him to stop anywhere and get you anything. You'd smiled, declining the offer, but it had warmed your heart. 

"Of course," He turned to give you a sad smile. "If you need anything, I'll be driving all night, so I'll be around the area." 

You smiled at him, "Thank you, but I'll be fine." 

He nodded, before saying, "Hey." 

You looked at him again, waiting for him to continue.

"I'm not trying to butt in on a situation I don't know," He started, "and you can ignore anything I say once you get out of this car. Just," He took a breath as if to steady himself, "Sometimes, it's worth listening to the other side. So you know the whole truth. So you don't sit there and wonder years later, if shutting them out was a mistake." 

"I appreciate the advice, but," you sighed, "there's a lot of story there that I can't get into." 

"And whatever you do, is your choice. Just. . ." He took a deep breath before his eyes locked with yours, and you could see the regret and the sadness swimming in his irises. "I was that person, once. And not a day goes by where I don't wonder what life would've been like had I just listened." 

You smiled, reaching forward to pat his shoulder, "Don't let the past drag down your present," you offered him a sad smile, and he reached up to pat your fingers with his old ones, "Have a good night, Dom." 

"You as well." 

You climbed out of his car, walking to where the doorman of your building greeted you and held the door open for you. He eyed your soaked clothes and hair with concern and you waved him off. 

"Got caught in the downpour. It's headed this way, but I'm alright." You plastered on a fake smile, as you passed him. 

The elevator ride was suffocatingly silent, the only noise being the dings of the floors you passed and you spent the time removing your heels, your sore feet thankful to be flat again. The ding of your floor filled the air and the doors whirred as they slid open. You were greeted by that maroon carpet, and cream walls of the hall, the little gold detailings of the light fixtures and door handles plentiful as you passed them by, aiming for your door. 

Your keys slid in and unlocked effortlessly, and you stepped into the darkness, shutting the door behind you and locking it before you slid down to the floor. Feet pushed out in front of you, your back to the door, you sat there in the quiet stillness of your apartment. 

In the dark, Dominic's words kept ringing in your head. Sometimes, it's worth listening to the other side. So you know the whole truth.

You sighed as your head fell back and thumped against the door. Deep down, you knew the old man was right. You don't have to let Bucky back in, but you should hear him out. But you knew by the way your heart constricted at just the thought of it, that you weren't ready, not yet. You needed to cool down and think and relax before that conversation.

So you stood on shaky legs and flicked on a couple lights before making your way to the bathroom. A hot bath to wash away the night and chase away the cold that was starting to bite at your bones was the best way to start. 

~~~

Nick, your doorman's voice echoed in your head as you stood at the buzzer of your door. 

There's a James Barnes here to see you. 

It'd been a couple weeks since you left him at that club downtown. Weeks of no contact, not even a text. You knew you needed to talk to him, but you didn't know if you were ready. You didn't even know what more could be said. What story he could try to spin you. 

But you remembered Dom's words from that night, and shook yourself from your stupor just in time to hear Nick calling your name through the buzzer. 

"Send him up." You hoarsely replied, "Thank you, Nick." 

"Sure thing," His voice came through the static before going quiet again. 

You took a deep breath as you looked around the apartment. It was a little messy - you hadn't really had time to clean these past few weeks with finals around the corner. Part of you wanted to rush to pick some of it up, but you knew deep down you didn't have time before Bucky knocked on your door, so you wrapped your arms around your torso and waited, trying to ignore all the awful ways your brain was coming up with for this conversation to end. 

The knock on that door couldn't come soon enough, and you had to steel yourself before pulling it open. 

Bucky honestly looked worse for wear, the bags under his eyes were prominent, his hair that was usually so well styled was unkept and in disarray. His normally well trimmed beard was longer than you'd ever seen it, though it wasn't by much. And in his hands, was a small bouquet of wildflowers. 

"Can I come in?" He asked, his voice gentle and somewhat hesitant. 

You stepped back from the door, silently holding it open for him to enter. He pressed his lips tightly together and quickly stepped in, watching as you shut and locked the door behind him. 

"I know that these won't fix anything, but I remember you talking about the flower shop two blocks over and how you really enjoyed the wildflower bouquets so I thought I'd stop on my way here to get you one - " He was rambling now, staring at the flowers in his hand as his free one came up to gently stroke some of the petals. 

You walked to the kitchen, with him blindly following you as he rambled on and on about the flowers and the specific bunch he grabbed reminded him of you and you had to push out the feelings that started to warm your chest down, down, down back into their steel box - the steel box you decided to lock them away in that night you left him at the club. 

After grabbing a small vase from the cupboard, you held your hand out for the bouquet. Your fingers entered his field of view that was still locked on those petals and his rambling tumbled to a halt before he nodded to himself. 

"Right, sorry," He gently handed them over to you and watched as you placed them in the vase and filled it with water. You'd worry about if you were really going to keep them later, and if you did, going through and properly arranging them. But right now, you had an important talk waiting to happen. And the sooner it was over, the better. 

"What do you want, Bucky?" You asked, pushing the vase away from the edge of the counter and looking up at him. 

"I was hoping we could talk." 

"I have nothing more to say to you." You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the counter, eyeing him as he stepped up to the other side, resting his hands against the fake marble. 

"You don't have to say anything, but I have some stuff I'd like to say to you." His eyes were practically begging you to listen and Dom's words rang in your head again. Sometimes, it's worth listening to the other side. So you know the whole truth.

"Fine," You sighed, "out with it." You knew you were being a bit rude and cold. But after the past few weeks you've had, you didn't want him here longer than necessary. 

"Right, um," He took a deep breath. He seemed so uncharacteristically nervous. Whenever you were with him, he was always so sure of himself. So confident and cocky. To see him rambling and fiddling with the flowers earlier, and now struggling to find his words - it put a pause in your frustration. 

He straightened his back and took another breath, and you steeled yourself for what he was about to say. 

"I want to apologize." He started, "For everything. For starting this with you, pursuing you when I knew I shouldn't have. For making a mess of it." His throat bobbed as he continued, "When I met you two years ago, there was just something about you. Something that lured me in. You were - are so smart. You're so fucking smart, and beautiful and funny and witty and I just - " He sighed, "God, I fell so hard for you.

"But your father is one of my friends. And that's not right. What kind of man does that make me?" He asked, gesturing to himself. "What kind of man does that?" He all but fell into one of the barstools at the counter, "So, I kept you at arms length. Only saw you in secret, pretended you weren't there if there was even the slightest chance of getting caught - and for that I am so, so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. But," he sighed, taking a moment before continuing, "but I didn't know you felt any certain way about it. About me."

He looked up from the counter to you, across the kitchen with your arms still crossed, "I didn't know you weren't okay with it. With the hiding and the secrets. If I had known - "

"What?" You weakly asked. You didn't mean to cut him off, you meant it when you said you didn't have anything left to say to him, but your mouth opened of its own accord. "What would you have done?" 

He was silent and you shook your head, letting out a weak, sad laugh, "Exactly. You wouldn't have done anything, because you can't. Not with who we are." You swallowed down the lump that began to form in your throat, your next words coming out almost silently, "I don't just feel a certain way about it." 

"What does that mean?" He asked, his brows knitting together. 

"James," You sighed, "I've been in love with you for months now." His eyes widened as he watched you lean backwards against the other counter, "And what sucks, is that these past few weeks, all I've wanted to do was call my dad, or my mom, and get some advice on our situation," You felt the tears begin to build in the corners of your eyes. "But I can't ask them. And I can't talk to any of my friends about you because they know my parents." 

You ignored the way his face crumbled as your voice cracked and thinned as you fought the building tears, "I can't talk to anyone about you. I'm alone in this. And even if I were to have you, I'd be alone."

He was silent for a minute, watching the tears fall down your cheeks before he slowly stood and walked around the counter to your side. He hesitantly approached you, gently reached up with his hands and brushed away the tears from your chin. 

"What if you didn't have to be alone?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"What if," he breathed in, his eyes scanning every inch of your face as he caressed it with his thumbs, "what if you didn't have to be alone? What if we didn't hide?" 

A weak scoff pushed past your lips and you tried to glare at him, but you could tell it wasn't really there, "You're assuming there's still a 'we'." Though your words were meant to throw him off, the lack of bite in your tone kept him right in front of you, the tight concern in his face melting way to something you'd only glanced in his eyes a handful of times - something soft. 

"I would like there to be." He whispered and you felt that steel box inside yourself crack open. 

"What?" It felt like it fell between you, your question, but he caught it with his nervous grin

"I'm in love with you," he stated with such gentle conviction, that steel box starting to spring open further and further the more he spoke, "and I know I've made a mess of things, but I would do anything to make it right." His hands slid off your cheeks and ran down the lengths of your arms, softly gripping your fingers and pulling them away from your chest and to his own. "I want to be with you. I want to show the world that I'm yours. I want to openly be yours." 

That little steel box shoved deep down inside of yourself flung open. Everything you've bottled up the past few weeks came bubbling to the surface as you fought that wobble in your lips. You fought to keep it all in. To keep yourself composed. 

"I want to make this right," He continued, his own eyes watering at the state you were in, "You just need to tell me how." He sighed, "Or tell me to fuck off, and I will. You'll never hear from me again if that's what you want. And honestly, I wouldn't be offended if you did." 

The thought of never seeing him again didn't sit right with you. It made a horrible sense of dread fill your chest and you shook your head. 

"What about my father?" You asked, your voice straining against the words that were trying to get out. Against the confession that sat at the tip of your tongue. 

"We'll tell him. We'll find a way to tell him and it'll be okay," He gently pulled you, testing to see how you reacted and when you easily stepped towards him, he wrapped his arms around you, holding the back of your head with his hand, "We'll figure it out." 

The warmth from his chest seeped through his shirt into your cheek and you let it out then, the cries that you'd been holding in, the words you'd come to terms with days ago that you never thought would be voiced, the words you'd wanted to say to him in anger began clumsily tumbling from your lips. 

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Your lips scraped against the cotton of his shirt, "You can't expect me to tell you how I feel when you made it feel wrong to want more." You pulled back, weakly pushing against his chest before haphazardly wiping your eyes. 

You'd missed everything about him the past few weeks, no matter how much you tried not to. His warmth, his scent, the feel of his hands, the husk of his voice. God you missed it. And you wouldn't have had to miss him at all had the two of you just told each other. 

"The way you'd avoid me or act as if I wasn't there," You said, taking a step out of his arms, "How do I know that won't happen again?" 

His face fell as he looked at you, his hands dropping to his sides, "You don't, but I can promise you that it never did." He let out a sad chuckle at the confusion taking over the tears in your eyes. "I may have avoided getting too close to you, yes, but not once did I not notice you." 

He stepped forward, wrapping his hands around your waist to settle on your lower back, his fingers tracing invisible patterns into your shirt. 

"If we're in the same room, I always know exactly where you are," His eyes darted down to your lips for a split second, "When you leave the room, all I want to do is follow you, but I can't. So I strain to hear your voice and laugh over everything else. I practically hold my breath until you come back." He gave you a sad smile, "I know you probably don't believe me, but it's true. It's like my entire being orbits around you and when you aren't around, my soul doesn't know where to spin." 

You didn't know what to say as you watched him, noted the sincerity in his gaze - the tears beginning to line his own lashes. You weighed everything he'd told you, how he felt, how he was trying so hard to not lose you. All because you finally put your foot down, and then listened. 

You weren't sure if your brain could form the words you wanted to say - needed to say. Your heart was racing from his confession and the proximity of him. He was so close to you, you'd merely have to tip your chin up the slightest to catch his lips with your own. 

So you did.

His body instantly reacted - his grip tightening across your back and pulling you as close as he could, his lips moving in tandem with yours in the soft enticing way they always did, a sigh leaving his nose and tickling your cheek. 

The feeling of his lips on yours sent a warmth through your chest that you hadn't felt in weeks, and it quickly spread through the rest of you, tingles shooting out to your fingers as they reached for his chin and down to your toes as your feet backed you up into the counter. A small noise that sounded almost like a whimper escaped his throat, swallowed by your mouth on his, as your hands slid up from his chin into his hair, your fingers threading through the strands and gripping them. 

You knew there was more to talk about, more to figure out - there always would be - but right now you couldn't stop thinking about his lips on yours, his tongue gently asking for permission to play with yours as his hands slid from your back down to your ass, squeezing before sliding further to your thighs, his back bowing as he reached. His fingers pulled on your legs twice and in the spare second his lips were able to pull from yours, you felt him whisper to jump, so you did. 

He caught you, gently placing you on the counter as he stepped in between your legs, pulling your hips to the edge of the counter. His lips left yours and moved to your neck, softly nipping and sucking as he moved down to your chest, pulling your shirt, stretching the neck of it but at the moment you couldn't care less about it. He only pulled away to pull the clothing up over your head and out of the way, his mouth immediately going down to close around a nipple when he noticed the lack of bra in his path. 

A low groan rumbled through his throat and into your skin before he moved to the other one, giving it the same treatment as the first. Every little touch of his hands, the way they grazed over your skin or grabbed at your free breast, kneading it with his fingers, and the hot trail his tongue left across your skin turned your core molten. You needed him, you didn't want any of the teasing and edging he so loved to torture you with. 

So you tugged on his hair, his name falling from your lips in a whine and he looked up at you, his eyes glazed and his pupils blown. The look made you hesitate and you clenched around nothing - you'd only seen him that far gone in the feeling of your skin one other time. So, seeing it now, you knew you could ask him to do anything, and he'd do it. You could order him, and he'd obey. 

You pulled his face up to yours, making him stand up straight as you locked your lips with his again and slid your hands down to his belt. While you worked the buckle open, his hands wrapped under the shorts on your hips, pulling them down your legs and causing you to gasp at the cold counter meeting your skin. 

The buckle finally opened and your fingers immediately moved to the button and zipper of his jeans, his own moving to brush against the wetness there. Your lips swallowed the new whine that he let out as he gathered the slick, pushing two fingers all the way in.

Your lips broke from his at the feeling of his long fingers pumping in and out of you and your fingers stumbled over the denim, but finally you got the button open and the zipper down and you shoved at his pants, your lips moving to his ear. 

"C'mon, handsome," You whispered, letting your lips brush against the shell of his ear and grinning at the shiver that ran through his body, "Your fingers feel nice, but," Your hand reached past the waist, gripping and stroking him, his lips opening in a gasp and latching on to your neck again, "this is what I want." 

He groaned into your neck, thrusting into your hand, his fingers in your cunt stroking your walls, matching pace. 

"I need it, James," Your other hand pulled back to grip his hair, pulling on it to get him to look at you as you continued stroking him. When he pulled away from your neck, he already looked fucked out and you smiled, leaning forward to lick his lips. He tried to chase your lips with his own but when your hand didn't let go of his hair, he stopped. "I need you to fuck me, James," He groaned at that, "Can you do that for me?" 

He nodded, his voice thin as he responded, "Yes." 

"Good," You smiled at him, trying not to whine at the loss of his fingers as he pulled them out and pushed his boxers down just enough. His left hand settled on your waist as his other lined himself up with your entrance, gathering some slick before he pushed himself in, going all the way in one go. 

His head fell into your neck as he groaned, the sound of it combined with the sudden fullness pulling a moan from your lips.

"Oh, fuck," Your lips brushed his ear as you panted. "That's it - fuck -" Your hands come up to grip his shoulders and his back as he immediately set a growing pace. "That's a good boy." 

His lips again connected with your neck and you tipped your head to give him more access, his teeth dragging across your skin. His hips sped up, a loud moan breaking from you as he angled to hit that perfect spot, Your head falling back into the cabinets. 

"That's it that's it," You panted, "Oh, don't you dare stop." His teeth nipped just below your ear and you couldn't stop the grin that grew on your lips, "Mark me," You grunted, "I want everyone to know I'm yours." 

What you could only describe as a growl rumbled from his lips into your skin as he began working to leave a mark on that exact spot, the sensation flying through every one of your nerves, shooting down to where he was hitting that perfect spot over and over, and you could feel yourself getting closer and closer to falling over that edge, faster than he'd ever let you before. 

His lips brushed the skin of your neck as he grunted out, "Please cum on me," His voice was breathless and he sounded so, so close to begging, "please." 

You let out a breathy sound, that band in you so close to snapping as you lifted your legs to wrap around his hips. Your fingers wound through his hair again, gripping the strands as you ordered him, your lips never leaving his ear, "Make me." 

"I will," He said between leaving marks across your neck and shoulder, "I promise I will." 

His hips never faltered as his thumb on his right hand came to press quick circles into your clit, your legs snapping around him at the sensation and your head again hitting the cabinets. 

"Shit, that's it," Your fingers gripped any part of him you could reach, scratching your nails down his skin and the shirt still covering his back. The band in your core snapped and your release washed over you, your body locking around his as you were sure you screamed into his shoulder. 

His hips didn't stop, still fucking into you at that brutal pace he'd set, his thumb still circling your clit and you could feel another orgasm quickly approaching. 

He grunted out, his only request this whole time, "One more," before his voice softened into a whine, "please give me one, pleasepleaseplease." 

You didn't fight the second wave as it crashed into you, stealing your breath. His hips thrust into you just a couple more times before he stilled and his hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, his long moan vibrating into the skin of your neck as he buried his face again. 

His legs shook as he stood there with you wrapped so tightly around him, but it was like he didn't dare move from your hold, or let you escape his. And you were fine with that. 

Once you got your breath back, you slowly dragged your fingers over his back and shoulders, threading through his hair before going back down his neck, his muscles loosening with each pass. 

His arms wrapped around your waist in a tight hug as he finally broke the silence, "Can there still be a 'we'?" His voice was so quiet, like he was scared to ask. You pulled his face away from your neck finally. "Are you going to ask me out? Like a real date?" You grinned at the flush on his cheeks. 

"Can I take you on a proper date?" 

You couldn't stop the small laugh that bubbled up in your chest and you nodded, "Absolutely." 

There was a feeling in your chest telling you to think about it more before agreeing, but you ignored it. You knew the risks, and you knew there was more to figure out and more to learn before it would be a smooth road - and that didn't even include telling your parents. 

But that was a problem for another day. Right now, you just wanted to stay wrapped around Bucky in every sense and enjoy the warmth that filled your chest as he looked at you like you hung the sky just for him. 

Yeah, you'd fix the rest of it later. 

As always, thank you for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are all appreciated!

If you enjoyed the story, please consider supporting me on my Ko-fi

If you want to be updated when i post a new story, please follow my library blog and turn on notifications <3 @remis-library​ 

[submissivekillers]

kinktober day 4 - sensory deprivation (john kramer)

yall i wrote most of this so fast lmao?? literally banged out like 800 words in an hour yesterday n would've finished early if i didn't have to work a double (hell.) the spirit of old man fucking compelled me. also i think im into sensory deprivation now lowkey. mild tw for jigsaw-typical torture/violence but only in the first like 2 paragraphs

You had thought that you were intimately familiar with every kind of torture.

It was a knowledge you picked up quickly in the company of Jigsaw and his apprentices – they had refined it to something of an artform, in your opinion. Through careful study, you had determined exactly the amount of force necessary to snap the bones in an arm cleanly; you had calculated just how much blood a person could lose while still being able to drag themselves out of harm's way. With trial and error, you had learned how to discern the sound of screaming caused by third-degree burns from that of the agonized cries brought on by the loss of a finger, a hand, an entire limb. All these torments and more, you had learned by heart. 

And yet you think that this may be the worst of all. 

It's the unpredictability, you think; the fabric over your eyes is heavy enough that even the harsh industrial fluorescents in John's workspace can't penetrate it, and the silicone plugs in your ears block out even your own voice. You suppose that's a good thing, maybe – after he's brought you to the edge just to let you down thrice now, you're sure you must sound absolutely pathetic. Your chest heaves with staggered, gasping breaths, your lips stinging with the imprints of your teeth.   

It would be easier if he'd restrained your hands. He'd instructed you not to touch yourself, or him, and you hadn't – but your will is fraying with every passing second. You're so sensitive it hurts, threatening to tumble over the line from pleasurable to painful, even the circulating fans making you twitch and clench when the faint breeze finds its way between your thighs. Your fingernails dig into the seams of the chair beneath you so hard that you feel them pop. 

Bad enough that's he's worked you up and then abandoned you, but that's not the worst; no, it's the little touches in between that really break you down. John seems to have an uncanny ability to tell exactly when you've started to calm yourself down. Every time your breathing starts to slow and your trembling subsides, his hands are on you. Delicate touches, really no more than grazing over your skin – the ghost of his knuckles along your spine: fingertips tracing the arch of your cheekbone, teasing the plush of your bottom lip before flitting away: a gentle squeeze to the meat of your thigh. It's pathetic, how each tender brush of his hands makes your nerves spark. 

As if summoned by your thoughts, the pads of his fingers skim the curve of your shoulder, roughened from the long hours of planning and building. You suck in a stuttering breath, even that light touch sending a spasm of want through you. You think please, please, please and only belatedly realize your lips are moving. 

A pang of loss echoes in your chest when he pulls away, but before you can react his fingertips alight on your cheek instead, his thumb caressing the line of your jaw. You shudder with the effort of not pressing yourself desperately into his hand, letting him control the weight of his touch. It aches, tears threatening to dampen the fabric of your blindfold before you squeeze your eyes tightly shut. 

You feel the sigh of his breath on your skin, the knowledge of his proximity twisting beneath your ribs. When his other hand finds the line of your throat, cupping over your racing pulse, your lips part around some ragged, tremulous sound, your body singing at his touch. 

He guides you to lie against him, your temple tucked into the hollow of his throat, and the tears run freely down your cheeks. You’re breathless before he even deigns to slide a hand between your thighs, your spine arching taut at the first deliberate press of his fingers. Unthinking, you fist your hands tightly in the fabric of his sweater, praying he won't stop when you realize your transgression. 

Blessedly, mercifully, he doesn't. 

It takes embarrassingly little to bring you to orgasm; you don't think you've been in his arms longer than a minute or two before you spasm in his lap, spilling into his hand, nonsensical babbling that only John can hear streaming from your swollen lips. You're still shaking when he gently tugs the plugs from your ears, the influx of sound almost overwhelming. He keeps you blindfolded for a minute longer, guiding your hand to his chest so you can feel the slow, steady rise and fall of his breaths.

When you're able to match his rhythm he unties the cloth, cupping your face in his hand as you blink against the sudden light. Your skin feels sticky, trails of salt drying on your cheeks that he tenderly swipes away. His gaze is warm when you can focus on his face, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkled with the curve of his thin lips. “You did very well, dear,” he says, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You think there must be no sound sweeter than the low rasp of his voice. “I'm proud of you.”

You beam.  

Later – after he’s washed the sweat and slick from your skin in a warm bath, curled against him in your pajamas with a water bottle and a steaming cup of tea – he asks, “Do you understand now why I say you need to learn patience?” 

You laugh, a radiant sound that starts deep in your chest. “I might need a few more lessons.”

[lua-magic]

Intresting Astrology Observation.

If you react too quickly, without thinking alot, then you are Rahu driven person.

If you keep things in your heart and won't be able to react at exact moment, then you are ketu driven person.

Rahu driven person can tell things upfront while ketu driven person won't be able to express emotions.

If you have Saturn Mars conjunction or in trine,then you face lot of problems in your work life due to your wrong and quick reaction.

Saturn rules your spinal cord.

Best remedy of Saturn Mars is go for grounding often.

If you have Saturn Mars Rahu conjunction, or in close degree or in trine as well then you will suffer from Migraine, Anxiety, depression, and unusual breathing or even overexitemement..

Best remedy of Rahu is Deep breathing, if you can control your Breath you can control your mind.

If moon is afflicted in your chart you will face problems with liquid cash.

If moon is in 7th, 10th and sixth house, and in twelfth house then it is better you work outside your mother land or take up work that requires lot of traveling. If you have your business then put your factory outside your motherland.

Mars ketu in conjunction or in trine should always keep their body moving, to avoid blocks inside their body

Moon in fifth house person should always teach or learn any new skill with lots of emotions.

Venus Ketu conjunction or in trine should always keep their intentions about money pure, ketu is intent and Venus is money, don't think about making big money but be satisfied with whatever universe is giving you, don't behave like Rahu.

Venus Rahu in conjunction or in trine should always think about making big money.

Jupiter Rahu in conjunction or in trine should always dream big.

Saturn Rahu in trine in conjunction should always think about expanding their work

Mercury Mars in conjunction or in trine should always involve in some kind of sports to keep their mind active, Mars is sports and Mercury is intelligence.

Jupiter ketu in conjunction should always act on their intuition, as ketu is your intuition or gut feeling..

Saturn ketu conjunction always start their work from ground level ie from zero.

If you have afflicted moon then your house either will have leaking tap or water problems.

Best remedy of afflicted moon is distribute water for free or give emotional support to people without expecting anything in return.

Sun Rahu conjunction or sun ketu conjunction give separation from father sometimes, bad reputation, and blames also

Best remedy is respect your father, if can't forgive your father.

Wherever, Rahu sits in your chart there you have to put extra effort, but you will gain fame from that house as well.

First house Rahu, fame comes from your identity and personality

Second House rahu, your family could be reputed or family has money. You are good in banking and finance, food, cooking and speech.

Third house Rahu fame from communication, siblings, skill.

Fourth House rahu, fame from masses, mother land, have big house and cars.

Fifth house rahu fame from teaching, after your kid you will experience fame, fame from your knowledge, creativity.

Sixth house rahu, fame from charity and service, fighting for someone else.

Seventh house rahu, fame from your partner or in business.

Eighth house Rahu, fame from occult, and secret knowledge.

Ninth house rahu, fame from counseling and teaching.

Tenth house rahu, fame in your work place

Eleventh house rahu, fame in your social circle or social media.

Twelfth house Rahu, fame from spirituality, yoga, meditation.

Ketu in sixth house person should not involve in fights, sixth house is fight, and ketu is spiritual planets, instead fight for others or do charity your ketu will give good results.

If you have Mars or Rahu in twelfth house or in conjunction in twelfth house don't use your energy in bed pleasure, instead do yoga and meditation, your twelfth house will improve.

[bethecliche]

beauty & the beast l suh johnny x f!original character

summary: Party boy Johnny really needs to read a book word count: 2.6k content: female reader (no mention of genitalia), no mention of skin color or hair color, no use of y/n, non idol

She stretched her arms behind her body, stretching while also yawned. Her head would go to meet her right shoulder, then turn 180 degrees to the left shoulder. It felt like there was a block of concrete weighing down her head and causing pain throughout her body, but it was all because she had been sitting for hours looking down reading a book.

It's never cool to feel discomfort while doing your favorite activity - in her case, reading books. But the excitement was so powerful and her interest only grew page after page. As a kid, she never got to read it in its entirety and as it was the theme of the next meeting with the book club, she wanted to be prepared to talk about every little detail. The only reason the girl wasn't in her dorm with a cup of tea and some biscuits was because the library only had one copy available at the moment and the rule was that single books couldn't be borrowed, so her neck had so suffer a bit.

Yeah, reading on a laptop or cell phone is a thing, sure. However, nothing replaces touching the book and smelling its pages. How many people have already picked up that book? When she finishes it, she will read in the last page the names of the people who already enjoyed the story, other ones who also entered the universe she's immersed now. Or maybe she was the first to pick up that specific copy, so her name would be on the first line. That might not mean anything to most people, but she is not most people.

With a arm now resting on the wooden table to hold the exhausted head and the other hand fingering the pages, feeling how many were left to finish, a sweet perfume entered her nose and her mind began to wonder if the fatigue is so strong that is causing her to hallucinate part of the story.

“Hey, excuse me. Can I borrow this book? There's no other left on the selft and I really need it.” A male voice said from behind, almost giving the her a heart attack.

It was late at night and the last thing she expected was people coming into the library and not leaving. She loves reading books, that's a fact. And the librarian loves it just as much as her, so the two had an agreement that the young woman could stay a little later while the old lady got everything ready to close the place. Why would she have let someone in there almost at closing time? The girl finally turned her back to face whoever was calling. She was shocked, to say the least.

The first thing to noticed was his face, and boy, he's pretty. Really pretty. His hair was short and dark, with some golden highlights illuminating his features. He was wearing a white t-shirt, a lot of chains around his neck and also a headphone with music still on. He looked like a model or a main character from a romcom. Probably the bad boy, tho. It wasn't anything an ordinary student would wear on a Thursday. Maybe he was leaving a party? Most likely. She didn't know whether to feel admiration or envy seeing such an elegant and charming boy.

Analyzing so much made her forgot that the unkwon boy made a request.

“Do you mean this book?” She pointed to the red book over the table (since it was her third book of the day) and the boy nodded, kinda rouse. “Sorry, but I started reading it a few minutes. I'll try to finish it really quickly and I can arrange to give it to you tomorrow. Is that okay?” She explained in her sincere voice, showing that she really meant it. The boy might be pretty, but a book is a book and she got there first.

The stranger looked desperate after hearing the answer.

“You don’t understand... I need to read this book right now. I have an exam tomorrow and I have no idea what happens in this story and there’s no movie on Netflix. I can not wait!” He exclaimed nervously.

The girl saw herself as a kind woman, however, when it came to books, she could be a bit difficult. However, not to say the decision would be made based on how fine he is, but dude did seemed desperate. She didn't want to feel responsible if he did badly on the test. Well, partly guilty, since he looked like he was leaving a nightclub on a weekday and hadn't studied for his test.

“Do you have to read Beauty and the Beast for your exam?” She raised an eyebrow, turning the book over. “A fable?”

The stranger shrugged and rolled his still worried eyes.

“It’s a French literature test and then a short essay on the book that we have to do during class. There’s no point in questioning it, the teacher is a pain in...” He censored himself, realising he don't know the girl enough to be mouthing a teacher like that. “It's the shortest book on his list, if you know what I mean.”

It was obvious the boy needed the book more than she did. One had a book club that was going to meet on Saturday and the other had an exam on the subject in a few hours. But it was very difficult to give up something that was grabbing so much of her attention. So only one alternative came to mind. “We can share the book now, if you want,” she suggested, “if you don't mind too.”

Maybe not actually a viable suggestion, but it was the best she could do. Party boy seemed relieved by the suggestion, he didn't even need to consider it and was already sitting in the empty seat next to the bookworm girl.

Her fingers finally returned to the pages, now flipping back to the beginning. Although she might be quite far along, the truth was that she didn't mind starting over.

He ajusted himself in the seat and leaned closer to the girl, so close that his chin hovered over her shoulder. He's tall, so tall, that felt like he could hurt his back bending like that to check the book she held. To make it a little bit harder for her, not only he was tall, handsome and reading a book right next to her face, his scent was even stronger this close and it felt so good. She hoped the boy wouldn't look at her blushing face.

Except for the occasional page turning and the boy asking her to slow down fliping the pages, the place was completely silent based on the hour. At one point, they turned to each other and the two almost bumped their foreheads together. They laughed and continued reading. It was kinda cute.

The second time reading those sentences wasn't as easy as the first. Her eyes were on the pages, but her thoughts were far from Belle's story. She tried to figure out in the back of her mind if she knew who he was, what his name should be, what his major should be. Was he popular? How cool was this party? She never saw him around her classes or her dorm, but it's not like the girl cared enough to keep up with those details... Still, a little curious how such a beautiful boy who definitely stands out wherever he goes never crossed her path. And if so, how stupid was she not to notice?

Half an hour into the study, he seemed confident about his test and his grade. “This book seems easy.” He sing out.

One hour later, he was already complaining on how boring it was and how so many pages were left. “They're both so stupid, I want it to end.”

One and a half hours into the study, he stopped cursing at the characters and felt deeply in the dream land. He had his body straight minus his head, kinda turned down. Not the best way to sleep.

Stay focused. Stay focused. Don't sleep too.

She couldn't just continue reading the book and forget that the stranger, who was now sleeping, almost had a nervous breakdown about his studies just minutes ago. Picking up the pencil and notebook that were on the table from when she was doing her homework earlier (homework and three books, yeah, she had a busy day) and started writing some notes on the last page.

The clock on the wall showed that it was past 2 am and the girl, who was also sleepy, could barely keep her eyes open. After yawning and more yawning, she went into the position that had irritated her so much during the day and with her head down, she also fell asleep.

♫ She had them Apple Bottom Jeans Boots with the fur (with the fur) ♫

A loud noise began to play shortly after. The moment she opened her eyes, she realized that her head was not bending anymore, but lying on the table. The boy, that also sleept bending on the chair, was also lying on the table and very close to her face. She thanked God that she didn't drool in her sleep or it would have been too embarrassing to drip saliva on the beauty next to her.

Adjusting her eyes, an image of a God became very clear. His face was very clean, recently shaved, probably for the party. He had a small and almost fading dot close to his pinkish and very tempting lips. Oh, man. He looks just too perfect.

His arm was also quite strong and perfect for hugging. Which was what he was doing at the moment. Not sure how, but she probably fell asleep on the table first and eventually he fell onto the table too, placing his arm to rest on the girl's back. It was a welcoming feeling.

As the song keept playing and it became a little too weird admire an unfamiliar man, she adjusted herself in the chair, causing the other one to wake up as well and begin to notice his surroundings. The librarian must have forgotten or not even noticed that the two were still there, letting such chaos happen.

“Ho.ly.shit!” The brunette muttered under his breath as he denied the call he was receiving and checking the time. 4 am. The bookworm turned to him with an optimistic smile, even though she knew he was frustrated upon to realize they both slept. His eyes were almost closed, avoiding the light from the smartphone screen. “I'm sorry, someone is looking for me thinking I'm still at the party. It's just that I- Oh, God. What am I going to do?”

His hands went to his bronzed face, slapping it in disappointment and to keep him awake. It was dawn and he was still tired, his test was getting closer and closer, there was no way to have hope now. He do regret going to a party mid-week and thanks God for taking only two shots.

“I.. er... I can try to explain the story to you.” Suggested the frequent reader. "If this is for a literature class, just telling you what happened literally isn’t going to be enough, and it’s clear you didn’t quite get the story. You kept mumbling on how absurd it was.”

The stranger gave a huge smile that lit up his face. All the stress was gone. That seemed to be the most beautiful thing he had heard in days.

“That would be... so good! I will be forever grateful...” As he lifted his hand to his heart, feeling light by her help, he them noticed how tired she also looked. He was not expecting a good and nice night of sleep spreaded in a library table, so if he was feeling shitty... “Wait... Did you read the book? Did you finish it last night? I'm so sorry. You should've slept too.” Pretty boy placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave her a worried look. If he feels tired, can't imagine how she's feeling.

“I fell asleep before the end, but I made some notes for you up to the part where I stopped.” She pointed to the notebook in front of them. “To be honest, I already know the story. My mom read it to me when I was a kid. I don't remember that much but can't be that hard to assume a fairytale ending, right?”

The brunette breathed a little more easily. When he noticed the position he was in, although satisfactory, he took his hands from her shoulders and put them in his own pocket. “You know a thing or two about books, huh?”

Not that she was trying to brag, but it was the truth. She knew a little too much about books, especially fiction.

“Maybe I should come to the library more often. I can learn a few things from you.” He propose.

Not wanting to miss the opportunity, she responded excitedly. “I'll be available. For you.”

She hadn't meant to come off as flirtatious, but fuck it, she didn't feel guilty about it. It was a nice feeling. She already slept with him, right? A suggestive phrase won't kill.

“I don’t want to ruin the obvious mood, but I don’t have much time. The test is in a few hours and I want to go to the dorm to get some proper rest beforehand. Tell me everything you know about this book.”

In a few minutes, the girl explained the entire plot of Beauty and the Beast and what he needed to look at the notes, not forgetting to say that it would be good for him to read the book afterwards to get a sense of closure. The boy just laughed, he wasn’t going to touch that book any time soon.

“Thank you so much, you’re saving my life!” The two stood up from their chairs and the handsome model ran his fingers through the reader’s hand and placed his lips on the top of it, maintaining eye contact. “I don’t know if I’ll become an avid fiction reader like you, but I would definitely love to hear the reviews if you're up to tell me.”

“We can always watch the live action.”

In a few seconds, in a bit of shyness for what was said, she collected the books thrown on the table to return to the library entrance and slung her bag over her shoulder. The boy, who had nothing but his cell phone, just ran his hands through his hair waiting for her to finish tidying up.

“By the way, my name is Johnny. Suh Johnny. I'm majoring Psychology.” With the introduction, he took her hand again, squeezing it a little and feeling its warmth. With his cool style, this was not the course he seemed to attend.

She also introduced herself as an English major in her third semester.

Johnny nodded as if he knew exactly who she was. “You’re the one who gave the speech about using artificial intelligence in undergraduate work, right?”

Smiling nervously, she nodded. “You saw my presentation? I thought it was just for other students in my course.”

“I was walking past the auditorium at the time. It's kind of hard to ignore a smart, pretty girl like you. So... uh, I see you later. Right? Thanks again.”

Johnny gave the girl a soft smile and turned to the door, running quickly to get out of there urgently. He had butterflies in his stomach.

The girl, now also smiling, was so enchanted that she didn't even realize that he was supposed to take only the sheet of paper with the notes and not her entire notebook. But she would realize in a few hours when she arrived at class without the material and this would be a perfect excuse to look for Johnny around campus. Maybe this would be the beginning of a romance story that neither of them would have to rush to read.

[gomapda]

sidewalks we crossed [side B: him.] (pt. 1)

this is broken into parts because tumblr has a limit of 1000 blocks.

side A found here!

author's note:

oh goodness. it's been a while.

i really did intend on posting this soon after i published the first part, but then life kind of got in the way. i graduated from grad school, moved to south korea, and have been here since. i'm still a carat, and i really do think about this fanfiction all the time, mainly because this story is truly me bearing my soul to the internet and my friends who have access to the original google doc.

this one is a lot less edited and looked over, but it's because this portion of the fic reminds me of something i'm still in deep grief for. so, for those of you who will read this, i was originally going to have a third installment, but i think i'll leave it at this two. it feels good and true to leave it here.

this was supposed to be published yesterday on seventeen's anni, but i was busy spending time with my korean host family who i've not been able to see that often since moving out :')

maybe i'll write short stories including these two because they are so special to me, but this main story has come to a close. the real final push was jihoon releasing "what kind of future?" officially, the very song that inspired this fic, in honor of his beautiful friend and human, moonbin. bin-ah, i hope you're sailing among the stars and looking over all of those who love you and who you love in return.

and to you, who may be reading this, thank you for being here.

✧⋆°｡☾☼꙳ ੭ * ‧ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ‧ ⨯ ς(>‿<.). ⁺ ✦ * . ˚ ⨯ ੭ * ‧☼☽⋆｡°✧

tagging @fiantomartell since you asked me to whenever i published this. it's been a long while, but.

pairing: lee jihoon/woozi (seventeen) x f!reader

genre: romance, fluff

summary: an accidental like, an off-chance comment, a purposeful message. you were in an unrequited love with your childhood best friend and decided to run away from him and your feelings and years later you find yourself in the same city with the same feelings when he stalks your instagram.

rating: 13+

length: 30k (bro WHAT LOL)

tags: idol!jihoon, childhood friend!reader, unrequited love (but not really), reconnection through instagram, this is just different scenes pieced together (including a ton of flashbacks), reader’s nicknames are all bug-themed, reader has depression and it manifests as suicidal ideation sometimes, this is basically real life (aka seventeen exists and debuted 150526), but the years are a little bit off for the trainee period, jihoon left busan later and trained for shorter for the sake of my story hehe, cursing, pining, mamamoo + ateez are the besties of reader, member x member pairings, jihoon and reader are both dumbasses, reader is extremely book smart but has one brain cell when it comes to romantic feelings, jihoon writes music like he’s been divorced 12x, word genius lee jihoon, idk how doctoral degrees work, i only got my masters and it was a non-thesis track lol, also idk how trainee auditions work either, miss communication is a lady we all know too well, super cute soft shit too tho tbh, no beta we die like men, i spent 5 hours trying to format this for tumblr and i’m still unsure

inspired by “drivers license” by olivia rodrigo and “what kind of future?” by woozi

inspo spotify playlist found here!

──────────────────

side b: him.

The rapid beating in his chest drowned out the slam of the door behind him as he rushed down the stairs of your home, desperate to just get away as soon as possible. Your parents weren’t home, so he didn’t have to worry about looking like an absolute fool in front of them.

You knew. You fucking knew.

You knew how much he was in love with you and this was your way of rejecting him.

He was stupid, so stupid. If he just put his feelings aside then you wouldn’t leave. You wouldn’t have to leave. But this was all his stupid hormones and brain chemistry and his fucking heart. He knew that it wouldn’t pan out. You never saw him as anything more than just a dear friend, a brother. You made that clear.

Since the beginning, your pinkies intertwined promised a forever, but you both had different ideas of what that was. And he was stupid to believe there was a chance.

He ran.

He ran so far and so hard that he couldn’t make sense of left or right or forward or backward. All he knew was that he needed to get away from you.

But he couldn’t.

He passed by Old Man Park’s home with a winding tree you were convinced held fae people that would only come out when the entire town was asleep (there was a 50km radius, you said).

He ran by the rusted bars of the playground you two snuck off to instead of going to cram school where you attempted a flip and promptly landed on the crown of your head, wood chips tangling themselves into your hair, tears mixed with laughter and pain streaming down your cheeks.

The library where you would spend more time in the children’s section than anywhere else because you would practice your ‘reading voice’ for your future children’s bedtime stories.

The baseball field where the realization that he was in love with you hit him harder than any fastball pitch ever could.

You were everywhere.

And he needed to get away.

He went to your house to share the news of passing the trainee audition, that was the whole purpose of seeing you.

However, that wasn’t the only thing he planned on confessing.

If you asked him to stay, he would have.

But instead, you rejected him before he even got one word out.

So, he packed his bags up for Seoul, a place untarnished by you. A city that not even your light could reach, no matter how radiant you were.

──────────────────

Years later.

“Jihoon-ah, aren’t you working too hard?”

He glanced up at Jeonghan who was probably let into the studio by Bumzu. Jihoon glanced at the clock to notice a bright 4:02am glaring back at him. “Ah, hyung. I didn’t even notice the time.”

“I figured. I brought you some food.”

Jihoon glanced down at the two bags in his hands. His eyes narrowed. “Hyung, I don’t eat as much as you think I do.”

“I’ve seen you eat three full meals in one sitting. Get away from your desk and we can eat.”

Jihoon sighed before he reluctantly left the seat he hardly moved from for over seven hours. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan replied happily, snapping the wooden chopsticks into two. He started chewing on one of the danmuji, the sound of its crunch reverberating in the studio. “Oh. And also, the wi-fi’s down at the dorm, so.”

“So, you’re here to steal my bandwidth.”

“I brought you food. I paid my toll.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “Alright, sure.”

“So, are you in the composing stage or the writing lyrics stage?”

“...Lyrics.”

“Hm. What are you writing about? Or rather, who are you writing about?”

Jihoon stabbed the grilled fish. “...You know who.”

“She’s really got a grip on you, huh.”

Jihoon grunted in response. Obviously.

Jeonghan continued, “I saw that one of the local newsletters interviewed the group home that she volunteers at. She was voted as volunteer of the year. Again. She smiles with her entire body. Seems like a good person.”

The younger of the two picked away at the fish, not bringing it onto his makeshift plate. “Yeah.”

“Do you still stalk her on Instagram?”

Jihoon let out a loud sigh.

“That’s a yes, then.”

“You know it’s not as bad as it used to be. I used to check, like, every few weeks, but now it’s gone down to just a couple times a year.”

“She hasn’t blocked you yet?”

“Hah. I don’t think she even knows that my account is reactivated.”

“Well, you never needed to reactivate before. Her Instagram used to be public. The rest of the members and I used to scroll through wondering how a bright girl like her could be associated with such a deadpan guy like you.”

“Wow. Thanks, hyung.”

Jeonghan merely brushed off Jihoon’s sarcasm, already used to it. “She only made it private this last year, right? Since she complains about her program being out to kill her on her story. To be honest, I’m surprised she didn’t realize you’ve been watching her stories.”

“I don’t think she checks who watches her story since she has over a few thousand followers.”

“She attracts people, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah, she always has.”

“Can I see her profile again?”

“You’re not going to do something weird, right?”

“Ey, Jihoon-ah.”

“That makes me really not want to.”

“Ey.”

Jihoon rolled his eyes before pulling out his phone. He opened Instagram and clicked on the “Search” feature and saw your profile appear at the top without even needing to type anything. He signaled for Jeonghan to scoot down the couch so he could sit down and handle the phone in his own hands. Jeonghan peered over his shoulder as he scrolled through your profile.

“Oh, is that Japan?”

“Yeah.”

Jihoon clicked on your post.

But it wasn’t opening.

So, he clicked again. And then again.

And his phone decided to catch up with his thumb’s movements.

The once white heart was now red.

His grip loosened on the device of betrayal and it clattered to the ground. “Oh shit.”

Jeonghan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. He placed his hand on Jihoon’s shoulder and squeezed slightly. “I’m sorry, but. This is karma for not letting me see her profile on my own.”

“Hyung. Hyung. What should I do?”

“Just unlike it? I’m pretty sure that Instagram doesn’t send a notification as long as you unlike it before she sees it.”

“How do you know?”

Jeonghan shrugged. “Jihoon. It’s not the end of the world if she happens to see it. If she blocks you, then you know, and you end up writing another heartbreak masterpiece—” Jihoon couldn’t even appreciate the comment. “—but. Who knows what’ll happen?”

“...”

“Uh. I’ll just… do it for you, then.”

Jeonghan picked up the phone, facing the screen towards Jihoon, the camera scanning his frozen features to unlock and Jeonghan tapped the red heart to empty it again. He placed the phone back on the younger man’s thigh, but Jihoon remained in the same position as earlier, eyes glazed.

“Jihoon-ah.”

“Hyung.”

“Let’s just wait, yeah? The food’s getting cold. So, let’s finish eating.”

“...Okay.”

──────────────────

Jihoon picked at the rice bowl in front of him, his mind light years away, chest filled with concern for the future. Was auditioning for a company worth it? Even if he started the process now, wouldn’t it still take a while to even hear back?

“Jihoonie.”

His heart constricted once he heard the voice of the person who made him unsure. He caught you blinking owlishly at him. “Y/N.”

“Hrmm. You seem quite a bit down, my friend. You’ve barely touched your first bowl of rice. It’s concerning.”

“Just thinking.”

“Oh, don’t do that. We know that usually ends badly for people.”

“Well, someone between the two of us has to have brain cells.”

“I pride myself in simultaneously never thinking and also being the top student of our school.”

“You work miracles, Y/N.”

“Hey, now I know you’re down because you didn’t call me a flipping nerd. Your best moods are usually accompanied by your worst words.”

“You make me seem like an asshole. You slander me to other people, don’t you?”

“Of course. I can’t have them know just how utterly wonderful and fantastic you are. I’d rather you have that butthole reputation if I get to keep my best friend all to myself. I’m a selfish lady, you know.”

Did you even know how much your words affected him?

“You’re neither selfish nor a lady.”

“Oh, but I am. I’m a selfish lady who’s only checking on you because I refuse to be wrought with worry for the rest of the day. So, come on, Jihoonie. Let’s go play darts.”

“Last time we played you almost stabbed my hand.”

“Your fault for reaching for the board when I was about to own you. Come on. Let’s go. I’ll make a pinky promise with you.”

Jihoon snorted. “Of what?”

“I promise to do whatever you want if you win.”

Jihoon scrunched up his nose in response. You were always so naive with him, trusting him wholly. But a part of him was grateful that you did. He merely sighed and stood up.

He might as well use your promise to his advantage.

──────────────────

“She didn’t block me.”

“Oh, really?” Jeonghan glanced up at Jihoon who suddenly broke the silence.

“Who’s she?” Soonyoung’s ears perked up.

“You know. His firefly,” Jeonghan replied.

“What? Why would she block you?” Seungkwan directed his question at Jihoon, who was simply trying to edit lyrics in his own studio, which was being occupied by several SEVENTEEN members.

“Jihoon accidentally liked one of her posts last night, but we unliked it. Oh, sorry. I unliked it because he was completely frozen.”

“The notification probably didn’t go through,” Seungkwan supplied. “I’m pretty sure unliking a post makes the notification go away.”

Jihoon had set his phone aside earlier in hopes of not constantly checking it. His mind may be unsteady, but he was always self-disciplined.

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Soonyoung glance down at his own phone screen that buzzed a second prior.

“Oh. Jihoon-ah, she liked one of your posts.”

Before his mind could even catch up, Jihoon flung himself to his phone, his self-discipline be damned. He frantically clicked on the notification and it redirected him to his Instagram page, where he saw your name among the list of likers. He wasn’t sure whether his heart was racing or whether it stopped completely because the buzzing in his ears overtook all of his other senses.

He even ignored the boys’ laughter around him.

“Is… Is social media actually facilitating real connection right now? Are we about to prove all of the ahjussi and ahjumma wrong? Are we about to witness history?”

“Seungkwan-ah.”

“Sorry, Jeonghan-hyung.”

“She… She didn’t block me. She saw me. What is this? What do I do? Do I just ignore it? Or should I let her know I saw it?”

Soonyoung snorted. “Yah, I’ve never seen Jihoon this nervous for any performance ever.”

“His heart’s probably racing more than it did the Golden Disc Awards.”

“WHAT DO I DO.”

“Jihoon-hyung,” Seungkwan started. “I think the first thing you need to do is breathe.”

So, he did. In. Out. In. Out.

After what seemed like years, Soonyoung spoke up. “So… Are you gonna message her?”

Jihoon sat in contemplation for a moment before he decidedly shook his head. “No. It’s time to write a song.”

Soonyoung’s eyebrows rose at that. “You’re gonna go back to work after all of this?”

Jihoon bit his lip. “No. This is gonna be a solo song.”

The corners of Jeonghan’s lips curled up at his dongsaeng. “I’m sure it’ll be beautiful.”

Jihoon nodded almost mindlessly.

Everything about her usually is.

──────────────────

“Jihoonie~ Wake up~”

He groaned loudly under the bed covers.

He heard you snicker, the only warning before you landed with a loud thump as he let out an “oof!” from beneath you.

“Get off me. You weigh like a million pounds.”

Rather than listening, you spread your limbs and trapped the adolescent boy beneath you, nuzzling further into the outer casing of his cocoon. “Nope. Just yesterday you yelled at me for not eating enough when you flung me off of the couch by accident because I stole the remote. So.”

“I’m suffocating. You’re killing your best friend.”

“Oh, but to die with a beautiful girl on top of you, isn’t that the way to go?”

There was a moment of silence where Jihoon contemplated catapulting your entire being off of his bed before, “Pretty sure that’s your dream, you damn pervert,” came his muffled reply.

“Huh. You might be right there.”

“Get! Off!”

His hand easily found your weak point between your first and second rib and you cried out as you toppled down onto his bedroom floor. He emerged from the confines of his sheets with hair sticking up every which way.

You grinned lazily up at his disheveled state and he glared right back at you. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

“Because your mom said to come and get you! We’re going to Muju today, remember? In time for the Firefly Festival!”

“Right. It’s your yearly family reunion.”

“Yes, I will become one with the bugs. My fursona will arise again. Or is it bugsona?”

“Is a buggy better than a furry?”

“You’re asking me to choose between two evils, my dear Jihoonie. Come on, get up. I’m excited to spend an entire weekend with our family.”

It was way too early for his mind to whirr as fast as it did at the simple implication of ‘our’. “Alright, firefly. Get out of my room so I can get ready.”

“Okay! I’ll go help Mama downstairs.”

You were committed to calling Jihoon’s mom as Mama instead of Eomma, as the latter held a tone for you that was nothing less than stressful.

Jihoon smiled at your joy, but stopped when he noticed you freeze in place. “...What?”

You shifted the weight in your feet before speaking. “Mm. Just had a thought. With a smile like yours, who would ever need the summertime?”

You grinned at him while his heart stopped. You always spoke without a care in the world; never carefully crafting your thoughts before speaking them aloud. You were spontaneous. Wild, even. Sometimes it ended with you in some kind of trouble, while other times, like this one, ended with him in trouble instead.

You scurried out of his room before he could respond.

He released a dragged out sigh as he felt his cheeks warm.

Forget summertime.

He wondered whether the earth could be sustained through all of the seasons at the sheer brilliance of your smile.

But he ought to thank the summertime.

Because it meant, every year, without fail, he would wake up to you, he would smell the breakfast you helped his mother cook, he would hop on a plane to travel to a different province and see the night sky alight with hundreds of fireflies, your face aglow with soft awe and wonder.

Yeah.

He needed the summertime.

──────────────────

“What? Jihoon-hyung is talking to the girl that just upped and left him and fled the country?”

“Chan-ah, your wording needs work,” Seungcheol chastised. The other members that were near enough to hear nodded, while others were distracted by their own activities.

Jihoon buried his face in his hands. “Eugh, I don’t even know anymore. It’s not like we’re actually talking; she just reliked one of my posts. It’s like, she went back and let me know that she saw me. But is that supposed to be a warning? Is it supposed to be a white flag?”

The youngest member of SEVENTEEN shrugged. “Hyung, I think that you’re putting a lot of meaning behind something that was just a small gesture.”

“Nah, Chan,” Seungcheol interjected. “Jihoon has been in love with this girl since he was a kid. This is more than just a small gesture, after what she did to him.”

Wonwoo spoke up. “Hey, don’t forget Jihoon was the one who left Busan first.”

The accused groaned.

“Wonwoo, you’re just biased towards her because you think that she and Jihoon would make a good couple and you believe in an ideal love.”

“Hyung, I just think that if Jihoon can write what he writes about her, there’s something there.”

“You romanticist.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Jihoon-ah, I think you’ve tried to reach her with your words time and time again, but maybe it was never made clear that she was the one it was for. You mentioned that she really thought you were in love with your noona—” Jihoon grimaced at the memory. “—so, maybe she’s just unaware.”

“She can’t be that oblivious,” Soonyoung interrupted. Jihoon knew Soonyoung was almost fiercely protective over him because he was the one who witnessed Jihoon’s aftermath firsthand. Soonyoung may be over-the-top some days, but whenever Jihoon needed it, he would help ground him.

Wonwoo’s eyes flicked between the two of his fellow 96ers. “We were all kids once, Soonyoung. We were all so focused on ourselves we couldn’t really see what was happening around us.”

Soonyoung pursed his lips. “...I guess. Jihoon, what do you think?”

Jihoon stared at his hands. “Does it matter whether she knew back then or not?”

They all collectively raised a brow.

“Whattaya mean?” Seungcheol asked.

“I can make a ton of assumptions about her. That she was actually in love with me and was scared. That she was rejecting me in her own cruel, yet kind, way. That she had no idea and the timing was just completely off. But all of that, I don’t actually know. All I do know is that… I want to see her. And not just from afar anymore. But part of me also hates her. But all of me misses her. I don’t know. I guess I’m just too stupid to figure this out.”

A heavy silence passed over the group.

Soonyoung broke it. “If you’re stupid, then I’m the biggest idiot on this planet.”

“That’s not comforting, that’s just a fact.”

“Hoon, you wound me.”

──────────────────

Award shows were weird.

At first, everything was an out-of-body experience for him and could barely process what was happening. He even couldn’t believe that he and his twelve members managed to earn their matching pinky rings and the right to produce and perform, let alone be nominated for an award. When they went on the stage, they did their best to be as refreshing of idols as they could be.

But it was much more daunting than they were used to.

Their debut year went by, and although there were many nominations, they remained only that.

In middle school, he would often tell you that you had a strange fixation on being number one in your graduating class. He said that he didn’t get it, that being in the top 5 was already something that was admirable.

He would never forget the look you gave him when you said, “One day, you’ll know what it’s like. You’ll know what it’s like to almost have something and then not. It’s the kind of feeling that eats away at you, Jihoon. The feeling of, ‘But what if I did more?’”

He merely rolled his eyes and called you dramatic.

That is, until he experienced it firsthand.

The first time ever was when he was doing a music competition for clarinet and compared himself to his bandmate, who received several achievements while Jihoon found that he simply didn’t have the body to be able to hold the same lung capacity.

Then he felt it: that driving force.

You both pushed yourselves further, to higher heights.

And it ended with him sick and bedridden.

And you, heartbroken and unsure of life.

The two of you would reprimand each other for trying too hard, but even with accountability, that envy, that desire for an indisputable win, that fear of failure, would still sneak its way into you both. You, with your academics. Him, with his musical endeavors.

For several years after their debut, at award shows, Jihoon would clap, the rhythmic beating of his hands echoing that in his chest, his smile lined with bitterness, his ears rang with the whispered voices.

‘Those people didn’t deserve it. You worked so much harder. These people don’t even produce their own music. Or maybe it’s because they have real producers and composers, unlike you. Who are you to think you deserve that award?’

One night, after another show of no wins, he collapsed onto his bed, unlocking his phone, intent on watching an anime episode before falling asleep. His members were discouraged and no one wanted to discuss what more they could even do.

Even if they did everything right, maybe it still would never be good enough.

When he opened up the YouTube app on his phone, he saw a recommended video. Your name written out in English caught his eye and he realized it was Part II of a podcast you had done with the channel before. It was a Korean-American podcast and you would share your experiences in the Korean language, connecting with your culture despite being in a foreign country.

Before he could think about what he was doing, he clicked on it, hoping to find comfort in a person he always had, in someone he probably always would.

Several minutes in and he realized just how thick that red string must be between the two of you.

“You know, I thought I undid a lot of my perfectionism before coming to college. Korea is the birthplace of comparison and pressure, I’m sure of it. It was ingrained into me from childhood. So, I did what I could. I got out. Learned to broaden my horizons. But when you attend a school like Yale, your environment really just kinda forces you to be perfect just so that you can survive. Because if you’re not, then you’re cut.”

He thought back to his trainee days.

To his current days.

How similar.

“I remember being at an event where we were being presented awards for our achievements. I remember that I was in the running for one of them, and I won’t say which one so this doesn’t come back to bite me. But at this one event, I remember no other guests were invited, only the nominees and peers in the same field. And when they announced the winner, everyone applauded, of course. However, I won’t ever forget the sight that I saw.”

You chewed on your lips, gazing upward trying to find the right words to say, a habit you’ve had for years.

“The winner had the biggest grin on their face, proud of themselves, as they are allowed to be. But when they turned back to the crowd? I think they saw something. I think they saw that our smiles were forced, that we were judging them, judging ourselves, trying to determine whether they actually deserved the recognition or whether we should have been the ones to win. And… their smile faltered. It was quick, but it was noticeable. And I think the only reason why it even faltered was because it was only those of us who were nominated or could have been. Like, it’s easy to cheer on someone for a prize that you didn’t want, but as soon as you have stakes in the game? Well. That’s a whole different story. But when they lost that smile, it felt like something shattered.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, but they didn’t fall.

“They say it’s lonely at the top. I haven’t been there in a long time, but. I don’t even know if that’s where I want to be. These people have done super cool things, and who’s to say that I would’ve gotten the same results if I had tried? And maybe, maybe they have enough competitors. Maybe they need someone who celebrates them. Someone who knows the hardships of working in this field. And maybe that’s what I can do. I just want to do what I love and what I love doing is social work. Celebrating other people. Learning their stories. Not saving the world, but trying to make it into one that might be worth saving. If I happen to get recognized because of doing those things and they give some kind of trophy for it, then alright. But that’s just a byproduct of the greatest award I’ve already given myself, which is just letting myself do what I love.”

And those were words he carried with him as he went to bed that night. 

When they won their first award. Their first Bonsang. Their first Daesang.

Award shows were weird.

It was all about performance.

Performing on stage, prepped through sound-check, clean-cut choreography, and pre-recorded live vocals to grab the audience’s attention.

Performing when at their designated table, giving reactions at a timely rate for both the fancams and large screen cameras.

Performing when behind the stage, being the best hoobae or sunbae they needed to be, adapting to whatever situation they may be placed in.

He knew how to perform. He was good at it.

It was why he’s in this industry.

But there are some things that don’t warrant worrying about an audience.

As he watched the seven members of BTS walk towards the stage, reaching for their Daesang. He clapped to match the rhythm in his chest, sure and steady, at ease. His smile, genuine and wide. The voice in his head, not unlike yours mixed with his own, provided gentle comfort.

‘They deserved it. They worked hard, just like you did. Their ability to collaborate with other musicians is astounding. It would be an honor to work with them. And you, too, have won, you’ve given yourself the greatest award by continuing to do what you love.’

──────────────────

Jihoon once again found himself at the recording studio, however, at a more reasonable time. He was trying to finalize all of the details on the songs for their comeback album, so he was spending his days in the recording studio and ending it in the dance studio, fully exhausted to where he would only have enough energy to shower and trudge back to his bedroom, just to pass out on his bed.

He heard the door to his room open but didn’t make an effort to turn around.

“How’s the song coming along?”

“The album is nearly complete—”

“No, the solo one.”

Jihoon finally glanced up at Seungcheol who now stood beside him. “I haven’t had as much time to work on it. Why?”

“No, I just wanted to check in with you.”

“You’re a good leader, hyung,” he said quietly.

Seungcheol clicked his tongue. “Of course, I am. But I’m mostly just curious because you’ve never written a song about her specifically that only had you singing it.”

“…that’s not true.”

“What? Which one?”

“The first song I ever wrote.”

“Oh what? What was it?”

Jihoon shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s an old song that I think only I remember anyway, plus, I only had vocals at the time. No instruments or anything.”

“…huh. What was it about?”

──────────────────

You wiped your snot away from your face, unable to differentiate between mucus and tears. Your unrelenting sobs weakened to light shudders.

His voice carried from above you, his hand entangled in your messy knots as he rubbed soothing circles against your temple. You curled yourself further into the tear-stained pillow he so lovingly dubbed, “Y/N’s Breakdown Headrest” which also doubled as “Y/N’s Punching Bag” when your emotions were forged from fire and not a dam that couldn’t hold anymore of the taunts and cruelty from your own parents.

His thigh was a mere hair’s breadth away from grazing the top of your head. He had a tendency to bounce his leg, one you continuously called him out on, but he wouldn’t ever stop his bad habit.

That is, unless you needed him to.

And he always gave you what you needed.

So, he sang to you a song of hopes and dreams and the magic of forever and always. Lyrics of never-ending friendship and pinky promises.

──────────────────

Jihoon paused, wondering how you comforted yourself now, wondering if you now had a Breakdown Headrest 2.0, before he spoke again. “It’s about what all the songs I write are about. Love. Although, more lowkey, not as direct.”

“Love and her are synonymous to you, aren’t they?”

“She’s the one who taught me most of it,” Jihoon said nonchalantly. “A truly honest and genuine form of it.”

“Wow, how romantic of you,” Seungcheol laughed.

Jihoon rolled his eyes. “I’m letting you know I only have the patience to tolerate all of you guys because of her. She believes it’s her divine mission to be as annoying as possible.”

“She sounds terrifying.”

“Yeah, she’s taught me how to be patient and remain calm. But she was also incredibly patient with me. Honestly, it feels like all the things that make me likable are all from her.”

Seungcheol made a “oOooOooOOOooOOooo~” noise before Jihoon got fed up and kicked him out. Of course, his reprieve was short lived as more and more members flocked into his room, a constant moving traffic of his twelve brothers.

He imagined you meeting them.

With Seungcheol, you would probably tease him relentlessly, trying to come up with new names for the S. Coups game, while also thanking him for being so protective and steadfast, praising him for his taste in emo music and asking him to sing My Chemical Romance with you.

With Jeonghan, you both would sneak off to devise plans on how to create chaotic dynamics in between the members and cause more infighting while eating stolen snacks or spend hours just sitting around, doing fuck all, because why not.

With Jisoo, you both would speak in English (with you affectionately calling him by his English name “Joshua!”), sharing music as well as probably arguing between Los Angeles and New York, since that was a common feud topic Jisoo brought up.

With Jun, you would try to get as many reactions out of him as possible or get him to write down the list of all of the authentic Chinese restaurants around Korea or you would sit with him at a piano and watch as he played OSTs to Chinese dramas, applauding all the while starry-eyed.

With Soonyoung, you both would either be each other’s soulmates or the banes of each others’ existence, both fiery and passionate; however, you were always good at matching the energies of those around you, so you would let him ebb and flow while you merely followed, likely to call him, “Hoshingi,” just as Jeonghan does, and you would probably love caring for him the same way you did with elementary school students.

With Wonwoo, you would watch him play his PC games, probably in awe of his prowess or you would discuss lyricism and poetry, both exchanging flowery words for no reason as you would try to pick his brain as to what really lies beneath the surface, whether he truly is as straightforward as he seems, and be intensely satisfied that he simply is as he is.

With Seokmin, likely to sweetly call him “DK~”, you would ask him to sing for you since you loved Broadway style voices, and since you both were so generous with your kindness, there would be no doubt that the two of you would somehow manage to start up a non-profit that manages to eradicate all the bad in the world.

With Mingyu, you would discuss filming and the latest movies to watch and you would ask him how he finds the motivation to do many different hobbies at once especially when busy with being an idol; you would probably try to trick him into listening to you tell ghost stories as if they happened to you.

With Minghao, you would share your favorite poets and philosophical ideas, sharing the life lessons that you two have learned and realized you managed to hack life’s code at a younger age than most, you both realized the real importance of being alive: contentment and love.

With Seungkwan, you would probably be laughing so hard at his wit that you wouldn’t have much time to breathe, you would try to figure out how exactly he managed to memorize so much information surrounding K-Pop and why exactly he was so passionate about it or if neither of those, you would ask him if he could get you the plug for those Jeju hallabong oranges.

With Hansol, you would call him “Vernonz,” since you loved names that began with the letters V and Z, and ask him about his parents once you found out they were both artists, and you two would definitely discuss the effects of late-stage capitalism and social media on humanity.

With Chan, you would do your best not to baby him, but you hold a lot of fondness for those younger than you, you would try to figure out how he is so particular about his attention to detail and whether it is something that is pressuring him (and if there was some way you could alleviate it).

He imagined you there, integrated into his life again. He imagined you showing authentic interest in every one of his precious members, unlike most interviewers they would be forced to interact with every comeback. You would learn all of their names, find out their favorite foods, the best way to make everyone collectively laugh, and ultimately, how to help all of them feel comfortable around you and inevitably love you.

And once they did, he could say that his most beloved people were finally all together.

He fell in love with you, but you’re the one who taught him how to walk into it with his eyes wide open. So, he did it with his members. It took practice, having to actively choose them. With you, it may have always been a choice, but it was as natural as breathing, even if there were times he felt like he was being suffocated (or wanted to suffocate you).

He remembered the first time he became aware of it. Most people talk about how love comes, there was always talk about rose-tinted glasses and how it softened the world around them, unable to forget the brilliant smile on their face, but no. You always shattered expectations.

From anyone else’s standards, his realization came at an inopportune time. But it was so clear. It wasn’t as though you had sparkles around you as you emitted a warm glow, it wasn’t as though your hair was perfectly touched up with no strand out of place, it wasn’t as though you were perfectly dolled-up with eyes lined and lips colored. No. It was just… you.

And that's when he knew.

Because there was no filter to block the sheer clarity he was hit with when he finally accepted he was in love with you.

──────────────────

When Jihoon saw your crying form, a slurry of words filled with concern and instructions were the only thing leaving his mouth as he packed his things up. He only deviated once he gave a quick farewell to his noona who left with her dad.

Jihoon bit his lip. Would you be okay? Maybe he’ll just rush home now and shower then call you later at night. Or maybe he should go prepare his bedroom if you decide to visit. Yes. He should do that.

Jihoon turned on his heel to make his way back home, his newfound mission resounding in his mind.

However, your cousin’s voice reached his ears, “Wait—Jihoon, I can give you a ride.”

He looked back at him, saw the way your shoulders still trembled, and shook his head firmly. His fist clenched, the baseball preventing his nails from biting into his palms. He spun it once. Twice. And up into the air.

“Here, firefly.”

You caught it by instinct.

Your gaze met his.

He felt his heart ache at the sheer brokenness apparent in your eyes, rimmed with red and puffed skin. He grit his teeth. He hasn’t seen you cry this hard since the day your parents told you that your number two class ranking was nothing to be proud of and that they expected more from you.

His jaw clenched so hard, he heard an audible bite.

“Why are you giving me this?”

Your voice sounded so soft, like a child. A visceral instinct within him wanting to lull you into a peaceful rest with a lullaby.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Because that would be embarrassing.

(That was a future Jihoon problem.)

“It’s your win today.”

He much preferred the look of confusion on your face to the look of agony you held just a few moments ago.

“Huh?”

He swallowed thickly, his brain unable to keep up with the words tumbling from his mouth. “Even when you feel like you’ve lost, even when you feel like you have nothing to gain, just the fact that you’re still here, that’s a win. So. Scream. Cry. You can do what you want. It’s your win.”

Your gaze trailed down to the baseball, too large to wrap your fingers around entirely. It was probably much denser than you thought it would be, the weight foreign in your hands, unlike his.

You sniffled.

A soft smile formed on your lips.

And Jihoon realized he preferred that look on your face than any other he’s seen.

Pretty.

He rapidly turned on his heel before he even gave a second to try and unpack that thought.

The weight of his baseball gear was really doing a number on his heart, he realized belatedly.

That night, he didn’t prepare his room. He didn’t even call you.

(Not that you reached out.)

He merely stared up at his ceiling, his heart in a constant flux of rapidly beating or stopping completely.

He groaned loudly as he played through the day’s earlier events, thinking himself stupid for giving you a fucking baseball. You don’t even like sports. Did he think he sounded cool when he said all of that cringey stuff?

It’s your win?

But despite the feeling of wanting to curl in on himself, he couldn’t help but still agree with his earlier self.

You did win his heart, after all.

(He threw his pillow at the wall.)

──────────────────

“You’ve been liking her posts more easily.”

Jihoon merely grunted as he tapped away at his computer, Soonyoung on the couch beside him. “I decided to just… stop overthinking. Well, more like just stop thinking in general. I’m too tired to try and pretend I’m smarter than I actually am.”

Soonyoung raised an eyebrow. “You got it bad for her.”

Jihoon glared at him, who was scrolling through his (Jihoon’s) phone. “Be careful what you say. For the amount of songs that are about her, she covers basically 60% of your salary.”

Soonyoung laughed. “Guess I owe her a lot, huh? If she didn’t up and leave, you wouldn’t have come here and we would’ve never met. So, I guess I’m grateful to her. Plus. She’s cute.”

“She’s more than that.”

“Yeah. I can tell,” Soonyoung went quiet for a moment. “She… A part of me really doesn’t want to trust her. I keep remembering that day, you know. Where you just… didn’t seem like yourself. Barely there—” Jihoon cringed at the recalled memory. “—but she also just seems so genuine that it makes it hard. I want to be your bro, you know? Bro code and all—”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“—And I’m nothing if not a bro. But I don’t think you’re the type of person to be hung up on someone who’s not trustworthy. Like. You lose interest in people easily if you don’t see them on a regular basis. But her? It’s been years, bro.”

“Okay, bro.”

“Just letting you know I support you in your decisions,” Soonyoung stated, but there was an edge to his voice that sounded as though he was trying to convince himself more than Jihoon. “If she’s really who you say she is. If she’s the one who’s captured that stubborn heart of yours. Then I’ll do everything I can to help you out—Oh, she posted again. Wow. She posts often and yet still gets over a thousand likes. It hasn’t even been a day. Oh wow!”

Jihoon twitched but tried not to show his eagerness. “What?”

“They’re doing a donation drive for the group home that she works with. Ey, how can someone who does volunteer work to help kids and teens be a bad person? Jihoon, are you kidding me?”

“Young-ah, you’re the one who said it, not me—”

“So close-minded, Hoon.”

Jihoon rolled his computer chair over to Soonyoung, snatched his phone back, and smacked the annoying gnat’s hand in the process. Soonyoung yelped in pain, but laughed it off. He saw your post (noticed that Soonyoung ‘liked it for him’) and a figurative lightbulb lit up over his overworked head.

“This looks like something Bumzu-hyung would post on his story. Maybe I can ask him to share it. Oh, but this is her private page. Oh wait. She tagged the group home.”

“Thanks for the play-by-play.”

Jihoon ignored him and clicked the profile to see they had the exact same e-flyer post. But he knew that you’d probably notice there was an influx of donations (hardly anything got by you) and he didn’t want to bombard you with unsolicited help.

But it’s for a good cause!

But he might be trespassing on her territory.

Everyone cares about youth and kids!

This group home wouldn’t have even caught his eye had it not been for you.

He groaned inwardly. “I don’t know whether I should ask Bumzu to reshare or what—”

“Dude, just ask her if you can share it and then wait for her reply. It’s not like there’s only a one day donation thing.”

Jihoon blinked at Soonyoung. “You’re right.”

Soonyoung immediately sat up straighter, pulling out his own phone from his pocket. He opened up his voice memo app. “Say that again, I need to record that so I can set it as my ringtone.”

Soonyoung pressed the Record button, extended his phone receiver to Jihoon, who leaned in promptly and said:

“Fuck off, Kwon Soonyoung.”

──────────────────

“Kwon Soonyoung, what the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean? It’s not like I planned this.”

Jihoon glared at the boy before him who was somehow wearing matching clothes again. He specifically came home after rehearsal to change into something different and yet, here he was, matching with this endless energy ball. Jihoon specifically changed out of his all-black garment to choose a long, plain blue button-down overshirt and ripped, dark jeans. Something different from his usual style of a t-shirt and shorts.

Yet, there Soonyoung was, in nearly the same outfit, minus the overshirt being a blue flannel.

“I think this just means that we’re soulmates, Jihoon-ah.”

Jihoon pulled back his fist as if to hit Soonyoung, but the latter didn’t flinch at all, only laughed at the expense of his friend. The other members were downstairs waiting for them so Jihoon didn’t have enough time to change out of the outfit. And it felt almost ridiculous to give this more attention than it deserves, as if he was losing by admitting that it bothered him to the point of needing to change clothes.

But Kwon Soonyoung, the man that he was, would not let him live it down.

“Wow, we look like a couple. We should go on dates, huh? Get some sushi or–ack!”

The shorter of the two pressed his foot against the back of the other’s knee and Soonyoung nearly came crashing down had it not been for his instincts to catch himself.

Jihoon huffed down the stairs, shaking his head at the situation and readying himself to be made fun of by his members. Once he got through that door, it was game over.

And he was right.

Seungkwan, Mingyu, and Dino were the ones who rallied the rest of the group to heckle, which only added insult to injury, as those three were the ones who had the longest rap sheet to make fun of. Jihoon kept his disgusted face on as Soonyoung wrapped his arms around his shoulders, announcing to (what seemed like) the world about how he’s ‘matching with his best friend.’

Jihoon came back with a slew of half-hearted insults at the rest of his members, but they unfortunately outnumbered him. He is rarely on the receiving end of this level of teasing, but he was dragged into it thanks to Soonyoung, who was eating it up.

Even in the midst of it all, Jihoon couldn’t help but feel thankful that he even had someone to accidentally match with who would wear it with such pride and not shy away from it. Sure, it might seem dumb and annoying, but it reminded him that he could have that kind of playful relationship with others outside of you. He had other friends in school or at baseball, sure, but none were as comfortable, as relentlessly fun. He thought there would never be another you.

And there never was, but that feeling of acceptance, of joy, of gratitude.

He was able to find it outside of you.

Which was a heartbreaking realization before, but now he only hopes you’ve done the same.

And mere hours after his own outfit debacle, Jihoon sees your instagram story to find you accidentally matching with Hyejin, her making the same face that he did not too long ago. But you had a shit-eating grin, no doubt proud of causing a disruption in your friend’s life.

Your caption read: “oh, you and your soulmate are tied by a single, red thread? that’s nothing compared to the matching threads we got on right now. eat your heart out, makoto shinkai.”

Beneath it in smaller letters: “if you can’t tell by her face, this was not planned at all, but man, am i really rolling with it.”

Jihoon snorted at the serendipity of it all.

Perhaps the string of fate really isn’t just a single thread.

──────────────────

It was a rare day in which Jihoon found himself at home.

Which meant he had a lot of time to think about you.

(You replied to him. He shouldn’t have been so surprised. But he was, pleasantly so. Of course, it included a thumbs up emoji which was the visual manifestation of the acquaintance zone, but he would take what he could get.)

Album preparations were underway, and although there is a part of him that feels as though he should be scrambling, especially as their anniversary date was literally tomorrow, he thought back to a voice from his youth.

Years ago, he laid in his childhood bed, struck with a nasty fever from pushing his immune system too far by attempting to balance school and various music competitions. There was a half-asleep you, exhausted by misplaced guilt, with your fingers intertwined with his, who said: Jihoonie, Koreans always say ‘fighting’. I told you that this morning, and I knew you weren’t feeling well. I could’ve stopped you. And now here you are. I said ‘fighting,’ but why? Why do we have to fight? Life isn’t a battle to win. You don’t have to overcome anything, okay? You can just lay here and be with me. Please don’t get sick again. Please remember to rest. Some days, it’s okay to just be.

So, here he was. Simply being.

Whenever massive events (like SEVENTEEN’s six year anniversary) happened, he made sure to spend the 24 hours prior doing nothing than just being, to gain enough energy to last the following day.

Otherwise, the nagging guilt would get to him.

You were always weaving stories with even the thinnest of threads. Your knack for adding dramatic flair, amping it up to eleven, was a nightmare sometimes. For example, when he got sick and you kept repeating that you should’ve said something instead of letting him go on stage only to nearly faint afterwards. You took on too much responsibility for things outside of your control, which only caused you to lose your grip on what you actually could.

His chest tightened at the thought of you losing your grip completely. There were very few things in life that terrified him, but you potentially ending yours was one that plagued him until he learned how to remain steady when you were feeling unsure, and even still, it tore him up inside. But he knew that it wasn’t his battle to face; he wasn’t meant to save you. You reminded him of that time and time again, so instead, he learned how to let you live the life you weren’t sure you wanted. He observed warily.

As a teenager, he knew just how bad these thoughts could get for people at that age. He knew how people fell prey to the lies that they were unworthy of life and love.

So, he simply tried to be as honest as possible. He would do his best to not invalidate your experience, but he refused to enable those insidious feelings. He would come off as abrasive, he was sure, but your ability to detect bullshit was like no other. Your parents had a big hand in that. So, instead, he was truthful in his own way, in his own language, one that you learned to understand.

A few years ago, you did a two-part YouTube podcast at Yale. The first one was released a couple of months prior to the second, and he’s sure at least one hundred of the views are from SEVENTEEN (not all him, his members also took away a lot from your words).

He listened to that podcast time and time again. He heard the life in your voice, the curiosity of the future outweighing the pain of the past. You said that life was, at first, a means to be with the people you loved. But you slowly came to believe that life was something that you would choose to love every single day, and so you did.

He hoped that you still did, but trusted that, if there were days that would come where you did not, you would reach out to someone to wait with you until the storm passed and you could choose to love again.

His chest filled with pride thinking about how far you’ve come.

But he couldn’t help but wish there were some things that remained from back then.

That glimmer of hope spurred him to become mindful of the object he was fiddling with in his hands. He held up a bracelet of years ago, hardly worn by time or by him. He wasn’t sure whether he was still allowed to. It was one-half of a pair, but if its partner no longer existed, then.

However, he never had the desire to throw it away.

The metal charms felt both foreign and at home in his hands as he fiddled with them, the faint clicking sound of the chain barely registering as his mind was in an entirely different place. His eyes focused once again on the charm of the sun caught between his fingers.

If only catching you was as simple, he mused.

Jihoon sighed and covered his eyes, desperately trying not to cringe at his internal monologue, habitually reaching for the Chopper plushie that you gifted him years ago, squeezing the body to diffuse the embarrassment he felt.

He remembered when he saw the charms at some random shop he heard about from others and thought you would enjoy, so he decided to scope it out in advance for the two of you. It was easy, on his way home after spending a few hours on his own to rehearse his clarinet, a regular occurrence.

Although there was no doubt the two of you gravitated towards each other, you both valued your independence and alone time.

──────────────────

“We’re giving us the chance to miss each other, Jihoonie.”

“Who said I’d ever miss you?”

“Well, gosh darn. Guess I’ll cover for you and miss you twice as much.”

“…You’re dumb.”

“Yes. Can I have some of your fries?”

──────────────────

He retaliated by taking the ketchup bottle and squeezing them all over the tray of fries and you immediately retracted, believing that fries should be dipped in its respective sauce (unless they were loaded fries, of course, which warranted using a utensil of sorts).

He chuckled to himself. Fifteen was one of the most turbulent years of his life, but there were plenty of moments (like fries drowning in ketchup) that reminded him it wasn’t all intense.

Your fifteenth year started off with that charm bracelet.

Two weeks before then, you were so moody that he nearly gave you your birthday gift earlier than he intended, just so he wouldn’t have to see you be so upset (for which, he has only a vague remembrance of what could have made you so upset). Of course, it might have been easier if he had simply brought up his concern and asked how you were, but he knew you would have brushed it off as nothing.

He paused.

Did he know that though?

Or did he just assume?

He clicked his tongue, annoyed at his own self-reflection.

Communication was easy in theory.

Application, however.

He often found it difficult, matching your pace.

You were always so quick.

Quick-witted. 

Quick to anger.

Quick to assume.

Quick to run away.

He heard a soft knock at his bedroom door (which meant it wasn’t Mingyu or Soonyoung) and he grunted in response. The door slowly opened (that ruled out Seungcheol and Chan) and revealed who decided to greet him in such a manner.

Ah, he was right.

“Woozingi~”

“Jeonghan-hyung.”

“Can I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Jeonghan moved to sit at the edge of Jihoon’s bed, with his legs crossed. “The members are wanting to get dinner tonight altogether since we have a schedule tomorrow. The staff said they’ll pay since it’s our six years.”

This had Jihoon propping himself upright. “Barbecue?”

Jeonghan snickered. “Yeah, it’ll be good to get ready in a few hours. But I just wanted to stop by and tell you in person since I know you like to mute the group chat.”

“That’s because it’s constantly going off,” Jihoon grumbled.

“Yes, that happens when people are trying to have a conversation, Jihoon-ah. You should try it sometimes. Especially since it sounds like you have communication issues.”

Jihoon winced. “Hyung. Your timing is terrible.”

“No, it’s impeccable. Just not for you. Anyway, a word of advice.”

“Hm.”

“You don’t have to fear rejection anymore,” Jeonghan started, slowly, the words seeming almost foreign in his mouth. “Regardless of what happens with her, you have people in your life that care about you as you are. You don’t have to try and match her. I don’t want you to subconsciously fall back into a habit of appeasing her because you’re afraid of scaring her away again.”

Jihoon blinked slowly. “I wasn’t expecting actual advice, so I’m a little stunned right now.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “I’m gonna be honest. The other members told me to come talk to you because the rest are either too scared or don’t know what to say.”

“Hah, we’re back to our trainee days, huh?”

Jeonghan grinned, probably recalling the amount of times that he was the emotional support pillar of the boys before they each learned to open up to each other. “Speaking of, I remember when I first met you. You were a teen with a cold-hearted exterior and a lot of opinions as well as the weight of the world on your shoulders. You had the responsibility to carry the music of twelve other guys and you had just lost something that was precious to you. You threw yourself into your work and that became your identity.”

“I—”

“I know you’re not that way anymore, but I’m just reminding you that, no matter what happens with her, no matter how she may respond, you aren’t that cold teenager who had to bear the weight all on your own. You’ve grown and are surrounded by people who can help ease the load.” Jeonghan paused for a moment. “Also, if I could think of a member who laughs easily at anything, you are one of the first that comes to mind. So, it concerns me that you haven’t been laughing lately, even when Mingyu accidentally sneezed out his ramyeon noodles—“ Jihoon snorted at the memory from last night. “—and, if I can assume anything about her, I don’t think she’d be very honored to know that it’s because of her. So. Come back to us, Jihoon. If she’s really meant to be in your life, she can match your rhythm. Don’t leave us in the dust.”

“Is this a long-winded way of saying ‘bros before hoes’?”

Jeonghan burst into laughter. “Maybe so!”

──────────────────

“Our Jihoonie~”

The teenage boy grunted in response, shooting up a look at one of the older members. “Is there something that you need, hyung?”

“You speak so formally, it’s off-putting.”

“That’s because someone refuses to act his age.”

“What a tough Busan guy,” Jeonghan teased.

Jihoon’s face twitched.

“Bumzu-hyung is looking for you. Said he wanted to finish up some more lessons.”

“Agh. I knew he was going to have criticisms. I’m barely getting a grip on this music production stuff, so I don’t even know if what I’m making is good enough to sell. Everyone might hate it.”

“Even if everyone else hates your music, just know I’m one of your biggest fans.”

“...If my music is hated, then we won’t make any money, which means you’ll be poor. What? Is it your dream to become poor?”

Jihoon expected Jeonghan to laugh and tell him that he was right and that money mattered. But instead, Jeonghan replied, “Jihoon. Your music is good. And if we don’t make money because other people aren’t able to see it. Then what’s the point? You say that it’s your responsibility as to whether SEVENTEEN succeeds or not, but, we’re thirteen members. Three units. One team. We’re SEVENTEEN. Stop acting like it’s all about you. Maybe my dream used to be becoming rich. But now, it’s just doing this. With all of us.”

──────────────────

Jihoon stared at his hands, at the charm bracelet. “Is it selfish to want this life and her as well?”

“Maybe it is. But, so what if you’re selfish?”

“Isn’t being selfish supposed to be a bad thing?”

“Just hope that she’s as selfish as you are,” Jeonghan shrugged. “By wanting her in your life, does that mean you want to be with her romantically?”

Jihoon paused. “You know, I’m not sure. I think I would be over the moon if we could even just be a part of each other’s lives. To have that line of communication open. But as the people that we are now. I think I’d like to meet the new Y/N. She probably has more in common with the new Lee Jihoon than the old her anyway.”

“You two have grown apart, aren’t you worried?”

Jihoon went silent for a moment, trying to pick out the right words. “Rather than grown apart, it feels like we’ve simply grown in separate spaces, by taking different routes, but our lives seem too intertwined for our paths to never cross again. Plus, she’s one of the few people that I could really be myself around. It’d be nice to have another safe space like that outside of SEVENTEEN because who else can I complain about you all to, that wouldn’t cause conflict between us?”

“Ay. What is there to complain about?”

Jihoon gave his hyung a pointed look.

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan started. “But be honest. Real talk. You really think she wouldn’t spread it to Dispatch?”

“She has always valued people’s stories more than anything, so it really annoyed her when other people would take out-of-context excerpts and twist them. So. That’s how I know she wouldn’t spread it. Also, if she was that kind of person, she would’ve done so by now. She has a ton of blackmail material on me.”

Jeonghan chuckled. “Interesting. You said she likes stories, so is she a writer like you?”

“Not in the traditional sense. She’s more of a speaker than a writer. In high school, of course, she had her awkward moments like everybody else did, but even then, she was a tier above the rest. I don’t know how to say this kindly, but she doesn’t really think before she talks, but she doesn’t usually have to because what comes out is almost always what she intended.”

“So, she must be eloquent then.”

Jihoon clicked his tongue. “Just because things come out as she intended doesn’t mean she wouldn’t intentionally be mean or annoying.”

──────────────────

“You like unnie, don’t you?”

Jihoon spluttered. Shit, shit, shit. He tried to gather his thoughts, but failed. He wasn’t good with spontaneous spoken words, that was always your realm of expertise. He needed time to think of the right thing to say, but you never waited for him. “F-Firefly, I—”

You barked out a laugh, and he nearly retaliated at the harshness. He wasn’t sure why exactly you were being so harsh. “Hey, it’s fine. I don’t blame you. She’s pretty high up there, above us mortals. From now on, I’ll do my best to help you out, yeah? That’s what best friends are for. Plus, you’re like family, like a brother to me, so.”

Jihoon sank back.

Family? Brother?

He wondered why that left a bitter taste in his mouth. But that didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t being called family the highest praise?

So why the hell did that piss him off?

Instead of speaking his actual thoughts, his mouth had a mind of its own. “I can handle myself, Y/N.”

You sneered at him.

God, you were so infuriating sometimes. 

She wasn’t like that.

She was the soothing waves of Busan, ebb and flow, constant and expected. She was everything you weren’t. She was older, more experienced, graceful, calm, soothing.

She was beautiful.

But she didn’t have that burning fire you did. Didn’t have him reacting the way you managed to every time you opened your damn mouth or rolled your eyes—there you went again!

What the hell was wrong with you?

Rapid escalation, raised voices. You, accusing him of not trusting your judgment and hiding his crush from you, saying that you wished he trusted you. Him, arguing that he didn’t need to share every little thing, that it wasn’t about his trust for you at all, and that God, he did! He did trust you! Of course, he did!

So, why didn’t he tell you about the stupid crush?

It wasn’t that deep, but you were convinced it was, and he was too tired to even try and correct you. So, sure, he could be “in love” with his noona, like you believed. Because then he wouldn’t have to untangle the mess in his chest. He could shove it under the rug like he always had, always would.

You slammed your fists down onto the table before you walked away from him, in a rampage. Like a damn wildfire trying to clear everything in sight.

You were a volatile thing, explosive, even.

But.

You fizzled out just as fast.

He awoke around midnight to the soft knocking at his window, your silhouette perched on the thickest branch the tree outside his childhood home had to offer. He had half a mind to not open the glass pane but he saw you shiver and his body leaped out of bed without a second thought.

“I’m sorry, Jihoonie,” you said, a few moments after you clambered into his room.

“Okay.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for being friends with me anyway.”

“Sure.”

So, he wrapped your favorite blanket around you, the one he kept in his room for nights like this. Color slowly returned to your face and he saw the stains of tears on your cheek in the moonlight. You muttered words of apologies and told him about your day, not having the chance to earlier.

You were better like this, quiet, but not silent. Like a crackling fireplace beckoning all to come and listen, to be enveloped in warmth and light.

He never once called you his family.

But he’d be damned if you weren’t his home.

──────────────────

“Funny enough, despite the fact that she’s more of a speaker than a writer, even more than that, she’s a listener. She listens to more stories than she tells them. I think that’s helped with her pride. If she knew she messed up, she would always apologize, even if she hated doing it.”

“Well, that’s one lesson you haven’t learned from her yet.”

Jihoon pulled a face and Jeonghan laughed in response. The older of the two snatched away the Chopper on the opposite end and started throwing the doll up and down.

“Alright, lover boy. What I got from this conversation is that you’re still in love with her, but you gotta make sure she’s worthy of your love, alright? Heed my warning, don’t be afraid of being rejected by her. It’s already happened anyway, and here you are: world-star idol with twelve bros behind you no matter what.”

Jihoon cracked a smile. “You’re right. I got lucky.”

Jeonghan tossed Chopper back in his original vicinity. “I think Dokyeomie wanted to ask something from you too, but I don’t remember what it was, so maybe you can go get ready and he’ll come find you.”

“What a useless messenger.”

“Your luck can’t be perfect, Jihoon-ah,” Jeonghan quipped. He turned to leave the room but stopped in his tracks. “I hope to hear her story one day. Hear her side of things.”

“…Me too, hyung.”

──────────────────

“How much is the corn dog?”

“Hmm… Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”

Jihoon mustered as much displeasure as he could hold in his six-year-old body. “Y/N, you can’t pay with stories, that’s stupid.”

“It’s my shop!”

“Jihoon, we’re just playing pretend,” your cousin added, his eyes darting between the two of you, likely worried about needing to do damage control.

“Hyung, her idea is dumb!”

“Why!” You whined. “People pay with money all the time, but you can get money whenever! I don’t get to hear stories! I like stories! My parents don’t read to me every night like yours do, Jihoon!”

Jihoon stomped out of the playroom in annoyance, ears grated by the sound of your crying and your cousin’s failed attempts to console you. Stories couldn’t buy the new toy race car that he got. Stories couldn’t buy him candy at the corner market near the kindergarten. Stories couldn’t buy a GameBoy.

Stories didn’t matter.

Money mattered.

Still, nearly a decade later, you never failed to ask for your unconventional form of payment every time he took a portion of your lunch. He knew you packed more for him anyway. And he knew you would always ask for a story in return.

And he intentionally packed smaller meals so he could tell you about how the History teacher had botched up his classmate’s test and accidentally graded off by one, about how the clarinet solo he was learning required a finger pattern he wasn’t used to, about how that one guy—oh, the tennis player?—no, no, the flautist—isn’t it flutist?—it doesn’t matter—yes, it does, Jihoon—anyway, he asked out a girl—the senior?—yes—oh wow, how bold.

And you would smile in return, sliding your food choice of the day within his reach.

He learned that you hated money; it was the one and only thing your parents ever gave you consistently. Simply, it was the manifestation of their love (or lack of) for you.

So, he paid you with recountings of the mundane. You never complained, even when he felt as though his storytelling skills were lackluster. He held your rapt attention; your eyes wide with wonder, voice laced with curiosity.

Eventually, he asked you why.

Why stories?

“Because without them, I wouldn’t have learned that you love the X-Men series because of Hugh Jackman, that you prefer winter over summer, that the first ever K-Pop group you listened to was Brown Eyed Girls, that when you tell me a funny story, you wait until I react before you start laughing.”

And you gave him that smile that made his heart stutter.

“Money is everywhere, Jihoon. But there’s only one you. That’s all there is to it. People, at the core of it all, are just stories. So. That’s why. People will always matter more than profit.”

──────────────────

After Jihoon readied himself for the group dinner, he plopped himself down onto the communal couch and found himself scrolling through Instagram. He stopped at your latest post, a candid shot of you reading a children’s book to several six-year-olds, your face aglow with excitement, a high chance the photographer captured you mid-way through some silly voice attributed to the character on the page.

“Hey, hyung.”

“Hm?”

“Can I borrow your microphone for the day?”

Jihoon didn’t even have the chance to think twice before the words left his mouth, “Tell me your favorite color and how it makes you feel.”

An uncomfortable silence blanketed the room.

“Is… Is this a hidden-camera?”

“...never mind. Just put it back when you’re done.”

“It’s blue, by the way.”

“I don’t care—”

“It makes me feel happy because it’s the color of the sky and of the ocean, which means it can be super calm or super exciting. It’s also one of the colors of our Caratdeul.”

“Okay, Dokyeom-ssi. Get out.”

“Yes, hyung. Thank you.”

Jihoon thought about how, if given the chance, you would ask Seokmin if he liked the paleness of 9am or the depth of 6pm? If he liked the gentleness of serenity or the vibrancy of cerulean? Or if he appreciated all that the shades encompassed before fading into greens and indigos?

But he wasn’t you.

You were the inspiration; the muse.

You were the reason to write.

He was just a storyteller.

──────���───────────

“THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO IS HERE. THANK YOU TO THE PLEDIS STAFF, OUR MANAGERS, OUR CHOREOGRAPHERS, OUR MUSIC TEAM, OUR DANCERS, OUR STYLISTS, OUR CAMERA WORKERS, OUR FAMILIES, AND OUR SEVENTEEN MEMBERS! HAPPY SIX YEARS. HERE’S TO MORE!”

Everyone in the rented out restaurant cheered before drinking together. Even the sound barrier breaking screams of Soonyoung wasn’t enough to dampen Jihoon’s pride and spirit over how far they’ve come as a team. He looked around at his table, several members already seemingly drunk, and couldn’t help but smile to himself.

“Jihoon-ah, make an exception for tonight and drink!”

He shook his head fervently. “There’s going to be several of you who are going to regret drinking when we have our V LIVE tomorrow. You’re going to look super puffy.”

“I can already feel it,” Seungcheol laughed, his eyes slightly glazed. “But the food and the beer are too good to pass up.”

Speaking of, Jihoon made sure to snatch a piece of kalbi to put onto his plate before Mingyu could. The younger one gave him the stink-eye while Jihoon merely smirked and tilted his head back, challenging him. Mingyu decided to change his target and grab at Seungkwan’s piece, who promptly smacked his hand with a “Kim Mingyu!”

Laughter went around the table as they reflected on the last six years, the amount of embarrassing moments that were brought up were positively correlated with the amount of shots that were taken.

Jihoon grit his teeth as he tried not to fold in on himself, remembering how they threw him up as a cheer and nearly ended his life by creating a Jihoon-shaped hole in the ceiling. He was so much smaller back then, easier to launch without thinking.

They laughed about the incident where Mingyu was nearly beaten to death by Jihoon with a guitar, which Jihoon argued that he still believed he was in the right. They discussed one of their first performances as a team, where they performed NU’EST’s “Hello” and they all had helmet hair. They poked fun at Seungkwan for his revolutionary English skills when he said, “are you kimbap kidding?”

They’ve grown so much.

International interviews with BuzzFeed, Seventeen the magazine, and others. GOING SEVENTEEN as a show has grown alongside them, more than just showing Carats the behind-the-scenes, but has now turned to variety that garnered the new fanbase of Cubics, and has been an honest highlight to Jihoon’s career, where they can just go wild and laugh with each other, just as they always do.

They talked about how they used to sneak in food, how they used to help each other get ready for school, how they still have the same playful spirit as they did back then, but with more trust that has formed between them (although, less for Jeonghan since his cheating at games has only gotten worse).

Jihoon leaned back, full of food and laughter and gratitude.

He wouldn’t trade his life with his team for anything.

(Not even you.)

However, that didn’t mean Jihoon didn’t want you to be a part of his already complete life.

He was a selfish human being.

He hoped you would be one too.

──────────────────

May 26th.

Six years ago, “Adore U” came out, marking the beginning of the journey of a thirteen member boy idol group named SEVENTEEN.

Now, here he was, trying to not be bullied into drinking another shot of soju after already consuming several in a short period.

Their anniversary V LIVE ended not too long ago and they did not have a schedule the following day, so the team decided to celebrate on their own, playing Mafia and messing around. A few hours ago, Jihoon would’ve hardly been able to tolerate the noise level, but since his hearing has been compromised due to his heart beating so loudly in his ears from the alcohol, he was plenty fine.

He shooed away his members and retreated back into the corner of the room, pulling out his cellphone and ignoring Mingyu making stupid kissy faces and noises. Jihoon shot him a look of disgust, but Mingyu merely laughed it off and went to go bother his next victim, who seemed to be Boo Seungkwan, a prime choice indeed.

As soon as he refreshed his Instagram app, there you were (with a highlighted gradient ring around your profile picture, your head tilted back with a soft smile grazing your features as you took in the endless sky above you).

He clicked on the circle and saw you and your friends there, a dimmed photo but your collective smiles large and wide. He recognized Hyejin and Wheein easily (the former with a disgusted look apparent on her face and the latter with a deep dimple), as they were two friends who were a common occurrence on your feed.

And there you were.

alexa, play congratulations by post malone ft. quavo 🥳🎓 #PHinisheD

The corner of his lip quirked up at the cleverness in your caption.

Perhaps it was because of the alcohol in his system, he swiped up to send a message:

i figured u would be a day6 or eric nam kind of fan

His brain short-circuited.

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Fuck.

Who was he to think he could directly message you like this? Also, who the hell was he to figure anything about you? He hasn’t even spoken to you. Jesus Christ, what has he done?

Before he could stop himself though, his thumbs decided to speak his thoughts.

sorry that was dumb of me to assume

of course u would like post malone considering u could rap the entirety of eminems album

What the hell, dude.

You were going to freak out and call him a creep and then block him.

You’ve literally never done that.

He tried to calm his heart.

However, not even ten minutes later, he realized he couldn’t take that risk.

sorry that was stupid

ignore me

congrats y/n

He felt nearly every goosebump that crawled along his skin, creeping up to his neck, threatening to choke him out. He breathed in deeply through his nose, hoping no one bears witness to him.

“Yah, Jihoon-ah.”

His eyes trailed up to see Soonyoung with a look of concern, mixed with a twinge of panic and anger.

Ah, it would be him.

“What did she do?”

──────────────────

For people who didn’t know him, Kwon Soonyoung comes off as, well, not-so-bright.

But that wasn’t (entirely) true.

Kwon Soonyoung was aware.

He knew how to read a room, but oftentimes, he would purposely choose to simply do what he wanted anyway. Hardly did he ever prioritize another person’s comfort and complacency over his expression of his individuality. He knew what it took to be a performer, and he never denied himself the opportunity to be one.

So, him simply staring at his friend in silence with eyes that alone could have earned him his moniker of “Tiger’s Gaze,” was a major indicator that something was amiss.

Also, the fact that his friend was shrouded in near darkness, eyes rimmed with red, only a corner lamp illuminating his pale features.

“She went to America. She’s never fucking coming back.”

Soonyoung tried not to wince at his friend’s broken tone. Jihoon cursed like a sailor when they were trainees, but it was a habit that he slowly lost since he would often be reprimanded for his speech. He had to do the work to censor himself.

Well, the K-Pop industry was not a stranger to censorship, he mused.

“Wasn’t she already at an international school, though?”

“Yeah, but I just… I thought she would come back after graduating from that boarding school, you know? She wanted to go to Seoul National University, but. Fuck, dude. What if I’m the reason she stopped? What if she stopped following her dreams because of me? What if I–”

“She made her choice, Jihoon.”

“This is all my fault.”

“How?”

Soonyoung saw confusion flit across Jihoon’s face, but it quickly settled with a shake of his head. “It just is, alright?”

“Jihoon–”

“I’ll never be good enough for her. Fuck, I just thought if I tried, then maybe I could be, and– God, who do I think I am? Of course she’d never want someone like me–”

“Dude! Shut the fuck up, will you?”

Jihoon sat there in stunned silence.

“This might not even have anything to do with you. And if she really went to America because she’s trying to avoid you, then she’s a massive bitch–”

“Don’t fucking call her that–”

“I can do whatever the hell I want. Just like she’s doing whatever the hell she wants.” Soonyoung’s anger was slowly morphing into rage. Who was this person in front of him? He was so used to the sure, secure Lee Jihoon who would never truly get riled up.

But one mention of you and suddenly he would spiral.

Who the hell did you think you were?

Leaving this man who loved you so fucking wildly, to the point where he was just one moment away from begging on his knees for your return.

Soonyoung felt disgusted, but it was more of a ringing concern in his ears.

“Jihoon, you’re acting crazy right now. So what if she doesn’t come back to Korea? Are you gonna wait like a fucking sad dog out in the rain? Hoping that she’ll come pick you up again? You’re missing your own fucking life here.”

“I just–”

“Yeah, yeah, you love her. I get it. But… If she were to see you right now, do you think she would even want this kind of love? This obsessive, insecure kind?”

Jihoon’s face was now contorted in pain and Soonyoung tried so terribly hard to keep his face neutral. Soonyoung was plenty capable of being a soothing person, especially to his fellow members, but he was so riddled with frustration that he knew that he would come off as disingenuous if he even tried to pretend to be.

“Let her go. If she comes back, then she will. But don’t let her come back to someone who is incapable of even picking himself off of the floor.”

“...Okay.”

Kwon Soonyoung was aware.

Aware of how much Lee Jihoon was in love with you.

Painfully so.

──────────────────

“I just–”

“You just what?” Soonyoung’s eyes bore into his friend’s face.

Jihoon recoiled at his tone. “I replied to her Instagram story and it was some dumb comment, but what if she thinks I’m being too much and she backs off and–?”

“Jihoon-ah.”

“...Soonyoung-ah.”

“She’s human, right?”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow at that. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Then why are you acting like she’s this untouchable goddess? Who cares if she thinks you’re being too much? You’re putting her on a pedestal she probably doesn’t even want, dude.”

──────────────────

“Why’d you reject the guy?”

You glanced up at her best friend. “What’re you talking about?”

Jihoon cocked his head to the side. Was it already so quickly forgotten by you? It happened at lunch and it was kind of rowdy. Poor dude. “The guy who asked you out to the dance. You said you thought he was cute before and that he was good at tutoring math.”

“Yeah, I might know him, but he doesn’t know me.”

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you guys tutored together.”

You clicked your tongue. “Yeah, we do, but. He doesn’t know me. I know him because I ask him questions. I ask him about himself. But he never once asked me a question about me. If he did, he would know that I hate public gestures. He would know that I don’t like receiving flowers. He didn’t even care to ask any of my friends about what I liked. The main reason as to why he asked me to go to the dance is probably because I made him feel good about himself. I might know him, but he doesn’t know me, and that’s one of the most annoying things.”

“What, that people don’t know you?”

“No. That people assume they know me.”

Jihoon paused for a moment.

“People think that I’m this super wholesome good kid who gets perfect grades.”

“Well, one of those things is true.”

You cracked a smile at that. “Yeah, well. The more people assume I’m on a different level from them, the lonelier it is. I just… I don’t want to be lonely, Jihoon.”

“It’s alright. I’ll make sure you aren’t.”

It was chilling, how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, as if you knew a secret he didn’t, as if you already prophesied a future that rendered his words empty. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Lee Jihoon.”

──────────────────

Jihoon nearly bit his tongue.

Ever since he no longer had the security of having you be by his side, he became exactly like one of them, forcing assumptions onto you.

You were out of sight and he was out of his mind.

He told you that you could always be yourself around him, and here he was, creating a caricature of you in his head that he knew didn’t exist. To push forth the narrative he wrote. One born of insecurity. “...I don’t understand how you’ve been so right lately?”

“I really do wish I had my phone around to record you when you say that,” Soonyoung said off-handedly. “So, you’re not going to try to unsend those messages?”

“You can unsend messages?”

“Uh–”

Jihoon immediately unlocked his phone to go to his messages. There, he saw your chat. He long-pressed the message without much thought and his thumb hovered over it.

But he hesitated.

“...Just watching from afar isn’t enough for you anymore, is it?”

Jihoon stared up at his friend, who had a look of (almost) pity etched across his features. Jihoon swallowed the lump in his throat. “...No. I don’t think it is.”

“Well, if she rejects you in any kind of way, I can comfort you.”

“No thanks.”

“Yeah, thought you’d say that.”

──────────────────

Almost exactly sixty minutes later, Jihoon witnessed a miracle.

“...She replied.”

Seungkwan glanced up at Jihoon. “Who?”

Jihoon turned his screen to his younger member, who leaned forward to read his screen. Only to audibly gasp and cover his mouth with his hands. “You messaged her?!”

“Yeah, like an hour ago. Keep up.”

“Hyung, you didn’t tell me–”

“Ah, Boo Seungkwan.”

The corner of Seungkwan’s mouth twitched and Jihoon merely smirked. He turned his attention back to your messages, smiling fondly at your usage of 🥳 after greeting him a happy anniversary.

Oh shit, wait. You knew SEVENTEEN?

And he portrayed that sentiment exactly when messaging you.

(With some typing errors.)

(He may or may not have taken one, two, several shots once the anxiety settled back into him.)

(His alcohol tolerance was nonexistent.)

The messages were now rapid-fire. He found out that you were a Carat and that you favored Yoon Jeonghan.

He snorted at that, of course you would.

A lightbulb lit up over his head. Ah. He could do something for you.

He jumped up from his seat on the couch, away from Seungkwan who was watching over his shoulder the entire time who chose to remain silent because he knew he would be kicked out if he said anything compromising. “Jeonghan-hyung.”

“Woozi Woozi~?”

“Can you do something for me?”

Jeonghan stared at him, frozen. Then after a moment to process what exactly Jihoon said, the older one crossed his arms over his chest, a scandalized look in his wide eyes. “Depends on what you’re asking for.”

“YAH.”

“Lee Jihoon, don’t yell at someone you’re trying to ask a favor from. You’re lucky I’m a nice guy.”

Jihoon held his tongue, but his expression must have given it away because Jeonghan laughed and said that he would rather not die, and asked Jihoon to continue with what he was saying. “Y/N just graduated and she basically said that you’re her favorite SEVENTEEN member–”

“WOW! I like her already.”

“Hyung.”

“Okay, what do you want me to do for both my cute fan and my even cuter dongsaeng?”

“Just a video to congratulate her.”

“My videos are rare, it’s not easy to get something like this, you know.”

“Hyung, please.”

Jeonghan cackled, but quickly acquiesced. “Alright, alright.”

Soon enough, he found himself in a rhythm speaking to you. It was so easy, there was no residual awkwardness (on his end, at least) and it felt so natural. The banter was still there and so were your emoticons, escalating from the “:)” of your childhood to the iPhone emojis. You seemed so close, within reach, attainable.

That felt dangerous.

He could feel it. He could feel that desire to spill out everything he could. He spent years coming up with the words he wished he could’ve told you, some of them now award-winning songs, and it feels almost euphoric to know that he could tell you it all.

But.

He wasn’t sure, still. How receptive you would be. Would you run away like you did in the past whenever things became too much, too overwhelming? He always reminded you that you could never be that, but he wasn’t sure whether he was of the same capacity.

He wants you in his life. There is no doubt about that, especially not now.

But what if you leave again?

He cannot mess this up. He can’t.

So, he kept things light between you, jokes and jabs.

But that didn’t stop him from pushing for more, disguised in a (not-so) innocent attempt at ensuring that he would be able to have open contact with you in the future.

And that’s all he needed. A future with you in it.

That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

──────────────────

Yes. Yes, it was.

After a few days of no response from your end on KakaoTalk, your Shikamaru profile picture almost mocking him with his permanent deadpan look, the answer was resounding.

But Jihoon’s entire identity was based on his stubbornness.

So, he decided to take a chance and message you on Instagram.

Only to retract immediately saying you didn’t have to reply.

Stupid.

Thankfully, though, you responded within 30 minutes, admitting that @narutofanfreak123 was not exactly a username you wanted to share with anyone above the age of twelve. You both quickly resolved the miscommunication (wow, Jihoon thought, imagine if we had this before).

He chuckled at your choice of KKT username, @MadameFirefly, oddly touched that his nickname for you still held enough weight to be your moniker for a messaging app.

He did his best to casually ask what you were planning on doing in the future (not like he wanted to see if he could somehow fit into it, or whatever).

Jihoon was left staring at his phone screen, the weight of his phone now burdened by the weight of your choices. Seoul? Or New York City?

──────────────────

“You didn’t have to miss the dance just because I got a B on an exam, you know.”

“Your parents are insane for grounding you to the library for a B on an exam, you know? And for a hagwon that’s way above our grade level.”

You shook your head, not willing to admit out loud that you agreed. “What I mean is that you don’t have to keep me company while I study when you could go off and meet cute girls and sweep them off their feet.”

“Why would I do that when I can watch you and your snot-nosed face trying to do college level calculus?”

“It’s all so that I can get into Seoul National.”

“Firefly, you could get into any school, even outside Korea.”

“Maybe I’ll do just that,” you laughed. “Finally get out of here.”

“Just let me know and I’ll stow myself into your suitcase.”

“Oh please. You’ll probably be the one traveling internationally doing whatever you do. A world-renowned musician.”

“Alright, you can be in my suitcase instead then.”

“Okay, can you leave breathing holes for me?”

“No, get better lung capacity.”

You clicked your tongue at him and he laughed. “Seriously, though, Jihoonie. You could be spending your teen years the way the movies do it. You could be ‘swearing you’re infinite’ while a slow-mo cam focuses on you as you dance, surrounded by beautiful people definitely too old to be cast as teenagers.”

“No thanks.”

You put your forehead down onto the table. “Please. Do it for me. Get a girlfriend because I can’t.”

“You know, you’re probably why I can’t get a girlfriend.”

No. You definitely were.

You shot him an annoyed look. “You could easily go and find someone who’d be smitten with you. But instead you’re about to watch me get a nosebleed over how hard I’m working my brain here.”

“Maybe I’m a sadist and want to watch that happen.”

You threw your eraser at him, but easily missed, the rubber object bouncing off of the table and onto the carpeted floor. You whined at the idea of having to leave your seat and Jihoon just rolled his eyes and picked it up for you.

Sure, he could be dancing with his friends, with cute girls, with whoever. He could be surrounded by endless snacks and overly sweet punch, the dance no doubt smelling like youth and pride and reckless decisions. He would see that there are plenty of people in his life outside of you.

But, no.

If he did, you would be left here, in this almost deserted library on a Friday, pouring blood, sweat, and tears into what your parents have convinced you matters more than your health.

You gave him a large grin as he passed you your eraser before you went back to focusing on your work.

Yeah, he’d much rather see this instead.

──────────────────

Later that evening, he found himself again in his recording studio.

Our past that didn’t line up,

If I could go back in time,

Rather than roughly, but warmly,

Would I be able to let you go?

He stared at the lyrics he wrote, feeling discontent. He wanted to be the kind of person who didn’t feel any kind of residual emotions towards you. Who would be able to meet you where you were and wish you well, no matter where you decided to go.

One of his biggest regrets was storming out of your childhood home the way that he did. He could’ve had answers but instead he was left with hostile emotions and questions.

He could only hope he would’ve done something different.

But now that he is faced with letting you go, he’s not sure how easily he would yield.

He took a moment to bury his face in his hands and tried to think about this from your perspective (something he had to practice while living with twelve other boys). He breathed in deeply and thought about the you that you are now, about how the person he fell in love with could easily be gone, and you were nothing but a shadow of what remained.

But that didn’t feel right either. It seems as though the person that you’ve grown into, that you’ve flourished into, is someone he would’ve wanted to get to know regardless of whether you had history or not.

Perhaps that is because of the artifice of social media, or perhaps it’s because you carry an air of authenticity with you that has now been given the opportunity to bloom instead of stifled in the environment you were raised in. Whether or not you were mere remnants of his past, it does not mean that the person you are now is any less lovely.

He groaned loudly.

Emotional labor is hard.

How is this something you enjoy doing?

──────────────────

“You really want to become a social worker, huh?”

You shrugged. “I mean, yeah. It feels like the best use of my skills. I like being able to potentially help people like me and well, there are a lot of people like me, you know. I don’t know whether I want to become a private practice therapist, but that seems like a solid option for now until I know more about what else is out there in the field.”

He would disagree, but he decided not to. “I just can’t deal with all of those emotions.”

You gave him a raised eyebrow. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most sensitive people that I know.”

Jihoon felt ruffled by that. “What? What are you talking about?”

You quickly put your hands up in mock defense. “I’m not saying that being sensitive is a bad thing. I’m saying that there’s no way you would be my friend if you couldn’t handle emotions. I have way too many of them, I’m not that blind to that. Also, I’ve read your poetry and heard your music and that’s some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. Like, even the way you hold your clarinet is emotional.”

“I think that’s you projecting yourself onto me.”

“Say what you want, Jihoon. You’re a sensitive soul, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

“Yeah, well, sensitivity isn’t what gets you awards, you know. Skill does.”

You huffed in response. “Yeah, well, once you build up the second, the first is what will create a legacy that will be one to remember for ages to come. I’m speaking it into existence now. And I lay claim to the title of being your first fan. I will support you the entire way, no matter what you do. Music, baseball, comedy. Whatever!”

Jihoon snorted. He wouldn’t dare become a comedian, but it made him feel good that you thought that was a viable prospect for him. “Whatever industry I’m in, I’ll probably have to protect you from all of the bad people. You’re too soft. Even just last week, I mean…”

“What? You mean, when Nahyun made fun of me during my presentation in front of everyone?”

Irritation washed over Jihoon. 

The self-proclaimed It Girl decided to try and belittle you while in the middle of your presentation, as you were explaining the measurements that you used in your findings, she asked whether you had ‘measured’ your weight recently because ‘you really ought to’.

He never wanted to get into a fight more than then, especially when your other classmates laughed along. It was a subpar, typical, low-class mean girl line, but it filled him with rage.

You were completely unphased by it, continuing on with your presentation, not even choosing to spare a glance in her direction.

Luckily, the teacher, not being a prick himself, called out Nahyun and pulled her aside after class to apologize to you. (Jihoon would’ve preferred a public execution apology.)

Jihoon stood just a few feet away as you accepted her half-assed effort. You paused for a moment and muttered something to her, something that only she could hear. Nahyun merely pursed her lips afterwards before walking away. Irritation rushed through him again.

“Seriously, though. You’re too soft, firefly.”

“Hm. I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“No. I just think everyone else is too hard on themselves. And each other.”

“...You’re gonna be a great therapist.”

“Thanks. Hire me.”

──────────────────

Jihoon had his own fair share of meetings with professional counselors (especially in the midst of living such a hectic life as an idol), but he was worried whether you would be as cut and dry as they were, whittled down by years of academia. It seemed almost like they were reading out of a textbook, using vocabulary words like ‘empathy’ and ‘self-care,’ so he never saw it fit to return if it wasn’t necessary.

However, the places you’ve poured your time into left only glowing reviews for your passion and compassion for the field that you were in.

Jihoon was roused from his thoughts at his phone ringing on his desk. He looked at the Caller ID and saw a name he has been in and out of contact with for over a decade, it was your cousin. He picked it up. “Yo, hyung. What’s up?”

“Are you busy right now, Jihoon?”

“No. It’s a slower day today. Do you need something?”

“Yeah, just wanted to let you know that I’ll be in Seoul in a few weeks. Your noona and I are planning on celebrating saying goodbye to our single days by drinking way too much within the span of 12 or so hours. I wanted to see if you were down to join.”

“I probably won’t drink, but if it’s for you, hyung, I’ll go.”

“Nice. And you can feel free to leave after the dinner, we’ll just be at an apartment we’re renting out in Gangnam, since I don’t trust those fools to walk around the streets of Hongdae.”

“I’ll probably do that, I don't want to accidentally be caught by Dispatch.”

“Right, right. We wouldn’t want to sully the name of the best producer in all of K-Pop.”

“That’s a title I don’t think I’ll ever get.”

Your cousin laughed. “You never know, you might get that award sooner than you think, kiddo. Alright, I’ll keep you updated on our schedule. But uh…”

Jihoon knew his hyung well. He was about to bring you up again. “What about her?”

“I just wanted to ask whether you’d be interested in a meet-up with her. Not that we’ve asked her or anything, but I know we’ll probably meet up with her at some point, and I know it’ll feel weird if we’re not all together, you know? The four of us.”

“Yeah… I want to say that I’m courteous enough to wait for her response, but I just know that I’m willing to meet with her, if anything. Even just one last time.”

“That… sounds kinda sad, but. I guess I’ll take it. If you’re down, we could even make it a surprise on her end.”

He imagined your deer in headlights look but couldn’t think further than that. “Sounds like we’d really be putting her on the spot, if that was the case.”

“Hey, she’s rarely played it safe. Same with you. Might as well keep the flow going. And if anything, I’ll take the brunt of it all. She can’t stay mad at me for too long.”

“We both know that’s literally not true.”

“Okay, fine. Your noona can take the blame.”

“Wow, very excited to see how this marriage will go.”

His hyung laughed. “Amazingly, I’m sure.”

A thought occurred to Jihoon and he realized it was strange that he was mentioning it as an afterthought, as if it was something to be expected, something natural and normal. “Oh, hyung. By the way, I’m talking to Y/N again.”

Jihoon heard the undeniable ‘beep beep beep’ of being hung up and he stared confused at his phone screen until he saw another phone call from your cousin. He picked up with a, “Hello?”

Your cousin sounded much more flustered than he did just seconds ago. “Sorry. I hung up because I dropped my phone by accident. Say that again. You’re what?”

“I’m talking to her again. Kind of. I guess. Like, Instagram DMing went to KakaoTalk.”

“Jesus Christ, you slid into her DMs?”

“Can you not say it like that?”

“Can you say that that didn’t happen?”

Jihoon relayed the entire experience to him, only now realizing he didn’t even share all of the details with his members because it would’ve been too much teasing fodder from them. But your cousin, his hyung, was the kind of fellow that wouldn’t do that, even given the opportunity.

──────────────────

“Hyung,” Jihoon started one day, across from said person in a local Busan restaurant. “I don’t get how you’re single.”

“Why, you wanna date me?”

Jihoon’s eye twitched and your cousin laughed. Jihoon bit on his straw, the family style meal between the two young men long since devoured. “People compare us, you know.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What’s there to compare?”

“I don’t know. So many people around us know how cool you are. You’re good at sports, you’re smart, you have a lot of friends, you’re handsome. Everyone always says you’re one of the best listeners they’ve ever met.”

“The trick is to not pay attention sometimes and just nod.”

“I’m gonna tell Y/N you said that.”

“I’m sure she knows,” he laughed. “Well, I'm honored that you think all of those things, but those are all traits you have too. You do realize that, right?”

Jihoon grunted. “Not… really.”

“Well, just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean others don’t. My cousin definitely does. She’s a good kid and has a good heart. Same with you. If you ever decide to do anything about those feelings of yours, just know that I approve.”

Jihoon nearly choked on his drink. “Wh–?”

“Oh, it was a secret?”

“Hyung!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t say anything to her, don’t worry. And if you ask me, I’d say that you’re the only one on this planet that even has a chance. Well, except that girl from the cake shop.”

Jihoon sneered.

Fucking Woo Soyeon.

With her shiny hair and long eyelashes and doe eyes and tanned skin from her beach volleyball playing.

Giving out discounts to you like nobody’s business. Calling you cute and flirting nonstop while twirling a lock of her hair. Saying you’re her favorite customer. He could swear Woo Soyeon would throw a knowing smirk at him every time you stuttered a little too long when saying thank you.

That damned girl behind the counter, the one whose beauty and voice (“It’s just so velvety, you know? Like the chocolate cherry cakes.”) he knew you were smitten by.

She was even taller than him, especially in her heels.

At the ripe age of 15, Jihoon understood what jealousy was.

Because of fucking Woo Soyeon.

“Watch out, Jihoon. I can hear your thoughts all the way from over here.”

“Sorry.”

Your cousin laughed. “Trust me, you mean a lot more to her than cake counter girl. My cousin wanted all of us to go see the Christmas lights in the city together. You don’t see her inviting that cake counter girl, do you?”

Jihoon felt a weird sense of pride well up in his chest. Then immediately deflated. It felt stupid to feel like he won against a person who’s just trying to sell cakes to a loyal customer. “Hyung, how do you do it? You’d never let yourself get angry or jealous over stuff like this.”

The older of the two cocked an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You wouldn’t get jealous over a cake counter girl.”

“Says who? I get jealous. It’s normal, you know. Jealousy isn’t inherently a bad thing. It’s just what you do with it, right? Like, just because you’re jealous of cake counter girl, does that mean you stop Y/N from going to that shop?”

“What? Why would I do that? She loves that shop.”

“Exactly. Emotional maturity doesn’t mean you stop yourself from feeling the emotion, it just means you learn how to handle it as it comes. And once you practice it enough, it becomes easier and easier.”

“You make it sound easy, but it’s not.”

“Hey, I’m not anything big and special myself.”

Jihoon shook his head. “Hyung, you’re a superhuman.”

“No, I’m just human and letting myself be that,” he corrected. “Trust me, there’s plenty of good people out there. A lot of them just aren’t making the decision to do so. It’s easier to be cruel, but. I want to prove that you can be kind and still be a man. We get to define what that means. If I decided to be cruel, to become what society says is ‘a man,’ then I have no doubt Y/N would lose trust in me, and probably, all men.”

Jihoon noticed that his hyung stared at him for a second.

“Actually, maybe not all men.”

Jihoon felt embarrassed, but also honored, at the implication. “Thanks, hyung. You know, for not making fun of me. And for admitting that you also feel those kinds of things.”

“Absolutely, I’m glad I could help.”

“I’m seriously still surprised that you’re single.”

“Yeah, well. That might not always be the case if I can figure out what to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well… you know your noona?”

──────────────────

Jihoon couldn’t help but shake his head at the way the events unfolded. Your cousin told him about his feelings for his future wife, but it still took a few years for anything to come out of that. He wondered whether being childhood friends had anything to do with it, as if the longer and deeper the bond, the riskier the chasm was to try to jump across.

However, your cousin still managed to do it.

“How did you do it, hyung?”

“Hm? What’s up?”

“Just… how did you manage to tell noona how you felt?”

The older man laughed. “You really think that it was me who confessed? No, no. It was her. I think she was tired of the back and forth that was happening between us. I mean, so was I, but I was a coward, but thankfully, she wasn’t. Now because of her saying that she loved me first, I get to be the one who says it last. Then we start again. It’s a dialogue, you see. It doesn’t matter who starts the line, as long as it continues.”

“Oh…”

“Am I proud that I was a coward? No. I sometimes wish it was me who said it first so she wouldn’t have any room for doubt. But we can’t go back and change the past, only commit to a better future. All of this to say, though, Jihoon, it’s been long enough of not saying anything between the two of you. I don’t think you want to wait any longer.”

“…yeah. I agree.”

That night, hours after preparing for the album, Jihoon’s fingers tapped away on his Notes app.

This waiting, it’s not easy to endure.

It was past 4am now.

But he didn’t want to wait any longer.

So, he switched apps and instead of a blank Note, he began typing into a message box.

i know its late. rehearsal never ends until 3am and i know that when u get texts you wake up even if ur phone is on silent bc the vibration wakes u up so im trying to type this all in one message so that it doesnt wake u up (hopefully) but i didnt want it to seem like i left u on read because i was upset or something. but i didnt want to message until i had the time to have a full conversation but i dont think thats happening any time soon anyway. when you see this i hope it makes sense im not sure if i am

A response from you was the last thing he expected, but you always managed to surprise him.

The first time he heard your voice directly in his ears, he thought he was going to spontaneously combust. But he tried to keep his voice level as he asked you about where you were leaning towards for your career.

The relief that rushed through him.

The hope that ignited in him.

That was the spark needed for him to explode.

And so he did, into words.

“I’m proud of you, you know?”

He heard your throaty stutter, one that only came out whenever you were really caught off guard. “Uh—what?”

“You got a whole ass PhD. From the best university in Korea,” Jihoon still couldn’t believe the two of you went to the same school. “You got offered a job at a super big school in America. One that’s super big in the field that you studied. You graduated from an even school for undergrad, a school that even I know the name of. And just… I know that people expect you to achieve because you’ve always been a genius, always so brilliant, but. You also work really hard. So I’m proud of you.”

He could barely hear your, “It’s not that big of a deal—” over the pounding in his ears.

“But it is, firefly.”

And suddenly he was brought back to all the years before. Where he spent more years in love with you than not. How that nickname encapsulated exactly as he saw you: inspiration, guidance, hope.

“I mean, I just—”

Your flustered response only encouraged him to continue. “You don’t have to believe me. But that won’t stop me from feeling it.”

“Jihoon, I—”

He didn’t realize just how much he’s missed hearing you say his name. But more than that, “I’ve missed you.”

There was a pause on your end, but he was done with his.

“I’ve missed you a stupid amount. Like us stealing your dad’s car to drive to McDonald’s at 3am and then running a red light on the way there. And then somehow almost hitting an entire flock of seagulls—” which he would never admit to being the reason he never wants to get behind the wheel again. “And then going to some random, deserted parking lot. And then realizing we didn’t know the way home, so we drove aimlessly, for, like, 45 minutes. And then panicking when we kept seeing the gas needle going down. That kind of stupid.”

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was naming a memory that you no doubt remember as well, it was near traumatizing. But there was something in him that didn’t want you to forget. He didn’t want himself to forget. Because…

If I forget someday, as if nothing is wrong,

Our future will be empty and sad.

It’s not that I want to forget you.

Ah, he made a mental note to switch to his Notes app later.

“I… I missed you too.”

Jihoon couldn’t stop the grin spreading across his cheeks, almost to the point of straining them. It was already so late and he still had enough function in his brain to know he ought to cut this short now. Otherwise, he’d be on the phone with you for an ungodly amount of time. “I have to sleep now, but. I just. I couldn’t not tell you. That’s all.”

“Okay.” Your voice sounded so small, he had to press his phone closer to his ear to ensure he didn’t miss anything.

“Get some sleep, firefly. Or should I call you, Dr. Firefly now?”

“That sounds like a cartoon villain.”

He laughed hard at that. You would say that. “Alright, we’ll just go with firefly then.”

‘We’ felt good on his tongue.

“Night, night, Jihoonie.”

“Sleep well, firefly.”

He told you he needed to sleep, but with the way that he was running on sheer endorphins from finally releasing some of that pressure inside of him, sleep was the furthest thing on his mind. Instead, he imagined you getting some well-deserved rest, wondering what kind of dreams you hoped to have.

You were falling asleep, he was falling in love.

──────────────────

In less than 24 hours, he was going to see you in person for the first time in years, no more needing to find YouTube videos or podcasts or news articles or social media posts.

Tomorrow, he’ll be face to face with you.

And the dorm was in chaos.

“He should wear the white button down!”

“No, he should wear something funky, with cool patterns!”

“What? Absolutely not, hyung! Jihoon-hyung looks best in plain clothing, his skin shines that way!”

“Well, he’s been avoiding his skincare, so that might not be the best route to go down.”

“Hoon is handsome no matter what!”

Jihoon was exhausted. Why were his members more invested in this than he was?

Even Soonyoung was getting giddy. And that was a problem. When it came to you, Soonyoung was his voice of reason, but after he relayed the phone call he had with you, Soonyoung was easily won over by your: ‘I missed you too.’

“I knew it!” The tiger had exclaimed.

(Jihoon wasn’t sure whether he did.)

Junhui was thriving off of the chaos and was now leaping across the wooden floor, with Jeonghan quickly on his tail, trying to coerce him into stopping and failing miserably. Seokmin was still trying to convince Seungkwan that a funky pattern was like how, in nature, peacocks showed off to their mates—“he’s not a bird, hyung!”—while Soonyoung kept interjecting saying that Jihoon was attractive no matter what so he could just wear a plastic bag (which earned him a gentle slap by Seokmin). Mingyu disappeared for a moment after Wonwoo’s off-handed comment about Jihoon’s skin, only to return with his skincare products that Jihoon knew were going to be slapped on him soon enough. Seungcheol kept repeating in an exasperated tone, “Stop fighting, we already got a noise complaint this week,” while Jisoo and Minghao were probably off in Jihoon’s closet trying to establish an outfit for him without his consent. Hansol was on his phone, noise-canceling earphones on, completely uninvolved in what was going on. Chan was only goading on whoever was the loudest in the moment (currently, Junhui).

Jihoon piped up. “Do I get an opinion on this?”

In near perfect synchronization (including the boys in his room), everyone responded with a, “No!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

God, tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.

[continue reading here]

[madschiavelique]

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Chapter 1 : First Day

pairing : teacher!miguel o’hara x student!reader summary : you visit your new university with the help of Hobie, and when coming back to your new apartment you meet your charming neighbour Miguel. turns out, he is not only your neighbour, but your teacher. (not proofread) content warnings : none word count : Route A : 4,2k | Route B : 4k masterlist of the fic : here.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

Your lungs fill with the cool air of mid-September. The leaves are beginning to turn brown, a few falling onto the perfectly cut green lawn of the campus park. You can't wait to walk on them and hear them crunch under your shoes.

But for now, the sky remains blue on this late afternoon, dotted with a few cottony clouds, the gentle caress of the sun's warmth licking the skin of your cheeks. You breathe softly, calming your excited little heart for the new terrain that now stretches out before you.

At the end of this weekend, you'll begin your new year at the Academy of Science and Polytechnics, otherwise known to its students as ASP. Your previous university didn't live up to your expectations, nor did the one before that, but as they say, third time's the charm! At least, you hope so...

You're expecting to have a little more experience on various subjects than your future comrades, and you're quite happy to be starting out with a head start. Not that it's a competition, but the comfort you have with certain subjects is reassuring.

You're a little worried that the age gap might divide you from them, but you try to reassure yourself that, just in case, other people your age who want to change course will be along for the ride?

You give a quick nod, in the hope that it will give you enough courage and uprightness not to stumble and spread yourself like a pancake in a profoundly ridiculous fashion anywhere on campus, and start your walk to its entrance.

You're supposed to meet up with a certain Hobart Brown, who's supposed to be your guide for today - perhaps he's a student representative? 

Whatever the case, you hope the visit won't be too long. Because not only is today your visiting day and the first time you've set foot in your new college, it's also the day when a good deal of your belongings are moved into your new apartment, which is located just a few blocks from the campus.

You'll receive several boxes containing, among other things, your books and the few manuals you've bought in previous years, clothes, your hygiene kit and a mattress to inflate. The apartment would be empty, with nothing but a refrigerator already installed as furniture.

You'd be on the third floor, the last one, as the building isn't very big or wide, with only two apartments per floor. You just hope your next-door neighbour won't be unpleasant. The reason you're hoping the visit won't be too long is that you'd like to take advantage of the delivery men’ presence to help you get everything up to your floor. Since the building is small, it lacks an elevator.

When you arrive at the large, imposing door of your university building, your gaze inevitably falls on a young man with an atypical style leaning against the wall right next to the entrance. Piercings, free hair, punk clothes and an aura of I-don't-give-a-shit to match, you wonder what degree he must be in.

With a toothpick wedged between his lips, he looks up at you, a shiver running down your spine as he tilts his head to the side.

"It's you? [Name] ?" he asks, calling your name, taking the toothpick from between his lips with his fingers.

It's at this precise moment that the realization hits you that the Hobart Brown you're supposed to find was this young man.

"Hobart?" you ask, raising both eyebrows.

"It's my name, but I prefer Hobie. Well," he nodded, rolling his eyes, "Hobie's a derivative of the one I was given at birth. Let's not get into the habit of names please, it's bad."

The scent of the anarchist anti-system was a perfume he nonetheless seemed to wear gracefully.

You pout understandingly, your lips forming into an inverted smile as you answer simply.

"Gotcha."

He smiles, nodding.

"Well, you're here for a tour," he says as he starts walking towards the interior of the building and you follow him, "but that's a particularly broad and useless term in this context. A tour only lasts once, and you discover things. But since you're going to be coming back here frequently, and you're still likely to discover new places, you could say I'm introducing you to the building."

"Are you in Arts?" you suggest as he walks down a corridor which you look at on either side where classes with their numbers are inscribed. "No, let me guess, you're in Philosophy."

"And you're perceptive." he smiles. "I like you, you seem to catch on quickly."

The university is, after all, home to the vast majority of the sciences, including the humanities. So Hobie is in philosophy, which is not surprising. It's interesting that he was the chosen student for your tour - sorry, introduction to the academy.

"Here's a typical corridor, nothing special, you'll come across lots of them," he sighs as he swings his hand in the air as if chasing a flying insect around him. "On the other hand, on this floor there are a few empty classrooms that we use from time to time, and obviously without the knowledge of the professoriate."

"Makes perfect sense," you say with a shrug.

"It's very useful for the meetings we hold about blockades," he informs, turning to you while walking backwards. "FYI," his ring-fingered hand rests on his chest, "I'm kind of the leader of our blockade committee, although being a leader or having one at your head isn't something I endorse. You could say I'm... the spokesman, the one who makes the speeches at our rebellion events, because let's face it, when you get tear gas thrown in your face, it can be confusing."

He seems to look you up and down, weighing up the pros and cons for a few seconds.

"Would you like to join us?" he finally said, with a jerk of his chin in your direction.

You crossed your arms, looking up at him.

"I'll think about it," you reply simply.

He smirks before turning again and walking straight ahead.

"Now, let me show you what will really matter here for you. You're in 'real' science, aren't you? You like playing chemist? Toying with vials?"

Hobie's little prejudices make you smile and laugh slightly.

"If you're nice, the one who toys with vials will show you how to make a better assortment of components to respond to tear gas."

He turned to you, laughing heartily and pointing at you as he walked to the staircase at the end of the corridor. 

"I like you," he repeated as he led you upstairs.

"This is the second floor, in case you can't count. I don't know all your stuff and your complicated scientific words for this or that or such-and-such subject," he says, his head tilting this way or that, "but one thing's for sure: this is where you'll have most of your classes."

In the hallway in question, coming from a room that had just been locked by her, a lovely dark-skinned lady with gorgeous afro hair was walking towards you.

"And you may well find yourself in class with Mrs. Drew," he said, almost raising his voice and smiling as you walked towards her.

She walked slowly, unhurried, chin high as she smiled at the young man's call.

"Hobie, convincing one more person to tag the campus lawn with a capital A?" she said in a voice that was half sigh and half sneer as she came up to your level.

"You know me at this point, you know I never do the same thing twice," he says with a shrug before plunging his hands into his back pockets. "But for once I'm bringing in a bright element that will go into your side." he turns to you.

"A new student?" asks Professor Drew as her eyes settle on you.

"Nice to meet you, I'm [Name]," you smile simply.

"Welcome, miss." she says, inhaling heavily. "I hope you'll get used to the rhythm here, it can sometimes prove to be merciless."

"Jess, don't be so hard on a new arrival, you'll scare her away," warned a new voice.

A slightly disheveled man with light brown hair came towards you.

"This," Hobie began, "is Professor Parker. You're going to have to put up with him too."

"Eh, I'm not someone you 'put up with'," commented the aforementioned Parker, imitating a finger-crunching reaction to the use of words, "it's not my fault your religion is Spinoza and mine is Mendeleev."

"It's crazy how you're both so distinctly the same mental age," Jess sighed. "Anyway, welcome to our midst miss." and she headed off down the hall.

"Oh, so you're new!" realized Peter, "welcome to ASP."

"Stands for Appearant Soporiphic Problem," Hobie sneers.

"Does Freud have an acronym too?" puffs Peter.

"Of course," he says before raising his hand as if viewing an imaginary title in the air, "MI."

"Mission impossible?" asks Peter, frowning.

"Mommy Issues." corrects Hobie.

"Very funny," laughed Peter falsely, "I hope that as a reconversion option you've chosen the circus?"

"I'm already there. "

"I am fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten." This little chat lasted a few more minutes before Peter in turn left to go home and the visit continued. Ten minutes later, the visit was over.

You told Hobie that you were new to the city, and that everything was a bit of a discovery. You learnt that the building was very old, just like a few others in the town, and that many changes of direction had led to it being rebuilt over the years, while preserving its charming, slightly old-fashioned setting. "Well, I've shown you the parts that are important to you here," says Hobie as he descends the few small steps leading to the building's main entrance. "You mentioned that you were new to the city, so do you need a mini 'tour' of it too? Just the surrounding area, to familiarise yourself a little", he suggests.

Here's your first choice! Select the option you want.

Choice A: Decline and go straight to your flat. Choice B: Accept and take a short tour of the surrounding area.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ . ★ . ჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻

tag list : @deceitfuldevil @allysunny @zkelecr0w @chichimisaki @luvrdonny @oooof-ifellforyou @aisyakirmann @carelesswister @jojos-wife @akiras-key @love4saturn @simpychaotic

[lunarcrown]

can we see all of your tattoos? :0

I FINALLY TOOK PICS!!!! I actually don’t have a TON of tattoos compared to my peers but I have a nice chunk! I’m just slow at getting tattooed bc I’m always working so I get like MAYBE two a year 😂

ANYWAYS!!! Ok so my legs: butterfly, demon goat girl, caterpillar, bill cipher (a SUPER OLD ONE), Minecraft block, and blue three eyed cat are all by me on me HAHA

I’ve made myself quit tattooing myself so I can get OTHER people’s art on me, but I wanted to tattoo my own shins just in case it was too terrible to continue with someone else (it’s not actually that bad!!!), and the other things like the Minecraft block were just so I could have complete control of it when it meant so much to me. The three eyed cat is actually my first “official” tattoo on skin I did as an apprentice! (Bill was a sneaky stick and poke I did in college OTL)

Creeper is from a friend/fellow tattoo artist who I trade tattoos with a bunch (but we still pay each other bc BILLS…), party dragon was from a dragon tattoo trade, worm on a string was from a friend who’s apprenticeship started same time as mine, pink axolotl is from my coworker who is sooooo freakin cool….i aspire to be like her so much…. And anime eyes heart gal is from a super cool friend that I went to college with! We reunited when I started tattooing and got a lot of laughs on how long it took to get our degrees and now we aren’t even “using” them HAHSG

Rest of the ones on my legs!!

Mob is from the same buddy that did the creeper and another one you’ll see in a sec, the kitties are from ANOTHER pal who started apprenticing same time as me! They’re actually arranged to be a subtle ⚢ sign bc IM A HOMOSEXUALLLLL~~ the symbol beneath these is the ol symbol from gravity falls that I ALSO stick and poked in college YEP…. Love Bug and the firefly are by a buddy from Virginia! One day I’m gonna get a “mean” version of love bug on my other thigh and it’s gonna say “bug off” 🤩 and the colorful leopard is from ANOTHER buddy trade that I did with a very cool friend!!

And finally MY ARMS!!!!

I have even less up here because getting arm tattoos makes it hard to work pfft….

I LOVE canti from OG FLCL (I love robots with sick designs so much…) and I love the show as well (introducing me to the Pillows was so PIVOTAL…) so I have him not once but TWICE form different ppl. The one with the flowers was from my mentor who turned out to be a sucky person so BOOO but I still love the tattoo~ the claptrap and OTHER canti are from a neat guy that I LOOOVE his style but his shop is sooo traditional and it’s lowkey uncomfortable even though he’s nice so idk if I’ll go back for a third. The Grievous is from the same buddy that did the creeper and mob!!! It’s so cool too bc my freckles make HIM have freckles and it’s adorable to me. And finally my VERY first tattoo I ever got, the big ufo abducting a pumpkin!!

This was done by Kelly McGrath in North Carolina and she was so sosososo sweet, gave me free prints, let me video call some of it to my family because we were VERY very far away from each other, AND I got to tell her years and years later that she inspired me so much that I became a tattoo artist myself!! And I even got to ask her a question or two and she responded so nice :,,)

SO YEAH I don’t have much rhyme or reason to my picks besides preferring color tattoos to be the majority, but my goal now is to collect tattoos from some very cool people and take my time filling up my body with art!! Eventually I would like to extend to my hands (palms included) and feet (JUST THE TOP I AM NOT DOING MY SOLES), neck, body, and maybe a few on my face near the outer perimeter/outer corner of eyes/above eyebrows! But that’ll probably be way off bc I work a LOT like I said at the beginning! Always the tattooer, never the tattooed HAHA

[rhymeswithfart]

Please look, important info below taken from this list

https://gofund.me/bc348229

"Mohammed Matar: Mohammed's entire future as a water infrastructure engineer, and the company he was setting the building blocks for are all gone. He now has to care for his children and his wife struggling with postpartum in conditions of genocide."

This is a vetted campaign. Low on funds, €4,465/20,000. Please read and share their story. More info under the cut.

El Shab Hussein is a trusted vetter who vouched for this campaign. More info about vetting here.

"HELLO BELOVED COMMUNITY

My name is Wael, I'm making this account on behalf of my friend Mohammed

Matar.

Hi, I am Mohammad Matar, a civil engineer. I graduated in 2015. I am a father of two children, Imad, 3 years old. Rima, 6 months We lived a comfortable life and I owned a car . I used to live in an apartment in Khan Yunis, then I moved to an apartment in Gaza City.

I own a company that works in the field of contracting and selling building materials with five employees, and engineering equipment, a trailer, a forklift, and rams. My life was like paradise.

Suddenly, on October 7, everything turned like a dream. I woke up to the sound of missiles and explosions. My wife was pregnant with my little girl. I tried and escaped from my apartment in Gaza City and headed to the safe areas, which I do not know where they are. The sound of death and destruction is everywhere.

what can i do !! I was displaced south to the central city

He stayed there for two months, then came the second exodus to the city of Rafah, then the third exodus to the city of Nuseirat, then the fourth exodus to the city of Deir al-Balah, and one exodus after it. Our life is like hell. We do not have the energy to absorb this amount of pressure.

In February 2024, my wife was about to give birth. I could not provide clothes for my newborn daughter, nor milk, nor diapers, due to the brutal war and the scarcity of financial resources. Just writing and thinking about this thing makes my condition worse than tragedy.

I learned the English language and am currently studying the Spanish language. I obtained a degree in water engineering. I was dreaming of myself and my company, but everything went to waste. I did not imagine that one day in the wind I would get what happened and live in a battlefield after home and become unemployed after being the owner.

My dear brothers and sisters, I did not accept one day to receive charity, but I had everything and I lost everything. Your support for me, even if it is a little, will change my life and the lives of my children so that I can provide them with milk, pampers, and safety, rebuild my home, and restore my life for the better.

I put my family first in everything. My children are the most precious thing. I have this life. I hope they live a more beautiful and better reality

Your support for me will strength my resilience and will keep me holding up . Thank you from the bottom of my heart

The land of peace has never seen peace.️✌️"

[asriel-evolilps]

Magic and it’s side effects in Believer and Gasoline

Tw for uhh injuries? Description of gore and organs and physiology.

Demonic magic use symptoms :

Going from lightest of magic, to a constant abuse of power:

1. Eyesight : Extreme light sensitivity, blurred vision or temporary blindness, constant eye-watering, actual liquefaction: internal bleeding in the eye, overtime leaves the eye completely blinded and may fall out.

2. Skin & Muscle Damage: You will get third-degree internal burns without flame exposure like in hyperthermia, skin blistering or sloughing off, subdermal tissue necrosis, apparition of scars, constantly itching skin that gives a burning uncomfortable sensation.

3. Organ System Collapse: Your heart becomes inflamed from constant heat stress, multi-organ dysfunction syndrome in the liver and kidneys.

4. Neurological Deterioration: heat can denature your brain proteins, think febrile seizures with hallucinations, violent outbursts, memory loss or inability to speak.

5. Magic Overload: Your body parts will melt and rot away as the internal temperature of your physical form is too much to bear and cooks your insides, you’ll loose the usage of your legs, your jaw will detach, your blood will boil and shred your skin, you will smoke from the inside and cough up your lungs, your teeth will fall out, eyes, nose, ears will bleed.

Angelic magic use symptoms :

Going from lightest of magic, to a constant abuse of power:

1. Cardiovascular: Your heart slows down, crystal formations inside your heart tissues, your body going trough water loss as kidneys dump your fluids trough hypothermia.

2. Blood & Veins: Cold triggers proteins in blood to clump and block vessels, hands and fingers become necrotic (frostbite-like symptoms) from poor perfusion. You’ll slowly loose motor control trough at first involuntarily twitches, to a total loss of movement.

3. Nervous System : Cold-induced nerve demyelination: causes numbness, tremors, stuttering. Will cause memory loss, slow cognition, misjudgement and hard to think, you’ll feel cold but get the sensation of being warm.

4. Skin & Extremities : Your skin will whiten as it becomes papery and cracked, veins will visibly darken as circulation slows, almost glowing trough a skin that has turned dark black. Your wing’s feathers will fall off.

5. Magic Overload: You will be frozen, stuck in your physical form as you feel crystal shards pierce trough your skin and puncture your organs. Your blood will freeze and your limbs will fall off one by one; your lungs and throat will shrink and close up on you, your bones will crack and all that will be left are your crystal tears.

Keep your magic usage in moderation!

Thank you for reading, I love you all.

[ribboned-spinal-cord]

Barely three hours after the third episode aired and I already got into a tousle, tis' the tragedies of I.

TW For : Ribbun, Name Calling, an Abundance of Swearing, mentions of Parents, Small Spoilers for Episode 3 of TADC

Disclaimer !! Before I show these screenshots, I just wanted to make it clear, they're censored for a reason !! I made this new blog for a reason !! I don't want any party involved in this situation to be found and harassed on the slim chance this post reaches an audience. I had highlighted my messages in red, excuse my clumsy censor work, my picture app didn't have an eraser.

Along with that, there were a few events that I did not get screenshots of at the time, but I will mention in this post, including my behavior and how I handled the situations end.

This entire thing started and ended in a Ribbun Discord Server owned and ran by a popular TADC fan creator on here who specializes in the aforementioned ship.

If you don't know, Ribbun is a ship between the characters Jax and Gangle of TADC, a favorite of mine and why I joined this server, invited by the person who I referred to in most of these screenshots.

This was about an hour after the third episode premiered and after rewatching it, I noticed a small dumb detail that I wanted to immediately yap to someone about. I just posted it in the general of this server and that was that.

This person didn't need to respond to my statement. They didn't even need to acknowledge me, and I would have been fine with that. Totally happy, I rarely spoke on that server anyways, but the way they approached it was so dismissive and hostile that it took me back, especially coming from someone I looked up to and before this, was actually super nice to me when they invited me to the server.

I didn't know that gooseworks had posted at all about any mistakes regarding the episode, so I wouldn't have noticed if anyone else knew about this fact, and maybe this person was tired of hearing about it or something. I've also been told that Crap isn't really a swear word, but I was raised to accept it as one.

I thought my response was clear and firm, especially compared to my other messages, where I aided in the snowballing effect to some degree. The way they responded made me feel uncomfortable at the best I can describe it. I think some people would call me triggered, if that's the right terminology?

I know they were being sarcastic in their apology, and I think my snarky response about "not forgiving them" only fueled the flames. I should have been using tone indicators this entire time to show that I was just trying to match the energy, but it seemed however I responded set them off, even if I ignored them entirely, they still tried to text me after I unfollowed and blocked them.

We went back and forth for a little bit, me being generally dismissive and giving half hearted replies as they continued to cuss me out, calling me things like "a little bitch" and threatening to knock my teeth in "so bad I'll have to go to the dentist" or something like that, but I'm probably misquoting them word for word. It only became worse after I made a "your mom" joke.

From what I can tell, the mention of their mom or any parental figure set them off, I don't know the details of why this is or what they were going through, so I apologized immediately after.

My screenshot cuts it off, but to summarize, I tried to sympathize and told them I didn't know what they were going through and genuinely didn't know anything about their home life or parents, and if I did, I wouldn't have mentioned them at all, especially in a joke like that. I probably mentioned this before, but I barely know this person, besides what they post here on Tumblr, but they were someone I looked up to and admired for their art, so it felt crushing that they acted this way so comfortably and without consequence.

Nobody besides someone in the first screenshot came to my defense, so most likely I'm in the wrong and just stupid with a closed perspective, or everyone was used to this behavior and accepted it as the norm. I suspect the latter, because later about five other people began to dog on me, and since they all had matching names, one could surmise that they were the friends of this individual. That, or parasocial fans.

I was going to leave the server because this person gave me two strikes??? (I didn't know there was a striking system in place and at the time I didn't know they owned the server, because yikes-), first one due to mentioning their mom, second because as soon as I begun to ignore them, they thought I was messing with them.

This is the part where I stopped taking screenshots, which I should have done, since it involves my nasty behavior and the peak of the story, so bear with me, you'll probably see screenshots if you know this person, or the messages if you were in the server yourself. Like I said, not naming the server or the participants involved. If any identities are leaked, it came from this person or their friends, and that goes to show they don't really care for anyone's safety.

I took these photos in the first place to send to a friend who I usually confided in about this sort of thing, because in the past I have been regarded as a push over and couldn't tell if someone's intentions were hostile, and they had an unbiased perspective in most things. After seeing the screenshots, my friend asked to join the server, which I obliged, completely forgetting that you could only be invited by a moderator or owner on that server, which was probably implemented due to people disliking ribbun to the point of harassing these types of creators, but that's my assumption and I don't want to speak for anyone.

I put my phone down for a second right after this, and when I came back, this friend had went off on the owner of the server, and I think maybe some other people that were backing her up. I didn't know my friend would act this way, but it was completely irresponsible of me to drag them into this, it wasn't my call to make, and it makes me feel terrible that something like that happened because of me. Even if I was being cussed out and harassed, that didn't give me the right to do the same, or to have my friend act in my name.

I panicked and denied inviting them, which is like, you know, not great and also I'd argue considerably worse than inviting them in the first place, until it was mentioned there was a log of everyone who has been invited to a discord server, and who invited them. I caved like a coward because I know when I get got. Before leaving, I did say some not amazing things about this person and their friends, critiquing their behavior, etc. While everyone clowned on me. I was surprised I wasn't kicked by anyone at this point, because that threat was going on for quite a bit, so I just left.

I feel a lot better knowing that although this all could have been avoided if I just ignored this person and left the server sooner, that something like this has happened before, and it will most likely happen again. I get so caught in my head I'm locked in a stasis, forgetting the obvious, that none of this matters and I'm talking to someone who lives a thousand miles away, on my little phone, in my little bedroom, in a house on an island on a planet in a galaxy in an infinitely expanding universe. Everything is simultaneously so small and so big at the same time, depending on perspective. This was stupid, that person was stupid, their lackies were stupid and I was stupid. It's very... overdramatic.

And that was that. Wanted to get it off of my chest and into the world. Toodles.

Edit :

I was just made aware that this person isn't the owner of the server, the owner messaged me and told me as such. In a later date, if this issue isn't resolved, I'll go through the post and edit it to make that clear. I thought since this person gave me two strikes within the span of 40 seconds and had a troupe egging them on, they must have held some sort of status.

[ravenlexis]

Hellloooo I just wanted to say THANK GOODNESS there’s someone else out there that doesn’t like the damsel in distress depictions done of Dr. Ratio/Aventurine. I honestly started looking into fan content a bit later on when people had already settled on the 3 ship names but I don’t understand why nobody ever just chose “ratirine” or something else to signify an equal relationship or a neutral ship tag. It seems like all the ship tags act as a neutral ship (by that I mean, just general content of the two, romantic, platonic, either topping, etc) tag but ratiorine is the most common these days.

I think they both experience periods of vulnerability but they’re also both dealing with a lot of emotional blockage due to what they’ve experienced in their respective lives. And the entire point of their relationship is that they’re both two extremely smart, independent capable men. To have one top over the other requires a clear communication of trust and being truly vulnerable, opening yourself up to the only other person in the world that won’t judge you. And to reduce that dynamic to just one or the other all the time seems wrong to me. Like I think they can switch off, although there will be times where one prefers a certain dynamic over the other.

I think the blend of ship names is used especially on here to reach the widest possible audience for a fan’s created work, which I understand, but sometimes it’s like no matter the tag these are just completely different characters lol.

Sorry for the ramble, I just appreciate someone else pointing out this fanonization and work organization trend!

hi anon! you've made a lot of good points!

i'll put my (longer than expected!) response under the cut. (this might be a trend, i keep rambling about things)

as you said, they're both capable, independent men. avent went through so much since he was a kid and he got to where he is not just by his goddess-given luck, but also his wit and cunning. depicting him as a damsel in distress is a bit hard considering what he experienced, what he's capable of, and his luck.

ratio, on the other hand, was a genius since he was a kid. nous' gaze or not, he's knowledgeable and has a good heart. he was revered as the next member of genius society since he was a teenager (at least), he walked among scholars twice his age, kept up with his studies on topics most people much older than him struggle with, and grew up much too fast. 8 PhDs and who knows how many other degrees he has. depicting him as a damsel in distress is also a difficult thing to do.

neutral ship names for many ships (not just ratio/avent) definitely exist. golden ratio is a nice alternative when there's no particular dynamic. although, tagging both ratiorine and aventio on a neutral dynamic for them probably lessens engagements?

gonna have to use another ship as an example here. zhongchi/tartali shippers have been around for quite a while. for me, personally, i like zhongchi more. i've seen several other zhongchi shippers complained about the double tags (as in, tagging both zhongchi and chili/tartali) ruined their experience in finding content. this is bcs they block the chili/tartali tags, bcs they have a set characterisations for both zhongli and childe that doesn't align with tartali.

back to ship names, a possible solution is to use a third tag for ambiguous or even no particular dynamics between characters. but if your art or fic have a particular dynamic, use the proper tag! the neutral tag probably shouldn't be used for switch dynamics tho, since that could pollute the sfw works with nsfw ones.

anyway, don't apologise for rambling! i think these discussions can be fun when everyone involved does so calmly. after all, at the end of the day, they're all fictional and we're all here to have fun imagining them being silly and in love.

if someone doesn't like something bcs it's problematic, then they absolutely should call bullshit and have a discussion about it. but if it's just a matter of who tops and who bottoms, don't like don't read should be applied liberally! let people enjoy things they like and let yourself enjoy things you like!

be like the zhongchi shippers that block tartali tags. it's not a crime, they're not hurting anyone, and they don't leave negative comments. just curating their timelines to better their experience in the fandom!

idk if anon will read this, but to the ppl who did reach this point, thank you for reading this mess lmaoo

have a great time, whether it's early in the morning or late at night or anything in between wherever you are!