#this is like the fifth time I’ve seen it and I can finally watch it without sobbing yippee | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

4linos · 2 months ago

Text

already gone.

kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: to the world, you’re the perfect couple: the rising athlete and the woman who stood by him. but behind closed doors, something is shattering. the MLB offer. the agent. the betrayal you never saw coming. now your home is no longer a refuge, but the battleground where truth and love fight for survival.

warnings: angst, heated arguments, infidelity accusations, implied cheating, emotional distress.

wc: 6335

[already gone part 2]

The soft click of the clasp echoed faintly in the bedroom as you fastened the final earring into place. Your fingers were clumsy, tired, but determined. The room was dimly lit, the last orange traces of sunset bleeding through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the vanity where you sat. Behind you, Seungmin stood near the full-length mirror in his navy suit, carefully adjusting his cufflinks.

“Are you sure you don’t want to just stay home?” he asked for what had to be the fifth time, his tone light, teasing, but underneath, you caught it, something uncertain. Something else.

You glanced at him through the mirror, watching as he checked his tie again, even though you had already fixed it just minutes ago. His posture was relaxed, the easy smile on his face was one you’d seen countless times before… but it didn’t reach his eyes. Not tonight.

“I already told you,” you replied, reaching for your lipstick. “I’m going. I want to be there.”

He exhaled with a slight chuckle, walking over to you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, and you paused applying your lipstick as he leaned in and kissed the top of your head. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he whispered.

You smiled, but your heart didn’t flutter the way it usually did. “You’re stalling,” you said plainly.

He grinned as if caught red-handed. “Can you blame me? You’re just… very pretty. Distracting.”

“You’re very bad at changing the subject,” you said, standing up and brushing invisible lint from your dress.

A soft fuss broke the moment, your daughter, Iseul. You instinctively moved toward the crib in the corner of the room where she lay in her tiny floral onesie, fists waving in complaint. Before you could reach her, Seungmin stepped in front of you.

“I got her,” he said gently, scooping her up into his arms with practiced ease. “Go on, finish. We’re already late.”

You hesitated, watching as your husband soothed your baby with a quiet hum. Even after years of marriage, and two children, it still made your heart twist to see how naturally fatherhood came to him.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

“Always,” he said, giving you a lopsided smile.

The distraction of getting ready, wrangling a toddler who had earlier decided to dump an entire box of cereal on the floor, and feeding the baby between curling your hair had left you frazzled. Seungmin’s teasing earlier had only barely been tolerable.

“Maybe it is taking longer because I’ve got two little humans to keep alive now,” you’d snapped at him earlier, glaring as he chuckled.

He’d raised both hands in mock surrender. “Not complaining. Just saying you’re not the fastest anymore.”

You’d muttered something under your breath, but Seungmin had leaned down, kissed your shoulder, and taken Iseul from your arms like it was second nature. “I’m serious though,” he had added gently. “You don’t have to come. You’ve done enough today. You always do.”

And for a moment, you had almost considered it. Almost.

But that look, the one that didn’t quite match his words had bothered you more than you admitted. You were tired, yes. But more than anything, you were curious.

Now, watching him with your daughter, that strange unease returned. You shook it off, slipped on your heels, and followed him downstairs.

Seungmin’s mother arrived just in time, letting herself in with the spare key. She was beaming, as always, excited to babysit her grandchildren for the evening. She ushered you both out of the house with warm reassurances.

“You both look wonderful,” she told you, bouncing Iseul with ease. “Have fun! Don’t worry, I’ve got everything handled.”

You kissed your children goodbye, lingering maybe a little longer than usual and followed Seungmin to the car.

The venue was already buzzing when you arrived. The end-of-season dinner was a yearly tradition, but this year felt different. Bigger. More elaborate. The private hall was beautifully decorated, navy accents for the Lotte Giants, chandeliers glimmering above round tables where players, coaches, managers, and their families were already seated, laughing, talking, raising glasses.

You were seated at one of the central tables with other wives and girlfriends, many of whom you’d grown close to over the years. There was an easiness to it familiar faces, shared exhaustion from parenting, the camaraderie of loving men whose careers were as demanding as they were exhilarating.

Seungmin settled in beside you, and his hand found yours beneath the table. His thumb brushed along your skin absentmindedly, comfortingly. You leaned in closer, murmuring, “See? Aren’t you glad we came?”

His smile was soft. “Yeah.”

And yet, there it was again. That shadow behind his eyes. That silence between sentences.

You didn’t press him. Not yet.

Dinner was a blur of laughter, clinking glasses, and endless toasts. You chatted with other WAGs, one of whom was due with her third baby in a few months and shared tips about baby sleep regressions and toddler tantrums. Seungmin drifted in and out of the conversation, occasionally throwing a playful jab at his teammates, smiling when someone complimented your dress.

But the entire night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was performing. Laughing at the right moments. Responding on cue. Holding you a little too tightly, like he was memorizing the weight of your hand.

Then the general manager stood up. The room fell quiet.

You turned toward the front, expecting the usual end-of-season wrap-up: congratulations, next season’s goals, and the usual pat-on-the-back speeches.

But this was different.

The GM’s voice echoed across the hall. “Before we close out this amazing season, I want to take a moment to acknowledge someone very special someone who’s been a cornerstone of this team for years. A player whose heart, discipline, and incredible right arm have led us through some of the toughest games of our careers.”

The room was still.

The GM continued, “Seungmin, you’ve given everything to this team and it shows. You’ve been more than a pitcher. You’ve been a leader. A brother. A Giant in every sense of the word.”

Seungmin squeezed your hand beneath the table.

“I know I speak for everyone here when I say: thank you. Thank you for the years, the grit, the wins and for making us proud. The MLB will be lucky to have you.”

Cheers erupted around the room. Glasses raised. Players clapped Seungmin on the back. WAGs smiled at you with congratulatory looks. There were whistles. Laughter. Applause.

But your body went cold.

The MLB?

The Major Leagues?

You turned to Seungmin slowly. He was smiling, ducking his head modestly, but when his eyes met yours, the truth was there. Quiet. Heavy.

You leaned closer. “What did he mean? The MLB?”

Seungmin’s smile faltered. “We’ll talk later.”

“Seungmin,” you whispered, but the room was too loud now. The moment had passed. Or maybe it had only just begun.

The car ride was so quiet it felt like the silence itself had weight.

Heavy, pressing. Like a fog that rolled in between you and Seungmin, blanketing the small, familiar space of the car in a silence that had never felt so foreign. This wasn’t the comfortable quiet that often passed between you, not the kind that came with years of knowing each other so well that words weren’t always needed.

No, this was something else.

This was the quiet of things left unsaid too long.

This was the sound of trust cracking.

Outside the windshield, the streets of Busan passed by in a blur of neon and night. Streetlights flickered over the hood of the car, casting fleeting stripes of light across Seungmin’s jaw, his hands on the wheel, the furrow of his brow. But you couldn’t look at him, not now. Not after the dinner.

Your arms were tightly crossed against your chest, like folding in on yourself could hold everything inside. Your disappointment. Your anger. Your fear. And your heartbreak most of all, that aching, low throb of heartbreak that kept pulsing under your ribs, like a bruise you didn’t see coming.

You felt him shift beside you.

Then his hand reached toward yours, the way it always did.

It was instinctive, familiar. Seungmin had always reached for you like this, even in silence. During fights. During your long hospital stay after giving birth to your daughter. During that sleepless month when your son wouldn’t stop crying and you were too exhausted to speak. His hand always found yours.

But not tonight.

You flinched.

Your arms tightened around yourself and you turned, just slightly, away from him.

Seungmin’s hand hovered in the air for a moment, then slowly fell back to the console. He didn’t speak right away.

And when he did, his voice was low. Regretful.

“I’m sorry.”

The words floated there, soft and tentative.

You stared out the window. You weren’t even looking at the streets anymore, just letting your eyes unfocus, mind reeling, thoughts scattered and tangled. You could hear the apology, sure, but it barely registered. It was buried under the roaring in your chest.

Because all you could think about, all you could see behind your tired, stinging eyes, were your babies.

Your son, Minjoon, who had refused to nap earlier today and had thrown a tantrum when you tried to get him into his formal little pants for dinner. Who’d needed three full readings of Goodnight Moon before he calmed down. Iseul, who had been fussy all evening, needing to be held, rocked, reassured. Her tiny body curling against your shoulder like you were the only thing keeping the world from swallowing her whole.

And the whole time, you’d powered through.

You’d put on the dress you’d been saving. Done your makeup. Smiled. Laughed.

For him.

Because it was supposed to be his night.

And the whole time, the whole time he’d known.

He’d known his future plans.

He’d known your life was about to be upended, and he hadn’t said a word.

A lump formed in your throat, thick and hot. You swallowed it down, but it didn’t go away.

Seungmin sighed again. This one sounded heavier.

“I didn’t want to ruin tonight for you,” he said, voice quiet. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have. I know I should’ve told you earlier. I just… couldn’t. I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t want to,” you said, eyes still fixed on the passing lights. “There’s a difference.”

That made him fall quiet.

You weren’t trying to be cruel. But you were tired, soul-deep tired and something in you had fractured when the general manager said “MLB.” The idea that your husband had been building a future, a whole new life across the ocean, and hadn’t included you, even in thought, had taken a sharp edge.

He shifted slightly in his seat.

“You don’t understand—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. “Don’t say I don’t understand. I understand too well. You’re scared, right? Scared of what it would mean to bring this up. Scared of how I’d react. So you just… kept it from me. Like it would somehow protect me. Like I couldn’t handle it.”

You finally looked at him then, and your voice cracked.

“I gave birth to two children. I’ve handled more than you know. And I thought we were in this together.”

Seungmin’s eyes flicked over to you, and the guilt in them nearly broke you. But not quite.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to risk you resenting me,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want to be the reason you uprooted your life, left your family, your friends. The kids… They’re so young. You already do everything for them. I thought maybe, if I just waited, if I figured it out first—I could make it easier. Cleaner. Safer.”

You shook your head, biting down hard on your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me, Seungmin.”

He looked down at his hands on the wheel. “I know.”

A long silence stretched between you. The car rolled into your neighborhood quiet, peaceful. Your street, lined with hedges and low lights, your home waiting up ahead. You stared at the windows, lit from inside. A warm, quiet glow.

You could imagine your son asleep in his bed. His dinosaur pajamas. The way he sometimes rolled over in the middle of the night and called for you in his sleep. Your daughter probably cradled in her grandmother’s arms, small and peaceful, unaware of the storm brewing outside her home.

You exhaled shakily. “Did you ever stop to think how this would affect them?”

“Yes,” Seungmin said, his voice hoarse. “Every day. And that’s why I’ve been so torn.”

He turned off the ignition. The sudden silence made your ears ring.

“I want to do what’s best for us. I want to give them a future. I thought this opportunity—” He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “I thought maybe it would be worth it. A few hard years, and then we could have something more.”

You sat back in your seat, chest tight. “And you didn’t think what we already had was enough?”

His lips parted, but no words came out.

Because that was the question that echoed through the car, through your mind, through your bones.

You were building something. Here. Now. You had a family. You had a rhythm, even if it was messy and chaotic and exhausting. You had love. Wasn’t that enough?

The betrayal wasn’t just about baseball. It was about being left out of the most important decision since you’d chosen each other. Since you’d become parents. Since you’d stood at that altar years ago, hands clasped, promising to never go forward without the other.

And tonight, he had gone forward. Without you.

“I’m so sorry,” Seungmin said again, voice cracking this time.

You reached for the door handle but hesitated. Your hand hovered there, your heart racing.

You looked at him one last time. “We’re not okay.”

He nodded slowly. “I know.”

You got out of the car, heels clicking softly on the ground. Seungmin followed a few steps behind, but he didn’t reach for you this time. Didn’t try to touch your hand. Didn’t speak.

Inside, your mother-in-law greeted you with a warm smile and gentle hushes, the kids were fast asleep. You thanked her. You smiled tightly. You said all the right things.

But inside, the ache lingered.

That night, you lay in bed beside Seungmin, your backs turned to each other for the first time in months. And though your body was still, your mind was not.

Because you weren’t thinking about MLB contracts.

You were thinking about a dimpled little boy who would one day ask why you moved. Why you left his playground, his cousins, his language. You were thinking about your baby girl who wouldn’t remember this home, her first room, the sound of the ocean just beyond the porch.

You were thinking about whether you were strong enough to make this leap and whether the man beside you would be the one holding your hand, or the one who had already let go.

The morning light seeped into the bedroom like a quiet intrusion soft, unwelcome. It threaded through the curtains and warmed the edge of the bed where you lay, still in your dress from the night before, now wrinkled and clinging to your tired body.

You hadn't changed. You hadn't even taken off your earrings.

Sleep had come in short, fractured waves stolen between the cries of your daughter needing to be fed at 2 a.m., and the restless tossing that followed after, your mind far too loud to silence. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the banquet hall, the raised glasses, the moment the general manager said "The MLB will be lucky to have him," and the proud, practiced smile on Seungmin’s face.

And then… the way he hadn’t looked at you when he said it.

He was still sleeping now, or pretending to be. His side of the bed was slightly turned away, shoulders curved inward, a breath that wasn’t quite steady. You didn’t care to check. You slid out of bed wordlessly, your movements quiet but brisk, careful not to wake the children or him.

You padded barefoot into the nursery and found your daughter still asleep in her crib, her tiny chest rising and falling beneath the soft pink blanket your mother had crocheted. You stared at her for a moment, absorbing the stillness, the simplicity of her peace. Your son was next, curled up in a tangle of dinosaur sheets, one small hand clutching his favorite plush tiger to his chest.

And just like that, the sharp edges of your anxiety dulled, briefly. Your children were safe. Still here. Still yours.

But the gnawing ache in your stomach hadn’t left.

You walked into the kitchen, made yourself a cup of lukewarm coffee, and settled at the table with your phone, screen lighting up with unread messages. Friends. WAGs. Notifications. Mentions. Group chats.

One name caught your eye.

A message from Yuna, one of the team wives, someone you had grown relatively close to. Always sharp-eyed and protective of the women around her. The message was short, clipped.

“Hey. Have you seen the article?”

You frowned.

Tapping the link she’d attached, you opened it and began to read.

“Inside Scoop: Lotte Giants Star Kim Seungmin’s Secret MLB Talks And the Woman Behind It All”

It was a gossip piece. The kind that pulled from ‘sources close to the player,’ spun half-truths into narratives, laced with just enough credibility to make it hard to dismiss.

You skimmed, your heart already racing. The opening paragraphs went over Seungmin’s impressive final season stats, a summary of his fan popularity, and then, the shift.

“Sources tell us that Kim has been in quiet communication with a high-profile American agent, who has reportedly been facilitating a deal behind the scenes for over a year. The two met during a prior sports event in California, where, according to insiders, the relationship between the pitcher and the agent extended beyond professional bounds.”

You stopped breathing.

No. No, no, no.

“While neither party has confirmed the rumors, those familiar with the situation say their connection appears personal and long-standing. One source adds: ‘She was more than just a rep. She was someone he trusted, someone close.’”

Your hands trembled as you scrolled.

“When asked for comment, Kim Seungmin’s representatives declined, saying the athlete is focused on finishing the season strong and spending time with his family. But the silence speaks volumes.”

You lowered the phone slowly, your heartbeat in your ears.

It felt like ice water had been poured into your veins.

A woman.

Someone he’d met in California.

Someone “close.”

Someone who had been “facilitating a deal for over a year.”

You thought back searching your memory, tracing timelines. Seungmin had gone to the U.S. for a week during the off-season last year. He said it was for a training camp and you’d believed him. Why wouldn’t you? He'd FaceTimed you with a smile, sent photos of his hotel room, texted you how much he missed you.

You remembered because you’d been pregnant then. You remembered how miserable that week had been swollen feet, morning sickness that lasted into the night, and a toddler with a fever. You’d managed it all. Alone. And when he came back, he’d brought you a sweatshirt that smelled like new cotton, a stuffed animal for your son, and a small pair of baby sneakers.

It was one of the rare times he seemed truly guilty about being away.

And now… this.

You stared at your coffee, untouched, hands tightening around the mug like it might anchor you.

The sounds of the morning were beginning to rise,

Seungmin came down not long after. Hair messy. Shirt wrinkled. Face unreadable.

But your eyes were sharp now. Searching. Watching.

He said good morning like nothing had changed. Like the night before hadn’t happened. Like you hadn’t laid in the same bed wondering if the man beside you was no longer just your husband, but a liar.

“Did you sleep at all?” he asked, moving toward the fridge.

You said nothing.

He turned. “Babe?”

“Who is she?”

The words came out colder than you intended, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t afford to be gentle. Not now.

Seungmin froze.

He blinked slowly, confusion flickering in his features. “What?”

“The woman. The agent.” You pushed your phone across the table toward him, screen still lit with the article. “You’ve been talking to her for a year?”

His expression darkened as he read. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

“This is bullshit,” he said, pushing the phone back. “You know how gossip sites work. They just—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He paused.

That pause was worse than a confession.

Your throat tightened. “Just tell me the truth.”

“There’s nothing going on,” he said, voice steady, but not reassuring. “She’s a sports agent. I met her once. She reached out after the winter games. She said there was interest. I didn’t think it was serious. It wasn’t personal.”

“You didn’t think it was serious?” you repeated, voice rising. “You’ve been talking to her for a year. Setting up your career without me. And now there’s an article saying it’s more than that, and I’m just supposed to believe it’s all nothing?”

“She wants me in the MLB,” he snapped, then immediately regretted it. His voice dropped. “That’s all. That’s all it is.”

You stood.

Something inside you, that tightly held center, broke.

“Do you know how humiliating this is?” you whispered. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be the last to know about your own husband’s life? To find out in a room full of strangers that he’s moving across the world? And then the next morning, read that he’s been seeing another woman behind my back, business or not — for a year?”

Seungmin was pale now. Quiet.

“I never touched her,” he said. “I never crossed that line, I never cheated on you.”

“But you hid her,” you said. “And that says enough.”

Your son peeked around the corner, clutching his plush tiger, wide-eyed.

You exhaled, fighting to calm the storm inside you. You bent down, kissed the top of his head, and guided him back toward his toys.

“I’m not doing this in front of the kids,” you said without turning around. “I’m not fighting with you where they can hear.”

Seungmin’s voice was barely audible. “Then when?”

You looked back at him, the man you’d loved for years, the man who had held your hand in delivery rooms, danced with you barefoot in the kitchen, written love letters on hotel stationery.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Because right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

And for the first time in your marriage, you walked away.

Not because you didn’t love him.

But because you had to protect something more fragile.

Yourself.

The silence that had stretched like taut wire through the early morning finally snapped by noon.

You’d tried to hold your tongue. Tried to focus on the children. On the daily motions that had once felt so automatic, making lunch, folding a forgotten pile of laundry, wiping jelly from your son’s cheeks. But even the gentlest parts of your life had turned sharp, heavy with unsaid words.

Seungmin paced behind you, trailing like a shadow, quiet but restless. You could feel his gaze at your back, like static.

He was waiting.

For you to explode.

Or for you to let it go.

And you could feel it crawling up your throat, that familiar heat. You had done this for too long. Swallowed things for the sake of peace. Told yourself it was just the job, just stress, just a phase. But today? There was no peace left to keep.

You turned toward him, jaw set.

“You’ve been hiding things from me for months.”

His eyes locked with yours instantly, tired, bloodshot. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”

“Don’t—” You barked a short, incredulous laugh. “Don’t say that. You didn’t tell me about the MLB deal. You didn’t tell me about this agent. And now, suddenly, the news breaks and everyone knows before I do?”

“I didn’t know it was going to come out like that,” he said, frustrated. “It was supposed to be private.”

“Private? We’re married, Seungmin!”

“I know that—”

“Do you?” Your voice cracked. “Because I didn’t feel married last night. I felt like someone tagging along at a dinner where my husband’s future got announced without me. And I didn’t feel married this morning, reading that some womanhas been guiding your entire next chapter, while I was here — pregnant, raising two kids — not knowing anything.”

He ran both hands through his hair, the tension in his shoulders visible. “It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like?” you snapped. “Explain it. Tell me, because right now the facts don’t add up. You said you didn’t cheat, but I never even said you did.”

That stopped him.

His eyes went wide like you’d pulled the ground out from under him.

You stared.

And he knew. You saw the flicker of realization in his face. That he had let something slip, a defense he shouldn’t have offered if he wasn’t guilty of more than what you knew.

“I didn’t cheat,” he said again, more measured now. “I just thought— when I saw the article, I thought—”

“You thought I’d accuse you,” you said flatly. “Because something did happen.”

“No!” He stepped forward, desperate. “No. Nothing happened. I swear to you.”

You crossed your arms. “Then why are you scrambling? Why is your story changing every ten seconds? First you barely knew her, then she reached out to you, now she’s been helping you for a year?”

He gritted his teeth. “She reached out after the winter games—”

“You already said that.”

“She brought up the offer before it was even real. I didn’t take it seriously at first—”

“And yet somehow, she’s close enough to you now that people think you’re involved,” you said bitterly. “Funny how fast that escalated.”

He groaned, turning his back briefly, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want it to turn into this. I just— I’ve been trying to secure something better for us. For the kids.”

You laughed again, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t you dare bring our kids into this. Don’t act like this was some noble sacrifice. You weren’t thinking about them. You weren’t thinking about me. You were thinking about you. Your career. Your next big move.”

“That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair,” you shot back, “is waking up next to a stranger. A man who made decisions without me. Who kept a woman secret from me for over a year. Who lied — or twisted the truth so carefully it felt the same.”

Seungmin stepped closer, voice rising now to match yours. “She’s a professional contact. I didn’t want to involve you until I knew it was real. Is that so hard to understand?”

You were yelling now. “What’s hard to understand is why I had to find out with the rest of the world. If you respected me, if you trusted me, if we were a team like you always said— you would’ve told me.”

He shouted over you, voice breaking with frustration. “I was scared, okay?! I didn’t want you to say no. I didn’t want you to hate me for dragging you and the kids overseas. I didn’t want to make this harder than it already is.”

You stared at him, truly stared.

And what broke you wasn’t the yelling.

It was the fear in his voice. Not of losing you, but of confronting the truth. Of facing the fallout of a decision he’d already made.

Your chest heaved. Your eyes burned.

“That’s the part you don’t get,” you said, quietly this time. “You already made it harder. Not by asking me to leave. Not by considering the offer. But by lying. By deciding I couldn’t handle the truth.”

He shook his head, voice thick. “It wasn’t about you.”

You scoffed. “Right. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You didn’t notice how loud you’d become until the silence that followed felt unnatural. And then, A piercing, frantic cry cut through the house.

Iseul.

Shrill, high-pitched, panicked.

You both turned at once.

Seungmin moved first, instinctively, like the father he still was bolting toward the nursery hallway. But your hand shot out and grabbed his wrist, stopping him cold.

He looked at you in confusion, breath shallow.

You stared at him with fire in your eyes.

“No.”

His brows furrowed. “What— she’s crying—”

“I’ll go,” you said, your voice raw. “Not you.”

“Why?” His voice cracked. “She’s our daughter.”

“No,” you whispered. “She’s my daughter right now. Because I’m the only one here.”

He blinked like you’d slapped him.

You let go of his wrist.

Then you turned and rushed.

Down the hall, through the open nursery door, into the soft lavender-painted room where your daughter wailed from her crib, little fists clenched, cheeks red and glistening.

You gathered her into your arms, heart pounding, holding her to your chest like a shield. Her tiny body shook against yours, but you whispered soothing words, rocking her gently.

“I’ve got you,” you murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And you meant it.

Not just for her.

For yourself.

Because right now, in this house filled with cracked trust and echoing pain, you were the only one still standing for her. For both of your children. You couldn’t protect them from everything, but you could be the one who stayed honest.

You rocked her until the cries softened, until her small breaths slowed against your collarbone.

And in the hallway behind you, you heard Seungmin sit down on the floor hard, like the weight of everything had finally caught up.

But you didn’t go to him.

Not this time.

The house was too quiet.

Hours had passed since the first argument, the one that left your daughter screaming in your arms and your husband sitting stunned in the hallway like the wind had been knocked from his chest. You thought maybe that would be the end of it. That silence would stretch long enough for one of you to finally make sense of what to say.

But you couldn’t stop thinking.

And Seungmin? He couldn’t stop moving.

He hadn’t left the house, but he’d stayed out of the nursery, out of the bedrooms, mostly pacing through the kitchen and hallway like a caged animal. When you walked past each other, it was stiff, shallow. He opened his mouth once, maybe twice, but the words fell away before they landed.

Until now.

It was dark out when it happened. The kids were finally asleep, your son curled in your bed, the baby passed out against your chest after her last bottle.

You passed her to her crib slowly, carefully, and left the nursery on bare feet, moving quietly through the hall.

Seungmin was waiting at the end of it arms crossed, leaned against the doorway to the living room like he was forcing himself to stay still.

You didn’t stop walking.

“Can we talk now?” he said, not looking at you.

You paused.

Turned.

“Yes,” you said. “But I’m not doing it with half-truths again.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You crossed your arms. “So start from the beginning. Not the version you’ve revised three times. The truth.”

He pushed off the wall and walked into the living room. You followed.

He didn’t sit. Neither did you.

“It started last winter,” he began, voice low. “There was this exhibition thing in L.A., and one of the scouts introduced us. Her name’s Madison.”

Madison.

It hurt, having a name to put to the ghost. Somehow it made it worse.

“She said she’d seen me pitch in Busan the year before,” he continued. “Said she thought I had MLB potential. I didn’t believe her at first.”

“And?”

“She gave me her card. Said if I ever wanted to explore the option, I could reach out. I didn’t. Not for months. But then— after I got that minor injury in spring training, I started thinking about my shelf life. How fast it could end. How the kids are growing, and we’ll need more— more security, more stability. So I called her.”

Your expression hardened. “You were injured, and you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

You scoffed. “You didn’t want me to know. That’s what you mean.”

He winced, but didn’t correct you.

“I wasn’t planning anything big at first,” he said quickly. “It was just supposed to be background talk. Feelers. I didn’t even sign anything.”

“But you were talking to her regularly,” you said. “Behind my back. Letting her shape your decisions. Tell me again how that’s not hiding something?”

“She had connections,” he said. “I needed her.”

“You needed me,” you said. “You needed us. But you didn’t think we could handle the truth?”

“I didn’t want to drag you into something that wasn’t certain.”

“Bullshit,” you said, your voice cracking. “You didn’t want to hear me say no.”

His lips parted. Shut again.

Your heart was pounding now. Hard.

“And now this article comes out,” you said. “And it says you’ve had a close relationship with her. Not just business. Not just professional. And you still expect me to believe it was nothing?”

He threw up his hands. “Because it was nothing!”

“You keep saying that,” you snapped. “But everything else you say changes! First you barely knew her. Then she was a connection. Then you were working together for months. Now she’s your lifeline to a better life?! Which version is the truth, Seungmin?”

He stepped toward you, voice raised. “You think I’m sleeping with her? You think I would cheat on you?! After everything—”

“I didn’t say that!” you shouted. “You did!”

His mouth opened again.

And again, he had nothing.

“Do you hear yourself?” you said, near tears now. “You keep trying to fix the story instead of just telling it. Every time you talk, I feel like I’m catching you in another lie.”

He turned away, paced across the room, grabbed at his hair.

“I wasn’t lying,” he said, almost to himself. “I wasn’t trying to— I didn’t want to—”

“You didn’t want to hurt me?” you asked, voice softer now, but shaking. “Then why does it feel like every word you say is cutting deeper?”

He turned, frustrated. “I was trying to make the best of what I could! I thought if I got the deal solid first, you’d feel better knowing it wasn’t just a risk—”

“I don’t need you to protect me from risks,” you snapped. “I need you to be honest. I need you to respect me enough to let me choose the hard things with you.”

He stared at you, this woman who had stood by him through every game, every travel stretch, every missed birthday and late-night bus ride. And now, when he needed you most, he realized...

He’d gone too far without you.

And now he couldn’t pull you back.

Your hands dropped to your sides, empty. Exhausted.

“I don’t even know if I’m angry at you,” you whispered. “Or if I’m angry at myself for not seeing it sooner.”

He blinked, breathing uneven.

You moved past him, toward the hallway again.

“Where are you going?”

“I need air.”

He followed. “You can’t just walk out—”

You turned, eyes blazing.

“No,” you said. “You need to leave.”

His face twisted. “What?”

“I need space. The kids are asleep. I’m not doing this again while they’re in this house.”

He hesitated. “Where the hell am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t care,” you said. “You can go to a hotel, you can sleep in your car, you can call your manager. I just— I can’t look at you right now.”

He laughed, bitterly. “So that’s it?”

“No,” you said. “But it’s all I’ve got tonight.”

His eyes were wild now, mouth slightly open, chest heaving with things he couldn’t say fast enough.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine. You don’t want to hear it? You don’t want to listen to anything I have to say? Then I’ll go.”

“I’ve been listening,” you shouted. “It’s just that none of it makes sense.”

He shoved past you, storming into the bedroom. You heard drawers yanked open. A zipper. A bag hitting the floor.

You stood frozen in the hallway, watching the shadows move under the door.

Then, moments later, it opened. He walked past you, hoodie on, baseball cap low, duffel over his shoulder. His mouth pressed into a line.

You didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

He walked down the stairs, opened the door, and stepped outside.

You watched him through the window, standing still in the dark. His car door opened.

But he didn’t get in.

He stood beside the car for a second, shoulders hunched like the weight had finally settled across them.

And then he looked back toward the house.

For a flicker.

A moment.

As if expecting you to follow.

You didn’t.

And then he got in.

And drove off.

You didn’t cry at first.

You stood there, gripping the edge of the banister like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Then, once the headlights vanished, once the silence roared back into your chest—

You broke.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

You just sank.

Onto the stairs. Onto your knees. And the sobs came in waves. Quiet, painful, relentless.

Because love wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Because you didn’t know what was real anymore.

Because the man you had once called home had chosen a path that no longer included you, not fully.

And you didn’t know if he would find his way back.

masterlist.

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ceruark · 4 months ago

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still here

[yan! sunday x gn! reader] synopsis: you’ve been waiting for the day you’d finally be free from your captor. but fate has other plans, as you keep reliving the moment of his departure. words: 5,320 cw: yandere themes: mentions of previous manipulation, abduction, obsessive & possessive behavior; implied alcoholism, brief mention of murder/stabbing a/n: i’ve had this on backlog for MONTHS i’m so glad it’s finally done. i hope it’s okay and u guys like it <3

It’s true what they say about there being light at the end of a dark, seemingly endless tunnel; when the Astral Express finally departs, it does so in a blaze, washing the dock by The Reverie in a brilliant glow and momentarily blinding you. Once your vision clears up, it’s nothing but a star shooting across the vast sky, leaving behind a warmth that lifts the weight of the world off your shoulders.

At least, that’s how it felt the first time.

You’re not sure how many times you’ve seen it leave, at this point— you lost count a while ago. There were a few times you decided to not even show up at the dock, to see if it changed anything, but to your dismay, you woke up in your apartment in Golden Hour every single time, your alarm clock blaring at seven in the morning and the calendar reading that same, dreaded day.

December 3rd.

You realized after the fifth time that you were, in no uncertain terms, stuck in a time loop. The universe seems to revel in your suffering, and it finds particular hilarity in you repeatedly having to see Sunday “for the last time.” It doesn’t matter what you change— the day always resets. You’ve seen him off with the sweet disposition you learned long ago to keep up in public spaces, and you’ve cursed him out, screamed at him, and hit him.

But none of it worked. Nothing has changed.

You sigh as Siobhan swipes your empty glass off the table and replaces it with a full one. She nods at you sympathetically, eyes gleaming with pity. In the years following your abduction, you became a regular at the Dreamjolt Holstery whenever Sunday was out on business. You drank yourself to the bottom of bottles, chasing some kind of reprieve in a place where you could actually breathe. Siobhan was always sweet to you and never ratted you out. Gallagher had been good company as well, chasing out Oak Family representatives whenever they came poking around. You miss him, at times.

You take a slow sip of your wine. The finest chardonnay Penacony has to offer slips down your throat, and a pang rips through you as it does. You had shared a bottle with Sunday on your second date, back when you believed him to be a much different man than he proved to be.

You push the glass across the table and fold your arms on top of it, laying your head down and resting your cheek against it. Your eyes blearily scan the bar, drinking in the happy couples with some bitter cocktail of desolation and envy. You watch them, the way they so tenderly hold each other and exchange whispers and sweet kisses— no fronts or guards up— and you lament it all. You curse Xipe’s name and spit on Ena’s memory for the umpteenth time. Perhaps your blasphemy is so plentiful at this point that it stands out against the countless prayers reaching the sky from Penacony’s citizens, a hideous smudge on what should be a flawless record of blind admiration.

But you never were very good at falling in line.

Movement startles you out of your stupor. You lift your head and watch as a woman donning a large black hat and draped in the finest clothing money can buy settles into the booth across from you.

You clench your jaw tightly. Lady Bonajade, the soul who so graciously saved Sunday from everything he deserves.

She meets your poisonous glare with a sickly sweet smile. “Such bitterness on what should be a joyous occasion,” she drawls. She takes the abandoned wine glass into her hand and takes a sip. “What’s the matter, darling?”

You flick your gaze back to the bar where Siobhan is wiping down the counter. “It’s not really any of your business,” you respond evenly. You know better than to entertain her. She won’t give you anything useful, anyway.

She didn’t the last time you talked to her about your predicament.

She laughs. “So distrusting, though I suppose I can’t blame you for being a product of your environment.” Your heated glare fixes on her again, and she smiles, pleased with herself. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you seem sad to see him go.”

“Then it’s a good thing you know better,” you mutter.

She hums, then lifts the glass again. She takes long sips of the wine as she scrolls idly through her phone, presumably waiting for you to crack and spill your guts.

Perhaps you would keep your wits about you under any other circumstances. Jade’s presence does not come without an ulterior motive, and anything she offers you will certainly not come free. Speaking with her means risking being trapped under someone else’s thumb when you’ve only been free from Sunday’s for a few months.

But is there any real harm in confiding in her if she won’t even remember this?

“You won’t believe me,” you say, in a voice barely above a whisper.

A small smile crosses her lips as she sets her phone down. She meets your eyes, her gaze deceptively warm. “Try me.”

You stare at the polished surface of the table for a long moment, failing to find strength in the disheveled reflection that stares back at you. “I’m stuck in a time loop.”

Jade doesn’t say anything. When you look up at her, her gaze is much sharper, but there’s clear interest in it. She gestures for you to continue.

“I don’t know how many times I’ve lived this day. No matter what I do, I wake up and it’s the third of December.” You clench your hands into fists, and they tremble where they rest on the table. “I’ve watched him leave countless times now. I’ve been kind to him when he leaves, I’ve slapped him in front of the Express crew, I’ve straight up refused to show up and I’ve left Penacony altogether. I’ve—”

You choke on your words, remembering the sound of horrified shrieks and golden eyes gleaming with horror and heartbreak. The feeling of sinking the blade into his chest and getting his blood on your hands had been as sickening as it was liberating.

“I’ve killed him,” you whisper. “But he didn’t— he’s still here. Every day. I can’t get rid of him.” A pathetic, weak laugh leaves you as you bury your face in your hands. “Even now, I can’t get rid of him.”

Silence descends over the booth. The idle chatter and occasional laughter of other patrons breaks up the tension in the air between you and Jade. The only sign that she’s even still at the table with you is the sound of her nails clinking against the side of the wine glass as she ponders your words.

“Let’s say, for discussion’s sake, that I do believe you.” You look up, meeting her cool, calculated gaze. “Do you have any theories as to why you are stuck in a time loop?”

You frown. “If we go off cliche, I’m making a wrong decision somewhere.”

Jade nods. “Agreed. Something far bigger than us in a place beyond humanity isn’t happy with you.”

You rest your cheek against your palm. “Any suggestions? I’m all out of ideas.”

She hums. “Why don’t we start by going over what you haven’t tried? You’re—”

“A clever little thing, given my previous circumstances.” Jade’s eyes go a bit wide at your sudden interruption, completing her sentence for her. Feeling inordinately exhausted, you sigh. “We’ve had this conversation before.” You lower your gaze. “When you convinced me to kill him.”

Jade goes back to tapping the glass again. You glare at her. Maybe if she’d just let Sunday face the music and be executed like the little lamb Gopher Wood intended for him to be, you wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe you’d be back in the Dreamflux, enjoying a quaint, more secluded life.

“Killing him did not work.”

“No,” you murmur, “it didn’t.”

“Well, then the answer seems quite clear to me.” She tilts her head to the side, causing the light to glint off her earrings. “But you may not like it very much, darling.”

Desperate, you say, “Shoot.”

The corner of her lips pull up, and she presses a finger to her lips in a shushing gesture. She stares at you expectantly.

You pull your lips back in a snarl. “You’re really not going to tell me?”

She lifts the glass one last time to her grinning lips, and polishes off the wine. “Clever little thing,” she says in sing-song.

White-hot rage burns in your veins, and red flashes behind your eyes. Too used to your actions no longer having consequences, you slam your hands onto the table, startling the patrons around you.

Jade doesn’t so much as flinch.

“This is all your fault.” You thrust a damning finger in her face, your frustration mounting and your voice cracking in odd places. “You should have let him die. He deserved to. He deserved to— if not for what he did to Penacony, for what he did to me.”

“How sad you feel that way.” Her calm response stokes the flames burning up what little remains of your heart. “His sister would have missed him dearly.”

A sardonic laugh tears at your throat. “I could care less about Robin. What has she ever done for me?” You grin, wild and anguished. “Maybe if he died, then she would feel even a fraction of the despair I felt everyday trapped in that damn labyrinth he called our home!”

“You’re very focused on his death, when it’s already proven to be something that won’t work out for you very well.”

“If you hadn’t interfered,” you whisper, very slowly, “I wouldn’t be in this mess. Maybe instead, it would be me making a grand getaway with the Astral Express.”

A smile crawls over her face, cold and cruel and serpent-like. She leans forward ever so slightly, her hat casting shadows over the eyes that pin you to your seat.

“There’s your answer.”

Your heart plummets. Her words are ice-cold water down your back, raising every hair on your body and sending your heart stuttering. Time slows down and everything stills, the idle chatter of the bar nothing more than white noise in your ears as you stare into the maw of the predator, the one that allowed yours to live.

The word falls from your lips, a single, broken syllable. “No.”

“Going with him is the only thing you haven’t tried.”

“Why—” Something tight coils in your throat, and you choke on it, a sob finding its way out of your throat. “Why would that be the answer?”

Why should he still be allowed to have you, after everything?

Jade’s smile softens out around the edges. If you didn’t know any better, you would say she looks almost sympathetic. “Perhaps he has not fallen from grace with the Harmony as much as he believes he has.”

Your nails pierce through the skin of your palm. You bite down on your lip until you taste blood.

“He is a boy favored by aeons,” Jade says mournfully. “It is a choice that has never been in your hands.”

Letting out a shuddering gasp, you shoot up from the table and bolt out of the bar. Patrons exclaim around you as you shoulder past them, hardly holding yourself together from breaking down right there in the bar. Somewhere behind you, Siobhan calls out for you, but you ignore her and break out into a frenzied sprint.

Your legs burn as you run, your instincts taking over your mind which has gone numb. They carry you through the secluded alleys of Golden Hour, over fences and past guards and through thorn bushes until you finally reach your destination.

Finding your way into the room you had once shared with Sunday isn’t difficult. The twisted hallways of Dewlight Pavilion have long since been burned into your memory, and you easily reach the bedroom before various Oak Family guards can reach you.

You lock the door behind you and push yourself off the wall just as people begin pounding loudly on the door and shouting. Navigating the room in a daze, you reach the nightstand on Sunday’s side of the bed and open the drawer.

The matches he would use to light prayer candles have gone untouched.

Matches in hand, you march into the bathroom and open the cabinet. Ripping the isopropyl alcohol off the shelf, you untwist the cap with your teeth and spit it out onto the pristine tile floor. Walking back into the room, you douse the bed in the bottle’s contents, saving just a bit to leave a trail from the bed to the bedroom window.

You set the empty bottle down on your vanity. Fingertips ghosting over the surface, you pause when they meet the familiar grooves of a small jewelry box Robin had brought you from her previous tour. You open it, staring down at it in disdain as the music box attached to it plays a lullaby from your childhood— yet another cherished memory tainted by the siblings. Your eyes roam the contents of the box, taking note of the empty space amongst your collection of rings.

You shut the lid, lock it, then hurl it at the window.

The clamoring guards outside the room get louder at the sound of shattering glass. Wasting no time, you rush toward the window and sling both legs over the ledge, your back now facing the room.

Turning around, you strike a match, and drop it onto the edge of the alcohol trail.

In a singular second, the fire catches and spreads, until the canopy bed is engulfed in flames.

A sob escapes your throat, then a laugh, then a strange combination of both. The sounds mesh together and rack your body until you’re nothing more than a hysterical mess sitting above broken glass, watching the room that haunts your nightmares burn to the ground.

A yell sounds behind you. “There’s the culprit!”

A tranquilizer dart reserved for Penacony’s worst pierces your arm, and then you collapse to the floor.

Your eyes fly open at the sound of a cheery Clockie theme song blaring through your room. Your arm shoots out from beneath your comforter and slams the snooze button, silencing the chipper voice. Slowly, you turn to look at your left arm.

There’s no pinprick of a dart on it, not a single blemish in sight.

You bury your face into your pillow and scream at the top of your lungs, allowing yourself to sob one last time. Then, you resign yourself to your fate.

You go through the motions as though you haven’t been out of practice for even a single day. You take a long, warm shower, warming the water to the point of scalding and lathering your skin until it’s red and raw. You bathe yourself with a lavender soap— his favorite scent on you.

Wrapped in only a towel, you walk into your room and approach your closet. Taking a deep breath, you kneel down and reach in the far back, grabbing onto a box and pulling it toward you.

You grimace as you pull the flaps open. Inside sits the few objects gifted to you by Sunday that you decided to save when The Family permitted you to enter Dewlight Pavilion one last time, following his arrest. Gingerly, your fingers ghost over the soft silk of a baby blue shirt. You take the shirt and unfold it, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when your gaze falls on the small object that had been tucked away into the fabric.

A sapphire gemstone carved into an oval sits on top of an ornate silver band, encased on both sides by smaller diamonds.

You slip your wedding ring onto your finger, choking back a sob as you do.

You set the silk shirt aside and stuff the box’s remaining contents into a duffel bag which you also pack with the belongings that are too important to leave abandoned in a place you’re likely to never return to. You put the silk shirt on, pairing it with a flowy pair of pants and shoes that compliment it well. You clasp a simple yet rather expensive necklace around your throat. Then, you sling the duffel bag over your shoulder and head toward your apartment’s front door.

You shut it behind you without looking back.

Every step taken toward The Reverie is one filled with dread. Your legs are as heavy as your heart, every fiber of your being working to weigh you down and ask you to resist just one last time. Certainly, there must be another way, another method you haven’t tried yet.

You do not pray to Xipe. You do not pray to a god that has forsaken you in the name of gifting their favorite child everything his heart desires. You do not pray to a god who only rebuked him when his actions affected the masses— if your cries of suffering were not enough for them to take action then, then your cries would certainly not be enough now.

All you can do is hold onto a thin string of hope within your heart that when the day draws to a close, you will wake up in your bedroom once more.

The automatic doors of the dock hiss open as you approach, revealing the scene you’ve lived countless times before. Miss Himeko stands with Mr. Yang by the entrance, going over final clearances with one of The Reverie’s hosts. Closer to the Express’s entrance, March and Stelle rifle through a large bag filled with souvenirs, arguing over which of their friends from other planets will receive which gift. Dan Heng is somewhere inside the train with the most wanted man in Penacony.

Swallowing your grief, you approach the crew’s eldest members with a pleasant smile plastered onto your face.

“Pardon the intrusion, but do you perhaps have space for one more?”

Miss Himeko and Mr. Yang turn around, the former appearing a bit more surprised to see you than the latter. She eyes you with concern, her lips pursing into a thin line as her gaze lands on the bag you’ve brought with you, and the brilliant ring sitting on the hand that holds the duffle bag’s strap.

“Ah, you—” Mr. Yang shoots a quick glance at the host, who has already moved on to tending to other vehicles departing the dock. He looks back at you with a smile. “You must be Sunday’s partner.”

You nod. “I spoke with Jade recently. I was hoping that I could join you on your travels, for the time being.” You reach down to fidget with your ring, feigning heartache. “I hope it’s not too much trouble— and that you understand.”

Mr. Yang looks over your shoulder and meets Miss Himeko’s gaze. The two share a silent conversation, one that makes you more nervous with each passing second.

There is nothing anyone can prove, but you know that Jade is aware your marriage wasn’t a happy one, even if she doesn’t know the specifics. You also know that she has shared plenty of conversations with Miss Himeko, ones that may have explored more intimate details of Sunday’s life under the guise of assessing if he should be allowed to roam the galaxy beyond Penacony’s prison. If she turns you away now, it would be yet another method of breaking the time loop that you wouldn’t be able to test.

“We have no problem accepting another passenger, and we have plenty of space to accommodate you, of course.” Mr. Yang places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “But I must ask you: are you sure this is what you want?”

You’re not sure of what you want. You haven’t been sure of what you want since you woke up in Dewlight Pavilion that fateful night, dazed and confused with Sunday at your side, apologizing profusely but insisting it was for the best.

What you want has never been your choice, and perhaps it never would be.

“I appreciate the concern, but I have had plenty of time to think about this. I feel that being with my husband is the best path forward for me right now.” You give Mr. Yang a strained yet reassuring smile. “And if I change my mind, I’d be happy to get off and have a fresh start somewhere far from here.”

Mr. Yang and Miss Himeko share one last look, then the latter turns to you with a warm smile.

“We’d be happy to have you join us. The more the merrier, as they say.” She places a gentle hand on your shoulder. Mr. Yang disappears into the train as Miss Himeko pulls you slightly closer to her.

“And if you need anything,” she whispers, “do not hesitate to let me know.”

You take in a shuddering breath, struggling to keep your perfect facade together as she pulls away from you.

“Stelle! March!” The two girls turn toward Miss Himeko as she approaches the entrance. “I need you two to clear out whatever we have stored in the guest room. We’re leaving with one more head than expected.”

The two peek around Miss Himeko, eyes lighting up with curiosity as they spot you.

“Oh! Are you Mr. Sun— er, our new passenger’s spouse?” March beams at you, looking a bit bashful at her near slip-up. “You’re so cute!”

“Ah, thank you.” You bow your head in a polite gesture. “I’m very grateful Mr. Yang and Miss Himeko have decided to let me join you all. I hope it’s not a problem for the rest of you.”

“Of course not!” March jests cheerily, “Who are we to stand in the path of true love?”

You smile at her and say nothing.

“Well then,” Miss Himeko says, saving you from needing to entertain March’s comment, “it’s about time we get going. We have a few minor stops we’d like to make before Amphoreus, but we also don’t want to hold up Miss Black Swan more than we already have.”

“Right!” March skips up the steps to the lobby car, followed by Stelle, then you and Miss Himeko. “I can’t wait to go back to Belobog! I bought this cute origami bird plushie that I think Bronya will love.”

In the lobby, a man who bears a striking resemblance to Stelle lays sprawled out on one of the couches, watching Dan Heng fiddle with something on a holographic display. A bunny dressed in a conductor’s uniform shouts about dinner plans, and a woman donning a dark veil watches you board the train with a knowing look that makes your skin crawl.

You turn to Miss Himeko, avoiding the mysterious lady’s stare. “Where can I put my things?”

“Ah, right this way,” she says, guiding you toward the ascending staircase at the back of the car. The next car over is a long hallway of doors. She leads you to the very end of it and produces a keycard from her jacket pocket. She taps it against the door and it slides open, revealing a simple room furnished with a bed, desk, and dresser. She turns to you and hands you the keycard.

“Here’s where you’ll be staying. Feel free to change it however you see fit.”

“Thank you, Miss Himeko.” You dip your head again. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

“Oh, please, there’s no need to be so formal. Just Himeko is fine, and we’re happy to have you.” Her smile falters a bit as she takes a step back and gestures to a door across the hall and a few doors down from yours. “He’s staying in that room, if you wish to speak with him. If you’re not ready, though, take as much time as you need.”

“Of course.” You step into the room they’ve assigned to you, setting your duffle bag on the floor. As you hear her footsteps retreating, you allow your face to fall and your body to slump against the bed, burying your face in your hands.

You stay like that, long after the door makes a clicking sound and slides shut.

You miss dinner, settling for chewing your nails down to nubs as a source of protein instead.

Surely, he must know that you’re here. You figure Mr. Yang mentioned it to him when he disappeared after you confirmed your wishes to board the train, and certainly March would have brought it up over dinner.

He knows of your presence, but he has yet to approach you.

It puts you on edge. What could he possibly be scheming this time? Certainly, after his sudden fall from grace, he’d be pouncing at the opportunity to regain some semblance of control over something so familiar— at least, that’s what you figured before boarding the train, the very thing that left you hesitant to entertain Jade’s suggestion.

You pace around your room well into the night, working your legs tired from walking to and fro in such a cramped space for nearly two hours. When it proves to be a futile effort to quell your anxieties or wear you down into a sleepier state, you huff and grab the key to your room off the barren desk and shove it into your pocket.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s making you come to him. He’s always made you do that when he feels you’ve done something wrong, and your refusal to stand with him at the recreation of the dream was likely an egregious misstep in his eyes.

The door to your room hisses open. You step out into the hallway, darkened now that the lights have been dimmed to the lowest setting. You drag your feet as you walk, prolonging your journey as you gather the last of your courage and try to figure out what you’ll say— whether you’ll face him with all the rage boiling beneath your skin, or with the perfectly crafted mask you’d grown so used to wearing before the events of the Charmony Festival.

You raise your hand— curled into a fist— and let it hover in the air in front of the door. Sucking in a deep breath, you will your heart to slow in your chest, then you rap lightly against the door.

For a few seconds, nothing happens. They spill into each other, and the lack of response has you considering fleeing to your room when the sound of a latch releasing knocks you out of your stupor. The door hisses open, and golden eyes pierce into your own.

Sunday meets your eyes with all the burning intensity as the day he first told you he loves you. He blinks rapidly a few times, long lashes brushing against his cheeks as he does. His gaze slowly drags up and down your figure, taking you in, almost in disbelief. When he settles on meeting your gaze again, he murmurs your name lightly into the space between you two, the sweet call of it dousing the flames that have been burning since his arrest and leaving you so, so cold.

Your throat constricts. You’d forgotten how small he makes you feel— not because he’s cruel, but because his love for you is so tangible and pure despite everything he’s done.

“Sunday,” you whisper back, mournfully.

His gloved fingers twitch where they rest by his side, yet he does not reach for you. “Not that I’m displeased to see you, my love,” he asks, “but what are you doing here?”

The truth sounds as insane as it makes you feel, so you lie. “I wanted to check on you.”

Something softens in his gaze, and you feel your veins flood with disgust— whether it’s at the fact that he’s so desperate for your affection that he readily believes you, or because it’s so easy for him to break down the walls of hatred you’ve built up, you refuse to determine.

You grit your teeth, trying to dredge up some of your fury from earlier. “Don’t be misled,” you mutter, “I’m not here to pretend like everything’s fine.” You cross your arms over your chest, facing him again with a more guarded look. “If you’re traveling with the Express as a means to make up for what you’ve done, then—” You suck in a sharp breath. “Then someone you’ve wronged should be here to see if you’re really changing.”

You avert your gaze. The silence grows thick between you two, the seconds blending into long, agonizing minutes.

“I see,” he finally says, and you look back up at him. There’s something pinched in his gaze— something a bit pained— yet he manages to look relieved. “If that’s the case, then I’m glad it’s you.” His next words come as a shock to you, causing your eyes to go wide and rendering you speechless. “I understand I have much to make for. Not just to Penacony, but to you, particularly, my dear.”

As you fall quiet, he steps toward you and delicately takes your fingers into his grasp. He brings them up to his lips and kisses the end of each one before speaking again. “I would like to earn the right to your love again,” he mumbles against them. “If you’ll allow me.”

Within you, your hatred and fondness for Sunday wage a war with each other, fighting to gain the upper hand. You shouldn’t allow him— you should have never been forced into a position where you would even have to entertain such a notion. You’ve lived this day so many times, and all it’s done is remind you of who put you in the situation, who dragged you down from the heavens with him. Each relived day left your fury festering like an open wound, as desperate for reprieve from the loop as you’d been desperate for your freedom, at a time.

And yet, there’s another part of you that was forgotten in the midst of the chaos of the time loop, one that is hopelessly enamored with him and endlessly forgiving. You will never agree with his methods or his actions, but despite everything, you still understand his viewpoint and how it drove him to this point. The hardest part about loving Sunday is knowing that every shred of pain he may cause is inflicted with only the best intentions, each wound carved into you with a tender touch and healed through a devotion that runs so deep it leaves you dizzy.

You curl your fingertips into his hold and pull yourself toward him, crossing the threshold and stumbling into his room. You crash into him and bury your face in his chest, wrapping your arms around his waist to hold yourself there. He lets out a shuddering exhale at the contact. One of his hands settles at the small of your back, and the other comes up to cradle the back of your head and gently stroke your hair.

“You better make up for all of it,” you say, voice wet with unshed tears. “You better make it worth my while.”

He hums, and you can feel it reverberate through his chest. “Of course, dove,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “Nothing but the best for you.”

The next morning, you wake to the sound of the train’s low buzzing as it shoots through the cosmos. There is no alarm clock, no barren apartment walls, no calendar pinned beside your desk. There is only the feeling of Sunday’s feathers against your skin from where his face is pressed into your neck, his arms around your waist.

You let out a soft sob, then will yourself back to sleep.

#this might be the longest thing ive written for this blog #sunday my eternal muse #i will never stop loving him #yandere hsr x reader #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #hsr x reader #yandere sunday x reader #yandere sunday #yandere sunday x you #ceru.writes #ceru.yan

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syluslnd · 8 months ago

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Sylus x reader who has an addiction to gachapon machines pleaseeee :D

I just used those machines for the first time ever and got 2 food shaped squishy toys and i fear this is now the start of a new addiction 😫 but they were so cute,

i ended up getting the same toy twice though :( so i gave on to my younger brother,

I can imagine Sylus laughing at reader whenever she gets duplicates and she gets frustrated, then runs out of money and gives him the puppy eyes 🥺 and doesn’t stop until she gets the toy she wants

“more money pls”

THX U THX U

when you’re addicted to gachapon machines

The sound of coins clinking into the gachapon machine was practically music to your ears. You clutched the handle, ready to twist it with all the determination of a seasoned treasure hunter. Sylus stood beside you, arms folded, one brow raised as he watched you with a mix of amusement and affection.

“Alright, sweetie” he drawled, his voice teasing. “This is, what, your fifth try now? Or is it sixth?”

You pouted, glancing up at him with big, pleading eyes. “It’s just one more, Sylus. I know the hamster is in there somewhere!” With that, you turned the handle, heart pounding as the plastic capsule clattered into the slot.

You held your breath, twisting open the capsule to reveal…yet another tiny, identical dog. “Nooo!” you groaned, staring at the little figurine in disbelief. “Why do I keep getting this dog?! I could build an entire army of these by now!”

Sylus chuckled, plucking the duplicate from your hand to inspect it. “Looks like it’s fate, kitten. Maybe you’re just meant to have a whole pack.”

“But I don’t want a pack” you protested, giving him your best pout. “I want the cute hamster with the sunflower seed! It’s the only one I don’t have yet.”

Sylus looked at you for a long moment, his gaze warm, and then he let out a low, amused sigh. “Alright, alright, show me those puppy eyes one more time, kitten. Let’s see if I can resist.”

You lit up immediately, widening your eyes, giving him the sweetest, most innocent look you could muster. Sylus cracked a smile, shaking his head as he reached into his pocket and handed you another handful of coins.

“I swear, you’re going to bankrupt me at this rate” he teased, but there was no mistaking the fondness in his tone.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” you sang, taking the coins and happily dropping them into the machine. You turned the handle with renewed hope, anticipation bubbling up inside you as another capsule rolled into the slot.

With bated breath, you cracked it open. Another dog. Your mouth fell open, and you held up the tiny figure for Sylus to see, as if in disbelief. “Sylus, it’s the same dog. Again!”

He laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your forehead. “Maybe it’s a sign that you need to adopt a real dog, sweetie” he said, smirking. “Or maybe the hamster just doesn’t want to be found.”

You shot him a mock glare, but there was no hiding the laughter in your eyes. “The hamster is in there. I just know it. One more time, please?”

Sylus gave you a look that was equal parts amused and exasperated but he didn’t hesitate, pulling out his wallet with a sigh. “You’re lucky you’re adorable” he murmured, handing you yet another handful of coins. “I’ve never seen anyone look this happy about gachapon toys before.”

You beamed, dropping the coins into the machine with renewed determination. This time, you closed your eyes, turning the handle and making a silent wish. “Please, please, please” you muttered, almost as if the universe might hear you.

When the capsule clattered into the slot, you took a deep breath, hands trembling as you opened it and there, finally, sat the tiny hamster with the sunflower seed, looking as cute as ever.

“Sylus!” you squealed, holding it up in triumph. “I got it! Look!”

His smile widened and he reached out, gently ruffling your hair. “Well, would you look at that” he said, voice laced with genuine amusement. “All that for a tiny hamster.”

You looked at him, beaming, hugging the little figurine close to your chest. “Totally worth it” you said, unable to contain your happiness. “Thank you, Sylus. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He chuckled, slipping his arm around your shoulders. “As long as it makes you happy, kitten” he replied softly, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Besides, I kind of like seeing you all excited over something so… cute.”

You grinned, leaning into him as you tucked the hamster safely into your pocket, feeling perfectly content and Sylus, even with all his teasing, looked as happy as you’d ever seen him, like spoiling you was worth every single coin.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #l&ds sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you

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msschemmenti · 11 months ago

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Blabbermouth Junior

Jennifer Jareau x Reader

Prompt: Reader is Henry’s Fifth Grade teacher and at his graduation he puts a little plan into action

JJ smiled softly as she smoothed the tiny gown over her son’s shoulders. She really couldn’t believe her first kid was heading to middle school. It felt like just yesterday a nurse had handed him over in a hospital room. Time flew, and she was honestly just so grateful to experience these moments with him. After ensuring the team wouldn’t have any cases this weekend, she and the team were all piling into the Elementary school gymnasium to watch one of their BAU kids move on to their next step.

“Oh Henry, you look so cute. I can’t believe you’re going to middle school. My baby.” JJ pouted as she smoothed her hands over the boy’s head.

“Mom,” Henry whined but allowed his mom the freedom to fawn over her son. He looked around at his classmates a bit self-consciously but secretly loved having his mother there with him on such a big day.

“Alright, friends! Let’s tell our families ‘see you later’ and start lining up.” A cheery voice called over the room, drawing everyone’s attention. JJ followed the sound of the voice and was shocked to see a young woman dressed in yellow at the end of the hallway. Her arms were extended toward the children in the hall and she had the kindest smile JJ had ever seen. All the other children hurried down the hallway toward the gym and as much as Henry wanted to follow, JJ’s hands had yet to leave his face.

Garcia, who’d come to the back to snap pictures of her godson, studied JJ closely. She watched how the blondes eyes shifted from the woman’s face to her legs and quickly back. She definitely didn’t miss the way she was still holding Henry’s face either. With a knowing smirk she nudged JJ and looked down at Henry with a smile. “Hen, is that your teacher?”

“Yeah, Ms. Y/Ln is the best.” Henry grinned up at Penelope before looking over his shoulder to the smiling teacher.

“I bet so. Sweet, you’ve gotta stop staring at the cute teacher so the boy can go line up.” Garcia grinned, practically shoving JJ out of admiration. She scoffed indignantly before smoothing her hands over Henry’s hair one last time and letting him go.

“I wasn’t staring at the cute teacher. I just can’t believe my baby is growing up.” JJ fumbled for words. Garcia rolled her eyes in disbelief but pinched Henry’s cheek affectionately.

“Henry? You ready, bud?” Ms.Y/Ln asked as she sidled up to the three blondes left in the hallway.

“Yes ma’am, if my mom is ready to let me go…” Henry teased causing JJ to roll her eyes and the other two women to laugh.

“Awe, Henry be nice to your mom. Graduating fifth grade is a big deal. Pretty soon you’ll be off to college.” Ms. Y/Ln spoke pulling the graduation hat from her side on Henry’s head and allowing him to sprint down the hall toward the other students..

“Oh don’t remind me, I’m going to be even worse then.” JJ whined, placing her hand over her heart.

“Let’s take it one day at a time sweet. I’ll take the emotional mother out to the gym so we can watch our little man walk the stage. So sorry for the hold up, Miss?” Garcia asked sweetly.

“Oh where are my manners, I’m Ms. Y/Ln, Y/Fn Y/Ln.” The teacher smiled extending her hand briefly toward the tech analyst.

“Penelope Garcia, the Godmother of all Godmothers. And this is Jennifer Jareau, Henry’s super mom.”

“It’s great to meet you both. I’ve heard quite a bit about you Mrs. Jareau, Henry’s very fond of you.” Y/n smiled, sending JJ a wink.

“Miss,” JJ corrected unconsciously. “And I can say the same about you. He’s been raving about you all year long, it’s really nice to finally put a face to a name.”

Y/n smiled sweetly in thanks before looking to her watch for the time, “That warms my heart. We’re gonna get started in about a minute and I don’t want y’all to miss anything. I’ll remind Henry to smile real big when he walks.”

“That would be great, come on Jayje I need to make sure Morgan got us good seats. Nice chatting with ya Teach!” Garcia called over her shoulder pulling JJ down the hall and toward the gym. JJ sent the teacher an apologetic smile before allowing Garcia to lead her to the ceremony. Both women squeezed through the other parents and family members to sit in their seats between the team.

“There you guys are, what took so long?” Emily asked leaning over to look at the two women.

“JJ was ogling Henry’s teacher.” Garcia answered. All heads turned to face the mother in a combination of shock and intrigue.

“I was not ogling.” JJ protested.

“Oh she so was. Just wait until you see her, you’ll all understand.” Garcia grinned as everyone chuckled at JJ’s expense.

“Congratulations Henry!” Y/n smiled down at the boy as he rushed into the classroom.

“Thank you Ms. Y/Ln.” Henry grinned up at the teacher. He’d always been pretty fond of his teacher. She really made the transition to fifth grade so easy for him and he was surely gonna miss her.

“Are you excited to be going to middle school?” Y/n asked as she watched and waved at parents and children exiting the room.

“Yeah, I guess.” Henry answered.

“You don’t sound too sure bud. What’s up?” Y/n asked squatting next to the the desk the boy was sitting on.

“I’m just gonna miss having you as my teacher.” Henry confessed.

“Well I get that kid, they probably won’t be as cool as me. But if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think I’ll have any students as cool as you either.” Y/n teased ruffling his blonde hair maternally. Henry grinned at the praise and kicked his feet from the desk.

“There’s our graduate!” Morgan called entering into the classroom. The remaining children and parents turned to watch as the team of Profilers filed in with gifts. They all scooped up the young boy with congratulations flying around. Y/n slowly floated over to her desk to give the group some privacy.

As the team fawned over Henry, JJ found herself searching for Ms. Y/Ln unconsciously. As subtle as she thought she was being, she knew she was caught when Emily siddled up next to her sporting a knowing smirk. “She is pretty cute. I see why you were ogling.”

“Oh God, not you too.” JJ groaned turning away from the teacher.

“I’m just saying, she’s no longer Henry’s teacher and from what I’ve heard– Henry is pretty fond of her as well. Wouldn’t hurt to at least talk to her.” Emily encouraged.

Before JJ could even respond, Henry was at her feet with a smile on his face. “Mom can I give Ms. Y/Ln the gift I got her before we leave?”

“Of course honey,” JJ smiled fishing the card and candy out of her purse and handing it to Henry.

“I’ll be quick.” He promised and then made a beeline for the teacher’s desk. “Ms. Y/Ln, I got you this gift and just wanted to give it to you before I left.”

Y/n’s eyes widened in glee as she took the card and candy from one of her favorite students, “Oh Henry, that’s so sweet. Thank you so much and you remembered my favorite candy.”

“Yeah my mom let me buy it.” Henry answered. By now JJ had turned her attention to the two and was making her way over to them slowly.

“Well that’s very sweet of her.” Y/n said catching JJ’s movement in her peripheral.

“She also thinks you’re cute.” Henry threw in causing both Y/n’s and JJ’s eyes to widen comically. JJ was so shocked she even stopped walking briefly.

Y/n blushed and giggled, “Oh?”

JJ jumped into action and placed her hands on Henry’s shoulders before he could continue speaking. JJ and Y/n’s eyes locked and the embarrassment was burning behind both of their eyes. “Henry…” JJ sighed with a grimace. She went to deny and save face but she could hear Emily’s voice in the back of her head. It was already out, what was the harm in at least talking to her? “Well, I’d hoped I could tell you myself but Henry seems to have beat me to it.”

“Someone had to say it.” Garcia piped in from the group now listening.

“Shut up Garcia.” JJ grumbled. “Henry go hang with the team.”

“Of course mom.” Henry grinned going over to stand with Penelope, who highfived him in triumph.

“Well Ms. Jareau, I’m extremely flattered. Even if Henry told me first.” Y/n smiled and leaned her head on her fist.

JJ blushed a bit and ducked her head, “God I love that kid.”

“He is rather special. Oh and if it wasn’t clear, I find you pretty cute as well.” JJ’s head popped up in shock and the blush returned with a vengeance. Y/n grabbed a sticky note from her desk and scribbled her number down. “Summers here and from what I’ve heard you’re pretty busy. How bout you give me a call when your free? I’d love to get to know you a bit better.”

The group of profilers very childishly whistles and ‘oooo’ at the interaction and JJ could only roll her eyes before accepting the number with a promise to use it. They all said their goodbyes and just as they were about to exit the school JJ pulled her son into her side.

“You don’t mind any of that with Ms. Y/Ln right? Cause if you do I won’t–” Before she could finish Henry wrapped her arm around her waist.

“Oh I’m excited. I thought of the plan before the graduation started but I didn’t know if it’d work.” Henry grinned.

“God I love you kid.” JJ sighed and pulled him toward the car. Middle School is not ready for her boy.

#jennifer jareau #criminal minds #jennifer jareau x reader #criminal minds x reader #msschemmenti

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moonlitdark · 1 month ago

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Jamie Campbell Bower, left, and Louis McCartney on opening night of “Stranger Things: The First Shadow” on Broadway. (Jenny Anderson/Netflix)

By Thomas Floyd

Jamie Campbell Bower was smoking outside London’s Phoenix Theatre in late 2023, during intermission of the stage play “Stranger Things: The First Shadow,” when director Stephen Daldry spotted the English actor and made an unconventional ask: Could Bower — who was there as a uniquely invested theatergoer — step onstage during the curtain call and take a bow?

He reluctantly agreed. Yes, Bower originated the role of Vecna, the tentacled big bad introduced in Season 4 of Netflix’s “Stranger Things.” And yes, the 1959-set “First Shadow” tells the origin story of Henry Creel, the telekinesis-powered teen who becomes that murderous villain. But it was newcomer Louis McCartney who portrayed Henry in the play.

“I felt like such a jackass,” Bower, 36, recalls with a laugh. “I was trying to absorb the second act, all the time thinking: ‘I’ve got to go stand up there and take a bow for not really doing anything. This is insane.’”

It’s safe to say that McCartney, the Northern Irish actor now reprising the role on Broadway, disagreed.

“Everything I got from it was from you,” says McCartney, 21, during a recent video chat alongside Bower. “I don’t fangirl, but I do fangirl about you sometimes. Just taking a bow with you was something else.”

This month, McCartney earned a Tony nomination for his wrenching portrayal of the boy who becomes Vecna. To those who have seen “The First Shadow,” the nod was unsurprising: Although the play features younger versions of myriad fan-favorite “Stranger Things�� characters (Joyce, Hopper and Dr. Brenner, to name a few), Henry’s tragic tale takes center stage as “The First Shadow” explores his fraught relationship with his parents, his outsider experience at Hawkins High and the haunting powers that seeded his sadistic ambitions. Contorting his body, voice and mind, McCartney loses himself eight times a week in Henry’s debilitating descent.

One person who can relate: Bower, who returns as Henry/Vecna in the fifth and final season of “Stranger Things” set to hit Netflix later this year. As Bower called in from Wales and McCartney spoke from New York, the actors opened up about their medium-transcending brotherhood, the toll of entering Vecna’s mind and how “The First Shadow” sets the stage for the “Stranger Things” endgame.

McCartney stars alongside T.R. Knight and Rosie Benton in “Stranger Things: The First Shadow.” (Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)

(This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.)

Louis, how much did you try to channel Jamie’s performance versus making Henry your own?

McCartney: I didn’t want to be an imitation. When you take a job, it’s your role and you put yourself into it and you’ve got to bring personality and life and energy, or else it doesn’t work. But Jamie, I watched your scene with Millie [Bobby Brown] in the Rainbow Room where you explain your backstory, like, 30, 40 times — and you just nail that. You take such control. You’re so interesting to watch. You mean so much with your intent. Your words are weighted and they have a certain gravitas to them, but then you’re able to translate that perfectly into your eyes. That scene was the main influence for me.

Bower: Going and watching [the play] and watching you do it in this most beautiful way and seeing you bring yourself to it — as well as being able to say, “Oh my God, he’s watched the show and he’s bringing in other physical aspects [of my performance]” — it was so moving and so powerful and so beautiful. I just felt so proud of you, and I know that sounds really strange and kind of up my ass. But there was just this real sense of pride and love.

How do you think the play informs our understanding of Henry?

Bower: The relationship with anyone’s parental figure is so paramount to their character and who they end up becoming. We briefly touched on that [in Season 4], but to watch Louis do it with such sincerity and honesty, I took so many notes as I was watching it because I knew I was going into Season 5.

McCartney: When we’re translating the TV show to a play format, we run the risk of it being gimmicky, having a Demogorgon onstage and effects 24/7 and blood and gore. We do have that, but we just want you to feel for these characters, man. Henry is so malleable. He’s going through puberty and wants to have a girlfriend, and he’s really trying to do the right thing and to fit in. When you have power, you’re on such a razor-thin wire. We like to keep the audience questioning his morality.

Jamie Campbell Bower originated the role of Henry Creel in Season 4 of “Stranger Things.” (Netflix)

How would you describe the challenge of lending humanity to a character who does such awful things?

McCartney: If I’m just a villain in the play, then why are we doing the play? If he’s already there, then there’s nothing exciting, there’s no character building, there’s no arc. It’s giving enough so that it’s this muddy water where you know something’s wrong with him, but he seems to have hope — which is the conflict.

Bower: I have a question for you, Louis. There are these things that happen when you’re an actor that are really, really difficult to prepare for and to explain. All of a sudden something will be triggered in your own mind and there will be such truth in your heart. At a certain point, you just have to be prepared for the floodgate to open. I remember coming out of some of those scenes in Episode 7 [of Season 4] being like, “I need to sit down and have some air because there are things that I’ve just said that have stirred things up in me that have been dormant.” I wonder if you’ve had any moments like that as you’ve been going through this journey.

McCartney: It’s really interesting because it’s almost impossible to talk about. It’s the X-factor. It’s the magic. There are a couple scenes where you lose your mind a little and you scream and you do all that, and it’s extremely cathartic for me sometimes because I do lose myself in that. I hate to say this, but you’re better than me because you just have this ability to dip yourself into that pool. Not a toe — you put your full body into it, and I really admire that.

Jamie, what did you bring to the filming of Season 5 that may have been influenced by seeing “The First Shadow”?

Bower: I think one of the things that’s come up during work on Season 5, and watching the play as well, is this idea of safety. Where does this person feel safe enough to be themselves, and what does that look like? Doing Season 4 and going through the journey from human to monster, resentment becomes this vine that chokes the feeling of love. Ultimately, at the base of that is fear. In Season 5, there are certain things that happen where that idea of safety is so paramount.

McCartney plays the troubled teen who eventually becomes the “Stranger Things” villain Vecna. (Matthew Murphy and Evan Zimmerman)

Playing Henry must be a uniquely challenging and isolating experience. How do you each handle spending so much time in that headspace?

McCartney: I like to say that I’m not affected, but my sleep and dreams are weirder. I’m a natural sleep talker and walker, and I’ve been having real f---ed-up moments of just sleeping and talking and walking. It’s stuff you can’t control, and sometimes your brain doesn’t know what’s happening to you. You have to take a second to step back and go, “Am I okay?” It’s important to always just check in with yourself.

Bower: As I ventured into this darker place, there were certain physical things that happened to me. For instance, I had an insect live in my body for about a week. I was renting a house in Atlanta and I had a stray black cat turn up, live with me for the entirety of [Season 4] production, and then the day I was leaving did not turn up. In Season 5: cats, birds and snakes. So you’re inviting certain things into your world, and the universe is definitely responding in a certain way when you’re in that space.

Do you two have any questions you want to ask each other?

McCartney: Jamie, I don’t know if you know this, but my mom is a holistic therapist, so I grew up a very universal kind of guy. Like, she talks to the dead and that’s her job. When I try to find the fun in the day-to-day, it’s entirely soul-based. I need something that keeps me going that is out of my control. Aside from the writing, what makes you keep going with the character? Where do you find your drive?

Bower: Fear [laughs]. Just abject fear. There was a well and a wealth of lived experience and of possible self-creation that, when this [role] came through, I wanted to explore and I felt like I needed to explore. That was a really, really, really powerful and sometimes difficult journey to go on. So I think what kept me going and what kept the drive alive was that exploration of self.

And Jamie, do you have anything else you wanted to ask Louis?

Bower: The character is so physically demanding. Every time I see Louis, he’s just getting more and more stacked and more and more ripped. It’s fabulous, and in all honesty, I’m a little bit jealous. But I’m going to be your mother: Are you getting enough sleep? Are you getting enough to eat?

McCartney: [Laughs] Yes, I am. I shall protect myself.

#jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #louis mccartney #henry creel #henry/vecna/001 #stranger things #the first shadow #st tfs #article #interview #the washington post

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emthephantom · 4 months ago

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Flowers wither and bloom- Kang Dae-ho

Dae-ho x F!Reader- No game AU A regular customer in your flower shop sends flowers to his girlfriend every week but one day a new man comes in, asking for flowers to be delivered to the same address. Do you tell Dae-ho or let him figure it out on his own? Warnings: None Words: 1582 A/N: Hello Ghosties!!! I hope you enjoy this new story, it's a bit rushed but hopefully it makes sense

Roses, tulips, lilies. Your small shop had them all. Roses for the men who needed to apologise to their girlfriends, tulips for the sweet couple who giggled their way to the counter and lilies for the women who needed a pick me up. You’ve seen it all, and you loved your job.

The sun sets warmly on your shop, the flowers emitting a golden glow. You were finishing your last few tasks, creating the final bouquet when the bell above the door rings, signalling a new customer. Wiping your hands on your apron, you stand and move towards the customer. His tall figure looms over the ready-made bouquets, his eyes scanning the colourful flowers. Stary hairs fall in his face and his hands brush them away with practised ease.

‘Hello there, may I help you today sir?’ The man turns and you freeze- he was handsome, but if he came here there’s no chance for you.

‘Yes, please miss...’ his eyes dart towards your name tag, ‘Y/N, do you have any peonies?’

‘Yes sir, I’ve just finished an arrangement of them.’ you smile softly and lead him to the back. He smiles at the sight of them and insists he has to buy them.

‘Can you deliver them to this place please, they’re for my girlfriend.’ he sheepishly asks.

‘Of course, would you like to add your name so she knows who it's from?’

‘No, she’ll know they're from me.’ he flashes a huge grin and pays. ‘Thank you very much.’ You smile and watch as he leaves, an evident bounce in his step.

That was last week, and today he returned. You’re with another customer when you spot him, ‘Sir believe me, daisies are perfect, she’ll love them.’ The gentleman grumbles but nods, muttering a thank you before taking his leave. Finally, you turn to the returning customer, ‘Why hello again,’ you laugh,’ What can I do for you today?’

‘More peonies hopefully?’

‘You, sir, are in luck, I just got a shipment this morning.’

‘Perfect, thank you Y/N.’ you freeze momentarily at your name before regaining composure.

‘Delivery again?’

‘Yes please.’

‘No problem, sir that’s done for you.’ The man pays and begins to leave but he stops and shouts across the shop,’ See you next week!’

And you did, He returned for a third time, and then a fourth and then a fifth. It wasn’t until almost three months later you learned his name.

‘And that’s all sorted sir.’

‘You’re still calling me sir? I thought we were friends now Y/N.’ he laughs.

‘You never told me your name.’

‘Dae-ho, Kang Dae-ho.’ he says, sticking out his hand. You laugh slightly and grab his hand- a gesture that sent shivers through your body, even if it was wrong. ‘Y/N Y/L/N.’

‘See you next week Y/N.’

‘See you then Dae-ho.’ He wouldn’t admit it, but the sound of your voice calling his name filled his heart- it was softer than the harsh yells from his girlfriend.

Dae-ho soon finds himself on the quaint shop more often, coming in twice or three times a week. He enjoys the calm atmosphere and your welcoming presence. His relationship was failing, he knew that, but the flowers seemed to be working. His girlfriend shouted less and actually spent time with him, and he had you to thank.

You were happy to have a loyal regular and a new friend. Dae-ho was the positivity you needed in your life, always checking up on you and bringing you tea when he noticed your overworked frame. You pushed down your attraction for him-you were no homewrecker- but that didn’t stop the butterflies that game when his hand brushed yours or when his eyes lingered on yours a second too long.

One day as you were sweeping the floor, the blasted bell rings and you silently curse-this was the only peace and quiet you got today due to the influx of customers. ‘Good afternoon, sir, what may I help you with today?’

‘Roses, a dozen.’ he sharply said, ‘Deliver them here.’ he places a piece of paper down and you freeze. The address is the same as Dae-ho's girlfriend.

‘A-are you sure this is correct?’

��Yes, please hurry up, I have places to be.’ You complete the order and the man breathes out a thanks before departing. You let out a breath- what were you going to do?

The days went slow after that as you were battling what to do. Dae-ho hadn’t shown up at his usually time and it worried you, does he already know? The bell you’ve grown to despise rings, but you make no effort to stand, comfortable in your battling mind.

‘Y/N! Are you here?’ Dae-ho's voice rings out. You can hear him moving around, looking for you. Emerging from the back, you see him. His hair, usually in a pony tail, was down and there was a slight stubble along his face. ‘There you are, you have the weekly peonies?’

‘You guys didn’t break up?’ you ask confused.

‘What? No.’ he responded, mimicking your expression.

‘Oh right, never mind.’ you say, turning to get his flowers ready. Dae-ho catches your wrist, spinning you back around, ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Nothing, it doesn’t matter.’

‘No Y/N, tell me.’ his grip on your wrist tightens slightly but he doesn't realise.

‘Dae-ho I can’t!’ your voice raises.

‘Just tell me!’

‘SHE’S CHEATING ON YOU!’ Your eyes widen and regret begins to set. ‘Some guy came in and got her a dozen roses.’

‘Y/N this isn’t funny.’

‘I’m not joking, the address and the name was the same.’ you breath out.

‘Do you like me or something? Why would you try break up my relationship?’ This was a side of Dae-ho you had never seen and it was terrifying. His voice was a few octaves lower and his eyes shone darker.

‘My feelings towards you or your relationship do not matter right now Dae-ho, she’s cheating on you and you have to accept that.’

‘You’re sick Y/N. I thought we were friends.’ His hand finally drops your wrists and he leaves, the door slamming shut, leaving you alone in the solitude you once called comfort.

Dae-ho's walk home was fuelled with anger. His beloved girlfriend cheating? They had problems but she wouldn’t do that would she? He thinks of his comments towards you and fights off the temptation to run back and apologise. It wasn’t him in that moment. Dae-ho sneaks a glance at his face in the nearest shop window. Staring back at him was his girlfriend. He stumbles back, startled by the vision but enlightened with reasoning. The remarks he made swirl in his mind as he realises why he didn’t feel like himself- his girlfriend’s voice echoed in his head as he spit hateful words at you. The bitterness of his voice resembled hers, had he become her?

He reaches his girlfriend's apartment and unlocks the door, expecting her to be on the couch, but she wasn’t. He walks through the room, taking notice of the roses that sat on table- surely a coincidence. He moves towards the bedroom and opens the door; the time stops.

It had been a few weeks since the incident and Dae-ho was nowhere to be seen, but the man from before had returned.

‘More roses please, my new girlfriend really loved them.’ Trying to keep a straight face, you nodded getting his order ready. The man leans against the counter and continues, ‘Yeah, she said they're way better than those peenies or whatever.’ You bite your lip as an attempt to silence yourself. Luckily you were finished, allowing the man to leave and letting you take a needed deep breath.

A knock sounds at the door and you hesitantly open it. A bouquet of blue hyacinths lay on the steps. You take them inside and search for a note.

‘I’m sorry, you were right, meet me at your shop at 7?’ -your favourite customer

Your breath hitches as you recognise the handwriting. 6:53, he'd be here in 7 minutes. You pace your shop for the remaining minutes, glancing at the clock nonstop and biting your nails. Suddenly the shop bell rings and there he stands.

Dae-ho looks different. His long hair is now short and those eyes filled with joy were now filled with sorrow. Without thinking you wrap your arms around him. Dae-ho is shocked by your actions but eventually wraps his arms around you.

‘You’re okay...’ you whisper, ‘What happened?’

‘You were right, she was cheating, caught them in the act after I left here.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be, I’m sorry. I never should have said those things.’

‘It’s okay Dae.’

‘Dae? That’s a new one.’ he chuckles.

‘Shut up.’

Dae-ho pulls away from the hug and grabs your hands, ‘I need to know if you felt something for me, and if you still do.’ His eyes are wide and looking deeply into yours, awaiting your answer.

‘Dae-ho...’

‘I felt sparks when you called my name, I never felt that way with her.’ he admits, ‘I need you to wait for me Y/N, I need time and I don’t want to hurt you. But I want it to be you.’ His hands cup your cheek and you can see tears brimming on his lashes. You nod at him, and he breaks out in a grin; you look at him for a moment longer before you speak.

‘I’ll wait for you to bloom again’

#squid game #squid game x reader #kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #dae ho x reader

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maxdibert · 6 months ago

Note

In my opinion, Albus Dumbledore is one of the most hypocritical and despicable characters in Harry Potter—if not the most. I find it outrageous that this old man dares to say he’s disgusted by Severus when he’s not all that different. My soul cringes at all the "greatness" surrounding him, and his whole "for the greater good" rhetoric feels like a cold shower, as if people have a moral obligation to die to save the world.

Severus, a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things, is disgusting because he joined the wrong side, but the great and kind Albus is a symbol of the resistance against evil—even though he was practically Grindelwald's right-hand man. This attitude of placing himself above someone like Severus is so infuriating.

Not to mention all the mental gymnastics he does, belittling and minimizing Severus’s trauma, making him seem crazy when he snapped in POA. Apparently, the past is only condemnable when it’s convenient.

My problem with Dumbledore goes way back, long before the whole thing with Severus even came into play. I already thought he was quite a self-righteous prick for claiming to care so much about people and then leaving Sirius Black to fend for himself. I mean, the whole situation with Sirius, Peter, and the Potters never sat right with me. Seriously, with all of them supposedly under his command—because he was the ultimate leader of the four—when Sirius is allegedly the culprit, Dumbledore just lets him go to Azkaban without even probing his mind to see what happened?

Having a supposed Voldemort ally, a double-agent serial killer, and you seriously don’t want to extract every piece of information from him? You’re not interested in investigating what really went down there? Or maybe he probably knew Sirius wasn’t a threat but didn’t care because he’d already achieved what he wanted: Voldemort out of the picture for a while and the kid being watched over at his aunt and uncle’s house. That initial question then evolved into: The kid at his aunt’s house protected by his dead mother’s spell while a double agent infiltrates the enemy ranks, willing to do anything for Dumbledore’s validation? (Once it became known about Lily’s spell and that Severus had been working for Dumbledore).

Even before I had the full picture, Dumbledore’s attitude toward Sirius smelled fishy. It seemed really off and totally incoherent for someone who supposedly cared about the people under his command. This feeling intensified for me in the fourth book and then really hit home in the fifth. Sirius is essentially the only emotional support Harry truly finds in an adult. Sure, Sirius is dysfunctional in himself, but Harry sees him as the father figure he never had, or at least that connection to his parents he so desperately needs. It’s canon that he needs to talk to him, even if it’s just to vent.

Doesn’t the kid matter to you enough to use your super-powerful, highly respected wizard influence to clear Sirius’s name so the kid can at least spend weekends with him in Hogsmeade? I mean, come on. I’ve seen many people try to justify this by saying, “If Sirius were available, Harry would have wanted to go live with him and leave the Dursleys, and Lily’s spell wouldn’t work,” but that’s pure bullshit. Just tell Sirius that what keeps Harry alive is being at his aunt’s house. Sirius is rich enough to buy a house in Privet Drive and be close to the kid so he wouldn’t have to leave. It’s not that complicated.

But this is something I thought of later with the last book. What really bothered me in the fourth was: why wasn’t Dumbledore doing anything? Why, in the fifth book, does he have a guy who’s clearly a walking time bomb locked up in his childhood home? Just waiting for him to finally explode? Honestly, when I read the fifth book, I thought maybe Dumbledore put Sirius there and set all those restrictions because he knew him well enough to know he’d eventually snap and do something reckless, and Dumbledore could just wash his hands of it. Even before all the truth came out, before the seventh book, Dumbledore already disgusted me. With everything in hindsight, not only does my nearly two-decade-old theory still make sense, but I firmly believe it’s true. I think Sirius Black annoyed Dumbledore, not only because of how he could influence Harry but because he was a disruptive element. He was a soldier who didn’t blindly follow orders, someone explosive, with an uncontrollable temperament, whose leitmotif had always been opposing authority. I think Dumbledore knew that Sirius probably only stayed somewhat stable in the Order because of James, and once James was out of the picture, there was no one to handle him. So, indeed, he became a nuisance. He could do without him. Sirius wasn’t useful because he was too temperamental and impulsive for espionage or information gathering. He wasn’t helpful offensively because he systematically questioned authority and wouldn’t follow Dumbledore’s orders unless he had a good reason. So, Dumbledore let him remain a fugitive and then locked him up in his childhood home, which was essentially his greatest trauma, and left him there to drink himself into misery until he couldn’t take it anymore, snapped, did something stupid, and ended up dead.

But not only that, Dumbledore’s attitude toward his students always annoyed me. I’ve always hated favoritism because I was raised that way. My mother was a teacher at the school I attended until I was about 12, and I never got any special treatment. She was literally tougher on me than on anyone else. As a kid, I could never understand why Dumbledore showed so much favoritism toward Gryffindors. I could kind of get that Slytherins were the “bad guys” and blah blah blah, but there were two other houses he completely ignored. Over time, and with maturity, this feeling only grew stronger.

When I read the sixth book, I was genuinely outraged because the guy condemned Tom Riddle when he was just a kid. Like, ??? How is it possible to make those judgments when they’re just children? I also thought it was absurd that he told Draco not to do it. I mean, after six years of totally ignoring him because to you, he’s just a Slytherin son of purists doomed to darkness, you tell him not to follow the orders of the maniac threatening his family?? Don’t you think if you’d done your job as a teacher and stepped in earlier to make the kid question what his parents were telling him, maybe he wouldn’t have ended up in this situation? Don’t you realize you abandoned and ostracized an ENTIRE HOUSE FULL OF KIDS highly susceptible to supremacist ideas, didn’t give a damn, and now you’re surprised when decades of negligence result in those kids choosing the wrong path? Don’t you understand that the alternative to following Voldemort is following you, and the only thing they know about you is that you either ignore them or constantly favor their rivals? Like, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU EXPECT?

And then there’s the Severus issue. Some people say Dumbledore was the only one who understood Severus. Yeah, sure, he understood him all right. He understood him well enough to use all his traumas against him, manipulate him, and turn him into a weapon. Some people also say Dumbledore was like a father figure to him. I don’t doubt that Severus might have seen him that way, as a positive paternal figure (finally, after his father and Voldemort) whom he wanted to please because he felt that if Dumbledore validated him, it meant he was becoming a better person and redeeming himself—maybe in a way similar to how he saw Lily as someone through whom to measure the right direction. But this wasn’t reciprocal. Dumbledore didn’t give a damn. Dumbledore saw Severus the same way he saw Harry: as a weapon. He realized Severus was an unstable, scared boy with a massive load of guilt, and being fully aware of the power of guilt from his own experience, he decided to exploit it. He knew Severus was talented, knew he could become even more so, so he locked him in a gilded cage: left him at Hogwarts, which had never been a home to him but a torment, kept him closely monitored, and used his skills whenever he wanted.

Dumbledore is the perfect kind of person to be a general in a war. Honestly, he’s amazing at it. He understands that soldiers are weapons and must be prepared to die for the greater cause. He understands that wars have casualties and that’s okay as long as those casualties help move closer to victory. He understands that sacrifices must be made and that if those sacrifices bring us closer to the goal, that’s fine. He gets that disruptive or dissonant elements that could jeopardize his plans need to be eliminated. He perfectly combines Machiavelli’s style with Sun Tzu’s: make your soldiers see you not as a superior but as a father.

He earns absolute devotion by embodying this fatherly figure that inspires trust, but deep down, his mind is a tangle of plans. His goal is to defeat Voldemort (who, by the way, is also a product of his own negligence, because if he hadn’t been such a crappy teacher, maybe he would’ve noticed the red flags and stopped Riddle earlier, but okay). If defeating Voldemort means a bunch of teenagers have to die, another kid ends up in prison, a child has to sacrifice his life, or the people around him are manipulated, so be it.

I understand this philosophy—it’s very military—but I don’t agree with it because I hate that kind of mentality. I could respect it if it weren’t for the fact that Dumbledore, on top of it all, is so moralistic. The guy who should be the last to pass judgment on others’ decisions, who should keep his damn mouth shut, is constantly moralizing, being condescending, and posing as the champion of morality and the compass of good and evil. Honestly, I would have slapped him in the face, I swear. What a jerk. So many messed-up people, all because he was a narcissistic prick. Screw him.

#dumbledore #albus dumbledore #not anti i'm just annoyed #seriously #fucking old man #severus snape #severus snape defense #pro severus snape #sirius black #today i'm on his team because what a jerk dumbledore was to him #draxo malfoy #slytherins #harry potter #harry potter meta #meta #meta post #harry potter lore #harry potter world #harry potter books

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oceannote · 3 months ago

Text

Sound check - Part 2

Note from author: Hello, my babessssss. You guys have been blowing off my messages regarding a part 2 and HERE IT IS. I hope you will enjoy it just as much. I kinda left the ending in the air so maybe if your feedback is positive I can make a cheeky part 3? XoXo YK

Summary: As a sound engineer, you have always dreamed of working with your favorite artists, but is it fate that makes you cross a line with your favorite idol, or is it a pur,e dumb adrenaline decision that puts your whole career in danger?

Warnings: Characters are fake and are a result of fiction, mentions of poor health, lack of confidence and swear words. Do not copy, translate or remake the story.

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“Stop obsessing over it. Maybe he’s just really busy with the promotion,” Iseul says from her usual spot on my couch, curled up like a cat with a blanket around her shoulders, feet dangling lazily off the armrest.

“I’m not obsessing,” I mutter, tossing my phone onto the coffee table with a little more force than necessary.

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, raising an eyebrow without looking at me. “That was the fifth time you checked his 'last seen online’ in the last ten minutes. You were basically refreshing it like a stock market app.”

I sink further into the armchair. “I was just checking. There’s nothing wrong with checking.”

She gives me a look. “You need a hobby.”

“And you need to leave,” I say, standing up and marching toward her, my fingers wiggling in the air threateningly. “Say that again and I will tickle you until you beg for mercy.”

She screams dramatically and pulls the blanket over her head. “I’m serious, Y/N!” she squeals between giggles as I poke at her sides. “You’re acting like his girlfriend, and newsflash, you’re not!”

I freeze mid-attack.

Ouch.

“I know that,” I say quietly, sitting back down on the edge of the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest.

Iseul peeks out from under the blanket. Her voice softens. “I didn’t mean it in a mean way. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I nod, staring at my phone screen lighting up for no reason at all,no message, no notification. Just the mocking glow of nothing.

She’s right. We’re not even dating. Not officially, anyway.

The last four weeks have been a blur,late-night studio sessions with Yoongi where we’d spend hours tweaking tracks and fine-tuning vocals. That part was professional. Clean. Focused.

But then there were the other parts, the quiet in-between moments.

His hand on my knee while listening to the final mix. A lingering look when the room went silent. Cuddling on my couch at 3AM when neither of us had the energy to move. A kiss that turned into more. Whispered compliments. Half-asleep “wish I could stay” confessions. Sweet nothings over text. A wink, a smirk, the kind of soft that makes you stupid.

But still… no “us.” No labels. No conversation.

Just something… whatever this is.

“I didn’t expect it to turn into this,” I say after a long pause.

Iseul watches me quietly.

“When I got the assignment, I was focused on work. I wasn’t thinking about...” I trail off, trying to find the right word. “...anything happening beyond the studio.”

“And yet here we are,” she says gently. “Now you’re checking your phone like a girl who misses her boyfriend… who’s not her boyfriend.”

“Exactly.” I laugh, but it’s hollow. “I mean, I’ve tried to bring it up a few times. The whole ‘what are we’ thing. But he always… redirects.”

“Redirects?”

“Yeah. Like, I’ll say something like, ‘Have you told anyone about us?’ and he’ll respond with, ‘Did you hear how the bass kicks in on track five now?’” I shake my head, trying to laugh it off. “It’s like verbal aikido. He dodges it so smoothly, I don’t even notice until it’s too late.”

Iseul frowns. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I just don’t know what this is. It’s like… we’re something, but I’m not allowed to call it anything. And lately, he’s barely been texting. Just these half-hearted ‘how are u’ messages every 12 hours like he’s clocking in for a wellness check.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“I’ve tried,” I sigh. “But every time I get close, I hesitate. Because I’m scared that if I ask for more, I’ll lose even this.”

“That’s not nothing,” she says. “That’s fear. And it’s valid. But… you deserve clarity. Not crumbs.”

I bite my lip, suddenly fighting off the sting behind my eyes. “I just… I don’t want to be someone he keeps in the shadows because it’s convenient. I don’t want to keep pretending like I’m okay with this when I’m not.”

Iseul gets up and sits beside me, throwing the blanket over both of us. “Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. My heart is too loud right now, thumping in my chest like it’s trying to punch through the silence.

And deep down, I already know.

Something’s gotta give. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This Monday morning at the HYBE building should’ve felt like any other day. The same security guy nodding at the entrance. The same elevator music on the ride up. The same quiet hum of people pretending it’s not too early for work. And yet… something’s different.

Because for the first time since I started this job, I’m not walking through these halls for Yoongi.

I’m here for Jimin.

The thought still feels surreal. Jimin is launching part two of his best-selling solo album, and because my NDA and contract for Yoongi’s project are still active, and apparently my work didn’t go unnoticed, I was offered the chance to take this one on too. It all happened so quickly, and honestly, I haven’t even had time to process it fully.

As I step out of the elevator onto the 8th floor, meeting notes clutched to my chest, I’m focused. Or at least I try to be.

Until I hear a familiar voice coming down the hall.

“...and then he said it wasn’t even his car, so I don’t know who he thought he was fooling...”

“Good morning to you too,” another voice chimes in with a laugh.

I look up and see Yoongi, Jin, and Hoseok heading in my direction, clearly in the middle of an animated conversation. They all look relaxed, coffee cups in hand, their pace casual. But when Yoongi spots me, he slows down and stops completely.

“Oh, hey. Good morning,” he says, giving me a polite nod and that half-smile he always gives when he’s trying to be neutral but curious. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, guys,” I say with a small bow to Jin and Hoseok. “I’ve got a meeting in about fifteen minutes.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow. “Meeting?”

“Yeah,” I say, shifting the folder in my arms. “For Jimin’s project. I’m the sound engineer for the second part of his album.”

That gets his attention. His smile fades just a fraction, not enough to be obvious, but enough for me to notice.

“Since when?” he asks, more sharply than I expected.

The shift in his tone catches Jin and Hoseok off guard too. Hoseok actually tilts his head slightly, like he’s watching a tennis match he wasn’t expecting to find interesting.

“Since the team reached out and asked me to help,” I say, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My voice is calm, but I feel the heat crawl up my neck.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything for a second. He just looks at me. Not angry. Not exactly confused either. Just… thrown off. Like he doesn’t quite know where to place this information.

“That’s great,” Jin finally says, stepping in with an easy smile. “Jimin’s been excited about this comeback for months. Good to know it’s in capable hands.”

“Definitely,” Hoseok agrees, nudging Yoongi lightly with his elbow. “You two worked well together. It makes sense they’d want to keep you around.”

I smile politely. “Thanks. I’m really looking forward to it.”

Yoongi blinks like he’s finally come back to the conversation. “Well… good luck with the meeting,” he says, his tone now carefully neutral.

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a small smile before checking the time. “I should head in. I’ll catch you guys later, yeah?”

I wave and squeeze past them, the corridor suddenly feeling narrower than usual. I don’t look back. I can feel Yoongi’s eyes on me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of turning around. I take a deep breath as I push open the heavy glass door of the meeting room. The air inside feels cooler, a bit too crisp for my liking, or maybe it’s just my nerves. The long rectangular table is already full, everyone’s seated, papers spread out, screens flickering with presentation slides.

Of course, the only available seat is directly across from Jimin.

Great.

I try to walk casually toward it, even though every cell in my body feels stiff with awareness. I bow lightly as I pass each person. “Hello. Good morning. Sorry I’m late.” Not technically late, just not early enough to avoid this front-row seat to Park Jimin’s face.

“Ah, Y/N. Glad you could join us.” One of the production staff, someone I vaguely recognise from a past studio session, smiles and gestures to the empty chair.

I slide into the seat quietly, placing my tablet and notepad in front of me like a tiny armor shield.

Across the table, Jimin straightens a little. “It’s really nice to meet you,” he says, extending his hand over the table with that soft but steady tone I’ve only ever heard in interviews before now. “Let’s work hard on this album together.”

I reach out and shake his hand, keeping it brief. “Likewise. I’m really looking forward to it,” I say with a polite smile, even though my hand suddenly feels warm and awkward. He gives a small, genuine smile before retracting his hand and settling back in his seat.

Okay. One interaction down. You didn’t faint. Good start.

The man sitting next to Jimin, who looks like one of his MV directors based on his clipboard and the way he’s fiddling with the remote, takes over the conversation. “Y/N, I just want to say, you did an amazing job on Yoongi’s album. The sound texture you brought in… it gave the whole thing an edge. We were really impressed.”

“Oh, thank you,” I say, a bit caught off guard by the compliment.

“It’s great for us that you’re jumping into another project so quickly,” he continues, clicking the remote and bringing up a visual mood board on the screen behind him. “That being said, this one is a bit more complicated. We’re planning to shoot in Jeju Island for the natural, coastal scenes, and in Japan for a more urban and cinematic vibe. It’s ambitious.”

I nod, listening closely.

“We’d love it if you could be part of the creative process too,” he adds, glancing at me. “We value your sense of aesthetics, especially your approach to matching sound to visual storytelling.”

There’s a moment of silence while all eyes briefly turn to me. I sit up a little straighter.

“Of course,” I say, turning slightly toward Jimin as well. “That would be an honor. I’d love to contribute however I can.”

Jimin gives me a warm nod in return, his eyes holding mine for a second longer than expected. “I think your perspective could really elevate this. It’s a very personal project, so we want the team to feel connected to it.”

My chest tightens a little, but not in a bad way. There’s something reassuring about how he says that, like we’re collaborators, not just names on a file.

The meeting continues. We move into discussions about the album’s concept, seven songs, each with its own theme, its own tone. Everyone has opinions. Some of the team pushes for heavier, more melancholic visuals, while others are leaning toward bright and experimental. Jimin listens intently, occasionally chiming in with quiet but thoughtful comments.

I mostly observe for now, taking notes and trying to absorb everything.

Eventually, the conversation shifts toward selecting which three songs will get full MV treatments. It’s clear everyone has a favorite, but nothing’s finalized yet. I make a few tentative suggestions, which Jimin and the director both nod at thoughtfully.

About 45 minutes in, someone glances at their watch, and we all start closing laptops and gathering papers. The tension slowly melts into casual chatter as people begin standing up and stretching.

As we file out of the room and into the hallway, Jimin falls into step beside me, his manager a few paces behind.

“Should we grab some lunch in the cafeteria?” he asks, looking over at me, relaxed now that the meeting’s over.

My stomach growls before I can answer, earning an amused glance from him.

“Yeah,” I laugh softly. “I’m starving.”

He chuckles. “Same. I was too nervous to eat this morning.”

I glance at him, surprised. “You? Nervous?”

He shrugs, giving me a sheepish grin. “New project. New team. It always makes me a little on edge. But this one feels… promising.” “It really is an honor that you guys trust me enough to be part of this project,” I say, turning slightly toward Jimin as we walk side by side down the hallway.

He gives me a polite smile, the kind that doesn’t feel forced, warm, but professional. “Likewise. I saw your work on Yoongi-hyung’s album. It was… impressive. Especially for someone so young.” His eyes crinkle just slightly, and I can tell he means it. “You’ve got a really fresh perspective.”

“Thank you,” I reply, offering a small smile. Compliments like that never stop feeling surreal, especially coming from someone like him.

He reaches forward to hold open the cafeteria door. “After you.”

“Thanks,” I murmur, stepping through.

The room is bright and buzzing with quiet chatter, clinking utensils, and the occasional burst of laughter. It smells like coffee and fried rice, comforting, in a weird way. I scan the room quickly and walk toward a table near the corner, a little out of the way.

Jimin follows, still chatting casually. “We usually try to avoid the main lunch rush, but today’s schedule was a mess.”

“No worries. Honestly, I didn’t even eat breakfast, so this is perfect timing,” I reply, slipping into the seat across from him. I’m trying to stay composed, but there’s still that subtle awareness in my chest that I’m sitting across from someone I’ve watched on screen for years.

As I settle in, I feel the familiar buzz of my phone in my back pocket. I pull it out, already having a strange feeling about who it might be.

Sure enough. Yoongi.

The first text from him in over twelve hours.

[Yoongi]: How was the meeting?

[Yoongi]: U didn’t tell me u were picking up new projects tho

I stare at the messages for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. Of course. Not Hi. Not How are you. Just... that.

I start typing.

[Y/N]: Well, you didn’t ask.

[Y/N]: The meeting was good.

I pause, wondering if I should leave it at that. But something pushes me to add more.

[Y/N]: I’m grabbing lunch rn, wanna come as well?

A few seconds pass before he replies.

[Yoongi]: Are you with the team?

[Y/N]: With Jimin and his manager.

Another pause. Longer this time.

[Yoongi]: Alright, then I’ll see you later today.

I stare at the screen. That’s it? No emoji, no “have a nice lunch,” no “I’ll join you.” Just… that.

I know I shouldn’t be surprised. Of course he’s not going to come. There are people around. And being Yoongi, he’s probably already halfway buried in some project or maybe just avoiding unnecessary social interaction altogether. That wouldn’t be unusual for him.

But even though I understand it, even though I know I have no right to feel disappointed… it still stings.

I slip the phone face down on the table, trying to compose my expression.

“You okay?” Jimin asks gently. He’s halfway through glancing at the menu, but clearly noticed something shift in my face.

“Oh, yeah,” I say quickly. “Just… something about the schedule later. All good.”

He nods, not pushing. “Let me guess, Yoongi hyung already changed everything you planned for the day?”

I laugh, because yeah, close enough. “Something like that.”

He leans back slightly, looking amused. “He’s particular. But he trusts you, you know? He doesn’t really let people touch his work unless he respects them.”

I nod slowly. “I know. He just has… his own way of doing things.”

“Yeah,” Jimin agrees. Then he adds with a faint smirk, “You get used to it. But you don’t always stop being confused by it.”

I smile a little at that. There’s something oddly comforting in hearing it from someone who clearly knows him so well. I'm not alone in this strange orbit.

I try to shake the weird tension out of my chest and focus on the present. The lunch. The project. The opportunity.

Even if Yoongi isn’t here, this still matters.

And I’m going to make sure I show up for it fully.

Even if part of me is quietly wondering why he didn’t. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It’s a little past 8 p.m., and even though the official working hours at HYBE technically end by 6, the building is still buzzing with quiet chaos. The lights are dimmed just enough to feel like evening, but there’s still a low hum of life, footsteps echoing down distant hallways, muffled beats leaking from studio doors, and the occasional whir of a vending machine doing its job.

I walk through the now-familiar hallway, one hand clutching my laptop against my chest, the other stuffed into the pocket of my hoodie. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker slightly as I approach the last bend leading to Studio 307.

Yoongi’s studio.

I slow my steps when I see the door already cracked open. Voices drift through the narrow opening, two, maybe three people inside. I pause a few feet away, letting my footsteps soften on the polished floor, half out of habit and half out of curiosity.

I lean forward just enough to peek through the door.

Inside, I spot Yoongi and Namjoon, both leaning over the desk, talking with the kind of intensity that only musicians can manage after hours, half philosophy, half technical jargon, fully passionate.

Yoongi’s gesturing toward the screen. “I’m telling you, it’s not just the layering, it’s the texture of it. It creates this space, like… like a breath right before everything crashes in.”

Namjoon nods slowly, clearly trying to absorb it. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. That kind of ambient depth is hard to fake. It sounds like it belongs there.”

I knock lightly on the doorframe with my knuckles before stepping inside. “Good evening.”

Both heads turn. Namjoon stands up immediately, polite and poised. “Hello,” he says with a warm smile, returning my half-bow with one of his own.

Yoongi swivels in his chair, looking far too comfortable for someone who’s probably been working since noon. “This is Y/N,” he says casually. “My sound engineer for the album.”

My sound engineer.

I blink.

That’s… definitely a first.

I tuck that little phrase into a drawer in the back of my mind and slam it shut before I have the chance to spiral into overthinking.

“Nice to meet you,” Namjoon says, extending his hand. “I heard you’re working on Jimin’s project too?”

I take his hand, surprised by how warm and grounded his presence feels. “Yes, I am. It’s been really exciting so far.”

“I bet,” he says, then glances at Yoongi. “We were just talking about how good the intro for the MV sounds.”

Yoongi gives a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s trying not to show too much approval. “She nailed the atmosphere. The whole thing just lands because of that intro.”

My eyes widen slightly at the compliment, and I look between the two of them. “Oh… thank you. Honestly, it wasn’t that big of a thing, just a few layers and some EQ magic.”

Namjoon chuckles. “That’s what people always say when they’re actually really good at something.”

“I mean, sometimes the best stuff sounds simple because it’s done right,” Yoongi adds, leaning back in his chair.

I try to laugh it off, but my body is definitely registering the awkwardness of being praised by two of the most respected musicians in the industry while standing in my socks with a messy ponytail and an oversized hoodie.

I step further into the room, setting my laptop down on the side table as Yoongi shifts to make space for me.

“So,” I say, trying to redirect the attention, “were you guys working on the track together?”

Namjoon shakes his head. “Nah, I was just passing through. Wanted to hear what Yoongi’s been cooking. He’s being a little secretive with this one.”

Yoongi grunts. “Because it’s not ready yet.”

“It sounds ready to me,” Namjoon says with a smirk. “Anyway, I’ll get out of your way. Just wanted to say hi, and now I’m even more curious to hear the rest of the project.”

He gives me a small nod as he heads toward the door. “Nice meeting you, Y/N. Hope we get to work together sometime.”

“Likewise,” I say, watching him leave, and the room suddenly feels a lot smaller.

Yoongi glances at me from his chair. “You okay?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah. Just… wasn’t expecting Namjoon to be here.”

“He does that sometimes,” Yoongi says, typing something into the session file. “He’s got this sixth sense when good music is being made.”

I laugh under my breath. “So, I should expect Jin to crash a session when we hit vocal tracking?”

Yoongi chuckles, not looking up. “Wouldn’t put it past him.”

He gestures toward the second chair. “Come on, sit. Let’s go through that bridge section again. I want to hear it with fresh ears.”

I sit down next to him, heart still buzzing a little, not from nerves, exactly, but from the strange weight of being acknowledged. Not just as someone in the room. But as someone who belongs there.

“Let’s make it sound like breathing right before everything crashes in,” I say, quoting him back with a tiny grin.

He glances at me and raises an eyebrow. “You were eavesdropping?”

“I was gathering intel.”

Yoongi shakes his head, amused. “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got, Miss Sound Engineer.” I quietly take the empty seat beside him, the only sound in the room the faint hum of his laptop fan and the soft tapping of his keyboard. Without thinking, I cross my legs beneath me and lean back, settling into the chair the way I always do when I’m around him, half at ease, half on guard.

He doesn’t look at me, eyes still focused on the screen, but his voice is soft when he speaks.

“I missed you, you know.”

The words catch me off guard, not because I doubt them, but because of how casually he says it. Like it’s just... obvious.

I respond without thinking. “Did you?”

My tone is sharper than I meant it to be, laced with a sarcasm I didn't intend to let slip. I curse myself internally the moment the words leave my mouth.

His fingers pause on the keyboard. Slowly, he spins in his chair to face me, one eyebrow slightly raised. There’s a short silence before he speaks.

“What was that about?” he asks, a dry laugh escaping him, more confused than amused.

I stare at a spot on the floor, chewing the inside of my cheek. My mind races through all the possible ways to deflect this. Joke it off. Pretend I’m tired. Say it’s nothing. But that “nothing” has been sitting between us for weeks now, and it’s only getting heavier.

I let out a slow breath and rub my temples. “Sorry. I’m just… a bit frustrated lately.”

“Frustrated with work?” he asks, eyes narrowing slightly. “Or… frustrated with me?”

I hesitate. My knee bounces slightly, a nervous tic I can’t seem to control around him. “Both.”

There’s another beat of silence. I can feel him watching me, trying to read between the lines.

“Okay,” he says slowly, his voice calm but clearly tense. “Why would you be frustrated with me? I haven’t done anything.”

The way he says it, like he genuinely believes that, makes something in me snap. Not in a dramatic way. Just… quietly, finally.

I turn toward him now, fully, sitting up straighter.

“That’s exactly it,” I say. “You haven’t done anything.”

He blinks, his mouth opening slightly, confused. “I don’t follow.”

“You act like I don’t exist when we’re at work,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but steady. “Like we don’t even know each other.”

His expression hardens, jaw clenching just a little. “And what do you want me to do?” he snaps, voice rising more than he probably meant it to. “You want me to what, freaking lick the ground you walk on in the middle of the studio?”

I flinch. Not at the volume, but at how quickly he went from distant to defensive.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Yoongi. I’m not asking for you to make a public announcement every time I walk into the room. I just…” I pause, searching for the words. “I just want to feel like I’m not invisible to you when we’re not alone.”

He runs a hand through his hair and leans back in his chair, sighing. “I thought keeping things separate was what we agreed on.”

“No. You decided that,” I say. “I went along with it because I didn’t want to make things harder for you. But I didn’t think that would mean I’d have to pretend we’re strangers.”

He looks at me now, really looks at me, and for the first time, his posture softens, if only slightly.

“It’s not that I don’t see you,” he says quietly. “It’s the opposite. I see you all the time. And it’s… hard.”

I swallow. “Why?”

“Because it’s easier to focus if I don’t let it show.” He shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way he does it. “If I don’t let myself slip.”

I don’t respond right away. I let that settle between us.

“I get it,” I say eventually. “I really do. But you can’t expect me to keep pretending nothing’s going on when everything inside me is screaming that there is. I just want to know where I stand. With you. Outside of work. Outside of... all of it.”

His eyes drop to the floor. His hands are clasped now, knuckles white.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know where I stand either.”

That hurts more than I thought it would. "I'm tired of this, Yoongi," I whisper, more to myself than to him, my voice barely carrying across the room. My eyes stay locked on my hands, which won’t stop fidgeting in my lap. Fingers tangling and untangling like they're trying to say the words I can’t.

He looks up slowly from the computer, face unreadable. “Are you tired of me?”

The question lands sharp, too sharp. I blink up at him, startled by how flat his voice is. Detached. Like he’s bracing for impact before I’ve even thrown anything.

“I didn’t say that,” I reply quickly, but my voice is too soft. It feels like it dissolves halfway between us.

“Well, it sounds like that’s what you’re trying to say,” he shoots back, still calm on the surface, but I can hear the tightness in his tone now, like he’s holding back a dozen other things he wants to say and doesn’t trust himself to.

“That’s not fair,” I say, lifting my head. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I’m hearing them. And I’m hearing that you don’t want to do this anymore.”

“God, Yoongi, no. That’s not what this is about. I’m just, tired of this. Of us not talking properly. Of walking on eggshells. Of feeling like everything I say might make things worse.”

His jaw tightens. He leans back in his chair, folding his arms like he's closing himself off. “Then what is this about? Because to me, it sounds like you're halfway out the door.”

I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Okay, maybe we need to just take a break. This conversation is going in circles, and we’re both getting defensive and shutting down. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret.”

There’s a pause. A long one. And then he says, “Yeah. A break. That’s probably what we need.”

He spins slightly in his chair, turning his back to me as he stares at the computer screen like it suddenly got interesting again.

But something about the way he said it doesn’t sit right. Too final. Too cold.

I narrow my eyes, confused. “What does that mean?”

He shrugs without turning around. “It means I’m taking a break from… whatever this is.” He gestures vaguely in the air, like he can’t even say it out loud.

“Wait,” I say, my heart dropping. “From us?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “Maybe.”

“You’re seriously doing this now? After I suggested a break from the argument, not us, and you just… escalate it like that?”

He turns his head slightly, finally meeting my eyes. His expression is tired, but more than that, it’s guarded. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You’re tired. I get it. Maybe I am too.”

My mouth opens, then closes. I want to scream. Or cry. Or rewind the last ten minutes and try again.

“Yoongi…” I start, but the words get caught in my throat.

He shakes his head, turning fully back to the screen, like he’s shutting the door between us with the click of a mouse.

“Maybe we both need some space,” he says, his voice lower now. Almost careful. “Before we keep saying things we don’t mean.”

The silence that follows feels heavy. Like it’s pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I stare at the back of his head for a moment longer, waiting for something, anything. A look. A word. Some sign that he doesn’t really want this.

But it doesn’t come.

So I quietly get up, my chair scraping softly against the floor, and walk out of the room without another word.

The door clicks shut behind me.

And everything feels too quiet. —----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been exactly one week since that encounter with Yoongi.

One week since I left his studio with tears burning behind my eyes, holding back a storm until I made it home, only to cry enough to mop the entire apartment floor. Twice. Maybe three times if we count the hallway.

Seven whole days of cycling through every stage of emotional collapse. Denial, anger, bargaining, existential sulking, passive-aggressive Spotify playlists, back to denial. Honestly, if there were a Grammy for dramatic breakdowns, I would’ve at least been nominated.

And during those seven days, I mastered the art of avoidance. I moved through the halls of Hybe like a certified ninja, quiet, calculated, heart pounding at every corner turn like it was a boss battle. I even ducked behind a vending machine once because I thought I heard his laugh. Spoiler alert: it was just Taehyung being loud on FaceTime.

But today… today feels different.

I step into the building with slightly steadier breath. No hoodie pulled low over my eyes. No sunglasses indoors like I’m in disguise. Just me. Still a little bruised, maybe, but upright.

Human again.

Kind of.

The elevator doors slide open and I’m met with the familiar sterile hallway, the buzz of overhead lights, and that faint smell of new wood and too much coffee. I clutch the cup of tea in my hands a little tighter, the warmth seeping through my fingers.

It’s snowing heavily outside, of course it is. The sky looks like it's trying to bury Seoul in silence. A slow, quiet blizzard, perfect for moody introspection and unresolved feelings.

I slide into my usual booth and exhale slowly, sinking into the chair as if it could somehow absorb all the weight in my chest.

I pull out my laptop, plug in my gear, and tell myself. This isn’t for Yoongi. This is for Jimin’s album. Entirely different energy. Entirely different situation.

The door to the recording room creaks open and a familiar head pops in.

“Hey, you’re already here.” Jimin steps inside, rubbing his gloved hands together, snowflakes still clinging to his coat. “It’s freezing out there.”

“I noticed,” I reply, nodding toward the window where the snow looks like it’s falling sideways.

He glances at me, then offers a soft smile as he hangs his coat. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say too quickly. “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “You sure?”

I hesitate, then shrug. “Getting there.”

Jimin walks over and sets a thermos down on the table. “I brought you honey ginger tea. Just in case you ran out of yours.”

I blink. “You didn’t have to...”

“I wanted to,” he says simply. “You’ve been kind of… invisible this week.”

My cheeks warm, and not from the tea.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

He waves it off, sitting in the chair across from me. “I get it. Things with… you know.” He pauses delicately. “Yoongi-hyung… didn’t go well.”

“That’s an understatement,” I mutter, staring down into my cup like it holds all the answers. “I was a mess. Still kind of am.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, “He’s been quiet too. More than usual.”

That makes me look up. “What do you mean?”

“Just… not talking much. Stays late. Looks tired.”

I take a sip of my tea, the sweetness biting just enough to ground me.

“I don’t know what I expected,” I admit. “It’s just… working with him felt like something bigger. Not just professionally. I guess I let my guard down.”

“And he hurt you?”

I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Jimin leans back, thoughtful. “You don’t have to act like everything’s fine, you know. It’s okay to be upset. Just… don’t shut everyone out because of one person.”

I smile faintly. “I know. I’m trying.”

He stands and claps his hands once. “Well, then let’s make something amazing today, huh? No sulking allowed in my booth.”

“Yes, sir,” I salute half-heartedly, earning a laugh from him.

As he steps into the recording room and I turn toward the mixing board, something in me settles a bit. Maybe it’s the tea. Maybe it’s Jimin’s calm presence. Maybe it’s the way the snow blurs the world outside, making this room feel like its own little bubble.

Whatever it is… I think I can handle today.

Just today. That’s enough for now. The prerecording is going smoother than I expected. By the time lunch rolls around, we’re already halfway through the work. The vibe in the studio is relaxed, and the energy is good. Everyone is focused, but not stressed.

Jimin comes out of the recording booth, removing his headphones with a dramatic flair. “Should we order some nice, warm noodles?” he asks, stretching his arms above his head.

I blink at him for a moment, the thought of something hot and comforting sounding better than I anticipated. “Oh my god, that actually sounds like a great idea,” I reply, clapping my hands together enthusiastically. “I’m starving.”

“Alrightttt,” Jimin grins, pulling out his phone. “Let me check if the guys are around, maybe we can all eat together.” He starts typing quickly, sending a message to the group.

I pull out my own phone, scrolling absentmindedly through my inbox. Spam email after spam email fills the screen, and I swipe through them with barely a glance. But then, there it is.

A new email from Hybe management.

The title is in all caps: ‘TERMINATION OF WORKING CONTRACT WITH MIN YOONGI.’

My heart skips a beat. I immediately click on it, and my eyes scan over the corporate-sounding words on the screen. “Dear Y/n , we regret to inform you that your contract with the project centering Min Yoongi has officially expired. As such, you will no longer be required for further sessions concerning the artist.” Blah, blah, blah, corporate speak. In short: they’re cutting me from the project, and I won’t be seeing him at work anymore.

I stare at the email for a few more seconds, reading it again, just to make sure it’s real. But in my gut, I already know. Yoongi and I have both known this was coming for weeks. The email doesn’t say it outright, but the subtext is clear. We’re done. Professionally and personally.

My finger hovers over the “archive” button for a moment. I don’t need this email lingering in my inbox. I don’t need the reminder that this chapter is officially over. I press the button and feel a strange mix of relief and emptiness.

I drop the phone onto the table and push myself back in my chair, taking a deep breath. As much as I’ve told myself that I’m ready for this, it still stings a little.

I turn my attention to Jimin, who’s lounging on the studio couch, legs spread out and arms behind his head like he’s about to fall asleep. He lifts his head when I look at him. “Is it okay if Yoongi comes to eat with us too?” he asks, his voice light but slightly tentative.

For a brief moment, I freeze. Jimin knows that things have been… tense between Yoongi and me. He just doesn’t know why.

The thing is, Jimin believes it’s all about work, he thinks we’ve been clashing over the final tweaks for Yoongi’s album, and while that’s part of it, it’s far from the whole story. He has no idea about the mess of emotions that Yoongi and I have been tiptoeing around for the past month.

Iseul is the only one who knows the truth, and that’s only because she’s my best friend and I couldn’t keep it all bottled up anymore. I needed someone to hear about the late-night conversations, the stolen glances, the unspoken words. And I needed someone to talk sense into me when I finally realized that Yoongi had played with my heart and then discarded it, all while I was still hoping for more.

But Jimin? No, he doesn’t know any of that. He just thinks we had a few heated discussions in the studio, which honestly isn’t far from the truth, Yoongi and I can argue over music like no one else, and it’s not always pretty. But it was never about the music. Not for me.

Jimin’s looking at me expectantly now, a hopeful glint in his eyes. He’s so sweet and so clueless. I can’t bring myself to tell him the real reason Yoongi and I aren’t on speaking terms. It’s too complicated, too messy, and it’s not the kind of thing I want to burden him with. Not when he’s already dealing with enough.

“Yeah, of course,” I say, forcing a smile. I feel my face stretch into something that’s probably more reassuring than I feel, but I have to keep it together. “I’m all about being professional.”

Jimin tilts his head, studying me for a moment, but doesn’t seem to notice the slight tightness in my expression. “Alright! I’ll text him.”

He looks back down at his phone, and I exhale softly, grateful that he’s not pressing me further. I still have no idea what I’m going to say to Yoongi when I do see him again. I know the chances of him walking into lunch today are slim, but the thought still nags at me.

As Jimin texts Yoongi, I catch myself staring at the empty space beside me, where Yoongi should be in this moment. Just a few days ago, I was standing next to him in the studio, arguing over the last details of his album. And now? Now I’m not sure when I’ll see him again. Or if I even want to.

I shake my head, trying to push away the thoughts. Now’s not the time for that. Now’s the time for noodles. Warm, comforting, and probably a little spicy.

"Jimin," I call out, my voice a little steadier than I feel. "I’ll be right back. I need to grab something from outside.”

He looks up from his phone and nods. “Cool, I’ll go check if they’re still around.” He pulls himself off the couch and heads out of the room, leaving me to sit there in the quiet, trying to calm the storm brewing in my chest.

This is all so much more complicated than I ever expected it to be. I step into the hallway, heading in the opposite direction from where Jimin had gone earlier, still on his mission to round up his hyungs like it’s some kind of idol-themed scavenger hunt. I’m not sure who gave him the role of honorary coordinator, but he’s taking it way too seriously, and honestly, I need a break from the chaos.

I exhale through my nose and head toward the elevators, hoping for a moment of peace. Maybe I’ll disappear to the indoor garden floor, get some fresh air, and calm the weird knot that’s been sitting in my chest since I walked into that studio earlier.

To my surprise, the elevator is already on my floor, the little screen blinking its arrival with a soft chime.

Perfect. Quick escape, no awkward hallway encounters. For once, the universe seems to be cutting me a break.

That is, until the doors start to open.

And just like that, the universe decides to slap me across the face with a painfully cliché K-drama scene.

Because sitting casually, too casually, in the corner of the elevator is none other than Min Yoongi himself. Hoodie pulled low, black beanie nearly covering his eyes, one hand resting on his knee while the other holds two takeout bags. He’s mid-yawn when he notices me.

“Oh, hey,” he says, voice low and a little raspy, like he hasn’t spoken to anyone in a while.

I freeze for half a second. “Hey,” I manage, stepping into the elevator before the doors have a chance to shut in my face.

He shifts slightly, adjusting his grip on the food bags. “I got the food,” he says, raising them to eye level. “Aren’t you eating now?”

I blink. “Oh. I didn’t know it had arrived.”

He nods toward the hallway. “Jimin ran off before I could tell anyone. Said he was on a mission.”

I laugh softly, then step forward, quickly catching the door before it closes again. “Alright, yeah. I’ll come with.”

He gives a small nod. The silence that follows isn’t awkward, exactly, but it’s definitely… there. Not tense. Not easy either. Just a quiet shared space, like we’re both running on low battery and trying not to disturb the other.

The elevator hums softly as it moves, and I glance over at him briefly. He’s watching the floor numbers change like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world.

“You must be tired,” I say gently.

He shrugs. “Mm. Not too bad. Just haven’t had a proper break since this morning.”

“That makes two of us,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

He glances at me then, just for a moment. “It’s been a long day, huh?”

I nod, suddenly feeling very aware of how small the elevator is, and how real this all is. I’m not just working on a project anymore. I’m riding in an elevator with Yoongi, talking about exhaustion like we’re coworkers at some regular office job.

When the doors slide open again, we step out together in silence. The hallway seems quieter than before, like the building’s holding its breath. Yoongi walks just ahead of me, slow-paced, as if he’s conserving energy with every step.

When we reach the studio, he opens the door and gestures for me to go in first. I step inside and—

“There you are,” Jin calls out immediately, walking over like a man on a mission. He claps his hands together, then makes a beeline for the takeout bags in Yoongi’s hands. “I was starting to think you’d fallen into a ramen pot.”

Yoongi huffs a small laugh. “You’re welcome, hyung.”

“You are a treasure,” Jin says, grabbing one of the bags and inspecting the contents like a food critic.

I move toward the back corner of the studio, where a couple of chairs and a low table are set up. I set my phone down and pull my sleeves over my hands, watching the rest of the members trickle in, chatting and grabbing their food.

Yoongi joins me a moment later, holding out a container.

“This one’s yours,” he says simply.

I look down at it, a little surprised. “You remembered?”

“You said earlier you don’t like spicy.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “I figured this would be safe.”

For a second, I forget how to answer.

“…Thanks,” I say quietly.

He just nods, then sits beside me, stretching out his legs with a small groan. “Let’s try to eat before Jimin gets back and starts filming us for some behind-the-scenes chaos.”

“Too late,” I say, nodding toward the door as Jimin bursts in, phone in hand.

“Smile! Everyone say comeback energy!”

Yoongi groans again, but there’s the hint of a smile on his face. “So, hyung,” Namjoon starts, steam rising from his bowl as he twirls his chopsticks through his noodles, “what’s your plan for the rest of the month?”

Yoongi, seated right next to me, exhales softly before answering. “Work,” he says simply, slurping his soup. “A couple of promotional things lined up, then studio sessions, as usual.”

I instantly regret choosing the seat by the wall. At first, it seemed cozy, but now I realize I’ve trapped myself, boxed in by Yoongi on one side and directly across from Jimin, who’s been sneaking glances at me since we sat down. There’s a nervous warmth bubbling in my chest, and it’s not just from the noodles. The air feels a little too thick, the kind of tension that makes you extra aware of your limbs and how close someone else’s are to yours.

Jin, sitting at the head of the table like the proud oldest brother, wipes his mouth and looks across at Jimin. “How’s the album coming along, Jimin-ah?”

Jimin perks up immediately, his voice light but confident. “It’s going really well, actually. We found a good working rhythm.” He throws a wink in my direction, smooth, casual, but not subtle. Not in the slightest.

I give a small smile and quickly look down at my bowl. Don’t overthink it. He probably winks at everyone.

“Y/N,” Namjoon chimes in, pointing his chopsticks at me like he’s about to make a dramatic point. “You should think about signing under HYBE, seriously. It’d make collaborating with us a lot easier.”

My chopsticks pause mid-air. “Oh… I mean, maybe,” I reply awkwardly, giving a shy nod. “I haven’t really thought that far ahead yet.”

The conversation itself is friendly enough, and everyone’s being warm, but I can’t help but notice how Yoongi still hasn’t looked at me once. He’s sitting rigidly upright, chewing slowly, his posture too composed. Even when Namjoon brought me into the conversation, Yoongi didn’t turn his head.

I try not to let it get to me. Maybe he’s just tired. Or maybe I’m overanalyzing.

Then, under the table, I feel it, his leg brushes lightly against mine.

It’s the softest touch. Barely noticeable. But it happens.

My heart skips a beat. I freeze, staring at my bowl like it holds all the answers to the universe.

Was that an accident?

It had to be, right?

I keep my face neutral, unwilling to feed any delusions my brain is already trying to stir up. I shift slightly in my seat, pretending to adjust, and glance at Namjoon instead.

“So, what about you?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “Got any plans for the rest of the month?”

Namjoon wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Yeah, actually. I’m helping co-write a track, Taehyung and Jungkook are doing a special collab for ARMY. Kind of a thank-you gift.”

A round of nods and approving hums ripple around the table.

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” I say genuinely. “You guys are always working. Do you even get time for, you know, life?”

Jin chuckles, clapping his hands together. “You’re not wrong. Sometimes I forget what a day off even feels like.”

“I think it’s kind of an idol thing,” Jimin says, sitting back with a thoughtful look. “We get used to being busy. If we’re not, it feels weird.”

“Yeah,” Namjoon adds, “and that’s why most idols date other idols or people in the industry. It’s easier to be with someone who understands the lifestyle instead of having to explain why you can’t text back for eight hours.”

“That makes sense,” I say, nodding slowly. “I imagine it’s hard to connect with someone outside of all this when your schedule’s so intense.”

There’s a pause at the table, a shared moment of silent understanding. Everyone seems to sink just a little into their own thoughts.

Yoongi still hasn’t said a word since his answer about work. I sneak a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He’s still eating slowly, gaze fixed on his bowl, but his jaw is tighter than before. Almost like he’s holding something in.

And then, again, his leg bumps mine. This time, it lingers. Just for a second.

I don’t move.

I don’t look at him.

But my heartbeat is definitely no longer under control. "I'm happy to see that you two made up, though," Jimin says, glancing between us and gesturing lazily with his chopsticks. His voice is light, casual, even cheerful.

But the moment the words leave his mouth, I feel my stomach drop. Oh no. Not now. Not here.

I feel the heat rise in my ears, and when I glance to my left, I can already see Yoongi shift in his seat. His posture stiffens, his expression hardens just a bit, subtle, but enough to notice if you're paying attention.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Yoongi asks, tone even but edged with irritation. His eyes stay fixed on his bowl, but the energy around him changes instantly. It’s like someone flipped a switch.

Jimin, blissfully unaware, keeps eating. "You know, the argument you had last week. About the new track. I just figured, since you’re sitting next to each other again and not avoiding eye contact, it must’ve worked itself out."

I want to teleport out of the room. Right now.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," I say quickly, waving my hand in the air like I’m physically trying to brush the topic away. I’m hoping, praying, that Jimin gets the hint.

He doesn’t.

"Not a big deal?" he laughs, mouth half-full. “You literally went through all seven stages of grief over it. Denial, anger, bargaining"

“Jimin,” I cut in, giving him a warning look, but it’s already too late.

Jin lets out a soft chuckle, probably thinking we’re just bantering, while Namjoon has gone completely quiet. I feel his eyes on me, calculating, watching. He’s piecing things together. And knowing Namjoon, he won’t say a word now, but I’ll be getting a phone call later.

Yoongi sets his chopsticks down quietly, but with purpose. He’s not looking at anyone, just swirling the last bit of food in his bowl.

"I didn’t know you go around sharing our arguments," he says, voice low, casual in that dangerous way that means he’s anything but.

"I didn’t," I reply, sharper than I meant to. “But you know… sometimes it’s kind of nice when people actually listen, instead of assuming they know what’s going on in my head.”

The words are out before I can catch them. I feel my chest tighten, my pulse kicking up. That wasn’t meant to come out, at least not like that. But it’s been sitting inside me, simmering, and Jimin’s comment just lit the match.

The room goes completely silent. Jin pauses mid-bite. Jimin looks up, chopsticks still in hand, blinking.

Yoongi’s eyes finally meet mine. Cold. Blank. “I think I’m done here,” he says, pushing back his chair. He stands and forces a tight-lipped smile at the others, one of those polite ones that says this is for your sake, not mine.

“Of course you are,” I mutter under my breath, not even bothering to look up.

“What was that?” he asks, his voice suddenly sharp. He’s halfway into his jacket when he turns around, eyes narrowing.

“Nothing.”

“No, no, if you’ve got something to say, say it to my face,” he challenges, stepping back toward the table.

I stand too, heart hammering, hands clenched. “Fine. I’d rather not say anything, actually. Because I’m tired of having my words twisted into something they’re not, just to fit whatever version of me you’ve already decided exists in your head.”

The silence that follows is so thick, it’s suffocating.

Yoongi stares at me like he’s trying to decide whether to argue or walk away.

He does neither.

He just exhales through his nose, gives one last glance around the table, and says, “See you tomorrow, guys” before walking out the door, letting it click shut behind him.

No one says a word.

And all I can do is sit back down, ignoring the stares, trying not to let my hands shake too visibly. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was just past 7 p.m. when I finally stepped out of the editing suite and made my way down the long hallway of the HYBE building. The day had dragged on, deadlines piling up, notes to revise, layers to tweak, my brain was officially fried. But outside, the snowstorm that had been hammering Seoul all day had finally come to a gentle halt. Through the glass windows, the world looked soft and quiet, everything blanketed in fresh snow, the streets nearly empty, and the city lights casting a soft glow on the icy sidewalks.

Perfect. I just wanted to go home, throw on some sweatpants, and melt into the couch under my heated blanket.

I reached out to press the electric door button, tugging my coat tighter around me, when I heard someone call my name behind me.

“Hey, Y/N. Heading out?”

I turned around to see Namjoon walking toward me, adjusting his face mask and tugging a navy beanie lower over his ears. His breath puffed visibly in the cold air leaking in from the lobby doors.

“Yeah,” I replied, stepping into the elevator as the doors slid open. “I was thinking of walking home. The storm’s finally let up and it looks… peaceful.”

He gave a thoughtful nod and stepped in beside me. “Mind if I walk with you? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

I blinked. My heart did a very sudden and very dramatic thump. I tried not to let it show. “Oh. Yeah, of course. I don’t mind.”

As the electric door opens, he reached into his coat pocket and handed me a clean, unopened mask. The implication was crystal clear: Wear this unless you want to see your face plastered on Dispatch tomorrow morning under a headline like “Mystery Girl With BTS’s RM, Dating or Scandal?”

I took it with a small, amused smile and slipped it on.

By the time we stepped out of the building, the street was blanketed in silence. Snow crunched under our boots, the only real sound accompanying us. Cars were few and far between. The whole city felt hushed, like it was holding its breath.

“Feels like we’re walking through a snow globe,” I murmured, adjusting my scarf.

Namjoon chuckled softly. “Yeah. It’s nice, isn’t it?”

We walked in silence for a few moments, falling into an easy rhythm. It wasn’t awkward, but there was definitely something unspoken hanging in the air. I could feel it. The way he kept glancing at me, the slight fidgeting of his hands in his pockets.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “So, I’ll cut straight to the chase.”

Here we go.

He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder and looked straight ahead. “What exactly happened between you and Yoongi?”

My steps faltered for just a second. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I… I don’t know,” I said slowly, staring at my boots as they crushed into the snow. “It was just…”

Namjoon stopped walking and turned slightly to face me. “Y/N,” he said firmly, raising a hand and holding up a single finger. “I want the truth. Yoongi’s one of my closest friends. And I wish only the best for you too. I’m not here to pry, but if there’s something going on, I’d like to help, before things get worse.”

His voice wasn’t angry, but it was serious. Concerned. It made something in my chest tighten.

I let out a long breath, watching the fog of it drift into the cold air. “Fine,” I muttered. “We had a… moment. During the music video shoot. Things got kind of blurry. We got close. Like… emotionally. And physically.”

Namjoon said nothing, just nodded for me to continue.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything, but it started to,” I said. “For me, at least. I thought we were building something… real. But after a while, it felt like I was just someone to keep him company when he was in the mood. We'd hang out, he'd be sweet, we'd make out in his studio or my home, and then nothing for days. No texts, no calls. Just… silence.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened, but he still didn’t speak.

“I tried to bring it up,” I continued, voice quieter now. “Told him I felt like I was being used. That I didn’t know where I stood. He didn’t take it well. Told me he needed space. That he wanted a break.”

I shrugged like it didn’t bother me. Like I hadn’t replayed that conversation in my head a hundred times since it happened. “And that was that.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. The snow fell gently around us, and the sound of a bus rolling past on the opposite street filled the silence.

Namjoon sighed and started walking again, and I followed.

“I figured it was something like that,” he finally said. “Yoongi’s not good with feelings. He shuts down when things get real. Always has.”

“I noticed,” I said, a little bitterly.

“But he’s not heartless,” Namjoon added. “He just… doesn’t always know how to deal with emotions in the moment. Or how his actions affect other people.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to defend Yoongi, but I didn’t want to attack him either. It was all still too raw.

“Thanks for being honest with me,” Namjoon said after a while. “I’m not trying to get in the middle. I just didn’t want things to fester between you two without anyone trying to clear the air.”

I nodded, grateful but also emotionally exhausted.

“If he talks to me about it,” he added, “do you want me to say anything? Or just stay out of it?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make things worse. But… if he does bring it up, maybe remind him that communication isn’t optional. That people aren’t disposable.”

Namjoon gave me a sad smile. “Will do.”

By the time we reached my street, the snow had started to fall again, just a little heavier now. He stopped walking and looked at me.

“Get some rest, Y/N. You’ve been through more than you let on.”

“You too,” I said, then turned and made my way up the stairs to my apartment.

As I closed the door behind me, the warmth of my place hit me, but my thoughts were still tangled up somewhere outside, buried deep in the snow. For the next two weeks, I was completely buried in work, emails, production schedules, gear checklists, and endless coordination calls. With the filming trips to Jeju and Japan creeping closer by the hour, every minute felt like a countdown to chaos. Sleep became optional. Meals turned into protein bars and coffee. My calendar looked like a battlefield.

It was already Thursday afternoon, the sun barely clinging to the edge of the sky, casting long shadows across the office. The room smelled faintly of coffee and old paper. I sat across from Jimin’s manager, both of us hunched over the final checklist for tomorrow’s flight.

“We triple-checked the seating chart, right?” I asked, rubbing my temples and leaning back in the leather chair. “Last time they stuck a camera operator in economy with three pelican cases under his feet.”

He chuckled, flipping through a stack of documents. “Yes, we did. Everyone’s in their assigned seats. Equipment's cleared for cargo. Customs forms are ready for Jeju and Japan. Nothing should go wrong... hopefully.”

“I really hope this shoot goes smoothly,” I muttered, half to myself. My shoulders ached from sitting at a desk all day. “Jimin’s comeback is already under a microscope.”

He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder before standing up. “It’ll be fine. You’re all pros. Just try to get some rest tonight—our flight’s at 8 AM sharp.”

“Easier said than done,” I mumbled as he walked out.

The door clicked shut behind him, and for the first time all day, the office was quiet. I exhaled, letting the silence settle around me like a blanket.

And then, right on cue, the door creaked open again.

At first, I didn’t even turn around. I didn’t need to.

That subtle scent, something clean and musky, with a hint of spice, gave him away before he even spoke.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, his voice calm and low as he stepped into the room and came around the table. “You got a minute?”

I blinked, surprised. “Uh, yeah.” I straightened up a little. “What’s up?”

He sat down across from me, looking more relaxed than I’d seen him in weeks. No hoodie today, just a black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, his hair slightly tousled like he’d just walked out of rehearsal.

“I’ve got this album launch party,” he began, sliding a sleek, cream-colored envelope across the table. “It’s for the company, but there’ll be a bunch of people from the industry there too. Thought maybe you’d want to come. For networking purposes. ”

I picked up the envelope, fingers brushing over the embossed lettering. “This Saturday?” I asked, scanning the details. “Ah, I can’t, I’ll be in Jeju. We’re flying out tomorrow for Jimin’s MV shoot.”

His expression didn’t change, but he gave a small nod, taking the card back without any fuss. “Right. Forgot you were heading out so soon.”

There was a small pause, just a beat, but I felt it stretch.

“Then,” he said casually, eyes meeting mine again, “how about grabbing coffee now?”

I blinked. “Coffee? Now?”

He gave a small shrug, a quiet smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Why not?”

I stared at him for a moment, genuinely taken aback. Yoongi didn’t do spontaneous. At least, not with me. Our interactions were usually scheduled, professional, efficient. This felt... different.

“Do we have to?” I asked, only half-joking.

His smile grew, just a little. “No. But I thought you might want to get some air before locking yourself in a plane for the next few days.”

I leaned back in my chair, still a little unsure of what this was. Just a friendly offer? A break from stress? Something more?

“Alright,” I said eventually, grabbing my jacket off the back of the chair. “But only if you’re paying.”

He laughed under his breath. “Deal.”

And just like that, we walked out of the stuffy office and into the night air, quietly, like it wasn’t a big deal. “I had a talk with Namjoon yesterday,” Yoongi says as we quietly walk side by side down a narrow street toward the nearest café. The evening air is crisp, the kind that feels like it’s trying to wake you up gently from the afternoon slumber.

“Ah, I see,” I reply, offering a polite smile and trying, really trying, not to let the bitterness leak into my voice.

Yoongi doesn’t even glance at me. “Don’t start, Y/N.”

His tone is low but firm, his eyes locked straight ahead. Classic Yoongi, always calm on the surface, but I can tell he’s already bracing for impact.

I pretend I didn’t hear him. “So, what did you talk about with Namjoon?”

He exhales sharply through his nose, clearly annoyed but not surprised. “You don’t give up, do you?”

“Nope.”

We walk a few more steps in silence until he suddenly stops walking. I nearly bump into him.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” he says. Just like that. No buildup. No dramatic sigh. Just... those words.

I blink at him, caught off guard. “Oh. Okay. That’s… fine. I wasn’t expecting that.”

He turns to face me fully, the usually unreadable expression on his face now replaced with something that looks a lot like vulnerability. “I know we haven’t talked in weeks. I should’ve reached out sooner.”

“You think?” I mutter, then immediately regret it. “Sorry. That was unnecessary.”

“No, you’re right. It was a childish move on my part,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes flicker around the empty street. “I guess I thought that if I ignored everything, it’d just... fix itself.”

“It never does,” I say quietly.

He nods. “Yeah. I figured that out about two sleepless weeks ago.”

A small silence falls between us, not quite heavy, but not easy either. Then he says, a bit softer, “I’m not great at controlling what I say when I’m hurt or frustrated. I guess that’s not news to you.”

“That makes two of us,” I reply, offering a small, almost sad smile.

He gives me the faintest laugh, just air through his nose, but there’s a warmth to it. Then, stepping a little closer, he says, “I’m serious, though. I really am sorry, Y/N. I messed up. And... I really fucking miss you.”

My heart skips a beat at how quietly he says it. Like he’s afraid saying it too loud will make it untrue.

“Yoongi...” I step back instinctively, just enough to create space. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I missed you too, but this isn’t something I can just pretend didn’t happen. It hurt. You hurt me.”

He swallows hard, nodding slowly. “I know. And I’m not expecting everything to be okay overnight. I just thought this... apologizing... might be a first step.”

There’s something so genuine in the way he’s standing there, shoulders slightly slouched, hands in his coat pockets, eyes honest, that it disarms me.

“I was harsh that night,” he continues. “I snapped because I felt like I was losing control, and instead of talking to you like an adult, I shut down. I keep expecting people to adjust around my life, my schedule, my silence... but I never think about adjusting for theirs. For yours.”

I look at him, really look at him. There’s no arrogance here, no performance. Just a man trying.

“And maybe,” he says, voice a little quieter now, “maybe I need to learn how to say ‘I need you’ without making it sound like a demand.”

I exhale, some of the tension in my shoulders easing. “That’s probably the most mature thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

He smirks a little, eyes meeting mine. “Don’t get used to it.”

I laugh under my breath and shake my head. We stand there for a second longer, both of us knowing this conversation could’ve gone a hundred different ways, and somehow this feels like the best possible version of it.

“Come on,” I say, gently linking my arm through his. “Let’s get that coffee.”

He glances at me sideways, a hint of a smile playing at his lips as he lets me lead the way.

“You know,” he says after a few steps, “if you keep holding onto my arm like this, we’re going to end up on Dispatch’s homepage by dinner.”

“You’d mind?” I ask, bumping him lightly with my shoulder.

“Not even a little,” he replies. “But maybe we should hold hands instead. Might look less like a retired couple walking their way to bingo night.”

I snort and swat at his arm playfully. “Let’s take it one day at a time, Min Yoongi.”

He grins, and for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t feel complicated between us. Just… honest.

And that’s a start. —---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “I still think you should take the puffer jacket,” Iseul says as she rummages through the chaos that is currently my closet. Clothes are everywhere, on the floor, the bed, the chair that’s never been used for actual sitting. “You might need it for the night shoots. The temperature drops fast near the coast.”

I glance over from my suitcase, half-zipped and already on the brink of being overstuffed. “That’s actually a good point.” I give her a thumbs-up from across the room, then toss the jacket onto the ‘maybe’ pile, which is quickly becoming bigger than the ‘definitely’ pile.

“You’re gonna thank me when you’re not freezing your butt off at 2 a.m. in front of a fog machine.”

We both laugh, but it’s short-lived. We’re back to the mission: finding something decent for me to wear that says professional without screaming I spent two hours panicking in front of the mirror.

As I’m halfway into deciding whether a turtleneck is too try-hard, the doorbell suddenly rings, loud and unexpected. We both freeze.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand. “It’s past eleven. Did you order something?”

Iseul shakes her head, arms full of sweaters. “Nope. You expecting anyone?”

“No.”

I slowly walk to the front door, my bare feet nearly silent against the wooden floor. Something about a late-night ring always puts you on edge, even in a safe neighborhood. I peek through the visor.

And freeze.

Yoongi.

I blink, just to make sure I’m not hallucinating. He’s standing there with the same tracksuit he wore earlier when we got coffee—faded black, slightly oversized, casual but effortlessly cool. He’s got a beanie pulled low over his hair, and his mask is tugged down under his chin. In his hand, a familiar white paper bag, takeout.

I crack the door open, just enough to stick my head out.

“Hey,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual, but the surprise is probably still written all over my face.

He smiles, that unmistakable gummy smile that somehow always catches me off guard. “Hey.”

“Um… everything alright?” I ask, brows furrowing. It’s not like this is totally out of character for him, but showing up at 11 p.m. with food wasn’t exactly something I expected tonight.

He lifts the bag slightly, like a peace offering. “I just figured, since you’re leaving tomorrow… maybe you’d want to have dinner together? Before you're gone for a while.”

I blink. It’s… sweet. So Yoongi, in that quiet, unassuming way of his.

But I glance back over my shoulder at the mess, at Iseul still knee-deep in my closet. I suddenly feel awkward, the door still half-closed, me looking like I just woke up from a nap, hair in a messy bun, mismatched socks. He probably thinks I’ve got someone else here. I’m barely even letting him in.

“Oh…” I say, my voice trailing awkwardly. “I’m kind of… in the middle of packing right now. Sorry, I just...”

His smile falters, just a bit. “Ah. Got it. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, wait, no, it’s not like that,” I say quickly, suddenly hating how closed-off I probably seemed. I open the door all the way and step aside. “My friend Iseul’s here. She’s helping me prep for the trip. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable coming in with someone else here, that’s all.”

Yoongi chuckles softly and steps inside. “What? No, of course I don’t mind.”

I call out behind me, “Iseul! Uh, guest!”

Iseul pops her head around the corner, eyes wide when she sees Yoongi casually standing in the entryway with takeout in hand. “Oh. Oh. Hi!”

Yoongi gives a polite nod. “Hi. Sorry for the surprise visit.”

“Oh, no, please,” she says, throwing a stack of sweaters onto the bed like she suddenly remembered how messy the place is. “You’re saving her from packing anxiety. I support this.”

“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath, but I’m smiling.

He looks at me again, softer now. “So… can I stay for a little bit?”

I glance between him and the bag of food, then gesture to the living room. “Only if you brought something with extra kimchi.”

He grins. “Always.”

We step into the living room, which currently looks like a small hurricane passed through , and not the elegant kind. Hoodies, T-shirts, and half-zipped suitcases are scattered across the floor like a fashion crime scene. I let out a small breath and start pushing a few garments off the couch to clear a space.

“Sorry about the mess,” I mutter, half-laughing as I shove a hoodie onto a nearby armchair. “Packing is... going great, clearly.”

Yoongi chuckles quietly, the corners of his lips tugging into a soft smile. “Looks like you fought your closet and lost.”

“Pretty much,” I sigh, motioning toward the now visible part of the couch. “Go ahead, sit wherever isn’t covered in laundry.”

He sets down the takeout bag he’s holding and starts unpacking boxes, neatly arranging the containers on the coffee table like it’s some kind of sacred ritual. I notice he even brought side dishes. Classic Yoongi , subtle, thoughtful, and prepared.

“What would you like to drink?” I ask, stepping away and heading toward the kitchen.

“Just water’s fine,” he says, glancing up at me with that small, almost shy smile of his.

I nod and open the cupboard to grab a glass. As I’m filling it with water, I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see Iseul walking in, slipping her crossbody bag over her shoulder.

“Hey, you leaving already?” I ask, brow furrowing slightly. She’s fully dressed like she’s got somewhere to be, coat on, phone in hand.

She nods. “Yeah. I figured I’d give you guys some space.”

I step toward her, concerned. “Everything alright?”

She stops, looks at me with this soft, knowing expression, and then pulls me into a hug, tight and grounding. I hug her back just as tightly, a familiar knot forming in my throat.

“Have fun tonight,” she says quietly near my ear. “And have an amazing trip. I mean it, Y/N. I’m proud of you. You’ve worked really hard for this. You deserve it.”

“Iseul...” I start, but she pulls back and holds me at arm’s length.

“Also...” she adds, glancing toward the living room, “I hope you can work things out with him. Whatever ‘working out’ means now.”

I let out a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to make me cry, and you know I hate crying in front of people.”

“Good,” she says, smirking. “Maybe it'll soften that thick shell of yours.”

We both laugh softly and walk together toward the living room. She waves politely at Yoongi, who stands slightly from the couch in greeting.

“It was really nice to meet you, Yoongi. Take care of her tonight, okay?”

He gives a small bow. “Of course. And you too, it was nice meeting you.”

With a final wave and a quiet click, Iseul disappears through the front door, leaving behind a silence that feels... not awkward, but noticeable. Like the room has shifted.

I walk over and place the glass of water in front of Yoongi. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” he says, accepting it with a quick smile, his fingers brushing lightly against the rim before taking a sip.

I sit down on the carpet beside the coffee table, grabbing a pair of chopsticks and unwrapping them slowly. “So,” I say, trying to sound casual, “how come you’re here tonight? Not that I’m not grateful for the food, but... you didn’t really say much over text.”

He picks up a piece of meat, eyes focused on his plate. “I guess... I thought it’d be nice to have dinner together. You know, before you leave.”

I look over at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s chewing slowly, thoughtful. His tone is quiet, like he’s measuring each word.

“You don’t know when you’ll see me again,” I finish for him.

He finally glances at me, nodding. “Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence. Not uncomfortable, just full. Full of everything that hasn’t been said.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” I say gently, shifting a bit closer. “Honestly, I don’t think I’ve had a proper sit-down meal all week. Just coffee and stress.”

He smirks. “Sounds like your diet hasn’t changed.”

“Excuse you, I added protein bars to the mix.”

We both laugh, the tension cracking slightly like a window opening just enough to let fresh air in. I look at him, really look, and for a second, it’s like we’re back in that easy space we used to live in. Before everything got messy.

“So... what else are you thinking?” I ask quietly.

He takes a moment before responding, and this time, he does look at me directly. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to leave things on pause. I know we haven’t really talked about... everything. But I didn’t want to let you leave without at least trying.”

Trying.

The word lingers between us like a question neither of us has answered yet.

I nod slowly, eyes dropping to the food between us. “Trying sounds like a good place to start.” “Hey, can I ask you something?” Yoongi says, his voice shifting into a tone that immediately grabs my attention. It’s quieter now, more serious.

I glance up from my bowl of rice, halfway through chewing. “Yeah? What is it?”

He hesitates. That alone is strange. Yoongi never hesitates—especially not with me. His eyes flicker down to his bowl, then back up to mine, and he clears his throat before saying it.

“Do you… have a crush on Jimin?”

I choke. Not even a little cough, a full-on disaster. Rice goes down the wrong way and I launch into an aggressive coughing fit, slapping my chest while reaching for water. My eyes water instantly.

“What?!” I practically scream once I’ve managed to breathe again, my voice still raspy from the coughing. “Are you being serious right now?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his eyes on the table, fiddling with the edge of his placemat like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world.

“I mean… I don’t know,” he mutters. “You two have been close lately. Since we had that argument, you’ve been spending a lot of time with him. And you’re working together in the studio on this… very emotional, very romantic album.”

I blink, stunned. “Yoongi, are you jealous?”

He flinches. Just a tiny bit. But I catch it.

“I just thought…” he continues, still not looking at me. “Maybe, during all those late-night sessions, while he’s pouring his heart out into lyrics and melodies, you’d start seeing him differently. He’s a good guy. And you were mad at me, so…”

I drop my chopsticks with a soft clink onto the table.

His ears are red now. Bright red. And he still refuses to meet my gaze.

Something about the way he’s sitting there, defensive, quiet, almost… insecure, it makes my heart twist. I don’t even think. I just move.

I reach across the table, grabbing his wrist gently. “Yoongi.”

He finally looks up, and there’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen in a while, uncertainty. Like he’s not sure where we stand anymore.

I stand up slowly and walk around the table without saying a word. He follows me with his eyes, probably confused, maybe even ready to back away, but I don’t give him the chance.

I slide right into his lap.

His body stiffens under me. “Wait, what are you...”

But I don’t let him finish.

I cup his face, feeling the scratch of his stubble against my palms, and I kiss him, firm, intentional, no room for misinterpretation.

For a second, he’s frozen. And then, like flipping a switch, his hands are around my waist, pulling me impossibly closer, like he can’t get enough. One hand moves to the small of my back, the other cradles the back of my neck. We’re breathing against each other now, mouths still colliding, still trying to make up for all the time we lost.

“I missed this,” I whisper in between kisses, forehead resting against his.

He lets out a breath, warm and shaky, like he’s been holding it in for weeks. “I missed you.”

We stay like that for a moment, just breathing, touching, realigning ourselves in the quiet aftermath of too many unspoken words.

And then, softly, he murmurs, “So… I’ll take that as a no about Jimin?”

I laugh into his neck, wrapping my arms tighter around him. “Definitely a no.” “I know we said we should take things slow,” Yoongi starts, his voice low and uncertain as his fingers gently comb through my hair. “And… granted, I acted like a complete ass.”

I rest my head lightly against his chest, hearing the steady thump of his heart under my ear. “Yeah, you kind of did,” I reply softly, not accusing, just honest.

He lets out a shaky breath. “But…”

“But what?” I ask, already feeling that familiar knot twist in my stomach. The kind you get before a plane takes off, equal parts excitement and fear.

He pulls back slightly so he can look at me, his dark eyes searching mine with an intensity that makes it hard to breathe. “Y/N… would you be my girlfriend?”

The world stills.

No, it collapses.

My heart skips a beat—maybe two—and for a second, I genuinely wonder if I misheard him. “Wait, what?” I blink, stunned, as the words hit me like cold water. “Are you serious?”

Without thinking, I quickly shift out of his lap, standing up so abruptly it startles him. He looks up at me, confused and caught off guard, his hands still frozen in the air like they’re reaching for something he can’t quite hold onto.

“I just...” I run a hand through my hair, trying to collect my thoughts. “Yoongi, I… I wasn’t expecting that. At all.”

He gets to his feet slowly, mirroring my unease. His fingers twitch slightly at his sides before he speaks. “I thought…” He swallows. “I thought your feelings were the same. I felt it. I still feel it.”

“They are,” I say quickly, reaching for his hand, my voice softer now. “Of course they are. I’m just… surprised. That’s all. This is, unexpected. Not bad. Just sudden.”

He exhales in relief and closes the space between us, holding my hand like it’s something fragile. “Y/N.” His voice is steadier now, but there’s still a tremble at the edges. “I know it’s bad timing. I know I probably should’ve waited, especially with your business trip tomorrow, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you walk out that door again without telling you what I’ve been trying so hard to ignore.”

“Yoongi…” I whisper, reaching up to cup his cheek, my thumb brushing over the skin he missed while shaving.

“Please, let me just say this,” he murmurs, leaning into my touch. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I hate that it took me being stupid, and distant, and everything you didn’t deserve, to finally realize it. I’ve been angry at myself for weeks.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I say quietly, fingers still resting on his cheek. “You’re not going to lose me.”

He closes his eyes for a moment like those words physically soothe something in him. “I’m not asking for you to say yes right now. I’m not even asking for anything, really. I just need to know… is there still a chance? Is there still space for me in your heart?”

I step closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yoongi… of course I love you.”

His eyes snap open, and I see something soften in him. His shoulders drop. The tension that held him upright finally gives way.

“Good,” he says, exhaling like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. “Then I’ll do everything I can to prove to you that I deserve to be your boyfriend. Not just someone from your past. Not just someone who messed up.”

He pulls me into a hug, slow and steady, arms wrapping around me like he’s anchoring himself to this moment. He presses a kiss to the top of my head and I feel it, not just physically, but all the way down to the center of my chest.

Neither of us says anything for a moment. We just stand there, holding onto each other, letting the silence fill the spaces that words can’t.

And for the first time in a long time, the future doesn’t feel so uncertain anymore.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi #agust d #suga x you #suga x reader #suga fanfic

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theoats99 · 8 months ago

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New Girl at Bayview

Summary- Being in a new school is always stressful, more so when you've been there for a month and haven't made a single friend. What you do learn is that a boy in school is hated, Simon Kelleher. When you agree to become his partner for a class project what will happen?

No warnings for this story, just fluff and friendly bickering. I also post on AO3! Link on my page if your interested.

Most people thought Simon Kelleher was scum, a loser. And I choose to believe them, being a new student here beginning my junior year. I did though have a class with him, we shared English class, and he fascinated me. I just couldn’t fathom how it could all be true, he didn't look dangerous, the complete opposite actually.

It’s October by the time I talk to him for the first time. Our English teacher gives us a project, find a partner, and pick a book from the list presented to us and then by the end of semester we present a project together. I’m watching everyone form into pairs, that's the crappy thing about being new, no one knows you yet, so no one picks you.

But a tap on my desk alerts me to him, it’s Simon. And for a second I don’t know what to say, so I dumbly stare a second too long.

“Hi.” Is what I muster out.

“Hi, I don’t think we've properly met yet, my name is Simon. You're new here right?” He’s smiling at me, and for a moment I can’t imagine how someone so pretty could be so hated.

“Yeah, I just moved here in July, my name is Y/N” He’s still smiling when he puts his hand out for a shake, and I extend mine to meet him. His hand is warm, and his shake is firm.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Y/N, so would you happen to want to be my partner for this? I think we might just be the only two people who don’t have one.” A look around the room confirms it, everyone else is already at their desks and tables chatting away.

“Yeah, that sounds good.” I say back to him, but really what choice do I have now?

“Perfect.” He sits down next to me, and brings his chair a little closer. “So, what book do you think we should cover?” He’s close, so much so I can clearly see how blue his eyes are. So I look away and back at the sheet in front of us.

“Well, I’ve read some of these already. What about you, if we can pinpoint what we both have and haven’t read that could help us find one.” He reads the sheet over again.

“I haven’t read even half of these, not much of a reader. Are you?” I look back at him and nod.

“Yeah I am, I like reading. It’s a good escape, you said you haven’t read half of these. Well which ones have you?”

“Uh, Catcher in the Rye and Frankenstein. That’s it.” He looks a little sheepish about this confession, I smile at him.

“That’s okay, if you ask me we should do The Scarlet Letter. It’s a timeless book, and I’ve always wanted to read it, so this is the perfect chance.” He nods along and we take the sheet, write both our names on it, the book we picked, and he goes to take it to the teachers desk. I watch the teacher take it and look at it, before looking right back at him with a raised brow.

I pay it little mind, and he’s back sitting next to me in seconds.I notice for the first time his hands, more like the rings that adorn his fingers, as he taps his fingers on the table.

“What lunch do you have?” He asks, and it draws me away from my thoughts of his fingers.

“Uh, I have lunch fifth period, why?” He just nods.

“No reason, that’s when I have lunch too. I just don’t think I’ve seen you in the cafeteria.” I flush a little.

“Yeah, it’s kinda embarrassing. I sit all the way in the corner, the worst thing about new schools is not having any friends right away.” He nods.

“If you want you could sit with me and my friend.” I can’t help the little smile that forms.

“That would be lovely, thank you Simon.” He smiles at me, and I feel the fluttering feeling in my stomach, and promptly ignore it. The bell rings and I wave bye to him and head towards my next class.

Fourth period feels like it takes hours, when finally free of math class I bound towards the cafeteria. And while waiting in line it strikes me, Simon never told me where he sat. Was he playing some trick on me? With my tray in hand I scan the room and cannot see him, so I make my way to my usual lonely seat, away from everyone else.

That’s when I see a girl sitting there, and I freeze in my tracks. She’s blonde, with some colored streaks. I take a deep breath and decided to sit, maybe she won’t be that bad? She looks up from her phone when she hears my tray on the table.

“Hi.” I say, and immediately feel stupid. I avert my eyes to my tray.

“Hi, I’m Janae.” Her voice is kind, when I look back up she's smiling.

“I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, your Simon’s partner.” She says and points at me.

“Yeah, in English class. You know him?” She laughs.

“Yeah, I’m his best friend. He was telling me about you last period. Anyway, how are you liking Bayview.?” I don’t know how to answer when she drops something like that. Simon had been talking about me? So I just shrug, as I go to open my mouth to answer her question Simon himself comes and sits down next to me, giving me a jump.

“I know I’m late, but I ran into someone I had to talk to.” He’s grinning at Janae and she just rolls her eyes at him shaking her head. He looks at me “So, what have I missed?”

“I was just asking our new friend how she's liking our school.” This time he laughs, and then both of them are looking at me.

“I don’t know, it’s been okay, It’s only been a month.” I shrug again, and neither of them seem satisfied with my answer. “I mean, I don’t have any friends. And classes are okay, this school is definitely grander than my last one.”

“Yeah it’s because of all the higher class parents dumping money into sports. It keeps all of our athletes very well taken care of.” Janae practically spits out. I nod, it makes sense, from what I’ve seen the school absolutely cherishes their football team. I’ve seen one of them, a blonde boy with dimples, always smiling and laughing with others all around him.

“Don’t all schools though? I mean cmon this is America, football is practically the new religion, in my old school they doted on the hockey team more.” They both chuckle.

“So where are you from then?” It’s Simon this time asking.

“Wisconsin, hence why hockey was the hot thing. We deal with winter so damn long we make the best out of the ice.” They nod.

“You're a long way from home then here, why such a big move?” Janae asks “Or if you don’t wanna say that's cool, no pressure.”

“No,it’s all good. My brother works out here, and over the summer he proposed to me living with him here. And I agreed, so yeah.” I feel awkward now, it’s only a fraction of the reason why I’m with my brother here. But they don’t need to know all that, right now at least. “Can I ask you guys something?”

They both look at me and nod. “I’m trying to wrap my head around why everyone I guess dislikes you Simon. I mean, it just doesn’t seem to make sense to me.” Simon just laughs.

“They don’t dislike me, they hate me. And you can say that, but they hate me because I expose people. All the fake, popular, nice kids and secretly horrid. And I let the world know that.” He looks proud of himself, and I feel conflicted. “I’m doing a service, really.”

I stare into his eyes for a second, they're so pretty, and I’m reminded of nature. How things so beautiful in nature are the most dangerous.

“Okay.” Is all I say back to him, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly. I watch Janae and Simon jest with each other, It goes by way too quickly and when the bell rings I feel dread. I finally made friends and my time with them is cut short.

Janae waves to us as she goes to her next class, Simon stops me as I go towards mine.

“What are you doing after school?” He almost seems nervous.

“Nothing, I’m gonna go home and do my homework. It’ll be so riveting.” He laughs.

“Do you want to go get the book instead? We can start reading it now, and then be ahead on the project.” I smile at him and agree.

“Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll meet you in the library then?” He shakes his head.

“No, I was thinking we could get new copies. So if that’s okay we can meet in the cafeteria after school?” I nod again, then I’m off scurrying to my class just in time.

The entire rest of the day I’m thinking about Simon, mostly how I’ll be alone with him. I feel worried at the thought, what if he was a secret creep? I have pepper spray, and while I’ve never used it, my brother also taught me how to and how to defend myself.

So I find myself in the cafeteria waiting for him, ten minutes after school let out I saw him walking in, and with a wave I got up and met him by the doors. I follow him to the parking lot, and his car is nice, a blue bug.

“Have you lived here your whole life?” I’m trying to make conversation, anything to break the tension.

“Yeah, my mom is the Mayor actually. She’s been in the politics of this place since before I was born.” It makes some sense now, the nice car, how his clothes were always nice, always new looking.

“What’s that like? Like I mean my brother is a cop, and that’s already weird. His hours are so weird, I’m practically living by myself.” I laugh, and he looks over at me once were at a stoplight.

“It’s whatever, she's always busy. Always some dinner or party she needs to attend, always trying to make everything perfect.” He shrugs and we're moving again.

“I can’t imagine that, perfect all the time, literally no one is perfect.” I scoff it out, and he laughs this time.

“I would have to agree.” We're at a bookstore now, I’d seen it every now and again while driving in town. “Well, here we are.” He announces.

“Here we are.” I say back with a grin, in the store we both try to locate the book. Simon finds it first, and comes over to me with two copies.

“Found them, the last two they had.”

“Great!” I grab the one copy and turn it over, I look at the price and decide I should have enough on me for the purchase. I dig into my bag looking for the cash my brother had given me while waiting in line with Simon.

“Everything okay?” He’s attempting to look over my shoulder, to possibly see what I’m rummaging for.

“Uh, yeah, just looking for my cash.”

“You don’t need to pay for yours.” My face must convey my pure confusion, because he chuckles at me. “Trust me, two books isn’t a big deal, I’ve got you on this, partner.”

His teasing tone gives me a flush I can feel resting on my cheeks. I reluctantly hand him the book back and watch him pay for them both.

“I can pay you back, it’s really not a problem Simon.” I feel guilty about it, he doesn’t seem at all bothered by it.

“It’s seriously not a problem. Trust me.” He pats me on the shoulder as walks out the door as I follow.

“Only if you're certain, okay? Cause I'll pay you back.” He laughs again as we reach his car, he leans his elbows on the car's hood and looks at me. “What?” I huff out.

“You worry too much, that’s all.” Then he’s getting into the car, I feel a little defensive as I get into the passenger seat.

“I don’t worry that much” I bawk at him, he raises his brows at me with the same little smile “Really, it’s not that I’m worrying, it's just rude. To like have someone buy something for you, and I literally just formally met you today.”

“Sure, if you say so.” He says back as he starts the car. “So what now then? I can drop you off at your place, unless you're gonna worry about that too.” He’s laying the teasing on thick, and I can’t help the laugh that comes out.

“Yeah, I’m gonna totally agonize over your gas mileage tonight in bed. It’ll have me up all night.” I turn my head to him, and he’s just looking at me. I can’t read the look on his face, he looks like he’s trying to make a decision.

“I think we’ll be fast friends Y/N.” He starts driving then, after of course I give him my address. The drive home is lighter than the drive to the bookstore, they chat about some things here and there. I find out he enjoys playing online games, and that the site he runs with Janae is called About That. I tell him some things in return, some of my favorite books, how me and my brother live with our two cats, and also that neither me or my brother talk to our parents. He seems intrigued by the last one.

“You don’t talk to them at all?” His voice is lighter when he asks.

“No, we don’t. It’s kinda personal, ya know. It’s our choice.” I smile back at him, I notice we're getting close to my apartment and in minutes he’s parked the car outside the front door of the building.

“Home sweet home.” He says to me, I laugh.

“Okay, well. Thanks for the book, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” I unbuckle my seat belt, but he takes my copy of the book from my hands. “What?” I ask, worried maybe he’d changed his mind.

“Just wanna do something quick.” I watch him open the book, grab a pen from his bag and scribble something down on the book's first page. Once he’s done he hands it back to me. “It’s my number, and since we’re partners we should communicate about the project.”

“Yeah, we probably should.” I agree, and then I’m out of the car in the building. My whole body feels light as I enter the apartment. I pull my phone out after feeding the cats and type his number in and shoot him a text. He replies in a couple minutes.

‘I hope you know I’m putting you in my phone as ‘worrisome girl.’ I laugh at it.

‘Uh huh, what should I put you in as then?’

‘I’ll leave that entirely up to you.’ I just smile down at my phone and decided to start reading.

#simon kelleher #oouil #Simon kelleher x reader #mark mckenna #janae matthews #fluff

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starneurosis · 5 months ago

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For the last of my drawings for the fifth anniversary…

There’s someone I’ve forgotten. That’s strange, because she was a girl who had a bright future.

How could I forget someone who had such a bright future?

Anyway…

I think watching people’s backs is interesting. For what reason does someone turn away from you, instead of walking by your side?

Incoming rant up ahead!

(It’s time for a mini-rant!!)

(When I first discovered DRDT, let’s just say… it wasn’t the greatest one. When I first saw it in 2021, I was impatient, and too bored with the settings and atmosphere of the game, and just upped and left. Now here’s a question I ask myself: Why would I do that? This is the answer that I’d pull out every time: I don’t know.)

(DRDT has changed my life in many ways. It has taught me to find the better outlook in life, and many more things. DRDT has made me feel things I didn’t even know I could feel, even as a person. This may sound horribly chronically online, and that I never leave my house, and that’s alright.)

(When I got back into it, the first things I said was “I’d never catch myself crying over this.” And alas, there I was; crying like a small child in October. That just goes to show how much a series can really move someone and inspire them.)

(I’m so glad that I managed to pull myself out of a hole that I never thought I’d pull myself out of. I can gladly say this today, and any time: DRDT, in my opinion and heart is the best series AND piece of media that I’ve seen in my entire life. I know that I’m just a fan, and that’s okay. I’ve never been so moved and felt so many emotions at once until I stumbled into the community of Danganronpa Despair Time.)

(Alas, I’ll end this rant here. As a final thing that I can say proudly…)

(Thank you, Danganronpa Despair Time. 🥹🩵)

And with that, Ami, out! Happy fifth anniversary, DRDT!! 🫶👋

#mai akasaki #danganronpa despair time #drdt #drdt fanart

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unpopularly-opinionated · 9 months ago

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Beyond Barbie, I’ve watched a fair amount of movies since I last updated y’all against your wills. So many in fact that I’m not going to do a whole ass write up of each because that’s just a complete waste of time. Plus I write reviews on my Letterboxd page, but they’re not entirely fit for public consumption. But I’ll give like a one-sentence review/my thoughts of each, so here we go:

So for context, the last film I posted about in my last list was The First Omen.

Since then I’ve seen:

- The Omen: Keep that woman away from ledges, god dammit.

- Damien: Omen II: I don’t know if this movie came before or after the movie about the crows, but either way this movie did it better.

- Joker: I’d already seen this, but lately I’ve been tossing in some rewatches so I can keep a thorough log/review of them on Letterboxd. P.S. this one is still good.

- The Final Conflict: Omen III: A decent enough ending for its time, to a decent enough franchise for its time.

- Challengers: The single hottest, gayest soft core porno I’ve ever seen, fucking incredible.

- Once Upon a Time… In Hollywood: Went in with zero context, thought it was mid. Read up on the context. Now think it’s pretty OK.

- Idiocracy: Terry Crews as President of the United States, please and thank you.

- Saw I - VII: Progressively got better over time, ashamed to admit one brutal murder scene did kind of turn me on. I need help.

- The entire Pirates of the Caribbean franchise: Obviously a rewatch. First three are literally perfect. Fourth is when we start to see cracks, but it’s OK. Fifth is unwatchable.

- Ready or Not: Went in thinking it was meant to be horror, not a comedy. I was wrong. Pretty funny movie though. Neat premise. Adam Brody is hot.

- Signs: Shamalyan’s God sends aliens to kill hundreds of thousands of people because one man lost faith in him. Shit story. Liked Joaquin Phoenix and a young Kieran Culkin though.

- The Happening: Shamalyan’s God decides to make hundreds of thousands of people kill themselves because the worst romantic pairing in the universe won’t fuck.

- The Sixth Sense: Shamalyan continues to prove that he is a one hit wonder, and this is his hit. That being said, I haven’t cried that hard in a while upon rewatching this.

- Skinamarink: As someone plagued with waking nightmares, this movie spoke to me. It didn’t say much of anything at all, but it certainly spoke to me. Do not recommend.

- Slotherhouse: A dumb bad movie that knows it’s dumb and bad, and is really really good at being both, but in a good way, you know?

- Barbie: An alright cutesie movie so long as you’re willing to accept that it’s not based in reality.

Overall, I’ve been watching a fair amount of movies since my last post, and I plan to watch a whole lot more. Also a lot of rewatches as well I think.

#random #personal #films #movies #reviews

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rems-writing · 6 months ago

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Seonghwa as Navia

》 Pairing: none

》 Genre/AU: fluff/ Genshin Impact AU

》 Wordcount: 1,357 words

》 Rating: nc-17

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet

There will be mentions of guns, but that's about it. No other gory or violent details will be provided since this is supposed to be a headcanon.

Thank you to @potatographics for the banner! It's absolutely gorgeous

Taglist: @doom-fics @bunnliix @callmeghostly @yourfatherlucifer @itsnotmydejavu @xomakara @acupoftaewithsomesuga @frenchkisstheabyss @unholywriters

Navia is a claymore user with a geo vision. Claymores are huge swords. She is friends with everyone in Fontaine, including those who work with her in Spina di Rosula. The Spina di Rosula is a diplomatic organization that acts as a third party mediator, a service that provides protection, and can resolve conflicts physically if the situation goes awry. Navia’s the president of said organization. I thought about who in Ateez would fit the closest to Navia and the answer was simple.

Park Seonghwa.

The first reason why I put these two together is because of their personalities. Both Navia and Seonghwa are the biggest and kindest sweethearts you’ll ever meet. They both have hearts of gold and despite the personal conflicts they went through, they toughed it out and did what needed to be done whilst dealing with their grief in their own way. As an atiny Genshin player who is a shinestar and won the 50/50 on her banner, I can say with enough confidence that these two hold a special place in my heart.

The second reason why I put these two together is their chronic sweet tooth.

I remember being introduced to her during the first Fontaine archon quest and even played her story quest after everything else. Navia loves baking and carries a portable oven wherever she goes. Her specialty is macarons.

The third reason is purely for ship reasons. If Seonghwa is Navia, then Hongjoong is Aether (the official canon name for the male traveler). Matz are soulmates after all! I can’t not put them together.

One of Navia’s lines when you unleash her burst is “Fire! Well… with rocks.” I can picture Seonghwa saying this with such enthusiasm and awkwardness at the same time. In addition, I can imagine the huge smile on Hwa’s face as he sees the cannons go off and watch the rocks being fired pelt someone, especially if they’re oozing with elemental sedimentation. Since she is a dps (damage per second) character, the more the enemies secrete elemental sedimentation or have elemental damage applied to them by another character, the higher the chances are for a crstaylize effect.

Which leads me to my next statement.

Navia’s elemental skill is to use her umbrella as a gun to shoot rocks at her enemies in order to get more damage. The crystals must stack up to its max before aiming at the enemy and firing. In order to do that, you must have another character in your party (pyro, cryo, hydro, or electro) that can apply their respected element to the enemy so Navia can get the crystals from the crystallize effect and stack up her damage before unleashing her skill.

There is a fourth reason as to why I chose Seonghwa for Navia.

Her signature weapon is a fucking axe!

You cannot tell me that screams Seonghwa to me!

I’ve seen most of the signature weapons that each character has. From Nahida with a genie lamp to Arlecchino with a black & red polearm that turns into a scythe, I can confidently say that Navia’s signature weapon is one of the best weapons out there. In addition, Seonghwa has carried everything during his part in the live version of Kingderland (the Kingdom [a survival show] version of Wonderland. Hongjoong sampled Symphony no. 9: From the New World. THIS IS NOT THE OFFICIAL TITLE OF THE TRACK! I only said it since it was easier to remember). From a rifle to a sword, it’s safe to say that he likes big weapons.

There is a fifth (and hopefully final) reason as to why I chose Seonghwa for Navia.

Navia’s outfit? Yeah I can see it on Seonghwa.

Navia’s outfit consists of a black & gold corset dress with black thigh high boots (heeled of course), a black lace choker, a gold necklace with blue gems as her accessories, a huge black hat with white, gold, and black roses on top of it, and black gloves. There’s gold trim underneath the black skirt part of the dress and it’s long enough to sort of categorize it as a mini train. I would go into more detail, but I don’t want to spoil it for any atinys that are looking to play Genshin.

Just know that Navia’s outfit is hella Seonghwa coded.

Let’s go back to the third reason. While I personally don’t ship Navia with Aether, I know for a fact that Matz are soulmates so for this scenario, I’ll let it slide. Seonghwa is outgoing while Hongjoong prefers to keep to himself. However, if he’s around Seonghwa, he does a 180 and becomes the biggest little shit ever. Aether isn’t like that with Navia, but he does come out of his shell a bit more whenever he’s around her. Like Seonghwa, Navia is definitely outgoing while Aether keeps to himself just like Hongjoong. In addition, Navia is seriously devoted to Aether despite only being work partners. Seonghwa and Hongjoong are also devoted to each other, but they do take it a step further.

Imagine this.

Hongjoong, as Aether, is walking around Fontaine with Paimon. He does his daily commission quests and has recently finished up a side mission that involved working with this duo called The White Glove and The Fisherman (this is the only world quest I remember that didn’t take so damn long). The pair are sitting at a table, drinking coffee and conversing with one another. All of a sudden, several shadows fall over them and Hongjoong looks around to see what was going on. A group of bodyguards surround them and Hongjoong sees Paimon float towards him with a knowing grin on her face. Confused, he turns to where Paimon was supposed to sit.

Only to be met with Seonghwa.

Hongjoong sighs and watches Seonghwa close his umbrella and hand it to one of the guards before taking off his sunglasses and storing it away. After that, Seonghwa orders another guard to bring out the portable oven so he can check the contents inside. Once the treat is fully baked, he pulls it out of the oven and a third guard sets down plates for him and Hongjoong. Seonghwa thanks the guard and sets down the treat first onto Hongjoong’s plate before serving. Hongjoong saw what Seonghwa plated and Paimon started drooling.

Seonghwa had just baked his infamous macarons.

“Hiya, partner! I know you didn’t eat breakfast, so I decided to whip these up for you!”

Hongjoong couldn’t help but melt at the sight of Seonghwa’s giddy smile and light giggle as he ate a macaron, delighted by the taste. Hongjoong took one of his own macarons and ate one as well, relishing in the sweet taste. He always loved Seonghwa’s baking and would definitely miss it when he set off on his adventures to Natlan.

“Thanks for these, Hwa. I appreciate it a lot.”

“You’re very welcome, Joongie!”

Hongjoong didn’t like the nickname at first, but as time passed, he grew accustomed to it. Only Seonghwa can call him that. Not even Paimon was allowed to call him that! And nicknames are Paimon’s specialty!

“How can you drink this… disaster?! It’s so bitter and gross!”

“Black coffee is actually healthy for you. Adding too much cream and sugar is extra calories. And you know me. I hate wasting calories on food that isn’t delicious. This applies to beverages as well, including coffee.”

Hongjoong listened with intent and amusement as Seonghwa ranted about how a little sugar makes even the blandest of teas and most bitter of coffees taste delicious. He could never get tired of his partner’s chronic sweet tooth. After the pair finished their macarons, the guards stacked away the dirty plates and returned the empty coffee cups back to the owner of the cafe stand. Seonghwa wiped his mouth with his handkerchief and gave it to a fourth guard before standing up and stretching. As soon as he put his sunglasses back on and retrieved his umbrella, he yanked Hongjoong out of his seat.

“Come on! I caught wind of some bad guys and I finished polishing my ax! Let’s go!”

#mirohsaurorasociety #other side outlaws network #illusionnet #ateez #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #genshin impact

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heymeowmao · 10 months ago

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2024.08.17 - https://weibo.com/l/wblive/p/show/1022:2321325068458969923865

LYN: Hallo everybody, good evening. I am Liu Yuning. Welcome~ LYN: I need to tell you- Happy 817! C: You’re finally streaming! LYN: It’s not that bad, right? It hasn’t even been that long since my last stream. /hic/ Sorry. I ate something before I started streaming. The last time I streamed, it was- /hic/ What’s wrong with me?? Hold on- Let me get some water. C: Did you lie? LYN: No- I had something to eat before I started streaming. Maybe I inhaled it too quickly. I was afraid I wouldn’t have the strength to keep streaming, so I thought I’d eat something beforehand. So I’ll.. stream for a little while today. Someone also said, “you’re finally streaming” and I don’t think “finally” is appropriate, is it? I streamed only a few days ago, it hasn’t been that long. I’ve got to make sure you’re well fed. I’m sure that there are no other artists out there like me, who come to stream when they have nothing better to do.

C: You’re pink and soft~ LYN: Yes~ After all some of you have spent six- though I’ve debuted for six years, this is the seventh 817 together. You’ve grown with me for seven years! Think about it. If one of you were 35 years old when you first starting liking me back then, and have stuck with me to this day, then you’d be (at least) 41 now. Isn’t that right? If you were 18 when you first started liking me, then this year you’d be… 18 + 6… 24 years old. You’ve probably started a job now, huh? So I wanted to dress young so that we collectively feel younger. C: This is my fifth 817. LYN: For some, this could be their first. Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh. There might even be an eighth. C: I was 14 when I started liking you. LYN: Then, adding six years you’d be… 20 this year. How nice.

LYN: For the friends who are new or for the people who are just passing by and have unknowingly found themselves here- what is 817? It’s not a particularly special day, but for my fans and I, it is. People are wondering why 817 is a fan-day? It’s because the year I debuted, I had held a fanmeet. I invited a lot of people- I think it was 300? We set 8/17 every year as a festival for my fans. It’s quite a happy thing. Every year around this time, we can be happy and spend it a little like a festival- it’s a holiday of our own. LYN: There are many of my fans grouped in all different locations. For example- I won’t be naming any specific locations. Because if I say, “Shanghai, Beijing, Liaoning”- once I start naming cities and provinces, then I have to name them all. For example, I name Zhejiang, but not Henan. Then the fans in Henan will say, “What’s the big idea? Are you looking down on Henan fans? You don’t even want to mention us??” If I name Henan, but not Hebei: “Are you looking down on Hebei?” That’s not it. In the end I’d be naming them all. There are “sheds”- that is, my fan groups- in all different locations. On this day, 8/17, they’ll gather together to rent out a place, have a meal, and share their stories and the happiness they’ve gained from chasing the star known as Liu Yuning. They’ll use all their different dialects to describe how handsome and cool I am in their eyes. It’s that sort of festival, where they flatter me. No- I can’t say it like that. It’s where they make plans for the next 817 festival day. LYN: It’s just a small get-together for my fans, and they spend it happily. I’ve seen that some rent out a place, and even a huge screen. It’s like a wedding venue! Also, I was thinking- would it be bad of me to stream at this time? Because I’m sure that even at this moment, there are groups that are still in the midst of their gathering. Possibly, many of them are watching right now through their phones, or if they have a big screen maybe they’ll cast this to the screen to watch my stream. Right? :D Look- we’re even interacting. If there are people watching me right now, I’m sure they’d have all collectively answered, “Right!” It’s like a concert, now. LYN: I hope- I’m guessing- that the places you’ve rented out are private spaces? Because if it’s a public space and there are other guests in the area, they’re probably thinking that I’m crazy. You all also don’t look very sane. So, I hope you can be more discreet.

LYN: But I was wondering if it would be okay for me to stream at this time, because it’s past 8p, almost 9p. Tjey probably started eating around 6p or 7p, and eating would take about an hour. Many of my fans, though female, have probably already started drinking. I was afraid that many of you’d already be… so happy you’re dizzy with it. [read: drunk] If you’re watching my stream on top of that, too much excitement might not be a good thing. C: I can drink more than you! LYN: I’m sure you can. I’m peanuts- my tolerance is no good. I’m SURE you can drink more than I can, you don’t need to compare. There’s no need.

LYN: Alright, well. Ning-ge will use water as wine and make a toast to you all. Let’s all raise our cups! You- drink water or soft drinks, if you can. Grab your cola or sprite and let’s go. Here’s to you. Happy Holiday! C: Use tea as wine. LYN: Okay, okay. C: Ganbei! Ganbei, lao-da! LYN: Some of you started a chant: “Drain it! Drain it!” This type of person- that’s not very good of you. You think you’re being very enthusiastic, but we’re trying to get people to NOT drink. Also- I’m drinking water, not wine. We’re not limiting water- drink as much as you want. If our emotions are deep, then- ?? Why did I say that? Well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go. If our emotions are deep, then down it in one shot. If our emotions are shallow, then just sip. (感情��一口闷; 感情浅，舔一舔.) - /drains his glass but also pours a little water on his keyboard/ LYN: (acting drunk) /hurk/ Sorry- I drank too much, friends. I- My alcohol tolerance is really low. I can’t keep you company anymore, so- drink and be happy amongst yourselves. I can’t drink anymore. Look at how red my face is. I’m not a good drinker at all. I really can’t hold it. One glass and I’m out. You uh- if you want to drink, then you continue. Be happy.

LYN: Many of you are probably at home? I read a comment that said, “I just finished cleaning up the house and you started streaming.” That’s great. If you’re at home you can be nice and comfortable. Grab some snacks and we can spend a few relaxing and happy hours together. C: I’m on a diet. LYN: Oh, you’re on a diet? Then, restrain yourself a little. Don’t grab any snacks.

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C: Lao-da, do you know any Mongolian? LYN: I don’t speak any. But I can sing it. :) I think I only know one line, though. Does that count? I don’t know. -- 乌兰巴托的夜 (The Night in Ulaanbaatar) LYN: This probably doesn’t count as Mongolian… - /looking something up on his phone & struggling with it/ -- 鸿雁 (Swan Goose) LYN: No, the- the translation/pronunciation that it’s giving me doesn’t look… Let me try again. - /take 2/ LYN: Again! - /take 3/ LYN: /laughs/ Ah- let’s forget it. I accidentally got carried away with it. Excuse me.

C: Ning-ge, did you drink? LYN: I just drank two mouthfuls of some water as wine, didn’t I? But I didn’t expect that it would go to my head. So, I didn’t drink but I am a little “drunk” with it.

C: If you haven’t checked in today, go do it. LYN: Okay. If you haven’t checked in yet on my Super Topic, this is a reminder to go do it.

C: Rang Jiu. LYN: I think today is also- what is it called- Daomi Festival, right? That is- a festival for fans of DMBJ. What a coincidence, that it’s the same day as my fan-day as well. Also coincidentally, I sang the song for Tomb of the Sea and have acted as Hei Yanjing. I think there’s some fate there. C: What a coincidence! LYN: It is! I don’t know if I’ll be able to sing it well, but how about I give it a try? I’ll try.

LYN: /laughs/ Do these make me look overly cute? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. At least it can cover how red my face will get, because this song is goes pretty high. -- 让酒 (Let the Wine) LYN: !!! It’s been too long since I last sang this song! I missed the timing for the chorus, sorry. Let me start from the top. Let’s stop the previous segment there, and then erase it. LYN: /pretending he’s drunk/ This is, ah- drinking and singing don’t mix well. But I didn’t drink any alcohol. I’m joking, friends. Oh, look. The producer (of the song) is Song Pengfei. That’s our good friend. [t/n: Ning-ge’s fans are called “pengfei.”] Let’s try again, properly this time. Excuse me. -- 让酒 (Let the Wine) (take 2)

C: Lao-da, let’s sing “chi” together. LYN: Let’s not, because the track I have is for the female key. (hard for him to sing along to)

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C: Lao-da, read my comment and my heart’s wish will be fulfilled. LYN: You can’t say such things. There is no “fulfillment of your heart’s wish”- you will encounter so many different goals at different stages of your life. This might be your current wish, but you will have many more in the future.

C: (Wang) Yizhe saw your commentary. LYN: I know- he made a reaction video to my reaction. I saw it. It was fun. An interaction between friends.

C: Ning-ge, I want to watch your livestream- LYN: Let me imitate this friend’s way of speech. They’re probably a student, to have made such an innocent comment. [t/n: he uses the word “chunzhen”, yes- homophonous with the yogurt.] They said, “Ning-ge, should I do my homework, or watch your stream?” They asked such a question. I think it’s like this- definitely do your homework first. Your studies come first. As for my stream, there’s always the playback when it ends. When you’re finished with your homework you can lie down on your bed and watch. Or maybe tomorrow when you have the time. You don’t necessarily need to watch me stream live. There’s not really a difference between a live stream and a pre-recorded one. Actually, right at this moment you’re watching a recorded stream, it’s just that you don’t know it yet. This is recorded, and is just playing. You might see me sitting here now, but actually I’m outside eating some hotpot.

C: But watching “live (at location)” has more feel. LYN: Are you watching a concert, what are you talking about, “live” has more feel??? It’s not worth it. This is all there is to a stream. Even though we are far apart, we’re just meeting through a screen- be that a phone or a computer or cast to a tv or tablet. There’s nothing to watching it “live (at location).”

C: Can you see our comments with those glasses on? LYN: Yes? Just because I’m wearing them doesn’t mean that I’m blind. How could I not see them??

C: Is your blush a filter or what? LYN: It’s a filter I turned on to match today’s pink shirt. /turns it off/ Now it’s normal. My face isn’t pink. It was a filter.

C: Lao-da, when will the soybean oil you owe me come into stock? LYN: My studio really did help me to buy oil and rice today. When I came home today they asked me if they should move the goods into my streaming room, so that I can show you that I have them prepared. I said, “Forget it.” Why? Because if you really start taking me seriously, then this would be a difficult thing to facilitate. Sometimes, and mostly in my streams, a lot of the things I say aren’t exactly outright joking but more abstract and you can’t tell. But I discovered that when I’m trying to be abstract and joking, there are really some people who are taking me seriously. I’m speaking in an abstract sense, but people are really believing it. So… I’m afraid that one day my joke will turn into a lifetime of silence. So I told them to forget it, because if I really bring oil and rice here today, you’re going to spread the news. Then, it will be that I secretly let some people receive theirs and some people don’t get any. Then people will stop checking in to the Super Topic (because they have no more expectations). I don’t need anyone really taking that promise seriously. I’d be in big trouble, then. C: You can only trust 20% of what he says. LYN: Yes. Only trust 20%

- /keeps “cheers-ing”/ LYN: Water as wine. Today we’re celebrating a holiday… C: Raising fish… // Drain it! LYN: /sigh/ It’s just water, what’s there to drain?? I don’t think I should have said what I did, earlier. “If our emotions are deep, then down it in one shot.” I shouldn’t have said it. Because now every time I pick up my cup I get the feeling you want me to drain it. LYN: If you’re going to keep making me do that, then the neighbors will be fighting soon. Very quickly. They’re going to start fighting. Hold on, let me pour more into the cup. But know that if you keep making me drain it, the neighbors are going to be fighting really soon. (t/n: he’ll need to go use the restroom, lmao) C: It’s okay, we have the videos.

C: How about spending the new year? (stream past 12a) LYN: I don’t think I will be able to stream for very long tonight. I have a bunch of scenes tomorrow to shoot, so I’ll stream until it’s about time and then go. Don’t try to force me to stay.

C: Lao-da, I can see your blackheads. LYN: That’s a bit much, isn’t it? Has the quality of the video increased so much that you can even see my blackheads?? That’s amazing.

LYN: (backtracking) So I thought I would forget it, and not show off any oil or rice. I was afraid if I showed you actual product, you all would start requesting your allocations. This venture is a little too large of a scale, I honestly don’t think I would be able to pull it off.

C: Ning-ge, smile at the camera so I can take a screenshot. LYN: /makes a crying face instead/

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LYN: It’s another 817, yeah. LYN: We posted a video for the day, right? And in it there were a lot of clips, especially from my concert. I felt a little emotional seeing it, because it’s been five years ago now. I do miss it. So I was wondering if… it was about time for me to have my next concert. LYN: 1. I am, actually, a singer. So a concert is a must. 2. When I’m watching the video I really will feel a bunch of emotions and miss being in concert. I’ll start imagining what it was like in the venue. I really need to look into finishing up dramas this year and start working on my concert next. I should work on my music. C: Release your album first. LYN: Yes, very soon. Once this drama wraps I’ll go and finish up my album. We’ll make plans to post some things, and then it will be released. After it’s released we can just get the concert sorted out for next year and we’ll be set. That’s my current plan. - C: How many shows for Beijing? LYN: I don’t yet have the confidence to say that all my tickets will be sold out. I’m not like others, where a ticket is hard to acquire. For me, the concert goers are hard to acquire. If I open too many shows and no one buys the tickets I would die of embarassment. There’s no point if I’d be singing to myself. I’ve heard enough of that as is. So I was thinking just a moderate amount would be enough. One stop per city. As long as everyone can see me and I can perform well, that’s enough. C: Arrange more shows. I really won’t be able to fight for a ticket. LYN: That’s nonsense! Many of you always give me the misconception that my tickets are hard to get. The sales aren’t even open yet, and you’re already acting as if they’re sold out. Stop fooling me. I won’t believe it. - LYN: But after I saw that video (for 817), I thought I would finally start making plans to hold my concert next year. It’s about time, and something I should have been working on. LYN: So, I wanted to say that MAYBE next year I’ll hold my concert. Maybe. It’s still only a possibility right now. But the probability is high because I really want to have it.

C: Ning-ge, open reservations and let’s see how many you’ll need. LYN: Are there pre-reservations for concert tickets?? I don’t know about it. I mean, a reservation is fine but when actual sales open and people don’t finalize to buy the ticket, don’t we have the same problem?? So, let’s just see when the time comes. Keep feeding your piggybanks. LYN: I really think that the investment to go to a concert is really very high. It’s not as simple as tickets. Those can range from a few hundred to a few thousand (RMB). But the problem is that many of you are coming from surrounding areas to the city nearest you. There’s the ground transport and airfare, which could rack up to a few thousands. If you live close, maybe you can get away with just a train ticket. But then there’s the cost for hotel. It’s a lot of logistics and expenses to think about. It’s costly, so start saving up in your piggybanks. Once tickets sales are open, you can smash the piggy and rush over.

C: Lao-da, can minors attend? LYN: ? That, I really don’t know. Probably! A lot of my friends are mothers now, and my male fans are fathers- I always see them bringing their kids. I’m not too sure on how the tickets were sold, though. You should be able to buy tickets. I mean, there’s no- I can GUARANTEE that there will not be any nudity (or content not suitable for minors) at this concert. For example if I’m singing, and then all of a sudden it goes to my head and I rip my shirt off. There will be none of that happening, so I’m sure that minors can attend. There will probably be no such impulsive behaviors. C: Kids can buy tickets as normal. LYN: I think so, yeah.You should be able to go. I saw kids in my concerts all the time, so you should be able to come. Rest assured. LYN: Wait- because I said that there will not be any shirt-ripping, will that influence my ticket sales? That is- many of you were expecting to see something, but I told you there’s no chance, so you no longer look forward to it as much as you did before?

C: Where to buy tickets? LYN: You’ll find out later, when I’m ready to have the concert. I’ve only talking hypothetically, up until now. I saw the video for 817 and I missed those times. I’ve spent the last two years constantly shooting for dramas, and I think it’s about time that I work on my music now. C: You’ve spent the last five years shooting dramas. LYN: Yes, I have but I also sang a lot of OSTs. Still though, I haven’t released any of my own music, so I’m really very ashamed.

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C: Ning-ge, do you need copyright to release/play a song? LYN: In my stream? Probably not? If I’m using it for business (profit) then that’s probably no. But if I’m just listening to it, there shouldn’t be any problem. My stream is strictly no business- I don’t “officially” promote dramas, I don’t try to sell you anything, and I don’t accept gifts. It’s just a normal entertainment stream, so playing some music in the background probably wouldn’t violate any copyright rules. Even if I did, I don’t think it would warrant anyone suing me?? LYN: Right now I am playing YoungCaptain’s song. I don’t expect him to sue me tomorrow. I don’t think it’s worth it. After all we have what counts as a small collaboration. This goes for anyone- I don’t think me playing their songs in my stream would garner such a severe reaction as them suing me. It’s not worth it.

C: Ning-ge, be the spokesperson for the cologne that you always use. LYN: ? You know, I alway see comments online saying, “Every time Ning-ge walks past us, he smells so nice!” ? “What cologne is he using??” I keep thinking about this and I- ??? I don’t think it’s me? It’s probably on YOU, and when I walk by I stir up the wind. So what you’re smelling is the other friends who are there. I don’t think it’s any smell of cologne from me. Probably when I walk by- breeze by- and what you’re smelling is the perfume from the fans before you. Then I bring the scent of whatever YOU’RE wearing to the person next to you. And so on and so forth. So you’ll never be able to tell exactly what scent it is. It’s the combined smell of countless perfumes that you all are wearing, not what I am wearing. LYN: If you ask me if I USE any cologne/perfume, of course I do, but mostly for events where I have to make an appearance. So at the very least I don’t smell like sweat- I’d like to smell nice. But I always change it up. What’s the basis of this? Because sometimes I use my makeup artist’s. Sometimes I use my hair stylist’s. Sometimes I use my assistants’. Then sometimes I use my own. It’s not a sure thing, so there’s always a different scent. C: How much do you spray?? You must have to use a lot. LYN: Let me tell you- one time- you really shouldn’t spray too much perfume. If you put on too much it’s truly excruciating. One time I took a plane, and the person next to me had so much on. It smelled nice, sure. But I was almost choking on it- even through my face mask.

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C: How did the fight go? LYN: Don’t ask! Why do you need to know about things that have nothing to do with you… It’s fine- they weren’t fighting. It was just the sound of the tv. C: They’re watching A Lonely Hero’s Journey (Gu Zhou). LYN: Yes, probably. I didn’t clearly see what they were watching. It was probably GZ.

LYN: There’s someone who keeps wanting me to talk about my work- you can stop spamming. It’s endless. Why would I come to stream, just to chat about that? I don’t know what you’re thinking, asking me to “talk about this” and “how did you feel about that”. Are you crazy? Who am I, to talk about that stuff in my stream? I don’t know what you’re thinking, but stop spamming. LYN: How shameless do you think I am, to talk about those topics?? You really don’t consider me a stranger, do you. You’re still spamming. I’m not kidding. This is a matter of respect for this industry and for the people I’ve worked with.

C: Lao-da, you’re trending. #31. LYN: I don’t believe it. There’s no way. Absolutely no way! LYN: Let me take a look. LYN: … /sits in silence, bc he’s not on it/ C: You were on it, but just dropped. LYN: You’re liars! - LYN: Friends, all of a sudden I am feeling a little sleepy. I feel like sleep is coming. I have a song called 狂风袭来 (strong wind is raging)- but now I feel sleep coming. [t/n: making a language pun] I want to sleep, now. Maybe I should take a shower and then just go to sleep? Everything is possible, in a dream. [t/n: he can be trending in his dream XD] C: Sleep early. Getting enough sleep is important. LYN: I’ll stay a little longer, but good night to you. Let’s not force it. - LYN: Someone just asked a profound question, “Is a trending topic that important?” Let me think of how to respond to that. If I say it’s not important would that be disrespectful to weibo, because being on such far-reaching network and to be trending is actually a huge form of support for an artist? But if I say it IS important, then there’s that added connotation of exploitation. If I say it’s important, then you’re going to think that the only reason I stream is so that I can be on the list of trending topics. It makes me look shallow. There’s no good way to answer this question. LYN: But I do want to say that it does have importance. Because if I am on the trending topics, people might see that and then make their way into my stream. They might not know me, or understand me, or only know of me only due to all the negative comments, but through a single stream- if they stay five or even ten minutes- it’s possible that their impression of me could change. Maybe they’d think, “LYN is not as annoying as I thought. He looks pretty normal, and not as bad as everyone is saying he is.” It’s like that. I believe the purpose of the trending topic is so that many more people get to know me and understand me. Once they know my name, perhaps in the future when I release a song or one of my dramas airs- they’ll check it out because they remember that they watched five minutes of my stream once. Every consumer is important. Each and every one of you is important. So, I still hope that I can have a trending topic, so that people can come to know of me.

C: I never thought a trending topic could influence so much… LYN: It’s not, really. It’s okay if I don’t have a topic, but if I had one it would be even better. It’s just icing on the cake, but life without it goes on as normal.

C: When will you come to Xinjiang? I’ll take you to eat delicious foods. LYN: Okay. I’ll go to play if I find the opportunity, and eat your delicious foods.

C: Ning-ge, does Daimi lose her color? LYN: ?? Does she lose her color? Do you really think she’s a mop?? Actually… she has changed color. When I first got her, she was black and white. But as I continued raising her, she’s turned grey and white. I think part of the reason for this is maybe what we’re feeding her, which has caused her color to not be as black and shiny as before. She doesn’t really eat dog food. She eats sausages- that’s her main source of sustenance. She’ll only eat dog food if you hand feed it to her. She might not eat it if you give her two pieces at once. You have to feed her piece by piece. When she’s had enough she’ll stop. She likes snacks.

C: Lao-da, I’m about to start school. Can you try to stream on the weekends rather than during the week? LYN: There’s no problem with this. I’ll stream when I stream, and you can watch the playback as needed. The two don’t contradict. My streams are not at a fixed time/day. When the time comes and you can’t make it, you can just watch the playback.

C: Can you help me do my homework? LYN: I can’t help you.

LYN: ! Last time someone in the comments wrote, “Ning-ge, I lost my dog!” and then just now I think I saw “Ning-ge, I found my dog!” Congratulations. Also- I don’t know if you would like hearing this or not, but- small dogs are a part of your family (and should be treated as such). It looks like a small dog, but it’s really a small person. Suddenly losing them is a painful thing, but I’m glad you found it and I hope you learned from that. Be sure to keep a good eye on them from now on. LYN: My dog, too, would run. When I was shooting dramas before- we live in the hotel, right- as soon as the door opens, she would run outside. She just wanted to go outside to play, I don’t know what for. She wanted to be outside. One day, she got out and when I finally realized and started to look for her she wasn’t even on the same floor anymore. It scared me to death. Becuase there are so many floors, I went one by one looking for her. I had already looked for several floors with no sign of her. After a while, I don’t remember who told me, but they said, “There’s a small dog in the first floor lobby.” I went down immediately to see her wandering around. She took the elevator down. It was stopped on our floor and she probably got in and rode it down. Once on the ground floor she was dazed, looking around at everyone and thinking none of them looked like me. I almost lost her, that day. It was a long time ago now, but be sure to keep an eye on small dogs.

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C: Ning-ge, I lost my older brother. Could I borrow you for a few days? LYN: How about no? Forget it. LYN: You can consider me as your brother from a distant place, who you have no contact with. Go ahead and consider me your brother, but our relationship is that we are not in contact. Let’s make an example: you are my sister. We’re born from the same parents, and I’ve always wanted to learn art but we’re a transfer student family that has businesses in all different places. We have billions in inheritance. Our father wanted me to take over the family business, to become the owner of said billions. But I wanted to pursue music and acting, so I refused to inherit and decided to leave home. Our father said, “If you step out those doors, don’t ever think of coming back!” I walked to the door and turned back with a wry smile, replying, “I would never return to this house even if I died!” I slammed open the door and very unpolitely left. I’ve been out on my own ever since then. I deleted every contact from home I had including you, sister. I deleted your contact info. There’s no way I’m going home because honestly I am very happy now. I’m doing what I like to do. Please take over the billions in family inheritance for me. Our family business is counting on you. LYN: I am your brother, but we aren’t in contact and we can’t meet. Just forget it.

C: In order to fulfill your dreams, you won’t even acknowledge your sister anymore?? LYN: I think it’s like this- It’s not that I’m not acknowledging that I have a sister, it’s that this episode is not up to the reuniting step yet. On 8/17/2024, that part of the series has not been uploaded yet. Later my sister and I will fight over the inheritance, but that’s in a later stream. At this point in the story, we are not in contact. I am pursuing my dreams and she is at home preparing to take over the business. Reuniting comes later. C: Reunite when you’re 60. LYN: 60 is a little late. Let me tell you my life plan: after a certain amount of time, it could be one or several years later, I will suddenly come to realize that my family is the most important. I’ve already accomplished what I wanted to for my dreams, and I experience some event that makes me think that family is important. So I go home. There is sure to be such an episode. Let’s not rush.

C: Ge, what if our dad accepts you? LYN: Meimei, you mean that Dad accepts that I want to sing? LYN: There’s no way. I don’t believe it. Don’t try to trick me! I think you must be working together- to trick me into coming back home. No way. I can’t go back.

C: Ning-ge, my friend says that you’re not sane. LYN: /sigh/ What sort of terrible friend?? /laughs/ You don’t have the greatest taste (in friends).

C: Dad already told me. Ge, actually, I’m adopted. Ge, come back. Let’s start over. LYN: Oh- So you’re saying that Dad is insistent on giving the business over to me and not you because you’re adopted? Oh~ So you’re adopted. We have no blood ties? - [t/n: I can see where this is going (love story), and how LYN is trying to get around that. XD] LYN: /smirks/ Wow, so thrilling?? LYN: But there’s a problem- which is that you didn’t know that I’ve always known about your birth. Dad SAYS that you were adopted but the truth is you are the daughter he had with another woman. Since it’s come to this, I have to tell you the truth. I am still your brother. We have the same father, but different mothers. Our dad tricked you. Don’t overthink this. Let’s maintain some distance.

C: Ge! I also want to be a celebrity. Why don’t you show me the ropes? LYN: Huh?? Sis, let me tell you- the life of an artist may LOOK shining and brilliant but actually it’s hard. It’s hard to get good footing in this industry. It’s not anything like what you’re thinking. Also- it’s not so easy. You think I can help you become a celebrity? I’m not even doing very well myself. If I try to bring you up, I’m afraid that we’ll both fall. Sorry, but it won’t work. I can’t take care of you. Stop thinking about it. LYN: Just take your billions in inheritance and have a nice life.

C: Ge, if I can’t be a celebrity, then can you take me to meet some instead? LYN: Oh, so for example I have a celebrity friend and you want to meet them, so I take you to see them? So it turns out that you weren’t a fan of me, your brother, after all? The reason you’re a fan of your brother is so that you can see other celebrities?? You’re not going to ask me to help you get their autograph next, are you???

C: Ge, my best friend says that you sound like a duck! LYN: Ah. I sound like a duck??! No way, right? It doesn’t sound that bad, does it? What are you talking about?? LYN: What a terrible best friend! What type of people are you hanging out with all the time?? LYN: QUACK!

C: Ning-ge, so you did have resources backing you after all. LYN: “LYN must have someone backing him in the industry” and today the truth has come out. That’s right- it’s the Liu Group’s business empire. The story goes like this, friends: it all started from ten years ago. I decided to leave home that day- when my father said, “If you step out those doors, don’t ever think of coming back!” and I rudely talked back at him, saying, “I would never return to this house even if I died!” I started out on my own, to pursue my dream of music, me- the prince of the Liu Group. I went to pursue my dreams. At the start it was like hitting a wall, but inexplicably, slowly, I started to become more and more successful. I started finding jobs one after another. But the truth is that the Liu Group- my father- was secretly helping me. He found some companies and told them that if he invested then they would need to bring his son work in return. That’s the truth of it. I have the Liu Group Business Empire backing me.

LYN: Everything I have said so far is just for that variety show effect. I’m joking, so please don’t take it seriously or think I am trying to disrespect anyone. This is purely for show. LYN: (This all started) Because there was a friend earlier who wanted to be my little sister.

----------

LYN: Someone said that their best friend think that I sound like a duck when I talk. Now that I’m thinking about it, the more they say it, the more like one I become. C: Ning-ge, your voice is a combination of Donald Duck and Minnie Mouse. LYN: What are you talking about?? Who’s Minnie Mouse?

C: Ning-ge, what are you doing after filming wraps? LYN: After wrap I’ll be cleaning up the set after the crew. Move some props. LYN: It’s not set yet, but I have a lot to do after filming wraps. Mostly its music work. I have songs to record and business events. C: Will you have more variety shows? LYN: Only Melody Journey. And then… that’s it I think.

C: Lao-da, this time you’re really on the trending topics. #12. LYN: You’re lying to me! Really? I’m afraid to look! LYN: Let me see what’s up! - /checks it/ /is sad/ LYN: I’m sure that it was not this friend’s intention to trick me, but that they didn’t hit “trending topics” but “MY trending topics”- so it’s not the same list. You clicked on YOUR trending topics- the one IN YOUR HEART, not Weibo’s trending topics! I’m already only #13 in your heart, so what other good news do you have to tell me?? LYN: If you haven’t yet subscribed to my weibo, please so do. Thank you, everyone. C: Gege, I’m sorry. In MY trending topics, you’re #30. LYN: /laugh cries/ Today is 817, isn’t it? You want to anger me to death, don’t you? [t/n: number pun - 把我气] LYN: You dare to trick me? I think that you no longer wish to keep working in this industry. Woman- you’re playing with fire.

LYN: No but really, I’m ok. It doesn’t really matter to me if I’m trending or not. I’m only streaming- what’s there to talk about? I always stream, so it’s not a rare thing. If other artists start streaming and end up on the trending topics because of it, that’s normal. But I always stream. C: You don’t “always” stream, you stream once a month now. LYN: Once a month is already not bad. Since August has started this is already my second stream. What more do you want?

LYN: I discovered that I have an influx of student-fans. I suspect that they’re ELEMENTARY students. Because what they’re saying is so childish. “Lao-da, can you help me do my homework.” Do you think I would have gone to cooking school if I were able to solve your problem sets? I would have gone to Tsinghua or PKU, instead of grilling sweet potatoes.* And you want me to do your homework?? [t/n: 考上 (kǎo shàng) - admitted to vs. 烤上 (kǎo shàng) - grilled] C: I thought you grilled corn? LYN: I’ve done it all. LYN: They were admitted to Tsinghua. You were admitted to PKU. In the end, I grilled sweet potatoes… and corn.

C: Do you think I should go to sleep or continue watching your stream? LYN: Go to sleep. It’s already past 10p. It’s about time. You should sleep or rest when you need to.

C: Let Liu Group’s Business Empire invest in Weibo. That way you can be at whatever number on the trending topics you want. LYN: Liu Group’s Business Empire is in a parallel universe. It’s a different place from where we are right now. Don’t misunderstand. The story I was talking about earlier was about the me from a parallel universe, not the me from this universe, right now. I was merely communicating a little with someone in the parallel universe, is all.

C: Have you given any thought into being my dad? LYN: /crosses his arms in the shape of an “X”/ LYN: Don’t mess around. You just threw me back to the days when I was playing 劲舞团 (Jin Wu Tuan) [??]. I used to love playing that game, spending my days in the internet cafe like this: /keyboard asmr/. “Boss, could I get instant noodles over here?” LYN: There were families or whatever in that game, and there would always be people going, “I’m the father/I’m the mother. You are my daughter.” At the time I thought those people were so childish. But now Ning-ge has grown up, or rather- he’s gotten old, so I can’t play like that anymore.

C: Lao-da, I’ll be starting school in a few days, console me. LYN: It’s good to be able to pursue studies. Why should I console you? You’re lucky, but you just don’t know it.

C: Ning-ge, could you get me an autograph from Jackson Yee? LYN: Uhm. I think if I were to thicken my skin and boldly ask him for one, I would probably be able to get one. If I ask, I think he would likely give me one. I don’t think it would be a problem. But I want to ask- why should I?? Why would I do such a thing for you? I just want to ask. Are you associated with Liu Group’s Business Empire? C: Ning-ge, ask for an autograph for me and I will throw 100mil at you. LYN: /laughs/ /muttering/ You all must be crazy!

------ Break #2

C: It’s my first time hearing you whistle. LYN: !! -- 手写童话 (Handwritten Fairy Tale) [Listen-Ning EP] - /singing along/ LYN: Wait- if I’m remembering correctly, I whistle in this song, right? If I’m not wrong it’s this part. Is there, though? I forgot. - /continues singing/

LYN: One day I discovered that I have a LOT of songs… that I don’t remember how to sing anymore. Some that I even forgot existed. But I asked others singers, and they have also had this type of experience. Because sometimes the songs were released long ago or if it was not a particularly well-received song, it doesn’t have a lasting impression.

LYN: Like this song: 不求. Do you still remember it? // I’m trending on the main list at #20? -- 不求 (Do Not Ask) [Single] LYN: This song is pretty old- maybe abound 2019?

LYN: Let me see what other songs there are… that I can’t remember. LYN: This one I can remember, because I heard it in a video edit the other day. This one’s popular lately: -- 当遇见你 (When I Met You) [Skate Into Love OST]

-- 一番星 (A Single Star) [Looking Up OST] -- 昨日少年 (The Youth of Yesterday) [Penguin Highway OST] (LYN: This one was pretty early on.) -- 隐侠 (Hidden Hero) [My Heroic Husband donghua OST (LYN: I quite like this one.) -- 生命之书 (Book of Life) [Glory of Special Forces OST] (LYN: I rarely play this on in my stream, but I do like it.) -- 爱了很久 (I’ve Been in Love for A Long Time) [Twilight OST] (LYN: This one is relatively recent.) -- 眷恋 (Nostalgia) [You Are My Hero OST] -- 本可以 (Could Have Been) [Rattan OST] -- 风衣 (Windbreaker) [Fireworks of My Heart OST] (LYN: This one, I actually really like. There was a stage I wanted to sing it on…) -- 天判 (Judgement of the Underworld) [A New Ghost Story (game) OST] (LYN: This one is old, isn’t it?) -- 愿重逢 (Wish to Reunite) [Choice Husband OST] [t/n: he didn’t actually let this one play.] -- 阳光, 海浪, 我和你 (Sunshine, Waves, Me and You) [Falling into You OST] -- 忠实观众 (Loyal Audience) [Listen-Ning EP] -- 剑魂 (Soul of the Sword) w/ Tan Jianci [20220611 Hello Saturday] -- 最浪漫的忘记 (The Most Romantic Forget) [Never Say Goodbye OST] (LYN: This one, I really have forgotten.)

LYN: Okay, that’s about enough. There are just so many songs that I liked when I was recording them but I haven’t sung them in so long, so it’s a bit of a shame. Later I’ll have to organize them and see which I can sing, then find a stage to properly showcase them. Otherwise they would have been released for nothing. It’d be a waste.

-----

LYN: I’ll chat with you a while longer before leaving. Since it’s 817 today, I just wanted to come celebrate with you, and enjoy a relaxing and beautiful night together.

C: Get Daimi over so I can look at her. LYN: I can’t let her steal my limelight. I don’t want her to. - /calls her over anyway/ LYN: Say hello to all the uncles and aunties.

LYN: Look, she’s still sleep-dazed. She can’t even open her eyes. She was sleeping, how could you have me call her over?? Look at how sleepy she is. She doesn’t want to bother with you. - /pats Daimi/ LYN: It’s okay, I know.

C: It’s “brothers and sisters”! LYN: Nope- say hi to all the uncles and aunties.

LYN: Okay, you can go. Greet them again. /waves her paw/ She’s getting annoyed. LYN: Okay, bye bye. Go play. Go sleep. C: She just left? LYN: Yeah, she’s gone. LYN: ~ She’s gone. Without an ounce of hesitation. It seems like in this world, there is someone more important to her than me. ~

C: Like a gas tank. (round) LYN: No, she’s gotten thinner! These days I’ve been doing my best to limit the amount of sausages she gets. So she’s lost 2kgs. So it’s good- she looks a little less heavy. I think it’s a healthier state of being, for her. She’s definitely not thin, but just a little thinner.

C: She almost can’t run anymore. LYN: Yeah…

C: She needs to go on a diet, too? LYN: No- it’s just that for that period of time she was getting WAY too many sausages. She could eat 10+ in a day. That was honestly a bit remiss of me and totally not sustainable. Nowadays she only gets 5 or 6 a day? 6 or 7? X’D Estimated. It’s good enough.

-----

C: Ning-ge, do you have WeChat? LYN: No, I’m not on that platform. LYN: Also, people were asking me if I’m on other platforms… honestly the only one I’m on right now is weibo. That’s the truth. I’m mainly using weibo, and I’m not on any others.

C: Ning-ge, didn’t you play QQ Xuanwu? LYN: I was playing that, yes. I was good at it, too. I would practice every day.

C: Ning-ge, I didn’t have a signal so I climbed an electric pole to watch your stream. LYN: … LYN: So unsightly? Are you being serious or are you joking? If you’re joking, it’s not funny at all. You should be careful. Get down from there. Stop watching. Go home to watch. C: I’m on a mountain. LYN: That’s nice! When people used to ask me where I wanted to go for vacation, I would always say I wanted to go to a bustling city- Beijing or Shanghai. Because when I was little I really didn’t get out much. The farthest I’d gone was Shenyang- I’m from Dandong. But I was thinking if I ever got the chance to travel I would go to Beijing or Shanghai. Hangzhou, also. But now I really want to find nature. Somewhere where there’s not a lot of signal. I could have a tent or a wooden cabin and grill something over a fire. Like camping- somewhere with a nice view. I really want to go somewhere like that, now. C: Return to nature. LYN: I just want to find someplace where I can calm my heart/mind. Somewhere peaceful/tranquil. It’s just that these past few years- someone said earlier that they’ve spent six 817’s with me- I’ve just been constantly pushing myself forward. I get the feeling that I need to refuel. Even robots need to be maintenanced. LYN: ~ My body is not as good as previous years. Now I’d just like to find a place to peacefully spend my days. I hope you can leave me to return to the mountains and forests. ~

C: You SHOULD rest. LYN: I didn’t before because the more recent dramas were all scheduled pretty tightly close together. After Cicada Girls not a few days passed before I was in the next crew. After that once ended, I was in the next crew soon after. There wasn’t really a break between them. If I had even a month- I had about half a month but there was other work to do- but there was never any time to be still. It was hard enough even to find a whole day to play games or hang out for someplace. So after this drama wraps I’ll probably rest for… three or four years? XD LYN: For me, a day is like a year.

C: Ning-ge, I’m still waiting for a 60 year old you to tear off your shirt. LYN: Rest assured. When I hold my concert when I’m 60, I will definitely show you an old man tearing his shirt off. You just wait. I’ll perform it for you. When I’m sixty- I’ll wear a shirt so worn that it already has holes and so old that it’s yellowed. I’ll tear it off on stage. Why did I choose such a shirt? Because it’s sure to tear. At that time I’d be an old man and probably not have much strength so it needs to be ratty. So I’d wear my sweatpants and slippers and sing for you. -- /Rang Jiu (old man ver.)/ C: After you’ve described it, I don’t want to see it anymore. LYN: If you don’t want to see it then get out. Who cares if you don’t want to see it or not? Even if you don’t want to, there are still others that do. LYN: Think about it- I’ll be sixty. Many of my friends are older or maybe younger than me, but in general our age difference isn’t too big. When you’re 70 years old, or 50-60, what other forms of entertainment will you have?? I know because I’ve seen my mom- there’s mahjong. You’re either going to be playing mahjong or dancing in the square. At that age, for you to be able to go see an old man tear off his shirt - wouldn’t you call that entertainment? Let me tell you- 60 will be my year. I’m guessing it will be the peak of my career. I’ll be up on stage and the audience will be filled with 50-60 year old ladies, watching my concert. It’s going to be amazing.

LYN: Also- at that time you’d have a happy family with your children and grandchildren. You get a monthly retirement fund, and benefits insurance. There’s nothing else for you to do but be happy. You’d have full economic power. There would be no better time for you to buy tickets. LYN: Someone earlier said that they were a student-fan. In that case, you should study well. One day when you’ve graduated from college and have a successful career, at that time you can buy a concert ticket to come see me. Think about it- when all of you are 60-70, have a family and savings, it’s the best time for you. You’d have both time and money. That’s the best time. - C: 60 is the best age to make something of yourself. LYN: I wouldn’t go that far. - C: Ning-ge, is there a senior discount? LYN: No. But if you’re 50-60 and you don’t have the money to buy a concert ticket, you can go ask your children or grandchildren for it. Then, if they don’t give you the funds I will come to stream to back you up. I will continue to maintain streaming all that time, so that when you’re old and your children aren’t filial, I can come here to berate call them out. I’ll give them pressure until they treat you well. You think you’re a fan of LYN, but really you’re a fan of someone who- in case you’re old and your children aren’t filial- you’ll have a friend who will stand up for you.

C: Ning-ge, tickets for seats on the ceiling are fine for me. LYN: You can get them wherever you want- it all depends on your own circumstances. You can buy a ticket for whatever spot you want. As long as you go and have the experience, at least once.

LYN: I don’t know, though. Let’s talk again when I’m sixty. I don’t know what condition I’d be in. I know I always say that your body (health) is most important. To all the young people who are working hard right now- if you’re only in school, you have it a little easier- and for those who have difficult (labor-intensive) jobs: when have we ever paid attention to our own bodies? When have we stopped to consider whether what we’re eating is healthy or not? We haven’t. So I know I always say that health is most important, but it’s hard to put in practice. Still, we should try harder to make it important. Every time I go to the hospital, it’s terrifying. So please stay healthy, okay friends? Let’s all stay healthy so that we can make it to an old age.

LYN: If you have not yet subscribed to my weibo, please do so. I am Modern Brothers Liu Yuning. When I have time I come to stream, but I am also shooting dramas and releasing songs. I am a singer and an actor. If you have the time, I hope you can please support my works. Thank you.

C: Ning-ge, if you’re going to tear your shirt during your concert, then how many rounds (shows) will you do it for? LYN: You must be sick. What sort of a question is that?? LYN: I’ll prepare 100 of them, so that I can tear them all on stage. Tear one, put one on, tear that one, put another one on, etc. The whole performance for the night is just me tearing shirts. Tearing 100 shirts by hand. What do you think?

C: Be healthy, be healthy! I’m going to sleep! LYN: It’s 11:30p and you’re saying that’s healthy?? Are you overseas and there’s a time difference? Why don’t you have a meal while you’re at it. They say if you’re full before you go to sleep, that’s healthy. So that there’s something in your stomach from which you can absorb nutrients while you sleep. Why don’t you try that? LYN: I heard something yesterday: A midnight snack is just breakfast a few hours ahead of time. So eat when you want. Eating a midnight snack is not a sin, you’re just eating your breakfast early. Early by six hours… we should be early for things. The early bird gets the worm, right? Whether in life or in work, we should work hard.

C: Ning-ge, I eat 5 meals a day. How would that be calculated? LYN: I don’t have the right to comment. I can only praise you for having a good home environment. It looks like you’re doing well for yourself, if you can have five meals a day. You must own a restaurant, right?? But it’s not like every time there’s a customer and you bring them their dishes, you join them for the meal, though??? // Your family DOES own a restaurant? Oh, then that’s another discussion. All I can say is 1. Eat if you want to and 2. I guess your family business is doing well. LYN: Honestly though, I think four or five meals is still okay. Because some people who work out have multiple meals a day, too. That’s what I’ve heard, at least. They’re exhausting a lot of energy, so they need to eat more to maintain it. I’m not sure how it all works.

C: How many meals a day do you eat? LYN: Me? Maybe two or three? On average, two. I get up and eat a meal then eat another at night. Most of the time, it’s two. If I need to head out particularly early I’ll have a little breakfast, then a lunch, then a dinner.

C: Ning-ge, I eat 8 meals a day. LYN: As long as you’re happy. I can’t stop you and I shouldn’t- LYN: There are two words that come to mind but I am not shameless enough to say them out loud. [Animal feed?] What are you doing- what has happened to starve you so much that you need 8 meals a day?? That’s a bit much, isn’t it? - /some discussion about this/ - [t/n: I’m hearing “pixiu” and “taotie”, which are both mystical creatures, but I think the gist of it is: “Glutton”.] LYN: You’re taotie, you’re a qiling. That is- these mystical creatures that can eat a lot. You’re a… camel. XD LYN: I’m joking, I’m joking. Okay. That’s about enough.

LYN: Now there are people starting to curse at me. Looks like it’s getting a little chaotic in here. That’s okay. It doesn’t matter. LYN: If you’re sleepy, then get to sleep. Rest up. I will come to stream when I have the time.

LYN: I hope everyone had a relaxing, happy, and wonderful night. It was great to have you and I hope you had fun. Thank you for accompanying me, and I hope that you’re here for the next 817. Goodnight, everyone.

#Liu Yuning #lyn livestream #(2:49:54)#[one month later....]

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