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carmenized-onions · 5 months

Text

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn��t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto imagine #carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #carmy the bear #the bear x you #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear fanfiction

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felassan · 2 months

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Snippets. 🐺💜 DA:TV spoilers under cut.

Carly: Lucanis is "pretty average [height] everyone else is ridiculously tall" [source]

John: "getting absolutely dummied by an encounter in the game you work on as your day job is a uniquely humbling experience" [source] Trick: "Me desperately doing side quests to bulk up before the next big critpath beat because I KNOW I am not currently good enough at Rogue to beat that meat grinder at my current level and gear without dropping the difficulty back down." [source]

John: "hands up if you’re in game dev and have ever caught yourself searching Google for a guide to the game you’re working on that’s not even out yet" [source]

Flaming greatswords? ^^ [source]

Jay: "God, I remember the concept art for this scene" [source] (the scene in the gameplay reveal when Solas sheds a tear when it fails)

Kala: "Thinking back to playing Dragon Age Veilguard with the Council and all the fun we had, the crying (mostly me) and the shock at some of the surprises (especially Caitie) and I can't believe that's gonna be the entire fanbase soon. I can't wait to experience it with everyone" [source]. "I genuinely cannot wait for everyone to see Veilguard. I *know* for a fact there is going to be things people will freak out about, just like we did. There's A LOT people will love. Everyone will have stuff they don't like, which is inevitable, but there's so much to love" [source] Caitie: "Holding hands and sharing headphones because i unlocked the [redacted] scene first ❤️ Fond memories 😭😭" [source]

Trick on some of the chairs in the Lighthouse library group screenshot: "As much as I ADORE the idea of Solas sneaking out of Skyhold with a U-Haul packed to the brim with furniture and all the good mage gear you gave him, I expect it's likely just a common Fereldan style." [source]

Caitie: "If it helps- ive also seen silly ‘head canons’ and jokes thats will end up true haha" [source]

Caitie: "I'm not sure if we can say where we ended up in the story- but we got farther than the GI guy did it seems! By quite a bit. Did not get close to finishing it, however." [source]

Kala: "Pssst… we saw the companion rooms and the Lighthouse and it was really something amazing 👀👀" [source]

edit/update:

here are some more snippets which were posted by the Dragon Age official YouTube account in the livechat on one of the videos last month:

"There are lots of hairstyle options, we’ll have much more to share on the character creator in the coming weeks!"

"It wouldn’t be a Dragon Age game without a visit to the Deep Roads!"

"Our team spent a lot of timing refining combat and making it feel fluid and fun whether you play as a Warrior, a Mage, or a Rogue"

"It wouldn’t be a Dragon Age game without consequences! Your choices will influence the world of Thedas, as well as relationships with your companions"

A user asked "Are you a Fen’Harel spy?" Dragon Age replied "👀"

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #solas #long post #longpost

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madlori · 3 months

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Hey how about some ART TALK

Art history is a bit of a hobby of mine. Last weekend I went to the Frick in Pittsburgh because they had a special exhibition we wanted to see, and in the gift shop I picked up a book that told the story of a series of acknowledged masterpieces. The first one in the book is Birth of Venus, the second is Mona Lisa, and the scream I scrumpt when I turned the page to see the third:

Let me tell you about Artemisia Fucking Gentileschi.

She was a 17th century painter and one of the first women to be admitted to a Florentian art society and is widely regarded as one of the finest of the Italian baroque painters. She was raised by her father, who was also a painter who studied Caravaggio, and early in her career she had to put up with people saying that her paintings surely must have been painted by her father (despite her father himself saying she was a peerless artist and super accomplished).

As a young woman she was raped by a colleague of her father's. Her father sued the rapist because he hadn't married her (THIS was the crime, not the rape itself, of course) and Artemisia was tortured with thumbscrews to verify her testimony. Some of the...ahem...feelings about this entire episode definitely come through in her work.

Contrary to how these stories usually go, Artemisia had a long and productive career, was well paid for her work, enjoyed the patronage of the Medici family, and traveled widely. History, however, has only recently come to appreciate her and name her among the great painters of the period.

Let's talk about THIS FUCKING PAINTING, though. Judith Beheading Holofernes. Probably her most famous work.

The story is one of Judith, a Jewish woman, who got the general of the army about to invade her city to come have dinner with her, got him drunk, and chopped his head off. Then she paraded his head out to the army, like a boss. It's been painted a number of times but this one...this one really brings the rage. Look at Judith, the strength in her arms, how she's got a look of steely concentration. If you look closely, you can see she has her knee up on the bed behind him to get more leverage. Her maidservant is helping hold him down. Neither of them look horrified or hesitant, they're ready to cut this motherfucker. (also that's definitely Artemisia as Judith. She put herself in a lot of her paintings)

It's an apt interpretation of the verse from the Book of Judith, which is admiringly succinct:

Her sandal ravished his eye, Her beauty made captive his soul, The sword passed through his neck. — Book of Judith, 16:9[7]

It's got a real "the tiger is out" energy, right?

Now let's look at the same scene, painted by Caravaggio, who was no slouch at painting, but...come on.

Judith looks like a scared teenager. She's holding him at arm's length as if that's gonna work. Her maid is a crone, lurking at her shoulder like Wormtongue. This does not, imho, compare to the power of Gentileschi's version.

Artemisia painted another image of Judith holding the severed head. And a lot of other paintings. I'm just thrilled to see this one in this book, as it's one of my favorites. We have one of her paintings here in Columbus and I always visit it when I go (when it's up, that is).

#artemisia gentileschi #art history #judith beheading holofernes

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papafuckingemeritus · 2 months

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NOT MINE, but and absolute incredible theory on Ghost in the Trees found on Ghostbc subreddit that is too good not to share. Credit to VisAeternitatus on Reddit.

“Buckle up. You'll either find this interesting, or tell me I'm insane.

“The "Ghost in the Trees" VHS tape sitting atop the stack of other videos in the movie caught my attention because it simply doesn't fit and doesn't have anything to do with anything that we know of. Kinda like the cardinal sitting on top of the gravestone in the Square Hammer video. At the time, so random- yet it was a hint. We see this VHS tape twice during the movie, and it's sitting on top of an Infestissumam era tour video ‘Haze over North America Tour 2013’

“I googled "Ghost in the Trees" and came across this psychedelic garage art-rock album by a band called Thee Oh Sees. There's a song of the same name on their album, "The Masters Bedroom is Worth Spending a Night In". Other than carnal delights, why might one spend a night in the Master's bedroom? Usually something to do with conceiving the antichrist, right?

“The album cover and subject matter seemed Ghost-related enough for me to continue going down the rabbit hole, so I listened to the entire album. I have no doubt in my mind that TF is familiar with and has listened to this, I get a lot of raw vibes from it that one might perceive in all three Nihil-era songs.

“So why is this here, and what does it have to do with anything? Good question, and I honestly don't know but I just thought I'd throw out some possible breadcrumb trails. This is all some pretty loosely related stuff, but when considered all together who knows?

“1. I immediately noticed a similarity that the devil on Thee Oh Sees album has to the devil in the center panel of the red tour backdrop that started going up during Square Hammer (third photo).

“2. Proximity to the Infest era tour video along with some Papa II-related stuff in the movie also had me thinking "antichrist stuff". No, not that Copia is the antichrist. Rather, that his twin might be.

“Why? Well, during sister's life flashback scene, right before the twin birth is shown, there are a series of hidden images. We see an eclipse, a still shot from the Year Zero video of a hand reaching up towards a church window, a b&w still from the Dance Macabre video where the devil arrives, and two separate shots of Infest era ghouls. (These images go by so fast that they are practically subliminal!)

“So why are we seeing clips from a Papa II era song, and shots of his ghouls? Why do we see a cut to his face on the stained glass stage backdrop during the movie when Imperator is talking about how everything is "cyclical"? We even see Infestissumam in the background of the VEEPS bonus video.

“So I've seen different theories. Papa II is returning! Copia is the antichrist! Etc, etc.

“I think showing all the Papa II stuff could have something to do with the antichrist, not that Papa II is coming back. Infestissumam was about the antichrist's time on earth. Not to mention that some religious people believe that an eclipse supposedly occurs at the birth of the antichrist (and we are shown an eclipse right at the birth scene!)

“Also, we've seen a lot of antichrist type of imagery related to Copia, he's got the 666 tattoo, etc. If he's a copy (Copia), then his twin could be the antichrist.

“3. Back to the red devil background that appears during Square Hammer. There's a winged pope figure shown above the devil. I thought it was Copia, to be honest. But he's wearing a beehive shaped mitre, and the same shaped mitre appears above him, larger and wrapped in flames. This is actually a Papal Tiara, not a regular mitre. It used to be worn when a new Pope was "crowned". Why would a demon winged Copia be wearing this on a backdrop at the end of the tour? He was already "crowned" in Mexico City. And who appears at the Ministry doors at the very end?! Someone who is about to become the next Papa?

“4. I also wonder, who raised Copia's twin? And how could Copia's twin be the antichrist? Do they have two different Fathers, or was it during some ritual?! Does it have something to do with Papa II? Maybe the twin grew up influenced by him in some way?

“5. I also wonder if "Ghost in the Trees" is a musical stylistic hint of sorts, in relation to the Papa II era. This album is psychedelic post punk garage rock. It's an interesting listen and is all over the place stylistically. "Psychedelic" is frequently used to describe aspects of Infestissumam, too, as is garage rock and surf rock, even.

“I recall an interview where TF said that Phantomime was where he was leaning to take the sound for the future album. Well, there's two specific covers on Phantomime that have similar flavor to Thee Oh Sees- "See No Evil" by Television (often described as post punk/art rock/garage rock) and "Hanging Around" by the Stranglers- which has VERY psychedelic/garage rock vibes.

“So do what you will with that, but I'm wondering if the next album is going to have that element (not in the way the Nihil-era songs do, though!).

“Thank you for reading this mess and if you have any better ideas, please do share. I just wanted to get this off my chest.”

Tobias never ceases to amaze me, and I have no doubt there is something to “Ghost In The Trees.”

#the band ghost #tobias forge #papa emeritus #ghost bc #cardinal copia #ghost in the trees #rhrn spoilers

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adonis-koo · 8 months

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sweet nothing • 9

| in which he patiently waits one day at a time|

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word count: 2.9k

Previous | Next

Note: no matter how many scenes i write, they're all sad and i'm kinda sorry bc i said this fic wasn't going to have much plot but it somehow has a lot of plot now??? and its kinda sad??? HERE YOU GUYS GO THO

The commotion going on in the estate wasn’t difficult to tell, men had been actively walking more than their usual rotations required and Jungkook knew this was a sign you were causing some sort of chaos as you seemed to do every day now.

And upon following the trail it led him just a door down from your own room, items being moved and you were currently pouting as you sighed.

“Do tell me what your idea is for this little renovation project.” Jungkook hummed, leaning against the door, not actually annoyed at how much you always move things around in his estate in fact…Dare he say he felt a little endeared.

And Jungkook found himself falling into old habits, habit he found himself missing, such as being able to take the time to admire you, all thoughts of work fading from his head at the sight of your dress, just past your knees and a faded checker blue, flowing sleeves that went to your elbows for room and of course the ever growing bump.

Your hands were set around it seemingly pouting over something before his words drew you out of your thoughts, “Jungkook, I didn’t realize you were home so early.”

“I have a meeting I have to attend in person later,” Jungkook replied, “You didn’t answer my question.”

There it was again, that small pout he hadn’t realized he missed so much until it dawned your lips once more, “Well…” You seemed a bit hesitant before you spoke, “I gave it some thought- what we talked about a few days ago, about a nursery and I figured you were right. It’s better we be prepared for it then not.”

Jungkook was relieved to hear this because while he was trying his hardest to get something on Wonho, there was a smaller, more selfish part of him that enjoyed this, enjoying having you at his estate.

An even smaller part of him not wanting it to end so soon, he had to let go of you once and no it wasn’t fair, but even there was even the slightest chance…well, he didn’t want to let it slip through his fingers and have to let you go once again.

Jungkook only nodded, “So what's with the look then?”

“Well,” You gave him a sheepish smile, “I had all of this stuff moved out and realized I have nothing to actually put in here…”

Jungkook couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him as he pushed off the frame stepping into the room, “Hm, that’s a strange way to ask for money.”

“Jungkook I wasn’t-”

“I’m teasing relax,” Jungkook cut you off, your lips tugging even poutier, you had always been like this, since day one in fact, always worried he’d think you were using him for money, always trying to deter him from paying even if you didn’t have the means to actually afford it yourself.

It was sweet, “But you’re also in no position to not accept it and I have more than enough money to afford it- it’s a win win.”

You stared at his outstretched hand, black shiny amex in his hand, “I don’t feel right just using it.”

Jungkook sighed wistfully, “You didn’t seem to feel too guilty helping your brother with rates and statistics for drug sales.”

Your lips parted somewhat in surprise, “That was different…!”

“You’re right,” There it was that stupid teasing, charming smile of his, “It was probably worse.”

You knew he was only teasing, but something about it made you feel gross still, you had a reason you were in that room, a reason that is long gone from you now, “Well it doesn’t matter anymore does it?”

Jungkook paused at the sight of your expression dimming as you continued looking out the open window as your hand absently rubbed your bump, “I haven’t done that for a long time now…”

“Y/n I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” You cut him off softly looking back at him and there was an unmistakable look of regret in his eyes, not wanting to cross any lines with you but you were afraid they already had, “I just…I guess I just have some regrets about getting involved….I never wanted to hurt anyone,” You whispered out, “I had a reason I was there and it had nothing to do with the money...For myself at least.”

Jungkook frowned, there were still so many things he didn’t know about you, your time together having been cut short when you both had first met, “What other reason could there be?”

It was an indirect question, rather than a rhetorical one, you knew what he was asking.

You hesitated, but then again, you supposed it didn’t matter now, it was all in the past, no matter how dull it made your heart ache.

“Well…” You let out a soft sigh, “I’m sure you remember I wasn’t exactly financially stable, and for me that was fine. It was enough,” You nodded to yourself in thought, “It wasn’t much, but it was enough.”

“Until…?”

“I received a phone call,” You mumbled, recalling the event, “A foster agency, telling me that they did a DNA test on one of their cases and it came out as a match on me and my brother. Just a week old, dropped off right outside the police station.”

You had to bite down on your tongue, you had thought you were over it, but it still stung just as raw, “Since we were her only blood family I was given the opportunity to adopt her…” You let out a sigh trying to keep it together, “Except I was too poor, I didn’t even come close to having a qualifying salary to show that I could be responsible for her and take care of her…”

“What about Wonho?” Jungkook cocked his head to the side, baffled at this information.

You let out a loud scoff, bitterness that you had tried so hard to let go of coming back up as you shook your head, “Wonho didn’t give a shit, told me that it wasn’t our problem but I struck a deal with him, if I helped him up until his annual evaluation with you for his first year of work, he’d help me get the expenses that were required to foster her.”

Jungkook’s brows furrowed as he shook his head, “And?”

There it was, that little niggle in your head that was angry about it all, angry at Wonho, angry at yourself, especially at Jungkook, “Well all of it fell apart. Very quickly, one thing after the other. I mean obviously you dropped off the face of the planet for months so Wonho wasn’t making money- I got let go of my job because of the murder- everything went void.”

Jungkook looked away with a long inhale as if he had been mentally prepared for the moment you’d finally cave and say it, but it wasn’t as if you were wrong, you were simply stating a fact, he completely ghosted you and civilization as everyone knew it and just like that, he had left your life as quick as he entered.

It was difficult to not be angry about it when he was the one that convinced you that the very thing you were afraid of wouldn’t happen, just for a few short months later, let it happen. And you were sure he had his reasons, you were certain of it, but it didn’t change the fact that he left you with little to no explanation and just like that, never bothered to come back, didn’t even so much as send a letter, a proper apology, nothing.

“I’ve…” Jungkook’s eyes squinted on the ground, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, about what happened.”

You shook your head, “Jungkook, it’s been two years,” Your voice softened, his eyes glancing up to meet yours and once again you felt the dull ache that never went away, “I shouldn’t of brought it up, I’m sorry…it’s in the past now, life went on.”

“Well it didn’t for me.” Jungkook let out a small breath and you could hear a hint of bitterness in his voice.

Your lips quivered a little, “Do you have any right to say that?”

“Probably not,” When did he get this close to you, “But it doesn’t change how I feel.”

Old feelings were like a dam bursting inside you and you began to shake your head, “I’m not ready to talk about this Jungkook- can’t we just keep pretending like nothing happened?”

Jungkook shook his head, “We’ve both tried this and neither of us are good at it Y/n, I can’t, not when I have a second chance.”

You raised your brows, “No! No this is…” You took an immediate step back, “This is not what this is Jungkook, what happened is over. I’m only staying here because Wonho has a target on his back and you were kind enough to keep me out of the crossfire.”

“Maybe that’s how it started out,” Jungkook replied just as quick, taking another step closer to you, “Look…I know it’s not fair,” He frowned, as if he hated saying it, “I had every intention to stay out of your life, it wasn’t fair to drag you along back then and that’s why I didn’t, but…You’re here now, right in front of me. So yes…I do see it as a second chance, and if there’s any way I can make it right, I will.”

You groaned, “It’s not just making it right anymore!” You wanted to scream! “I have baggage now Jungkook!” Your eyes threatened to water as your hands dropped from your stomach, “A lot of it. It’s not just me anymore I’m getting ready to have a baby, you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking for.” Jungkook sharply replied, eyes brewing with anger, “And what I’m asking for is you, all of you.”

“You had your chance and you left me, plain and simple, you left. I don’t understand why now…Out of all the time, two years later, now…!?” You hadn’t meant to raise your voice, but you were angry, perplexed, scared.

Scared just the way you were when he was upfront the first time in that stupid bakery you wanted nothing more then to pretend like didn’t happen, you wanted to pretend like you never got drunk at that stupid bar, that he wasn’t late that day, that he didn’t sat down and offer to pay for your meal for making you wait.

You wanted to pretend like he had actually listened for once when you declined him asking you out, that he didn’t visit you every morning at work, and more then anything you wanted to pretend like you had a stronger will, that you didn’t let him convince, your mind was flooding with so many memories of him.

His hand trailing down your thigh while drunk in the back of his car, his eyes when he saw the bust in your lip, his smile when your fingers intertwined with his, his skin etched into yours for the first time, ushered sweet nothings that he’d love you forever.

But at the time you didn’t realize that forever would only be a short three months then just like that, it was over, and oftentimes you were left many sleepless nights wondering, was it even love? Everything had happened so fast, it felt like forever.

But two years later, standing in front of him you realized it had been two agonizingly long years since you saw him in person.

“I made a choice,” Jungkook defended himself, “I stuck to that choice…I was leaving you alone, even if I didn’t want to and then…” He ran a hand through his hair, revealing his face in full detail his eyes baffled as if trying to understand himself, “Suddenly one night you’re dropped in the middle of my office. I didn’t have any pretenses, I was just being nice letting you stay here, I had fond memories of our time together, I didn’t want to let you get caught in the crossfire- it was the least I could do after everything.”

You crossed your arms as he continued, “And then…I don’t know,” He muttered, “I look at you, I see your smile, I see you standing here pouting and trying to do it all yourself, like you always tried to do. And suddenly it’s two years ago and we’re both drunk sitting at the bar talking about what it would be like to be in love. And I feel the exact same way I did back then, looking at you and wondering if maybe I had finally found it.”

You felt physically sick, it was like he was intentionally wanting to break your heart all over again, “You sent them to raid my home, you can’t tell me this wasn’t planned…”

“I didn’t expect them to fuckin’ kidnap you Y/n!” Jungkook let out a hurt laugh, running his hand through his hair, “In fact I gave them direct instruction to do the shakedown while you were at work and to not destroy your apartment- you were supposed to be at work!”

“Well I wasn’t!” You shouted back, “I wasn’t feeling well and my coworker offered to cover! You can’t do this to me! You can’t, not after all this time…” You voice died down, “You can’t just…open all of this back up as a second chance because you’re feeling nostalgic over a fling-”

“You were never a fling to me-”

“That’s how I felt after you left-” You suddenly winced, hand immediately pressing to your stomach, instinctual almost despite the pain coming from your chest, Jungkook’s eyes immediately widening and he had closed the small gap between you both.

“Let’s get you sat down…” Jungkook murmured and you couldn’t help but stare at his hand, big and calloused, multiple rings just the way you remembered, pressed against your bump and a wave of intense sadness thrummed in your heart, what you’d give to go back and change everything.

You were too tired to fight his touch, and a smaller part of you crying– begging inside your mind to just give in, to put your worries aside and roll the dice again, maybe he’d actually keep his promise this time.

But you refrained from leaning against him too much as he sat you down on the bed in your room, phone immediately in hand as he called Doctor Choi, after hanging up the air was thick with a silence and tension.

Jungkook sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed, “...If you don’t wanna talk about it, we won’t. I don’t want you going into preterm…But…I want you to know I didn’t make that decision because I wanted to, and I didn’t do it easily either.”

You self soothed, rubbing your tummy as your eyes closed, “I know you didn’t. At least that's what I told myself the last few years, that surely there was a really good reason…And you wanna know the worst part Jungkook?” You whispered, sad eyes as you opened them to look at him, “I waited…I waited every day, sat at that stupid register hoping you’d come, even after Wonho stopped talking to me I went to the Red Light anyways, hoped maybe you’d be there. There wasn’t a day I didn’t check my phone only to be disappointed by your name not being on the screen…”

It was silent again before you tried to hold back your tears, “You broke my heart. Right in two, promised you wouldn’t leave me, and then you did. And now you’re asking me for another chance?”

You said you wouldn’t cry, but here you were softly weeping in your bed, feeling like a child once again, helpless and wondering why no matter how hard you tried, nobody ever stayed, you had thought he was different, but it turned out he was just like the rest.

Jungkook’s hands cupped your cheeks, thumbing the tears away as he pressed his forehead down to yours, “For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” He murmured, “I’m just as much a sinner as anyone else, I’m ill-tempered and cruel, I’ve killed a lot more people then you could ever imagine, but most of all Y/n, I’m selfish, I’m not really a good man. But I could be good, for you.”

“You don’t know how bad I really want to believe you,” You whispered out, “But I had so long to think about it, to look back and realize I know nothing about you. It was my own fault really, you’re not a good man and I knew that back then, just like I know it right now.”

“I know I hurt you,” Jungkook had a sort of determination in his eye, the kind that you knew was unwavering, he meant every word he was saying, “But there hasn’t been a day I wished it could be different. I’ll do whatever is necessary to earn your trust again.”

You pressed your lips together for a long moment, “I’m not saying it isn’t possible, but you have a long way to go if you really want it.”

Jungkook’s long slim finger traced down your jawline, “I’ll take it one day at a time, just like the first time.”

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #mafia bts #mafia jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts au

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

Text

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #tales of the passerine au #i dont want to overemphasize how much vlad sucks but also i dont want to downplay it. but also i didn't wanna make this post too long #i didn't emphasize enough on vlad's possessiveness but i wanted to make this post as general enough as possible for the au.#for some more wiggle room in the future if i make more posts about this au.#the consequences for Danny repressing himself was not a concern i was focused on for the post but i am thinking about it and mulling it ove #i'll be blunt my main specific reason for why this occurs shortly after tue is bc it means dani doesn't exist yet and it means i dont have #to include her in the continuation of this au. i love that girl but she's a dead weight. i dont wanna come up with an elaborate reason as #to why she's not in the picture when i can just say 'she never created in the first place' instead. i don't have anything for her to do #I don't want to risk giving her a poor plot line just so that she exists in au.#sometimes i really hate just how long my posts get. i feel like it kills my engagement. but i also don't want to make posts that have #a part 1 and part 2 just because I think it got too long.#i feel kinda bad for having Danny take the spot of 'first partner' from Dick. But that was part of the reason i was inspired to make this a #i've already got the skeleton of a reasoning for danny becoming a vigilante being made in my head.#He can't go by Phantom since that risks drawing Vlad's attention -- a new vigilante showing up in Gotham. a place the visited frequently #who goes by the name Phantom? He'd be on that faster than chickens on meat. and nightingale has familial meaning behind it due to being #part of an ancestral name. it follows robin's theme of using it to honor his parents while still having its own unique enough lore to stand #on its own without feeling like a cheap copy. plus the bonus meta reason that it follows the bird theme. which personally is vital to me #my other alternative to Nightingale is Sparrow. mostly because it has good phonetic structure for a hero name. not too many syllables #a good balance of consonants and vowels. dont want a hero name with too many syllables or unbalanced consonants. or worse; both.#my reasonings is that hero names should be easy for a civ or teammate to yell while still being understood. max amount of syllables before #it threatens to become too wordy is 3. If it goes over 3 it should have a balanced consonant-vowel ratio. Wonder Woman is a good example #some things got cut here that were in the initial oneshot. like danny giving bruce his physical ghost core and showing up bloody.#the first son au

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bug-slappy · 11 days

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What Serizawa lore and dialogue in the manga that got cut from the anime are you talking about specifically I'm curious /gen

THANK YOU FOR GIVING ME A REASON TO GO HAM!!! any adaptation is gonna have its cutbacks due to time restraints, but i feel like so many of serizawas lines/important moments got totally butchered or cut completely just to be replaced with cute moments that never happen in the manga.

!! MP100 SPOILERS HEAD obvi !!

First case: In the manga, when serizawa finally stands up to toichiro, things pan out COMPLETELY differently!

I feel like this is a really important moment for serizawa. whatever false idea of friendship serizawa had left is ripped away from him. its unnerving to see how brutal and ruthless toichiro is, finally showing his true colours to serizawa after manipulating him for 3 years. I feel like its also a really important moment for reigen to bare witness to. serizawa and toichiros relationship serves as an exaggerated parallel to mob and reigens. A powerful and persuasive man using a naïve esper for their powers under the false promise of learning to control their powers, whether it helps them for better or for worse. big difference is that reigen does help mob in the style of important life lessons and guiding him towards being a good person. after the separation arc, reigen realizes how manipulative he's been to mob, he becomes a better person because of it. but i feel like after the TOICHIRO fight specifically is where we see a very clear difference in how reigen treats mob. he becomes a lot more patient and less controlling. it bums me out that this interaction was cut completely from the anime. I think it must have been for time because they also cut ekubos moments.

Serizawa not knowing what getting arrested is:

Calling the Yokai hunter out on his bluff:

they replaced this with the awesome fight scene but still an awesome line i wish they kept it was so bad ass lol:

But the most shocking thing that they cut from the finale was this scene, after mob goes to reigen and serizawa for advice on asking out tsubomi:

not only is it fruity,,... but more importantly its a super important moment!!! seeing reigen open up like this in front of another person is something we havent seen up until this point!! mob and reigen have impacted each other so much, and its a FANTASTIC segway into the final chapter! absolutely crazy to me that they would cut such a deep personal moment especially considering how much BONES loves reigen.. it gets "implied" through a quick silent moment between reigen and serizawa (all they show in the anime is serizawa looking surprised at him)

not only that, but its so interesting how easily reigen opens up around serizawa. he doesn't do that around anyone else (probably because serizawa is the only person near his age playing an active role in his life bro has no friends)

and its incredible how well serizawa can already read reigen after such a short time working at S&S. serizawa tends to be quiet and hang in the background, but in the manga it has a purpose; hes observing the world around him. when he does have something to say it has importance and is carefully thought out.

in the anime so much of that important dialogue is cut and replaced with his moe salaryman moments which sure its cute, but when you know what he was really supposed to be saying its such a major let down. I feel like the writers didnt know about serizawas huge fan following hes had since his premier, so they didn't really care about him. thats my best guess as to why so many good moments got cut

also this:

serizawa mentioned during his fight with mob that hes accidentally sent his mother flying before with his powers,,, exactly like mobs traumatic moment when he sent ritsu flying and injured him when they were kids... as i mentioned earlier, serizawa has always been a very clear parallel to mob (i can talk more about that in another post if someone asks). I was really hoping theyd go deeper into this moment in the anime but it GOT CUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! RAAUGH!!!!

and this page right after.. MAN:

BROTHER.... to me, i feel like this is the moment that made serizawa certain reigen doesnt have powers. not only does he have a talent for reading people, but he has to know by now. if he thought reigen had powers to protect himself, he wouldn't be saving his ass all the time like he does.

he knows reigen wont be fine on his own. he knows that reigen has something hugely important to tell him, important enough that reigen is willing to die to run out there and tell him

WHICH BY THE WAY THE MOST DISRESPECTFUL BUTCHERING OF A SCENE OF ALL TIME:

from what ive researched it seems like a common occurrence in japanese culture to remove your shoes before attempting suicide. this is such an intense and impactful moment for reigen to be removing his shoes. looking around and seeing the situation hes in, but still throwing himself into harms way so he can protect mob like hes done so many times before, but in this scene hes making the concious decision to go in, knowing the risk involved. INSANE THAT IN THE ANIME they made removing his shoes some sort of way to get better grip to run. obviously, running barefoot in rubble and destruction is not going to give you better foot grip.. I think they did that to make the scene more lighthearted but it just feels like poor taste.

i feel like the style choices combined with the dialogue cuts in S3 seriously take away from the intense impact of the manga. ONE has such a talent for writing characters to be fleshed out human beings as well as interpersonal relationships. season 1 and 2 did such a good job of showing that even when there had to be scene cuts.

if you havent already, I think you should for sure read the manga. its even more life changing to me than the anime already is, and ONE has a beautiful art style and can convey strong emotions better than anything else ive ever seen. I have more good serizawa moments than this that were cut, and a lot of dialoue between mob and ??? was removed too, but i don't want to spoil every funny joke or character building moment.

this is why i think everyone should read the manga and the REIGEN spin off book :) thank you for reading through this!

ps: devastated when this got cut

#anon you got a big storm coming #please blease read the manga everyone in the world #i think about this just about every single quiet moment i have #serizawa katsuya #serizawa #mp100 #reigen #rudie rambles #suicide tw

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dunmeshistash · 4 months

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As of... actually several episodes ago but more so on this episode, I'm starting to think there's something (a reason/correlation?) to the anime not going all out on the animation (youd think ep23 part 1 would have gotten more attention) or when its not doing a 100% panel-for-panel adaptation of the manga (ie cutting out gags and some other parts)

Its almost like the anime is slightly just a little maybe advertising the manga? but idk, you dont really get this feeling if youve never read the manga. It only torments those who have who know what's in the manga that the anime-only's are missing out on. and there's also the dungeon tidbits that dont/havent been adapted that expand more on the story.

lets be real tho, some things in the manga just would not translate as effectively into anime. (ie the manga covers that look raw as all hell)

tl;dr i have a feeling the anime is not doing the manga 100% perfect justice because animation restraints AND it wants you to read the manga as well.

I've actually been thinking about that too. But objectively I think the dungeon meshi anime is effective/overall good adaptation of the manga.

The feeling of "NOO IT'S MISSING X THING" as far as I can tell is only for people who have read the manga, everyone else doesn't seem to feel there's a lack of quality. I call it the cursed knowledge of the manga lol.

The fact is that the manga is just PACKED full of so many details an adaptation that has ALL of it is just impossible, and trigger's anime isn't necessarily bad just because it doesn't have it <- I say begrudgingly cause I wish it had all

From what I can tell they have been pacing themselves within their budget/time constraints and focusing on what the medium of animation can serve the best to compliment the manga, which is action scenes, they seem to be focusing most of their efforts into giving us BREATHTAKING animations during the action and honest I LOVE IT.

I recommend @swampjawn's animation breakdowns if you wanna really appreciate it in a more technical aspect, its so good.

youtube

But another thing I've been noticing is how much content Ryoko Kui does related to the anime? Like the merch, the blu-ray boxes the collabs. Is that something common at all? The manga author doing so much content related to the anime of their work?

Maybe it's an exception cause she finished publishing Dungeon Meshi before the anime came out but I hope that her gorgeous art inspires people to read it.

Anyway I'm not sure if trigger is on purpose doing "manga advertisement" but just where I believe they'll stop this season is probably gonna make a lot of people want to read so it's a win in my book.

#dungeon meshi #ask #badman-blr #dunmeshi anime vs manga #Marcille Donato #delicious in dungeon #dunmeshi

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babyangelsky · 2 months

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My Favorite Expressions in Love Sea Ep. 6

Every week I think I cannot possibly be having a better time with this show than I already am and every week I'm proven wrong. I LOVE IT HERE AND I'M HAVING A GREAT TIME!

Well Mut, I suffer from this condition as well. It's called Permanent Heart Eyes and it's incurable.

This is such a universal expression. Anyone who has ever watched someone they love eat something they cooked for them and enjoy it has made this face. Food is the greatest love language of them all.

Also, very pleasantly surprised to learn that Tongrak is a leftovers girly. I didn't expect him to be and now I love him even more.

Peat really has mastered the shift from 🥺 to 🥰. He does it a lot this episode and it barely takes him a full second each time, I love it.

When I tell you I COULD. NOT. LOVE. THIS. MAN. MORE. We only see him in profile when he delivers the last part of this line but this is a delightfully murderous expression. If I don't get a scene of Mahasamut cussing Prin out I'm going to be so disappointed.

The utter shock at hearing that Mut wants to hear about Tongrak from him. The quiet disbelief. The relief. I can't show it in a screenshot but Tongrak breathes out when Mut says this and his shoulders relax. No one has ever given this man the courtesy of asking directly if they want to know something about him and allowing him to decide if he wants to share things and Mut does it so easily.

The way he marvels at Mahasamut as it sinks in that he gets a choice, that he gets to decide if and how much to tell is just... it's lovely and completely fucking heartbreaking at the same time.

And because he was actually given a choice, he had no choice but to open up. Mut has made him feel so safe and respected that opening up becomes easy.

"Even though they have a complete, loving family with a loving father."

Stab me, it would hurt less.

No expression but the vibe is "I didn't say you could hug me but also I'm going to cling to you for dear life and try to burrow inside of your chest".

This is another one of those scenes that could have its own dedicated post and for which I would hit the picture limit immediately because the expressions were phenomenal and numerous so I'm cutting myself off.

Would you look at that. Tongrak opened up and now we're cuddling and taking a nap inside of the bedroom no one has ever been allowed to enter. Phenomenal. I'm so proud of this sleepy kitten.

Quick, someone google "how to tell your buddy that you're his husband's best friend's new sugar baby" for Mut he's asking for a friend it's him he's the friend.

THE CUTE AGGRESSION IS ETERNAL AND RELENTLESS.

Fort does the scolded puppy face so well.

Well aren't WE a jealous little jellyfish, Khun Tongrak? He's so bitchy I love him so much.

Not pictured: him refusing to speak first when he talks to Connor even though he's the one who called and the 30 different emotions he goes through during that call.

I spy with my little eye TWO jealous lil jellyfish. What's a group of jellyfish called?

*looks*

A bloom. There's a bloom of pouty jealous jellyfish in this house. I do love when "fights" are for silly reasons and everyone involved knows they're being ridiculous.

Side note: I covet this wallpaper. I need it on one of my bedroom walls immediately.

Also, I would like to do my clown check in for the week and point out that Vivi has solid-colored textured pillows and patterned pillows on her couch but Tongrak chose to cuddle the patterned ones.

We finally got to meet Tongrak's niece Meena and oh but she's a darling, precocious little thing. I also look at Mahasamut like this but you have no business doing it, miss thing, you're a baby! Same goes for reading your uncle's novels I say as someone who started reading romance novels when I was about her age.

2.7 seconds apart. I timed it. I'm saying it every week at this point but Peat, I love everything you do with your face.

And I am very quickly growing to love everything Nina does with that cute little face, too. It's good for Meena to see her beloved uncle being so loved by the beautiful man living in his house.

I have so much more to say about Meena but that definitely will get its own post because it's not limited to her facial expressions. There's a lot to unpack in this scene and in the cafe scene with her and Mut.

I mean--do I even need to say anything? I can't wait to reblog every single gif I can find of this scene because it had me screaming into a pillow like Tongrak.

I'm reaaaaally starting to hate the 30 image photo limit because it truly is not enough to capture everything I love in this feast of a show. Prepare to be so sick of me because there WILL be more posts about this episode.

Also, if you'd like to be tagged in my weekly ramblings about micro-expressions, let me know! 💖

#maybe i should come up with a tag for my meta and ramblings #i'll think of a good one #rakmut #love sea #love sea the series

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outofconcheol · 10 months

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Collision (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: football player!Minho x RA!reader (afab) genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, college au, 18+ summary: The school year was a chance to start fresh - make new memories, meet new people, and most of all to leave the past behind. But Lee Minho is determined to make sure you never forget the one summer night you’d spent with him - no matter how hard he has to work for it.

warnings: alcohol, swearing, some crude jokes, OC is a bad RA, Minho is very whipped, such poor communication, minor mention of weed, bad poetry, disciplinary action against students

word count: 14k

a/n: it's finally finished! this was the result of me spiraling after seeing this tiktok edit of Super Bowl Minho? also totally not because i was also an RA who lived next to a pack of frat boys in college (don't jump into fountains with boys kids). this also might be a good time to confess that i know nothing about football, so that's fun! i'm so sorry it was so slow coming out, i hope you enjoy!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: brief, non-graphic smut scene, but also: kissing (so much kissing), dirty talk, marking, nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls)

The common room was oddly quiet. Normally, you’d hear people shuffling around and chattering in the halls, their laughter echoing off the dull grey tiles. But right now, silence. With the dingy wood and fluorescent lighting, it felt like a ghost town. It wouldn’t have bothered you on any ordinary day. Except today was your first meeting with the new residents of your dorm as their RA. And it was five minutes to eight and they were nowhere to be found.

You honestly couldn’t understand why anyone hadn’t shown up yet. The bulletin board had been decked out in the colours of your school football team, the Stray Kids, and you’d even promised snacks! In fact, a lot of the people you’d run into in the halls had been excited to come - or maybe they just felt pressured into it by your overeagerness. Now, looking at the different spreads of cookies and brownies you’d baked with the help of your roommate Felix, your heart sinks. Speaking of Felix, where was he?

You’d been looking forward to the start of the school year all summer, so excited to finally embrace this job and your new responsibilities. But even more than that, you were so excited to make a handful of new friends heading into your senior year. Your entire college career had been consumed by studying and getting involved in a million different clubs, and although you hung out with Felix, and a few others, you felt like you’d been lacking in the experiences that made college… well college. And what better way to get access to college experiences than to be left to look after a rowdy group of students?

You hear footsteps thudding down the hallway, and heavy breathing, and all of a sudden, Felix’s freckled face comes into view. You shoot him an angry glare, before softening when you realize he’s not alone. Three other boys walk in after him.

“____, this is Jisung, Jeongin, and Seungmin. They’re down the hall from us.”

“Welcome you guys!” you set aside your anger, putting on your best smile for them. The three of them greet you happily, not even lasting five seconds before descending on the snacks, and you giggle at the way Jisung’s cheeks puff out as he stuffs chocolate chip cookies into his mouth.

Soon enough, more people shuffle in, until the common room is filled to the brim with residents, and you let out a sigh of relief. Maybe they didn’t hate you after all. Before, long, everyone is settled in, and you waste no time, heart pattering as you launch into an explanation of the rules and expectations for the year.

As expected, a handful of people are nodding off, while others have their eyes glued to their phones. However, Seungmin, Jisung, and Jeongin are hanging off your every word attentively, smiling after every phrase, and despite it being corny, you can’t help but find them endearing. You’d have to make a mental note to visit their room later and get to know them.

While you continue on, not wanting to keep everyone too long, you notice a couple of guys sneak in the back, twenty minutes late, and immediately your smile drops. The blue jerseys tell you immediately that they’re the players from Stray Kids. A few heads turn when they walk in, and suddenly, there’s a hum in the air, the residents thrumming with excitement at the sighting of campus celebrities. Suddenly, all the attention is off you and on them.

Felix shoots you a look of apology, and you huff, watching the meeting go down in flames. You don’t know how many minutes pass before the crowd dies down, people spilling out one by one, until only the four players and Felix are left.

Putting on your fakest sweet smile, you stomp up to them, ready to give them a piece of your mind, when you bump into a solid chest, strong arms wrapping around you to steady you.

“Whoa there, you good?” A deep voice booms out, and you look up to see Chan, the captain of the team, looking down at you with a smirk.

“I—,” you begin, nostrils flaring in anger, but you’re interrupted once again by Chan.

“Sorry for crashing your little party, practice ran late, you know how it is.”

His eyes are alight with a glimmer as he says it, taking you in.

“I’d appreciate if next time, you could let me know, so I can plan ahead,” you grit out through your teeth, watching another one of the guys, one with arm muscles so huge he could probably rip a tree in half, descend on the cookies you’d laid out.

“That’s Changbin,” Chan chuckles. “And over there is Hyunjin.”

You look to the door, where another tall, lanky player is leaning against the frame, a look of casual disinterest on his face. He gives you a nod, and you scoff under your breath, hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“And this is Minho, our other roommate.”

You freeze on the last introduction, finally taking in the final figure in the room. He’s just as paralyzed as you are, unable to move, lips parted in shock. Feeling like you’ve been struck by lightning, you feel your throat tighten, unable to look up. The ground beneath you feels like it’s about to give way, and you’re suddenly aware that Felix is no longer in the room, mentally cursing him out in your head for leaving you alone right now.

“Hey,” Minho finally manages to get a word out, and your eyes snap up to his, watching the way he shoots an easy smile in your direction.

You hate the way your heart reacts to that smile because you’d promise yourself once already you’d never let it get to you again. All of a sudden, a distinct memory from the summer comes rushing back to you, one you’d tried so hard to bury in the back of your mind.

Twinkling fairy lights, red solo cups on the table out back, and Usher blasting from the speakers. The one house party you’d snuck out to that summer with your best friend, Ryujin. The one where you’d met him.

Those same lips had smirked at you from across the room, dark and serious eyes inviting you to come over and take a chance. And you had. Lips crashing onto his, Minho’s kisses swallowing your moans. The music from the party gradually fades as he leads you upstairs, the soft click of the door locking behind you before he pushes you onto the bed. The cute outfit you’d chosen to wear that night was discarded carelessly to the side, Minho’s hands tracing circles across your skin, his lips latching desperately onto your neck, sucking blooms across your skin. Minho is on his knees, your legs thrown over his shoulders, eyes completely blown with lust, looking like he wants to devour you. Watching the dim light hit the lean lines of his body as he strips, his soft groan when he pushes into you, digging your heels into his back.

Minho’s low voice when tells you how pretty you sound, how good you are for him before you’re exploding, falling apart at the seams.

And then, regret. Slipping out before dawn could come around, watching Minho snooze peacefully, unaware that he’d wake up to an empty bed, unaware that thoughts of that night with him would continue to haunt you the entire summer.

The boys’ boisterous laughter breaks you out of your daze, and you watch Chan and Changbin wave to you before grabbing a handful of snacks and slipping out the door. Hyunjin isn’t far behind, eyeing your shocked face with a curious expression.

Minho lingers for a moment, studying you with the same hypnotic gaze. You’re painfully aware that you haven’t been able to get a single word out, but his stoic face twists into a salacious grin. He trails after his roommates, but not before pausing and shooting you a wink.

“Well damn, this year just got a whole lot more exciting.”

Kim Namjoon was extremely good at his job – or so he thought. As the grad advisor for the resident assistant program at the university, he’d painstakingly read through hundreds of applications, combing through many impressive resumés in search of the best of the best. And he thought he’d found it in you. Which is why the situation he found himself in was completely and utterly baffling to him.

“It’s literally the first week of the school year, and you’re telling me you already want to quit?!”

You fidget in your seat uncomfortably, looking anywhere but directly at Namjoon, knowing that if you caught his gaze, you’d be finished. Over.

“Are those pressed resin flowers?” you gesture over to the wall, hoping you can distract him.

“____.”

“W-well, it’s not exactly like that, it’s just…”

“I fail to understand what could be so horrible about your current group of residents that you’d give up free room and board,” Namjoon quips, before pausing. “I mean — great responsibility as well.”

You want to scream. How were you supposed to tell your boss that the reason you wanted to quit the job you’d worked so hard for is that, in one drunken night, you’d slept with one of your residents and now didn’t have the gall to face him for an entire year?

Your cheeks burn, thinking of Minho’s smirk, the one that had you screaming into your room. In the few days since the meeting, you’d managed to successfully avoid him, and his roommates, making a mad dash for your room straight after class. Oh well, you could always branch out and live your best college life next year. After the football players graduated.

Namjoon could put you anywhere, even banish you to the hell of a single room in that maybe-haunted residence hall on the edge of campus. The one where there was an alleged ghost wandering around? Yeah, you’d take it. Anywhere away from Lee Minho.

“I chose you for this job for a reason, ___, because I saw great potential in you,” Namjoon continues with a heavy sigh. “I’m confident that whatever you’re anxious about, it’ll resolve itself. Now, you should head out. From the schedule, I saw you have a room meeting scheduled.”

And with that, you’re ushered out of Namjoon’s cosy office, left with more questions than you started with. Huffing as you sling your bag over your shoulders, you make the trek across campus back to the dorm, trying to muster a weak smile for the meeting you had coming up.

Only for that smile to disappear completely when you check your calendar, seeing exactly who’d signed up for the slot.

Room 103. The football players’ room. Minho’s room. Could your luck be any worse?

Apparently, the answer to that was yes, because just as you lifted your fist to knock, the door opened, leaving you face-to-face with a smirking Minho.

“Just the person I wanted to see,” he drawls, the smirk fading when he sees you look past him at the wall, shuffling your feet.

“Come in,” his voice softens, stepping aside to let you through. For a moment, he pauses behind you, and you can feel his breath fan the back of your neck.

“Listen, I just wanted to, uh–” he’s interrupted by a loud holler, one that wreaks havoc on your eardrums.

“Well well well, if it isn’t the girl-next-door!” Changbin comes into view, slinging an arm around Minho’s shoulder, before the other man scowls, brushing him off.

“Guys,” Chan’s captain voice has their heads turning, “I know you’ve all got a boner for the pretty RA, but she’s here doing her job.”

You could have sworn you saw Minho go pale.

Changbin snickers, but abides, plopping onto the couch, dragging Minho with him. That made three of them. But where was…

“Hyunjin,” the tall boy appears out of nowhere, his sharp eyes taking in your presence. For a moment, you wonder if he knows about you and Minho, but you shove the ridiculous thought from your brain. They were just guys, and you were just doing business as usual. Nothing to worry about.

“So guys,” you manage to get out. “I’m just here to talk to you about your expectations for each other this year as roommates.”

“Expectations?” Changbin throws up an eyebrow. “Yeah, like some ground rules you want to establish for the room,” you clarify. “As roommates.”

“We’ve been living together for three years at this point,” Hyunjin gives you a pointed stare. “I’m sure we have it down.”

You chew mindlessly at your lower lip, realizing that you aren’t getting anywhere with them. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Minho draped over the side of the couch, one leg dangling off onto the floor.

“Well,” the sudden addition of his voice shocks you, a small smile lighting up his face when catches you looking at him, “We obviously need to follow bro code.”

“Bro code?” You raise an eyebrow. You knew what it was, but that didn’t make you any less confused.

There’s a sharp ow! followed by Hyunjin shuffling in the corner. Minho is gingerly nursing his arm, his eyes narrowing at his teammate.

“Pretty sure one of the rules of bro code is to never lie to your bros,” Hyunjin quips, casting a glance between you and Minho.

“Not lying! Okay! Okay, we can work with that —,” you straighten up, a grin on your face. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Especially not about girls you’ve slept with,” Changbin adds with a smug expression.

Minho’s face immediately twists into a pained expression, and for a moment, everything is silent. You wonder if this is it, the moment where everything finally blows up in your face and the truth about what went over the summer is revealed.

“I’m so sorry, ____,” Chan gives you an apologetic look, standing up to usher you towards the door. “I’ll have a chat with them, and we’ll draw up a list of rules and send it your way by the end of the week!”

Everything happens so quickly, Chan’s hand on your back, the brief flash of Minho’s concerned eyes looking at you before the door closes, slamming shut.

The rain patters against the window, making the fluorescent lighting of the common look even more bleak and grey than usual. You let out a heavy sigh. The dorm meeting should have been enough of a sign to you that very few people would be interested in the events you held this year. Now, you were alone, surrounded by far too many tubs of ice cream, and Felix was in class.

Deciding to wallow in your sorrow, you pop open one of the tubs, scraping at the frozen top with a spoon, the sweet ice cream melting on your tongue.

“I told you, Jeongin, she just bought the ice cream to eat herself,” a voice at the door startles you, and you look over to see Seungmin beaming at you through the door. And he’s not alone. Jisung and Jeongin trail in after him, and your heart swells in relief at their presence.

“I thought no one would come.”

��And miss ice cream? Please, they’re either stupid or even more stupid for turning down free food,” Jisung chuckles, sliding up a few chairs next to you.

The three boys settle in, wasting no time digging into the ice cream, happily chatting about their days to you. Something about their presence makes the unbelievably rainy weather seem not so bad. You learn that Jisung and Seungmin are in the year below you, studying math together, and Jeongin, the poor freshman, was their random roommate.

“You guys are worse than the football players,” you chuckle when they explain their tactics of how they get Jeongin to run errands for them across campus.

“I think it’s cool how we have the players living here with us!” Jeongin’s eyes shine with excitement. “Do you think they’ll invite us to one of their parties?”

“We’re losers, Jeongin, in case you haven’t noticed,” Seungmin jokes, but his face is strained.

“That’s not true, you’re currently my favourite people in the dorm,” you respond, watching Seungmin relax, and Jisung’s cheeks flush. “And those parties are lame anyway.”

So lame. Lame enough for you to sleep with one of those aforementioned players.

You think back to the summer, memories flooding you. In your defense, you hadn’t even known Minho was a player. It was just a random party, full of random people neither you or Ryujin had known. And he’d been there, leaning against the wall, taking it all in quietly.

If you’d had any idea Lee Minho was one of those ever-loving frat boys on the football team, you might not have given him a second look. But then he’d smiled at you - a small one, soft but also teasing, and that was all it had taken for you to drift over, Ryujin smirking behind you.

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks went down, the two of you managing to talk about nothing yet somehow also everything at once.

“You see,” Minho’s low voice rumbled in your ear, leaning in closer. You can smell the warm spice of his cologne, and it makes you even dizzier than the beer in your hand. “Those two definitely look like they’ve got some shit to sort through.”

“They’ll ignore it though,” you counter, watching Minho’s eyebrows raise. “Probably go upstairs and fuck instead.”

Minho’s jaw hangs open, and it takes a moment to process what you’d just said out loud – and how much of your own intrusive thoughts were contained within the simple statement. Looking over, his eyes have gone impossibly dark, their sole focus on you.

“Maybe we should follow them? Just to confirm.”

Those same dark eyes are now filled with a flicker, one that matches the flames building inside your chest.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the door to the common room swinging open, bringing you face to face with a flustered and panting Minho. His hair is windswept, and there’s a deep flush on the back of his neck. Raindrops plop, plop, plop onto the carpet as they drip from his clothes.

“Did I miss it? I came as quick as I could after class.”

His voice is hoarse and gravelly like he’s struggling to catch his breath after running for too long.

“Miss what..?” You feel like the air has been knocked out of your lungs at his sudden appearance, completely missing the way Jisung, Seungmin, and Jeongin begin to shuffle behind you, whispering amongst themselves.

“You were hosting something? I tried to convince the other guys to come along.”

Your chest tightens at his admission. He paid attention to those egregiously long newsletters you spent hours making and mailing out to the floor? It makes you feel dizzy inside, a thousand tiny butterflies fluttering inside your chest.

“Uhm, yeah of course! Help yourself, you know I just remembered I have something like really, really important to take care of for one of my classes,” the words tumble out in a rush, your cheeks burning at lie, but you honestly weren’t expecting to come face to face with Minho so many times in a matter days.

“Hey Jisung, do you mind cleaning up after you guys are done? Please.” You shoot the other boy a desperate look, and his eyes go round, looking in between you and Minho, who remains at the threshold. He gives you a subtle nod, and you take it as your chance to escape, hastily slinging your bag over your shoulder.

You feel Minho’s eyes on you while you brush past him and out the door, wondering why you’re the one shivering when he’d been caught in the rain.

. . .

“Jisung, is it?” Minho sees the boy jump at the sound of his voice, his chair nearly toppling over from the shock. He looks in between a flustered Jisung, to the other two guys, who are equally surprised, their mouths hanging open.

It’s times like these where Minho remembers he’s not just any normal guy. Being a player for the Stray Kids came with its own headaches. He’d never gotten used to the stares. Or people becoming tongue-tied around him.

But you hadn’t been like that, he recalls. Talking to you had been easier than making a catch, the way your eyes lit up underneath the dim lights of the party and how your bubbly laugh remained burned in his memory for the entire summer.

Minho wants to laugh at the thought of him hung up over some girl he’d fucked one time, but nothing could have matched the cold feeling that washed over him the moment he’d woken up to find you gone, the bed empty. And he found himself actually missing it - not the sex, but everything else. The laughing, the people watching, the inside jokes.

Damn it, he was turning soft for you.

He stalks over to Jisung and his friends, plopping into the chair across of them. The three of them remain frozen in place, stiff as a board, and Minho lets out a loud groan.

“What do you want?” He raises an eyebrow, a smirk pulling at his lips when he sees the taller one cross his arms over his chest in an attempt to look intimidating.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want like, tickets to the game, fake IDs, weed? I can hook you up.”

“F-frat parties,” the younger one elbows him, voice barely above a whisper. “Tell him we want in on the parties.”

“The bigger question is, what do you want? I mean, why are you even talking to us?” “Can’t a dude just be nice to other dudes?” Minho grins, but the tall one is unwavering. He looks over to the one whose name he actually knew, Jisung, and judging by the way his eyes are still wide as saucers, and the manga he’s clutching to his chest, Minho knows he’s found a target who’ll fold.

“Is that Spy x Family? I love that one.”

“Y-you do?”

“Yeah, I actually have all the volumes in my room? You could always come by if you wanted to borrow one.”

“I could?”

“Hmmm, only if I get to ask for your help with something.” “Anything!” the youngest one pipes up again, choking when the tall one hits him in the back. “We’ll do anything.”

And suddenly, Minho sees his in – these three dorks. Who despite knowing you for even less time than he has, have somehow managed to win over your heart. And he’d be next.

“Well, let’s start with introductions first of all…”

The 8am walk to your psychology class was one of your favourite parts of your schedule this semester. Campus was just waking up, birds were chirping, and you had time off to just think before getting swallowed by a sea of schoolwork and RA responsibilities. Except lately, your thoughts had been running wild - Minho in every corner, his tired, rain-soaked figure the other day making him look like a wet cat. A very cute wet cat.

You didn’t want to go down the rabbit hole of what it meant for him to show up like that – you didn’t want it to mean anything at all. The simple fact was that guys like Minho, and the rest of his teammates, barely ever gave a damn about anything that wasn’t pratice or their loud ragers. But he’d actually made an effort.

Namjoon will be so happy I’m getting the team involved in dorm life, you stupidly rationalize the warm, fizzy feeling in your chest. I’ll have something to be proud of.

Trudging up the hill that takes you from the dorms to the heart of campus, you look through the cover of trees, the faint rays of sun peeking through them. In the crisp morning air, they look beautiful, and you sigh happily to yourself. You could romanticize this morning walk, even if your actual romantic life was in shambles.

You close your eyes for a bit, having committed the path to memory, and walk, walk, walk until suddenly — you’re colliding into a hard object, falling backwards through space. Before you can feel the impact of the ground, an arm is reaching out to steady you. A lean, muscular arm, filled with veins. Looking up through the sunlight, you see Minho’s face looking down at you.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a soft smile on his lips. “Why were you walking with your eyes closed?”

“Crap, you weren’t supposed to see that,” you turn away in shame. Were you going to be doomed to a whole school year of embarrassing yourself in front of him?

“Hey, I’m not judging,” he holds up his phone, and you can’t help but laugh. A cat video is playing on the screen. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Thanks for catching me.”

“It’s kind of what I do,” he chuckles, another reminder of who he is. And who you are.

“Oh yeah.”

You don’t remember when you started moving again, but somehow, he’s right alongside you, facing backwards yet still matching you stride for stride. Looking around, you breathe in relief when you spot no one else around – being seen with Minho would definitely have people talking, and you weren’t sure if you could handle that right now.

“Can we talk about what happened over the summer?”

Minho’s voice is tinged with something you can’t pinpoint, taking on a weird sort of lilt. Could he possibly be nervous? Then again, what reason would he have to be nervous? He wasn’t the one with an entire reputation on the line right now.

“There isn’t that much to say, Minho. It shouldn’t have happened. I should have known better.”

Minho narrows his eyes at your statement, clearly taken aback.

“Oh my god, please don’t tell me you feel guilty because we live on the same floor now. There’s no way you could have known! I’m not holding it against you. Let me make it up to you – maybe we can have another shot, hopefully more sober this time.”

In your head, you know he’s right, and that you’re being completely irrational. But wouldn’t starting something now also be irrational, and falling into that very same trap you’d worked so hard to avoid.

“Look Minho, I’m really grateful that you forgive me. I know it was an asshole move, just disappearing like that. But whatever this is, I can’t do it right now. I promise if we run into each other I’m not gonna sprint off in the other direction, but I can’t date you. I can’t date anyone right now.”

You watch the way his shoulders completely deflate, rustling his backpack over his shoulder. More and more students have begun to slip out of their dorms, joining you on the main campus quad, and you know the conversation is over. For now.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, watching Minho jump slightly at the sound of your voice. “Isn’t your econ class the other way?”

“Nah,” Minho stutters, and you watch his cheeks tinge red. “I dropped it. I’m taking a new one - fermentation sciences.”

“Fermentation sciences?”

“Yeah, you know in this economy, I wanted to learn how to brew my own alcohol,” he looks wistfully over at the science building. “I should probably get going.”

You watch him retreat wondering why you felt such a crushing wave of sadness when you’d been the one to shut it down in the first place.

. . .

Fuck! He was late. Minho knew he should have spent more time on cardio this summer, his heart pounding in his chest as he ran the other way across campus to the business building.

While part of him was relieved by your assurance that you harboured no bad feelings toward him after everything that him, another part of him was deeply unsettled. For some reason, he couldn’t let it end like this, the two of you just being people who resorted to acknowledging each other with a wave across campus.

The thought bothers Minho all through his econ class, and through football practice, Changbin’s obnoxious chuckle echoing in his ear.

“Fermentation Sciences? Really, dude?”

“Stop laughing, punk,” Minho grumbles. “It’s not like you could have come up with anything better.”

For all they knew, Minho was shamelessly flirting with the girl next door, and failing miserably. They didn’t know any of the history between you two - and Minho wanted to keep it that way, or else he’d never hear the end of it from his roommates.

Changbin grunts, his pass landing a little harder than usual. Minho makes the catch, the air wooshing out of his lungs.

“Lino,” Chan’s stern captain voice echoes from behind him. “It’s our final year. Are you really sure you won’t get distracted by this?”

Minho sighs. He knew that this final season hinged on him having his head on straight - if not for his sake, for his teammates’. While he and Hyunjin had jobs waiting for them after graduation, Chan and Changbin were trying to make a career out of football.

“Yeah dude, it’s nothing I promise.”

Defeat sinks into his bones, realizing that maybe you were right. Perhaps there wasn’t time to be distracted by anything, or anyone this year. Yet, as he strips off his jersey and slumps onto the players’ bench, he mellows in the one part of your statement that had given him a fraction of hope.

You hadn’t said “never”, just “not right now.”

“Remind me why we’re here again?” Hyunjin groans, chewing the tip of his pen. In the corner, a group of students fall into hushed whispers at the sight of Stray Kids’ running back and tight end, hunched over pieces of paper.

“Stop acting like you didn’t take an entire class on 18th century poetry last year and help me figure out what rhymes with perfect,” Minho shoves the end of the pen into his arm.

“Imperfect,” Hyunjin counters. “What the hell are you doing anyway? I thought we were supposed to be colouring for stress relief.”

“None of your goddamn business, Hwang,” Minho shuffles his paper towards himself, scribbling down the word, only to cross it out ten seconds later.

“Are you, are you writing a poem?” Hyunjin’s eyes go wide at the various words scribbled on Minho’s sheet. Beautiful, delicate, exquisite, perfect. A faint smirk tugs at his lips.

Minho himself never thought he’d see the day where he put pen to paper in hopes of wooing someone, but it seems life had other plans. Because ever since you’d basically told him there was no chance of anything happening between you, it had made him unable to keep thoughts of you out of his mind.

He wondered sometimes if he was chasing his own ego, going after you just because you weren’t interested in him. But as he dwells on it more, he couldn’t remember the last time he was this determined to win someone over.

“I have questions, many of them,” Hyunjin starts. “But I’ll start with one? Is this about–”

He flicks his head towards the front of the room, where you’re hard at work on your own drawing. Your sweater looks beyond soft and cosy, bringing out the colour of your eyes, and Minho feels a weird pang inside his chest when he hears you giggle; Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin right next to you.

Those fucking punks. They were supposed to be helping him, and instead they were crowding around you? He’d probably have to cave and finally entice Jeongin with an exclusive invite to a frat party if he ever wanted things to work in his favour.

“God, I having to fucking text Changbin about this,” Hyunjin drawls, only to yelp when his phone is swiped out of his hands.

“Send that text and you’ll wish I never looked in your direction, Hwang.”

“My question is when?” Hyunjin looks between you and Minho, lines of confusion marring his face, until realization dawns on him.

“Holy fuck? She’s the one? From this summer? I knew it!”

Minho feels like sinking into his chair and rueing the day he ever ran into Hyunjin on the way to try-outs, but he musters a weak nod.

“___? RA ____?”

“Will you quit asking questions?” Minho continues to scribble, growing frustrated when his pen begins to run out of ink, the four pages of ideas he’d come up with staring him dead in the face.

“Well you’re never gonna win her over if you keep comparing her lips to cherry cough medicine.”

“What would you suggest dumbass?”

“Maybe fucking cherries instead?” Hyunjin grabs the paper from him, shaking his head in exasperation. “Next time you want to pull this shit for a girl, please come to me first.”

“Hoping there won’t be a next time,” Minho looks over at you with a heavy sigh, watching the way Seungmin leans in close to point out something on his page to you.

“Just you watch and wait,” Hyunjin grabs the pen from him, and gets to work.

. . .

“Let me know if you’ll think about it,” Seungmin waves to you from across the room, clearing out with Jisung and Jeongin in tow, and you happily go back to colouring the bunny you’d started. Funny enough, the stress of the last few weeks had melted away, you and Felix easing back into your routine of daily dinners together in the dining hall. Along with new friends - the three younger boys inviting you over to their dorm for movies and video games.

A cough interrupts your thoughts, and you look up to see Minho stop in front of your table, awkwardly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Guilt fills your chest when you realize you hadn’t even said hi to him, despite knowing he’d come with Hyunjin in tow the moment the previously quiet room had erupted into a faint din.

“Hey,” you smile up at him, hoping it’ll put him (and you) at ease. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“No problem, uh, thanks for hosting,” Minho scratches the back of his neck, and you notice the piece of paper crumpled into his other fist.

“Did you have fun?”

“Fun? Oh yeah! It was super fun! I felt really calm,” the words spill out of Minho’s mouth awkwardly, and he’s begun to bounce on the soles of his feet.

“Are you sure it was calming? You can give me honest feedback you know. I won’t be offended.”

“Oh yeah, you know, I actually just remembered I have to go, but I wrote something down on this paper and it’s for you!” Minho launches the piece of paper at your desk before scurrying out of the room. Craning your neck, you see him run to Hyunjin in the hall, who claps him on the back.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you unfurl the paper, eyes widening when you see the exact “feedback” Minho had left.

It takes everything within you not to laugh - the rhyme scheme is completely off, there are random flowery words that definitely look like they were pulled from the dictionary app, and the poem cuts off abruptly with a scribble. Yet somehow your heart is warm at the thought that Minho had sat there for an hour putting this together. For you.

Perhaps you’d underestimated Lee Minho after all.

“I wonder whose idea it was to load a bunch of college-age kids dressed in stiff-ass clothes onto a bus that’s going who knows where, and to not even have alcohol to compensate” you mutter, smoothing over the skirt of your dress, the chilly winter air sending goosebumps down our spine.

“Don’t let the feds hear you say that, miss RA, but to answer your question, probably some prick at Oxford or something,” Seungmin appears by your side, offering up his jacket. You politely decline, grateful that he offered but also that he doesn’t press. Accepting his jacket would be too much of a romantic gesture for… whatever this was.

“Just two friends hanging out,” Seungmin had reassured you when he’d asked you the other week… the same week you’d received the poem from Minho. The same one that has your heart doing backflips when you even think about it. The same one that’s currently smushed between the pages of your planner, bringing a smile to your face every time you open it.

You shake your head… trying to dispel thoughts of Minho from your mind. Seugmin was your date tonight. He deserved to have your attention. You deserved to not turn it into a miserable time for both of you because you couldn’t sort out anything in your life.

The bus ride helps take your mind off him, Seungmin happily chattering to you about how his year is going so far, and you stave off the chill all the way until the two of you get inside.

Unfortunately, that’s where it all goes downhill. Because the music is too loud, and there are too many bodies crowded on the floor, and you remember that going as dates involves, well actually acting like dates.

A few of Seungmin’s friends from the photography club find him in no time, suddenly swooping the two of you into the middle of the floor, and you’re led down a well-meaning, but incessant line of questioning. Seungmin shoots you an apologetic smile, happy to take the brunt of it for most of you, but it leaves an uncomfortable feeling in your chest nonetheless. Seungmin doesn’t say anything when you drift away quietly, leaving him with his buddies, and find yourself flitting at the fringe of the crowd. An eerie feeling crosses you, one that reminds you of the last time you were in this situation. Only this time the outcome wouldn’t be the same, because Minho wasn’t here.

Mere months ago, you would have been fawning over the experience of finally attending a formal with a date, feeling like you were coming closer and closer to making the memories you craved. But you realized now that those had been empty hopes. Because memories weren’t about the experiences, but the people you shared them with. And you couldn’t deny what you and Minho had shared.

You don’t even realize you’ve stumbled outside until you’re plopping down onto a bench, hugging your knees to your chest, while fresh tears coat your eyelashes. A soft pair of footsteps echo behind you, and you turn to see Seungmin next to you, taking a seat.

“Y-you should go back inside,” you stutter, even more guilt settling in. “I’m sorry for being such an asshole and ruining your night.”

“Hey, you’re not an asshole. And I meant what I said, I didn’t expect anything from you, just two friends hanging out. But now you’re crying.”

Silence falls between you, and you think about how lucky you are to have a friend like Suengmin. Him, and Felix, and Jisung, and Jeongin. How much they care for you.

“You know,” Seungmin interrupts. “He’s not a bad guy. Lee.”

You whip your head around at Seungmin, not expecting him, of all people, to bring up Minho at a time like this. How did he even know him?

“Oh shush,” Seungmin sees the perplexed look on your face. “He comes over sometimes to watch anime. He’s pretty cool. He even said Jeongin might have a shot at trying out for the team next year.”

“What is my life?” you groan out loud.

“I’m just saying, maybe you’re doing too much, trying to fight whatever it is you feel. Maybe he could be worth it. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“I think what I need to do is catch the early bus back to campus,” you grumble, before softening. “You’ll be okay without me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine, don’t miss me too much,” Seungmin grins. “Just sleep on it.”

“In your dreams, Kim.”

You’re bounding off the bus faster than the driver can open the door, silently cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket, or at least stealing Seungmin’s. The straps of the way-too-high heels you’d chosen dig into your feet, sure to blister and leave you groaning the next morning, but to be fair, the headache had started long before you’d left your dorm room tonight.

It had started the moment Lee Minho had strolled through the door at that very first meeting, and secured a permanent spot dwelling inside your mind. And now he was befriending everyone you were friends with? You shiver at the potential implications of what Seungmin had revealed at the formal, surprised to find feelings lingering other than sheer annoyance.

The wind nipping at your heels, you set off down the campus path, empty save for a few poor souls leaving the library after a study session, until you’re at the campus green, the large fountain that lights up the way to your dorm in plain sight. You feel relief overtake you at the sight, grateful that you could soon unwind and collapse onto your bed, given you had thinking to do. Lots of thinking.

You’re almost across, the gurgling of the fountain audible in the distance, when a shadow emerges from the path to your right. A lone, slim figure in a blue letterman jacket, a large “S” emblazoned on the front. You think nothing of it until you see the accompanying “25 Lee” on the back, and suddenly you freeze. Only he does too, at the exact same time.

You wonder if it’s too late to duck behind a bush, hiding under the cover of darkness, until you remember that near the fountain is the most well-lit area within a few hundred yards, the rest of the winding path completely blacked out. And Minho is already walking in your direction, even though you both know the way to the dorm is behind him.

He’s clad in sweatpants, his hair damp with sweat, and you wonder why he’s not freezing at this hour. But he’s probably looking at you and wondering the same thing.

“___, hey,” he shouts out, the grin on his face growing when he actually looks at you, his jaw hanging open. “Wow, uh, you look good. Fancy event?”

“Oh yeah a date. I mean a formal. I mean I went to a formal. As a date. With Seungmin.”

Immediately, the grin fades, and Minho’s eyes grow impossibly dark. There’s a strange fluttering in your chest, and you’re overcome with the urge to clarify that it wasn’t a real date, that it didn’t mean anything, but nothing comes out, your throat impossibly dry.

“Oh yeah, he mentioned something about that.”

“Yeah. I guess even RAs need to let loose once in a bit.”

“Did you? Let loose?” Minho raises an eyebrow, and you know that he knows that it’s too early to be wandering around campus, given most buses don’t come back until after midnight.

“You caught me.”

“I told you, I’m good at that.”

Minho gestures to a bench, right in front of the fountain. You know you should say no, that you should run to the safety of your dorm. Because somehow, when you’re around Minho, the control you have comes crashing down. You feel reckless and effervescent, and you wonder if being drunk when you met him was to blame.

When you take the seat next to him, you watch him smirk, and that’s when you realize the bench he’d picked out was the tiniest one, meaning you had no choice but to be pressed up right against him, feeling the warmth that emanates from him. You shiver again, hoping the cold can cover for you.

“You cold?” Minho’s voice is a low rumble, moving to slip his jacket off his shoulders.

“No, no I’m fine—”

He’s throwing it around you before you can finish protesting, his warm sandalwood and cedar fragrance enveloping you, and you burrow into it. Beside you, you can feel Minho’s faint breath fan against your neck, and you flush, turning away to look above you.

“It’s pretty out tonight, isn’t it?” You point above you. “You can see the stars.”

“Yeah, it is,” Minho’s voice is a heavy sigh, and you turn to find he’s not looking above at all. His dark eyes bore right into yours, a whole universe of emotion trapped within their depths, and you feel the fluttering in your chest begin again.

His warm hand skims softly against your cheek, and you stop it with your own, pushing him away.

“Minho… what’s happening? What is this? Because if this is some kind of ego trip, or some sick joke with your teammates…”

“Can’t you see, damn it?” Minho’s expression turns dark, shadows dancing on his face. “I like you, ___. Ever since you walked out of that room this summer, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I keep running it over and over in my head, wondering what I could have done to fuck this up so badly, and how I can make it up to you every day.”

His voice is full of desperation, and you feel tears well up in your eyes at the sheer emotion captured in his rasp.

“Why?” Your voice is barely audible. “Why me?”

“I know we barely know each other, but everything I see about you, I like. The way you laugh, the quirky sweaters you wear, the way you take care of others. And everything I don’t know, I want to learn.”

Your head spins at his confession, at his earnestness, but while your heart is screaming at you to give in, your head can’t take the leap, holding you back from tumbling over the edge.

“Minho, I can’t. My job—” you watch the way his shoulders sag, knowing that you’re right. “I don’t want you to keep waiting for something that I may never be able to give you.”

“Friends then?” He squares his shoulders, his voice shaky, and you turn away, not wanting him to see the tears beginning to form in your eyes.

“Okay,” your voice is just as wobbly. Maybe it was better this way, knowing the distance would inevitably form when it was Minho’s turn to graduate next semester. This way things wouldn’t end badly - they’d just end when it was time.

“Well,” Minho stands up, offering you an arm. “As your friend, I can’t let you end what was supposed to be a fun night on a shitty note.”

He grabs your arms, slipping them into the jacket, before his hand is slipping in yours, the two of you walking up to the fountain. You know friends don’t hold hands, but you say nothing, the two of you staring at the clear water, coins glinting in its depths.

“Make a wish,” he whispers. You look up, just in time to see a star shoot across the night sky, and close your eyes, wishing for everything to work itself out.

“And now we jump.”

“We what?!—” you whip your head around, but it’s too late, Minho is pulling you into the fountain with him, the cold water chilling you to the bone. Shivering, you stand up, cheeks burning and your soaked dress clinging to your body, watching Minho shake his wet hair from his eyes.

“You. Are. Crazy,” you huff out, laughter bubbling in your throat, and his eyes are twinkling, before he joins in, the two of you laughing until you’re wheezing.

“You like it though,” he steps closer, his eyes raking over your body, heavy-lidded with desire. He leans over, almost in slow motion, your heart beating so wildly you almost forget how to breathe. You feel his lips ghost against yours, and for a moment everything is impossibly still—until laughter breaks through the silence, the voices of other students chattering behind you.

Minho is pulling away, his eyes flickering towards the voices, and you hadn’t realized you were clutching his wet shirt. You peel your soaked bodies away from one another, Minho offering you his hand to help you out of the fountain, when all of a sudden the voices soften, indicating that the students were heading in the other direction.

The walk back to the dorms is full of silence, both you and Minho trying to wrap your heads around what had happened in the fountain. It isn’t until he walks you to your door, the tormented look in his dark eyes the last thing you see before it closes behind you, that you realize you’d forgotten to give him back his jacket.

“Morning Lino,” Hyunjin pads out of his and Minho’s shared room, rubbing at his eyes. Minho grunts in response, turning his attention back to the eggs at the stove.

“You know some kid named Yang?” Hyunjin asks through a mouthful of cereal. “Came up to me the other day and said he couldn’t wait to sit in on our practice.”

Minho recalls his conversation with the eager freshman, who was bouncing up and down at the thought of being considered for the football team next year. Of course, what Jeongin didn’t know was that his happiness wasn’t even the cherry on top. It was seeing the dazzling smile on your face when the kid ran up to you to tell you all about it.

You’d looked over, seeing Minho lingering at the end of the hallway, and raised an eyebrow, to which he’d nodded, before promptly disappearing. This whole friendship thing was harder than he’d counted on. But he’d try his damn best.

…

An hour later, he’s watching Jeongin run lines with Changbin, pausing every few minutes to work on some throws. A small smile forms on his face - Jeongin was a nice kid. And he would have never met him if it wasn’t for you. Minho thinks back to how different life would have been if he hadn’t run into you this summer.

Even though he can’t put his finger on it, Minho feels like something’s changed. Before you, he’d never cared enough about anything to want to make an effort. Football was just something he did, relationships were something he never bothered with. Class was just class. But after meeting you, Minho wanted to be someone who was enough. Someone you could be proud of — to call a friend and maybe something more one day.

He feels the bench thud next to him, Hyunjin plopping down beside him. Hyunjin looks back and forth between him and Jeongin, realization glimmering in his eyes.

“He’s friends with her, right? Jeongin. That’s why you gave him a chance. You’re so fucking whipped.”

“If you’re gonna try to lecture me right now, please don’t,” Minho grumbles, knowing that behind Hyunjin’s sarcasm, he’s always willing to chew someone out when they’re doing something stupid. Like Minho is doing right now with you.

“That’s Chan’s job, not mine. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s weird,” Minho blurts out, his own words surprising him. He thought he would have dropped the subject.

But he finds himself opening up about you, the way he doesn’t know why, but you just make him feel, and how he doesn’t know what to do about it. The way you hold yourself back, and he doesn’t know how to move forward, because he’d be an asshole for overstepping the boundaries you’ve so abundantly made clear. How something with you was better than nothing at all.

And Hyunjin listens, gratefully, but Minho sees how his eyes dart over to Chan and Changbin and Jeongin. The season was still young. If he wasn’t careful, things could implode, not just for the team, but for you.

He would have to find a way to figure this out. Or else, he could lose you for good.

You hadn’t meant for it all to come spilling out. One minute, you and Minho were cool, agreeing to be friends. The next, his mouth was nearly on yours, and you were confused.

And now, you’re telling everything to Felix in the middle of breakfast. It might be the lack of coffee, or the fact that he’s just naturally baby-faced but Felix is wide-eyed, unable to keep his mouth from hanging open as you recall everything, from summer to now.

When you’re finished, he crosses his arms, his eyebrows furrowing and your stomach drops. Well. You’d managed to make your roommate, also known as one of the nicest people in the world, upset with you.

“Listen, Lix, it’s not as bad as it seems,” you try to reassure him. “We’re cool now.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Felix whines. “Does our friendship mean nothing to you?”

You feel guilty. You knew Felix was one of the first people who should have known. But honestly, you’d just bottled it up. Even Ryujin didn’t know much beyond you disappearing upstairs with Minho. You feared that the more you talked about it, the more real it would seem. Whatever it was, this thing that you and Minho had.

“I never asked to hook up with a football player Felix,” you groan, taking care to keep your voice down. “I never asked for him to be my neighbour, let alone my actual responsibility. But that’s just what it comes down to. Responsibility. I have a job to do, and being involved with Minho goes against everything that it stands for.”

“___, you’re human too,” Felix offers you the cookie from his plate, and you accept it, chomping down. “You don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

“I just thought this year would be different. I thought I’d have everything figured out, and that whatever I experienced would be fun. But now I’m just stuck with this. A mess.”

Felix’s jaw tenses, like he’s lost deep in thought.

“Do you regret it?” Panic lights your eyes at his question. Because it was one you’d never considered. You’d spent so long trying to push Minho away, creating false distance in between you two, when the reality was, it’d never existed in the first place.

All you wanted was to be closer to him. You wanted to learn the same things about him that he wanted to learn about you. You wanted to know what it would actually feel like if he kissed you in front of the fountain.

“No” you manage to breathe out with a sigh. “I don’t. But it still doesn’t change anything.”

“It could,” Felix counters.

Head spinning, you find your appetite has disappeared. You watch Felix look at you with concern as you bid him a half-hearted bye, telling him you’ll see him later.

Maybe you couldn’t lie to yourself about Minho anymore. But you couldn’t do anything about the truth except live with it.

You thought Namjoon believed in you enough to not stick you on RA duty during your birthday, but apparently not. So, you’d guiltily waved goodbye to Felix, telling him to go celebrate in your honour, and you’re curled up on the couch, notebook in hand, trying to review your reading for the week.

A few hours pass, in which you change the way you’re sitting numerous times, get up to take a water break at least every seven minutes, and are finally situated and focused enough to accomplish something, but then the thumping starts.

At first you’re confused. Was someone working out? Did the room upstairs set up a bowling alley? Both of those explanations seemed more plausible until you actually listened for the source of the noise. It was coming from right next to you.

Room 103.

You groan. Of course they’d be having a party. Midterm season had just finished, and what else did football players do on a Saturday night?

Unfortunately, that also meant it was on you to stop it. And deal with the aftermath of ruining the night for a bunch of salty students. You breathe a heavy sigh, running through countless scenarios in your head to avoid going over. You could just keep studying, maybe bake a batch of brownies. But each one of those scenarios is ruined by none other than Kim Namjoon. His voice drones on in the back of your mind, waxing poetic about how with great power comes great responsibility. The man needed to stop rewatching so many Spider-Man movies.

Setting your notebook to the side, you throw on a cardigan, shuffling over to Minho’s apartment. The cacophonous bass reverberates even from outside, and you give a timid knock, unsure if anyone will be able to hear you.

It takes a few moments, but eventually, the door swings open, the gleeful eyes of Seo Changbin taking in your presence at the door.

“I, uhm, I’m here to uh,” you barely get a sentence out before you’re being swept inside, Changbin’s bellowing laugh echoing behind you. “Look who joined us!” Changbin shouts, and a few heads turn to look in your direction. You catch a couple of questioning looks, one of them being Hyunjin, but for the most part, your presence is ignored.

“Any chance we can get you up on one of the tables?” Changbin offers you a drink, gesturing to the living room. You shake your head, backing up against wall of the entryway.

“Listen, I can’t stay, I just came to –”

“___? What are you doing here?” A voice sounds from behind you, and you turn to see Minho looking at you, shock on his face.

You gulp. You’d hoped you wouldn’t have to run into him tonight, that it would be a quick in and out. Once the party was shut down, everyone would go home in a sour mood, maybe Minho would hate you for it, and you’d be able to get over your feelings for him in peace.

“Leave her alone, Bin,” Minho chastises his roommate, who’s still trying to goad you for a drink. And then he grabs you by the hand, pulling you further into the lion's den.

The first thing you notice is the sheer heat. Not only are there dozens of bodies crowded up against each other, but it’s Minho himself. He maneuvers you through the crowd, keeping you close to him, and it makes you dizzy. Through the stench of beer and sweat, his cologne peeks through, spiking your body temperature even more.

You don’t know where Minho is leading you, but eventually you two end up near the end of the hallway, bypassing many loud conversations and couples making out, until you stumble upon a series of closed doors. Your face burns when you realize it’s their rooms.

“I need to go,” you say quickly, turning on your heel. “I shouldn’t even be here, this shouldn’t be happening.”

“Hey,” Minho rests a hand on your shoulder. “I just wanted to bring you somewhere quieter, where you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, heart soaring at the touching gesture. “Still, I should…”

“Can’t you stay for a bit?” Minho begs, his sparkling eyes meeting yours, and you’re unable to do anything but nod yes.

“Lee! How you doing man?” a voice bellows from far away, and you notice Mingyu, one of the forwards on the soccer team, walk up and high-five Minho, slapping him on the back. “Who’s your friend?”

Mingyu’s eyes do a once over, eyebrows furrowing at your sweatpants and cardigan, before looking quizically at Minho.

Minho draws a hand around your waist, coming to rest protectively on your hip. His palm burns through the thin fabric where your tank top ends, keeping you tight to his body.

“This is ___. If you don’t mind, we’re kind of busy.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes, smirking as he disappears in the crowd. That’s when you notice Minho’s leaning back against one of the door frames, his hand resting on the door knob.

“Wanna talk in my room?” he asks softly. And it doesn’t sound sleazy or gross. It sounds earnest. Despite the party raging around him, he hasn’t left your side since you showed up, as if he could feel the anxiety coursing through you. As if he’s telling you he’s got you.

“Or I could walk back with you to your room. Whatever you want.”

“W-we can talk,” you say nervously, fisting the side of your cardigan. Somehow, the idea of returning to your notebook seems wholly unappealing. “Just for a bit.”

“Okay,” he opens the door, leading you in.

. . .

The first thing you notice about the room is that it’s surprisingly clean. For a guy’s room anyway. There are a few stray articles of clothing strewn on the chair, but there’s also a neat stack of books, and a bunch of photo frames on Minho’s desk. One in particular catches your eye.

You pick it up, a smile breaking out onto your face at the photo of Minho, star running back, crouched up to three tiny cats.

“Soonie, Doongi, and Dori,” Minho’s voice echoes behind you. “I adopted them when I was in middle school.”

“I didn’t take you for a cat person,” you giggle.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” Minho takes the frame from you, setting it back in place. His voice sounds distant, like he’s thinking too hard.

“Tell me about yourself,” you blurt out without thinking, watching Minho’s eyes widen in surprise. You realize that you barely knew anything about him, while he’d worked so hard to know you, and his words from the night of the formal echoed in your brain.

Everything I see about you, I like. And everything I don’t know, I want to learn.

You learn that Minho lives twenty minutes away, something you hadn’t expected. And that he goes home to visit his parents every other weekend, checking up on his cats. You learn football is just something he plays for fun – he’s not super serious about it like Chan or Changbin, but he stayed on the team because they’re his friends. You learn he likes fishing, but also pulling pranks on people. He’d nearly convinced Jisung that they cancelled Spy x Family the other week, and the poor boy had believed him before Minho had to chase him down with a bag of chocolate covered pretzels from the campus cafe and apologize. You learn that Lee Minho is so much more than you ever thought he could be, and that you feel more for him than you could have ever imagined, the realization giving you goosebumps.

“Hey,” Minho pokes you in the ribs. “You zoned out. Everything okay?”

No, everything was not okay. You wondered if he noticed how you’ve gone completely still next to him, your breathing shallow. Minho’s eyes have darkened, filled with an emotion you can’t possibly name, but something you want to believe in. And for once, you want to lose control, and fall off the edge together.

“Kiss me,” you whisper, your gaze dropping to his lips. Minho freezes, but doesn’t back away.

“Fuck,” he huffs, heavy breaths filling the space between you. “You sure?”

“Please,” you groan, closing the distance so your lips ghost over his. Minho finally snaps, bringing his mouth to yours, groaning against your lips. You bite back a moan as he nips your bottom lip. The sound stirs him, and with a hard squeeze to your thigh, he’s backing you onto the bed below him. Heart pounding, the look in his eyes is dangerous, sending chills down your spine.

“Let me make you feel good,” he breathes against your forehead.

You’re unable to do anything but whine in response, watching as he pushes your tank top up to undo the ties on your sweatpants, fingers digging into your hips while he pulls the fabric down, taking your underwear with it. His mouth peppers rough kisses down your throat and into your cleavage, leaving splotches of crimson and violet as he grazes his teeth in every spot his lips meet.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, eyes searching yours.

“Yes,” you groan, head swimming. “I want this, want to feel you, please—“

Your pleas are cut off swiftly as he slips two fingers inside of you, dragging them against your walls with a low sigh.

“Fucking hell, you’re so wet. Is this all for me?”

“Only for you,” you whine, completely lost to what is coming out of your mouth.

“You’re so beautiful, fuck, been thinking about this for so long,” Minho hisses when you gush around him, arousal dripping down his wrist.

You feel yourself flutter at his words, throwing your head back while reaching over to swipe your fingers through his sweaty hair. You tug at the back of his shirt, and he pulls it over his head, his shaking hands slipping the cardigan off your shoulders and tugging the straps of your tank top down.

Looming over you, he engulfs your nipple in his mouth, and you gasp sharply when he bites down with his teeth, swirling his tongue over it quickly to soothe your reddened skin. But Minho doesn’t stop there, his lips trailing all over you, unable to stop kissing you.

It’s a thousand times stronger, more intimate than the time from the summer, the feelings that have built between you mounting and mounting until they’re an inferno.

The first press of his tongue against your folds has you squirming as you desperately rock your hips against his mouth. Your knees buckle around him as he works you with his tongue, fingers dipping lower and lower until they press right against where you need him most. Feeling a harsh suck to your clit, you moan loud enough that you’re sure that anyone who’s outside can hear you. But you don’t care, reveling in what it means to let him in.

Just as you’re about to let go and surrender yourself completely, Minho’s fingers retreat, leaving you clenching around nothing. You open your lips, ready to protest, but Minho cuts you off, stuffing his fingers inside your mouth.

“Suck,” he commands, and you’re left breathless, unable to do anything but comply while wetting the digits, tasting yourself.

“Need to see you come while I’m inside you,” Minho slips off the rest of his clothes. You feel your mouth go dry when his cock springs free, and he chuckles at the depraved look in your eyes, before pushing his cock completely inside, leaving you reeling at the stretch.

“Please, move,” you beg, and he obliges. Fucking you slowly like he never wants to forget this moment. His strong arm slips around your waist, lifting you up against his chest and his lips find yours again, tongue licking into you to steal the moans that escape you, head dizzying at the change in position.

“Minho, fuck, I’m going to come, please wanna so bad,” you whine, feeling lightheaded with ecstasy. Reaching down, Minho rubs tight circles on your clit, messy slick coating his fingers until you feel yourself snap, gushing around him.

“Cum for me ____,” he breathes against your neck.

That’s what does it, pushing you overboard, wetness gushing from you as you moan his name. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, before slumping against you, chest heaving with the weight of his breaths.

His sweat soaked bangs are messy, covering his eyes, and his fingertips skim across your cheek, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Stay with me?” he blurts out, head ducking in embarrassment at the silly statement. “I mean, not like that, just..”

And you sigh, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him closer to you, burying your head in the crook of his shoulder, soft breath fanning his damp skin.

Dawn spills into the room, and you sigh, careful not to wake a snoring Minho. He’d fallen asleep quickly, but you’d been unable to do the same, tossing and turning beside him. What scared you was how much regret you didn’t feel over what had just transpired. How much you wished you could just give in and let it happen again.

But you couldn’t. Not only had you completely broken the pact to be just friends with Minho, but you’d also completely forgotten about the entire reason you’d even come here last night, the forgotten responsibilities of your job weighing heavily on you.

Rising, you carefully pick up your clothes, throwing them on quickly. You feel Minho stir softly, before he’s stretching, rubbing at his eyes.

“Morning,” his voice is low and raspy, but also completely content. A sharp contrast to the torment you currently feel. “Wanna grab breakfast?”

“Minho,” your voice is bleak, and you watch his figure slump. He’d fucked up. You both had.

“Last night should have never happened. And I know that if we keep doing this, spending time with each other, it’ll happen again. But I can’t. I have a job, I have responsibilities, and they’re important to me.”

You know the words cut deep, because you also know you’d give them all up in a second to wake up to him again, to feel his lips on yours.

Minho’s expression is blank, watching you scurry around the room to pick up your stuff. You knew the moment you walked out of there, there’d be no going back, even to being friends.

It breaks your heart even more when he doesn’t move to get up and help you, watching you instead with devastated eyes.

But you also knew you couldn’t turn around and look back at him, because you’d drop everything and stay.

. . .

The sun is too bright, hurting your eyes as you walk to the dining hall, what feels like chalk settling in the back of your throat. You feel like you’re battling the worst hangover of your life, despite not having a single drink last night, and you were so grateful Felix was still asleep when you’d slipped inside.

You’d let everything slip out of control, and now your life was spiralling. For a brief moment, you wondered if you should just accept the guilt for everything, leaving Minho behind and handing in your resignation. But then you realized how stupid that sounded, leaving you with nothing.

You swing the heavy door to the dining hall open, not even noticing the figure on the other side until you’re falling backwards. You catch the door just in time, looking up to be met with the tall figure of Kim Namjoon. And he doesn’t look happy.

“___, my office, now.”

. . .

Namjoon rubs in between his eyebrows, his expression darting in between you and the door. Your heart is pounding, fear taking over, even though you already know that whatever is happening cannot be good.

“____, when I chose you for this position at the beginning of the year, it was because I saw so much potential in you,” he begins, his voice trembling. “I thought you’d never do anything to upset me, to disappoint me.”

The word disappoint tells you everything you need to know, and tears begin to prick at the corner of your eyes. Of course there would have been wandering eyes at the party last night. Of course someone would have recognized you, seen what you were doing, and said something to Namjoon. You couldn’t believe you’d been so stupid.

“Getting involved with a resident is a blatant violation of the responsibilities that have been entrusted to you as a resident assistant. Furthermore, you failed to act and de-escalate a situation that was a clear violation of the student code of conduct.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you cry out, hoping Namjoon will rethink everything. “It was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

You watch his eyes flash with hurt at your pleading, but you know from the despondency in his expression there’s nothing you can do.

“I’m sorry, ____ but I have to report this to the advisory board. They’ll deliberate, but as of right now, you’re suspended from your position, and it’s very likely you won’t be invited back next year. Karina will fill in for you in the meantime.”

He stands up, before leading you out gently. “I wish there was more I could do.”

You’re unable to say a word, slipping your coat over your shoulders and ducking your head to try to hide the tears that won’t stop flowing. You wonder if you should try harder, plead your case, but you know that the fault was entirely yours.

Looking up, you see Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin walk into the dining hall, laughing to each other, and duck behind a corner, your appetite completely gone. Taking off, you run as fast as you can, not stopping until your feet lead you back to the dorms.

Campus in the springtime is a sea of pink - the light, delicate hue of cherry blossoms creating a canopy on the ground, filling up the pathway to the fountain. But their beauty is lost on Minho, who sits by the fountain, staring blankly at the gurgling water.

Two months. It’d been two months since you’d ended things, rushing out of his room. Two months since you’d chosen responsibility over him. Minho wanted to be angry, wanted to hate you. But he just felt empty instead.

He’d tried talking to everyone – Jisung, Seungmin and Jeongin had no idea what happened to you. Felix would only glare at him in anger from across campus, and he wonders if he’d broken your heart just as bad as you’d broken his. As if somehow that would make him feel better, knowing you were in just as much pain as him. But it didn’t.

His own teammates saw how everything ached for Minho, from him burning his breakfast to failing to catch the simplest of throws. And they were worried. But Minho couldn’t fix this – he couldn’t go back to how the two of you had been before. Because in reality, there’d never been a chance for the two of you to begin with. He realized it now. You were just too different.

And yet it hadn’t stopped him from falling in love with you. He’d finally figured it out, when it was far too late. He was in love with you – the way you made him feel alive, like the world was full of possibilities. Only for it all to come crashing down.

“Hey dude,” Chan’s soft voice comes from next to him, taking a seat on the bench. “You okay?”

“Hanging in there, old man,” Minho musters a weak smile, but it falters, and Chan immediately notices. Minho looks at his friend, who can’t stop looking around at who’s passing by, and he realizes he’s keeping a secret.

“Spill,” Minho commands, and Chan furiously nods no.

“Lino, we have our last game soon, you need to stay focused…”

“Say it,” Minho hisses through his teeth, because he knows that whatever Chan is hiding, I t’s about you.

The words come spilling out before Chan can stop them, and Minho takes them all in, everything suddenly becoming clear.

. . .

The roar of the buzzer echoes in Minho’s ear, along with the deafening sound of the crowd, and suddenly he’s being dogpiled by his teammates. Hyunjin and Changbin are screaming in his ear, the school fight song is blaring, but time slows for Minho, and he focuses on none of it.

Everything moves too quickly, the fans rushing from the stands, spilling out onto the field and campus beyond. Minho is being pushed, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, until the locker room appears behind him. He’s stripping off his jersey, hitting the showers while his teammates erupt into joy around him. Minho lets the water drip off him, bracing himself against the wall, heavy breaths escaping him.

The win didn’t feel like a win at all. Not with the guilt that resided in his chest ever since he’d spoken to Chan a week ago. Minho knew the celebrations would go all night, the liquor would keep flowing, that all bets were off and every rule could be broken. But he didn’t care about any of that.

All he knew was that tonight, while campus erupted into a riotous celebration, he needed to find you.

He ignores Hyunjin’s protests while he slips out of the locker room, Chan holding his other teammates back. Minho throws a hoodie on, and steps out into the night air.

The first thing he notices is the swarm – there are people everywhere, screams echoing in his ears. Then it’s the pandemonium - banners strewn on the ground, the blare of an air horn in the distance, the blaze of what he’s pretty sure is a firework.

People line up around him as he moves through the crowd, pushing his way through overzealous fans, and overeager sorority girls offering him a victory kiss. He throws his hood up, ducking his face so that no one else can catch him, setting off to the emptier part of campus.

Eventually, the crowd dies down as he draws closer to the dorms, everyone out celebrating on the main green. Minho walks down the path he’s become so familiar with this year, the familiar sound of the fountain welcoming him.

He knew he’d find you here. Your eyes are turned away from him as you sit on the edge, aimlessly dragging your hand through the water.

“Not gonna celebrate?” He watches you jump at the sound of his voice, quickly rising up.

“Congrats, I’m sure it was a great game,” you whisper, but you’re backing away, and Minho can’t let you leave.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Minho interrupts you, resting his arm on yours, and he watches your eyes meet his, so much pain contained within them when you realize he knows.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine,” you counter, looking down at the fountain.

“That’s such crap, they let you go for that?”

“They let me go because I broke the rules, Minho. I deserved it.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh, watching you shiver in the cold, and he slips off his hoodie. You dodge it, the two of awkwardly dancing around each other, before accepting it, sinking into the feeling of Minho’s warmth.

“You’ve gotta stop letting me steal your jackets, I’ve already got a rap sheet,” you joke, but Minho doesn’t smile.

“I’m so fucking sorry, ___.” He says looking out onto the campus. “We really fucked things up, didn’t we?”

“Maybe this is how it was supposed to be,” you tell him. “You know, I was reading up on things, for my astronomy class and I learned that sometimes, when stars collide, they just collapse into dust. Like nothing else happens – they’re together one moment, and then gone the next, the remnants of their collision floating through the universe.”

Minho watches your breath come out in heavy puffs, and his mind wanders back to the stars on the night he’d almost kissed you in the fountain.

“Can I have one more thing to remember you by then?” He asks, intertwining his fingertips with yours, pulling you close to him, watching you nod before closing the distance in between you two.

Sparks explode across your skin when he kisses you, your hands swinging around his neck. You sway from the wash of emotions that come over you, and Minho’s hands are there, steadying you as you break apart, rubbing his cheek against yours and pressing tiny kisses all the way from your temple to your hair.

Eventually, the sound of the crowd draws closer, and Minho watches you pull away, holding out his hoodie in his hands. Taking it, he watches you retreat, wondering if there’d ever be a time where the universe would let you find each other again to pick up the pieces.

Sighing, you tape up the last box, pushing it to the side before collapsing on the couch. The end of the semester had come quickly after the raucous football celebrations, everyone in campus on a high.

Surprisingly, you’d dealt with the pain pretty well, settling into a new routine after being let go. Felix had been your biggest support, allowing you to cry into his shoulder as much as you wanted, baking plenty of brownies to keep you from descending into too deep of a depression.

Eventually, you’d learned to just let the wound scar over. The night of the game with Minho had provided you with closure in the best way possible, confirming to you that life had had its own plan for you all along. Thought, from time to time, you mind still lingered on the kiss the two of you had shared – for a moment, you’d thought that it could have meant something, but maybe that was your lesson – learning to take things as they were, because the more expectations you’d had, the more things fell apart.

A gentle knock interrupts your train of thought, and you walk over to the door, opening it up to find none other than Namjoon on the other side. Confused, you let him in, silence falling in between you while you wait for him to speak.

“____, I’m so sorry, Minho told me everything,” Namjoon blurts out, and his words have you reeling. What did he mean?

“He told me how he was the one to overstep the boundaries of your job and how you tried to stop it, I knew I shouldn’t have doubted you. The board says you can stay on for next year!”

You remain frozen in place, unable to speak or even think, before the overwhelming urge to find Minho comes over you.

“Namjoon, I’m sorry but I need to go right now.”

And then you rush out the door.

. . .

The door to room 103 is propped open with a six-pack, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes as you barge in, Hyunjin’s surprised figure greeting you right behind the door.

“_____? What the hell?”

“No time to talk, Hwang,” you push past him. “Where is he?”

“Where is who?”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about.”

Hyunjin pauses, before nodding his head towards Minho’s room, the subtle smirk never leaving his face as he watches you bound towards the door.

“LEE MINHO!” your shrill voice causes Minho to drop the book he was packing on his foot, and you smile as you watch him jump around, swearing under his breath.

“____? What are you doing here…”

“How dare you!” Minho groans when you punch him in the arm. “I cannot believe you did that.”

“Damn it, I swore that Namjoon man to secrecy,” Minho chuckles, a whoosh of air leaving him when you suddenly throw your arms around him, burying your face into his neck. “You. Are. Crazy,” you whisper into his hair, feeling him smile against you while he pulls you closer, rubbing his hands on your back.

“You like it though,” he smirks.

“I love it,” you correct him, watching his grin go from tentative to ear-splitting. “Namjoon said you were suspended from the team though. I’m confused, isn’t this your last semester?”

“Well,” Minho blushes. “I may have to stay an extra one. Just to sort everything out, you know.”

“Jeongin will be so thrilled to have you on the team with him,” you giggle, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“And you?”

“I’m gonna need a re-do of that love poem you wrote me. Byron would be rolling over in his grave.”

“I don’t know who the hell that is.”

“Good thing you have time to learn then.”

“So,” Minho grabs your hand nervously. “My parents brought Soonie, Doongi and Dori with them. If it’s okay with you, I’d like to introduce them to my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” you ask him.

“Oh I’m sorry would you prefer twin planet? Or shining star?”

“Watch it Lee.”

Minho wastes no time dragging you out the door with him, Hyunjin waving the two of you off. Stepping out into the sunshine, you see two figures in the distance waving to Minho, and you smile, the collision that had once steered you off course finally leading you and Minho back on the path where you both belonged. With each other.

a/n pt. 2: they are so getting married btw! As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

tagging: @mal-lunar-28

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