#I know realistically it's just a normal name but it makes my insides rotate

[starswillscream]

my bfs been telling his friends im trans/my name/pronouns and stuff for me and it's stressful for normal coming out reasons but also What If They Realize What Cringe Media I Got My Name From

[10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat]

What I See

Pairing: Clone Medic Kix x GN Medic Reader 

Premise: My musings here resulted in this. You're a medic in the 501st who works closely with Kix. At first you think the crush you have on him is one-sided, until one day you look through his sketchbook and are surprised by a portrait he drew.  

Word Count: ~2.2k

Rating: G

Other notes: gender neutral reader, no pronouns, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like clones 

AO3

--

Being an army medic had its ups and downs, its slower periods and bursts of intense stressful activity. You wouldn’t trade it for anything though. The pay was better than what you earned as a civilian medical worker, your patients were much more agreeable (even though there was the occasional trooper who insisted he was fighting fit when he was still far from being so) and your coworkers were professional and easy to get along with. One coworker in particular was your favorite, and you looked forward to the shifts you shared with him.

When you first met Kix, you admired him for the love and care he showed his fellow clones and commanding officers. The two of you quickly developed a rapport; he always laughed at the bad jokes you made, and you liked to challenge him to competitions to see who could restock supply shelves in the med bay the fastest … he always won, but every time you’d stick your tongue out at him and say “I’ll get you next time!” and he would only respond with a knowing smirk.

During down time, when there were no patients and paperwork was handled, Kix would sit at his desk with a leather-bound book and a pencil. It was an odd at first, seeing the rich brown leather and sheets of paper in an austerely sterile all-white setting filled with holopads and technology, but it also looked right in his hands. Without meaning to, you’d sometimes watch as he focused intensely on whatever he was scribbling into the book, brow furrowed in concentration as he worked.

“Jesse teases me and tells me I should just take pictures,” he explained one day as he showed you some drawings in his book, “but I find this relaxing.” He flipped to a sketch of a grassy plain with mountains in the background. You marveled at the details: the colors and shading on the mountains looked like sunlight glistening off their stony faces, the grass looked so realistically textured you thought it would feel like the real thing if you touched it, and he even added some wildflowers as well.

After seeing the meticulous designs he shaved into his hair, it was no surprise that Kix was an artist.

“Looks like it could be a picture,” you commented.

“Fives said something similar once, when we were down on Felucia he caught me drawing this-“ he flipped through the book to show you a drawing of a wide-trunked tree with large drooping leaves. “I just draw what I see,” he added with a shrug.

“You’re really talented though, the best I can draw is a stick figure.”

Kix cracked a small smile. “That was once the best I could do too,” he said.

The way his lips curved in his smile, the way his eyes shone as he looked at you - in that moment you realized just how beautiful he was. Sure, he was good-looking – all the clones were – but he stood out to you.

There was no use denying it, you had a crush on him.

Before there was a chance for your thoughts to betray you in any way, Kix’s comm beeped. “Duty calls,” he said, closing his sketchbook and stashing it in a drawer under his desk. He then stood up and made his way to his station, and you followed suit. Whatever was about to come into the med bay, it would keep you busy enough to distract yourself … so you hoped.

It had to be strictly professional between yourself and Kix, you reminded yourself as the first wave of injured troopers came into the medbay. Besides, given how quickly he could turn on a heel from artist to medic like that demonstrated how dedicated he was to his work, you knew he would never let anything get in the way of his duty.

--

Four rotations went by. Kix went on a mission with the rest of Torrent Company, leaving you to manage the med bay on your own during your shift. It was more of the same, really … but you thought about him more than you would care to admit. Of course, you always thought about him when he went on missions, you told yourself. Everyone worried about their coworkers, right? Especially if there was a chance they might not come back?

He always came back, you told yourself. This time wouldn’t be any different.

Only it was both more of the same and different. You were working on paperwork when the med bay doors suddenly flew open, and troopers began pouring in. As soon as you commed some off-duty medics to report to the med bay, you manned the triage station so you could tend to the more critically injured troopers first. It was hectic, a flurry of stressful activity, making sure everyone who needed a bed had one and every wound and scrape was patched up. It wasn’t until everything quieted down that you found Kix in one of the beds.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw him. He was asleep, undressed from the waist up with bandages and bacta patches affixed to spots on his shoulder and the side of his head, and his lower half covered with a blanket. Nodes attached to pulse points on his inner arm connected to a machine by his bed that recorded his vital signs, and everything looked normal at first glance. His chart reported a direct blaster hit to his shoulder and a graze on his head, with an expectation of a full recovery, signed off by one of the medics you called in to help. You owed that medic big time, you thought.

A glance at the nearest chronometer revealed that your shift ended three hours ago, but you couldn’t leave. You didn’t want to leave. So you grabbed a chair and pulled it over to Kix’s bed so you could sit by him. Someone had to keep an eye on him after all. It was professional courtesy, you told yourself, that was all. Besides, even though your body ached and felt heavy with exhaustion, your mind was too active and on edge for sleep.

On the floor by his bed were his things: his armor, neatly stacked and organized, next to his medical pack. Inside his pack you found his sketchbook, and you figured you could pass the time by looking at his drawings again. You found the sketch of the plain and the mountain again and took a few more minutes to admire the detail. Then the tree on Felucia, and then a tooka cat, and when you turned the page you nearly dropped the book in surprise.

Kix had drawn you. In the picture you looked off in the distance, chin propped up on your hand. The detail was incredible: the shape of your nose, your mouth, your eyebrows, all rendered with magnificent accuracy. You wondered if he drew it from memory, or used a picture as a reference, or sketched you one day on duty when you weren’t paying attention.

It had to be a picture, you decided. What you saw before you … it was an idealized version of yourself. Better-looking than anything you ever saw in the mirror.

Before you could dwell on it any longer, you heard a weak drowsy voice calling your name. You looked up and saw that Kix had woken up, his head turned towards you and his half-lidded eyes meeting yours.

“Oh- you’re awake!” you stammered, your cheeks flushing with heat as you slammed the sketchbook shut. You sprang to your feet and came to his bedside – to tend to him as a medical professional, you reminded yourself.

“What’re you doing?” he asked.

“My job,” you answered plainly. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got shot,” he answered glibly. “But I meant, what are you doing with that?” he nodded his head best he could and glanced to the sketchbook that was still in your hand.

“Oh-“ You froze for a second. “I- sorry, I just really like your ….” Your sentence trailed off as you saw apprehension flash across his face.

“It’s fine,” Kix murmured as he averted his gaze away from you.

“I … I saw you drew me.”

“Yeah … drew that when I was away … was missing you.”

Oh. Maybe he was crushing on you too … the idea was equal parts exciting and scary.

“Missed you too,” you returned, reaching down to give his wrist a gentle squeeze. “And it’s a really good drawing of me too. Did you use a picture for reference or something?”

“Memory,” Kix said plainly.

“Wow …” You opened up the sketchbook again to your drawing and gave it another lookover. “And you made me look better than I actually do.”

“No. I told you before, I draw what I see.”

Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise, and you looked up to meet Kix’s gaze again. Tired as he was, he looked at you with a soft admiration, as if he was appreciating a fine work of art standing directly in front of him. Your mind was both full and blank at the same time, feeling flattered and treasured but at the same time unsure of how to respond to him.

“I … I’ve been putting off telling you how I feel about you,” he continued, “because –“

“Your duty comes first, I understand,” you cut him off as you sat down on the edge of the bed, turning your torso to better face him and setting the sketchbook down by his head.  

“No, not that. Well, it has to, but – but that doesn’t mean I can’t want more out of life.” Kix paused. He raised his hand and reached it towards you. You responded by raising up your own hand, taking his in yours, and holding it in your lap. Your other hand came to rest on his wrist. He was so warm under your touch, soft and solid and steady. You knew that you would eventually have to let go, but you didn’t want to.

“My favorite part of the day is when I get to see you, whether it’s here or in passing somewhere on the ship,” he continued, “and on the battlefield after I got shot, as I was lying there, all I could think about was how I might never see you again.”

“Kix, I-“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupted you. “Except, if- if after the war’s over you wanted to give it a shot? You and me?”

“Yes.” The words immediately fell from your lips as your mouth widened into a smile. You didn’t even have to think about it, and the potential consequences that the higher-ups in the GAR might inflict upon the both of you for even entertaining the idea didn’t matter. It just felt right, the idea of you and him. You couldn’t begin to explain it.

Kix returned your smile. You raised his hand to your mouth and softly kissed the back of it before lowering it back down to your lap. Before you could disentangle your hands from his, he returned that gesture as well, pulling your hand that was intertwined with his to his mouth and pressing little kisses into your knuckles. The feeling of his lips on your hand sent pleasant little tingles through your skin.

“Let’s talk about it some more after you’ve recovered,” you suggested.

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed absentmindedly. He shifted slightly in bed but suddenly stopped and froze in place, his face twisting into a pained grimace and a hiss escaping through his teeth.

“You okay?” You asked, pulling your hand back to you and scanning his body for any other signs of distress.

“Yeah, just hurts is all.”

“Let me get you some painkillers.”

“No need, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Kix, I insist.” You told him in the sternest voice you could muster.

“I have the right to refuse treatment, especially if the treatment is better spent on my brothers who are in worse shape than I am.”

He was right, he did have the right to refuse treatment. But you couldn’t bear the idea of him being in pain.

“Okay … how about a sleeping aid then? Or some water? Can I get you anything?”

“If you want to do something for me, go get some rest. I’ll still be here when you report for your next shift.”

“Ugh, fine. You drive a hard bargain.”

“Ah come on, you know you love me.” Kix said teasingly, punctuating his statement with a smirk and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Giving him a small laugh and a half-hearted eye roll, you pushed yourself up onto your feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Before you turned to leave, you took his hand in yours again, and took a moment to gaze in his eyes. It took everything in you to not immediately start imagining a life with him after the war. There wasn’t even any guarantee there was going to be a life after the war – the cruiser you were on might be destroyed tomorrow by the Separatists for all you knew – but the idea still filled you with hope and joy. Something to look forward to with him. Something else to fight for.

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt9

hello!! welcome back :) thank you guys so much for reading this story, it really truly means the world to me! this is one of the chapters that i’ve been most excited to get to! this chapter is supposed to take place within the tales of ba sing se! 

pt 1

pt 8

pt 10

Still, she couldn’t just waltz into the tea shop without a plan. The last time she had seen Zuko, he had pushed her away. She tried to remind herself that he was probably just distraught over his uncle, but there was still a part of her heart that hurt every time she replayed the scene in her mind.

A lot had happened over the course of a few weeks. They had visited an ancient library, lost Appa, crossed the Serpent’s Pass, battled a literal war machine, and had finally arrived in Ba Sing Se just a few days ago. The officials that had once been so welcoming of their arrival now made the group feel wary. Ba Sing Se was a city full of secrets, but the group wasn’t sure if they wanted to discover all of them. 

While she enjoyed the company of her friends, (Y/N) was starting to feel trapped. The house they stayed in was absolutely lovely, but recently, when she lay down to fall asleep, her mind raced with thoughts of Zuko. The amount of time she wondered about what he was doing, how Iroh was, where they were now, and what she would say to him if they ever got the chance to be alone together seriously dug into her sleep schedule. She woke up each morning feeling sluggish and a little bit grumpy, but she tried her best not to make her friends aware of what was troubling her. She felt bad, constantly coming to them and talking about Zuko. She knew that it was different for them. They had always known Zuko as the enemy. And while he had started to become that for (Y/N) too, there was still a part of her that held on their past and hoped that he could change. She tried to be realistic about most things in life, but when it came to Zuko, she always hoped. 

She decided one day that enough was enough. She would take a day to herself to be alone and relax. She had heard people talking about a wonderful new tea shop that had come to the city, so she decided to go there and have a nice cup to take her mind off of things. 

When she arrived, she was shocked to find the very person she was trying to avoid working in the tea shop. She peered through the window of the tea shop and watched as Zuko and his uncle prepared orders for their customers. She had never imagined Zuko as a working boy and the very sight of it made her giggle. Still, she couldn’t just waltz into the tea shop without a plan. The last time she had seen Zuko, he had pushed her away. She tried to remind herself that he was probably just distraught over his uncle, but there was still a part of her heart that hurt every time she replayed the scene in her mind.

She decided to go home and lay awake again, but this time she would lie awake at night and devise a plan. She was going to have an actual conversation with Zuko, she just had to make sure it was perfect. 

She returned to the shop the next day, but still couldn’t find the courage to walk inside. The same thing happened the day after that. And the day after that. What was wrong with her? She could fight skilled benders twice her size, but she couldn’t walk into a tea shop? Pathetic! 

On the fifth day, she stood in front of the tea shop and wondered whether or not she should enter. But there was a reason she kept coming back, wasn’t there?

People trickled in and out of the shop happily, completely unaware that the men who were serving them were deemed traitors of the Fire Nation. She took a deep breath. She could do this. They were in public. They couldn’t turn her in to the Fire Nation without giving themselves away. She would be safe. 

She entered the tea shop and quickly sat down at an empty table. She reviewed the menu. She couldn’t quite remember the last time she had had a cup of Iroh’s tea, but she remembered how good it tasted. No wonder their shop was always busy. 

Her palms were sweaty as she waited to see who would come take her order: Iroh or Zuko? She wasn’t sure which one she would rather it be. She wiped her clammy hands on the new Earth Kingdom dress she had purchased the other day. Did she look nice? Why did she care about looking nice? 

When Iroh finally noticed her, she also noticed the big smile on his face. Quickly, but without drawing too much attention to himself, he came over to her table. 

“It’s very lovely to see you here,” he said. “What can I get you?” 

“I’ll have a Jasmine tea, please,” she said, her voice small. 

“Ah, Jasmine. A lovely tea. My nephew’s favorite.” She felt her face get hot. 

“So I’ve heard.” Iroh smiled again. 

“Lee!” He called to Zuko. “One Jasmine tea, please. And once you’ve finished, why don’t you take your break?” 

(Y/N) felt herself almost burst into laughter at the fake name Zuko had claimed for himself. The Fire Nation had a billion Lees. 

Zuko nodded at his uncle’s orders, not looking up from his kettle. Once her tea had been properly steeped, he move through the tables before finally reaching hers. Once their eyes met, his hands shook, knocking one of the teacups from his tray. (Y/N) quickly caught it in her hand and placed it on the table. 

“Hi,” She said. 

“Hi.” He set the kettle on her table and then untied his apron. He moved to leave, and she reached out to grab him before thinking better of it. She cleared her throat. 

“Why don’t you sit with me?” 

Zuko narrowed his eyes at her and then glanced at his uncle, who gave him a big thumbs-up. Unhappily, he pulled a chair out and sat. She poured two cups of tea in silence. 

“I’m not going to tell my friends that you’re here, if that’s what you’re thinking.” 

“Why should I believe you?” She shrugged. 

“If you’re trying to make a new life, I don’t want to ruin it for you.”

“If you’re not here to rat me out, then why are you here?” 

She took a sip of her tea. She had ran through her big speech to Zuko so many times before she arrived, but once she was actually facing him, the words slipped from her mind. 

“I...I haven’t gotten to actually speak to you for a while. And I’ve wanted to. Then I found your shop one day and I kept coming back.” 

“I haven’t seen you here.” 

“Well, I never really came in. I had to figure out what I wanted to say to you.” 

“And what would that be?” 

She gave him a small smile. “I don’t really know where I’m going with this, to be honest. Whenever I see you, my chest hurts. I get sad and happy and I want to hug you but also fight you at the same time. So, I don’t really know what I’m doing here. I just felt that maybe if we talked--” 

“What?” Zuko demanded. Her eyes met his. She looked at his scar and was brought back to the day of his Agni Kai against his father. 

“I don’t know. I wanted to let you know that I cared about you still. Despite everything.” 

This drew Zuko into a long silence. He stared at her, for a while. She was dressed in a green Earth Kingdom dress. It wasn’t the one she normally wore for her disguise. While he preferred her in red, he had to admit that she looked beautiful in any color she wore. Her (color) eyes shined with hope. Her (color) hair was loose against her back, while half of it was up in a top knot that hinted at her Fire Nation heritage. 

Before he had started hunting the Avatar, the last time he had really looked at (Y/N) was when she entered his chambers before he fought his father. She had looked so scared then. She didn’t look scared now. She looked ready to face anything.

He hadn’t meant to leave the Fire Nation without saying goodbye to her. After his duel with his father and his banishment, he hadn’t wanted to see her. He didn’t want to look in her eyes and see the disappointment he so desperately feared. So he had boarded his ship and sailed away. He thought it would be easier that way. He wanted to tell her that, but he couldn’t find the words. 

“I have thought about you every day for the past two years,” Zuko said quietly. She felt her eyes brimming with tears. 

“I have to go,” she said. She placed a few gold coins on the table. It was far too much for a cup of tea, but she didn’t care. She leaned in close to him, like they used to when they were children. “I miss you, Zuko.” 

Zuko closed his eyes. When he opened them, she was gone. 

---

thanks for reading!

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[fictionalabyss]

Protector : Hope.

Pairing : Dean x Reader, Sam, Brady, Alex (oc), Detective Baker (mentioned)

Word count :   1,764

Warnings : Prison life : Solitary confinement (mentioned), fear, anxiety, hope. Series TW : Domestic Abuse is a constant topic- be it mentioned, or actually happening.

Continuation of this series was commissioned by : @iflostreturntosteverogers

Part 21 of Protector.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

“Here.” Sam places a mug of coffee on the coffee table in front of Brady.

“Thanks.” He smiled up and watched as Sam sits on the arm of the couch next to you, arms crossing over his chest. “I spoke with Dean’s lawyer.”

“And?”

“Dean’s in solitary, again.”

Your face fell at that. You knew, part of you knew, you hadn’t heard from him in almost a week when he normally called at least every other day, but now it was confirmed. He’d done something stupid and got himself locked up even farther away from you. “What did he do?”

“Another fight. Says Dean looks rough, but the other guy had to be hospitalized.”

“Jesus, Dean.” you muttered looking down with a pout.

“But, Dean’s lawyer had got the PO box number from him, we’re looking into who owns it. Might take a bit.” You gave him a small nod, never really looking back up at him. “How are you holding up?”

When you didn’t answer, Sam did. “She��s having nightmares.” Brady looked from Sam to you again.

“Like Alex was having?” Sam nodded. “Maybe you should join him in therapy.”

“I just need Dean home.” you looked up at Brady, pleading with him.

“We’re working on it.” He saw how your eyebrows went up a bit at that. “I offered my services, so I’ll be sticking around a bit. Is it safe to say you didn’t speak to police after the grocery store incident?” You gave him a small nod. “Okay, I’m going to need you to write out a statement of what happened, and how you know this guy to be tied to Baker. I’m going to file it.”

“Okay.”

Brady opened his briefcase and pulled out some papers. Sam sat watching as Brady explained how to fill them out. Once he was done, he handed you a pen before sitting back and sipping at his coffee. Then he looked at Sam. “How’s Alex?”

“Worried.” Sam answered. “Scared to leave the house in case she needs him.” Sam glanced at you and Brady followed his gaze. Both of them watched you as you started writing.

“This asshole shown up since?”

“Not that I know of.” Sam answered. “But every once in a while, there’s a dark grey car parked two doors down across the street. Just sits there for a while before driving off. Don’t know if it’s this asshole or-”

“Baker.” Brady nods, turning to look out the large living room window. “That car over there?”

Sam gets up from where he’s sat, taking a step forward as he leans to look out. “Yeah, actually.” And as if the driver knows he’s being watched, the car takes off.

“Huh..” Brady turns back to his coffee taking another mouthful. “Might need to step up security.”

“Already did. Alex gets an escort now, I barely leave the house, and Dad has a rotation going of people driving past or stopping in. Random times, no patterns.”

“Good.”

“Brady?” When he looks to you, he finds you looking up at him, pen stopped mid sentence. “Do you know when he’ll get out of solitary?”

Brady shrugged. “A few more days, I think. I’m not sure.” Pain and sadness filled your eyes before you looked back down and got back to writing. “He’ll call as soon as he’s out and able, you know he will.”

“I know.”

“More coffee?” Sam asked.

Brady looked down at his half empty mug, the liquid inside quickly going lukewarm. Lifting the mug to his lips once more, he downed the last of it and handed it off to Sam with a nod. “Could I trouble you for a little irish cream, too?” Brady half joked.  “It’s gonna be a long day.”

“I’ll see what we’ve got.” Sam smiled.

Brady was quiet as Sam left, then he looked down at the dog sitting at his side and looking up at him. He raised his eyebrow at the dog, and the dog let out a light whine before putting his head on Brady’s leg. “You better not be a drooler.” Brady threatened as he began to pet the dog on the head. When the dog jerked his head back at the sound of Sam returning, Brady groaned at the wet patch on his pants. “Of course you are.”

It took a few weeks, but Brady got you in front of a judge. You and Alex sat in chairs in front of the desk while Sam stood back, closer to the door. Brady stood next to you while another lawyer  sat in a third chair with a foot between him and Alex.  “What is this about, gentlemen.” the judge asked as he settled down and started going through the papers Brady handed off to him.

“You might remember, your honor, many months ago when you granted a restraining order between my client and Detective Baker.”

“I remember.” the judge answered, glancing up at Alex.

“Since then, your honor, Baker has continued to not only harass my clients, but put them in danger.”

“My client hasn’t been anywhere near this kid.” The other lawyer chimed in, gesturing to Alex.

“Near Alex, maybe not. But he has put the family in danger all the same. The day Dean Winchester was arrested-”

“My client made sure to wait until the kid was out of the garage to honor the restraining order and kept everything by the books.” the lawyer rolled his eyes.

“Was he keeping it by the books when he took ‘Azazel’, a known member of Morningstar MC, aside that day and not only informed him that my client is Dean Winchester’s wife, but pointed her out to him? That same Azazel of Morningstar MC who has not only stalked my clients, taking pictures of their home, parking outside of it, but also harassed my client while she was vulnerable, shopping in a grocery store with her young daughter?”

“Your honor, this is all fabricated nonsense. My client is a respected detective, and the only ties he has to any MC is putting members behind bars, like Mr Winchester.-”

“Respected detective?” Brady all but laughed as he began speaking over the other man. “His ex wife begs to differ, your honor. In fact, she has a restraining order against him as well. He has a history of putting women in danger, I have the damn file but I can give her a call!”

“-there is no mention of an 'Azazel' in the arrest reports,” He raised his voice to be heard over Brady. “and I can assure you, my client-”

“We have him on video.” Sam chimes in from behind and the judge glances back to Sam. “I was there, I saw him with Baker, but we also have surveillance from the cameras outside the garage. He was there, he was with Baker.”

“Who are you?” the judge asked him.

“Sam Winchester.” Sam stood tall and firm. “Dean’s brother.”

“He currently resides with my clients, as they no longer feel safe in their own home due to the harassment and threats they’ve received since Baker’s actions during Dean’s arrest.”

“If they’re so unsafe, why not move?” the other lawyer questioned with a scoff of a laugh, his hands going up into the air before falling again.

“Because I’m pregnant and that’s my home.” you snapped at him, shooting him a glare. “Where the fuck else can I go? He’ll find me. I can’t go to the police because Baker is a detective, who’s going to believe me? I don’t know if you know this, your honor, but I’ve dealt with abusive men before. My hu- my first husband, he-” you swallowed, trying not to cry, but a tear escaped all the same. “He hurt us. Bad. And that trauma, it doesn’t go away. It never goes away. And now I have this man, this man I don’t even know, a man I’ve never seen before the day I saw him with Detective Baker, he’s following me around. I’m scared. Where do I go? Who am I supposed to trust? Who’s going to help keep me safe when it's a man with a badge who put me in danger?” Alex reached over and took hold of your hand. “I’m scared for my kids. I’m scared the stress will make me lose this one.” you looked down, running your hand over your stomach. “I’m scared I’ll die simply for who I fell in love with.”

“Do you have the footage?” the judge asked.

“The original, we entered as evidence in Dean Winchester’s arrest case, but I’ve got an authenticated copy right here.” Brady handed over the small disk case.

Without a word, the judge opened the case and put the disk in his computer. It was quiet for a few minutes, and then you could hear faint noises coming from the speakers. You stared down at your hand in Alex’s as you faintly heard Dean speaking.

“Is this the arrest?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“This is Azazel?” he glanced up and Brady nodded. His eyes were back on the screen as you heard yelling start and all hell broke loose. Alex gave your hand a squeeze knowing this was hard for you to hear. Before long, the sound died down to a quiet buzz again. “Is this your detective?” he turned his screen so everyone could see, just beyond the gate, barely in view of the camera, Baker was talking to the man. Then you saw yourself appear and both men turned to you. Baker looked serious while the other man smiled deviously. “Want to tell me again how your client doesn’t know this man?”

“How’d it go today, baby?”

You smiled so bright and happy hearing his voice. “We don’t pay Brady enough.” you laughed into the phone. “You’re going to hear from your lawyer real soon, Dean, but Baker is done. He’s off the case completely and the judge wants a full investigation. Into everything. Even the way your case was handled.”

“That’s good.”

“I know I shouldn’t be getting my hopes up yet, but..” you smiled. “I really hope this means you can come home soon.”

“We’ll see.” You knew he was trying to be realistic but you could hear the hope in his voice. “I miss you, baby.”

“I miss you too, Dean.”

You heard someone call out his name, and Dean was quiet for a second. “Baby, I got to go. Apparently my lawyer’s here to see me.”

“I love you, Dean.”

“I love you too, baby. I’ll talk to you later, I promise.”

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[eddiesasspbrak]

Daydreams

Richie had trouble staying focused in class, always daydreaming about Eddie. He gets caught one too many times and has to face the punishment.

Part of my “I’d rearrange the alphabet to put U and I together” series

Read on AO3

A    E

3k+ words

Richie was in detention again. He was a good student when it came to his studies, consistently got As, but he couldn’t always keep his mouth shut. He’d landed himself in detention many times and had phone calls and letters home to discuss his behavior. Given his grades, they never took any serious action, though he hated how disappointed his parents would be each time. He tried to change, but you can’t easily change a trashmouth.

Lately, it wasn’t his mouth that was getting him in trouble. For a while he’d found himself daydreaming more than normal. He wasn’t a stranger to frequent daydreams when class became boring or he was in a situation that triggered one. The subject of each daydream had been the same and, at first, they had worried him. After a while he realized what exactly was going on inside his head and he accepted it and gave into it. He was hesitant to actually do anything, so he just ran scenarios through his head.

The subject of the daydreams was none other than his best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak. He wasn’t exactly sure when he fell in love with him, but part of him thought he always had been. It just took him a while to realize it. Before he truly understood what he was feeling he thought it might be due to puberty and rampant teenage hormones. But he was sure of it, it was love. Slowly the fantasies became more frequent and to the point where he couldn’t control them anymore. He’d look across the classroom at Eddie and all he’d have to do was yawn and suddenly Richie was gone into his mind, sitting under the big tree in front of school with Eddie’s head on his lap while he napped.

Sometimes he didn’t even realize he had zoned out until something pulled him out of it again. A few times he thought that he’d actually confessed his love for Eddie only to realize it wasn’t real. Probably for the best. It was worrisome though. If he couldn’t differentiate fantasy from reality, surely, he’d make a fool of himself eventually. Still, he couldn’t help himself. Eddie was like sunlight and Richie was the idiot who kept staring into it. If he went blind from his brilliance it would be worth it. Except that he wouldn’t be able to stare at him any longer, he’d have to survive on memories of his smile. He knew that if he voiced these things to Eddie, he would think he was crazy.

Every time Richie told a joke and Eddie laughed beside him, it filled him with warmth. He loved it when he’d tell him to shut up or he’d scold him for what he said too. He loved every part of him and every interaction with him was perfect. So why wouldn’t he want to extend them in his mind? The Eddie in his fantasies always told him that he loved him too. He wasn’t sure it would go like that in real life. He didn’t even know if Eddie liked boys or girls or somewhere in between. Richie wasn’t sure if he himself like boys in general or if it was just Eddie because he was all he saw. He’d imagined what it was like to kiss him so many times, he thought he might actually know what it felt like.

They’d been in history, learning about some old white guy, when Richie found himself looking at Eddie for the hundredth time that day. They didn’t sit together. Richie wasn’t allowed to sit with any of his friends in class because he was known to talk during lessons. That didn’t stop them from passing notes to one another. So, when he saw Eddie intensely focused on his notebook, it was unlikely he was writing notes about the lessons and more likely he was writing something to one of their friends. Or maybe to Richie. Maybe it was a love note that he would sneak into his locker or backpack signed from a secret admirer. And so, the fantasy started.

In his head, Richie saw Eddie slipping notes into his things and him finding them. In the pages of his textbook, in his pocket, in his locker, on his desk at the start of class, even in his lunch bag. Richie would theorize who it was sending him secret love letters until he finally caught Eddie with his hand in his backpack. Eddie would be embarrassed and flustered. He’d speak at the speed only he was capable of and deny that he was leaving a note. He’d say that he saw it in there and wanted to see what it said. Richie would know better and he’d silence Eddie with a kiss.

Richie was just getting to the good part when a hand slapped down on his desk, startling him and snapping him back into reality. It was the fourth time that week he’d zoned out in that class and the fourth time he’d been caught. He was sent to the office and, after a long lecture about the importance of paying attention in class, he was given a detention. It sucked but it was nothing he wasn’t used to.

After school, his friends walked him to the classroom where detention was held, telling him where to meet them when he was free.

“Real friends would find a way to get out of the detention.” He said with a grin.

They all ignored him, Stan rolled his eyes and Beverly shoved him through the door. He flipped them off as they left him there before finding a seat near the front. He found that if he was diligent in doing his homework during detention, sometimes they’d let him out a little early. So, he always sat in the front of the room, so they’d notice how hard he was working. Mrs. Walsh was the teacher left to babysit them this time. They rotated who had to supervise detention. She barely paid attention to them and he was pretty sure she was playing a game on her phone.

Not wanting to pull out a bunch of stuff, he decided to do some reading for his English class. They were currently working their way through Shakespeare plays and Hamlet was burning a hole in his backpack.

He did a decent job of focusing on it for a about ten minutes, and then his eyes began to get tired. This wasn’t unusual. He just had to take a short break, look at anything other than the words crammed together on the pages. The classroom they were in was usually used for science classes and the back half of the room was big tables with stools pushed up the edge and sinks off to one side. Other than that, they were empty as all of the science equipment was kept in cupboards that lined either side of the room only broken up by the emergency shower and eyewash station. At least once a week someone snuck into the classroom and pulled the chain that activated the shower and made a mess in the classroom.

The other people in detention were passing the time in their own ways. One girl in the corner was drawing in a sketch pad and had a charcoal smudge on her cheek. There was a guy sleeping with his legs up on the desk in front of him and his head tilted back against the seat. It looked painful. A girl sitting two seats over had a textbook open and propped up against a pile of books behind it. From the front it looked like she was studying but from where Richie was sitting, he could see that she had her phone hidden and was watching 10 Things I Hate About You. A favorite amongst him and his friends.

He thought about the plot and wondered if they’d get to The Taming of the Shrew while they were on Shakespeare plays. He’d never actually read or seen the play that the movie was based on, but he’d seen the movie about a hundred times with his friends. His mind drifted to the scene where Patrick was in detention and Kat entered the classroom to break him out. It was one of their top favorite scenes in the movie and suddenly Richie wondered if any of his friends would actually do that for him. He’d joked about it before entering the room, but he couldn’t actually see any of them doing it. Maybe Bev. It was a silly and sweet thing for someone to do he thought. The person he’d want to see do it would be Eddie. After all, it was supposed to be a romantic thing when Kat did it.

Any hope Richie had in getting back to the play were out the window as a new fantasy took over. Almost as if he’d been expecting it, Eddie entered the classroom, earning the attention of everyone awake. He was mildly flustered at the attention being on him as he made his way to the front desk. Mrs. Walsh looked up at him in annoyance as she set her phone aside, screen facing down. Richie really did wonder what she did on her phone that was so engrossing. He’d figured it was games but maybe she was on tinder. She was a widow, maybe she was looking for new love or just someone to warm her bed. Richie immediately regretted having that thought though he’d have to tell his friends that line later.

“Mr. Kaspbrak, I don’t see your name on the detention list today.” She said, eyeing the list sitting on the desk.

“No, I’m not here for detention. I’m here for Richie.” Eddie said, looking back at Richie with a small smile.

“Mr. Tozier still has forty minutes before he can leave.”

“I understand but it’s an emergency. His cousin…broke his leg.”

“I’m sure it will still be broken in forty minutes.”

“I know it doesn’t sound like it’s urgent, but you see, Richie is the only one he trusts. He doesn’t like being touched. So, he’s been screaming and threatening the EMTs with rocks if they come near him. We need Richie to come and calm him down so they can get him to the hospital and get a cast on his leg. If we don’t hurry, he could realistically lose his leg.”

“Mr. Kaspbrak-.”

“It’s true! My mom knows a guy who broke his leg while riding a bike on a trail and there was no one else around and no cell service. He couldn’t even drag himself for help so he just sat there praying someone would come by. He sat there four hours before someone finally came and by the time they got him to the hospital, the bone had started to…rot! They had to amputate, and he hasn’t ridden a bike since. Do you want that to happen to little…Timmy??”

Richie was biting his lip to keep from laughing as he watched Mrs. Walsh’s face go from mildly annoyed to extremely frustrated. She likely wasn’t believing a word coming from Eddie’s mouth, but she also didn’t want to deal with this any longer. Besides, this was Richie’s fantasy and he could make anything happen.

“Fine. Go attend to your cousin but I expect a letter from your mother by tomorrow.” She said, picking her phone back up.

“Yes ma’am!” Richie stood and grabbed his backpack, shoving Hamlet back into the open pocket.

He followed Eddie out into the hall and managed to hold his laughter until they were a good distance away. Eddie was smiling widely in a way that made Richie’s heart skip a beat. He just wanted to grab him and kiss him. But he would get to that later. He had plenty of time to enjoy the build up to it. He waited until they were outside to say anything.

“I thought you left with the others.” Richie said.

“I stayed behind to break you out. It took me a while to come up with an excuse though.” Eddie chuckled.

“It was a beautiful one. Hopefully little Timmy will be ok now that his favorite cousin is on his way.”

“Shut up, it was a good lie.”

Richie slung his arm around Eddie’s shoulders as they walked. The others would be at Bill’s house. He’d gotten a new multi-player video game they were all wanting to try. It was the first day since he’d gotten it that both of his parents would be out of the house so they could be as loud as they wanted without reprimand. Of course, Richie was in no rush to fantasize about what was actually going to come when he did get out of detention. He wanted to focus on Eddie.

“You’re my hero.” Richie said, squeezing his shoulder lightly.

“Does that make you the damsel in distress?” Eddie asked.

“Absolutely. I was debating growing my hair out or losing a shoe. But this works too.”

“You’re so dumb.” Despite his words, Eddie was smiling.

Richie didn’t know how much longer he had and all he could think about was kissing him. Even if it was pretend. They’d cut through the park, which was mostly empty this time of day, and the shade from trees set a mood with the sun poking through between the leaves above them. With no witnesses, his mind had created the perfect scene for a kiss with the object of his affection. Pulling Eddie to a stop with him, Richie dropped his bag in the dirt and, cupping his face with one hand, he leaned in and kissed him. It was an innocent kiss. More innocent than they typically were but he was in detention and didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

He’d imagined kissing Eddie so many times, basing it on the spin the bottle kiss he’d had a year prior at a birthday party. It was always the same in every fantasy, but this time was different. His lips were always pillowy and silky in his mind, but this time they were a little chapped yet still wonderful. Eddie always kissed him back immediately in his daydreams, this time he didn’t. When Richie pulled away, he looked shocked, his face and ears red.

“What…why…did you kiss me?” Eddie asked.

“Because I love you.” Richie had said those words more times than he could count while pretending. This time the weight of words felt heavy on his shoulders. Everything was different. Too different. Richie closed his eyes and tried to wake himself from the fantasy, but when he opened his eyes again, he was still standing in the park with Eddie. He knew that he’d been having trouble differentiating his daydreams from reality, but he never thought it was this bad. Bad enough to actually confess his love thinking it was just in his head.

Richie took in the still shocked face of the other boy and his heart began to pound in his chest. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he had to scramble for an excuse. “Fuck…hey Eds I was kidding. Don’t worry about it. Let’s go to Bill’s ok?” He picked his bag back up and slung it over his shoulder.

“You were kidding? What the fuck, Richie!” Eddie yelled, making no move to follow him. “I’m going home.”

Richie turned then, expecting to see Eddie’s angry face red and narrowed eyebrows. Instead, he was met with tears. At first, he wasn’t sure he’d seen them, but when one broke free and slid down his cheek, he was sure. He was crying. Why was he crying?

“Eds…I’m sorry. It was a dumb joke. You don’t have to cry about it.” Richie tried to laugh but he felt his heart breaking for a multitude of reasons.

“I thought you were serious! I should have known better. You may think everything you do is funny but playing with someone’s emotions isn’t! Did Stan tell you about my feelings? Is that why you did this?”

“Feelings? Stan hasn’t told me anything.”

“Don’t lie to me. Why else would you do that?”

Richie wasn’t stupid. He always got good grades and studying was easy for him. He’d learned to read between the lines and was able to understand people even when they weren’t speaking plainly. So, it didn’t take more than a second for him to understand what Eddie was saying. He loved Richie. Or at least liked him as more than a friend. He was so stupid for not noticing before. He’d always thought he was just looking too far into little things, hoping to find proof that he felt the same way. Now he knew he wasn’t.

“Eddie, I love you. I lied. It wasn’t a joke. I love you so much that I can’t stop thinking about you. I kissed you without thinking and panicked. Please don’t cry.” Richie had dropped his bag once more and was pulling Eddie into a tight hug against his chest.

“Are you lying?” Eddie sniffled.

“No. I swear. I’ve thought about telling you and kissing you so many times it’s criminal.”

Eddie chuckled a bit, his arms coming back around his middle, squeezing him back. One day Richie would tell him the truth about the fantasies and the mistake, but now wasn’t the time. He just wanted to hold him in his arms and maybe kiss him again and again until they got sick of it. As if that was possible.

After coming to an agreement, Richie sent a text to Bill informing him that he and Eddie would not be joining them at his place that afternoon. Instead, they would be going to Richie’s basement where they would be left alone and could talk about their newly found feelings for one another. And kiss. He couldn’t’ forget about the kissing. He’d thought about it so much, now that he could actually do it, Richie wasn’t about to let a second pass when he could be kissing Eddie Kaspbrak. The daydreams wouldn’t stop there, he’d just get to tell Eddie about them afterward and learn of the daydreams he had as well.

[dxitydoo]

So... the iPhone SE...

Alright this one is gonna be a long one so scroll on past if you’re not interested. If you are, then buckle up because here’s a multi-part essay about my opinions on the new SE.

For anyone that saw my post about getting a new phone and wondered what phone I got, I got the new iPhone SE (yes, I’m an Apple person. Don’t come for me).

At first, I was seeing videos of people getting excited over the phone but now, as time has gone on, those same people are now making videos criticising the phone.

Admittedly, they have some good points to bring up. The battery of the new SE is not amazing. It doesn’t outlast my dad’s XR which is somewhat annoying to say the least.

My counter-argument to that is that it lasted a whole day of me playing games on full brightness in the sunlight and didn’t die on me once which is honestly incredible after the last phone i had but anywho we’ll discuss this later.

My problem with a lot of those videos is that I feel like they’re getting the wrong end of the stick about what the SE is trying to be and they’re comparing it to the wrong phones.

The Original SE

The original SE’s main selling point (seriously why did Apple name them like this this is confusing) was that it had the newer internals of the 6S (so the faster processor, the better camera, etc) in the smaller body of the older 5S.

That was why I, and a lot of others I’m sure, liked it. Because it was a newer phone but in a size I preferred.

It also didn’t break the bank.

The old SE was praised for combining new and old in a way that complimented the old form-factor and rejuvenated in while also allowing people to access the newer features that were coming out in updates. At the time of writing this (27/04/2020), the old SE still supports new iOS updates and runs iOS 13 with minimal hiccups (not counting the fact that iOS 13 isn’t the most bug-free of updates).

But now, in 2020, the new SE is released and people are criticising it for the same thing they praised it for back in the day. They’re complaining that it has Touch ID, that it doesn’t have a edge-to-edge display, that it’s small, that the battery isn’t good, that the camera doesn’t stack up.

Look.

Everyone is free to have their own opinion. If you don’t like the SE, that’s fine. You don’t have to. No one is forcing you to. Just keep scrolling coz I do like the SE and I’m about to defend it til I run out of breath.

The “Old” Body

The SE combines old and new. That’s it’s schtick, that’s its gimmick. It was the thing for the 2016 SE, its the same for the 2020 SE. Although I would’ve loved to see an SE with an edge-to-edge display like any of the X or the 11 range, I’m not super surprised it hasn’t happened.

In fact, the small changes they have made, such as all colours now coming with a black bevel (and the better colour matching between the bevel and the screen), make it look really high-quality and beautiful honestly.

It has the same body as the 6, yes, but it doesn’t look like the 6 because of that colour-matching. And I appreciate that.

Oh! And the back being the non-metallic colour? God that’s sexy. The back is more reminiscent of the 11 (or the XR, I suppose, depending on what colour you got) than the 6 or 7. So it’s not unchanged?

Touch ID and Haptic Touch

Again, a controversial topic. The Touch ID in the SE is like the 3rd Gen or something?? I don’t actually know. But it’s several generations in at this point and it shows.

I came from the original SE, which had one of the first ever generations of Touch ID (if not the first) and the speed with which this new phone unlocks is incredible compared to the older model.

I tap the button once and the phone unlocks instantly. That is it.

Maybe it’s cumbersome to have Touch ID back again after all this time but if you’ve come from a Touch ID phone, especially one of the older models (which really... I think that’s probably the intended audience), it’s a big improvement.

And look no further for someone who was viscerally against the fake button Haptic Touch thing.

I hated the idea of it. My view was I either wanted the real button or no button at all. Full stop. End of story. You’d never change my mind.

Yeah... the new SE changed my mind.

I have the haptics turned up to the highest setting and it actually feels like a real button. Its less spongy than a real button, of course, and feels stiffer (kinda? Maybe just shallower) but its actually a really satisfying feature.

I remember first trying the fake button on the 7 and it vibrated at the wrong time or you’d try to press it to do one thing and it’d do another. It was confusing and made it very difficult to use.

I will say now I haven’t actually tried using an 8 so I can’t pass judgement on that but i like the SE.

And the Haptic Touch is really really nice.

I never thought I’d have a phone that has built-in rumble when playing games but here we are. This is the future.

Aside from being kinda nifty to feel the vibration in your hands when something happens on-screen, the Haptic Touch vibrates under your finger when interacting with the rotating dials to set timers or reblogging posts on tumblr. It’s a weird experience but not an unpleasant one and I like it way more than I was expecting to.

The Small Size

As for the size?

I really like it.

It’s big enough that it feels like a step-up from my old phone but not so big that I’m struggling to hold it (*cough cough* the XR *cough cough*).

Okay so my touch-typing is suffering a wee bit at the moment but tbh I started to struggle on my old phone before I upgraded coz the screen was just a little too small so it’s more a me thing than an it thing. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.

The camera.

I feel the need to mention that my last phone was the 2016 SE so, maybe it’s because my standards are really low, or maybe I’ve never owned an 11 and, therefore, have no comparison for it that way? But I don’t think the camera is bad.

In fact, I would even go so far as to say the camera is really fricking good.

After using a phone with a front-facing camera that could barely shoot 480p, stepping up to 1080p on the front is Wild™. The difference between this new camera and the old one is incredible.

If you want a camera that shoots good quality photos, has good colour balance, can actually show the sky as blue when shooting through a window (yes this is how low my expectations are), then omg this phone is incredible.

Obviously, its never gonna beat the 11 with its two cameras and its not gonna be able to contend with the 11 Pro series with their three cameras but hey, the phone is like half the price so??

The Battery

Okay, so lets talk about the battery.

I know this is a bit of a sore spot with people because iPhones recently have been coming out with bigger and better batteries every year.

I did a quick check through and, according to Apple, the battery life is about the same as both the 7 and the 8, which makes sense as they all share the same body. Unfortunately, that means that its probably a size issue. As in, thats the longest a battery of that size can last in a phone. Which is kinda annoying.

But, this is a post about my experience with the SE and I haven’t ever owned a 7 or an 8. My mum owned a 7 and the battery on that was god-awful and I’ve had a much better experience with my SE than she did.

First of all: some context.

Again, a friendly reminder my last phone was a four year old SE. It was a 64GB one as well, so you know I’m being legit (they stopped selling the 64GB (in the UK at least) about a year after the phone’s initial release).

So the battery on my old phone was absolutely fine. At first. As time went on and the phone got older, it did, unfortunately, begin to struggle.

As a reference, a few months before I replaced it (given lockdown doesn’t give the most accurate overview of what it was like to use on a day-to-day basis), it wouldn’t make it through a day at school without dying at least once, sometimes twice.

I had to carry a portable charger with me everywhere I went.

I left my house when it was on 100% and, by the time I got to school after an hour on the bus, it would be on 60-70% on a good day.

Letting your battery die everyday is really not good for it but, try as I might, I couldn’t stop it from happening.

I tell you this to let you know that my criteria for a good battery is literally just “lasts me through the day”.

I’ve had my new phone for about three days now and it hasn’t died on me once.

I played games on it in bright sunlight with the phone on full brightness for several hours straight yesterday and yet it still lasted me through the day and then some. After being off charge for 11 hours, it just about hit 20% before I put it on charge.

Today, I was on social media: tumblr, instagram, youtube, for the majority of today. Both tumblr and instagram had an uncanny ability to completely decimate the battery life of my old phone. They could reduce it from 50% to 40% after 5 minutes. But, again, no problemo for my new phone.

It got to about 50% today before I put it back on charge to go have dinner.

I’d say that lasts through the day quite nicely.

Especially given it’s getting a lot more use than it would normally because a) I’m stuck inside with nothing to do and b) shiny new phone!!!

But I digress.

So, Why Does The SE Exist?

I’m gonna be real. I don’t think the iPhone SE (2020) is trying to be anything fancy. It’s not trying to be the next iPhone 11, it’s not trying to replace the XR. If anything, it’s replacing the 8.

I don’t think the SE is a bad phone. It does everything it says it does and it does it well.

I think the YouTube reviewers have it slightly wrong. I don’t think they should be comparing the SE to the 11 or the XR because, realistically, the people who own those phones aren’t gonna be buying the SE for themselves.

The people who are gonna be buying the SE are the people who have the 5s or the old SE or the 6s or even maybe the 7. (I’m not sure how noticeable the jump would be from 8 to SE, given they have very similar specs).

They’re the kind of people who want a new phone but don’t have the money to go for the more expensive XR or 11 range.

Or maybe they don’t want a giant phone because idk bout you but I have small hands and the XR is both large and heavy and that’s not practical. Plus, the XR with women’s jeans? Really? Not happening.

So, while I understand why reviewers are comparing the SE to the 11s or the XR—because the SE has the internals of those two and is closer to them in terms of release date—I don’t think it’s actually realistic.

TL;DR

YouTube reviewers are comparing the SE to the recent phones when they should be comparing it to the older ones, which is the more likely transition. The iPhone SE has a lot more going for it than people say and I really like it.

[theory-talestelltalesss]

∙ Parallel Hearts 1 ∙

Idea:

AU where Taehyung is a former street artist who sells Van Gogh imitations in Paris that gets him in trouble.

Description:

Her is a docile perfectionist art student who is unsatisfied with the course of her life. She meets Taehyung, a beautiful and free-spirited boy who sells Van Gogh imitations to pay his tuition for art school. They have something that the other lack. Her needs Taehyung’s creativity and Taehyung needs Her’s painting skills in order for them to produce great paintings. Her is the better painter but Taehyung is the better artist. One day, they wake up and the other is nowhere to be found. Both of their pursuit is to use their paintings as clues to find where the other is. Along the way, they learn more about each other and uncover a dark past.

You can read more details of the fic HERE if this is your first time. Or you can just read it and be surprised! Enjoy! 

- TT 🌹

Chapters: |  1  |  2  | - (Fanfic in progress)

CHAPTER 1: THE MEETING 

(6.9K words)

Her lived in the same town as Van Gogh when he was alive and where he was most inspired. It was a quaint little town in Arles, France. She grew up passing by the same places that he saw and painted. Although Her idolized him, it bothers her that she can never be as close to a painter as he was, no matter how hard she tries.

“Doesn’t this look weird? The color scheme? The textures? I don’t know what it is but it doesn’t look right!” Her complains every time she tries to create her own style inspired by Van Gogh.

Whilst Her is tremendously knowledgable about Van Gogh’s techniques, she can never break her style of being realistic whenever she paints. She never had the opportunity, no, the capability to fully release herself in her works. She always had the tendency to draw things as they are and never let her imagination run wild. The more she tried to be imaginative, the more realistic her paintings got. She can never steer away from it, and being a perfectionist never helped her either. In fact, it only made it worse.

It was not even just the paintings that bothered her that she couldn’t follow. She also couldn’t follow the life he lived. Of course she doesn’t want to starve and be a vagabond with a mental illness, but Van Gogh’s life was full of events, both good and bad, that she rationalizes eventually manifested in his beautiful paintings.

“I would rather die of passion than of boredom - Vincent Van Gogh,” Her reads in her book as she swipes the letters with endearment.

Although her parents see her talent as a gift from grace and supports her to hone it, they have different plans on what she should do with it. Her’s family owns a furniture store called by their last name– ‘Le Lune.’ Beds, lamps, cribs, tables, dressers, decorations– they sell everything. The dream was to expand and build more stores in other cities. However, most of the designs of the furnitures lost its appeal as the trend changed over time. Eventually, the business started declining. 

When Her moved to Paris 7 hours away from home to go to college, the plan was that she would design the furniture after graduation. She knew what her future looked like. She has to redesign almost everything and help out with the family business. Perhaps even hand-paint or hand-craft some parts of the furniture to create a niche for the family brand name. A personal consultation for corporation interiors was also another idea if the business ever gets successful enough. 

This plan frustrated Her because her passion is not in Interior Design – it was in Fine Arts, just like Van Gogh. As she is docile, timid, and filial, and who has deep respect for her parents and the family business, Her yields to their wishes for the betterment of the family. Plus, a job after graduation never hurt anybody.

What am I going to do with a Fine Arts degree if I can’t feed myself?

Café Terrace at Night in Arles, France by Vincent Van Gogh (1888).

The grass smells freshly cut with drops of water clinging onto its edges. The sculptures of flirtatious cherubs run across the field. The different colored flowers dance along the periphery of the bushes, neatly assembled at the curbs of the pathways, welcoming spring delightfully. 

Although the atmosphere of the outside world is full of life, Her’s inner mind is in a grim state. She goes to a place outside of school whenever she feels exasperated or disheartened about her life and that place is the Panthéon. The Panthéon is a museum, or even precisely, a mausoleum for people who were the most notable citizens of France. Some of the people buried there were people of the arts she also adores. 

It was the closest place from school where she can get inspired. Whenever she sees Victor Hugo’s name on the wall, she smiles, remembering his lovely works of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, or of Les Miserables, which are now made into films and musicals. Whenever she sees Saint-Exupéry‘s name, she wonders how his simple ninety-page work of The Little Prince resonated within so many hearts around the world.

In every corner of the Panthéon, there is something to lift her spirits. Every corner except one. As of the moment, Her is not in the mood to be cheered up, but she’s in one of those moods to make some kind of catharsis – and staring at the Foucault pendulum does just that. 

With a heavy heart, she walks over to the giant pendulum that hangs within the massive arches, centered in one of the intrados of the Panthéon. An awe-inspiring mural of the celestial sky and of the divine surround the wire that holds it afloat in the ceiling. A ray of the gloomy twilight falls down at it meters below to softly give it a subliminal spotlight, and convey it as one of the staple objects in the museum. 

“…the Foucault pendulum is a simple device named after French physicist Léon Foucault and conceived as an experiment to demonstrate the Earth’s rotation. The pendulum was introduced in 1851. Today…” the tour guide says to a small crowd of foreigners. 

Ever since she knew what this pendulum was for, she cringes. Not because of its function, but because it’s a sad reminder of herself.

Like the pendulum’s sway and its momentum in the air, Her’s life is already meticulously calculated as it swings along the numbers of the dial. With each dip at the bottom is her journey towards a goal until it reaches the peak of its momentum, and then it starts again. Her life has become routine and mundane from day to day since the start of college. She knows exactly where she will end up, she know exactly when, and fleeting from plans are just interpreted as irresponsible. 

“My perfect parents would be disappointed in their “perfect” daughter,” she whispers to herself. “Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t I just go off and lead lives like…like Victor Hugo, where I can go to Belgium in a whim, or…or Saint-Exupéry, and fly off to some island, or Van Gogh and go to 20 cities if I want?”

After some time internalizing but despising this sad fact about the course of her life, she opposes the thoughts intoxicating her mind and stop moving her eyes with the pendulum, closing them for a moment to give herself a relief of thought. She lets go of the circular railing she didn’t even realize she was gripping until her palms turned ivory.

As she opens her eyes again, the pendulum peeks at the periphery of her field of view but her eyes chose to focus on something else…or someone else. 

Her sight lands on a boy on the other side who is inside the railings of the pendulum, kneeling on one knee as he watches the pendulum with a curious concern. If her eyes are not enough resisting her will to steer them away, her ears decide to do it as well when they somewhat malfunction in transducing signals of the crowd of tourists leaving the area. 

She thought for a moment that he was part of the marble statues of the historic rulers behind him. But as she stares longer…no, he is breathing and human. 

The low glow of the light from above teases a hint of the hills of his handsome features. His light jade eyes that follow the pendulum obediently are striking and almost menacing. His dark ashy blonde hair is rugged and out of place under a newsboy hat with unruly bangs trying to stretch down his forehead and neck. The ends land comfortably past his commanding eyebrows and flirts at his nape, almost past its crook. A turtleneck coats his neck layered with a button-up that flows down his body, presenting him with a disheveled look. 

Her finds herself captivated that she forgets to be curious as to why he’s inside the railings guarding the pendulum, or why he looks worried, or why he holds the railing with a hand that looks like it’s streaked with paint and the other props him on the floor as he kneels down. 

H-He’s so beautiful. 

Her finds herself captivated, for he didn’t have the beauty that celebrities on TV or models in magazines possessed. He has the kind of beauty that reminisces of an old soul. The kind of beauty that stands the test of time…timeless– like an old painting people would want to preserve for years, decades, centuries, or even forever. Not a carve of the statues or stroke of paint in the museum, even made with impeccable skill and control, do not have the force to distract her from his coincidental beauty.

She then realizes that looking at him for too long beyond abuses normal courtesy and she should look away before he notices. However, she can’t seem to take his eyes off him. As she continues to stare, he seems to feel her eyes on him, and shifts his eyes to meet hers. Her blood rushes to her head, defying gravity, resisting to flow anywhere else in her body. 

She tries to follow the pendulum again with her eyes, but they resist her. As if acknowledging her constant desire to look at him, he smiles at her, erasing the worried expression he had for a moment. As if playing peek-a-boo, the pendulum covers him for half a second, and reveals him again, only becoming more beautiful with each sway. She feels a fleeting wave of euphoria before–

SNAP! BOOM! “Mon dieu!”

The ball of the pendulum hits the ground with an echoing boom, disturbing the serenity, rolling off of the marbled floor, and trailing the wire that held it. Her abruptly wakes up from the spell and covers her mouth in disbelief that the Foucault pendulum, which has been swaying for years, just snapped from above. As an advocate for the arts and museums, she knows the gravity of the situation.

She looks back at where the boy was but he was nowhere to be found. A guard picks the ball up and checks it for any indentations or damages. Since it’s almost closing time, the museum is left with only a few visitors, and only a few more who are near the pendulum’s vicinity. The guard directs them away and commands them to give the area some space. Forced, the visitors, including Her, start drifting to other corners of the museum.

She walks without direction, only following the direction of a couple of people scattering from the area. Out of nowhere, she feels a tug on her long-sleeve, hurling her to face someone’s body. 

“Whoa-”

She looks up and see the beautiful boy so close that she can almost see the branches of his light jade orbs. She notices more up close that his clothes and patches of his skin were tainted with random splotches and streaks of paint. He turns his head to the side and observes another piece of art she didn’t even notice was right in front of them.

“What a weird incident right?” he says in the direction of the mural. His voice is surprisingly baritone low and velvety that she feels it resonate her vessels. 

She manages to voice out, “yeah…must have been an accident.”

“Some guy is proooobably in big trouble,” he chuckles.

“I mean…that pendulum has been swinging since it’s been here,”

“Not really, just since 1902. It’s been going back and forth between here and an  art museum near here. You won’t even know which one is the copy anymore,”

“H-How do you know that?”

He looks at Her with a cheeky half-smile.

“I just read the sign that was behind you…when you were staring at me too much,” he shifts his head back to the mural, “Yeah, I’m aware I’m good looking,” he gives her a glint of his lip curved at one side.

So this is his personality.

For some reason, she feels anxious that this boy will soon get her first impression and she tries to find what to say to try to distract him from her impolite behavior. She also doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction of hearing a compliment after that statement.

“I-IIII notice you have paint on your hands. Do you paint?”

“Yeah, I painted this piece right in front of us,” he gestures complacently with a smile from ear to ear.

“What?” she looks at it again confused, “But this is Puvis de Chavannes’.” Being here at the Panthéon many times, Her’s come to know each and every piece.

“Ah, so you’re a lover of the arts too,” he says with a smirk as if she doesn’t look it. She feels this boy trying to toy with her and in her own safe haven nonetheless. She can’t help but feel a little violated by this new character in her domain, all of a sudden collecting pieces of her as if he’s a scientist gathering data. 

He continues, “So what’s your favorite type of art?”

“I like…Impressionism and Post-Impressionism, why?”

“Ah…so you’re one of those…I’m guessing you like Van Gogh and all those other lunatics,”

“Excus–”

“Shh!” 

He holds his finger over her lips and looks at the guards. Her figures the boy doesn’t have any concept of personal space demonstrated by his sudden behavior. He seems pleased with himself earning an aggravated reaction from her, as if trying to tug her from the confines of her usual docile and timid personality. His expression impish as he nods his head up and whispers, 

“Be quiet and follow me.”

He takes her hand and dashes across the humongous platform, flying by histories of sculptures of French leaders, skidding on the intricate designs of the ivory marble floors, and passing by grand murals of glorious heroes and angels. She almost can’t keep up with the strides of his infinitely long legs with her shorter ones.

They go from pillar to pillar under the dome architecture of the museum, eventually reaching a dark opening framed with geometric details that uncovers a dark spiral staircase below. He lets go of her hand and goes down the stairs with ease as she pauses to think about going down.

“Come on, slow poke!” his voice vibrates the cold marble walls and she sees him smile like a child while looking above at her through the clefts of the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” she tries to ask but is only replied with more of his steps. She tries to process her situation before she goes down. 

Why should I follow this boy? 

Even though she’s acknowledged he’s a little outlandish, there’s something interesting about him that draws her in and her curiosity grows with each ticking second. She goes down with prudent steps and catches up to him.

“Come on, haha,” he gestures to a small crevice.

How does this boy know where these are? 

The boy moves with too much familiarity as if this is his home. Her realizes her ignorance claiming this museum to be her sanctuary, when in fact, there’s someone else far more acquainted to it than she is.

Eventually, they end up in the crypt, which is filtered with gloomy yellow lights, giving it an eerie vibe appropriate for its type of place. In the crypt lies some of the most notable French people who’ve contributed to the world such as Voltaire, Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Marie and Pierre Curie, and many more. Tourists are now nowhere to be found. 

Coming to a halt in front of a dull door, he rustles his pocket around and pulls out some old-looking keys. Her’s eyes widen in shock.

“You work here?”

“Shh!” reminding her of what she should be doing. “You know, those powerful dead people are just over there. You don’t want to disturb their rest do you?” he jokes. 

Her can’t help but notice that he seems to detect her unfaltering reverence for the place. Again, he gives her that smirk while he turns the key in its hole and her heart flutters in response. One more smirk, she thinks, and it might be ingrained into her memory forever.

He opens the door and inside are slews of paintings of Van Gogh. She becomes filled with joy when she sees them but it was only fleeting. As a lover of his works, she sees that they’re not authentic as soon as she scrutinizes the strokes. She also notices some are just patches of paint waiting to be filled with The Starry Night, or The Sunflowers, or The Night Café which made her nostalgic about the time she used to pass by the cafe in the painting every time she walked home from school back at in Arles. 

The Night Café by Vincent Van Gogh (Year 1888).

She looks around and there are a couple of carts that lay askew in random spaces in the room that’s filled with different-sized brushes, half-empty tubes of oil paint, too-many-to-count paper towels, and various-shaped painting knives. The boy looks like this room just gave birth to him, all covered in paint like his mother.

“You can tell, huh?“ he scratches the back of his head and gives me a wink. Her’s body is churning with adrenaline at the moment, with her heart trying to calm down from running, and that unexpected wink pushes her heart above its threshold, forcing it to somersault. She nervously ignores it and tries to speak confidently.

“I can tell they’re not real. Figured since this is not their home. But why do you have fake Van Gogh’s everywhere?”

“Well, I made these,” he crosses his arms as he bites his bottom lip and looks around the room. “I sell them to people as imitations…some people are more gullible than others though,” he chuckles to himself and sighs, looking like he’s recalling a mischievous memory. 

So, he’s a witty con artist.

“That’s a little sly, don’t you think?” she squints, trying to understand why a sly playful boy would be trusted with keeping a museum that require gentle care. It bothers her also since all Her’s life, she’s been an upstanding person, always following the rules.

“I’m a student at the art university here. I work here as a keeper and paint when I got time. The Panthéon can get exceptionally boring you know, so I found a way to make some extra bucks from dead time! Gotta pay that overpriced tuition, am I right?”

“…you don’t mean PCA, do you?” I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Of course PCA! Where else?” he chuckles. “Because…I study at PCA,” he looks at me with wide eyes. PCA, short for Paris College of Art – my art school. “Didn’t know we go to the same college.”

“All the more to trust you!! Now, since you’re an expert in these, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with these paintings, eh?”

“No, I’m not gonna help you do your evil deeds. Plus…” She looks at her watch, “I need to go home by 7:30 and catch the next bus to campus,”

“What about I show you a shortcut out, huh?” he takes out his keys and jiggles it in the air. “I know a way that will lead right to the bus stop! And you don’t have to see it that way. I’m interested to know some of Van Gogh’s techniques too! Take it like you’re lecturing me huh?…for educational purposes,” he raises both his eyebrows and looks at her with a comically coy face. 

He has a way with words, I’ll give him that. 

She looks around and points out his obvious flaws that she automatically sees. She eventually settles on a painting she sees the most mistakes in, The Red Vineyard. She remembers how she used to visit her first crush by the river when she was nine, Jungkook. He taught her how to skip rocks on the water and she taught him how to catch grasshoppers. Jungkook now works at a winery in another part of Paris that's being supplied by the vineyard back in their hometown.

The Red Vineyard by Vincent Van Gogh (Year 1888).

“You know, I lived here.”

“Lived where?”

“Arles. Where this painting was made. I used to play around by this river here,” she traces the curved shape of the river on the right side, painted with stubby but glistening yellow and blue shades. “Well my family, to be exact. Of course I live in the dorms now, but I go home on the holidays.”

“Interesting! It’s like you see the world in his eyes!”

“Hah-I guess,” Her timidly says as she’s reminded that even though they’ve lived in the same city, she will never be as half of a good a painter as him. Her then starts to converse about how to make the painting better. 

“Well for these,” she takes the paint brush in her hand, “you have to take burnt umber with some carmine yellow, and mix them slightly on the actual canvas and not on your palette,” 

She feels him get close to her face as they stare at an area of the painting together. As she continues to speak and demonstrate, she senses a small whiff of his saccharine scent and his shoulder softly touches hers while he eagerly observes her hand move in close proximity. She’s reminded of his nonexistent concept of personal space once more.

Her and the boy talk for a time about the process of how Van Gogh creates his pieces and she advise him of his techniques. She’s not sure where the conversation turned but he actually started teaching her some things.

“Well, can’t you wash first before you paint over it so it’s not noticeable? It would save a lot of time. Plus, you don’t even have to use oil paint, just use acrylic so it dries faster until it hardens so you get a good texture…”

She’s taken aback by his innovative ideas on using materials non-traditionally. In her time attending art school so far, even art class in high school back home, she has never heard of the peculiar techniques the boy talks about. Her curiosity piques how he’s acquired his knowledge. In addition to talking about paintings, the boy doesn’t think twice dismissing what he thinks are relatively preposterous ideas of their mutual professors that they forcibly instill on their students. Her finds it amusing and it makes her laugh the way he describes them.

Ever since Her was a little girl, she’s had the habit of inspecting things in great detail, preserving it in her memories as best as she can to draw it at a later time. She observes how the saturation of colors change on a surface of a bubble, or how the ears of people lose its opacity and become pinker when the sun hits it from behind. At this moment though, what she want to draw the most is the scene that is presented right in front of her— him. She even thinks that maybe one day, her paintings of people will be as good as how Renoir famously paints his if she uses his features as inspiration.

Luncheon Of The Boating Party by Renoir (Year 1880-1881).

“Professor Jacques? Pfffttt- More like Professor Color-Within-The-Lines!” he laughs.

She responds to the boy, giving him her ears at times, but she more or less lets him talk as she looks at him to try and memorize his face. 

His eyes glisten as he speaks– so much engagement in them. However, the life in his eyes are almost… overshadowed by their tiger-like personality. So focused and striking in between his long lashes. His eyebrows are sharp and fierce. His nose is straight and tall. And its placement between his eyes? Really proportionate. His lips are…what’s this oil paint color?…like Permanent Rose? mixed with a little Cobalt Violet to make it almost cherry-like. They’re shaped peculiarly though…that it really lets him easily have this scowled look. Maybe it’s because the top is more plump than the bottom…His complexion is flawless- luminescent, you’d probably need a hint of Pale Cadmium Yellow- and…what? N-No trace of blemish..hold on, there is a scar by his right lip, but it really only adds character to his looks. Still….actresses must be endlessly envious of his skin. His- Wait…how long has it been?

“Oh my I’m going to miss the bus!” she exclaims as she catches a glimpse of her watch.

Out of nowhere, she hears a man with a croaky voice coming closer to the room. 

“Taehyuuuung? Taehyuuung? Where are you boy?”

The foot steps come closer and the boy jolts up from his seat, taking Her’s elbow in his hand quickly.

“Shit, Monsieur Cosmo…” he curses under his breath. “Shhhhh! Come on!” he whispers sharply.

“What’s happening?”

“That’s my boss sweet pea! We have to get out of here! C'mon, you turtle! Run!” he sharply whispers back.

He takes Her’s hand to exit, closes the door, and turns off the lights as quietly as he could. Then they run quietly through the darkly lit halls, past multiple epitaphs and tombs of the buried. Her has no choice but to rely on him on where to turn through the mazes of the museum and he becomes her sight. He looks behind her and flashes a big peculiar boxy smile that Her never spotted when she was observing his face. Her mood at the moment is a hard contrast to when she was looking at the pendulum. Her lips curve up slightly and she quickens her pace as she tries to match his. 

He’s definitely an exciting one.

All of a sudden, the boy stops in his tracks and looks around the perimeter, “YYYYoouu might have to catch the next bus,” his voice drags out.

“What?!” 

Her’s perfectionist side overrides and she tries to explain the bus system, her responsibilities, her homework, and her schedule the next day that would all have to be rewritten if she misses this bus. However, he does not put his finger on her lips this time but he covers her whole mouth instead, trying to keep her silent. 

“Ok, ok, here’s what it is, babe. There are guards everywhere and I can’t be seen, ok? And I know you don’t know how to get to the shortcut to the outside so you’re going to have to stick with me if you want to get there. Hidden. Got it?” Annoyed by the situation, Her yields inevitably.

Her and the boy run and hide from the guards, tiptoeing as best as they can until the guards lock the doors behind them. They wait in the dark a few times until the coast is clear and moving becomes safe again. There were a few times Her made a mistake, catching the attention of some guards, but the boy protects their every movement; tugging her away if a guard comes too close, or slightly pushing her into crevices behind some pillars or statues. 

At times, they try to fit themselves in small spaces and he tries to hold her as close as he could to prevent their shadows from being seen. She tries not to think about the skin contact since she doesn’t know what it would do to her judgment that she most certainly needs intact right now. 

Shoot, 7:30. I missed it.

“Well! I missed the bus. Thank you but there’s no point in sticking with you now. The guards don’t know who I am, so…I’ll just walk out the front door. Nice to meet you though,” she stands up from kneeling down and pivots her heels to walk away, but the boy catches her wrist.

“Can you be quiet?? And yeah you still need me, honey. Can’t you see? We’re locked in,” he reaches into his pocket and shows off his keys, “I’d give them to you but you don’t work here, do you?” he smirks.

With slight irritation from missing the bus and from Her’s clouded mind of thinking about rewriting her schedule in her mind, she completely forgets this fact.

“Now, stick to me,” he grabs her and embraces her behind the statue of Marianne and the soldiers, then again behind the miniature architecture plan of the Pantheon.

“I said stick to me…now,” the boy must have felt that she was trying to preserve some space in between their bodies. They become startled as a guard walks only a feet away from them and she can’t help but follow his orders. 

In half a second, she places her feet in between his stance and presses her body against his. Her arms fold against his chest and her head burrows in it to flil the space. His arm encircles her waist and his hand clasps the back of her head as she feels a slight force to encourage her to press closer. After a second of monitoring the guard, he moves their bodies ever so slightly away from the guard’s movements and squinting gazes. She feels him hold his breath and she mimicked his movements. In the silence, she feels and hears his heart race like a horse from the suspense. 

Geez, it must be around 120 beats per minute.

While stupefied in place, she realizes he’s strangely stealthy that it makes her curious to the point of concern how he’s very good at it. The lights then turn off and they hold their position for a few more seconds.

“This is terribly intimate for a first meeting, you know, especially in the dark,” she whispers with a tone as they wait until the rustling of movements stop.

“What? Do you want a kiss too?” he says sarcastically.

“I don’t kiss people I don’t know,”

“I do,”

“Stop joking around,”

“What? We’re in France. Ever heard of a French kiss?”

She ignores his comment as she checks her watch, wishing the hands would turn counter-clockwise.

Eventually, they reach a door and the boy opens them with his keys. Without a knowledge of what might be on the other side, he exposes the night with the lovely moon and the bustling faint sounds of the city outside. A hush of the spring-born wind brushes her skin as if to say hello, wanting her to acknowledge its presence. She turns and sees the bus stop just around the corner.

“The next bus will come in 30 minutes, don’t worry,” the boy assures.

He pants to calm his heart, lays down on the cold grass, closes his eyes, and concentrates on trying to catch his breath. His newsboy hat topples from his head and his long hair falls delicately on his forehead and around his face. Her can’t help but admire how the moonlight touches his features as she slowly sits down next to his body, also concentrating on slowing down her respirations. He peeks through his closed lid and closes them again.

“You know, you’re doing it again,” he says between breaths. “Oh sorry…”

“It’s not polite to stare you know. Even more so that I don’t know your name,” “Oh…my name is Her, Her Lune, you?”

“Well, if you haven’t figured from my boss shouting it out, my name is Taehyung. Taehyung Soleil,” he smiles with eyes closed.

After a moment of huffing, he sits beside her and picks on the helpless grass.

“I guess this is my way of timing out of work,” he naughtily chuckles under his breath, “I bet that old fart was going to make me take care of that pendulum that just fell. It was actually my fault it fell but…I can’t be bothered right now. It’s almost the end of work anyways,” he rationalizes.

“You did that?! That’s why you were running from the guards?!”

“I-IIIIII didn’t mean to ok? Heh…I’m supposed to check the clicker that lets the pendulum go back and forth without losing its energy but…one thing led to another and it snapped from the hinge. I’ll understand if he yells at me the next time I go to work,” he rubs his neck. Her's skepticism and first impression just became validated.

As they wait for the next bus, he then looks at the moon with endearing eyes. Her doesn’t realize it but she looks at him again, taking advantage of his ethereal beauty under a different kind of light. To her, his side profile looks as if all the Old Masters like Leonardo and Boticelli, who tried to capture beauty in Mona Lisa and Venus, had the wrong notion of beauty– that what she’s looking at right now, is true beauty. 

Mona Lisa, who?

The Birth of Venus by Sandro Boticelli (Year 1484–1486).

“Her.” his deep voice stern and low. “One more stare and I might have to do something about it,” he bites his lower lip and furrows his eyebrows. She nervously tries to land her eyes somewhere acceptable but she only finds it to follow his gaze at the moon.

“So why do you like that whacko Van Gogh? I only paint his paintings because they sell,” he scoffs while he leans back, propping his posture with his arms. Her is unsure how to feel about his sentence. He’s dissing her idol painter but at the same, she’s glad he acknowledges that other people like his works. Plus, she’s amused by his rhyming nickname.

“Well, mostly because I can’t paint like him,” she discloses. “I know how he painted his works, I’ve studied it many times and if I have to do an imitation like you, I think I’ll do well. I just- but I can’t seem to make my own paintings like his. He uses such saturated colors and his strokes are unplanned but he somehow is able to take his decisions and pull it off in the end like it was planned in the first place. When I try to do it, it doesn't look as good or as professional as his,”

“So he’s a good bullshitter is what you’re saying,” he taunts and laughs. She gives him a generous glare. He annoys her but she can’t put a finger what it is about him that makes her not be put off. She guesses it’s his brutal honesty. It’s refreshing.

She continues, “Being in art school…yeah it’s great they give you a lot of techniques to capture perspective and blah blah blah…but what they can never teach you is how to be creative. And I can’t help but take those techniques too seriously…” she sighs heavily, “My paintings always come out unremarkable- bleak- but oh, professor gives me A’s!” she said with sarcasm as she lays in defeat and stares at the moon.

Her finds herself disclosing personal things about herself to this boy she just met that she wonders if she really is that unsatisfied with her life. With her timidity, she only tells her closes friends things as insecure as these.

“IIII don’t know Van Gogh as much as you…but I learned a thing or two about him in the time I’ve been imitating his works. He said ‘I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process,’” he looks into her eyes after his words reaches her ears as his hair catches the breeze of the night.

Her becomes stunned at his words. He’s never met anyone who knows something about Van Gogh’s life other than the usual trivia. How he’s able to recite a quote by him leaves her astounded and curious.

“T-That’s right,”

“Well, of course, hahaha…I love that quote ‘cuz it’s sooo funny. You know he really did lose his mind and him saying that just makes me think wow, he’s got some sense of humor,” he chuckles slightly in ironic admiration, “But you know, that’s not the point…the point is maybe you think too much and it restricts you from really giving yourself to your works. You’re supposed to project your feelings into your art, not your mind like what others think. We’re artists, Her. Our job is to convey emotions.”

“Wh-Ye-I guess,” Her’s never heard someone talk about philosophy about art before. She’s talked about life as an art student, but never about life as an artist. 

“We’re supposed to give the audience what we want them to feel, not what we want them to think. Take the most famous painting in the world for example. The Mona Lisa. There’s so many things Leonardo did right in that one, but why is it so famous? It’s not because it’s painted perfectly. It’s because of that smile. It gives people an eerie feeling. It connects with you because it’s so…eughk damn eerie,” he shrugs. “Never really liked looking at that one.”

Mona Lisa by Leonardo Da Vinci (Year 1503–06).

“That’s really a new way of looking at things I suppose...”.

“Well have you ever just done something out of a whim? Like…you just do it ‘cuz it felt right at the moment?”

“I-I…not really…no…” she sighs, “I like to…plan things out. It’s how I grew up to be,”

“I guess now you know where the problem is…” he says as he looks back at the moon. “Your paintings are really just an extension of yourself. In a way, they’re you. If you say your paintings are unremarkable and bleak, then that’s probably how you are…unless there’s something in you that wants to change,”

Her is taken too aback by his response to the point that she’s at lost for words. No one’s ever really said it out loud before, not even her. His words are like a dagger to her heart but she can’t seem to reply or defend herself because deep inside her, she knows they’re utterly true. All she is able to reply back is a mixture of a frustrated groan and a sigh as she puts her arm on her forehead.

“Heh, now I see why you kept coming here just to stare at that boring pendulum all the time, looking all frustrated” he looks at the moon intently and she looks at him with wide eyes. “You’re like one of those people who cry and stare at the mirror when they do,” he chuckles.

“You know I come here often?”

“Yeah, I work here, Her. Of course I’ll remember my frequent flyers, especially the cute ones,” again he smirks at her. Well, now she thinks it’s ingrained in her mind forever. But then again, she notices he has a way of making her have mixed feelings about his words. 

He just made fun of her self-pitying tendencies, but reveals I’ve caught his eye? Who is this guy?! It’s as if he wants be nice but his innate mischievous nature gets in the way.

“Don’t worry, we all have hard times,” he looks at the moon as if he’s time traveling decades through his eyes, perhaps recalling a serious time in his life. Feeling slightly comforted, Her reflects on his words for a time while she leave him in his memory. 

Yeah, I guess my self-pitying tendencies are a little funny, ha.

Eventually, she finds herself looking at the underside of Taehyung’s jaw and even his nostrils from her position below as he loses his presence reminiscing. She observes the moonlight hit his face at an angle from below. She follows the trace of light with her eyes, trying to consolidate it in her memory. However, it was too late to retract her eyes before Taehyung looks back at her and rolls his eyes annoyed.

“Thaat’s it- You’re staring again. That’s more than three strikes I believe,” he slaps his hand on the grass by her head and hovers over her. 

He replaces her view of the moon with his face, which is now only inches from hers. If the grass was someone’s skin, their skin would be indented with a big red mark from how much Her’s pressing against it to distance herself from the tip of his nose. His long hair falls down in her direction, framing the outline of her head. However, what is very astonishing and a little frightening is the big change in his expression. He looked like an angel from the moment she saw him, but now, he looks like the devil himself.

“Here. Take a good look!” he says sternly and angrily. His striking eyes pierce at her with eyebrows furrowed, only becoming scarier as she sees his pupils dilate and his nose flare. His jaw clenches and cuts the moonlight’s trace she was just tracing a while ago. She’d like to take him on his offer but his emanating vibe is unnecessarily terrifying. She understands why he could be annoyed by her by now but it seems as though she struck a very sensitive nerve by his radical reaction.

“I know I’m handsome, cute, hot, good looking, whatever you wanna call it. But seriously, curse. this. face! Lots of girls and teachers, even guys at the college have made me their model since day one, like I’m just some object to them but you know what? I’m not some disposable model. I’m a painter, just like them! This damn face overshadows everything else. I’d like to think I have a brain and some skills you know,” Taehyung looks at her with his piercing eyes until he rolls it back and closes them in frustration. He brushes his hair with his hand as he gulps down his next words, trying not to snap again.

“…I-I don’t think you’re just that…I think you’re a-actually smart” she stutters. She can’t help but feel there’s more to his story. How can anyone not like their good looks?

“Well…good.” she slowly sees the child-like angel in him resurface again.

Assuming the confrontation was over, she tries to get out from under him like a worm but he follows her down, trapping her between his arms again.

“Nuh-uh, sweet pea. You have to make it up to me. Come to the third wing studio tomorrow and I’ll think about forgiving you.” 

A flash of the headlights of the long-awaited bus illuminates the side of his face.

Ch. 1 fin.