#I swear it’s the second we start showing the trauma part of the trauma disorder ppl hate us

[bstroobery]

Um…

Uhhhhh…

Hey look 😅

So… uh… was doing research on dissociative amnesia and found this.

So I guess we’re not the uwu quirky version of systemhood a lot of people expect, huh? (Legit all our relationships became so strained and shit once Blue accepted the system and allowed others to front. Suddenly it felt the world was out to get us)

Source

- Ghost🩶👻

[champagnebutch]

It’s early March in the late 2010s, and I am in the back half of my freshman year of high school. I’m chatting with a friend on discord, a real life friend, I know them from school, but we’re chatting online cos he’s two years older than me and, as a junior, is currently visiting colleges in and around NYC.

We’re chatting. It’s banal shit, really. He asks if I’m watching the Oscars, I say no but I might later, he says I should watch cos they started at 5pm and it’s already 5:30.

A little later they ask me a question

“does [mutual friend] ever tell you what’s going on with them? like mentally and stuff? (its a yes or no question im not asking about [them])”

I say no, not especially. Why?

Instead of responding directly, he asks another question.

“you ever get the urge to tell someone a secret of yours? but you dont know how they’ll react or if they’ll even wanna know your name after you tell them?”

I ask if they want to share something with me. And they do.

They share a lot.

They share their childhood trauma. How poor their mental health has been since elementary school. The lows that it hit in middle school. They share the mental disorder they’ve told maybe a handful of people about. Their whole life story, really. I’m the second person who’s heard everything start to finish.

I say “i swear to fuck, were money not an issue, id be packing my bags and hopping on a flight right now, you need a hug”

They concur, but say they feel the love through the screen.

I ask if they want to share more.

They do. He asks how it makes me feel.

“really, really fuckin worried for you.

im not leaving you,

not for long time”

They are reassured, at least somewhat.

He asks if I’ll be there for support when he goes in for top surgery after the end of the school year.

I say yes, honored.

A week passes. He’s been back several days now, but we haven’t seen each other at school as much as we’d like. We agree to hang out at mine on Saturday, and he’ll probably stay for dinner. I imagine we’ll play some games, show each other some funny videos, which we do.

We insist on a closed door for privacy. We share some shitposts on my computer. He sits in my lap while we watch. I don’t object. Occasionally I push him off and halfway jump out of my seat when a family member asks me for something.

He asks me why.

I ask myself why.

That night I don’t really come to terms with my sexuality, but I do realize my sexuality has terms with which I must come to.

However, despite not really knowing how I’d describe my orientation, I know I’m into them, and they’re into me. That night, after having crawled under the kitchen table after dinner with them and discussing my sexuality crisis, we get together. That day will be our anniversary date.

Not long later, we are publicly a couple. I find it important to mention that we are fucking adorable. Basically the entire student body at school thinks we’re cute. The teachers think we’re cute. The school director thinks we’re cute.

We go to a very weird private high school, in an idiosyncratic part of the country, and the place was tiny. Such an environment means we can do shit like have an all-school camping trip at the beginning and end of every year. On the bus ride back from that end of year camping trip, my history teacher makes sure that the two of us can sit together for the otherwise boring hours-long trip.

After that end of year trip, I make good on my promise and am there for my boyfriend when he gets top surgery.

I come out to him as transfem around then. He's the first person I tell.

That summer I spend a lot of time at their house, a place in the hills that’s way too big and that they move out of later. They're happy with this decision because of the memories that lived there with them, in those high ceilings and tall stairs.

We watch something on Netflix. It is, I assume, not especially gripping, seeing as I no longer remember what it was. He acts somewhat odd and slightly frustrating, and I don't really know what to do. But I figure it’s nothing and he'll be fine soon.

He has a breakdown not much later. He’s sorry for being mean. He’s worried I’ll leave him, that he’s fucked everything up. He doesn’t want me to go.

“Babe, I’m here.

I’m not going anywhere,

not for a long time”

I make good on that promise, too. Maybe I make too good on it.

We're together for a while. But he eventually goes up to Canada for university, and I'm still a high school junior, stuck down here in the states. He tries to break up with me, but neither of us really have any other better form of connection; his new friends are still new, and I am still generally bad at making friends at all.

We're on and off for a while. Eventually we're off for the last time.

New feelings came up. He wanted space. They set a boundary. I failed to abide it.

I was there when I wasn't wanted.

He breaks up with me for the last time.

Eventually we get the chance to talk about what happened. He forgives me, somehow. They offer me a smoke, and I take the only drag off the only cigarette I’ve had in my life.

I’m single for several months. Retail work is soul-draining, but it’s an income, and it helps distract when the self-loathing kicks in.

Eventually someone new starts working at the store. She’s really pretty, and sweet, and lovely, and best of all she makes my feelings of worthlessness dissolve. It takes a while before I really understand how I feel about her.

We spend our lunches together whenever we can. We add each other on Discord. We chat. Fairly banal stuff. I talk about my brother and I loving languages, and him being in Taiwan for work. They talk about being polyamorous, and how they and their nesting partner recently hosted one of their metamours.

Eventually they leave the store job, it was just too much for them on top of their other, more important work. Once they cease being my co-worker, they ask to hang out. 

We do. 

We go on a walk by the lake. I discover later that I walk altogether too fast for them, but they don’t mind that much.

We agree to spend more time together, but it takes two weeks for our schedules to work out again. It’s during that time I realize how I feel about her. It’s a long two weeks.

That hang-out turns into our first date, a picnic. That day, the exact same date as my prior relationship, will be our anniversary date.

I visit her place. I meet her nesting partner, my metamour, who lends me a bass guitar after hearing that I’d been interested in learning.

I show my girlfriend Critical Role, she gets me back into Magic: the Gathering.

We go to Trans March that June.

We support each other through the little hiccups that life throws at you.

I cry in their arms as I recount to them what happened with my ex. They share that they made a similar mistake once, and I feel so much less alone.

I console them as they deal with medical issues the following winter.

We celebrate our one year anniversary by being bourgeoise for a day, getting afternoon tea in the city.

We talk about the political climate, how it feels less and less safe for us every day. I offer, without claiming them monogamously, that if they wanted, I would be happy to marry them, if they thought marrying a Canadian/French citizen and fleeing was a worthwhile plan.

They are deeply appreciative, comforted by the thought of getting to run away with me “Of course babes

I’m not going anywhere,

not for a long time”

Then, the unexpected occurs. Her nesting partner breaks up with her. It happens right after I leave her place one week, and I only hear about it two days later.

Two nights later, we talk. I hope to reassure her as she tries to process, as she recovers from having everything fall down around her.

I tell her how much I want to hug her, to hold her close, to do what I can to make everything feel better.

“Babe, I’m here

I’m not going anywhere

Not for a long time

I promise”

“But she said exactly the same thing”

My heart slowly sinks into the ocean in my chest, as my mouth tries desperately to find the right words, bring it back to the surface.

But there is nothing to say. The words mean nothing. I hopelessly search for better ones, but it’s no use.

Thankfully, things do get better.

I’m able to visit within the week, and my presence seems stronger than just my voice over the phone. My actions get to speak louder than my words.

I’m able to hold her. 

I can bring some food while she tries to cut back on expenses, as she looks for more work and new housing.

I get to bring her out of the survival mindset she slips into so easily, and help her remember that creature comforts are necessary for optimal functioning.

While I’m not there, it’s hard for them. But when I’m with them, they get to be their old self again.

They get offers for support from a friend, and from another partner.

I feel so sure that we will work everything out.

It’s all difficult still, the future is still uncertain.

But I know one thing.

I’m not leaving her

I’m not going anywhere

Not for a long, long time.

[melloblueanimated]

Encanto Essay Series: Part 1 - Abuela Madrigal

Abuela Alma Madrigal: The Matriarch of the Madrigal family and mother of Pepa, Bruno, and Julieta. Rewatching Encanto a second time it is hard for me to like her and root for her. She has allowed the village to shame Bruno and has since passed on that shame to Mirabel. She has made both her son and granddaughter not feel good enough to be a part of their family. This greatly angers me as someone who has felt like an outsider growing up and not feeling accept by the community I lived in. I am here today, however, to try and delve deep into the psyche of Abuela and what has caused her to behave in this way.

1. Abuela's Hyper-vigilance

This is my family A perfect constellation

So many stars and everybody gets to shine

Whoa! But let's be clear, Abuela runs this show, whoa

She led us here so many years ago, whoa

Mirabel sings this line in the opening song of the movie "Family Madrigal". I have a lot to say about this song in regards to Mirabel but that'll be for Part 3 of this series. This song immediately establishes Abuela as the matriarch of the family. As a side comment to this lets look at this frame from the song.

Per the rules of cinema a 1-point shot like this establishes a feeling of power and importance. She IS the family Madrigal. Having a matriarch in a family isn't all that common. The matriarch of my family was my grandmother before she died. She was the center and the glue that kept my family together. So Abuela being a matriarch isn't the most substantial thing in the world. But the way she uses and abuses her stance as the matriarch is was is troubling. And it's due to her own trauma.

The Common Reactions to Trauma

According to Concurrent Treatment of PTSD and Substance Use Disorders Using Prolonged Exposure (COPE) as posted on Oxnardclinicalpsych.com, there are 10 common reactions to trauma (I recommend reading the article because it is pretty informative) but I'll quickly state the reactions that I see in Abuela:

Anxiety and fear

Re-experiencing of the trauma

Increased vigilance

Avoidance (this can be seen with the whole family quite frankly)

Grief and depression

Lack of concern and empathy for others

I see Abuela as a hyper vigilant and anxious person to the point of hyper-fixation. I say this because during "Family Madrigal" Abuela sings this line:

We swear to always

Help those around us

And earn the miracle

That somehow found us

The town keeps growing

The world keeps turning

But work and dedication will keep the miracle burning

And each new generation must keep the miracle burning

When I first watched Encanto I was thinking to myself why are the Madrigals so community oriented? This could greatly be a cultural thing seeing that this was set sometime in the early 1900's. I feel like most societies were very much community oriented. But I feel like with Abuela she does it as an offering to the miracle. As a thank you to the miracle she encourages her family to use their gifts for good. But this line in the song made me start to wonder if this is merely just a sign of her over vigilance. She has dedicated her life to keeping the candle burning in order to keep her home alive and her world in order. She has passed on the burden of this candle to her children, who in turn have passed this down to their children. The candle is a miracle, but is also a constant reminder of the trauma Abuela has gone through in her life. And unknowingly she has passed this down onto the next generation.

2. Abuela's Lack of Empathy

Almost every line she states in this movie is focused on casita and Encanto. Rarely is she concerned about the emotional and physical well-being of those around her. Just the miracle.

We mainly see this with Isabela:

This scene goes by very quickly but we hear Abuela and Isabela talking about the arranged marriage

Abuela: Such a perfect match

Isabela: So perfect

Abuela: So good for Encanto

Never is Abuela thinking "This is so good for Isabel!" Everything she does is for the greater good of Encanto. This is probably due to the fact just a scene before Dolores revealed that Mariano wants 5 kids, which feeds into her need to keep the Madrigal bloodline going.

We see this disregard for others again when Mirabel goes missing after finding Bruno and after the cracks in the walls start to form. Abuela is having a heated argument with Augustin about why he didn't tell her about the vision.

Abuela: Why didn’t you tell me about the vision?! Think of the family!

Augustin: I was thinking of my daughter!

Julieta: Mama you’ve always been hard on Mirabel

Abuela: Look around. We must protect our home.

Again a blatant disregard for her grand daughter's well-being. Abuela is reacting so much to the loss of her home and her husband that she can't even recognize and acknowledge the thoughts and feelings of the people around her. All she can think about is her home and the fear of loss.

And then finally it happens.

3. Abuela's Loss

You can see the fear and sadness on her face. She's reliving her trauma all over again. The thing she feared most has happened because she held onto it so tightly. She wanted to feel so safe and so protected from the world she didn't even realize she was hurting her loved ones.

By the end of the movie she regrets her actions and does see the error of her ways. I noticed that Abuela always romanticized her trauma as well. The way the story of Abuelo Pedro's sacrifice was told at the beginning of the movie is drastically different.

The romanticized version:

The hard-cold truth:

Noticed that in the romanticized retelling of her story her expression isn't NEARLY as broad. It's like any typical tragic story Disney would tell where we are told the pain of loss but we don't actually feel it/see it. When the story is flashed back again towards the end of the movie we finally see Abuela's true emotions. I believe this is because Abuela had finally reached a point of not being able to mask her emotions anymore. The whole family had been taught by her to ignore their thoughts and feelings and look "perfect" for their community and in return in front of each other.

Mirabel is really the catalyst in the beginning of Abuela's journey of self-healing which we hope will translate to her being more empathetic with her family but I feel like these types of things take time. It'll probably be a hard habit to break.

So I don't support Abuela and her decisions and how she has treated her family but I can see where it stems from. Losing everything that was precious to you can cause you to want to control the world around you to the point you are suffocating the feelings of those around you as well as yourself. She is a reminder to take care of yourself emotionally and mentally so you don't pass that trauma down to others.

[novantinuum]

Intake, Ch. 2

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 3600~

Summary: While waiting in the van, Greg reflects on the current state of his son’s mental health, and his many questionable parenting decisions.

This is set multiple months pre The Future, and is a bonus Greg-POV follow up to a previous one-shot I wrote. No context of that is needed to understand this.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Animated fireworks flash on Greg Universe’s phone screen, virtual fanfare for the virtual victor, as he clears the last king from the tableau. His brows shoot upwards in delight when he sees the final count of the timer. Wow, under three minutes. That’s close to a personal record. Not too shabby for a man who swears he finds a new strand of grey each and every week.

Another day, another successful round of solitaire in the bag.

Sighing, he almost clicks for a new deal, but then realizes it’s almost noon, and that his son is set to finish his first session any minute now. With that in mind, he switches off his phone and nestles it in the empty cup holder at his side, making sure it doesn’t touch the sticky soda stain covering a portion of the plastic. He’d kinda like to be paying attention when Steven exits the therapist’s office, rather than lose himself in a mindless distraction only to be startlingly yanked back to reality by timid knocks on the van door.

Timid.

If any word could be used to describe the way Steven dances around interactions with him these days, this one fits the bill. The boy will sometimes talk to him, sure, but it’s all small talk, short and curt responses, half-hearted shrugs. He’s positive there has to be more to his reluctance to fully engage, to even embrace him, but if so he’s not seeing it. At this point, the last time they had a true heart-to-heart conversation was on their road trip, before the crash. What on Earth happened? They used to be close. They used to share everything with each other, before he moved in with the Gems. Years later, he assumed they still did. And yet, after Dr. Maheswaran showed him the blunt reality of the X-rays on Steven’s chart... those dozens of healed-over fractures, speaking to a litany of injuries sustained throughout childhood, injuries he never knew about, all leading to trauma he never saw the signs of... he realized that, at some point, the two of them had drifted apart. When he was younger he thought he was correcting from his parents’ iron rule, letting his son have all the freedom he wanted. But was it too much? Was he that neglectful a father?

When did he stop paying attention to Steven’s emotional needs enough to miss his steep slip into mental distress?

He sighs, guilt lining the inside of his stomach like the burn of hard liquor coating one’s throat.

It’s not about me, he reminds himself. I can’t make it about me.

It’s the same mantra that kept him stubbornly pushing forward through waves of anguish and remorse weeks back, when his poor boy was roaring, slashing his claws at anyone that dared edge close, years of buried anger and pain thrown to the forefront in a veritable explosion of scales and thorns.

He glides his hand across the faux wood paneling on the dashboard as he consigns himself to recent memory, letting both his fingertips and his mind trace every dip and ridge of its grain. That was probably the most terrifying thing he’d ever witnessed in his life. His own son, disappearing in seconds into this... this monstrous thing, like all the corrupted Gems he used to see them fight from a distance but so, so much bigger. So much rawer. He genuinely thought he’d lost him forever that day. His own panic aside, he can’t even imagine what that experience must have been like for Steven. Remembering those heartbreaking three words he said before it happened, though, glowing pink on hands and knees, he’s not sure he wants to.

“Greg,” Dr. Priyanka Maheswaran says sternly as he exits the thrashed examination room, toting a clipboard under her arm. Her gaze, while undoubtedly sympathetic to the plight of the boy who’s currently changing back into his clothes in privacy, regards him with a fiery sort of reproval the likes he hasn’t squirmed under since he was a child himself. “We need to have a frank conversation about your son’s wellbeing.”

From the corner of his eyes he catches a blur of pink and faded denim blue pushing through the small office’s exterior door. Greg jolts to action, wiping what he fears is a self-pitying look off his face and attempting to replace it with something that looks halfway encouraging. Part of him’s terrified that no matter what he changes, it‘ll never be enough. He’s admittedly still at a loss for how to most helpfully interact with someone struggling with, erm... well, let’s be blunt— with long-untreated mental illness— but he’d do anything for his son’s sake at this point, even if that involves the hard work of addressing his own habits and convictions. He unlocks the van just as Steven walks up alongside.

He can’t help but briefly hold his breath the moment the passenger door opens.

The teen appears no different than he did when Greg left the office to sit in the van an hour and a half ago— his eyes are downcast, drawn with exhaustion, expression unreadable— but to be fair he supposes it’s silly to expect any drastic shift in mood after only one session. Right?

“Now, to be clear, I’m not licensed to diagnose mental disorders,” she explains, glancing up from her notes, “but from everything I’ve witnessed, tested, and heard from him today I have a strong suspicion that he’s dealing with post-traumatic stress.” Mouth pinched, she drops her clipboard on the counter beside them, its dull clap as it hits the laminate punctuating the sheer gravity of her words. “There’s my prognosis,” she says bluntly, palms spread wide. “This looks like textbook PTSD, ignored and overlooked for months.”

Greg lets the bitter reality of those four letters sink in, his eyes burning, throat dry, his heart cracking with despair at the very thought of— he only barely holds back what he’s sure in this circumstance, host to the scolding of a medical practitioner, is a pathetic sob— of his Steven, suffering through all these turbulent emotions for goodness knows how long, no one the wiser, no one noticing his silent cries for help, no one—

He... god, he didn’t know. He didn’t know! How could he have been so stupid to not have noticed?

“You do understand how serious this situation is, yes?” she continues when he doesn’t vocally respond. “How- how irresponsible it is to have never taken your sixteen-year-old son in for even, what? A simple check up? And, and—“ she holds her hands up before he can blurt out a response. “I know what you’re about to say. I know he’s half-Gem, I know he’s different than anyone else on this planet. But he has human needs, too, Greg! I just—!” Priyanka inhales deep, pressing her thumb against her temple as she pauses to catch her cool. “Pardon me. I’m sorry for snapping. I know you love him, and mean well with him, but at this point, we need to face the truth. That boy is hurting, badly. And if he’s going to have any chance of recovering from this, he needs your full support now more than ever.”

The passenger seatbelt clicks, the door already closed. Steven sighs under his breath, sinking into the time-worn, faded seat back. Greg studies his son’s face for a moment, noting with concern the lines of stress creased under his eyes.

“Hey, bud,” he says, his hands shifting to the wheel, nervously fidgeting as he waits for a response, any response.

“Hey,” he mutters, already pulling out his phone. (Probably to text Connie, if he has to guess. Greg counts himself thankful that he has this solid friendship to help anchor him at such a difficult point in his life. Simultaneously, his heart aches knowing the stress that girl’s surely gone through by choosing to be a support for him.)

“How... erm, how’d it go?”

He gives him a big shrug, his fingertips blazing across the screen in an almost dizzying display of dexterity. “It went.”

Greg’s fingers rap against the sun-stained leather. “You still game for gettin’ some food?”

“Yeah. That’s fine.”

Okay. Good. Lunchtime is a go, then, he thinks, diverting his notice to the keys in the ignition. Despite this, there’s a shade of disappointment that tints the atmosphere within this space. Unable to shake the harrowing feeling that he failed some sort of unspoken test with his son, he starts the van and— mentally plotting a course to that good Thai place Steven discovered a few months back— carefully pulls out of the cramped parking lot onto the main road, hoping that this extension to their time together may eventually chip away at the ice that’s formed between them.

Some classic rock plays on the radio as he drives, a band Greg distantly recalls hearing via his classmates in high school but can’t remember the name of. The singer’s mellow tenor effortlessly fills the gaps left behind in their timid silence. Briefly glancing away from the road, he catches Steven’s fingers tapping against his phone to the beat as he waits for a reply to his text, lips drawn. It’s an almost minuscule display, so subtle that any untrained eye might miss it, but witnessing this proof that his son is still very much capable of finding pleasure in music, however small said source of pleasure may be, he can’t help but smile. Soon enough, he passes the crooked street lamp on the corner of Glover and 4th that he always uses as a mental marker when navigating around the small town of Seaside, and takes a quick left at the next stoplight. It’s funny... this place is only twenty or so miles away from home, but given gas costs and his habitual frugalness, he hasn’t explored this county enough over the years to form a good internal map beyond Beach City. Perhaps now, with his son coming to this town every week for therapy, that will change.

The song ends on a sleek guitar riff, and quickly transitions back to the station’s upbeat radio personality.

“You’re listening to Dragon’s Hoard FM, your home for all of music’s greatest treasures! Next up, a trip down memory lane... to a fan favorite from the 1971 best-selling artist... welcome to the party, Kerry Moonbeam.”

Static pours through his nerves as the next number begins to play, (why now, why now, what cruel cosmic timing is this??), robbing all sensation from his fingers. His knuckles grow uncharacteristically pale as he clutches at the wheel, wrestling for dominance.

“Looking for your place in the universe...”

He doesn’t dare shift his gaze from traffic this time, but all he can see in his mind’s eye is that glowing, nauseatingly bright pink. The unwavering tension hanging over them, thick as smog, as their conversation grows terse and grim. His son at the helm, the demons of their past steering their trajectory far out of anyone’s control, as— angered and upset over what he now accepts are entirely rational things— he openly calls out his failures, his lack of structure, lack of attention, his—

“Don’t you know the universe is looking too~ Looking for its place in yo—“

And with the twist of a knob, it’s over. Some local station replaces those tense airwaves, bringing him relief from tainted memory in an instant. His hand quivers as it returns to command of the wheel. In the passenger seat, Steven glances up from his text conversation with that instinctual concern he’s so prone to, eyes blown wide and colored with equal parts confusion and sympathy.

Notably, there’s not a sign of pink.

Swallowing hard, Greg considers saying something in explanation, but in the tangled complexity of their current relationship he can’t think of anything worth saying. Eventually, his throat runs dry in his own silence. His son stops gawking at him like another problem to be fixed, attention drifting back to his phone. His muscles loosen in sheer relief.

He sighs under his breath as he slows for a pedestrian at the crosswalk. Willfully, he buries himself in the mindless drivel of the local talk show he switched to for the rest of the drive, allowing their distant voices to cover the aching, lonely gap torn in his heart.

____

They put in their order when the waitress arrives, Steven settling on pad thai with egg and tofu, and Greg falling back on an old favorite with fried rice and pork. She jots this down on her notepad in a jiffy, pours them some water, then hurriedly scuttles behind the curtain that separates the kitchen from the remainder of the restaurant. It is the lunch rush, after all.

Thankfully though, even amongst the rush the two of them were lucky enough to be seated at a cozy table nestled against the back wall, affording them a decent amount of privacy. There’s enough ambient chit-chat bouncing around the room that Greg doesn’t feel eaten alive by that aching isolation he endured on the almost silent drive over, but not enough that these people’s presence feels suffocating. Steven slowly sips at his water as he politely listens to his updates on Sadie and Shep’s blossoming music career. He’s not saying much in response beyond asking the appropriate follow-up questions and then nodding his head at his answers, but in the end, that’s fine. Even if the recent lack of depth to their conversations bothers him, even if his son’s silence shatters his heart, in his mind it’s not fair to pressure him to interact in a manner he‘s not ready for yet. Greg just needs to be patient. He’ll open up to him when the time is right. There’s no need to push so hard that the remaining threads stringing their relationship together snap altogether, which is— if he’s honest— the future he fears the most.

The one where he becomes no better than his own over-controlling parents.

With his fingers obsessively rapping alongside the side of his glass, he continues to make substance-less small talk, anything to aid in the illusion that the two of them can still carry a conversation together.

“So yeah, that’s where they’re at right now,” he says. “They said they’re gonna put a pause on the touring, and start working on a full album.”

“Nice. Good for them,” Steven responds, the lines under his eyes betraying his underlying exhaustion, even if it appears he’s trying his hardest to mask it. (But for who’s sake?) “And you, you’re still gonna...?”

“Be their manager, yes. That’s still the plan.”

“Cool, cool.“

Their words fade amongst the ambient chatter, neither immediately leaping to comment further.

He softly clears his throat. “And, uh... in the end, I’ll be there whenever they need me, y’know? They might decide they want someone else supportin’ them along some day, and that’s fine.” He wrings his hands together atop the table, watching his son closely. “I only want the best for them.”

The teen’s hollow glance flits across the restaurant, landing from person to person, his leg bouncing nervously under the table all the while. Upon sensing this, it suddenly hits Greg that this is the first time Steven’s been out in busy public beyond the familiar faces of Beach City. For a second he can’t help but fret that all this activity— therapist’s waiting room, awkward car ride, going out to a busy restaurant at noon— will only serve to stress the poor kid out, but then again... pressing his silent worries onto the situation won’t help anyone. The only thing that’s important right now is for his son to know he’s always loved. Always heard, always seen, from this moment on.

After all his failures as a guardian in the years prior, it’s the least he can do.

And then, as Steven’s gaze shifts back into focus, Greg can wholeheartedly sense that he’s mentally engaged, delicate machinery in his mind whirring away as he processes every facet of this conversation, this moment, this place. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and then opens his mouth to speak.

“With Sadie and Shep, well...” He scratches at the back of his neck, not quite sustaining eye contact. “I’m sure that... no matter what the future holds, they’ll always appreciate the support you did give them. Even if some of that support maaaybe wasn’t exactly what they needed at the time,” he adds as an afterthought, voice falling soft.

Something within his chest unshackles upon hearing these words, their double meaning more than clear to him. He blinks hard, desperately trying not to utterly break down in front of his own kid. “Steven, I—“

His attempt to piece together a heartfelt response is interrupted by the arrival of their lunch, steam wafting off each plate as the waitress sets them both on the table. They both offer their thanks, and unwind their utensils from their napkins. He’s quick to dig in to his fried rice and pork, having not eaten a full meal since last night. Steven, on the other hand, picks and prods at his entrée, something he’s noticed has become a concerningly common occurrence in recent weeks. He still eats, thank the stars, but not with zeal.

Greg is already midway through his plate before by the time his son‘s just started to put a dent into his own. The teen twirls his chopsticks around a clump of noodles and bean sprouts, seeming more lost in thought than usual. A moment passes, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to speak up, but quickly shuts it again.

His brow creases with equal parts worry and curiosity. “You got somethin’ on your mind, bud?”

Steven frowns, abandoning his otherwise proficient chopstick skills to stab the tip of one of them into a hunk of tofu. “I guess it’s just that... well... nothing about that appointment was what I expected,” he says, and lifts his utensil to take a bite.

“Oh, yeah?” he prompts, and leans into the table with a surplus of attentiveness. All the while, he’s waging a desperate internal battle not to seem like he’s clinging to his each and every word. (Just let him open up at his own pace, Greg. Don’t be suffocating. Encourage him, but give him time.)

“It wasn’t like, bad,” he murmurs softly, his blank gaze drifting across the ornaments and framed art strewn across the restaurant walls. “But we barely even talked about the last few months? I thought we would, but we didn’t. Instead, he just asked a lot of questions about you, the Gems, Beach City, what it was like growing up. Some clarification on the history of the Diamonds, and the war. I dunno,” he shrugs, and twirls his chopsticks through his pad thai again. “It was kinda strange.”

Greg reflects for a moment on his son’s words, recalling with a slight grimace the first conversation he and the Gems had with Steven about considering therapy. At first he was strongly resistant to the idea, almost indignantly so, claiming that he could “sort this all out by himself” given time, that no one could ever relate to his exact problems enough to be of any help, and that he didn’t want to make his stupid life someone else’s burden in the first place. And even when they managed to convince him to give it a try, he still admitted worry about finding someone who knew enough about Gems to be qualified to treat him. So in that case, he can understand if the teen feels a little nervous, being asked so many questions about his complex lineage.

“Yeah, I hear ya’,” he nods, and then— catching the inside of his cheek between his teeth, rapidly weighing the pros and cons of risking a more in-depth comment— “With what Dr. Maheswaran’s told me about therapy, though, that sounds about normal for a first session, for anyone.”

Steven visibly perks up, perhaps in relief that for once his experience isn’t a unique exception like many other things in his childhood... schooling, housing situation, etc. etc... have been.

“Really? What- what did she say about it?”

“Mostly that it’s important for therapists to build context so they can better understand their client’s current state, or something like that.”

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully, sitting back in his chair. “Well, I guess that makes sense.”

“In the end, you’re definitely not the only one in this boat, Schtu-ball. And that‘s gotta be a little reassuring, yeah?”

He smiles in response. It’s small, merely a slight upward tilt of his lip, but it’s there. “Yeah. I suppose it is.”

____

Their conversation fades back into small-talk after that, but by that point Greg doesn’t feel so bothered. Instead, he feels as if a colossal weight’s been lifted from his chest. He’s not sure Steven fully understands the gift he’s given him today, opening up a little about his inner life after so many long weeks of self imposed silence, but the reassurance it’s offered about the state of their bond is astronomical. It promises healing, a brand new chance to listen and understand.

To change and grow in relationship together, father and son.

“Hey, Dad?” he asks hesitantly as he climbs into the passenger seat.

“Yeah, bud?”

He diverts his attention from the dashboard for just a moment, just long enough to catch a glimpse of the teenager. Clutching their leftovers in his lap, Steven’s eyes land on the stack of CDs tucked into the door pocket.

“D’ya think we can listen to one of your albums on the way back?”

With a watery smile, he switches the van’s radio to disk mode.

“Take your pick.”

[saint-nevermore]

2019 was....hm. we moved into our home out of nans in January which meant I could finally do deads properly after a year and not have to rely on a friend quite selfishly. I quit my shitty holiday job in Feb and got pretty insecure about myself because of how bad it was, pinning it down to me just Not being fit for work.

I turned 18, didn't get nearly as drunk as I thought I would. i finished my second year in college with my final being on Nevermore, which was my first big step into presenting my work on him publically. it was nerve wracking and exciting (lots of trauma associated with being made fun of for it) and I got a distinction, despite all the unfinished work which was purely because I was so excited and produced so much

summer happened, as did a breakup, two whole months were just sort of slept on. realised that this mindset is not healthy for me and people around me as I kept lashing out and being manipulative again. I missed summer and I'm frustrated I did, but it's been interesting taking the huge steps I have to handle a personality disorder and finally come out of it. still rough, but meh, shitty brains fault, not the person, who I'm just ever thankful to have met in the first place :')

earlier in the year I started updating @corvus-coraxs properly, and at the end of summer I finally set up an Etsy. when things started selling quickly I realised this was WORKING, so I put a lot more time into cleaning stuff quickly, perfecting my indoor method, and keeping the shop well stocked.

college started, I'm on a third foundation year since I wasn't sure about university (I'm pretty sure I'm not going) and got a new tutor so I was kind of unsure. going into college I was still really depressed. I tried to like...avoid talking to people if I could, and be very blunt/straight forward if I did, cuz I thought maybe if I'm vulgar and stupid straight away people would be put off, but it's instead my boys @kasparovv and ebonie (who does not have a Tumblr) were like "no, I'm your problem now" and I couldn't be more happy :')

college in terms of the work has been very demanding but I've enjoyed it. in terms of the folk I'm meeting my tutor is a lot more relaxed and blunt, meaning my first run in with someone who isn't blindly complimenting my work, and she's made it clear high fantasy does NOT do it for Her. regardless she's Very funny and supportive and has sort of opened up a bit about this nev stuff since it's not just Drawing Draggin and I have a lot I can write about. it's fun, and the next project is called Interpretations and using two words and I'm doing it about Identity and Journey and HOO BOY

now I'm not gay but my mate Kasparovv has helped So much. introduced me to knitting and we've been seshing every now and then which has been a huge help gettin me out more. thank u for being so understanding and helpful and I'm sorry I keep sending you stal and Giga pudding ❤️

this year in November I also did a. Nev exhibition. I guess? in my town there's a thing called the Art Walk every couple days. I showed off my final which again was nerve wracking but having people look at my work as art instead of childish scribbles and talk to me about it was so good. in the past couple months I've been doing SO MUCH NVMR brainstorming it's unreal. how the comic will be structured, some arcs I could write. character dynamics, relationships, how it benefits an overarching plot and stuff. things I've previous stressed about and been unable to pin point. I swear making Alfonse part of the normal canon has helped a lot lmfao

in the next year I'm keeping up with Corvuscoraxs, which is my first real business thing going on and it's so FUN. going to try and finish overdue projects re:deads and finish college, hopefully get a job, and get into taxidermy

thanks for the :shrug: year, hopefully next year isnt bad

[courtingstars]

Notes for The Vanishing Prince, Chapter Two

Yes, it’s the second chapter, finally! I’m so happy to be posting this. My notes are on the shorter side, but I do want to cover a few things that were hinted in this chapter, especially as it relates to Oreshi and Bokushi. Hopefully it will help clarify which parts of their story in the fic were directly inspired by canon, and which were inspired by some of the experiences of people with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

(Cut for notes about Oreshi and Bokushi’s relationship, timelines, chess, stuff about given names in Japanese, and so on…)

On Oreshi’s Relationship to Bokushi

These are just some of my observations regarding the connection between Oreshi and Bokushi. (Especially my interpretation of what happens after the Winter Cup but before the events of the KnB movie, Last Game.)

So first off, we don’t know for sure if Bokushi ever fronts during this time or not. (The idea of “fronting” is associated with Dissociative Identity Disorder, and it refers to which alter is actively presenting themselves to the world around them. Bokushi is fronting whenever Akashi has differently colored eyes, for example.) The canon seems to imply that he doesn’t interact with the Generation of Miracles during this time, at the very least… Since Oreshi seems worried in the Extra Game manga about what the other Miracles will think if Bokushi appears. So my headcanon for my fics, based on that and some other things in the manga, is that Bokushi hasn’t interacted with the outside world since the Winter Cup.

On that note, some lines in the manga imply that Oreshi and Bokushi are often co-conscious, even when they switch and the other alter is fronting... Meaning they’re both aware of what’s happening in the outside world, even when they aren’t currently the one “in control.” This is something that people can and do experience with Dissociative Identity Disorder. The co-consciousness can happen on its own/originally, or it can be developed and encouraged over the course of therapy.

Interestingly, Oreshi seems to believe (at least to some extent) that he willingly chooses when they switch… It’s pretty vague, but there are lines in the manga about how he could have taken over for Bokushi at any point during their last two years at Teikou. So, in my fic, Oreshi believes he is always aware of when Bokushi takes over for him, and that it only happens when they both allow it. However, for people with D.I.D. in real life, they may not always remember switching with their alters, and can lose time as a result. Also, they might not feel like they were in control (either completely or partially) of the switch—especially since trauma and any triggers associated with it can prompt different alters to front. (I’ll try to go into more details about this later, but as I’ve mentioned before, I recommend this site for more information about D.I.D. This page in particular covers alters switching, and how it can vary and is often much more subtle than is portrayed in fiction.)

So in The Vanishing Prince, I wanted to complicate what Oreshi seems to believe about his relationship with Bokushi. He thinks he always knows when Bokushi is fronting, and that he has to allow it when it happens… But starting in Chapter Two, it seems the truth of the situation may be different.

Alter Mannerisms

This is another general note about something that’s pretty common, from what I understand, but might not be 100% clear in Akashi’s case… The alters of people with D.I.D. can be very different from one another. They can have different ages and names, and even different appearances or genders.

And along those lines, alters may have different mannerisms and tones of voice when fronting. Those differences can be subtle. Overall, Oreshi and Bokushi are pretty similar to each other. They go by the same name, and their way of interacting with most people is similar. (To the point that, according to the manga, most of Akashi’s peers and teachers at Teikou couldn’t tell the difference.)

However, one way that the KnB canon differentiates between the two of them is through their expressions. Bokushi is especially recognizable for his wide-eyed smile. (You know which one, I’m sure!) Meanwhile, in the moment when Oreshi returns during the Winter Cup, he has a very distinctive smile as well, that we never see from Bokushi. (I noticed it more in the manga, whereas it was pretty subtle in the anime.)

So in The Vanishing Prince, I took this idea a little farther, and tried to convey some more subtle differences between them in posture and tone. Basically, it was meant to be a reference to the fact that this can happen with alters in real life, as well.

Chess

I’m definitely not an expert on chess… I’ve played it since I was about four or five, but I have zero grasp of actual strategy. //laughs To try to convey Bokushi’s mastery of the game, I consulted some online resources, especially for the most popular opening moves. Here are a few good articles I found that include some of the fancy names from the chapter! 

(There is also this incredibly detailed database that covers so many opening moves, many of which have bizarre names like “Fried Liver Attack” and I swear I’m not making that up. XD It does give you some idea of just how thoroughly this particular game has been played and studied throughout history!)

Akashi’s Given Name

This note is kind of random, but I thought it might be interesting to explain this part of Furihata’s narration a bit:

But that name also belonged to both of his selves. Plus, it was kind of a mouthful.

“Seijuurou.”

It was a really nice name, though. Long and elegant, with that extra ‘u’ sound in the middle. Honestly, Furihata thought it fit the Akashi he knew better. It sounded just like him. Kind of graceful, and sophisticated, and… perfect.

So in English, we tend to say “Seijuurou” as having three syllables. But in Japanese, it’s actually six! I won’t go into the whole explanation here, but it has to do with how the Japanese language is syllable-based, instead of using an alphabet. So his name breaks down something like this: Se-i-ju-u-ro-u

It’s a long, fancy-pants name, basically. XD Which is not surprising because, well, it’s Akashi. (My favorite time that the KnB anime says the main cast’s full names is actually in the blurb right before the first Season 3 opening song… The narrator’s delivery really helps you hear the length of the syllables in each of their names, and it just sounds super cool to me…? Random, I know. //laughs)

Anyway, it’s probably worth mentioning that in Japan, even close friends and couples might not call each other by their given names. It’s a choice, and definitely depends a lot on the people involved. But either way, it shows a lot of familiarity with someone… So it’s not surprising that the idea of using Akashi’s given name makes Furihata flustered! //laughs Especially since the characters in KnB tend to use family names, in general.

Japanese Drugstore Candy

This is another random note just to mention that the line about Furihata’s “favorite gummy candies” was meant to be my personal nod to Hi-Chews. XD My sister was kind of obsessed with them when she lived in Japan, where they’re available at every conbini (convenience store). They’re cheap, so giving them to your friends is pretty much the equivalent of buying them a pack of gum at a 7-11? So it was funny to me (and to Furihata!) that Akashi would consider that a touching gesture. //laughs

Earlier Fic References

On the subject of the train station, I did include some things in this chapter that were meant to build on scenes from earlier in this series… Of course, Tokyo Station and the Kyoto shinkansen train were pretty important in the first story. Also, Furihata’s brief thought about how Akashi always drinks amazing tea was meant to be a reference to Fast Train as well, specifically the second chapter. And there were definitely some nods to events in Storming the Castle too! I always enjoy including scenes that mirror things that happened earlier in the series… I feel like it helps to show how the relationship between the characters has progressed. <3

Well, that’s it for Chapter Two! I really hope everyone enjoyed the next chapter in the fic. (And at least it didn’t end on such an extreme cliffhanger this time? XD) I’ve been hard at work on the next part of the story, and can’t wait to share it with all of you as soon as possible. <3

[dosei-dreams]

;; kms :: mar

S/N : I cannot stress this enough. This is NOT a smut fic. what is written in this fic isn’t in any way meant to glamorize or sexualize any of the serious topics that are included here. if you are sensitive to any of the topics in this fic, please please please either read this with caution or don’t read it at all. I care more about your mental health and safety than anything. if you do decide to read, i hope you realize what i am trying to do with this.

National Domestic Violence Hotline

Genre/Warnings - Angst, Male R*pe/Non-Con,Stalking, Domestic Violence, Mental Disorder, S*icide Mentions ; Original Characters

Wordcount - 10.3k

Summary :: Amaya never thought she’d have to find her best friend like this. But when she did, she knew she had to help him through his trauma.

Mar :: Convalesce :: Replevin :: Apprehension :: Comprehension :: Exeunt 

AO3 Cross-Post

It was early in the afternoon when Amaya got a sudden call from her long time best friend, Hoseok. It wasn't really like him to call— he opted for texting instead— so she was a bit confused when she saw his name pop up on the caller ID of her phone. But she answered nonetheless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Amaya! Um… You don't mind if I crash at yours tonight, do you?”

Amaya could hear the hesitance in Hoseok's voice, telling her that the elder was either nervous or embarrassed about asking the question— like he always was.

“Of course, Hobi. You're always welcome at my place!”

She heard a relieved sigh crackle through the phone and then a small chuckle before Hoseok responded, “Oh, thank god… I really owe you one, Amaya.”

“Don't even mention it!” Amaya giggled to herself as she spoke to Hoseok, “I'll see you later tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.”

And with that, he hung up.

Amaya hummed to herself, finding it strange how Hoseok had spoken. The two of them had been best friends since high school; she knew Hoseok like the back of her hand. And she just knew that something was a bit off about what he had said, the way he had said it. She shrugged it off though, thinking that maybe Hoseok had gotten into another fight with Yerin, his long time girlfriend, for the second time that week.

Being friends for nearly fifteen years, Amaya knew everything about Hoseok. Hoseok was a naturally shy person, not being able to open up to people until he got to know them a little better. She and Hoseok were complete opposites, but that's what made the two of them the perfect pair. In high school, it didn't take that long for Amaya to become friends with him when they were freshmen. Even now, years later, they're as close as they were back then. Whenever Hoseok needed Amaya , she was there like his crutch; vice versa for Amaya. The two of them were inseparable.

That is, until Hoseok started dating Yerin.

Hoseok and Yerin had met their sophomore year of college. They seemed like the perfect couple to anyone who saw them— always smiling and laughing with each other, showing dubious amounts of affection toward each other. It was as if they were made for each other. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle; they were perfect for each other.

At first.

Somewhere along the way, Yerin had become fairly possessive of him, only wanting Hoseok to herself. It put a small gap in his and Amaya’s friendship, but she didn't really mind it. All she cared about was seeing Hoseok happy — and for the most part, he was. For the most part, Hoseok and Yerin were problem free, but over time, things got a little more hostile, more negative. The two would get into fights often, Hoseok calling Amaya and talking to her about it right after and then another argument happening because he was talking to her. It was a never ending cycle, and in the end, they compromised.

Amaya and Hoseok stopped talking as often— she'd been lucky to talk to him once a month— which seemed to please Yerin.

When Hoseok told Amaya that he wouldn't be able to talk to her as often, he sounded guilty, apologizing and telling Amaya that it wasn't because of her but because of how protective Yerin was of him.

Amaya herself wouldn’t have called it protective— maybe a different word— but nonetheless she told him that she didn't mind as long as he was happy, which she had thought he was. Besides, it wasn't like the two were never going to talk anymore. It didn't matter how often they talked to each other, Amaya and Hoseok were still going to be best friends no matter what. No matter how protective Yerin was, that wouldn’t change how close the two of them were.

Amaya didn’t know the exact date that Hoseok first asked to stay over at her place for the night, but it was around four months ago last spring. Of course, she obliged, happy that she would be able to see her friend after a long time of no physical communication. When he first came over, Amaya just thought he had gotten into a very heated argument with Yerin, and when she asked him about it, he just shrugged and told her:

"Something like that."

He'd always left in the morning, not even saying goodbye to Amaya. He left the guest room exactly how it was before he got there, bed perfectly made, curtains open and the small wardrobe containing some of his clothes neatly organized. The only thing that would actually indicate that he had even stayed the night was the note he would always leave on the bedside table.

thanks for letting me crash here tonight! i owe you one

-H :)

Today wasn't anything new, but it was definitely surprising. It was the second time Hoseok had asked to stay over this week— he had never asked to stay over so often. This would make it the fifth time he came over this month. It started to concern Amaya how often he was getting into fights with Yerin. To her, it was bordering toxic, but she didn't say anything about it. It wasn't her relationship, she had no say in what he did or didn't do, and Amaya thought that maybe it would all cool down in a while. Every good relationship had downfalls like this, right? Things will get better for them, they're just hitting a rough patch. Relationships like Hoseok and Yerin's always work out in the long run.

But what kind of relationship did Hoseok and Yerin actually have?

Amaya thought they had a fairly good relationship. It seemed like they loved each other whenever she saw them — his arm wrapped around her shoulders, the two of them nothing but smiles and heart eyes.

A picture perfect couple.

She didn't really understand what it was they could possibly have fought about, but again, it wasn't her relationship. She didn't know what went down behind closed doors.

Not yet, at least.

Knock Knock Knock

She went up to the front door, instantly greeted by Hoseok's heart shaped smile. He pulled her in for a quick hug (‘maybe a little too quick’, she thought to herself), a light chuckle coming from his lungs as he embraced her. He had missed Amaya, that was obvious. Even though they had seen each other earlier this week, Amaya had missed him too. It had been too long since she had actually seen Hoseok. The last time he came over, he hadn't left his room, so Amaya didn't really have time to actually talk to him.

"I brought jjajangmyeon. Extra pickled radish, just for you." Hoseok lifted up a black plastic bag containing food, Amaya’s favorite food to be exact. He gave her another smile before walking in and setting the bag down on the kitchen table. Amaya nodded and made her way over to the couch as he followed, the two of them falling down on it with loud sighs. Amaya outstretched her arms, resting them on the back of the couch and looked over at Hoseok.

"You get into another fight with Yerin?"

She waited for him to shrug

Hoseok shrugged giving Amaya a nervous— somewhat fearful— smile.

'Something like that.'

"Something like that."

Amaya nodded and pursed her lips, taking the TV remote and surfing the channels for a movie. As they tried to find a movie, talking to each other about what kind they wanted to watch for the night (Amaya voting for a horror film, while Hoseok chose a Disney), Hoseok's phone was buzzing nonstop against the armrest of the couch. Hoseok had tried to act as if he couldn't hear it, but it constantly went off.

Over and over and over again.

Amaya glanced at the screen of his phone and noticed they were all messages from Yerin, but she couldn't really see what they said. When it seemed as if the buzzing wasn't going to stop, Hoseok suddenly took the phone in his hand and stood up.

"I'm just gonna… I’m gonna put this in the room. Be right back."

He walked past Amaya to the guest room, opening the door and walking inside for a moment before coming back into the living room and sitting on the couch with a loud sigh. "Sorry about that..." Amaya shook her head at him, telling him it was no problem and going back to searching.

"So what's been going on? We didn't really get to talk the other day." Amaya didn't look at Hoseok when she asked the question, continuing to surf channels as she lazily sat back against the couch, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible. Hoseok chuckled nervously, trying to seem as if he were getting comfortable on the couch, but Amaya could tell he was tense. Though he was trying to relax, his body was stiff. Amaya didn't say anything about it though, letting him speak as she continued to surf through Netflix.

"I..." he sighed before continuing, "I don't know, Amaya. We've just been getting into a lot of fights. That's all."

She knew he was lying.

"Jung Hoseok." Amaya scolded him, finally prying her eyes away from the TV and looking at him. Hoseok smiled at her and laughed, holding out his hands in defense as if he knew she were going to smack his arm like she’s done many times before.

"I promise, Amaya! We've just been... disagreeing with each other lately. It's nothing serious, Amaya, I swear." He laughed again, this time a hint of nervousness laced around it, as if Amaya was going to catch on to his lie. Well, she already had, but she wasn't going to press him any further. Amaya just nodded and looked back at the TV, finally finding a movie that the two of them could watch.

Amaya stood back up and walked over to the kitchen table, taking the two bowls of jjajangmyeon out of the bag along with the large container of pickled radish. She mixed the noodles and took them back to the couch, handing Hoseok one of the bowls and sitting back down on the couch, eating silently as the two of them watched the movie. Even as he ate, something seemed off about Hoseok to her. Yes he was looking at the TV, but it didn't really look like he was watching the movie. As Amaya stared at him from the corners of her eyes, she noticed that he was deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth moving very slowly as he ate. He hadn't even noticed that she was now looking straight at him. Amaya was looking at his expression at first, but eventually, something peeking from under his shorts quickly caught her attention, it's deep purple and blue hue enveloped by a grotesque yellow border.

Was that a...

Amaya looked back at Hoseok's face, concern completely spread across her own, and she reached her hand out to lightly touch his arm. She were about to ask him what was really going on, but what Amaya was about to say caught in her throat when Hoseok flinched with wide eyes, scooting further away from her on the couch when she finally broke him out of his trance. He smiled at her briefly, hoping she hadn’t seen his reaction to her touching him, before looking back at the TV.

"Hoseok..." Amaya started. Her voice was quiet as she looked at him with a mixture of concern and fear for what may actually be happening to him. "What's going on with you and Yerin? Are you okay?"

"It's nothing..." he barely whispered to her before looking at her with a fake smile. "It's really nothing, Amaya. Promise!"

"Then what's that on your thigh?" she pointed at the purple mark on the side of Hoseok's thigh, not even pretending not to notice it anymore. Hoseok tried to play it off, giving Amaya a smile as he shook his head.

"I just bumped it on the coffee table back at home. Don't worry about it, Amaya!" he chuckled nervously and gave her another fake smile while trying to pull the hem of his shorts down further and covering his thigh. "Let's just go back to watching the movie, okay?" He shifted his gaze back to the TV, stealing glances at Amaya a few times until she stopped staring at him, going back to watching the movie and eating her food.

Amaya thought about it for a while. Maybe she was blowing it all out of proportion. Maybe they were just getting into a lot of fights. There was a possibility that he could actually have just bumped his thigh on the coffee table, he had always been a bit of a clumsy person. That was it, she thought. Amaya’s thoughts calmed down her assumptions as she stared at the TV.

Like a good friend (or maybe like a naive idiot), she believed him.

After the movie finished, Hoseok told Amaya that he was tired, saying that he had a long day at work and that the fight he had with Yerin had also exhausted him. Of course, Amaya had told him okay and left him at that, going into her own room to get some sleep since she had to work the early shift the next morning. They told each other their good nights and went into their respective rooms, Hoseok closing the door and leaning back against it as he ran his hands through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots.

He could hear that his phone was still buzzing against the mattress.

He sighed as he walked over to the phone and checked his messages. He had over 300 messages, 50 missed calls, and 10 voicemails from Yerin. He deleted the voicemails, not wanting to hear her voice at the moment, but he checked a few of the messages, his face dropping when he did.

Yerin: Hobi

Yerin: Love

Yerin: Where did you go?

Yerin: You're with Amaya, aren't you?

Yerin: Of course you are

Yerin: You fucking whore

Yerin: Ignoring my messages???

Yerin: Just wait til you get home.

Yerin: You're gonna get it

Hoseok felt dread wash over him as he read Yerin's messages. He didn't want to go home now, knowing that if he did, he'd just have to deal with her and whatever she has in store for him. He turned off his phone and set it down on the bedside table, falling onto the bed and forcing himself to sleep.

Hoseok wanted to sleep to relax— to get things like this off of his mind, but all it did was amplify the problem. When he slept, images of Yerin popped into his head, infiltrating the one place he thought he could be away from her. It’s safe to say that his sleep wasn’t a restful one, and he woke up feeling worse than he did before he went to bed.

Hoseok checked the time— 11 AM. He knew that Amaya was most likely gone by now, probably going off to work a few hours earlier. He wanted to stay at her place for a little while longer. Another day wouldn’t hurt, right? He

Hoseok sighed to himself and got out of the bed, making it neat again and shuffling out of his room to the  bathroom right across from it.

He looked at himself in the mirror—  deep bags under his eyes, a tired frown across his face. The sight of himself he was seeing only made him want to hang his head in shame.

Pathetic.

He stood there for a moment before lifting himself upright and walking toward the shower. Turning the water on, watching the steam accumulate in the air, the feeling was somewhat suffocating to Hoseok. The air was becoming too thick for him, and his mind made it seem like his throat was closing, restricting any air from coming through. He took a deep breath just to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

Once he took off his shirt, Hoseok immediately started to hate himself more as he stared down at his torso, the splashes of purple and yellow and blue spread all across it. He ran his hand across the colors gently, wincing slightly when skin made contact with skin. He hated the colors, the ugly, sickening hue they gave his body.

He hated himself.

He took a shower that morning, hoping that the dirty colors would be washed away with the water.

Unfortunately, they didn’t go away.

Hoseok ate in silence at the kitchen table, chewing slowly as he was deep in thought. Maybe he could just... break up with Yerin. Yeah. Maybe he could do that if she let him.

If she let him.

There were multiple occasions where Hoseok had tried to break up with Yerin, telling her he didn't feel anything for her anymore. It was no hard feelings, really. Just a college relationship gone dry. But every time Hoseok tried to end things, Yerin would do whatever she could to make him stay— some things more sinister than others. But maybe this time she would let him leave.

If she let him

He doubted that would happen, but a man could dream.

Hoseok stayed in his room for the rest of the day— sleeping, waking up, rinsing and repeating— coming back out at around 10 PM. He tidied the room back up, making the bed again and leaving a note on the bedside table thanking Amaya for letting him stay over, like he always did.

When he walked out of the room, Amaya was in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in her hand. Her eyes looked tired, exhausted as if she were going to fall asleep at any given moment, but they perked open a bit wider in surprise when she saw Hoseok walk past her, not really knowing that he would still be there. Not expecting him to still be there. But Amaya played it off as if she wasn't surprised and just raised an eyebrow at him. "You going home?"

"Uh, yeah." He stopped at the front door and looked at her with a soft smile. "I'm gonna talk it out with her, try to make things a little better between us, you know?"

Amaya hummed and nodded at him, understanding what he was saying somewhat.

"What's a relationship for if you can't get through hard times?"

"Yeah..." She took a sip of her coffee as she looked at him, his smile beginning to waver. There was a deafening silence between the two of them that seemed to last a lifetime until Hoseok put his hand around the doorknob.

"Well, I'm just gonna.. I'm gonna go now... See you later, Amaya."

"See you later..."

He gently closed the door behind him, leaving Amaya wondering as he got in his car and drove off.

The drive home was silent, only the sound of the wind whirring through the crack between the window and the car door. Hoseok invited the noise with ease, thankful that the high pitched sound was loud enough to drown out his roaming thoughts— thoughts that had been screaming at him ever since he had woken up. Even if it were just for a moment, Hoseok wanted his mind to be cleared before he had to go home. He wanted to think about anything other than what might happen when he would have to confront Yerin. He just wanted to be calm.

The ride home wasn't long enough.

He was parked in the parking lot, only a few feet away from the place he called home— the place with her. Only a few feet away, but he wished he were thousands, millions of miles further. His hands were sweaty against the steering wheel, breathing shallow, stomach churning.

He stared up at their shared apartment, seeing the light through the window of their living room. He knew what it meant, and it only made him more anxious. He took a deep breath and took the key out of ignition.

Once he got out, he walked as if he were striding through molasses and prayed that the path to their front door would grow longer with each step he took. But it didn't, and eventually, he was at the door. Before he could even bring his hand up to the doorknob, the door opened and he was met with Yerin's small figure.

"Hi, Hobi."

Her voice was saccharine and laced with trace amounts of poison when she spoke to Hoseok. He knew that the sweetness in her voice was merely a facade, though.

He knew he had to play her game now.

"Hey, babe. I.. I missed you" he hesitated for a second, but he gave her a fake smile and walked inside, hoping she didn't notice his hesitation. He went into the kitchen, pulling a glass from the cabinet above the stove and pouring himself some water— testing the waters, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’ll be off the hook this once. Slowly, he put the glass up to his lips, but it fell from his hand, falling on the ground and the water staining his legs and feet as he gasped out in pain.

The feeling of Yerin's arms wrapping around his waist, her hands pressing hard against his torso,  was unbearable. The dull pain made his body shake, his breathing shorten. He clenched his fists, digging his fingernails into his palms as he stammered out through gritted teeth. "Y-Yerin..."

"Where were you, hm?" She calmly asked him. "Were you at Amaya's place?" Hoseok stayed silent, not looking at Yerin as he endured the pain shooting through his whole body. His short breaths were beginning to shake as she added more pressure, trying to push him to the edge. "I asked you a question, Hobi."

Hoseok groaned in pain, gritting his teeth even harder than he already had been as he hung his head down.

"Ye… Y-yes..."

"Hmmm..." Yerin applied more pressure to Hoseok's middle, causing the male to audibly cry out, tears starting to spring up in the corners of his eyes from the pain. She exhaled, looking up at Hoseok from his side with a light pout, her head tilted slightly. "You know how i feel about you going there, yet you were at Amaya's place. For two days... and that wasn't even the first time this week that you went over there... Tell me, Baby." she squinted her eyes at Hoseok, smile fading and her grip tightening on Hoseok like a vice.

"Did you fuck Amaya?"

"No!"

Hoseok tried to make his voice sound stern and unwavering, but it squeaked out, sounding unsure and as if he were lying. "I-I... I didn't fuck Amaya. I swear."

"I don't believe you." Yerin loosened her grip on Hoseok, slipping her ice-like hands under his shirt and running her fingers across the three colored skin. the feeling made him shiver, the hairs on the nape of his neck beginning to raise in a sick anticipation for what was to happen next.

Hoseok cried out at the feeling of Yerin digging her fingertips into the skin of his abdomen, the tears that had gathered in his eyes beginning to fall uncontrollably.

"I bet you had fun, whoring around with Amaya" she harshly dragged her fingers along Hoseok's skin, letting her fingernails scratch him until she could feel welts form.

Hoseok took hold of her hands, whimpering as he did.

"Please… p-please stop..."

Yerin pouted as she looked at his face, noticing the streaks along his flushed cheeks.

"Are you crying?"

her voice was sweet as she spoke to Hoseok. So sweet that he would think she were trying to comfort him if she weren't the one causing his pain. "Fucking pathetic. No one's ever going to want a weak bitch like you. You call yourself a man?"

The juxtaposition of Yerin's voice and her words made Hoseok's head hurt, having him hang his head down as individual tears began to splash onto the hardwood of their kitchen floor.

"You're lucky even I tolerate you." She sighed in annoyance as she let go of Hoseok, taking a step back as he wiped his eyes and looked over at her. "Strip."

Hoseok's eyes widened at her demand "I... What?"

"Did I stutter?" the sweetness in her voice was gone, all that's left being bitter venom that made Hoseok's stomach drop. "I said, Strip."

Hoseok shuddered at the harshness of her voice, it booming and echoing in his ears as his breath caught in his throat. "I-" his voice was quiet, scared and unconfident. He was hesitating, mostly stalling so he wouldn't have to take his clothes off in front of Yerin, so he wouldn't have to see his bruises and the welts she had left on him. "I don't want to..."

"Did I ask what you wanted? I don't think I did." Yerin leaned against the kitchen table with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not going to tell you again, Hobi."

Hoseok shakily exhaled, bringing his hands to the hem of his shirt and pulling it off. He felt cold once he took it off, covering his middle with his arms as he looked down at his feet.

"The rest."

Hoseok felt dirty, disgusting as he undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down along with his underwear. He was completely bare in front of Yerin, covering below his waist with his hands. He was in his most vulnerable state in front of her, everything out for her to see.

It didn't feel right. Hoseok didn't like how his eyes kept watering as he stood naked in their kitchen. He hung his head back down as he stood still, every hum and murmur coming from Yerin amplified in his ears as he feared what she would make him do next.

The held back hiccups and sobs burned at his throat, trying desperately to come out as tears hit his feet.

He hated this; this isn't what he's supposed to feel like whenever he's with Yerin. He's not supposed to be afraid of his girlfriend, someone he should love unconditionally and share happy moments with. A whimper unconsciously escaped his lips as he kept his head down, his tears falling freely again as he spoke.

"I'm sorry..."

"You're sorry?” Yerin straightened herself from the table, taking slow strides closer to Hoseok. “Sorry for what, Hobi?” She tilted her head as she looked at Hoseok's abdomen, the red marks her fingertips created becoming more prominent on his skin. They felt warm as she glided the pads of her fingers across them, bringing her hand down to Hoseok's and moving them away from his center. She gripped him tightly with her free hand, causing Hoseok to yelp in pain as his whole body tensed up. "Sorry for being a slut? For not telling me where you fucking went so you could let Amaya play with your cock?" She looked up at him, smirking at the tears that were streaming down his cheeks as he looked up at the ceiling, trying his hardest to endure the pain. Hoseok was breathing heavily, tiny whimpers coming from his throat as Yerin tightened her grip more and more as each second passed.

"I... didn't let-"

"Sure you did, Hobi." Yerin squeezed tighter. "Why else would you not tell me where you had gone, Hm? Just tell me the truth."

Hoseok groaned loudly as the pain became too much to bear. "I didn't fuck Amaya!" his voice was hoarse as he spoke out to Yerin, finally looking down at her with wet eyes and a terrified expression. "I didn't even touch Amaya… She’s...  I-I swear... I swear I didn't..."

Yerin pursed her lips and nodded, letting go of Hoseok and taking a step back. "Still lying to me? I see how it is..." She looked him up and down, a disgusted expression spread across her face as she stared at his bruised body. "Go in the bedroom and wait for me in there."

Hoseok was hesitant to move, his hands going back down to cover himself as he stood before Yerin. The cold air that surrounded him gave him goosebumps, chilling his spine and rendering him stiff, immobile.

"Hoseok. Go in the bedroom right now."

He didn't want to go. He knew he didn't want to go, but Hoseok's legs deceived him as he made his way to their bedroom.

The bed dipped from the pressure of his body weight. His heart was pounding in his chest; he could've sworn that anyone within a ten foot radius would be able to heart the loud thrumming that was coming from Hoseok's body. Sweat from his hands was beginning to stain the dull purple sheets of the bed as he sat, each second that whisked by feeling like a lifetime. Eventually he could hear a soft voice swimming through the halls of the apartment, bouncing off the walls and dancing with his eardrums.

Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words

Killing me softly with his song

Killing me softly with his song

Telling my whole life with his words

killing me softly with his song…

It was the song.

It was their song.

It was a song that used to harbor so much love in Hoseok's heart, so much happiness. It was the song he and Yerin first kissed to, the song they first made love to, the song he initially wanted playing when he proposed to Yerin.

Now, that song— a song that would soothe him to sleep if need be, would calm him when he was at his angriest, their song— only made a drowning fear wash over Hoseok and told him one thing.

He was to be punished.

The light tap tap tap of Yerin's feet padding across the hall as she walked closer and closer to their bedroom made Hoseok want to scream and hide away. He wanted to be anywhere but where he was now 'I wish I had stayed at Amaya's', he thought, but he knew if he had stayed any longer it would've just gotten worse, he would've had more purple and yellow marks on more than just his torso. He just knew it, so maybe it was for the best that he had come back when he did.

Yerin walked inside their room with a large candle, two long lengths of rope and a black strip of fabric.

"Hobi, love. Sit back against the headboard."

Hoseok swallowed harshly as he peered up at Yerin. He found it pathetic how he saw someone with a figure like hers, someone as dainty and petite as her to where Hoseok actually towered over her, as terrifying as he did. That was it. He was terrified of Yerin, his girlfriend, beyond belief. He thought it was damn near laughable. What would people think of him if they knew he was scared of someone smaller than him— that he was being hurt like this by someone who was physically weaker than him? It's exactly as Yerin said it was.

It was fucking pathetic.

He scooted himself back against the headboard, the cold wood making him wince and shudder as he pressed his bare back against it.

Yerin slung one of the ropes over her shoulder, stretching out the other and grabbing hold of Hoseok's arm. She pinned it up to the frame of the headboard, making sure his wrist was flush with the wood before tying the rope tightly around his wrist and forearm, nearly cutting off circulation.

Hoseok said nothing as this happened to him. The rope cut into his skin, making it known to him that Yerin wanted there to be marks left on his wrists by the end of the night.

As she moved onto the next arm, so many thoughts and silent questions roamed through his mind. How did he get in this position, being scared to come home because he didn't want to get hurt? When did their relationship shift from cute pet names and loving kisses that lingered to degrading, hurtful insults directed toward him and bruises so bad that they lasted for weeks at a time? When did the cute pet name, 'Hobi', develop such a hateful edge to it whenever it left Yerin's lips?

What had he done to deserve this?

He had to have done something to make her so angry in the first place; there's no way she'd have done something so vile, so foul, so sinister, unprovoked. No, he had to have done something. That was the only explanation. It was his fault, and if it was his fault, then he must have deserved it.

Suddenly everything was black. He couldn't see anything as Yerin covered his face with the strip of fabric. "Y-Yerin... I d-don't want it. please..." Hoseok pleaded with her, already beginning to struggle in his binds. He hated being blindfolded. He absolutely despised it because he was left completely vulnerable to whatever Yerin was planning on doing to him. He wouldn't be able to brace himself for whatever act she would put upon him. He could only wait and pray that it was nothing too severe.

"That's too bad, love. You should have thought about that before you lied to me."

"But... I didn't lie..." Hoseok heard the striking of a match, smelling the phosphorus as the fire burned on the tip. The soft crackling of the candle wick popped in his ears and he began to tense up, his breathing becoming short and shallow as he knew what was going to happen next. "I swear! I didn't lie to you... please, I'm sorry! I didn't lie."

"You keep saying that," her poisonous honey voice was right in the shell of his ear and he flinched, He could feel her hot breath against him, she was in such close proximity. "But I still don't believe you."

Drip.

Hoseok cried out in pain, arching his back and once again trying to free himself from his restraints when the first drop of hot candle wax fell onto his thigh. It was a searing pain, one that lingered for far too long for him to bear, and he couldn't control the whimpers and sobs that ripped through his throat. "Besides..." Yerin continued, letting another drop of wax fall onto a random part of his body and causing him to cry out again, his muscles tensing as he tried to endure the pain. "Why would I believe a whore like you? Hm?" Another drop, another yelp and sob, another tug at the ropes that wouldn't budge. "All whores lie. Especially the one in front of me right now."

"I'M SORRY!" Hoseok began screaming, not being able to handle it anymore. His blindfold was soaked with his tears, stuck to his face as he cried. "I'M SORRY! PLEASE... I'M SO SORRY!" His wrists were beginning to bleed with how hard he tugged and tried and failed to break free from the ropes. "PLEASE FORGIVE ME, I'M SO SORRY, PLEASE!" He didn't know exactly what he was apologizing for, but the two words fell from his mouth like a mantra as Yerin kept dropping wax on his body; drop after agonizing drop his screams grew louder and louder.

"Please... I'm sorry. I'm sorry.. I- Fuck...I'm so sorry... Please..."

"What are you sorry for, Hobi?" Yerin's voice was a soft whisper.

Hoseok was basically wailing at this point, drops of blood falling from his wrists and staining the bed sheets, sweat beading across his chest and forehead and his breaths becoming labored and sporadic, tears staining the blindfold and beginning to stream down his cheeks. His throat was beginning to sting already from how hard he was screaming. This was too much.

All of this was too much for Hoseok.

"Sorry for not telling me where you were for two days? Sorry for going over to Amaya's even when i told you not to? For being a fucking slut and fucking Amaya like the disgusting whore you are? Hm? Is that what you're sorry for?"

"Yes!" Hoseok cried out, shaking vigorously and pulling against his binds again, not caring that his wrists were bleeding.

He just wanted it to end.

He just wanted to get out.

"Yes, all of it! I'm sorry! I swear to God I’m so fucking sorry!" He was saying what she wanted to hear. He was desperate; he only wanted to be untied, let out so he could hide away again, so he could pretend none of this happened again. "I'm Sorry... Please stop now! I promise I'll be good, please!"

"I don't know, Hobi." Yerin huffed as she poured a large amount of melted wax onto his abdomen, causing Hoseok to throw his head back and scream painfully, it coming out choked and slowly turning into a high pitched whimper as he hit his head against the headboard and a vein protruded from his temple. "What's to say you won't go running back to Amaya? What's to say you won't find someone else to whore around with?"

"I won't, I swear... Just- Please..." Hoseok was begging, pleading with Yerin to stop the pain she was causing him. "I promise I'll be good... I promise..." his throat was hoarse from his screams and sobs; he couldn't take anymore. He felt like he was on the verge of passing out from the pain, his blindfold beginning to feel cold from how wet it was with his tears and his wrists going numb from how hard he tugged at them. He knew it wasn't over yet. He just knew she wasn't finished with her torment. "Yerin, please... stop..."

"Open wide for me, love."

He could feel Yerin's fingertips on either of his cheeks, trying to open his mouth forcefully, but he tried his damnedest to keep his lips sealed shut, attempting to shake his head away from her grip.

"Did you fucking hear me? I said, Open!" She squeezed hard on his cheeks, causing him to cry out and his mouth to open involuntarily as she placed a small pill in his mouth. "Now swallow it before I make you."

Hoseok did as he was told, unable to win the battle at this point. It was quiet at this point other than the one song playing on repeat in the background. But eventually he felt something; he knew exactly what was happening.

Yerin began to latch onto Hoseok, taking him in her hands as he began panting in panic.

"N-no." he pleaded with her. "I don't want to... p-please." he shook his head as he felt her hover above him, beginning to sob again when she fell onto him.

"Oh, love." she took hold of Hoseok's shoulders as she whispered in his ear. "How else are you supposed to learn your lesson? Hm?" She began to rock her hips against him harshly, grunting as she dug her fingernails into his skin. "How else am I supposed to punish a dirty fucking whore like you?"

"N-NO!" he screamed out tugging at the ropes again. He didn't care if he bled anymore. He just wanted this to stop, he just wanted to end his suffering and run somewhere else."PLEASE STOP! I-I'LL BE GOOD! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!"

"You're too loud!" Yerin brought her hand up to Hoseok's mouth, muffling his screams and cries as she continued to use him much to his dismay. "You want the whole town to hear how much of a slut you are? I bet you fucking do."

Hoseok was still screaming behind her hand, begging for her to stop, constantly apologizing and telling her that he'll be good.

anything to get her to stop.

He just wanted it to stop. He just wanted it to finally be over. He continued to scream until she was frozen on top of him.

She was lightly panting in pleasure

He was hyperventilating from the pain and the fear.

She removed herself from him, her feet padding against the floor as he heard a door quietly creak open and shut.

Hoseok could hear the water running from behind the door, telling him that she was now taking a shower.

It was still pitch black for him, the blindfold still secure on his face. The numbness of the ropes against his wrists began to wear off now, only the sting of the nylon digging into his raw flesh. He was cold, shaking as he sat on the bed and his breathing weak and labored. He was a broken, crying mess while Yerin was calmly taking a shower. The water was still running as silent tears began to stream down his face, falling from his chin and dropping onto his burning thighs. He felt dirty, disgusting, like a whore. He felt exactly like Yerin told him he was.

Because to him, now he was.

The water stopped and he slowly lifted his head as the door opened. He took a deep breath, a sense of relief washing over him as he thought he was going to be untied now, that he was going to be able to clean himself and forget this ever happened.

"Yerin..."

His relief quickly shifted to dread as he heard the padding of footsteps get further and further away from him, eventually hearing the sound of the front door opening and closing.

He was still tied up; he was still blindfolded. He was still vulnerable in their bed.

She had abandoned him.

Hoseok dropped his head and began to silently sob, the only sound emitting through the apartment being his soft hiccups and the sweet words of Roberta Flack

Strumming my pain with his fingers

Singing my life with his words

Killing me softly with his song...

Before nothing could be heard anymore, and Hoseok blacked out.

He didn't know what time it was when he came to; it felt stuffy in the bedroom, like he couldn't breathe. His voice was hoarse, his throat burning with every shallow breath he took. he tried to get up from the bed, but he wasn't able to move. Confusion spread across his face as he tried again until it dawned on him. it was still pitch black, the music was still playing; the sting on his wrists were still there as they were forcibly held up against the headboard.

Yerin hadn't come back and freed him from his restraints.

Panic settled over him as he realized that he was left alone for God knows how long, and God knows how long she intends to leave him here as a punishment. He dropped his head, tears beginning to well again in his covered eyes.

He didn't know what to do. He couldn't just stay like this until Yerin came back— whenever that would be. No, he had to get out. There was only one thing he could do. His breaths were weak, he knew he could pass out again at any moment, it was now or never. Who knew what Yerin would do to him next if she came back, when she came back.

"S-Siri..."

He heard the familiar beeping of his phone nearby, sighing in relief as he thanked God in his head that he set his phone up to listen to voice commands. It took a few moments before he heard the automated voice greeting him happily, unknowing of his current situation.

"Hi, Hoseok! How can I help you today?"

Hoseok took a deep, shaky breath as he gathered his jumbled thoughts, his arms beginning to burn from being held up for so long, the skin on his thighs and abdomen stinging underneath the now hardened drops of candle wax. He lifted his head up, taking another breath as he called out to his phone again.

"Call... Call Amaya..."

Hoseok's call was what woke Amaya up that morning. It was far too early for her to be woken up; she was cranky as she checked her phone to see who the hell was calling her at 3 AM. The brightness of Amaya’s phone screen slightly burned her eyes, but she endured it when she noticed Hoseok's name on the caller ID. It was weird, when Amaya thought about it. It wasn't like him to call her at all let alone so early in the morning. Nonetheless, Amaya pressed answer and put the phone up to her ear, taking a sleepy breath before speaking.

"Hobiii, It's three in the morning... what's wrong?"

It was silent on the other end other than faint music that seemed to be far away from his phone. Amaya was confused, waiting a moment before saying anything else. It was too silent, Hoseok wouldn't have called her if he didn't need anything. She was close to speaking again before she heard a soft whimper.

"A...A-Amaya..."

"Hoseok?" Amaya sat up in her bed when she heard his voice, shocked by how high pitched and strained it was. "Hoseok, what's wrong? What happened?" There was a shaky breath, another whimper, a choked sob, before Amaya heard his voice. It sounded as if he were in pain, nothing that she was used to hearing; it was like a completely different person was on the other as she listened, his voice soft, desperate and scared.

“Amaya please… Help me…” He whimpered. His breathing became more labored the more he spoke, she could hear it. It was painful to listen to him through the phone. Amaya jumped out of her bed, landing on her feet as he continued to speak. “Please… before she comes back…”

“I’m coming, Hoseok. Don’t worry. I’m on my way right now.” Amaya was nervously rambling as she grabbed her keys, running down the hall to the front door. She was barefoot, only wearing a thin tank top and sleep shorts as she ran out to her car. It was freezing outside, the cold air stinging Amaya’s skin, but she didn’t care, hopping into her car and starting it as she stayed on the phone with Hoseok. “Stay on the phone with me, Hoseok. I’m on my way— just don’t hang up okay?”

Amaya’s voice was beginning to shake. She had no idea what was going on, not really, but she sped to Hoseok’s house. He sounded like he was dying, maybe he was; she didn’t know, and that’s what terrified her. “Just keep talking to me, okay?”

“I… I’m sorry… I-I lied to you…”

“Don’t worry about that right now, Hoseok. That doesn’t matter at the moment.” she assured him.

“I’m a whore… I lied… I’m s-sorry…”

“No, Hoseok. You’re not-… You’re not a whore, Hoseok. You’re going to be okay, just… just keep talking to me okay. Tell me what you can see.”

“I-I can’t see anything…” He began sobbing, his soft hiccups running through Amaya’s ears, causing tears of her own to sting in the corners of her eyes. “She blindfolded me… I can’t see anything…”

“That’s okay, don’t worry. I’m almost there, just tell me what you can hear.”

“I hear…” Hoseok’s voice faded, Amaya only heard silence on the other end. it scared her, her eyes widening as she drove faster to his apartment.

“Hoseok! keep talking to me, okay? I’m just few minutes away, just keep talking to me, okay? What do you hear?”

“I hear music…” He groaned out. “I-it’s our song, Amaya. It’s me and Yerin’s song.”

“Where’s Yerin right now? Is she still there?”

“She left me here.” He whispered. Amaya could hear sniffling and quiet sobs as he spoke to her. Hoseok sounded completely broken. “I-I passed out… I don’t know how long it’s been… please just hurry, Amaya.”

That was all that he said, repeatedly apologizing and asking, begging, pleading with her to help him. It broke Amaya’s heart as she drove. Her hands were sweaty against the steering wheel and she drove like a maniac, trying to get to her best friend in the fastest way possible. Once she was in the parking lot, right outside of his apartment, Amaya screeched to a stop. “I’m Here, Hoseok. Here I come.”

“Please hurry…”

Amaya hung up her phone, quickly unbuckling her seatbelt and running out of the car to his front door. She was about to knock, but she noticed the door was open a crack. Her hand slowly dropped lower; she pushed the door open, the dim lights of the kitchen lamp emitting through the whole room. Amaya slowly walked in, inspecting her surroundings.

There was shattered glass in the kitchen, water splashed everywhere. Hoseok’s clothes were on the ground, a messy pile in the kitchen, and there was music playing softly throughout the whole apartment. Just like Hoseok had said, it was the song that He and Yerin grew to love together— Killing Me Softly. Overpassing the music was soft sobs. Amaya’s head jerked in the direction the sobs were coming from, her feet moving on their own to Hoseok’s room.

The door was wide open, and Amaya could see him clearly. She brought a hand up to her mouth, a silent gasp coming from her lips as she saw his state, tears beginning to well in her eyes at the sight.

He was naked, His wrists tied against the headboard of his bed and his eyes covered with a black blindfold. His body was covered in a deep purple wax. It was everywhere— his thighs, his abdomen, his shoulders, his arms. everywhere— and his wrists were bleeding, the blood dropping onto his sheets and his skin. All over his body were large bruises, mostly on his torso. assorted grotesque colors of yellow, purple, blue, black and red. It was difficult to look at, too much for one person to take in.

Amaya slowly walked closer to him, bringing her hand up to his face to undo his blindfold, but when she made contact with his skin, he flinched, a terrified yelp ripping through his lungs.

“Please, Yerin I’m sorry! No more, I’ll be good, I promise! Please!”

“Hoseok, It’s me!” she gently gripped onto his shoulders, he was shaking vigorously, hyperventilating to the feeling of her touch. “It’s me, Hoseok; It’s Amaya!”

“Amaya…”

His panicked breaths began to slow as he listened to Amaya’s voice, the soft voice she was using to soothe him. “It’s okay, You’re okay.” Amaya slowly brought her hands to the back of his head, untying his blindfold and pulling it away from his face. She gave him a warm smile as he looked at her with wide eyes. “See? It’s just me, okay?”

Hoseok nodded, tears beginning to stream down his face as she started to untie the ropes from around his wrists. He winced as she took them off, the nylon fibres still digging deeply into his skin, staying silent as Amaya told him comforting words.

“I’m here now, you’re okay. It’s gonna be alright; we’re going home, okay?” As the last ropes fell from his wrist, Amaya grabbed a blanket from the side of the bed and covered Hoseok’s waist with it. He sat silently, tears dropping onto the blanket as Amaya went back into the kitchen, being mindful of the broken glass, and gathered his clothes.

“You don’t have to put everything on if you don’t want to.” she told him as she handed him his clothes. He silently nodded, still looking down at his covered thighs. Amaya noticed this and gently rested her hand on his knee, causing Hoseok to look up at her with wet eyes.

“It’s okay, Hoseok.”

“It’s not okay…” he whispered, sniffing and bringing a hand up to his face, wiping his eyes a few times. Amaya could see the pain in his eyes as he looked at her. “I don’t know what I did…”

“Nothing you did could be justification to this, Hoseok. You know that.” she cupped his face with a single hand, wiping away a stray tear with her thumb. “Come on, we’re going to my place.”

Hoseok slowly nodded and let Amaya help him out of the bed. He covered himself with the blanket, following her out the apartment and into the car.

Hoseok was silent in the back seat, lying down and staring blankly at the back of the front seat. Amaya didn’t say anything either, what exactly could she say? She’s still in the dark as to what happened to him, how he ended up in that position.

Thinking back onto when she first had seen him not too long ago, in his most vulnerable state, it made tears begin to bead and fall from her eyes. It was a horrible image, something Amaya never thought she’d have to see in her lifetime, and definitely not a position she thought she would see Hoseok in. If seeing it was this overwhelming for her, she could only imagine how horrible, how traumatized Hoseok was feeling right now.

The two of them were silent in Amaya’s car, only the engine whirring, the thump thump of her heartbeat, the quiet hiccups and sniffles from the backseat, the gritting of her teeth, filling her ears.

The ride home seemed extra long, every road Amaya turned feeling elongated, stretched out so that they would stay on the road for longer. She heard Hoseok take a deep breath; looking at him through her rearview mirror, she could see in his face, how broken he actually was.

What had Yerin done to him? That was the only question running at full speed through Amaya’s brain. What had Yerin done to him to make him feel like this? She wanted to know, needed to know, but at the same time, Amaya just wanted to help him through this. She wanted to be able to be there for him through everything, like she’s always been, but how could she help him through this?

This was something Amaya’s never dealt with before, something she never thought she’d have to deal with. This wasn’t something Hoseok thought he’d have to deal with, but he was. He was dealing with it all and Amaya was going to be there to help him, to comfort him in any way he needed. That was the least she could do. It was the only thing she could do.

Amaya couldn’t tell him that it was okay, because it wasn’t. She couldn’t tell him that it would get better, she didn’t know if it would. The only thing she could do was be there with him as he went through the motions. Amaya could only do whatever she could to let him know that this, none of what happened to him— though she knew so little of what happened in his apartment— was his fault.

And that’s what she was going to do.

Hoseok was sitting silently on Amaya’s couch, still covered with the blanket as he waited for her, Amaya searching in her bathroom for the first aid kit, pulling it from under her sink and walking back out of the bathroom to the living room.

She crouched in front of him on the couch, holding her hand out to him.

He slowly gave Amaya his hand, letting her take it gently in her fingertips as she applied peroxide to his wrists. Hoseok winced slightly, but said nothing as she tended to his wounds, wrapping bandages around his wrists quietly, paying close attention to the bloody marks.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Hoseok slowly shook his head, looking at Amaya as she continued to clean his wrists, wiping the dried blood from his skin.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.” she calmly told him, moving onto the other arm and wiping it clean before putting on more bandages. “Just know that you’re safe here, okay?” Hoseok hesitated, but nodded, dropping his arms to his sides once she finished. “It’s okay if i help you take the wax off, right?”

Hoseok thought about it for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek and looking down at his thighs before nodding slowly. Amaya nodded back and stood up, going to her kitchen to grab a washcloth and wetting it with warm water before coming back and sitting down beside him.

He removed the blanket from his top half, letting her place the wet cloth onto his arms as the wax warmed up and became easier to remove. Amaya was careful as she pulled the wax off, trying not to hurt him in any way as she did this. Underneath the wax were deep red marks that were sure to be burns from the wax being too hot against his skin. After each hardened drop she removed, Amaya placed the cloth over the irritated skin to soothe the sting it gave him when the air made contact with his sensitive flesh. Drop after drop, it overwhelmed her more and more as she removed them, wondering how long he had been put under this torture for.

The two of them were silent as Amaya cared for him— for Hoseok, understandably so. For Amaya? She didn't know why exactly she were silent. There were a lot of different reasons— Amaya didn't want to say the wrong thing, she didn't know what to say exactly. This was new to her— seeing someone like this up close and personal, especially someone as close to her as Hoseok was, was completely new, and she didn't know what she should have done to comfort him.

It took a while before all the wax was off, but eventually Amaya got it all removed from this arms and abdomen. More bruises were beginning to form on his skin, purplish red around the edges. She moved away from him, handing him the washcloth and giving him a warm smile.

“The rest should come off in the shower,” she told him. “If you feel strong enough to wash up tonight.” he nodded at Amaya, the only words coming from him being the quiet ‘thank you’ before she stood back up. She told him that he should try to get some rest if he could, feeling a bit tired herself and letting out a quiet yawn. "There's clean clothes on your bed. You should change into them once you get in there, okay?" Hoseok slowly nodded again, staying silent as his head hung down.

"Hey..."

Amaya crouched down again, gently placing her hands on Hoseok's face and lifting his head to get him to look at her. The way his eyes were glossed over with more tears made Amaya’s heart break. She knew he was thinking that all of this was his fault, she knew that he was blaming himself for what had happened to him. Amaya caressed the balls of his cheeks with the pads of her thumbs, Hoseok letting out a shaky sigh as she did so.

"This isn't your fault, okay? You know that..." Hoseok closed his eyes and nodded, taking a sharp breath through his nose as he tried to keep himself from crying again. Amaya nodded back, giving him a smile as she willed herself not to cry as well, and the two of them stood up, silently walking to their respective rooms and closing the doors.

Amaya couldn't sleep that night. Every time she closed her eyes, the image of Hoseok tied up against his headboard burned under her eyelids. It's a sight she would never be able to forget, something she'll never be able to get out of her head for God knows how long. His soft sobs and whimpers as he sat naked and vulnerable on the bed, how he was in so much pain that he passed out, being unconscious for who knows how long, how he had just been abandoned... abandoned by someone who was supposed to be there for him. It made her want to vomit, made her want to cry, made her want to scream.

It was too much; how was she supposed to help him through this? How was she going to be enough to help him get through a trauma this great? He hadn't even told her what happened; he probably never will. It was a scary thing, knowing that he endured something so incredibly vile. Who knows what would've happened if Amaya were a minute later, if she had never picked up her phone. She didn't want to think about it, but it roamed. the thought roamed in her mind and lingered, causing her to groan in frustration and slam her fists into her pillow.

Amaya knew Hoseok was awake too; through the walls of her room, she could hear the springs of his bed creak from his tossing and turning,most likely trying to find a comfortable way to lie down that wouldn't hurt too much. She felt horrible; she had seen the signs, knew there was something going on. She knew that there was more happening than meets the eye. But she stayed silent, she played as if there was nothing wrong, because she didn't want to believe it. Amaya didn't want to believe it when she saw the bruise on his thigh the other day, when he flinched at her touch. But now she had to believe it, because now, she’s seen it with her own eyes. There was nothing to mask it as something else, because she knew exactly what it was.

There was no hiding from it now.