#It’s part social anxiety and another feeling like…scared of coming off con

[sweetbunanarchy]

How in tf do you just ASK people things w/o having anxiety just take over bc I CANNOT do it AUGH

[mycatshuman]

Fright Night But Make it Gay

Chapter 2 : Human Is Too Pretty It's Illegal

First/Previous | Next | More

Pairings: Prinxiety, Intrological, Moceit

Warnings: panic attacks, let me know if I missed any

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Virgil had existed for a long time. Existed. Not lived. He wasn't alive. But he also wasn't necessarily dead either. He just kind of was. And his being had been in existence for a while. So there really wasn't a lot that surprised him anymore. He had been all around the world. More than twice. He had experienced nearly everything the world had to offer. It's cultures, environments, it's people. He had a few lovers and acquaintances here and there, but for the most part, he was alone. All on his own. 

Along with being not quite dead or alive, Virgil was also immortal. Humans called what he was many things, the most simple definition was a vampire. Because of this, he had to move often to keep suspicion off of him. He didn't want any unwanted attention. He just wasn't that kind of person. 

Luckily, as the world progressed into the 21st Century and touch screen phones came into existence, people became more eqngrossed in their phones and less and less concerned themselves with the business of their neighbors. It made it a lot easier for Virgil to live in a place without people noticing his lack of aging. Of course there was the occasional Karen who couldn't learn how to mind their own business but for the most part, Virgil was able to live comfortably in one place for more than five years. Lessing moving was good for him. He wasn't all too comfortable with things changing all the time. 

As of late, existence for Virgil had become kind of boring. Things didn't really cchange.it was too much of the same things day in and day out.  Sure there were small differences from day to day but things had become kind of dull. He had been alone for a while, deciding to take a break from people and isolate himself for a few years on top of a mountain. But now, Virgil actually found himself missing a little adventure. Interacting with people online was nice but sometimes he craved a cuddle. Was that too much to ask? 

So, he decided it was time to enter the physical human world again. Virgil  could never have guessed that the adventure he was so craving would come in the form of a hot as hell theater human living next door to his newest house. 

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Virgil randomly picked an area on the globe for him to move to before picking another random area on a map of that area. He repeated these steps until he had a nice little college town. After that, he worked on renting some storage and a hotel room in the town until he was able to find a suitable home in the market. He almost considered going through college again until deciding it was not for him. He was only just starting to fully immerse himself on the public again, he needed time to readjust. Maybe in a year or so he would be ready. 

Surprisingly, it didn't take Virgil long to find a suitable house that he could move into. It was a nice old Victorian house. And it was relatively close to the college so if he did ultimately decide that he would go in for another degree, it wouldn't be a long commute for him. He quickly purchased the house and set up a date for the move. 

Virgil moved into his new home on a stormy weekend in early September. It was in a relatively small neighborhood near the college he had been looking at. He had played for a moving company to move his things from the storage unit he had rented and into his new house. He did feel a little  bad for making the movers work in rain for the better part of the day but he knew that if he moved on a sunny day, he would forget to reapply sunscreen every hour and he didn't know how to explain to people he was supervising that he was a vampire and burned easily.  He also wasn't really in the mood to get a severe sunburn anytime soon. But he had paid them fairly well and bought them pizza for their drive, so he only hoped that made up for moving things in the rain.  

As they drove away, he was able to truly appreciate his new home. I think I'm going to like it here. 

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It had only been a few days since he moved into his home. Unlike normal people, he didn't spend any time unpacking anything aside from the essentials. He just sat. Moving took a lot out of him. Even if he wasn't the one moving everything, it still took its toll on him. Talking to strangers, having them move his things, the anxiety with just that alone would wear out his social battery for a day. But the worst part of the entire moving process was the adjustment. Virgil had to take two whole days just getting used to the noises and movements of his new home and neighbors. He had to actively adjust to the new environment otherwise he would be woken up because of some noise that scared the hell out of him and threw him into a panic attack only to find out that it was just somebody opening their mailbox or something. (Virgil had learned his lesson from the last time it happened.)

But by the end of the first two days, Virgil was comfortable enough to begin unpacking and organizing. And by the time a week had passed, Virgil could say he had settled into the environment nicely. He was comfortable and things seemed to be going well, no one had come to bother him. There wasn't a mob outside gunning for his head. Things were good. 

Then it happened. 

Virgil was just bringing in some blood bags from the vamp market, minding his own business when he suddenly heard someone screaming about a vampire next door. Immediately, Virgil dropped his cargo and slammed his backdoor shut before pushing himself flat against the wall. He froze in fear as he heard the yelling again. It sounded from behind him. Oh my Selene! Did they see me?!?! Did they see the bags?!?! Are they coming for me?! No! No! No! 

Whoever had yelled, however, did not come banging on his door with a torch and pitchfork. Virgil listened intently and picked up on faint, tired sounding voices as someone told whoever had yelled that it was just a dream and to go to sleep. 

Virgil let out a sigh. He wasn't completely in the clear. He still didn't know if they actually saw him or not. But he also wasn't in immediate danger either. He leaned down slowly to pick up his box of blood bags so he could put them away. He would be on high alert for the next month. At least until he was sure that it was indeed just a dream. Although, he had to recognize that the supposed dream was oddly specific. He couldn't just blame it on coincidence.  That could cost him greatly. 

He also couldn't help but wonder how his neighbor would react if they found out he was an actual vampire. The thought terrified him. Images of horrible deaths that could be inflicted on him flashed rapidly through his head. If only he knew how opposite the reaction would be to what his anxiety riddled brain told him would happen. 

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The next morning, Virgil went about his business while keeping an ear on his neighbors house. He faintly heard them talking about vampires again. Most of them didn't believe the other guy. (Thankfully) But then Virgil heard the guy say that the vampire was going to bite him and then they were going to get married. Virgil froze. What the fuck? 

Virgil got lost in his thoughts after that only to startled out of it when he heard a knock at the door. Virgil frowned and moved to the door and peeked out only to nearly have a heart attack. Oh no! He's hot! Slowly, he worked up an ounce of courage and opened the door. "Yes?" He asked quietly. 

"Um, Hello. I'm Roman Belmonte and I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood with some homemade cookies."

Virgil eyed Roman suspiciously. "Mm." Roman learned forward a little and Virgil shrunk back a little. 

"Oh, who am I kidding," Roman exclaimed. "These aren't homemade cookies, they're just store-bought." A chuckle. "I was just trying to impress you, I caught a glimpse of you when you moved in and well, what can i say, you're gorgeous." And then he had the audacity to flash Virgil a flirtatious smile. 

On the inside, Virgil was shouting "No! Stop! I'm already gay!" But on the outside,  Virgil somehow kept his composure. He snorted. "I don't know, I mean you're hot as hell but then I found out that you didn't even make me homemade cookies and I don't know if I'm willing to date a guy who won't even put in the effort to make homemade cookies. What, are your kisses gonna be store bought too?" Virgil opened the door more and motioned for Roman to come in. 

Roman's jaw dropped. Score one for Virgil! Then he licked his lips. "A date? I don't remember mentioning anything about a date...but if you're offering."

Screw you and your handsome face! Virgil snorted. "Princey, Princey, Princey, so naive," He said, in an effort to keep his composure. "You're going to have to do more than flirt with me to get a date with me."

Roman raised an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?" 

Virgil grinned. "Sure, pretty boy." 

"Be prepared to go on a date with me," Roman said with a grin.  Virgil rolled his eyes as Roman handed him the cookies. "I know they're just store bought but they're still good."

Virgil watched as the other turned to leave and frowned. "Wait." He waited until Roman was facing him again. "You don't even want to know my name?" He asked. "That's going into the cons." He was only teasing. And the flush that spread across Roman's face was worth it. 

"I-well-uh, what's your name?"

Virgil smirked. "Virgil. Good luck in that challenge, Princey." He watched Roman leave with a smirk before closing the door and burying his face in the cookies and let out a high pitched squeal. "Oh my Selene! How did I do that?!?!?"

Virgil leaned back and slid down the back of his front door. He sighed somewhat dreamily. "I have never, in all my years upon this earth, been flirted with like that." Virgil stared at the boxes scattered around the foyer. "Wow," he breathed. Long had he forgotten about the fact that his next door neighbor suspected he was a vampire. He was too busy in his gay panic. He had been flirted with. It was going to take him a bit to recover from that being the gay mess that he is. Little did he know the other was in the same boat. 

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Virgil stared at his phone in utter horror. "What…Roman are you there?" He already knew he wasn't. He had heard the line go dead. What's going on? What is Roman's family doing? It took Virgil a few more seconds for things to fully register. What if they had found out what Virgil was!?!? Virgil jumped up and quickly tried to figure out where Roman was. As soon as he figured out, he was out the door. 

Only to come back in and get his car keys. It was daylight out and he couldn't very well run without risking getting spotted. Plus, he was too worried about his boyfriend to put sunscreen on. Virgil quickly climbed into his car, a nice '67 Chevy Impala, and started the engine and set his GPS to Roman's location. He was really lucky that Remus had forgotten to check to see if Roman's location was on. 

"Don't worry, Ro. I'm coming. I'm your Prince Charming this time." 

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FNBMIG: @lehuka123

Everything: @misery-killed-me @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce @lyditist @little-euro-girl @unicornofdarknessstuff @maryann-draws @odette-ssbu

[dwestfieldblog]

A VERY REMOTE ENGLISH TEACHER

Where meditations, rants, reverie and absent seizures cross over... closer to one gun with one bullet, the rose of ruby and the cross of gold...uff, and MENTACIDE IN THE TIME OF MASQUES. Although I have never suffered from the guilty masochistic torture of ‘pleasure anxiety’, Bacchus hath indeed drowned more men than Neptune.  So I stopped drinking for 18 days to fool myself I was doing something positive and threw away enough things to be minimalist again. Arf. Beauty and/or function uber alles.  

Been treading water for three years and trying not to drown...big round of one hand clapping for the former poet. Meanwhile, in this temporary world and perception I have created of it, I am looking at a very possible exile one way or the other...my ‘plan’...a long phased withdrawal or hasty retreat. My wish is to stay, but once I leave, it might well be very hard to return.  Read as many metaphors as you want into that but in spite of my dislike of the conservatively minded Aristotle’s ‘either/or’ nonsense, there do indeed appear to be only two this time. And appear is the operative word. Appearances can be deceptive and emotions (unless raised and focused) cloud over what should be clear. Pain has a tendency to breed worry and fear too but let’s draw a veil over that for now eh? Suppress, suppress, release comes later...breathe deep and try not to cough, onward we go where the game gets rough...Just like Tom Thumbs Blues 65.  

Remember Roman Protasevich...As Lukasenko himself said...‘Belarus stood at the edge of an abyss and I helped it take a step forward’. Look good on your tombstone that will Al. Fecking outrageous the Indian PM only admitted in May that covid was transmitted in the air. He needs removing... as do two thirds of all the other world leaders East and West. Hello Bollsanaro. People are very easy to manipulate when they’re are scared or angry...and right now the world majority are both. But, ‘there is a crack in everything... that’s how the light gets in’... and ‘things could change’, doesn’t have to be for the worse. It can take decades to realise this as actual truth, but still nice to read and try internalise the following last week.’The odds actually favour the optimists, since dissipate structures are more likely to evolve into more information rich (intelligent?) forms than into primitive or chaotic forms.’ All my friends bar my best one are optimists..Hello you:-)

Ever onward deeper downward with Orban in Hungary and his mission of ‘Christian values’, which involves a familiar routine of arresting, beating and disappearing dissenters in the name of Christ and taking over the universities to replace professors with those who understand on which side their bread is buttered. Decent judges long gone. Nice fascist communism...and ex soldiers in France and the Czech republic warning of civil war...

And now spiraling we go into the black hole vortex of Disaster capitalism, ‘Let the bodies pile high’. There’s gold in them thar ills....ISLAND PARANOIA and PERFIDIOUS ALBION! A country which demands a contract, agrees, signs to it and then refuses to honour it. We look worse than ridiculous, we look deceitful. Gentlemen, your places please. Boris Johnson is a clumsy, inept, disgraceful charlatan, con merchant and LIAR. A blustering master bullshit artist, the only decent thing about his recent secret wedding is that now he legally has one less bastard child.  

Recently I read that British people are displaying signs of Stockholm syndrome...in that they dislike those who hold power over them and make the rules but during the time of pandemic, they are the ones who will release the saviour vaccine and get everything moving again. So rather than rocking the boat and daring to express dissent at the DIABOLICAL handling of the last 18 months, they have mostly kept quiet and voted for the same endlessly failing, corrupt and venal politicians who made a bad situation far worse. (That said, it bears repeating that there are a few million in the UK who didn’t quite understand that that the spread of a highly contagious airborne virus can be slowed by the wearing of masks/applying basic hygiene and even took offence at being told what should have made sense to any adult homo SAPIENS half capable of cogitating for themselves. Morons and scum. Same where you are?

By the way BBC...the colossal dearth of stories about the endless government failures in relation to Covid, death, corruption and the NHS...ever since they blackmailed you with threats of revoking the TV licence fee and got you to change Directors has been noted. Long may Have I Got News For You continue the satire and balance needed in a DEMOCRACY. Obey your public servants? Why, when they do not serve few but themselves? Power OF the people? Which ones...the mob? The same bleating pricks who follow populists?

Four eyed beanpole fop Rees Mogg, with his wonderful line that the benefits of Brexit will be seen ‘over the next fifty years’...well yes, that is why most people vote in democratic elections eh?...So they will be dead or ancient before the change they hoped for comes...and the politicians who lead them now, will have all long moved on to revolving door chairman of the board offshore limited liability company paradise. Bread today jam tomorrow fairytales. What I tell you three times is true.  

O, but the English do so love to be told what to do by dumb posh boys who treat them like dirt. Some are forelock tugging and some are self flagellating middle class upper class wannabes who will never get there but still feel proud they are not street level proles. Doby the house elf alien hamster Michael Gove found guilty of breaking the law. Nothing. Internal inquiries run by those connected to the money changing hands find nothing illegal. Corruption for all to see...and ignore. ‘Well, what can we do?’ The uselessly inept serial failure Dido Harding to be in charge of the National Health Service? (she of the collapsed Woolworths, Talk Talk and the 22 BILLION pound loss of the Covid Track and Trace program where non working consultants/insultants, were paid 1000 pounds a day). American style privatisation is coming where only the wealthy or criminal can afford to be repaired and well. Sick.  

Meanwhile, All our imported nurses out, and all the lobster red fat Spanish costa de la sol criminals back in. Great exchange, fair trade and forward thinking. The Kremlin are manipulating/supporting Scottish independence... I read years ago about their base in Edinburgh for Russia Today (the foul insert in The Daily Telegraph) and they were already encouraging it. Rees Smug has accelerated and supported their freedom with his snobbish utterances on countries in the UK other than England and their ‘foreign languages’. With every patronising, arrogant pronouncement, the Eton trifles fuel the fire in Scotland which has a long bitter history of being tortured, murdered and subjugated by their southern masters. Perhaps the chumocracy in Downing Street believe the Celts to be as easily cowed as the middle and working classes down south. Here’s hoping not. ‘Rebellious Scots to crush’? Not this time pal.

As for the future of Britain? A dystopian open prison where the lower social classes toil only at the pleasure of their masters. The higher caste getting richer and all others cast into a living Hell of debt, crime, and sickness. Serve until you die and be thankful we allow you to exist. Increasing in utter irrelevance to the world, other than as an example of how wrong a former democracy can go. This future started decades ago...its baobab roots truly deep now. Better education and critical thinking for the masses in the UK (or anywhere else) is highly unlikely now. Optimism huh? As long as I am not in England, I will still be able to tap into it, but once enclosed long term in the group mind there...trapped in a grey quagmire. Keep smiling...

Several weeks ago, I watched a video on YT of apparently English protestors running after the police in London, some attacking and throwing things, one pulling off the pandemic mask of an officer and all shouting abuse at the outnumbered cops who had to keep pulling back. As always, to get my caffeine rush of fury going, I read the comments and was surprised to see two or three from Chinese names. Almost all comments were against the government (fair enough) and dumb against the lock down, masks, vaccinations etc. Checking again, I saw the video had been posted by CGTN...a media company owned and run by the communist party in Beijing...and not one author of diatribes had mentioned this, nor speculated with a critical thought as to why such an organisation might enjoy turning people against their own democratically elected government (however mind rippingly foul and corrupt they are).

I copy pasted the Wikipedia paragraph about the company onto the page and hoped someone else would make the connection. I wouldn’t mind so much IF there were a credible and decent alternative other than the diseased populist poison for which the demonstrating goons chant. China really cares about the standard of democracy in Britain eh? Persuade your enemies to weaken themselves. Destroying countries by encouraging their ‘patriots’.

(That was written on the anniversary of Tienanmen Square...a few days later Xi Jinping gave a speech saying ‘...a lovable and respectable’ China must be presented to the world and must ‘expand its circle of friends’. Tell that to your teenage ‘dissidents’, Muslims, Falun Gong and Tibetans being tortured and brainwashed in prisons or being used for organ harvesting. Tell it to Hong Kong and Taiwan.) 

Unholy America...against abortion and the pill, sex education’s not Gods will and in the Name of Christ they kill...if truth be known, we’ve failed the test...but Jesus was a Socialist and Republican conservatives hate them. The founding fathers of America were Very clear about separation of church and state with damn good Reason. Another part time Christian, Mike Pompeo wants to be president. Q Onan deepstorm morons/Kremlin stool pigeons aka POLEZNYYE IDIOTY continue to push for Trump and his Big Lie...He with the brain where ‘In the left, nothing is right and in the right, nothing’s left.’ Arf.

Over the last two decades, the dumb have been finding their voice and are now louder and prouder of their dumbass ignorance. 74 million in the US alone, their egos unable to retreat in the face of endless evidence to the contrary, they all double down. Like children sticking their fingers in their grimy ears sing songing ‘la la la can’t hear you’. 74 million versions of Eric Cartman, loud, proud and wrong. And uuff, Megan Markle,  Majorie Taylor Greene, walking Picasso collage (bad car driver) Caitlin Jenner and Ivana Trump in politics...not exactly holding a proud lantern for women eh? I’d like to buy them for what they are worth and sell them for what they think they are worth. Not very PC?  

That was the point. Could easily been written about all of the men written about here too. Next examples follow...

Tucker Carlson and Alex Jones compete for who can be as mentally ill as trump. The Miami school where the husband and wife directors told teachers not to return if they had HAD their vaccine shots because their proximity to students was interfering with menstrual cycles and uuuufff...The sickness of utter mind buggering stupidity. I had my first shot, now waiting to turn reptilian when the 5G masts triangulate my position. Fnord. Covid appears to be killing more overweight meat eating males than females...perhaps testosterone is not useful for the coming Race of non binary mutant hermaphrodites...and look out for the end of the Y chromosome, coming to a temporary universe near you...in 4.6 million years. Yes, really.  

Glad Netanyahu is out at last, smug corruption is never a good look unless one is a rich criminal. Ha.  The Promised land of Israel...If I was in court for serial murder, breaking, entering and stealing and then defended my actions by saying that God had told me to do it, would the Judge; A. Call for a psychiatric report, B. Disregard the statement as unprovable and pass the appropriate sentence, C, say Ok mate, you’re free to go, good luck to you. ? Moses had a good schtick.

The law is only to punish the poor, do you feel as if you suffer from empathy? Once you know, you no longer need to believe. What does ‘reality’ seem to be? The more certain you are, the stupider you get and belief is the death of intelligence. The machine is running the engineers. What is the definition of rationality...the quality of being based on or in accordance with reason or logic. 

Nothing is, but thinking makes it so. Epicurus.  

EVERYTHING NOT COMPULSORY IS FORBIDDEN.

The glamour illusion of the mass of pointless hot influencers needs a constant renewing of the Banishing Ritual as much as all the pigslop bile coming from Fox News and Sky. Bloody long haired commie liberal faggot they cry against any not identical to them. Some days I have only flamethrowers of hatred for these idiots. Other days...not exactly self doubt, just questions...most of us seem to believe our opinions are more valid when there are emotions connected to them. Including me. Again, this seems like a very weak version of ‘truth’, unless disciplined, channeled and focused to a certain end.

Life appears to exist in order to become via chaos.

Most of us are working only not to be homeless, some because of the joy in our chosen work regardless of finances. Until ‘reality’ kicks in the door...the bondage gets tighter when you struggle. How much hardship is the individual willing to endure these days by choice? Surrounded by a universe of distraction and destruction, Maya mewling for our attention. Five years of Trump, rampant populism and Brexit doing a Hexagram 23 on democracy, compounded by the pandemic...all on top of ‘normal’ daily life. The ego feeds and the immune system breaks down. Hard to ignore without being on a mountain or in a parallel dimension and emotion free other than compassion. But BY GODDESS IT CAN AND WILL BE DONE. Ladies of Life Nin Khursag, Isis, Kali, Aradia...Love one, Love ALL. At very least have respect for thyself but be not thou proud of thine arrogance nor thy suffering.  

Or just Remember where you came from, what you were, seem to be and will become.

Heal, heal, more work to do, more love to give, more love to feel, Heal. Stay in drugs, eat your school and don’t do vegetables. Impose your own reality upon and through yourself, breathe, exhale, repeat, and continue, LOVE UNDER WILL. Experience and absorb but ‘It’s a house of tricks, ignore the world’’.

Stay well, be seeing you:-)

[aquaminwrites]

Fake Love | Jung Hoseok (M)

PAIRING: Jung Hoseok x F!Reader, mentions of Namjin

GENRE: Fake dating AU, enemies to lovers, fluff, smut, minor angst

WARNINGS: Explicit sexual content, dirty talk, slight dom!Hoseok

WORD COUNT: 16.2k

DESCRIPTION: Every year, your family spends the holidays at your parents’ cottage in the country. Freshly single and not wanting to be picked apart by your family for being alone, you decide to recruit one of your friends to pretend to be your boyfriend. The only available volunteer? Your brother Namjoon’s roommate, Hoseok. Only problem? He absolutely hates your guts.

I should get up, you think to yourself. Daylight is precious in the dead of winter, and you’ve probably already wasted at least half of it wallowing in self-pity. You’re lying in bed, duvet pulled high over your head, wondering exactly how and when your life took such a left turn.

Breakups have never been easy for you. You’d always had trouble when it came to dating—you’d always described yourself as the girl that no one would fall in love with, but who had a lot of friends. You were social, flitting around with ease between one group of friends to another, but you had always wondered if your absence would be noted if you were to just stop showing up to parties or work functions.

But then you met Jackson.

The office you worked in had a Christmas party three years ago, back when you’d just been an intern and were keep on rising through the ranks to a full-time position. You were well liked, always offering a helping hand to anyone who asked and generally did your best not to make waves. You didn’t know what to expect when you showed up at the bar, which had been totally rented out for you and your colleagues. You also didn’t really know anyone at the party—the one other intern that you’d befriended having gone home for the holidays—so you’d just lingered by the bar on your own, silently surveying the crowd.

Jackson had come to join you, muttering something about how he hated office Christmas parties. You weren’t sure if he’d been speaking to you, or just muttering to himself, but the smooth, dulcet tones of his voice had you turning to look at him.

He was handsome. More than handsome—he looked like he just strolled out of a men’s fashion magazine, wearing a black turtleneck, a dark grey blazer, and a pair of ironed dress pants. He held a glass that held two thimblefuls of amber liquid that he casually sipped as he leaned against the dark oak of the bar. He tilted his chiseled jaw in your direction with an eyebrow raised, and you hoped he hadn’t caught you openly staring.

“I don’t know if I’ve seen you around the office before,” he noted with a curious glint to his eyes.

“I’m just an intern,” you admitted, breaking eye contact to fiddle with the sleeve of your dark green crushed velvet dress.

“Not just an intern,” the man corrected, leaning his elbow against the bar so that he could turn to fully face you. You offered up the same courtesy, though, you felt heat rushing to your cheeks as you realized just how close he’d been standing. He held out his hand, a warm smile on his face. “I’m Jackson, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, feeling the warmth of his palm pressing against yours. “Nice to meet you.”

And that’s how your relationship with him began. It was a whirlwind, the two of you falling in love hard and fast. Within the first three months, you’d moved into his penthouse apartment, and you’d both met each other’s parents. Jackson had been a blessing in your life, teaching you what it meant to be in love and how to love another person. Your happiest memories were of his smiling face, of him telling you for the first time that he loved you, and the nights that you two explored one another’s bodies until the sun came up.

There was so much good in your relationship that it felt easy to slip into a false sense of security. You’d been hired on as a full-time employee at the company, taking on additional responsibilities and getting your own cubicle on a different floor. Jackson had been working hard as well, his eye on a big promotion that would have bumped him up to a six-figure salary if he landed it.

Of course, he did. And it was when he did that things started to fall apart.

He was never home. He always promised that he would make it in time for dinner, than he would spend the weekend with you and work wouldn’t be involved. He made reservations at restaurants, and wouldn’t show up. He’d take you to the movies, but have to leave halfway through to make an important phone call. On your third anniversary, as he was balls deep inside of you in an expensive hotel room, his cell phone rang and he actually had the audacity to stop and answer.

The breakup had been mutual, though it had been you who initiated the conversation. You loved Jackson, and part of you still does. But he was married to his job, loved it more than anything. It was his priority, not you. And to his credit, he’d admitted his faults and that he’d been a neglectful partner. You knew that you hadn’t been the best girlfriend either, not wanting to try to communicate with him because you were scared he would just leave you for someone better.

It’s been about two months since the two of you ended your relationship. You hear he’s dating someone else. Someone as handsome as him never stays single for long.

With his promotion, Jackson had also become your boss. And after your mutual split, working under him proved to be too difficult. So after a week of severe anxiety about even setting foot into the building and living in a hotel, you quit your job and had to find a new apartment.

The only saving grace had been that your older brother, Namjoon, knew that there was an empty apartment in his building, on his floor. You’d moved in without much thought, glad to have family nearby. Namjoon was only a year older than you, so the two of you were extremely close. You were the first person he’d told when he started dating his boyfriend, knowing that all you cared about was his happiness. Namjoon had started seeing Seokjin about a year ago, and the two are still going strong.

As for the job part, you’re still figuring that one out. Thankfully you have enough savings to last you for a while, but finding employment was definitely something at the top of your list. Right underneath ‘Get out of bed’.

Having your brother as your down-the-hall neighbour has its pros and cons. One pro is that you sometimes buy groceries for him and vice versa, the two of you always looking out for one another and making sure your pantries are always full.

One con is that Namjoon has a key to your place. And he likes to use it.

“Sis, where are you?” Namjoon calls from your front hallway. “I thought you were coming over for lunch today. Jin’s already here.”

You tug the blanket higher over your head, releasing a whine. You hear Namjoon’s socked feet padding towards you, and the sigh of disapproval at your current state.

“You have to get out of bed sometime, you know?” He says, and you can hear his frown before you see it. “It’s been two months, Y/N. You can’t just stay in bed all day. You’ve barely unpacked your apartment.”

You grumble, though you know he’s right. You don’t have that many belongings, nor is the apartment even that big. But you still have boxes in stacks in the corner of your living room, the bare minimum having been unpacked before you began to sink into the pool of self-pity that you find yourself in now.

You feel a light tug at the duvet before it’s yanked halfway down our body, exposing you to what remains of the afternoon sun. You’re in your typical pyjamas, an oversized shirt and shorts, and with how quickly Namjoon had ripped the sheets off, you begin to shiver and pout.

“Fuck you, fine, give me fifteen minutes to shower and freshen up,” you groan, blindly grabbing your pillow and swinging it in Namjoon’s direction.

Your brother dodges the blow and hops backwards, opening all your curtains and flicking on every light switch he can find. You haven’t moved yet, but you shout an affirmative when you hear him asking if you’re awake yet by the front door. He leaves you to your own devices, and not wanting to keep him and Seokjin waiting, you stumble out of bed and towards your bathroom.

The shower does you good and you examine your reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under your eyes haven’t gone away, no matter how many daytime naps you’ve taken over the past few weeks. You swipe some concealer under your eyes so you don’t look like a total corpse, slip on some leggings and a sweater, and tie up your wet hair in a bun.

With whatever remaining energy you have, you trudge down the hall to Namjoon’s apartment, rapping lightly on the door. You hear shuffling inside, and the unmistakable sound of Seokjin’s windshield wiper laughter. The door finally swings open, revealing the last person in the world you ever want to see.

“Wow, Y/N, you look like shit,” Hoseok says with a smirk, as if his insult is in any way charming. You shoulder your way past him into the apartment.

Jung Hoseok has been the bane of your existence since your junior year of high school. He was a transfer student, same age as your brother. Namjoon had been the one to take Hoseok under his wing when he’d first arrived, and the two of them quickly became best friends. But for some reason, he absolutely hated you. Whenever you were around, he would only ever tease you and try to get a reaction out of you, and you could never figure out what you had done to make him treat you this way. It’s infuriating, to say the least.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were going home for the holidays,” you grunt, not expecting your brother’s best friend and roommate to still be home so close to Christmas. Usually, Hoseok spends the holidays with his parents and his sister, and you don’t have to deal with him being a total pain in the ass whenever you come to visit Namjoon.

“My parents decided to go to Europe on vacation, and my sister is with her boyfriend’s family for Christmas,” Hoseok shrugs. “So I’m stuck here. Aren’t you lucky?”

You roll your eyes, heading towards the kitchen where you hear Seokjin trying to keep Namjoon away. “Lucky as a heart attack.”

“Y/N!” Seokjin cries when he sees you, his arms opening so you can shuffle into his grasp for a hug. “There you are. Namjoon and I were taking bets on how much longer it would take for you to get here. I beat him by one minute, so now he owes me a shoulder massage.”

“You cheated!” Namjoon pouts as he sets the table. You notice that he places down four sets of cutlery, and you inwardly groan knowing Hoseok will be joining you. “You just guessed one minute sooner than what I guessed, then she happened to walk through the door.”

Seokjin tuts. “Strategy, love.” Though he saunters over to where Namjoon stands, pressing a sweet kiss to his forehead before hip-checking him back into action.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Namjoon pipes up as everyone takes their seats. Hoseok decides to sit across from you, in a move that you can only assume is to aggravate you further. “Don’t forget that we’re all driving down to Mom and Dad’s cottage on Friday for Christmas.”

You give a solemn nod, and pick at the green beans on your plate. Every year, you and Namjoon join your parents for a weekend at your family’s cottage for the holidays. It’s a long-held tradition, one that you were more than happy to share with Jackson when the two of you had been dating. He’d always been the perfect buffer between you and your parents—not that you don’t love them, but they have a tendency to be a bit overbearing. They’d toned it down when you and Jackson had gotten together, and now that you’re single, you’re dreading the flood of questions and pitying looks from your mother in particular.

“Why the long face?” Hoseok questions, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. “I thought you loved going to the cottage for the holidays.”

“She’s glum because her and Jackson broke up, so she has to carpool with us,” Seokjin supplies unhelpfully. You kick his shin under the table, earning a loud, indignant yelp.

Hoseok’s eyes widen. “You and Jackson broke up?”

“Don’t act as if Namjoon didn’t already tell you,” you scoff. “I didn’t move down the hall just for the fun of it.”

He shrugs, speaking between mouthfuls of food. “I thought maybe you two were downsizing. No need to get snippy with me, I don’t know or care about every minute detail of your life.”

You’re rolling your eyes before you even realize that it’s happening. “Maybe if you actually used your brain, or the power of observation, you’d realize that Jackson and I haven’t been together in almost two months.”

“Again,” Hoseok repeats, slower this time, as if you’re a child who can’t understand his words. “I don’t care about your life.”

“Hey,” Namjoon warns. “That’s my sister, bro.”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Hoseok declares, tapping his long index finger against his chin. “How’s this: I don’t care, period.”

“Seokjin, babe,” Namjoon asks softly, back straight, cutting into his chicken with far too much calmness. “Where do I keep my rubber flip flops?”

“In the front hall closet,” Seokjin replies around a mouthful of food. “Why?”

Namjoon immediately focuses on Hoseok, eyes narrowing significantly. “My roommate is about to have an accident.”

You clear your throat loudly, muttering to yourself about how annoying it is that men can’t just figure their shit out with words. “I’m not upset that I have to carpool with Joonie and Seokjin, if you must know. It’s just…” Your voice gets quiet, and you can’t believe you’re voicing these fears out loud, but it’s too late to stop it now. “It’s my first Christmas in years without Jackson, you know? Even though we broke up, I really miss him. And I haven’t told my parents about it either, so now I not only have to break it to them, but also have to field all their questions about my love life, and my mother will inevitably try to set me up with one of her friend’s sons.”

Namjoon can’t help but snort. “Yeah. Remember that time she made you go on a date with her coworker’s nephew?”

“Of course I remember,” you grumble. “He took me to dinner and then tried to get me to invest in his pyramid scheme.”

Hoseok cackles, shaking his head.

You prop your elbow up on the table and place your chin in your palm, blowing few loose strands of hair from your face. “Maybe I could bribe a friend to come to the cottage and just pretend to be my boyfriend for the weekend. Mom and Dad will be shocked that Jackson isn’t there, but at least they won’t try to set me up with anyone and I can go back to wallowing in self-pity once the holidays are over.”

Namjoon considers it, his head titling from side to side. “Not the worst idea in the world, if you’re really that stressed about going alone.”

You give a nod. “You think Jungkook would want to come? He’s a little young, but at least he’s easy on the eyes.”

Seokjin shakes his head. “Jungkook and his brother are with their parents on a cruise or something. They’re not due back til after this cottage debacle is done.”

You frown. “What about Taehyung? Or Yoongi?”

“Taehyung’s got plans, and Yoongi went back home for a few days,” Namjoon responds apologetically. “I could maybe ask Jimin if he’s free.”

You shake your head. “I spoke to Jimin the other day, he’s going back home for the holidays to be with his family, too.”

Hoseok raises an eyebrow, looking around at everyone at the table. You’re purposely not making eye contact, but when he speaks, he voices the one thing you desperately do not want.

“I’ll go.”

You regard him wearily, your heart hammering in your chest. No. He did not just offer to come. “What? Why?”

Hoseok shrugs, listing off the reasons on his fingers. “My family’s not around this year, and your parents already know me. I’ve got nothing better to do, and if I’m being honest, I’m curious as to how this train wreck of a weekend is going to go.”

You frown, wanting nothing more than to faceplate into the spring mix on your plate. “I have no other option, do I?”

Hoseok smirks. “Get ready, babe. You’re in for a hell of a weekend.”

It’s just for a few days, you can survive a few days. Besides, if this is going to happen, you are absolutely writing down a list of rules for Hoseok to follow. Groaning, you decide to just accept your fate after weighing the pros and cons. When you finally agree, Hoseok blows you an exaggerated kiss, causing you to gag.

From his seat across the table, Namjoon watches the two of you with cautious eyes. He glances over at Seokjin, who just subtly shrugs his shoulders.

A hell of a weekend, indeed.

—

You end up driving down with Namjoon and Seokjin to the cottage, Hoseok having to work last minute. He had promised he would still be in time for dinner, he just needed to wrap up some stuff at his dance studio before the weekend began.

You’re about ten minutes away, the three of you driving in comfortable silence, when Namjoon turns in the passenger seat to look at you. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Y/N?”

You shrug, tucking your phone into your coat pocket. Nothing interesting is happening on social media away. “What other option do I have?”

Namjoon mimics you, his shoulders lifting nonchalantly. “Just seems like a lot of trouble just to get Mom and Dad to get off your back about being a single Pringle.”

“First off, you and Jin have been spending way too much time together,” you state with a frown. “Second, you have no idea what it’s like dealing with Mom and Dad when it comes to this stuff. They honestly worshipped the ground Jackson walked on. At least with Hoseok there, I have some sort of buffer.”

Seokjin eyes you from the rearview mirror. “Still surprises me that Hoseok was down to do it in the first place, to be honest. Are you paying him or something?”

“I offered,” you say, leaning back in your seat and watching the snow-covered trees pass by. “He said he didn’t want my money.”

Namjoon glances at Seokjin with a weary expression, but you don’t see it as you lean your head against the window.

You arrive at the cottage, which is really more like a second house. Your parents had always wanted a vacation property, working hard and making sacrifices to turn their dream into a reality. And the house was beautiful—you and Namjoon had spent many summers there as children, running through the woods behind the house until you reached the lake, splashing about without a care in the world. You spend every Christmas there as well, a long-held tradition that carries on to this day.

The cottage itself is a two-storey home with tan bricks and a wrap-around porch. White Christmas lights line the edges of the dark-shingled roof, wrapping around the porch banister and creating a pathway to the front door. There had been a decent amount of snowfall earlier that day, so some of the lights are diffused under the powdery blanket that covers the house.

Seokjin parks the car and you all file out, collecting your bags. You’re just about to ring the doorbell when the door flies open, revealing your mother, washed in the golden light emanating from inside. She’s wearing one of those god-awful patterned Christmas sweaters that Seokjin got her last year (he’s sporting a matching one, to your chagrin), with a Santa Claus hat perched atop her head.

“My babies!” She coos, dragging all three of you inside. The house smells like home, a combination of spiced scented candles and home cooking, and stepping across the threshold feels like a warm hug. Or perhaps it’s your mother’s arms locking around you, cutting off your circulation. It’s hard to tell.

“Hi Mom,” you smile, looking around. “Where’s Dad?”

She waves a hand flippantly. “Your father got a new barbecue for himself as a Christmas gift. He’s out in the backyard, bundled like a fool, cooking up more meat than we could possibly eat.”

As you, Namjoon and Seokjin file inside, you notice as your mother does a mental head count, and see the look of realization dawn on her face as she catches that there is one less ball of testosterone than she is expecting.

“Where’s Jackson?”

“Oh,” you begin sheepishly. “We, uh…you see, he’s…”

“They broke up,” Namjoon offers, taking everyone’s coats and dutifully placing them on hangers in the hall closet. “A few months ago.”

Your mother’s eyes widen and that look of pity that you hate filters into her irises. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” she sighs, tugging you close as you allow your body to go limp in her hold. Tears start to well in your eyes, which you don’t expect. But it’s also the first time you’re telling her about your break-up, and sometimes you just need to be held by your mom. “You know, if you’re looking, I have a coworker who has this son—”

Ah, there it is. You peel yourself away, going so far as to take a step back. “Actually, Mom, I—”

You’re cut off by the sound of the doorbell, and your mother cocks an eyebrow. She peers out of the window, and suddenly looks taken aback. She swings the door open to reveal a rosy-cheeked Hoseok, overnight bag slung over his shoulder, holding a bouquet of red roses and what looks like a pie.

“Hoseok!” Your mom says his name with a slight inflection at the end, both a statement and a question.

“Hi, Mrs. Kim,” he beams at her, and she allows him inside. “Sorry I’m late. I hope I didn’t interrupt if you guys already started dinner.”

“Oh, no, the kids just got in,” she waves off. “But…and pardon my rudeness, but what are you doing here?”

“Mom,” you interject, taking a step towards Hoseok. “That’s what I was going to tell you just now. Hoseok is…uh, he’s…”

Oh god, I’m so awkward, you chastise inwardly. Why can’t I just say it?

“We’re dating,” Hoseok offers. “Y/N didn’t tell you because she wanted it to be a surprise.”

Your mother tilts her head before she nods, a smile breaking across her face. “That’s so great! I always thought that you two disliked each other, but I suppose love always finds a way.”

“Uh, yeah,” you say unconvincingly. It’s then that you take notice of the giant bouquet of roses he’s carrying, and you point at it dumbly. “What are those for?”

Hoseok smirks, breaking character for a split second before his face transforms once again into that of an angel. “For you, Mrs. Kim,” he responds, giving a slight bow and offering the flowers to your mother. She gushes, because of course she does. She’s always considered Hoseok to be one of her favourites amongst Namjoon’s friends, and she loves roses.

“How sweet! Thank you so much!”

Hoseok’s smile grows wider at her acceptance of the gift. He then, however, plucks one rose from the bunch. “You’re welcome. Except for this one,” he says before he turns in your direction. “This one is for you.”

When you take it from his grasp, he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the apple of your cheek. It takes all your willpower to not jump back, but to keep your feet planted where they are. You’re meant to be posing as a couple, of course he’s supposed to kiss you. So how come your heart won’t stop racing in your chest?

You decide to ignore it and just accept the rose with a bashful smile, one that has your mother in an absolute joyous fit.

“You’re too kind, Hoseok. Here, let me take that into the kitchen, and Y/N will help you with your coat. We still have some preparations to do with dinner, and Seokjin’s already offered to assist. Y/N, why don’t you bring yours and Hoseok’s bags up to your room and give him a tour? It’s been ages since he was last here.”

You mutely agree before taking Hoseok’s coat to put in the hall closet. As he sheds his layers, you can’t help but notice how nice he looks when he cleans up. His hair is styled so that it’s parted close to the middle in loose waves away from his face, and he’s sporting a thin, dark green knit sweater over a pinstriped dress shirt. It looks like he even ironed his dress pants.

“Okay, babe,” Hoseok grabs your bag as well, emphasizing the pet name. You want to gag. “Let’s go to our room.”

That was one thing that you’d somehow forgotten in this whole mess. You and Jackson had always shared your bed, which obviously was never an issue. But sharing a bed with Hoseok means…well, sharing a bed with Hoseok. And you’re pretty certain you would rather cut off both legs and serve them with Christmas dinner than have to share a bed with him.

You curse yourself for not fully thinking every detail of this arrangement through, but begrudgingly lead him upstairs nevertheless. It’s too late now. Your room at the cottage is at the end of the hall, beside Namjoon’s. You’d decorated the room as a teenager, and your parents left it largely untouched, never bothering to change it. The same went for Namjoon’s as well, except they knew not to touch anything because your brother was—and still is—so particular.

The room itself is pretty simple. It’s painted an off-white with a combination of framed art and little polaroids and other photos pinned to the walls. String lights frame the window, and there’s a dresser, and a vanity with more pictures of you and your friends throughout the years taped to the sides. It’s cozy and warm, and being here reminds you of all the happy memories of your childhood. Hoseok looks around the room with an expression that you can’t quite place before dumping his bag on the bed. He saunters over to your vanity to look at the pictures you’ve kept up there all these years.

You watch him with both curiosity and apprehension as his eyes skim over the pictures of you and Namjoon as kids, you and your best friends in high school, and you almost miss the imperceptible clench of his jaw at a strip of photo booth pictures of you and Jackson. You see where his eyes are trained and immediately stride over, placing the rose he’d gifted you earlier on the tabletop, and pulling the photo down.

He watches as you regard it with a heavy heart, noticing how you breathe out heavily through your nostrils. You look as if you want to tear up the pictures and throw them in the trash, but instead you just open one of the empty drawers of the vanity and place it gingerly inside.

“Not over him yet?” Hoseok asks, his voice quieter than you’re expecting.

You look up at him, expecting to see either mirth or pity, but surprisingly, when you look into his eyes, you see gentle understanding.

“I…” you begin, unable to maintain eye contact. You run your hand through your hair and fold your arms over your chest. “I miss him,” you admit. “But our relationship was over way before we broke up.”

Hoseok gives a nod, but doesn’t prompt you to explain any further. He just shoves his hands in his pockets and moves away from the photos, understanding that maybe he’d overstepped his bounds.

It’s then that Namjoon pops his head in the doorway.

“Hey, lovebirds,” he grins, obviously having a hard time maintaining the façade. You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Dinner’s ready.”

“We’ll be down in a second,” Hoseok states, and Namjoon just shrugs before disappearing.

You turn and give Hoseok a wry smile. “Gonna try to kiss me again or something?”

Your brain nearly short circuits the minute the words leave your mouth. Am I…flirting with Hoseok?

He snorts in reply, hands still in his pockets. “No one’s around, so nah, probably not. This weekend is just for show, remember? I know I clean up nice, but try not to fall in love with me, yeah?”

“Ah, there he is,” you say with just the slightest hint of irritation. “For a second, I thought aliens had kidnapped you and replaced you with someone who was actually tolerable.”

Hoseok holds his hands over his heart and makes a fake pained noise. “My lady, you wound me! How doth I go on in a manner such as this?”

You blink at him. “Doth?”

He just shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Look, I just, uh…I wanted to let you know that…”

You wait for his response, unsure of what he’s about to say. Your eyes meet his, and you can see the conflict plain as day on his face. With a sigh, he shakes his head.

“Never mind. I just wanted to say that I hope this weekend goes well.”

You regard him curiously, but give a slight nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

The two of you head downstairs to find everyone else in the dining room, Namjoon and Seokjin sitting and sipping wine while chatting animatedly with your father.

Your socked feet pad along towards the delicious smell of a home cooked meal, Hoseok following close behind. You’re not used to being so physically close to him, and you can feel the warmth radiating off of his body. You try not to think about how you can smell his cologne, a delicious, perfect smell that has you biting the inside of your cheek.

You sneak a glance at him. Has his jawline always been so sharp? Admittedly, Hoseok has always been good-looking, but you’d never bothered to notice until now. You mentally slap yourself for thinking these things—this is Hoseok. Asshole extraordinaire, your brother’s best friend and roommate, and the bane of your existence since you were sixteen.

“Hoseok! Y/N!” Your mother calls as she lowers the hot dishes down onto the placemats. You turn away from Hoseok momentarily to eye her, a frown forming at the obvious giddiness filtering into her voice. She nods skyward, causing the two of you to look up as well. And then she says the one word you’d been dreading since you set foot into the cottage: “Mistletoe!”

She’s right. Pinned to the entryway into the dining room is a sprig of mistletoe, dangling over your heads. She’s evil, you concur. My mother is the devil.

Hoseok turns to you, and your eyes widen at his proximity. He smirks, that insolent, infuriating half-grin that both has your blood boiling and your heart racing. “Well, baby,” he purrs, wiggling his eyebrows. “Shall we give them a show?”

Before you have the chance to vehemently protest, One of Hoseok’s hands is on your lower back, and the other is cupping the back of your neck. He dips you down, catching you off guard. Your arms instinctively loop around his neck so you don’t fall, and in that split-second of shock, he kisses you.

Like, really kisses you.

This isn’t the peck on the cheek that he’d given you when you’d first lied to your mother about the two of you dating. The way he’s kissing you now feels different, like it’s grounded in something you can’t quite place. And, perhaps in a moment of temporary insanity, you kiss him back.

As soon as Hoseok feels your lips moving along with his, a deep groan rumbles in his chest. Your fingers curl into his hair as he presses you so close, and you swear you feel the wetness of his tongue gliding across the seam of your mouth.

Namjoon wolf-whistles and the two of you break apart before it can get too heated. A good thing, since you were starting to lose yourself in the feeling of Hoseok’s lips against yours, the gentle way in which his thumb rubs circles against your lower back. Hoseok lifts you back to standing and you immediately hide your face against his shoulder, your back to the rest of your family as he holds you close. You’d never been overly affectionate with any of your exes in front of your parents, even Jackson. So having practically made out with someone who you consider your nemesis in front of them is mortifying.

You feel his lips against your crown, almost imperceptible. You peel yourself away from him to look into his eyes, his expression unreadable. You hear someone at the table clear their throat, and it breaks the spell, causing you to take a step back, trying to hide the deep blush on your face behind your hair.

“If you’re done,” your father states in a teasing tone, “the rest of us would like to start eating.”

You bite the inside of your cheek as you and Hoseok take your seats opposite Namjoon and Seokjin. Your parents are sitting on either end of the table, Hoseok closest to your mother and you closest to your father. The spread of food on the table looks delicious, and you all start to dig in. Seokjin won’t stop piling sweet potatoes and turkey slices onto his plate, and when Namjoon scolds him for it, he proceeds to lick every item just to lay his claim.

You wonder what it’s like for your brother and his boyfriend to share one brain cell.

“So,” your father finally pipes up once everyone’s plates are full and the sounds of forks and knives clinking has filled the room. He gestures to you and Hoseok, an eyebrow raised. “When did this happen?”

You turn to look at Hoseok, realizing in your stupidity that you hadn’t come up with a backstory. Hoseok sees the apprehension in your eyes and decides to be the one to speak up.

“It was a few weeks after her and Jackson had broken up and she moved into our building,” Hoseok comments, addressing both of your parents. “I hadn’t seen Y/N in a while, since she was always working. But then one day she came over to visit Namjoon, and…” He then turns to look at you, making sure your eyes don’t stray from his. “I just thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and that I was an idiot for not noticing sooner.”

Your jaw can’t help but drop just slightly at the confession, but then you remember that this is all an act. This is just so your parents will leave you alone about what happened with Jackson, and Hoseok is just a better actor than you’d ever given him credit for. It sets a sharp bitterness in your mouth, forcing you to remember that you hate Hoseok, and that he hates you too.

For some reason, though it’s been fact for the majority of your adult life, the harsh reality has your heart clenching in your chest.

“How romantic!” Your mother’s cooing interrupts your thoughts. Hoseok is smiling gently at you, and you can’t help but blush and turn away to pick at your food as you gather your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you agree, clearing your throat. “We both thought that maybe it would be a little too soon after everything that happened, but…”

“It just feels right,” Hoseok finishes for you.

You can’t help but wonder if an alien really did abduct the real Hoseok and left an imposter as a replacement, but you play along, nodding slightly.

“Yeah. It does.”

—

Dinner passes with the expected amount of painful questioning, mostly from your mom. Your dad has always stated that he trusts your judgment when it comes to the guys you date, and since he already knows Hoseok, his questions are thankfully minimal. When you’d first brought Jackson home for dinner, you were worried that he and your father wouldn’t get along. But as was in your then-boyfriend’s nature, he won them both over with his sharp wit and bold sense of humour.

You sink into your chair as the memories long since past swirl around in your mind and have you staring off into space. Hoseok seems to notice immediately and he nudges you under the table as Seokjin and your father engage in a dad-joke competition that has your mother and Namjoon each refilling their glasses of wine.

“You okay?”

Your fingers drum along the stem of your own wine glass before pushing it away. “Had too much to drink maybe. I think I have a bit of a headache.”

Hoseok frowns, glancing at the others. “Do you want to get some fresh air?”

You offer up a small smile. “Actually, yeah. That’s a great idea.”

Hoseok beams at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead, catching you off guard, and rising to his feet. “Y/N and I are going to go for a quick walk. Too much wine, you know?” You hear him joke, though the ringing in your ears that began when his lips touched your skin hasn’t stopped just yet. You take a second to gather yourself, ignoring Namjoon’s apprehensive eyes, and follow Hoseok to the front foyer to collect your coats.

Winter has never been one of your favourite seasons—in fact, if you were forced to rank them, it would most likely place dead last, with summer being at the very top. But you have to admit, as you and Hoseok walk one of the trails that leads down to the lake, winter truly can be beautiful.

The sound of your snow boots crunching against the snowy ground fill your ears as you take in the sight of evergreens coated in snow, of other cottages in the distance glowing in the frigid night, and the decorative lights that break through the dark blue of the night sky. It’s quiet, save for the satisfying noise of snow being displaced under the rubber soles of your boots. Beside you, Hoseok is silent, chin tilted upward as he quietly observes everything around him.

Hoseok has been to your cottage before, just once, in the summer when you were teenagers. It had been the year he’d first moved to the city, and Namjoon had wanted him to feel welcome. That was the summer he’d wound up on your shit list, pushing you off the dock and into the lake where your foot had caught on some seaweed and you’d nearly drowned. After you’d been rescued and it was confirmed that you were alright, he’d laughed in that loud, maniacal way that you would grow to detest, dramatically making fun of how you’d fallen when he’d shoved you. After that, you had urged your parents to ban him from ever visiting the cottage again, having humiliated and nearly killed you that summer.

The path to the lake winds through the woods, though it’s a path that has been trodden by so many that you could walk it with your eyes closed. Neither you or Hoseok say anything—there’s no need to, you find, as the silence doesn’t feel as awkward as you’d expect. If anything, it feels comfortable and familiar. You chalk it up to just having known Hoseok for a long time, that his presence at your side isn’t as unfamiliar as that of a total stranger.

Eventually, the trees part and the sound of the lake lapping against the shore fills your ears. You’d always loved your cottage for this reason—being by the lake, hearing the steady rhythm of the water, always fills your mind with calm. There are a few fallen logs that serve as seating, and you dust off the snow to make room for you and Hoseok to sit down.

Your hands are shoved into the pockets of your coat and you sigh, glancing out at the horizon. It’s dark, but you can see dots of warm light on the other side of the water, and you smile to yourself at the thought of other families getting together and enjoying the holidays.

You wonder if Jackson is with his new girlfriend.

Prying your eyes away from the waves, you stare down at your boots, suddenly hyper focused on pushing a small pile of snow from the outside of your foot to the inside, and back again. Hoseok notices, his voice soft when he speaks.

“You know, it’s okay to miss him.”

Your head snaps in his direction as you peer up into the warm chocolate of his eyes. “What?”

“It’s okay to miss him,” Hoseok repeats with a shrug. “I can tell that you’re not totally over your breakup.”

You frown, turning back to fixate on the snow. “Is it that obvious?”

Hoseok snorts. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m doing the majority of the heavy lifting with your parents, right now. If Namjoon ‘secretly’ rolls his eyes one more time, I think they might actually fall out of his face.”

You nod absentmindedly, remembering once again that none of this is real. Hoseok isn’t your boyfriend, and neither is Jackson. You’re alone, single and horribly lonely, and the weight of that reality starts to really sink in.

You don’t want to cry, but you feel tears escaping as you take in a shaky breath. “It’s just hard to get out of bed sometimes, you know?” You admit feebly, ashamed of how small your voice sounds. “I just can’t help but think that if maybe I had done more, or been more, then maybe we might still be together. I wish…I just wish I was enough for him. He was always enough for me.”

Hoseok seems to hesitate, but then he apprehensively lifts his arm and places it around your shoulders. It’s a little awkward as his hand gives you a good natured pat, not trying to pull you into his body heat, just sitting beside you and trying to offer you comfort. You can’t help but notice the distinct difference between this Hoseok and the one that was trying to charm your family. In there, he was cool, funny, and warm. Out here, he’s awkward, contemplative, and nervous.

You can’t help but think that you kind of prefer this version of Hoseok.

“You know,” he begins, his voice cutting through the chill in the air. “You can’t live your life thinking about shit like that. You’re always going to look back at moments in your past and think that if you had done something differently, that the outcome would be more favourable. But honestly, dwelling on it is only going to make it worse, since you can’t change it now. What’s done is done. You gotta move on.”

Deep down, you know Hoseok is right. But still, as your breath hitches in your throat, it doesn’t stop you from asking, “Do you think it’ll ever stop hurting this much?”

It’s then that Hoseok scoots a little closer, pulling you into the warmth of his embrace. You let yourself melt against him, your head resting upon his shoulder, as he rubs your arm and places his cheek against your crown. You close your eyes, the scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils. And for the first time in what feels like ages, you don’t see Jackson’s face when you’re met with the darkness behind your eyelids.

No.

This time, you picture Hoseok.

And when he speaks, you nearly forget about Jackson altogether.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I know it will.”

You arrive back at the cottage, not feeling nearly as horrible as you had when you’d left. You apologize to your parents about not sticking around to help clean up or clear the table, but your mother just winks and says it’s alright, that it’s only natural to want some alone time with your new boyfriend.

You hate that you’re lying to her, but you also can’t stop the way your breath catches in your throat at the insinuation.

Alone time with your new boyfriend.

You pretend that those words aren’t circling in your brain as you sink into the covers, squishing yourself on one side of the double bed. Hoseok is on the other side, doing something that you can only describe as touching himself.

Not in a sexual way. But he’s lying down, arms shot straight up in the air as he runs his fingertips along his inner forearms, alternating every few seconds. His eyes are closed, and he looks absolutely insane.

“What are you doing?” You have to ask, turning your head on your pillow to face him. He’s moved on now to gently caressing his own chest, looking just as  odd as before.

“My mom used to do this to me when I was a kid,” he explains, his eyes still shut. “It helps me fall asleep.”

You blink owlishly at him, unable to help the small giggle that escapes your lips. He cracks an eye open, glaring at you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you respond, fully turning your body to face him now. “You just look crazy, is all.”

Hoseok drops his arms against the sheets in a minor huff. “Well, princess, sorry if it bothers you. You gonna volunteer to do it for me, then? Because if not, it’s going to be a long night.”

You gape at him for just a moment, though it morphs into an amused smile. “You really can’t get to sleep without someone touching you?”

Hoseok grumbles, annoyed that you know at least one of his secrets. “Unfortunately not.”

In a moment of boldness, you scoot towards him and gesture for him to face you. He does so with an unsure look, and you can’t help but notice his eyes widen as you start to run your fingers through his hair.

You don’t know what possesses you to do so, but all you know is that the strands are silky between your fingers, and your ministrations has Hoseok’s eyes starting to flutter shut. As your nails gently scrape along his scalp, he lets out a low moan, one that has him immediately darting awake and pulling away from you.

“I’m good,” he stutters out, creating distance between your bodies. “Th-thanks for that. But I’m okay.”

“Oh,” you respond, surprised and just slightly disappointed. “Well…goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” he replies gruffly, turning his back to you and tugging the duvet up to his chin. You sigh and do the same, attempting to get comfortable. You wind up staring at the wall as the minutes tick by on the clock, sleep deciding to evade you on this night.

From the other side of the bed, Hoseok also remains wide awake, his hands twitching as if he wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you.

But he doesn’t, because you’re his brother’s best friend, and you hate him. You’ve made that clear. So instead, he forces his eyes shut, and counts sheep until slumber decides to consume him in all-encompassing darkness.

—

The rest of the weekend passes by in a blur. There’s a new, underlying tension between you and Hoseok that you’re trying your best to ignore, although you know that at least Namjoon can sense that something is off.

You don’t tell anyone that when you’d awoken on Christmas morning, that Hoseok had been clinging to you like a koala, arms looped around your middle and a leg slung over yours. You’d carefully extradited yourself from his grasp without waking him, heading downstairs to help your father prepare breakfast for everyone.

But over the course of the entire weekend, Hoseok had been nothing but a total gentleman, always offering to help out with the dishes and setting the table, indulging your dad in talks of sports he knew nothing about, and even going so far as to help your mother with cooking. It made you look at him differently. He was so domestic, and you couldn’t deny the butterflies in the base of your stomach whenever he smiled in your direction. It had been confusing, to say the least.

It’s with the utmost relief that you find yourself backing your bags alone in your room, happy that you can finally return to your apartment to wallow in self pity all by your lonesome. You hear a rap against the doorframe, and as you turn, Hoseok steps into view. He’s dressed casually, wearing an oversized sweater and a pair of loose track pants, but you still can’t help but think that he looks effortlessly handsome.

You’re not sure when your brain started to produce these thoughts, but you try your hardest to ignore them.

“Hey,” he greets, almost sheepish. “You packing?”

It takes you a second to find your voice. “Yeah,” you nod, going back to sorting your belongings in the confines of your duffel bag. “You have all your stuff?”

“Yeah,” he confirms, pushing off from the door frame to make his way over to you. You feel his presence before you see how close he is, and his proximity has you standing up to your full height as you face him.

“Did you need something?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Hoseok smiles with a shake of his head. Has he always looked this radiant?

“No, nothing like that,” he states, scratching at the back of his head. “I just, uh…wanted to say that surprisingly, I had fun this weekend.”

You can’t help but grin. “Yeah, me too. Definitely got my parents off my back, so I definitely owe you my thanks in that department.”

“Oh?” Hoseok raises an eyebrow. “Do I get to choose my token of gratitude?”

You tilt your head in confusion. “I mean, sure, I guess? Do you want money or something? Because that might have to wait until I’m employed again—”

“No,” Hoseok interrupts. “Nothing like that.”

You feel your palms starting to sweat. “Then what?”

You see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallows hard. His voice sounds almost husky as he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

You almost take a step back, but force yourself to remain rooted in place, though shock is evident on your features. “W-what?”

“Kiss me,” he repeats, and you feel the warmth of his palm against your hip. “Without anyone watching, without the whole fake-boyfriend pretence.” He looks into your eyes, hopeful and oddly sincere. “Please?”

Your throat feels dry, and you swear the room is starting to spin. But your mouth speaks before your mind can catch up, asking, “Just once?”

The look in his eyes becomes unreadable, almost distant, before he answers, his breath fanning across your face. He’s so close. “Yeah. Just once.”

Your body feels like it’s running on autopilot as you lift your arms to loop around Hoseok’s neck. His grip on your waist tightens as he draws you in, closer and closer. You rise to the tips of your toes and feel his nose grazing against yours. You feel his lips barely grazing against yours, almost touching but not quite. You feel dizzy with want, this inexplicable spark of desire growing within you and warming your body from the inside out. For the very first time, you realize that you want him, that you want Jung Hoseok, and it terrifies you.

You’re just about to finally close the distance when you hear your mother from the doorway.

“Y/N, Hobi, I just wanted to—oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt!”

You practically jump back from Hoseok, the moment shattered as you retract your arms from his body and curl in on yourself, squeezing your eyes shut for a second. You hear Hoseok sigh before he reluctantly moves his hands from your waist.

“That’s okay, Mrs. Kim,” he says in a strained voice. “I should probably finish packing up my car anyway.” He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek, oddly close to the corner of your mouth. The next question he whispers into your ear, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. “See you back at the apartment?”

Oh. Part of you had hoped that Hoseok would offer to drive you back, but you suppose it makes more sense for Namjoon and Seokjin to take you. You and Hoseok need some distance, a little space to figure out the whirlwind of confusing emotions that have threatened to consume you whole. You just nod dumbly, still not looking at him. If you look at him, you might say or do something you’ll just regret later, with your mother as a witness by the door.

He lingers a moment longer before finally leaving the room. Your mother smiles at him as he goes, and he offers her a small upward quirk of his lips in return. Once the two of you are alone, and you’ve shoved the rest of your things into your duffel, your mom walks over to you and sits on the bed. She pats the spot next to her, and you take a seat, hands folded in your lap.

“How are you doing, sweetie?”

You’re confused by the question. “Uh…fine?”

“No,” she shakes her head, reaching up to play with a strand of your hair. “That’s not what I’m asking.”

You’d known that from the beginning. Your mother had always been your biggest confidant, and she hadn’t had a chance to really talk to you by yourself since getting to the cottage. You’d been expecting this conversation, dreading it even. She continues.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner that you and Jackson had broken up?” She asks gently. You’d known that your mother had loved the boy, taken him in as a second son. She had joked in the past that the two of you should get married, and that had been the direction you thought your life was going in. But life has other plans. It always does.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts before replying. “I was embarrassed,” you admit truthfully. “I…I don’t know, Mom. I guess I always thought that Jackson was going to be it for me. I told so many people how much I loved him, and everyone would always tell me in return that we were the perfect couple. What kind of perfect couple breaks up because he’s married to his job?”

You take in a shaky breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner. I just needed time to figure out my new normal again.”

She nods, staring off into space. After a beat, she pipes up. “Hoseok is great, though.”

You glance over at her, not realizing the tiny smile that has made its way onto your face. “Yeah. He is.”

“You know,” your mother muses, the distant look in her eyes full of nostalgia. “When you two were in high school, I always suspected that he had a crush on you. Boys always show that they like girls in the stupidest ways when they’re younger, what with all the teasing and such. But I have to say, the two of you together just make sense.”

You bite your lower lip. “We do?”

“Yeah,” she affirms. “I see it in the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention. He really cares about you. And I know this relationship is new, and it’s coming off the heels of a breakup, but don’t let him go. Okay? At least not without a fight.”

In that instant, you almost tell her that the entire thing is fake. That none of it is real, that Hoseok is just a talented actor who had wanted to see how much of a shit show this weekend would truly be. But as your mother beams at you with all the love and warmth that you’d missed being holed up under the covers in your apartment, you just smile in return.

“Okay, Mom. I promise.”

Hoseok is already gone by the time you all pile into Seokjin’s car, saying he needed to get back to the studio to check on something, even though it was the day after Christmas. You don’t say anything, opting to put your headphones on and drown out everything around you as you stare blankly out the window.

“Can she hear us?” Namjoon asks his boyfriend as your eyes start to flutter shut. Seokjin’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he glances back at you through the rearview mirror.

“I don’t think so. She’s got those giant noise-cancelling things on her head, and I think she’s taking a nap.”

Namjoon sighs, running a hand through his hair. “This is a mess, Jin.”

Seokjin agrees with a grunt. “Honestly, I still can’t believe Hobi actually agreed to come this weekend. Volunteered, even.”

“Yeah, well, you know how he feels about my sister,” Namjoon whispers, just in case you’re secretly awake or between songs. “This isn’t healthy for either of them. One of them is gonna get their heart broken, and it’s gonna be Hoseok.”

Seokjin tries to be optimistic. “But it looked as if she was into it, no?”

He strokes his index finger along his chin, pensive and frustrated. “I don’t know. Y/N has always been pretty good at hiding it in front of people whenever she’s upset or anxious. But whatever happened this weekend didn’t feel fake to me. From either of them.”

“Ah,” Seokjin tuts, driving with one hand as he leans his elbow against the windowsill. “They’re both adults, Joonie. They’ll figure it out, and everything will go back to normal.”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon responds with an air of trepidation. But he doesn’t say anything else.

—

Before you can blink, it’s New Year’s Eve. As soon as you’re back from your parents’ cottage, you pretty much go back to your previous routine—hiding out from the world in your apartment under the covers, only really coming out to eat or go to the bathroom. But this time, you’re not only hiding from the chaos that’s outside, but also from Hoseok.

You’ve never been more confused. You haven’t spoken to him since that weekend, nor have you gone over to his and Namjoon’s apartment. Your brother has reluctantly been giving you space, something that he only ever does when he knows you’re experiencing inner turmoil.

You flop down on your bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering just how you got here. You try to think back on when exactly these feelings had sprung up. Part of you wants to believe that it’s just because you were dying for affection of any kind after your break up, and Hoseok was just the one to provide it for you. You try to reason that if it had been any of your other friends, like Jungkook or Yoongi, you’d probably feel similarly.

But the larger part of your brain knows that that isn’t true.

You shut your eyes, taking in a deep breath. You need to be honest with yourself for once.

Truth be told, you’d always had a bit of a thing for Hoseok. When you’d first met him, you had just come home from varsity soccer practice, still wearing your uniform and dripping with sweat. He was sitting on the couch with Namjoon, joking around and teasing him as he struggled through some video game you didn’t recognize.

You’d immediately been attracted to him, his smile being the first thing that had you mesmerized. But you don’t really know what happened after that. He’d taken to teasing you, purposely pushing your buttons just to get a reaction. He was never particularly cruel, mostly annoying, but you figured that he hated you all the same. And because you refused to be pushed around, whatever he gave, you returned. If he was rude to you, you were rude right back. If he was passive aggressive, you accused him of being a giant baby.

Things only got worse when you started dating Jackson. Hoseok absolutely despised him and you could never figure out why. You figured it was because Jackson was quick-witted and often left Hoseok speechless, and he defended you whenever Hoseok decided to act foolishly. You never thought much of it until now, your mother’s words echoing in your head.

Had Hoseok been jealous all this time?

You try to shove the thought away, along with the butterflies that are still occupying your stomach, but to no avail. Maybe Hoseok really did like you, and maybe you like him too. Why else would he ask you to kiss him at the end of the weekend without anyone there to witness it? Surely that had to mean something.

You groan in frustration as your eyes shoot open.

You’re falling for Jung Hoseok.

In that instant, your phone buzzes. Part of you hopes it’s him, but instead it’s your brother’s name that pops up on your screen.

[Received: 10:07pm] Namjoon: The guys are all here. Are you still coming over for the countdown? We have wine

[Sent: 10:07pm] Y/N: How dare you tempt me with the devil’s juice

[Received: 10:08pm] Namjoon: Bitch

[Received: 10:08pm] Namjoon: You love wine. Come over

[Received: 10:08pm] Namjoon: Put on real people clothes. No ratty PJs allowed.

[Sent: 10:09pm] Y/N: You sound just like Dad. Fine. I’ll be over in 10

[Received: 10:10pm] Namjoon: Love you sooooo much. Jin and I are just doing some last-minute stuff, let yourself in whenever you’re ready

You heave a sigh and sit up, realizing you can’t hide from Hoseok forever. You drag yourself out of bed, quickly changing, making sure you look presentable, and trudging down the hall to Namjoon’s apartment.

You can hear the ruckus that is seven boys from behind the door once you approach. Everyone had come back from visiting their families, gathering at Namjoon and Hoseok’s, as is their tradition. You feel your palms start to sweat as you reach for the doorknob, slowly twisting it open and slipping inside.

No one seems to hear you come in, as there’s no break in conversation between the five boys situated in the living room. Jin and Namjoon are nowhere to be found, so you assume they’re still in the process of getting ready for the evening’s festivities. The television is on, showing one of the many New Year’s Eve countdown specials, some musical group performing their latest hit blaring from the speakers. You’re just about to make your presence known when you hear someone mention your name.

“Hobi, is it true that you actually went to Joon and Y/N’s cottage for the holidays?”

The voice belongs to Jimin. You peer around the corner into the living room, still going unnoticed. Hoseok is there, sitting on the couch nursing a beer.

“Yeah,” he responds gruffly, as if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

A new voice pipes up, this time belonging to Jungkook. He sounds incredulous as he asks, “Is it true that you went there posing as her boyfriend to her parents?”

Another affirmative grunt. You hear a chorus of laughter, and you can’t deny that it stings. Are they laughing at Hoseok having to spend a weekend with the person he hates the most, or are they laughing because your situation is just that pathetic?

“And how was that?” Yoongi asks as he downs the rest of his bottle of beer.

You can really only see the back of Hoseok’s head, but you can tell based on how he grips his beer a little tighter that he’s getting annoyed with his friends and their teasing. You’re about to step out from around the corner to put an end to all of it when he finally speaks up.

“Honestly? A waste of fucking time. She didn’t even put out. I figured she would be easier than that. Not that I want Jackson’s sloppy seconds anyway.”

Time stops.

You can’t breathe.

You can hear the guys speaking, but you can’t process it. You feel like you’re underwater, being dunked in a frozen lake with the ice trapping you below the surface. You don’t realize you’re crying until you hear your name being called.

“Y/N?” Namjoon asks as he pokes his head out from his bedroom. Immediately, all of the eyes in the room fall on you.

Hoseok stares at you, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

You want to throw up.

Namjoon approaches you quickly, hands coming to rest on your shoulders. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

You don’t break eye contact with Hoseok as you start to shake your head.

Finally, you spit out, “Fuck you, Jung Hoseok.”

You wrench yourself from your brother’s grasp and head for the door, slamming it shut on your way out.

None of it was real.

None of it was real, and you feel so absolutely fucking stupid for believing that it could have been. Every touch, every kiss, all of it was just Hoseok doing what he does best—pretend. You were right all along. All he wanted was just some sick entertainment, and to maybe lure you into bed so that he could go back to his friends and brag about it behind your back.

You make it back to your place and throw the door open, not looking back when you swing it shut with your foot. But instead of the sound of the door slamming against the wooden frame, you hear it whack against something soft. You turn and immediately become furious at the sight of Hoseok stepping foot into your private space.

You march over and shove him hard, causing him to stumble back.

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

You’re almost shocked at how eerily calm your voice is. But you know that the dam is about to break, and if Hoseok doesn’t leave right this minute, you’re going to unleash a tsunami upon him.

“Y/N, wait, I can explain—”

That does it.

“Explain what?” You can’t help but yell. You’re just so tired, so embarrassed, so humiliated that all you want is him to leave so that you can cry your eyes out under the covers in peace. You try to shove him again, but he’s expecting it this time, his feet planted firmly on the ground. “Explain how this whole thing was just so that you could have more ammunition to make fun of me? So that I could be another notch in your bed post? Well, guess what, I don’t want to hear it, so why don’t you just get the fuck out and leave me alone!”

Hoseok vehemently shakes his head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You bite your lip to stop from screaming at him, staring up at the ceiling in a feeble attempt to stop the tears from flowing.

“I’m asking you nicely, Hoseok,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Please just leave, I can’t even look at you, I can’t—”

Before you can blink, he’s on you, lips pressed so firmly against yours that the contact makes your teeth click. Hoseok soothes the sting as his movements slow, his mouth coaxing a light moan from your throat. His hand lifts to cup your cheek, and for a delirious moment, you sink into the feeling of the kiss, of him kissing you.

It isn’t until you feel him tugging you against the length of his body that his words come rushing back to you in a flood of shame, anger, and hurt. You plant your hands on his chest and forcefully push him away, a resounding CRACK ringing through your apartment as a red mark in the shape of your handprint blooms across his cheek.

Hoseok is stunned, immediately letting you go. He rubs at where you’d slapped him, his lips downturned in a frown that doesn’t suit his beautiful face. He gapes at you for a few minutes before finally choking out, “What the fuck was that for?”

“Stop toying with me!” You practically wail, tears stinging your eyes. “You don’t get to just…just kiss me like that out of nowhere and pretend like everything is okay! What am I, a joke to you? Someone you can play around with and then go back and brag about to your friends?”

You take in a deep, wavering breath, shaking your head as you force yourself to look him in the eye.

“I can’t believe I trusted you.” You see Hoseok’s face fall, his hands twitching at his sides, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine that it’s because he wants to reach out and touch you. You hate yourself for wanting it to be true. “I can’t believe I confided in you, that I—”

You clamp your mouth shut before the secret you’ve been holding back ever since Namjoon had introduced the two of you all those years ago slips from your tongue. This seems to spark something within Hoseok, and his face sets in determination.

“That you what?” He demands, taking a step forward. “I’m not playing around, Y/N. I wouldn’t do that. Not to you.”

“Then why did you say those things about me to the others?” You cry, hot tears streaking down your face. You helplessly swipe at them with your sleeves, hating that you’ve allowed yourself to get this emotional, that he’s seeing you break down in front of him. You turn away burying your face in your hands. “I’m so stupid, I’m so, so fucking stupid…”

You feel his arms circling you, and you start to cry harder when you feel his lips press against your crown.

“You’re not stupid,” he promises quietly, a large, warm palm rubbing gentle circles against your back. “This is real. The entire weekend with your parents—every touch, every kiss, I meant it.” He lets out a laugh. Not one of humour, but one of weary exhaustion. “You’re really gonna make me say it, aren’t you?”

You force yourself to take deep breaths, force yourself to pretend as if his touch isn’t a welcome comfort. You will the tears to cease, shakily asking, “Say what?”

Another laugh, this one followed by a short, hitched breath.

“I’m in love with you.”

You immediately try to wrestle yourself out of his hold, though his hands remain steadfast on your waist. “You what?”

His grip tightens ever so slightly, his gaze soft as he smiles down at you. “I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes search his, breath caught in your throat. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not,” he promises, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”

You’re too stunned to speak. How long had you dreamed of Hoseok saying those exact words to you? For him to want you, only you, for the weekend at your parents’ cottage to have been real instead of just a ruse to get your family off your back? Your eyes are still fixated on his, trying to figure out whether or not he’s telling the truth.

Hoseok must sense the thoughts racing through your mind, so he decides to continue. “When Namjoon introduced us back in high school, the first time I came over and you’d come back from soccer practice, my jaw nearly hit the floor. Namjoon figured out how I felt and warned me to stay away from you, so I kept my distance.”

Namjoon knew? Your brother knew this whole time?

“I was an asshole to you because it was the only way I knew how to get your attention. We were kids at the time, you know? Just stupid teenagers. But by the time we’d all grown up, that was just how we spoke to each other, and it was the only way I knew how to get you to even look in my direction. And then you were dating that asshole Jackson, and you just seemed so happy, and I couldn’t do anything about it.” He scoffs at himself, letting out a deep sigh. “I’m an idiot, right?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice is locked up in your throat, refusing to come out. So you just stare at him, stunned.

He continues. “I shouldn’t have said what I did back there. The guys…they don’t know how I feel about you, and they wouldn’t leave me alone. I know that it was wrong, and I regretted it the second I said it. But I don’t regret spending time with you, getting to really know you, or getting to pretend like you were actually mine, if only for a few days. I know I have a lifetime to atone for, and I just need you to know that I’m going to try, if you’ll let me.”

You don’t know what to say.

Hoseok smiles nervously, one hand coming up to rake through his hair. “You know, Y/N, I’m kind of bearing my heart and soul to you here, a little feedback would be appreciated.”

You still can’t will yourself to speak, and you feel Hoseok’s hand on your waist starting to slip.

“Look, I’m really sorry, I should have just kept my fucking mouth shut. Forget I said anything, I’ll just go—”

Before he can turn, you cut him off with your hands on either side of his face and your lips against his.

Words evade you, so you hope that you can convey everything in the kiss. Hoseok melts against you, his hands holding you close, slipping under the hem of your shirt to fan across the skin of your lower back. You reach up to tangle your fingers in his hair, only pulling away for a second to catch your breath.

“Holy shit,” Hoseok pants, his breath fanning across your lips. “You just kissed—”

You kiss him again, effectively shutting him up, because there are more important things the two of you can be doing with your mouths. Hoseok sinks into the kiss, moving you backwards until he’s crowding you against the wall of your front hallway. You moan when his tongue traces along your lower lip, and you open up for him, knees nearly buckling at the sensation of the first touch against yours.

The kiss is everything you’ve dreamed of and more. You can feel the sincerity, the desire, the love as Hoseok’s movements slow, stealing all the air from your lungs. His tongue gently caresses yours as he takes control, and you can feel his eyelashes fluttering light as a feather against the curve your cheek. Your fingers card through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He moans into your mouth, the same erotic sound that had escaped him the first night at the cottage. Hoseok presses you more firmly against the length of his body, and you can feel his arousal against your lower stomach.

Pulling away with a great amount of reluctance, your eyes search his. All you see is the truth.

Both his, and yours.

“It was real to me too,” you confess, breathless in the best way possible. “I didn’t know I wanted it to be until you kissed me under the mistletoe, but I do. I want you, Hoseok. All of you. Deep down, I think I always have.”

The smile that spreads across his face is so beautiful and radiant that it rivals the sun. Hoseok presses his forehead against yours, and takes in a deep breath as his eyes shut. He doesn’t say anything, and you run your thumb along his cheek, pecking at his mouth.

“What is it?”

“I just…” he begins, his voice so soft and so full of emotion. You press your palms against his shoulders so that you can see him fully, and you’re shocked to see the tears clinging to his lashes. “I love you,” he confesses, and you still feel your breath hitch at the words. “I love you, and I just need a second to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not,” you promise, smoothing out the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. You want to say those three words back to him, but you know that you’re not ready yet. There’s still years of hurt to work through, to resolve and fix. But your heart longs for him, marvels in how right it feels to be in his arms, to kiss him, to be as close to him as possible.

Hoseok seems to be able to read your mind, his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your hip. “I know I have a lot of apologizing to do,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’d like to show you just how sorry I am, and how much I love you, if you’ll let me.”

Even after his confession, and though he’s holding you so close that nothing else but the two of you exists, you have to feebly ask, “Promise you won’t use this to make fun of me behind my back with the guys?”

Hoseok’s head hangs in shame for a second before he rises to look at you, the smile gone from his face. It’s replaced by a look of sadness, pain filtering into his gaze. “Please, Y/N. I need you to believe me when I say that I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, ever. I’m not about to blow my chance with you for some stupid prank.”

You worry your lower lip between your teeth before you raise your hand, holding up your pinky finger. “Promise?”

A tiny smile begins to spread across his face as he holds his up as well, hooking his little finger with yours. “Promise.”

You’re not sure who leans in first after that. All you know is that his hand is cupping your jaw and you’re clinging to his shirt as he kisses you with so much love, passion, and adoration that you swear your heart is going to burst out of your chest.

Hoseok guides you in the direction of your room, and the two of you stumble along, clothes thrown overhead and shed along the way. By the time you feel Hoseok gently push you down on the bed, his shirt is off and you’re only in your bra and panties, a plain, boring white set that you wish was just a little fancier. Hoseok doesn’t seem to mind though, as he climbs over you and looks down at your body as if he wants to devour you whole.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants, his mouth scorching hot as he pulls bruises with his teeth along your neck and collarbone. You whine beneath him as he noses your bra strap down your shoulder, sucking and licking down the curve of your breast.

“Hobi, please,” you whimper as he tugs your bra down to expose your nipples, immediately looking you dead in the eye as he elongates his tongue and traces the very tip along the edge of your areola. He lavishes your breast with attention, his thumb grazing over your other nipple before he switches his ministrations. You arch into his mouth, and Hoseok takes the opportunity to slide his hands underneath you to unhook your bra.

He tosses it aside flippantly before pressing open mouthed kisses between the valley of your breasts, and down your stomach.

“I’ve been thinking about you ever since that first night at the cottage,” Hoseok breathes against the band of your panties, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. He tugs them down slowly, his voice deep and husky as he tries to keep himself under control.

You can tell it’s a losing battle, if his blown out pupils and the tent in his jeans are any indication.

“The things I want to do to you,” he growls, his palms spreading your legs wide so that they’re flat against the bed. You whimper out a moan as he trails kisses from your knee up your inner thigh, stopping just before where you need him most. “With my tongue…with my hands…” Hoseok runs his thumb along your dripping slit, not adding much pressure, but just a ghost of a touch to let you know that he sees what a mess you’ve already made. “Fuck, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp as you feel his calloused digit swipe lightly over your swollen clit. “Hobi, please, I need more—”

He smirks up at you, and you watch as he, with all the time in the world, bends down while maintaining steady eye contact. His tongue pokes out of his mouth and he flicks the tip of it against your clit, and it’s enough to already having you buck up towards him for something, anything.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and give me what I want?” Hoseok purrs before leaning down to suck on your clit, hard. You yelp at the sensation but then he moves away, looking up at you expectantly.

You card your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly at the roots. “Yes, Hoseok, please, anything. You already have me. Please, please, I need you.”

“Mmm,” he hums, sucking on it again before backing off. Part of you wants to smack him upside the head. How is he still so infuriating? “Can’t wait to make this pussy mine. Can’t wait to claim you, to ruin you for anyone else.”

You can’t help but grumble. “I don’t know, at this point, I’m starting to believe you’re all talk—”

You’re abruptly cut off my Hoseok latching his mouth to your clit, delivering the perfect amount of pressure as he licks and sucks at your most sensitive area. You moan out something akin to his name, and it only spurs him on further. He growls against your pussy and you feel it vibrating deep in your core, your fingers grasping for purchase against his soft strands.

Your eyes flutter shut as he focuses all his attention on your clit, drawing out more and more obscene moans and whines from your lips. It’s when you feel two of his fingers sliding into your heat that your eyes fly open and you start to squirm in his grasp.

“You’re so wet, baby,” Hoseok growls as he continues to massage your inner walls with his long, deft fingers. He curls them upward until he finds what he’s looking for, the spot deep inside of you that has you keening when he presses on it. You feel him grin against your skin. “Ah, there it is.”

You’re not sure if you can survive this experience, not if he keeps talking like that. But it stirs something within you, something primal and desperate, and you buck your hips as his movements get faster and faster.

The obscene sound of his tongue flicking against your clit stops as he suddenly sits up, and you let out a whine of protest. His fingers remain inside of you but he moves so that he’s draped along your side, slightly hovering over your body. He leans in to kiss you, just as his hand starts to move. The heel of his palm beats against your clit with every thrust of his fingers, and you cry against his lips as he shifts to whisper the filthiest things into your ear.

The wet sound of his fingers fucking you and his palm slapping against your pussy fills the room and has your legs starting to shake.

“Press those legs really wide for me, baby,” Hoseok orders as his hand picks up speed. You do as he says, and to reward you, his hand fucks you a little harder. “Good girl. Fuck. I’ve been thinking of making you come all fucking week. Mmm, how does it feel, baby? How does it feel to have my fingers fuck you open, prepare you for my cock?”

You want to scream, but you can see the light at the end of the tunnel, the release that you’d so desperately been longing for rapidly approaching. Instead you whimper out a barely-there response, Hoseok’s fingers dragging brutally against your g-spot.

“Always dreamed of watching you come, of making you come. It’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted, and now I have you right where I’ve always wanted you. Now I want you to come for me. Can you do that baby? Can you come on my fingers?”

One of your hands fists the sheets while the other holds him close, nudging him with your nose until he gets the hint to kiss you.

“Come for me,” he murmurs into the kiss, and you feel your walls begin to clench down on him.  The fluttering begins, and Hoseok’s tone becomes gentle, almost reverent. “Good girl,” he praises as he feels the beginnings of your orgasm. “Good girl, come on, come on…”

You come with a scream, bucking your pussy against his palm as he helps you ride out the pleasure. Shockwaves tear through you as Hoseok extends your orgasm for as long as possible, peppering your face and neck with kisses as you finally start to come down.

“Mmm, baby, look at you,” Hoseok purrs, sliding his fingers out of your wet heat and holding them up so you can see how they glisten in the dim light. “Open your mouth for me, Y/N.”

You do as you’re told, and you see his nostrils start to flare as he slides his fingers into your mouth and you suck the evidence of your own bliss off his skin. His prominent Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, removing is fingers before he kisses you for all he’s worth. Your fingers tremble as you struggle with his belt, still feeling lightheaded from his earlier ministrations. Hoseok eventually just lifts himself off the bed and shucks off his jeans and boxers in one go, abandoning them in a pile on the floor as he palms his hardened cock.

You sit up on your elbows as he places a knee back on the bed, and you bite your lip at his size. Hoseok is gorgeous, truly having a dancer’s body. He’s streamlined and lean, and his cock is thicker than you expect. He strokes himself steadily while gazing upon you like a wolf about to pounce on a rabbit.

“How do you want it?”

You bite your lip before reaching over to gently grasp his wrist. “I want to see you.”

Hoseok nods as you sit up fully and open the drawer to your bedside table to retrieve a condom from your stash. You open the foil and help slide it down his length, watching with a hint of smugness as his eyes roll back in his head when you squeeze his shaft. Once it’s rolled on all the way to his base, he nudges you to lie back, and you part your thighs for him once more.

He lets out a groan, hooking your legs over his elbows, before he leans forward, the head of his cock brushing against your still-sensitive lips. “I still can’t believe this is finally happening,” he chuckles breathlessly as he effectively folds you in half, leaving you completely open and exposed for him. You reach down to guide him in, your other hand cupping the back of his neck as he rests his forehead against yours.

You feel the head of his cock parting your lips and then the delicious sting of him slowly filling you up. You don’t realize you’re both holding your breath until Hoseok releases a choked moan and you whimper out his name in response. You take him, inch by delicious inch, until you feel his pelvis pressing flush against yours.

He takes a moment to just breathe through the feeling of your tight, wet heat wrapped around him, and it allows for you to adjust to his girth inside of you. Once you feel ready, you peck at his mouth as a signal to move.

More proof that Hoseok is a dancer—his hips, once they start to roll into you, are absolutely fucking deadly. He fucks you like he’ll never get the chance again, like it’s his last day on Earth and he wants you writhing beneath him to be his final memory. Your nails scrape along his back as he starts out slow, his cock filling you so perfectly, going even deeper than his fingers had just moments before.

You also notice that when Hoseok isn’t whispering into your ear with the some of the filthiest shit you’ve ever heard, he cannot stop kissing you. It’s almost as if he can’t believe you’re real, and the feeling of your lips against his grounds him in a way that he just can’t explain.

He starts to pick up the pace, his hips slamming against yours with more vigour. “How does it feel, baby?” He grunts, grinding into you. “How does it feel to have my cock buried deep inside of you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he braces his knees against the bed and starts to fuck you harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your ears. You moan as he nips at your jaw, your nails dragging long, angry red marks along the honeyed skin of his back.

You’ve never seen Hoseok like this before in all the years that you’ve known him. His brow is furrowed in concentration, forehead dotted with sweat. You can tell that he’s trying to hold himself back as he explores every inch of your body, worshipping and revering you like he goddess he knows that you are.

“Your pussy is so fucking wet,” he praises, sucking in harsh breaths as he pounds into you, the bed frame creaking under the force of his thrusts. You’re helpless beneath him, and you see the veins in his neck start to protrude as he starts to lose control.

“Baby, I’m so close,” you keen, pushing his sweaty bangs out of his face.

“Yeah?” He asks, even though he can tell that you’re almost there. He presses the full length of his body against yours and fucks you until there’s nothing left in the entire universe but you and him. “Come with me, baby.”

When you come for the second time, you come harder than you ever have before. You scream out his name as you cling to him for dear life, your back arching clear off the bed as you feel wetness coating you both. Hoseok nearly chokes as he comes, burying himself deep inside of you as he spills into the condom, pinning you to the mattress as your name falls repeatedly from his lips.

Hoseok collapses on top of you, effectively squishing you under the weight of his body. You pout and squirm, nudging at his shoulders, though his spent body makes no effort to move.

“Hobi,” you whine with an air of laughter in your voice, limbs going limp. “Get off.”

“Let me just…bask in this for a second,” he pants, face still buried in the crook of your neck. “I’ve never made a girl squirt before.”

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, shoving at his shoulders. He moves off of you and you roll onto your stomach, burying your face in your pillow. He takes the opportunity to peel off the condom, tying it in a knot and tossing it in the trash. You say something, but it’s muffled by the fabric and Hoseok can’t help but giggle.

“I can’t hear you, dumb-dumb.”

You lift your face, but then cover it with your hands. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never done that before.”

“Sorry?” Hoseok asks, rising slightly before wrapping his arms around you and tugging you flush against him. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and the best sex I’ve ever hand, and you’re trying to apologize?”

You peer at him through the gap in your fingers. “It’s embarrassing.”

Hoseok wrenches your hands away from your face and kisses you before you can protest.

“Believe me when I tell you that it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. You don’t need to be ashamed of yourself, or your body, or anything. I love you. Every part of you.”

You bite your lip and look away, knowing you’re unable to say the three words that you know Hoseok wants to hear more than anything. But again, sensing your discomfort, he lifts his hand to brush your hair away from your face.

“Don’t feel guilty,” he says quietly, stroking his thumb along your cheek. “You don’t have to say it back. I hope that one day you will, but I don’t expect you to reciprocate right away.”

Your eyes bore into his, and you wonder why this version of Hoseok couldn’t have been the one you’d met when you were sixteen. You lean in and kiss him so softly and so shyly that it’s barely there. But when you pull away, he’s smiling at you. That beautiful, radiant smile that makes you glad you’re lying down because it makes you weak in the knees.

“I’m getting there,” you promise, nose brushing against his. And you know it to be true. Even as you’re in his arms now, nestled perfectly like you were always meant to exist in his hold, you’re falling, falling falling. You just need some more time. But you know you’ll get there, if his tiny, hopeful smile is any indication.

You suddenly start to hear a ruckus from the hall, and also loud cheers from street level outside. You rise slightly, trying to peer over at your alarm clock, but Hoseok drags you back down with a pout.

“Clean up later. I’m comfy.”

“What time is it?” You ask, ignoring his petulant frown.

Hoseok caves and rolls over, emitting a small noise of surprise. “11:59.”

Then you hear people starting to count down.

10!

9!

Hoseok turns back to you, his eyes wide and shining as he takes you in, still basking in the after glow.

8!

7!

6!

You smile at him, the tiniest tear clinging to your lashes, and as you blink, Hoseok wipes it away with his thumb before it can tumble down your cheek.

5!

He leans in closer…

4!

Your eyes slowly close as you slide your hand along the back of his neck…

3!

His arms pull you in until there’s no space between you…

2!

You feel his warm breath fanning across your lips…

1!

Happy New Year!

The clock strikes midnight just as Hoseok kisses you, fireworks exploding just outside to ring in the new year. You lose yourself in the feel of him once more, in the taste of his tongue as it glides along the seam of your mouth. You don’t protest as he rolls on top of you, his thigh pressing between yours to spread your legs yet again.

When his questing hand blindly reaches out for the drawer of your bedside table, you detach from him momentarily to pant out, “Shouldn’t we go back and rejoin the others?”

Hoseok merely chuckles, tearing open another condom. “Screw the others,” he grins, and you can’t help but bite your lip in anticipation as you feel his arousal growing stiffer between your thighs. “I have a lot of lost time to make up for. They can wait.”

And as he pushes inside of you again, you can’t help but agree. You’d spent so long feeling so sad and so lost, you’d nearly forgotten what it was like to experience true happiness, and true bliss.

But as Hoseok worships your body and makes you forget about the outside world, you figure that you deserve to cling to whatever small piece of joy that you can. And you do—over and over, until the sun comes up and neither of you have the strength or energy to carry on.

Even after all of that though, Hoseok still bugs you to run your fingers along his arms and chest to help him fall asleep. You snort and call him a brat, to which he taunts you by saying you’re going to need to buy extra sets of sheets for every time he comes over.

You just shake your head as he drifts off, snoring softly, looking more and more like an angel as slumber finally takes him. You press a kiss to his forehead and nuzzle against him, his arms automatically wrapping around you, even in sleep. You sigh with a smile, relaxing in his grasp. You know that you still have a ways to go, but with Hoseok by your side, you finally feel ready to step into the sun.

Happy New Year, indeed.

A/N: It is FINALLY DONE! This is the longest one-shot I’ve ever written. I meant to have this out sooner, but you know how life is sometimes. I hope you enjoyed! And I hope you all had a happy and safe new year. Drop me a line and let me know what you think!  Please share if you liked it!<3

[sonicrainicorn]

Only Us (Part 2)

Part of the Berry Done AU

Words: 10459 Desc.: Thomas and Logan have always been close. From the moment Logan was born, Thomas swore he’d do anything for his baby brother. Unfortunately, it was a promise to be taken to the extremes. (First part here) TW: Character death (mentioned), anxiety attacks, attempted rape/non-con (mentioned), relationship abuse, there is also exactly one (1) swear word

I’m actually a little sorry for this one.

///

It must have been a day after the funeral. Logan was in his room, laying stomach down on his bed with his face in the pillow. He didn’t want to do anything. Thomas was in the kitchen making cookies from scratch. Unlike Logan, he needed to do something. And then there was a knock at the door.

Logan didn’t think much about it at first. Yeah, it was a little weird, but maybe it was important mail or someone who tries to sell stuff. That happened sometimes.

He heard Thomas open the door and... let that person in. Okay. That didn’t normally happen. Still, it might not have been important. Maybe. Yeah, okay, Logan was curious now. He rolled out of bed and shuffled to his door.

There was a deep voice coming from the other side that he didn’t recognize. He didn’t focus on the words at the moment, he was more focused on the voice and the millions of questions it gave him. Who was it? Why were they here? What could they possibly want?

He tried to be as silent as possible as he snuck out the door. He didn’t want anyone hearing him for fear that they may stop talking. He learned recently that adults stop talking about important things when they see that a kid is nearby. But he wanted to know those important things. He peeked down the hall.

Thomas sat with a man at the dining table. The man wore nice clothes, but nothing that could be considered fancy. He looked serious, though. Thomas didn’t seem too happy about what he had to say. And then Logan heard the words “emergency foster care”. This man was a social worker.

Their mother had no siblings. There were no aunts or uncles or cousins to take them in. Her parents died before either of the boys had a chance to know them. There was no one to fall back on.

He and Thomas were going into foster care.

“We’ll try to be contacting your father as soon as possible,” the man explained. “But until then, you will have to be placed with an emergency foster family.”

“No,” Thomas said, borderline indignant. “I can take care of Logan myself. I-I helped raise him. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m sorry, but this is how it has to go. You two have to be cared for by a legal adult.”

“I’m going to be a legal adult. I turn eighteen next week.”

“And when that week comes you get to see him as much as you wish.”

Logan didn’t want to hear this anymore. He may have been young, but he knew what was going to happen. They were going to separate him and Thomas. The likelihood of someone wanting to take care of two teenage boys was slim. And when Thomas turned eighteen, he’d be free to leave. But Logan would be stuck. They wouldn’t see Thomas as a suitable guardian. He had no job -- no source of income. He was still in high school.

Going over all the facts made Logan feel... something. He felt his chest tighten and his legs go weak. There was a pressure pushing down on him, making everything seem too small. He needed to get out -- he needed to stop hearing this.

He ran back to his room and shut the door. He dove under the covers of his bed like a scared little kid. Maybe that’s what he was. All he was was a scared little kid who cried at things he couldn’t stand up to. Who froze up and ran away when he heard things he didn’t like.

He tried to wrap the blanket tighter around himself to drown out his thoughts. They were too loud. He couldn’t breathe. It was like his lungs forgot how to expand and contract on their own. They were doing too much of one and not the other, and he couldn’t focus enough to fix it. He knew he had to fix it, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it. It was too much -- everything was too much. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t stand it. It was too much. He couldn’t do it.

“Logan?”

That was Thomas. Focus on Thomas. Answer Thomas.

He couldn’t answer Thomas.

The edge of the bed dipped. “Logan -- hey -- I need you to listen to me, alright?” His voice was gentle. “Breathe in for four seconds, hold for seven seconds, and breathe out for eight.”

Logan tried to follow the steps -- he tried so hard. He couldn’t do it. He was choking. “I -- I --” A sob escaped his lips instead of coherent words.

“Alright. We’re gonna try something else, okay? Focus on me, Logan. I know you can do this. You know your room, right? What are five things you can touch?”

Logan knew one. “B-blanket.” Associate. “Bed.” Keep going. “P-pillow.” He kept track with his fingers. Using his brain was too hard. “Sheets.” He stretched out his arm to where he assumed Thomas was. “You.”

Thomas held Logan’s searching hand. “That’s good. You’re doing great. What are four things you can see?”

He peeked his head over his blanket cocoon. “Wall.” Expand. “P-poster.” Elaborate. “Th-the Doctor Who one. And the Winnie th-the Pooh one.” One more, “You.”

Thomas smiled. It erased the concern on his face for a brief second. “Three things you can hear.”

“My breathing.” It wasn’t as heavy anymore, though still a bit ragged. “My alarm clock -- but only in the morning.” It was easier to think -- to talk. “And your voice.”

“Two things you can smell.”

“The cookies in the oven.” Things were better. “The flour you dropped on your shirt.”

Thomas glanced down at the rather large white patch clinging to the front of his shirt. “That’s kind of embarrassing... Anyway, one thing you can taste.”

“Nothing that would be sanitary.”

Thomas chuckled. “That’s a safe answer.” He squeezed Logan’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Not like I’m dying.” He sat up. His limbs were wobbly. “How did you know how to do that?”

He shrugged. “You learn a thing or two when you get older.”

Fair enough, Logan supposed. He crawled closer to Thomas and put his head on his arm. It felt better to be near him. “What’s going to happen now?”

Thomas sighed. “We’re going to have to leave.”

“Right now?”

He didn’t say anything, but that was an answer in itself.

“Oh.”

He squeezed Logan’s hand again. “I’ll help you pack.”

They were allowed to bring whatever they could carry. Their social worker didn’t help. He made it seem like they needed to leave as fast as possible. Logan didn’t want to leave at all. But they left. It wasn’t until the house was fading from view that he realized Cara’s guitar was still in his closet.

~~~

Their emergency foster family was nice enough, but Logan was more glad about getting to stay with Thomas longer. It was an older man and woman. There were pictures of them with two kids. A boy and a girl. Logan assumed it was their children. He noticed a newer picture of the girl in a college graduation gown. There was another one with the boy in a suit and a woman next to him wearing white. He didn’t know why they’d want to be foster parents when they had their own kids -- emergency foster parents no less. A position where you get traumatized kids dropped off at your doorstep under short notice.

But they were nice. They let Logan and Thomas be alone in their room. And that was another thing Logan was glad for. Sharing a room. He didn’t think he’d be able to be apart from Thomas.

They sat on a bed together, not saying much at first. It was a rough month.

Logan had The Phantom Tollbooth clutched tightly to his chest. He was afraid to put it down. He didn’t want to forget it like another important item of his. “I left my guitar behind,” he muttered after the long stretch of silence.

Thomas paused. “I’m sure we’ll get it back.”

Logan didn’t know how to respond.

“Do you wanna see something?” Thomas asked with a small smile.

“Sure.”

Thomas hopped off the bed. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a large photo album.

Logan couldn’t stop the grin growing on his face. “You brought the photo album?”

He shrugged. “I just felt like I needed to grab something.” He sat back on the bed. The album was meant to mimic a thick book. It was dark blue and squishy with the edges being worn down from use. It was mostly baby pictures of both boys, which made it their mother’s favorite album. There were other pictures, but mainly baby pictures. “Wanna look through it?”

“Yeah, I like making fun of you.”

Thomas scoffed. “Whatever. Don’t act like you don’t have any embarrassing pictures in here.” He flipped it open to the first page.

The very first picture was of Thomas and their mother. She sat in a hospital bed with her newborn in her arms, smiling softly at the camera. She looked a lot younger here. Like the same age as Thomas and his friends. It made Logan realize that he didn’t actually know how old his mother was when she was first pregnant. He never noticed how much younger she looked compared to other mothers.

“She looks like a kid,” Logan couldn’t help but mutter.

Thomas frowned a bit, eyes glued on her face. “She was.” But he didn’t elaborate.

Regardless, the first few pages of the album were of Thomas. Their mother would pop up every once in a while with a large smile that made Logan’s heart ache, but it mainly focused on Thomas. There was his birthdays, his first day of school, him just being a little kid. And then there was another picture taken in a hospital. A story frozen in time.

Thomas sat on the hospital bed next to his mother, hanging close to her arm. They both smiled down at the little bundle she held. A newborn Logan. They gazed at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

“I forgot how tiny you were,” Thomas commented with a hint of amusement.

“I’m still tiny,” Logan replied bitterly. He was one of the shortest kids in his grade. Cara was half a head taller than him.

“Well, when you were a baby you were a lot smaller than you should have been.”

“I was?”

“You were born a few weeks early.”

“I was?”

Thomas laughed a bit at the repeated phrase in the exact same cadence. “Yeah. But maybe you just got stuck with the short genes. You were a healthy size by the time you were one.”

Oh, lame. He was going to be short forever.

“I guess we won’t know for sure until you’re all grown up.”

That was less lame.

Thomas turned the page. His hand froze on it. There was a picture of their dad. It was one of the only ones Logan had ever seen of him; he smiled at the camera with Thomas in his lap. It was a small, polite smile. It wasn’t a large grin like their mother’s. Or a radiant beam like Thomas’s. It was subdued. It didn’t bring as much joy with it. Logan wondered if that’s what he always smiled like, or if that was something he did for pictures.

“Do you think he’ll take us in?” Logan brought himself to ask.

“I don’t know.” He turned the page.

On the fourth day, they finally had a permanent solution. They had a new social worker come in — a woman named Miss Janelle Wilton — to tell them that their father gave up legal custody. He didn’t want anything to do with them. The only thing to do now was put them into foster care.

And once again Logan found himself not understanding. He never had a dad before. He wasn’t familiar with the concept. But weren’t dads… supposed to want their children? Why didn’t their father want them? He noticed Thomas get angry at the news. Thomas was rarely ever angry. But the moment he heard that their dad gave up on them, he could barely restrain his fury.

They were going to be placed with foster families tomorrow. 

Families. 

More than one.

“I’m sorry,” Miss Wilton said. She seemed genuine about it. “We were unable to find a household willing to take both of you.”

Even though Logan knew that would happen, it still hurt to hear. This would be his last night with Thomas. Maybe ever. And he didn’t know what to do.

“I can’t believe him,” Thomas exploded as soon as they were alone in their room. It startled Logan. “He didn’t even want to try.”

Logan didn’t know what to say. He had never seen Thomas so angry before. He didn’t want him to be angry, but he didn’t know what to say to make it better. Unlike him, Thomas knew what it was like to have a dad. He knew how dads were supposed to be. Apparently, dads were supposed to try.

Thomas began to pace the length of the room, clearly doing it in an attempt to cool off.

Logan crawled onto his temporary bed and watched him. He still didn’t know what to do. He ran his thumb along the spine of the book in his arms. “Did you think that he would?” He got himself to speak at last.

“I don’t know — maybe. I hoped…” He sighed. “I wanted to believe there was at least something good in him.”

“What do you mean by that?”

He paused, eyeing Logan briefly as some of his anger escaped. “I —” He sighed again — “I never told Mom about it, but I ran into Dad last year.” He ignored the wide-eyed look Logan gave him. “Honestly, he seemed more surprised to see me than I was to see him. I had no idea why. It wasn’t as if I expected him to be there, either.” He crossed his arms, his anger reigniting. “I was out with Valerie and Terrence — not exactly a witch hunt — yet he acted as if there was a reason I was there. Evidently, he didn’t want the kid he left ruining his date.”

Logan caught onto the bitterness in his words but decided not to comment.

“I tried to be nice to him. I tried to see the best in him. He's my dad so he had to at least be nice. But then he told me why he left. And it was stupid and selfish, and it was all because —" He cut himself off, catching sight of Logan. And his face softened a bit.

He tightened his hold on his book. "Because what?"

His face softened further, and he sighed yet again, his anger going out with it. "It doesn't matter." He sat beside Logan. "It was a dumb reason, anyway."

"Well, I don't think there's a smart reason to run away from your kids and wife."

Thomas snorted. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Later that night, neither of them could sleep. Dread hung in the air between them. The knowledge that they would be separated tomorrow stung with a bitter, almost palpable taste. Rather than stew in it alone, Logan decided to slip out of his bed and into Thomas's. Thomas turned his head to look at him.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, but you’re just a baby boy,” his voice tapered off into the ‘I’m-talking-to-someone-way-younger-than-me’ tone — which Logan always loathed. And Thomas knew this. He only ever did it to be annoying. To add to this, he kept cooing about his baby brother. Referring to Logan directly as his baby or little brother was another thing he did to be annoying. He wrapped his arms around Logan and squeezed him tight, continuing his baby talk.

“Noo,” Logan whined. He tried to wriggle out but found he had no room. It didn’t help that he still had his book between his arms. On instinct, he almost called out for his mom for assistance, but instead he said,  “Stop it. I’ll bite you.”

Thomas sighed as if it was the most ridiculous quest to befall him. “Fine.” But he didn’t let go. Logan decided not to comment on this. “You know,” he started softly after a moment, “whatever happens tomorrow, I’ll make sure to find my way back to you.”

Rather than risk bursting into tears coming up with a response, Logan buried his face into the crook of Thomas’s neck. He didn’t want to leave. Thomas was all he had left. After that, what else could anyone take from him? The few possessions he was able to grab before he left the house? What did those things mean in the end? He didn’t want things he wanted people. He could lose everything he ever owned, but as long as he had Cara, or his mom, or Thomas, then it didn’t matter. But that wasn’t his circumstance.

“Are you holding something?”

They both moved away enough for Logan to show his book. “I don’t wanna put it down,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Did you want to read it?”

“Um…”

“Or do you want me to read it?”

He nodded and handed the book over.

Thomas turned on the lamp beside the bed. He positioned himself so that Logan was still close, but he was able to hold the book with both hands. “‘There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself — not just sometimes, but always.’”

~~~

Before Logan left, he grabbed a photo from the photo album. He did it when Thomas wasn’t looking. Like it was some secret. But he didn’t want to be told he couldn’t take one or be judged on what he decided to take. He took the first picture he saw. Thomas’s fourth birthday. They were sitting at the dining table. Thomas was on his mother’s lap with his usual wide smile. She had her chin resting on the top of his head with sparkling eyes. The cake was decorated with blue frosting and topped with a number four candle.

He put it in his book.

He didn’t talk the whole way to his foster family. He didn’t even talk when he got there. There was no amount of coercing or gentle words that would get him to open his mouth. He just held his book close to his chest and kept his eyes cast on the ground. They left him alone soon enough. Not that it mattered.

His room was small. Light peach walls empty of any personality. Logan supposed he was meant to fix that, but he wasn’t going to. He didn’t want to get comfortable here. He didn’t want to stay. He wanted to be home. He wanted Thomas. He wanted his mom.

But there was nothing to be done about that.

When April 24th came around, Logan felt absolutely miserable. He was alone. He wanted his mom. He wanted to see his brother. It was Thomas's eighteenth birthday. His mom said eighteenth birthdays were special. It was meant to be special, but now they weren’t even together. He wondered if Thomas was doing okay. Was he at least having a good birthday?

Logan rolled on his side and stared at the empty wall. "Happy birthday," he whispered. The first words he said since being separated. And no one was there to hear them.

On the other side of town, Thomas laid in bed, absolutely miserable. His foster parents asked if he wanted to celebrate his birthday, which was nice, but he declined the offer. He didn't want anything to do with his birthday. This would be the first birthday without his mom's homemade cake. The first birthday without Logan jumping on his bed to wake him up in the morning because "it's your birthday, you gotta be up early!".

He missed them.

He regretted taking those little things for granted. He'd do anything to hear Logan run down the hall and burst through his door, interrupting his sleep. He wanted more than anything to see his mom act like her cake was still a surprise even though he always got the same one for seventeen straight years. But he didn't have that. He was alone.

~~~

Two years.

Logan stayed in the foster care system for two years. During that period, he had been forced to move houses a few times. Not as much as other kids, he was sure, but more than twice was still a lot. Many families were nice. Others not so much. The people that weren’t as nice were the ones that got rid of him the fastest. They told Miss Wilton he was a problem child. He was difficult to deal with.

Well, Logan didn’t know what they expected. He had his family ripped away from him. It wasn’t as if he was going to get over that with their faux generosity. Besides, all he did was not talk. Apparently, adults didn’t like that.

Miss Wilton soon came to realize that Logan wasn’t the problem. Anytime someone complained after her discovery, she would give the foster family a fake sweet smile and apologize on Logan’s behalf, then be on her way with Logan in tow. Logan noticed that she gave a lot of adults fake smiles. Her real smiles she gave to Logan and other kids.

She could also be snarky, so Logan ended up liking her.

The last family she found for him he stayed with the longest. They were more understanding than the others, which was a relief. But those last few months were filled with something a bit more important.

Thomas was trying to get legal guardianship.

It was tough and long, and Logan had never been so impatient in his life. Miss Wilton took him to the final court decision. And he almost cried right then and there. He saw Valerie and Terrence. Familiar faces that he hadn't seen in two years. Faces that followed him through his childhood. He didn't realize how much he missed them.

And then he saw Thomas. They stared at each other with wide, unbelieving eyes. Thomas smiled. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. Logan was reminded of home.

After that, the day was a blur. He remembered it being stressful. Of course it was. Strangers were deciding his future. Adults he didn’t know were choosing if he got to stay with Thomas or not. Putting it that way made it seem so silly. Thomas was his brother. Why shouldn’t they be able to live together? They’ve been together his whole life. It wouldn’t have been fair to come to any other decision.

Thankfully, whatever deity had forced them into this situation decided to side with them that day.

Miss Wilton showed genuine excitement and relief at the brothers being together again. She was happy that their permanent home would be with each other. Because she was happy, Logan knew he should have been happy too, but he just… couldn’t believe it. Not yet. Since the moment Cara left, his entire life had been going downhill. There was no way it would pick up now. He was half convinced the universe would pull a mean trick and he’d be ripped away from Thomas again.

But nothing like that happened. Miss Wilton helped Logan pack his things and took him to Thomas’s place. It was surreal to hear that Thomas had his own apartment. When last they left each other, Thomas hadn’t even begun to consider moving out.

When they got there, Miss Wilton explained some things that Logan tuned out. He caught a snippet about someone coming to check on them sometime soon, and maybe she said something about Logan, but he didn’t pay attention. He was too busy gazing around the room. There were a few things he recognized from the house — the couch, the dining table, the TV, the pictures — and he wondered what else had made it. Logically, he knew not everything could fit in here, but part of him still hoped. He liked being surrounded by familiarity.

Not long after, Miss Wilton said her final goodbye. Logan was sort of sad about it. She had been a constant presence in his life for two whole years. But he assumed her saying goodbye was a good thing. It meant that he had a permanent home to stay in.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Miss Wilton said before she left for good. “But I hope we never see each other again.”

Logan agreed.

She gave him one last, genuine smile. Then she left.

“She seemed nice,” Thomas said after a moment.

It then occurred to Logan that Thomas didn’t spend as much time with her as he did. To respond, Logan simply nodded.

There was a slight twitch of a frown at the nonverbal response, but he masked it with a smile. “Well, come on. Let me show you to your room.”

Logan trailed after him without a word.

Thomas talked for both of them on the short way there. He mentioned how he tried to get as much stuff from the house as possible, but he couldn’t get everything. That didn’t mean he didn’t try, though. “Valerie and Terrence helped out a lot. Oh — and Joan. They’re a co-worker of mine and they live a few apartments down. I’m sure they’d love to meet you — well — after you get settled.” He opened one of the doors.

One of the first things Logan saw almost made him drop his book. Cara’s guitar. It was resting on his bed, waiting for him. Before he rushed over to it, he decided to look around. It was almost like he never had to leave. His posters were on the walls, his little bookcase was there — even his bed sheets were the same. He dropped his book on his nightstand, finally feeling safe enough to let it go, and he opened the guitar case. It looked the same as when he left it.

That’s when reality started to sink in.

This was real. Logan was here with Thomas. He was allowed to stay here. There wouldn’t be any more strangers he had to live with. There wouldn’t be anymore wishing — begging — every night for Thomas to come back like he promised, hoping he hadn’t been forgotten or left behind. This was real. And he was here. Thomas didn’t break his promise at all. He found his way back.

Without realizing it, Logan started crying. He was home. He ran to Thomas and hugged him. They almost crashed to the ground from the sheer force, but Thomas was able to keep them upright. “I missed you,” he said at last. “I missed you so much.”

Thomas hugged him back, holding him close. “I missed you, too.”

~~~

Despite being together, things were still difficult. Money-wise at least. Thomas wondered how the hell his mom ran a house with three people when he had a hard enough time in an apartment with two. She must have been magic. Or maybe Thomas just sucked.

He tried his best, really, but that didn’t make things easier. Sometimes things were difficult to overcome despite a positive attitude. Everything costed money. And that was the worst. He had to pay for food, clothes, gas, rent — and that was just the basics. That didn’t count the school supplies Logan needed, or the phone bills, or the cable bills, or all the other bills that seemed to exist.

There wasn’t ever much spare money lying around. Almost everything Thomas earned went to pay for something. He didn’t have much to save, and that didn’t seem like it would change anytime soon.

He tried not to let Logan know how stressful this all was. The poor kid had been through so much already, he didn’t need to worry about his older brother. He didn’t like to think of it as lying, but he sort of… stretched… the truth. A little bit. Enough to be believable. Logan was a smart kid. He’d figure it out if things started to not add up.

So Thomas never let it get to that point. Did he have to get two jobs? Yes. Was he unable to work anywhere better because he only had a high school diploma? Yes. Did he know that having a higher education would get him a better job? Yes. Was he going to punch the next person in the throat who said that to him? Probably. He wanted to scream that he couldn’t afford to get a dang higher education because he had to raise his brother and put a roof over his head. There wasn’t enough freaking time in the day to earn money and go to school.

But he didn’t do that. He held his tongue and thanked that person for such wonderful advice that a million other people have said before.

People sucked sometimes.

Regardless, Thomas did the same things he always did. He took Logan to school, he went to work, he cooked dinner, he went to work again, then he slept. Interlaced, of course, was paying for things that needed to be paid whenever it was needed. One day, he noticed something. It was a small thing; he would have missed it if he wasn't paying attention.

"Logan, are you having trouble seeing?" They were stopped at a light on their way to Logan's school. It was way early, and he was super tired, but this seemed kind of important.

"Uh…" Logan stopped squinting out the window. "No."

That wasn't believable, but he dropped the subject for the time being. It wasn’t until later that night that he decided to push it.

“Hey, bear,” Thomas called from the kitchen. He grabbed two identical boxes of noodles out of the cupboard. From far enough away, they were hard to tell apart. Thomas sometimes mixed them up at a glance. “What kind of pasta do you want?” He stood at the doorway and presented the boxes.

Logan, who had been sitting cross-legged on the couch doing homework, looked up and immediately grimaced. “Um… the one on the right.”

“Which one is that?”

“Uh —” Thomas could tell he was trying not to squint — “the good one.”

Thomas lowered the boxes with a frown. “You can’t see it, can you?”

“I can see it. Just… it’s a little blurry.”

“How much is a little?”

Logan hesitated, tapping his pencil on his notebook. “I can make out the shapes but I can’t read it.”

Thomas frowned further. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you.” He focused on the papers before him. “You’re always so busy, and I know money gets tight sometimes, so I figured if I didn’t tell you it wouldn’t be a big deal.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that.” Thomas sat beside him. “I’m the adult here and it’s my responsibility. We have insurance for a reason, you big goof.” He threw his arm around him and pulled him in for a side hug. “Next time something’s wrong or you have a problem, tell me, okay?”

Logan gave him a small smile. “Okay.”

~~~

A new student entered Logan’s grade near the end of the school year. Logan only found out because they shared the same English class. He thought it was unlucky to join a new school so late in the year, but that wasn’t any of his business. Not like the new kid would care about his opinion anyway.

Unfortunately, the teacher decided to sit the new student beside him — even though there were two other seats available. Logan cursed his bad luck and kept his head down. He didn’t want to interact with anyone. Ever. He hadn’t made another friend since Cara left.

Unfortunately again, this kid didn’t care.

“Hey,” he said with a charming smile. “I’m Percival.”

~~~

So clearly Logan was gay.

Who knew.

He found and read different books on different sexualities to try to understand his confusion. He felt most comfortable identifying as gay, but the tiny section on asexuality in one of the books was always in the back of his mind. Okay, so, it was still sort of confusing, but saying he was gay felt like a good fit. At least for now.

When he mentioned it to Thomas off-hand, he said — and Logan swears he’ll never let him live this down — “Oh, shit, me too.”

It caught him so off guard that he laughed until he cried. Never, in his entire life, had he ever heard Thomas curse. And the first time he did was because they talked about being gay. Somehow that seemed very fitting.

But the tiny, little factoid that Logan left out — just a small detail — was that he and Percival were dating. Telling Thomas he was gay? Yeah, sure, easy. Telling Thomas he had a boyfriend? No. Nope. That would be a disaster. He’d probably freak out about it. In more than one way.

So that was his little secret for the time being. Until he was ready.

Well, it turned out the joke was on him because he accidentally let it slip about four months into their relationship. Like a dang fool.

He didn’t mean to. At all. But once it was out he couldn’t take it back. As predicted, Thomas freaked out. He demanded to know the details at the same time he tried to give advice. It was embarrassing and unnecessary and Logan would have preferred to sink into the earth than experience any second of this onslaught. Worst of all, Thomas wanted to meet him.

It wasn’t that he thought Percival wasn’t someone to meet his family — he was very sweet — it was just the thought of Thomas being an embarrassing older brother. Which he was. If he let them anywhere near each other he’d probably end up dying of embarrassment.

So he tried to push it off at first. It wasn’t necessary right now. Wait a little longer. But it turned out that Percival was on Thomas’s side. Logan felt betrayed.

They (well, with great reluctance on Logan’s part) settled on meeting up for lunch on the weekend. Logan insisted that Thomas bring Joan so that he could have someone to talk to in the inevitable event that Thomas started being embarrassing. He knew it would happen no matter how many times Thomas said it wouldn’t.

“Well that was fun,” Percival mentioned after the whole ordeal was over. They were by themselves now, walking through a park to Percival’s house.

Logan rolled his eyes. Predictively, Thomas had an embarrassing older brother moment. Thank God Joan was there to reel him back a bit. “That’s easy for you to say, you don’t live with him.”

Percival laughed. “Still. We should do it again sometime.”

Logan refrained from rolling his eyes again. “I’ll have to think about that.”

Then Percival stopped. He looked down at Logan with an expression he couldn’t quite read. Logan opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t get the chance. Percival ducked down and captured his lips.

He wanted to suck in a sharp breath of air — an automatic response of surprise — but he didn’t. At least, he didn’t think so. He couldn’t wrap his head around it. It was sudden. A pressure on his mouth he wasn’t familiar with. The new, strange feeling of someone else’s lips. It was like fire, and teasing, and strawberry lemonade. And then it was over.

Percival pulled back, but their lips still brushed together when he whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

His chest fluttered.

~~~

Logan was sixteen when he realized something was… off. He didn’t notice where the feeling was coming from at first. Things between Thomas and him were fine. They weren’t currently struggling for money. All of Thomas’s friends were doing okay. What was left? Why did he have a bad feeling looming over his shoulder?

He wished he could have said that he pieced it together quickly. He wished he could have said he narrowed it down after going through every single option. But he didn't. He… he just didn't.

He didn't even know. It happened so subtly — like a pot heating bit by bit unbeknownst to the poor frog. Except Logan was the frog in this scenario.

He couldn't tell you what the first hint that the water was boiling was. It wasn't as easy as saying, "it started when he did this" because it all seemed okay. Everything was okay. He thought it was at least.

And then, all at once, it was very not okay.

Approaching their first year of being together, Percival wasn't as sweet anymore. Well, he was. But not all the time. Sometimes he said things that were a little too mean. Sometimes he brought up things he knew Logan was insecure about. Sometimes he didn't even seem like the same person.

But it was fine. He always apologized or made it up in some way. And Logan always forgave him. Again. And again. And again.

He felt like an idiot to not notice the pattern.

From there it only escalated. Suddenly, it felt like everything Logan did was criticized. Nothing he did was good enough or worth the effort to look at.

"Anyone can play guitar. It's easy."

Logan was inclined to agree, but coming from someone who didn't know how to play any instrument — let alone a guitar — felt belittling. It completely ignored his years of practice. Still, Logan shoved the guitar in his closet.

"Why does it matter that you won that scholarship?"

He wanted to say that Thomas was proud of him. But he didn't. Thomas was proud of anything that Logan did, though. It must not have been that impressive.

"I hate when you wear that shirt."

He kept it at the bottom of his drawer.

"Remember when you failed that math test?"

He studied every free minute he had.

"Your laugh is annoying."

He tried not to laugh again.

The first time Percival hit him was a surprise. It sort of seemed like an accident, but Logan was never sure. He wasn't sure about a lot. But even Percival seemed a little shocked after he did it. Logan wondered, if he had spoken up then, would it have ended there? Did his silence on the matter convince Percival he could get away with it? He didn't know.

It was almost two years into their relationship. He must have done something wrong.

Logan shuffled into the apartment. The place where Percival hit him the previous day started to appear a lot more visible as throughout school. To add to his bad luck, Thomas wasn't in his room. He tried to slip by but was caught before he made it to the hallway.

“Hey, Logan,” Thomas chirped. “Come here it feels like I haven't seen you all day.”

Logan hesitated. He could say he wasn't feeling well, or straight out refuse to turn around, but that wouldn't work out in the end. He couldn't hide this forever. Taking a deep, silent breath, Logan turned around.

The smile fell right off Thomas's face. “Oh, my God.” He rushed over to Logan. “Oh God, bear, what happened to you?” His hands hovered around Logan's face as if he wasn't quite sure what to do. It made Logan a little nervous.

His hands soon found their place cradling Logan's head. “What happened to your face, Logan?”

The anguished expression of his brother almost made Logan want to tell the truth. Almost. “I, uh, I fell.” That couldn't have been believable. 

“Please tell me the truth, bear.” Thomas furrowed his brows in worry. “Unless you fell down some stairs, I don't think your face should look like this.”

Logan pulled himself away. “I-it's nothing. I just fell.”

“Logan —”

“I'm fine, Thomas.” He retreated to his room. 

But that statement became less and less true with time. As the injury on his face changed colors to a more noticeable bruise, Logan found himself with others. The new ones were places less obvious and often hidden with articles of clothing.

All the while Logan tried to convince himself everything would be fine. Percival was a knight of the round table — a hero from Arthurian legend. But if that were true… then why did it feel so wrong to be near him? People don't flinch when the hero gets mad. People don't cower when a knight goes to see them. All the fear made Logan miss the talking. It had become subtle insults toward Logan recently, but that was better than fearing another injury.

Logan held on for a few more days. Each day he came home more tired than the last, with Thomas increasing his worry, until one day he couldn't take it.

He hauled himself through the front door. He dropped his backpack on the ground and went straight for Thomas.

Thomas was looking down at some papers but glanced up when he heard the noise. He gasped and dropped everything to be by Logan. “Are you okay?”

Logan wiped his tears and shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

“What are you sorry for, bear?” Thomas tried to reach a hand out to Logan but stopped when he flinched. “What happened?”

“Percy, he — he —” Logan wrapped his arms around himself. Sobs were choking him. “I-I didn't want to do it, Thomas. I didn't w-want to. H-he tried to make me. I was scared. I-I ran away — I ran away from him.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I'm sorry. P-please don't be m-mad. I'm sorry.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to do. God, he was suddenly aware of how young they both were. He didn’t have infinite wisdom or a sense of direction like a parent should. He was barely going to be twenty-one next month. Something terrible must have been going on and Thomas wasn’t equipped to handle it.

“L-Logan, hey.” Thomas kept his hands to himself. “Let’s try to calm down, alright? I’m not mad at you, kiddo, I have nothing to be mad at you for.”

“B-but I —”

“Shh, it’s okay. We can sit down and talk, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

They sat down on the couch together. Logan hugged himself like he would fall apart if he stopped and Thomas tried to get him to breathe properly. It took a bit, but they got there. At least enough to not be so alarming. Then Logan told him everything. He showed him every bruise, mentioned every bitter conversation, and even what transpired today.

“We were just talking,” Logan explained. He was no longer crying, but the effects of it still altered his voice. “Everything was fine. It felt like things had gone back to normal — he was sweet and told me nice things, but apparently, there was an ulterior motive.” He tightened his hands into fists. “He wanted… he wanted to…” He sucked in a breath. “He wanted to do something I didn’t. I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen. I, I didn’t know what else to do so I ran.”

Thomas didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? How do you even respond to that? This was his little brother. It wasn’t happening to anyone else, it wasn’t a story he heard about someone, it was happening right here — and it was his brother. He couldn’t imagine Logan going through this that whole time. He didn’t even want to think about what caused him to run all the way home. It was all so… awful. And he felt awful about not saying anything, or noticing sooner, or —

“It’s okay.” This wasn’t about him. It was about Logan. “Sometimes the best thing to do is get out of there as fast as you can. You made a smart decision.”

“It doesn’t feel like one.” Logan curled into himself.

Thomas pushed down the sick feeling in his stomach. “It is. He wasn’t listening to you so you did the only other thing you could think of. You got somewhere safe. It’s okay to run away sometimes, Logan — especially if you’re in danger.”

Logan remained silent.

Oh, Thomas wanted to hug him so bad, but he refrained from doing so.

The next day, Percival knocked on the door and asked to see Logan. Thomas tightened his grip on the doorknob to stop from doing something he’d regret. “He’s not here,” he responded in his usual cheerful tone despite the fact his blood was boiling. “He went down to the library to grab something. Would you like to leave a message?”

Percival smiled politely. “No thanks. I think I’ll just meet him down there.”

“Sure thing.” Thomas resisted the urge to slam the door in his face.

Logan was frozen in the kitchen. The only thing separating him from the front door was a wall. He didn’t dare to even breathe until he saw Thomas in the doorway. Before either of them could think to say anything, Logan’s phone started to ring. He felt his blood run cold.

“Don’t answer it,” Thomas said softly.

He didn’t.

That wasn’t an isolated incident, as it turned out. Percival came back the next day to ask where Logan had been — claimed he was worried because his calls were going unanswered. Thomas handled it with surprising grace, having a believable lie at the ready, but it wasn’t enough. Percival kept calling and when that inevitable day came where Logan had to go back to school, he couldn’t avoid him. And Thomas wasn’t there to help.

Nothing happened besides subtle anger and vague threats. Logan knew that the only thing saving him was being in public. He knew that once school was out, that there would be little time to get away. Percival wasn’t patient. So he sent Thomas a text to pick him up right as school ended. It wasn’t as if he would say no — he was wary to let Logan go to school at all — but Logan was still scared. Thomas was already doing so much for him. He didn’t want to push the limit.

Thomas: I could get you right now

As much as that appealed to Logan, he couldn’t. He was already making Thomas miss work to pick him up after school. Having him pick him up now would just be worse. He declined the offer, insisting he was fine. For now.

Once the final bell rang, Logan was the first one out of the classroom door. He wasn’t normally one to be so eager to leave, but right now he wanted to get home as soon as possible.

A hand grabbed his shoulder once he spotted Thomas’s car. "Leaving so soon?"

Every muscle in Logan's body froze. He let Percival spin him around to see his displeased face.

"I haven't seen you in a while," he continued. "The least you can do is come over so we can catch up on lost time. I was wondering what happened to you."

"I was busy," Logan mumbled. He tried to stand his ground, but Percival was more determined than him.

"Well, you're not now. So come with me. We have a lot to talk about."

Logan couldn't respond. He couldn't move away.

"Hey, Logan!"

Oh, thank Christ.

They turned to see Thomas running up to them. "We gotta help Joan set up their place for Talyn, remember?"

Logan had no idea how Thomas could lie on the spot like that despite hating lying so much.

"But Logan was just saying how he was going to stop by real quick." His fingers dug into Logan's shoulder. "Right?"

"Sorry, but this has to be done by — like — yesterday." He offered his hand out to Logan, who took it gratefully. "Maybe some other time."

Percival relented his hold. "Sure. Some other time."

Thomas flashed him a smile and dragged Logan back to his car.

Before they even got to the apartment, Thomas was already devising a plan to keep Percival far away. First thing first, Logan needed to be transferred to another school. There was no way he was spending another second of forced interaction with his abuser. Second, there needed to be a phone number change.

Logan listened to his near-ranting as they walked up to their apartment. He didn't have any input. What was there to say? This was a sucky situation from all angles.

"You'll have to stay with Valerie until this whole thing blows over."

That caught Logan's attention. Panic hijacked his senses, and words were leaving his mouth before he could stop them. "No! Please don't leave me somewhere. I don't want to be away from you."

"Logan —"

"Please. I, I can't be alone again. I'll do anything. Whatever you want — I'll do it."

"Oh, no, Logan —"

"Don't leave. Please. Please don't leave. How will I know when you'll be back? What if I have to get moved around again? What if you're gone for good this time and I don't see you again?"

"Logan, stop." Thomas cupped his face with his hands. Firm, but gentle. Just to get him to stop his erratic movements and focus on something. "I'm not going to abandon you, okay? I'm…" He studied Logan's face. "Alright. We'll both go to Valerie's. I'll have Joan keep an eye on the place." He wiped Logan's cheeks of the tears he didn't even notice he shed. "I'm not leaving you, bear."

For the first time in several days, Logan hugged Thomas.

~~~

“Well, since you just fell for me you should probably know my name, at least. I’m Patton.”

~~~

Logan was nineteen when he met Patton. He was nineteen when they started dating. And he had never felt… more like a kid. Patton was silly, and kind, and loved dumb puns. Whether he knew it or not, he was helping Logan unlearn everything Percival taught him. It wouldn’t be perfect. There would still be emotional scars that would never heal, but he would be able to function again. He wouldn’t start every day in fear of what would happen. Patton made things okay.

They had been dating for exactly a year when they kissed for the first time.

It was in the evening. Logan was planning on spending the night so they were in Patton’s room (Logan had to answer at least twenty different texts from Thomas to assure him that he was fine and he’d call if anything happened). It felt like sleeping over at Cara’s again; there wasn’t much of a plan to go to sleep, just to have fun. At around midnight, Patton sprung up from his spot on the floor and excitedly claimed to have an idea.

Logan didn’t even get the chance to process what happened before Patton was searching through his closet. “What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.” He pulled a box out and grabbed an even smaller box from within it. “My parents sent this to me before they found out I took in Emile and D. And, well, you know what happened after that.” He took out a globe-like projector and plugged it in before shutting off the lights.

“Patton —” the rest of his words died on his lips when Patton turned it on. Dozens of specks showed up on the ceiling. Like someone took a paintbrush and flung white paint across the room. Then he noticed that some of those specks weren’t random. They were constellations. These were stars.

“That’s a lot better than I thought it would look,” Patton laughed. He sent a grin over to Logan. “What do you think?”

Logan tore his eyes away from the ceiling. He tried to bite back a smile, but he couldn’t help it. “I think it’s wonderful.”

Patton gave him that look again. Like he mattered more than anything in the world. He did it a lot, but Logan still didn’t understand why. He continued to study Logan’s face before asking softly, “Can I kiss you?”

Logan’s breath caught in his throat. His heart pounded against his chest, yet he still nodded. He practically melted when it happened.

It was gentle. A soft presence against his mouth that was different than anything before. The unique, strange feeling of someone else’s lips. It was like fresh chocolate chip cookies, and the Jabberwocky poem, and guessing the names of random dogs on the street. And then it was over.

It took Logan a second to open his eyes again.

Patton was a breath away, his eyes sparkling under the synthetic stars. “Was that too much?” He backed up a fraction more.

Logan pulled him in for another kiss.

~~~

Patton wasn’t supposed to know that Logan could play the guitar. Truth be told, he hadn’t touched it in a while. But he opened his closet to put something away, and there was the case. He didn’t think much about it; it had been in there so long already that he ignored it.

But Patton didn’t.

He spotted it and gasped so loud that Logan felt his heart shoot to his throat.

“I didn’t know you could play guitar!”

Oh crap. Logan glared at the case like it made its presence known on purpose. “Sort of.”

“Can you play something for me? Please?” He brought out his puppy eyes and kind smile. “Just one song.”

“I-I don’t know. I’m really not that good.”

“Normally, I take your word for things, but not for this. I have to hear for myself.”

Logan held back a grimace. Patton was determined. He may drop it now, but he’d bring it up another time, and another until eventually, Logan caved. “Fine.” He grabbed the case, ignoring the pang it sent to his chest at the thin layer of dust. “What do you want to hear?”

Patton resembled a puppy trying to hold in his excitement. “Something simple.”

Sure. Simple. He could do that. He sat beside Patton after taking the guitar out. It looked the same way he remembered. A bit older, and out of tune, but still the same. He almost forgot why he stopped playing it. As he placed his hands over the strings he remembered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. As his panic rose, he tried to formulate a way to back out, but then he noticed Patton giving him a patient smile.

He couldn’t tell Patton why. That could change everything.

It was just one song. He could do that. He pushed all his fear far, far down and started strumming.

Hey there, Delilah What's it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away But, girl, tonight you look so pretty Yes, you do

He kept his head down the whole time. He couldn’t bring himself to look up as he noticed every single mistake he made. He half expected to be stopped when he got to the second verse, but that didn’t happen. Patton didn’t interrupt him or utter a single word. Not until he finished, at least.

“That was so good!” He clapped. “You’re amazing.”

Logan’s cheeks turned hot. “Not really. It’s just a guitar. Anyone can do that.”

“Even if that were true, not everyone can play and sing at the same time.”

Well. Maybe.

Later, after Patton left, Logan saw Thomas sitting on the kitchen counter. “So I heard you serenading Patton earlier,” he muttered with a smirk around his coffee mug.

“Shut up.”

~~~

If someone told Logan that he'd end up marrying Patton, he would have been convinced they were lying. There was no way Patton would stay with him that long. Patton was wonderful, and sweet, and caring, and good, and Logan was just… Logan. There was nothing spectacular about that.

But as it turned out, Patton thought he was the most wonderful thing to grace his presence.

They did get married.

Logan couldn't believe that it happened. He was in disbelief the whole day. It didn't sink in that Patton chose him of all people until that night when they gazed up at the artificial stars on the ceiling. This was real. Patton wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. He could have had anyone else but he chose Logan.

And Logan was so glad that he did.

It had been such a long time since he felt this happy.

~~~

The social worker helping them with the adoption process was Mrs. Rachel Hernandez. She was nice. She reminded Logan of Miss Wilton.

Even with the kind assistance of Mrs. Hernandez, Logan was still very nervous. And now for several reasons. The very first and obvious being he wasn't sure he'd be a good dad — actually, that was most of the reasons. Another reason, unrelated to that, was the whole process reminded him of being torn away from his brother. It was silly, he knew, but the connection was still there. Along with all the anxieties it brought.

A lot of these kids were like him; stuck in an unfortunate circumstance that they had no say in. Logan was considered a lucky one. He got to return to his family. These kids were up for adoption because they weren't as lucky. He knew how it felt to lose everything you were familiar with and be thrust into the hands of strangers.

Then one day, after months of waiting, they had a match.

"I understand you were only intending to adopt one child," she started, and Logan wondered for a moment if this was how his first foster family was talked to when the prospect of siblings came up. "But Roman has a twin brother. We'd prefer to keep them together, but if you're adamant about only one then —"

"No," Logan blurted out before he could stop himself.

Mrs. Hernandez and Patton stared at him in wide-eyed shock. He normally kept quiet during these talks unless he had to answer something. And he never rose his voice like that.

His cheeks flushed. "I mean… I would prefer to not separate any siblings."

Mrs. Hernandez turned to Patton for his opinion.

"Uh," he tore his eyes away from Logan. "Yeah. I agree with that sentiment."

After everything had been dealt with, they left the office. But when Patton sat in the driver's seat, he didn't start the car. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "So…" he started casually. "What was that?"

"What was what?" Logan pretended to be interested in the parking lot.

"You know what."

Ugh, it would have been so much better to ignore it. He sighed. "When I was put in foster care, they separated me from Thomas. So I know how it feels to not have your brother with you during one of the most stressful times in your life."

There was a pause. "You never told me that."

Logan shrugged. "I didn't want you to feel any worse for me than you already did."

Patton fumbled for a response, but in the end, he couldn't seem to find one at all.

The day they met Roman and Virgil, Logan was instantly reminded of being at Miss Wilton's side all those years ago. They were hesitant — scared — and didn't say a word. Logan knew better than anybody what they must be feeling.

Maybe that was the real reason they spoke to him first.

"Daddy!" Roman marched into the living room, a tiny scowl on his face. It was a day before their eleventh birthday "Virgil touched my stuff!"

"I did not!" Virgil shouted from the bedroom.

"Then why is it missing?"

"You didn't put it away."

Logan rolled his eyes. They had a habit of yelling across the house to each other. He blamed Patton. "Roman, if you're going to argue with your brother, at least do it in the same room."

Roman huffed and crossed his arms. "My color pencils are missing and I haven't touched them."

"Where did you leave them last?"

"In the room."

Logan stood up. "Let's go look for them, then." He followed Roman back to his bedroom. He still shared with Virgil. They didn't mind it yet, but Logan had a sneaking suspicion it would start soon. 

Not even two minutes in the room and Logan found the color pencils. "They're right here."

"Oh." Roman took them with a sheepish grin.

"I told you you didn't put it away." Virgil stuck his tongue out at him. "This is why I'm Daddy's favorite." To emphasize his point, he hugged Logan's side.

Roman gasped dramatically. "No you're not — I am." He dropped his color pencils and rushed to Logan's other side. "Tell him I'm your favorite."

"Well, he's not because I'm his favorite."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

"Nuh-uh."

"Yuh-huh."

"Daddy!" Roman tugged on Logan's shirt. "Which one of us is right?"

"Neither of you. I don't have a favorite." He smirked at their disbelieving pouts. "You're both my little beasties. It's hard to have a favorite when you're tearing up the place all the time."

They took offense to that, blaming each other for the messes they made (together) and insisting that they were the good twin and the favorite because they cleaned up. It was only interrupted by the front door opening.

Roman gasped. "Dad's home."

"I'm gonna ask him who his favorite is." Virgil took off.

"It's gonna be me!" Roman followed after him.

Logan smiled at the commotion they created.

~~~

He sat on the bed with his wedding ring clasped tightly in his hand. Angry, hot tears still rolled down his cheeks and he hated it. He wanted to stop crying. It had been hours — why was he still crying?

He unfurled his fingers. There were indents in his palm from how tight he held his ring. He wanted to throw it. Break it. Do something to it. But he knew he would never bring himself to do anything he thought of. It would only upset him later.

So he put it back on.

It didn't feel right there anymore, but he couldn't bear to lose it.

He let the tears fall even as they turned from angry to distressed. He was an idiot, wasn't he? He should have known this life was too good to be true.

He wasn't destined to have a happy ending.

[cr0wprince]

Now I’m afraid my name might be brought up though. I did some shitty things with her when we were friends. It’s been five to almost seven years (five since the last time I spoke to her and almost seven since I met her). I was 17-18 in the time I knew her and I’m very easily influenced by the people around me, but I’m ultimately responsible for my actions. I saw another ex-friend of hers brought up (not by name) and now I’m kind of scared.

I’m gonna be a little vague and my memory isn’t the best (I try to block things out as a defense mechanism), but I’m going to try to recount it, just for my own benefit. I’m not even going to name her, but will refer to her as LR. I don’t think anyone cares tbh lmao

I met her in 2014. It was probably February or March, so I was 17. We were both cosplaying Attack on Titan, very big at the time. Someone posted in a con Facebook group that they made a cosplay group for the area/con for Attack on Titan. I only had my jeans, shirt, jacket (that I made), wig, and glasses for Hanji at that time and I posted a picture, “I’m not too confident in how I look, but here’s my cosplay.” and she commented that it was a good cosplay. We went from there, started chatting, and made plans to meet at the con. She was 19 at the time, of it really matters, but we were still age appropriate friends.

The con comes by. I didn’t wear Attack on Titan the first day, felt kind of left out when we started meeting other people from the group. She’s always been a social butterfly (I think it’s an attention thing more than she actually enjoys it tbh, but I might be biased??) and I’ve been really shy about approaching people after being bullied in middle school. The next two days I wore my unfinished SNK cosplay, didn’t have the belts, but had a fun time.

She ran a panel and promised that I could be Hanji in it and let someone else be Hanji as well, and this person got more attention because she was more outgoing, which kind of bummed me out, but at 17, I was a very jealous cosplayer and would get jealous about people cosplaying the same thing as me. Not a healthy mindset, but it is what it is and you grow from it.

She had told me she was in pre-med (I’m going to remind you she’s 19 at this point, not unusual but it’s what she tells me next which is the questionable part) and that she’s going to start on the medical stuff the next year. I’m 17 and naive and don’t question it. I know now pre-med takes four years. This is an example of her lying to me/holding things in.

We continued being friends with the SNK group, had meetups at a local park, and whatever. She lamented to me about not being able to go to Colossalcon because she couldn’t afford it or something and my parents pay for cons, so I talked them into letting her stay with us. I had started cosplaying Ymir to her Christa and I did have a cry privately to LR when another girl cosplayed Ymir to another girl’s Christa because the other Christa felt left out by me being LR’s Ymir. I felt jealous they got more attention, again, not a healthy mindset, but I was 17 and convinced I was going to be a professional cosplayer. I know now it’s a bad mindset. LR took my meltdown the wrong way, which I’ll get to later.

It wasn’t long after, maybe a couple months. She had stopped hanging out with the friend I had met her with at the con, which I realize now is kind of sus, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But anyway, a couple months later at most, she makes a post in the Facebook group that she’s been feeling left out of the SNK group. A few people from it got together to talk about it, she finds out, and I get pissed. I make a big post in the group about how they’re purposely leaving her out. I’m loyal to a fault, and sometimes it blinds me. It splits the group, they still keep together, but LR and I separate from them.

We move on to different series and start doing cosplay photos. It’s something I wanted to do for a while. She’s a little hesitant, but I hype it up and she eventually gets into it. At Otakon, she asks mentions if I’d be okay with her cosplaying Juvia (a big comfort character of mine, and one I’d failed to finish a cosplay of that con, but I’d gotten Levy done, which still worked with her Lucy) and I’m thrown off guard. I tell her no lmao. I mean really though, what would I do? But it’s important later.

I have big plans. I don’t always finish my big plans. I want to do a ton of different cosplays and she feeds into me. She finishes things while I normally don’t. I realize I shouldn’t have agreed to do so many, but also, the one’s she made aren’t unwearable? She can cosplay without me matching? But it’s something she internalizes.

We book lots of shoots. It’s fun! We don’t get the most expensive photographers (we’re 18 and 20 at the time) but it’s fun. There’s a particular photographer I wanted to work with and she books her since she’s dealing with it at this point since I have a lot of anxiety talking to people. By the time the con rolls around, my costume didn’t work out the way I wanted and my skirt is held up with safety pins. It shows in the photos, so does her back acne. She goes on a tangent on her Facebook cosplay page about how unprofessional the photographer is, how she doesn’t edit photos for anyone but her friends. I, unfortunately, share it. At that time, neither of us have a big following (I still don’t, she doesn’t really either, only 3,700 after she remade, but did have almost 10k at one point), so it doesn’t go far. The photographer and friends stick up for the photographer and it doesn’t go anywhere luckily.

I’m falling deeper into depression at this point. I’m not finishing projects I’m supposed to do with her, messages are spotty on my end. We still do a couple of cons together. The next con of the first we met at comes around, I don’t have anything done, I’m mortified. I skip a whole day. It’s in driving distance so it’s not like I was wasting a whole hotel day. She gets photos solo. It seems fine.

She messages me one day that her parents kicked her out. Something about a fight over her mom saying minimum wage workers don’t work as hard and LR snapping back. Her parents were really nice the couple of times I met them, which isn’t always indicative of how someone really is, but now I feel in my gut that there had to be something more. It feels like petty reason. She moves into her grandparents (and further selfies match that, so it seems like it had to be bad if she never went back). She messages me this and I’m thrown so off guard. Yeah, we called each other best friends. We didn’t talk to many other people as far as I knew at that point, but I had no idea what to say. It’s bad on my part, but I didn’t answer her for a week.

She didn’t message me or anything, didn’t delete me off Facebook, but vague posted me there about being there for people when they won’t be there for you, and people were hyping her up. I realized it might’ve been about me. I called her crying, terrified. Sent her messages. I don’t exactly remember what transpired, but did make up.

There was a point she told me she was dropping pre-med to become an accountant because it took a year and she wanted to focus on cosplay. Again, stupid 18yo me believed that that made sense and was like, “Oh okay!”

We went to a couple more cons, I’m pretty sure she was using me. We make plans for Youmacon, but I don’t message her for like a week in September of 2015. She asks if I’m okay (the only time) I tell her I’m doing really bad. We don’t talk until close to the con. I admit to her that I was thinking of admitting myself to the psych ward it was that bad, but though I didn’t tell her that, it’s ultimately a very hard, very personal choice. (I made it in May and it’s not an easy choice.) She tears me a new one, saying I should’ve went, that I was using her for companionship. She said she had plans to go to another con?? So the way I see it, she cared more about going to a con than anything else. She never checked in on me after I told her I was doing bad, just to take my time.

She has a new bff at this point. This is going to be so cruel, but her new friend isn’t as put together, which is fine! Cosplay is for fun! But I mention this because they get photos together. After my obsession with becoming a professional cosplayer, LR got into that mindset too. I’m so fucking sure that she used this other girl in photos to look better next to. The difference is so obvious in photos.

I make a cosplay that LR cosplayed when we were friends. I’m so proud. I haven’t finished anything in months. I cosplay a couple of things she did, but we were friends at one point, we like the same series, and there are a lot of big series. It’s bound to happen.

She vagues me on Instagram. She continues to stalk me on there (and I did her, not proud of it, but I’ll admit it). She posts things about how an ex friend had a breakdown over her having other friends (when I confided in her my jealousy over the Ymir/Christa duo), how I wouldn’t let her cosplay Juvia lmao (this still gets me. What would I do? Break your arm? You asked me on the spot and I was uncomfortable.). There was one Juvia cosplay post that I mentioned I had lost weight because while my uncle was dying, I wasn’t eating. I was helping with cleaning his house and I just wasn’t fucking eating. She took that as a jab about her because she has self image issues. There was also a big post she made how she KNEW I was cosplaying all the same things as her to make her jealous and to make her insecure, mentioning me by name even. I reported it and it got taken down.

I’d heard things through the grapevine. How she started shit in the Fate community and she was afraid of being beat up at Katsucon’s public photoshoot. How she tried to make a Love Live group, but when two girls couldn’t afford it and they would no longer have all nine, she threw a fit and cancelled the whole group. I’d also heard about her making a fuss over photos she got back when a cosplayer’s grandparent was dying. I stayed away after like a year, but a couple of people who knew me that knew I was friends with her would tell me things.

I wasn’t the best person, either. I’ll take responsibility for that. I wish I could apologize to the people I hurt while friends with her, but I no longer remember their names. I was a dumb teenager. I still get swept up in the people around me and get carried away when the people I are about are hurt. Maybe it’s something I need to work on. But, I ultimately don’t think she’s grown. I don’t think she’s gotten better. I think she’s only gotten worse over the year.

I’m not proofreading. There might be more, but it was a lot to go through, but I wanted to get it out. I hope the read more works, but I’m gonna throw on a long post warning too. If you read this, thank you, by the way. I just felt like I had to get it out.

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

A Memory Of The Smell of Smoke, Ch 4.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Everyone liked to pretend that Campbell had been born bad. That their fear and hatred were logical, rational, justified, because Campbell was a monster incapable of making the choice between good and evil. Because he couldn’t feel the way they did. Well, fuck that. He was gonna prove them wrong. At least, that had been the plan.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Canon Divergence, Pre-Canon, Emotional Baggage, Mental Health Issues, Child Abuse, Substance Abuse, Animal Death, Complicated Relationships, Pre-Slash, Denial of Feelings, Antisocial Personality Disorder, Implied Rape, Campbell has mild ASPD and is self aware enough to try and be better, the non-con is NOT Campbell, didn’t add an official warning because it is the aftermath only, yes it is the party becca mentioned and there will be a warning in the notes of that chapter, Campbell/Harry, Campbell/Elle.

Word Count: 4673 (chapter 4/5).

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || Ch 3 || Ch 5 || AO3

Disclaimer: This chapter involves what happened to Becca, and discusses the aftermath of sexual assault. (The perpetrator is unknown.) It is implied, not shown, but still may be upsetting. Reader discretion is advised.

Senior year didn't seem to be too wild, at first.

Knowing made things better, but they also made things worse in some ways. Campbell did agree with Cassandra that they didn't have to be evil, irredeemable  people. Unfortunately, there were few resources out there that had any  sort of positive, hopeful outlook. Campbell knew that, be he still tried  to find some anyways. The ones he did manage to find were often anonymous men talking about how awesome they were and laughing about torturing animals, abusing their family, and sharing prison stories. Some forums were a bit less intense, but Campbell never bothered engaging. He was like a jalapeno among a bunch of ghost peppers. They weren't going to improve his situation any.

"It's like any other condition," Cassandra said while Campbell helped her bake cookies for some sort of asinine fundraiser. "There's a spectrum of severity. Some people are on the end where it's not really noticeable."

Campbell  stirred a giant bowl of batter, taking out his frustration on the chocolate chip mix. "I know people can't help being what they are, exactly, but I don't know where I fall on that spectrum and it's kind of..."

"Scary?"

"Maybe. They say people like us can't get scared. Do you believe that?"

Cassandra  popped a batch in the oven and flopped onto the kitchen stool. She tilted her head, thinking. "Mm. I don't know. I suppose that for me, it's more that I get concerned, but I think that's what it's supposed to  be. Fear. But it's fainter, you know? It doesn't last long. Just enough  to make me think."

"That's why you're so good at debate, I guess."

"Probably. What about you?"

"Dunno.  I guess social anxiety is common in guys with it. I don't know if that's the same as fear, though. I just hate getting in front of a group  of people I know hate me, and try to pretend they don't, you know? I don't worry about much else."

"Handy."

"Sometimes."

Cassandra swung her feet. She leaned on the counter and rested her hand on her chin, peering at him. "What about love?"

"What about it?"

"Have you been in love?"

Campbell  stopped stirring for a moment. "I don't know. It's kind of a weird thing. I guess I do feel attracted to people, sometimes."

"Like Harry?"

"How do you figure?"

"I have eyes, and I know you."

"Whatever."  He started scooping balls of dough onto a cookie sheet. Cassandra made a  gesture for him to continue. "Yeah. Harry, but he's got Kelly now. And  there's this girl in school I kinda like. Elle. Never seems to really  hang out with anyone, kinda has a snooty vibe, but she's pretty."

Cassandra nodded. "She is. But attraction isn't love, really."

"It's not. I don't know, I guess it's... I think I love Sam. I mean, you love Allie, right?"

"I  do." She shrugged. "She's fun. Smart. I wouldn't give up my dream of going to Yale to go to her college or anything, but we take care of each  other. I want her to be safe and happy. I try not to hurt her on purpose, even if I do by accident, sometimes. I think that's love, or something like it. I loved our cat. I love my parents."

"Then sure. I've felt love. Too bad the last time I tried to get close to someone, it all got fucked up. Doesn't bode so well for the future, does  it?"

The timer dinged, and Cassandra pulled a tray of cookies  out. The kitchen filled up with the scent of butter and chocolate. She  set the tray down and popped another in. "I think... I think that a lot  of people, in general, judge a group of people by the worst among them.  And I think some symptoms are just scary, and people don't get enough  help or don't care enough to mind themselves, and it all just  snowballs."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's not like professionals  have studied every single person on the planet. They're going off  reported cases and prison records. Maybe the people you're reading about  are just the worst of us. In any case, it doesn't mean you have to be  like them."

"You're not."

"No. Not quite." Cassandra  tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm lucky. I'm a privileged white  girl, so they just assume I'm a frigid, entitled bitch. Or an angry  feminist. If I'm careful, and I try to be good, that's all I'll ever be  to them. Annoying and self righteous and stuck up."

"Doesn't mean I've got a chance."

"Of  course you do. Evil is a choice, Campbell. So we have low empathy.  People don't need empathy to understand other people, or to be  compassionate towards them. We can still understand and choose to do  what is right. At the end of the day, all it comes down to are what  choices we make. We can decide the type of person we're going to be."

It was a nice thought, if nothing else.

He didn't really want to change everything about  himself. He kind of liked some of it, and since things went tits up with Sam, Campbell had come to appreciate and embrace even some of the messier, darker parts, too. But it was true enough. He could choose to not burn his house down, he could choose not to steal, he could choose not to kick dogs or pick on people more vulnerable than himself. Now that he had some idea of what was going on and had Cassandra there to help him, maybe it was worth it to try and follow her example a little.  He didn't care about trying to be someone he wasn't, and his peers weren't going to forget his history at all, so there was no point there.  But keeping out of legal trouble, and keeping himself from turning into  some kind of animal that beat up his loved ones? That was something he  was keen on avoiding. If he knew what his risk factors were for the  future, maybe he could just be his natural asshole self without leaving  too much destruction in his wake.

In a world of small blessings, he had other people's  drama to keep himself entertained, without having to cause any of his  own. Harry and Cassandra ran for student body president, and it was a  vicious campaign on both sides. Naturally, Cassandra won. Harry was  charming enough, but he didn't have the cutthroat attitude needed to  secure a victory. Harry still had a party after, though considering the  turnout was crap despite the fact that his parents were out of town, it  could hardly be called a party.

"Nobody wants to be here," Harry  groaned into his pillow after the last of the meager guests had left.  "I've lost it, Cam. I had it and I lost it."

Campbell chewed on a  slice of cold cheese pizza. "Pretty sure you never had it, buddy. I  think it was the alcohol and pot, there."

Harry let out a  strangled whine. He tried to hit Campbell with the pillow, but Campbell  caught it with his free hand and tugged it from Harry's grasp with ease.  "Fuck." Harry sat up and rubbed his face. "What am I supposed to do?  I'm a loser. Everyone hates me."

"I don't hate you. Kelly doesn't hate you."

"I'm still a loser."

"Don't  be boring." Campbell sighed. "Look, you've got parents who love you, a  gorgeous girlfriend, an expensive car, and you're not a leper or anything. You've got it pretty good. Why worry about popularity? It's all a bunch of bullshit, anyways."

"Because you've never felt what it's like to have tons of friends and see it all slip away because  you're not drugging them up anymore. It's humiliating."

"Nah, you're right. I definitely don't know what it's like to lose people I thought loved me."

Harry  winced at the sharpness in Campbell's tone. "Shit, man. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just... You've always seemed so above it all. I'm not like that."

"You used to be. What changed?"

"It's not worth talking about."

Campbell  gently whacked Harry with the pillow. "Tell me. C'mon, I never ask otherwise, and you never share. Is it a girl problem?"

"My dad's dying."

The  words tumbled out of Harry's mouth in a rush. Campbell wanted to say something, but Harry began to cry. Fuck. Reaching out, Campbell lightly  rested his hand on Harry's knee. Was that an acceptable level of comfort?  He didn't know, but apparently it was, because Harry leaned over and  burrowed against Campbell's side.

"I just wanted to do something  important, so he could be proud of me," Harry sobbed into Campbell's  shoulder. "He's not gonna be around to see me get to college, and I  can't even manage this one fucking little thing."

"Hey. A lot of  colleges have early decision programs. I heard Cassandra talking about  it, with Yale. If you want, I can help you look into it."

Harry blinked up at him, and goddamn those doe eyes did it every time. "Really? You'd help me?"

"Sure. You want to go to Harvard, right?"

"Yeah, I mean, if I can pull it off."

"You can pull it off. Trust me."

Campbell  managed to steer the conversation towards college, and what they planned to do after graduation. It was an easier subject for Campbell, and Harry seemed to welcome the distraction. Harvard did in fact have such a program, and he helped Harry gather together everything he needed. Maybe Harry couldn't be president of the school, but it would be  more impressive to show his dad an admissions letter from one of the  top three universities in the country.

"What are you gonna do?" Harry asked. "I know you hate this town."

"I don't know. I figured I'd run away to LA or something."

"Seriously?"

"I  saved most of the money I got off of dealing. My parents never found it, so why not? Just buy a one way ticket and figure things out when I get there."

Harry gave him a rueful smile. "If anyone here could make it there, it'd be you."

But  they both knew it was just a silly dream. Of course Harry got into Harvard; he'd gotten his letter late December, and Campbell knew he couldn't move across country from his best friend. Campbell applied to colleges in January, like most other students. He'd know his fate in six  to eight weeks. In the meantime, he balanced his attention between Harry and Elle, the girl that had caught his attention before.

Elle  Tomkins was one of those rare people who wasn't born and raised in West  Ham, transplanted there in the 7th grade when her parents moved from  New York. Too young to get that "new interesting freshman" mystique, but  too old for the other kids to forget she hadn't always been there.  Campbell had never seen her with anyone. And she was quirky, from what  he knew. She didn't seem interested in hanging out with the other  students much, and she rarely smiled. He heard from Harry, who heard  from Kelly, that Elle was a dancer. It explained some things, like her  almost fragile appearance, and the fact that he'd never seen her eat  anything. Of course, not all dancers were tiny or thin or never ate, but  she fit the stereotype.

He hadn't really considered dating  before, but now that he had some grasp on what was happening in his  head... Well, everyone else was pairing off, or flirting with some  out-of-town hottie. Hell, even Cassandra had some guy she'd gone out and  had coffee with when she went to scope out Yale. There were only five  months of high school left, and he'd spent his entire school life just  trying to survive and not get himself in trouble. Maybe it was possible  he could find someone, too. And maybe, if he was right about her, Elle  was a possibility. Even if it resulted in another friend, well, maybe  having another friend was something that could benefit them both.

But then Harry's father died, one cold morning.

"All the money in the world," Harry seethed after the funeral, "and it still can't save you from stage four prostate cancer."

Campbell passed him a bit of weed that he'd gotten from one of his suppliers. "Shit luck. Most people survive prostate cancer."

"Yeah, well the dickbag never could be convenient."

He  couldn't blame Harry for being pissed. Harry's mother was a wreck, diving into alcohol and pills herself in one of the most hypocritical displays Campbell had ever seen. She was on the verge of losing her job,  the house was going to shit despite the fact that Harry tried to clean  when he didn't have school. The only reason Campbell knew was because he  started coming over to help Harry once a week. Which was, incidentally,  how he found the cocaine.

Campbell held up the little bag of white powder as he cleaned underneath the bathroom sink. "Uh, Harry? What's this?"

"It's mine." Harry reached for it, but Campbell pulled back. "Fuck, Cam. Give it to me."

"You're snorting cocaine now? Harry, you're going to Harvard soon. You can't afford to get hooked on this shit."

"That's rich, coming from you."

"Yeah,  I get it. But I also got my ass back in line, for the most part, and I'm not going to Harvard fucking Law School. Weed is one thing, alcohol  is one thing. But this will fuck you up fast, man."

"Just give it back, okay? I just need a little bit right now."

Campbell  stepped away again, as Harry tried to snag the drugs from Campbell's hand. Before he could blink, Harry had tackled him to the ground and was  fighting for the bag. Campbell get punched across the jaw, but he barely felt it. He managed to flip Harry onto his back, pinning him down  and holding him there while he struggled.

"Looks like you finally got me where you wanted me," Harry spat. "Asshole."

Campbell shrugged. "I actually prefer being on bottom."

"What, you actually turned fucking gay or something?"

"Bi, I think. Maybe. I haven't figured it out yet. Would explain a few things, though."

Harry  stared up at him. At least he'd finally stopped wiggling. "Seriously?"  When Campbell raised an eyebrow, Harry let his head thump back against  the floor. "Huh. And I always thought you were joking."

"Were you?"

"I'm not gonna get my coke back, am I."

An evasion, but Campbell let it slide. "Nope. Not a chance in hell."

"I could get more."

"Sure,  but then I'm not helping you clean up your mother's grief-riddled trauma hoard. Then you'll end up just like Lexie, trapped in your room by a wall of Cosmopolitan magazines and yogurt containers full of cat poop."

Harry let out a huff. "Whatever, fine. Get rid of it."

Campbell  pocketed the cocaine and took it with him when he left. Of course he would get rid of it, in his own way. If he found the right buyer, he could get an easy $300 off it. He didn't sell much anymore, but it was an opportunity, and he wasn't going to pass that up. Especially since, after eight weeks of waiting, all his application letters had been rejected. No fancy school for him after graduation. Maybe he'd start a band and movie to New York City instead, or go flip burgers for some funky food truck in Boston, or buy a car with a rattling muffler and go  on a cross country road trip with Harry when he was on break. Whatever.  There was more to life than getting in debt for a slip of paper during a  shitty economy with few job prospects.

In the meantime, he could  still have a little fun. $300 was enough to get an ear piercing, and  have plenty left over. The left ear, just because it was easier to get  the damn thing in there; it wasn't any kind of statement. It was an  impulsive purchase, but it made him feel good, and he needed the  pick-me-up after all the college crap. Plus, it made his parents and  other adults give him disapproving looks. Always a bonus.

Cassandra  offered to help him apply to other schools. "You could still get into a  decent one," she said as she made a poster for the pro-immigration rally coming up in March. "There are plenty of colleges near Yale that would take you. Or maybe you'd wanna go to Massachusetts with Harry?"

"And  watch him drape all over his girlfriend every weekend? Gag me. No, I think I'm gonna run away to India and learn how to grow tea or something."

"Whatever suits your fancy. Are you coming to the rally with us? Gordie and some other friends are going."

Campbell  sprawled across the sofa, peering at her upside down. Any reason to go  past the West Ham town lines sounded like a good time. "Yeah, sure. Just  in case I need to punch some fucking neo nazis for you."

"Perfect."

As  things so often went, there were some little hiccups when it came time  for the rally. No one had told Campbell that Sam was coming with. They  all got piled into Gordie's truck, with Gordie, Becca, and Cassandra in  front, and Campbell stuffed into the back with everyone else. Thankfully, Campbell managed to grab a window seat by saying he'd throw  up like a dog otherwise. Sam was next to him, with Allie on the other side of Sam and Will at the driver side window. Less thankfully, Campbell could see Allie shooting him glares and whispering something to  Will; he couldn't hear what was said, and he didn't really care, but it  was an annoyance all the same.

"Do you have water?" Sam signed  to him. It was the first time they'd really spoken in a while, and of  course, it had to be to mother-hen him. "It's going to be warm out."

Campbell bit down his irritation long enough to reply with a curt 'yes'. Sam didn't speak to him for the rest of the car ride.

It  was a bit less claustrophobic once they got to the rally. It wasn't huge, and they managed to stake out a spot in the shade. It was still too crowded for Campbell's liking, so he stuck to the little headquarters they established, guarding the snacks and drinks while the  rest of them went out and got their protesting on. Becca came back sooner than the others, a vague pink stain on her tshirt and a smug smile on her face.

"What did you do?" Campbell asked as she flopped down and popped open a soda. "I usually only have that face when  I've tripped Clark down the stairs."

Becca laughed. "Milkshakes are even better when you yeet them at an alt-right douchebag, as it turns out."

"Damn, I'm sorry I missed that."

"I'm kinda surprised you came at all. This isn't usually your scene, is it?"

"No.  I'm more of a stay at home and binge watch Riverdale sort, but Cassandra wanted me to come with, and it's a few hours away from Stepford Central."

"For sure." Becca eyed him. He knew that look,  that wary and curious sort of squint where someone was trying to figure  him out. "Are you going to Harry's party tomorrow night? I think he  finally got desperate enough to invite me, and my mom's got an appointment with Two-Buck Chuck, so I thought I'd check it out."

Campbell  let out a small snort. "Yeah, I guess. He met some older folks when he  went up to Harvard in September, so he's inviting them and their liquor."

"Ooh, anyone cute?"

"Like, guys?"

"Anyone," Becca grinned.

"Probably. Harry likes pretty people."

That  was how they ended up going to the party together. Campbell had never really taken an interest in any of Cassandra's friends before, but he knew Becca was Sam's best friend, and she seemed like the right mix of sarcastic and broken that Campbell found relatable. Becca had never been  to a proper party before, so they stuck together at first; Harry was  off schmoozing with his new college buddies, Kelly smiling politely on  his arm, and that wasn't anything Campbell wanted to interrupt. Not until Becca vanished.

"Hey,  have you seen Becca?" Campbell wondered. "She went to get a drink about  ten, fifteen minutes ago and I haven't seen her since."

Harry glanced up from his pack of drinking buddies. "Nope, I haven't. Maybe you got ditched?"

It  was possible, Campbell reasoned. After all, he and Becca weren't exactly friends, and they hadn't made some sort of blood pact to stay together the whole night. Still, Campbell didn't know any of these people and something in his stomach didn't sit right. He prowled around  the house, looking for some sign of her, but Becca wasn't downstairs at  all and Campbell felt his suspicion deepen as he headed upstairs. When  he finally found her, she was in one of the spare bedrooms, sitting on  the bed and staring into space.

"Becca?"

She looked over at him. Her eyes were glassy, vacant. "Campbell, where..." Her speech was lightly slurred. "Where'm I?"

Fuck.  Campbell moved slowly, coming over to her and kneeling down next to her. Her hair was messy, her clothes askew. Fuck, shit. "Hey. You're at  Harry's party. What do you remember?"

"I don't... I don't feel good."

He  grabbed her a wastebin and held her hair back as she threw up. At some  point, she started to shake, and Campbell ran through the options. First, he had to check to make sure she was breathing okay, check her forehead with the back of his hand to see if she was clammy, check her pulse. She was sweaty and her pulse seemed a little slow, but maybe he could just drive her to the hospital himself.

"Do you think you can walk?" he asked. "I need to get you to a doctor."

Becca shook her head and moaned. "No, no, no. I don't wanna."

"Becca, if someone attacked you..."

"He  didn't. He didn't, I wanted to. I really wanted to, but then everything  got fuzzy and I don't... I don't even remember what he looked like."  She began to cry, hard. "I just wanna go home."

Campbell frowned.  If she had been raped, she needed to see someone. Didn't they test for  DNA and shit? But he wasn't going to further traumatize her by trying to  force her into an emergency room to get prodded at. Not when she was  still drugged. "Alright. Do you want me to take you home?"

She  nodded, leaning against him as he curled an arm around her and helped her to the stairs. Harry gave them a quizzical look as they made their way to the door, but Campbell just shook his head and Harry backed off.  It was a longer walk to Becca's home, but they made it without too many  stumbles. Becca's mother was passed out in the living room, so Campbell  just steered Becca towards the room she pointed at.

Propping her  up with pillow, Campbell tucked Becca into bed, but wasn't sure what to  do after. Someone needed to stay with her for a few hours, make sure  she didn't throw up and choke on it. "Do you want me to call Sam?"

"Don't."  Becca huddled under her blankets, looking pale and miserable. Her voice  was still weak and muffled. "Can you... can you stay for a bit?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Campbell  sat on the floor next to Becca's bed, watching videos on his phone with  the sound muted. Becca drifted in and out of sleep, and every so often  she'd cry again, but she didn't throw up and she managed to keep down  the glass of water Campbell brought her. Four hours later, and Becca  seemed to be pulling out of it; her heart rate was better when Campbell  rechecked, and her speech was clearer.

"Must not have been a big  dose," Campbell muttered. Sick fucking assholes. "I think you're going  to be alright from here, if you want me to go."

"I feel better. Thank you for helping me."

It  would have been easy to just nod and walk out, but he knew she'd just been hurt. Badly. She was probably in shock. Even if she still didn't want to go to the hospital, he had to try a little before he  just left here there. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Becca  chewed her lip. For a moment, Campbell thought she'd reconsider, but she  shook her head and forced a watery smile. "I just want to get some  sleep." The smile faltered as her eyes filled with tears again. "I don't  even know what happened."

"I'm pretty sure you got slipped GHB. That's not your fault, Becca."

She just stared down at her hands. "Can you not tell anyone about this? For now? Maybe... I need to think."

"Of course."

"Thank you."

Campbell  picked up Becca's phone, adding his number into the contact list. "When  you wake up tomorrow, if you need anything or want me to take you  somewhere, or get you something, text me. Okay?"

"Okay."

And  that was that. Campbell headed home, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn't tell Sam, and he couldn't tell Harry. Not yet, not without Becca's permission. Was it someone they knew? One of those leering frat boys Harry invited in? What if they gave  Becca HIV or something? There was nothing he could do, not without  betraying whatever thin amount of trust or friendship there was between  them. All he could do was go home and wait.

What the hell was  wrong with their town? Sam, getting a weird infection that took his  hearing. Cassandra, with her heart problem and them both having strange  brain wiring, cancer that just suddenly appeared and killed a man,  hoarding and drugs and alcohol and, and, and... It seemed like it was  just a never ending bunch of bullshit. What, was the town built on some  kind of goddamn burial ground or something? He used to find people's  petty dramas amusing, but looking back, things had always been just one  rotten thing after another.

Campbell stood outside his home,  gazing towards the door. It was past one in the morning, and he could  see the light on in the living room. Maybe he could just... not come  home at all. Shaking his head, he walked up the steps and opened the  door. His parents were there, waiting. He didn't even try to speak  first, or explain.

"Where have you been?" his mother snapped. "It's almost two!"

"Sorry. A friend of mine got sick and I had to make sure they were okay."

His father crossed his arms. "You're supposed to called. Who was this friend? Where are their parents?"

"Are you gonna ground me, or what? Because it's been a really bad night and I kinda wanna just go to bed."

"Apologize properly, and we'll think about it."

Campbell closed his eyes a moment, taking a slow breath. "I'm sorry that I didn't call. It won't happen again." You fucking creeps. "May I go upstairs now?"

"Fine. Go."

No  need to be told twice. Campbell headed to his room and took a long shower, rinsing the smell of booze and smoke off him; if his parents had  noticed, they had chosen not to bring it up. Yet. A small miracle, maybe. By the time he crawled into bed, he could barely keep his eyes open. He'd figure out what to do in the morning. It  was April. Three months until graduation. After that, the town poison  wouldn't be his worry anymore.

With luck, until then, things wouldn't get worse.

[silverfacedherald]

Last week, I went to Dan and Phil’s Interactive Introverts show with my sister and our friend.  I was excited, not even fully processing it  until I was in my seat.  I was expecting to feel uplifted, light-hearted, and (in a way) fulfilled after the show.  

I’ve been watching Dan and Phil for 2 years now, and while that isn’t a very long time, I (in an unromantic way) fell in love with both of them.  This may be cliché, but all I want is to get coffee with them and ultimately be their friend.  Of course, I knew I wouldn’t get that experience in the least at Interactive Introverts, but I was excited nonetheless.

This experience was even more meaningful to my friend (who had introduced my sister and I to Dan and Phil) because she has been watching them for 5 years now.  Throughout these 5 years, Dan and Phil have gotten her through many tough times and close calls.

I entered the theatre excited; ready to laugh, cheer, and cry.  I left the theatre disappointed in both the phandom, the producers/agents of the show, and the fact that Dan and Phil allowed certain themes in their show to be there (not “getting serious” with the crowd and telling them to stop).

Now, if you haven’t seen Interactive Introverts and plan to, there will be spoilers to follow (though if you have triggers, I implore you to continue reading so you will be prepared when going to the show).

Now, I know the experience varies from show to show, audience to audience, but the atmosphere of the show and the audience that I was a part of was not healthy and honestly triggering for several reasons.

Sexualization of Dan

Of course, we all know and love Dan being his innuendo-self and there were a couple light-hearted jokes, but the audience took it to another level.  Innuendos are funny to a point.  There is a line between light-hearted yet cringy innuendos and sexualization.  If a woman was in Dan’s place, it would be called sexist and harmful; but of course as a white cis male, he’s supposed to be fine.  He wasn’t.  It is not.  Sexualization can happen to anyone and it happened to Dan in Interactive Introverts whenever he would bend over/turn around, use phrasing that in any way could be about sex, and as he was taking the white jumpsuit off after he got of “the wheel”.  Whenever Dan would do or say something that would hint sex, screaming would ensue.  As the show continued, Dan looked more and more awkward and honestly anxious.  I found myself watching Dan’s body language than what was actually happening on the stage.  This behavior from the crowd was not only negative for Dan, but also for those in the audience who have been sexualized (or worse).  My friend who I went with had a hard time watching the majority of the show, almost leaving and instead calming herself by looking at the theatre itself and no longer focusing on the two men who have helped her through depression, anxiety, and suicidal thoughts.  The sexual jokes were not the only part that was triggering for her, but also the simulation section of the show.  In this simulation, the crowd chose between two options for Dan and Phil’s simulation-self and then saw the consequences.  During Dan’s turn, a furry ended up taking him into a cave and made them have sex, and the next morning Dan found himself in a five-way polygamous marriage.  This isn’t funny, this isn’t consensual.  This majorly triggered my friend, who was raped as a minor.  All of this together, is not light-hearted innuendo by any means.  It is toxic sexualization and direct references of non-con.

Susan

So Dan and Phil said that they would love to meet with us all individually, but since that isn’t possible, they decided we should all be called Susan and be of one mind.  At first it was light-hearted and fun, us all clapping at the same time, ect, but they kept drawing it out and referring to it/us/Susan to the point that I got highly uncomfortable.  Dan and Phil are usually big on individualism and free-thinking, and “Susan” did not reflect those values at all.  Cult jokes only go so far, and as someone who was raised in one and got sucked into another for a couple years as a teen, “Susan” quickly lost my appeal.  Like I said before, at first it was fun, the reference was funny, but I, we, are not some thing to be named and treated as some hive-mind.  That is not a message which needs to be laughed at and desensitised, especially in the political climate that we are in today.

Dan or Phil?

A little before the intermission, Dan and Phil said that one of them would be sacrificed based on who we like better: Dan or Phil.  This question seems to be a move that PR/marketing would make, to figure out who to make more merch for, or to overall showcase more on social media.  I think this is especially harmful to Phil (though Dan ended up being “sacrificed”/on the wheel for the show I went to) who is greatly underrated.

Overall desensitisation

By allowing Dan to be sexualized, making non-con seem like a funny situation, choosing between two best friends, and erasing individualism for fun, this desensitizes people from multiple underlying issues that haunts society: sexualization of all people, regardless of gender, race, or age; pitting one person against the other for popularity; the fact that not saying “no” does not equate to saying “yes”; and erasure of individualism/a hindrance of personal diversity through attempting to group everyone together in multiple social situations.

This is a problem and no one (of what I have seen) is talking about it.

Now, saying all this doesn’t mean that I personally hated the show and regret going, but this needs to be discussed.  I felt bad for the parents who were there with their impressionable tweens/teens, and I hope they realize what happened is not a reflection of who Dan and Phil are, because it definitely isn’t.

I cried at the end when Dan played the piano while they were both singing.  I cried not only because a) for a second there I was scared I payed $90 to see a dog video as the finale, b) Dan and Phil both have really nice singing voices and when they have a duet it’s  beautiful, (c Dan playing the piano all around the world (what about that isn’t an amazing experience for him and a triumph over his childhood nightmare of a piano teacher?), but I was also crying because d) I wanted the atmosphere that had come over the theatre the instant the piano came on stage to be the atmosphere for the entirety of the show.

In short, I greatly want to support Dan and Phil, and I was glad to do so through going to Interactive Introverts and buying merch.  But I do not support several of the themes that were displayed as funny, when in fact they were triggering and do harm to society.  I hope this problem with Interactive Introverts doesn’t get swept under the rug, but instead is called out by Dan and Phil at least once.  I love these two men and I hope the best for them, but the reason for that is because of their values and what they teach their audience.  Hopefully the future contains the content that’s in their livestreams and videos, and not what I witnessed for the majority of Interactive Introverts.

[my-nameless-bliss]

hey nykeigh i was wondering of youre scared living alone? im considering moving into an apartment but ive never lived by myself and my mind is conjuring up horrible situations that could happen. idk if i should get a roommate or try the experience of being independent.

Hi, anon! So I haven’t lived alone in a while now, but I did live totally by myself (just me and my fat, lazy, useless, perfect cat) for around 3 years, from when I was 19-21. And let me tell you, I fucking LOVED it. Since I was 5 years old, the only thing I ever wanted was to have my own apartment. I was gonna buy entirely hello kitty appliances (including the oven and the fridge), and it was going to be the best time of my entire life.

Admittedly, I only ended up getting a hello kitty microwave, but still, living alone was quite possibly the best time of my entire life - so far, anyway. It was a shitty, *shitty* hellhole of an apartment, in a not-so-safe neighborhood, and money was incredibly tight having to support myself on a job that didn’t pay nearly as much as it should have. But I’d prepared myself for that, since I was only 19 and my job wasn’t great. It was very much a ‘starter’ apartment, and I got a good deal on it, and I couldn’t really afford any luxuries during those years, but I made ends meet without too much trouble. And yes, it was fucking awesome. Every day when I unlocked my door I’d think about how grateful I was to get to live completely alone. I’m an antisocial, introverted homebody. Being around people exhausts me (not just like ‘after too much time’ or whatever; being around people exhausts me *instantly* and I don’t feel better until I’m alone), and having the freedom to be in my home by myself for as long as I wanted was great. There were numerous weekends where I wouldn’t see another person except like, a cashier or a server. And I loved it. I seriously, genuinely LOVED it.

That being said, the moment I encountered any problem, a big part of me wished that I wasn’t alone. Like if my sink backed up, or a fuse blew out in the kitchen, or the fire alarm went off, or a goddamn june bug got into my bedroom somehow (fucking AWFUL), I was immediately prepared to sit down and cry until someone else came in to deal with it for me. I lived with my boyfriend-at-the-time for a few years after that, and now I currently live with my mom, and I have to admit that I enjoy the safety of getting to say “here’s a problem, please deal with it for me”. It’s nice having someone who’s willing to call the landlord about maintenance, or kill the spiders, or reset the breaker. It’s all things that I am capable of doing myself - and I DID do these things just fine when I was alone - but I really appreciate being able to ask someone else. It’s very comforting to live with someone else you can rely on.

But in the end, the positives FAR outweighed the negatives for me, on every level. I loved living by myself, and I know that when it makes sense in my life to be out on my own again, I’ll love it again. I have very intense anxiety, and I still never had any problems worrying about my safety or being unable to do what was necessary to take care of myself. But that’s just what worked for me, personally. I value independence and *solitude* to extreme degrees in my day-to-day life, so coming home to an apartment free of any living creature that isn’t a cat is a fantastic and cathartic feeling for me. If that doesn’t sound like you, there’s absolutely no reason that you *have* to live alone. If you think you’d feel safer, or more comfortable, or more socially satisfied, or happier for any reason if you lived with a roommate, you should go for it! Even though I prefer living alone, I certainly haven’t disliked the times in my life where I lived with someone else. There are really strong pros and cons for both situations, and the important thing is to think about your own needs, and what makes you the happiest. 💜👍💜

[aion-rsa]

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue: A Tale of Immortality A Decade in the Making

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This article is sponsored by

The first time I ever interviewed V.E. Schwab, she told me about The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. It was July 2018 and we were sitting in the lobby of the Hilton Bayfront Hotel during San Diego Comic Con. Schwab was in the midst of a promotional tour for Vengeful, the second book in her Villains series, with the launch of her middle grade fantasy series City of Ghosts just around the corner, but she couldn’t help but also mention then work-in-progress Addie.

“I never shut the fuck up about this book before I wrote it,” Schwab says, with a laugh, when I interview her again in 2020 and mention the conversation two years prior. “Everyone in my life was like, ‘Please stop talking about the damn book you haven’t written.'”

By those rules, Schwab can now talk about Addie LaRue as much as she damn well pleases. The book is not only written, but poised to hit bookshelves in less than a week, on October 6th. It’s a long time coming for the author, who first imagined up the idea of Addie LaRue almost a decade ago, in 2011. At the time, she was living in someone’s Liverpudlian shed and, in an effort to get away for the day, took up a housemate on her offer of a ride to the U.K.’s picturesque Lake District.

“She dropped me in this tiny little village called Ambleside and, for eight hours, I just wandered these fairy-like woods,” Schwab recalled, back in 2018. “And I was thinking about Peter Pan, because I had just reread the original Peter Pan, and thought about how sad it is because it ends with him already forgetting Wendy. And I started thinking, ‘That’s really sad… but it’s not sad for him, because he forgets. What would it be like if everybody else forgot?’ And so Addie LaRue stemmed from this moment, just wandering…”

Addie LaRue is an 18th-century French woman who makes a deal with the devil to live forever and, in the process, is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets. The pact’s fine print is put in place by the god-like creature Addie calls Luc as a tactic for convincing Addie to more quickly give up her immortal life and surrender her soul. Three hundred years later, in 2014 New York City, Addie is still defiantly living, but it hasn’t been easy. The curse keeps her from being unable to hold property, unable to keep a regular job, and unable to have any kind of sustained relationship. She is impossibly lonely and then, one day, she meets a man named Henry and he does something impossible too: he remembers her.

A narrative about a girl cursed to be forgotten is perhaps an ironic story for Schwab to tell. At the age of 33, Schwab has already published 21 books (if you count graphic novels, which we do). From her books and short stories to her social media presence and this speech, Schwab has already left her mark on recorded history. But anxieties are not always rational—it is so very human to be conscious of the passing of time, and it is so very millennial to be anxious about not finishing what feels important before the next tragedy strikes.

“[The passage of time is] something I was aware of when I was 10 and 16 and 22,” says Schwab, “but I didn’t know that was going to be the central theme of the book. In fact, I didn’t really know until my fear of writing the book wrong became replaced by fear of dying without writing the book at all. When I was 29 and I realized, ‘Oh my God, I have to get it down on paper. I’m running out of time.’ And that concept of running out of time, which then trickled through Henry and trickled through Addie. And I started to realize, oh my God, this is not a book about a deal with the devil. It’s a book about the loneliness of feeling like life is passing too fast.”

It’s also a book about the realities of moving through the world as a (white) woman. The rules of Addie’s curse to be forgotten are exaggerated depictions of the realities of being a woman and/or a part of other marginalized communities for much of history: barred from most paid work, unable to hold property, and erased from recorded history.

“I wanted to examine autonomy,” says Schwab when I ask her about this metaphorical quality of the curse’s depiction. “There was so little autonomy for women, even Addie who had chosen to be independent.”

Addie first makes the deal with Luc because she is desperate to avoid being married, what she understandably sees as a curse of its own kind. Addie longs to be free and independent, though, at 23, she does not yet know what that might look like—after all, she has lived almost her entire life in one, small village. In her state of distress, Luc comes up with a twisted definition of independence for her: a curse that keeps Addie from being remembered, from even being able to say her name. It is far from the dream of being “left alone to grow” that Addie wants for herself, even if it technically fits the description.

Credit: Rengin Tumer

“She’s thrust into the world, ostensibly autonomous, but with none of the benefits of autonomy,” explains Schwab. “No money, no status, no stability, no identity. And so I absolutely wanted to explore what happens when you’re then given physical autonomy and nothing else. How do you support yourself? How do you survive? And it’s not as easy. We tell these immortality tales of men where all of a sudden they’re immortal and it’s just like, go get rich, go have fun, go have 100 mistresses and just sleep your way through eternity. But women would never have that option.”

While The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue doesn’t languish in the most desperate parts of Addie’s long life, it doesn’t avoid them either. We are with Addie when she first realizes her parents can’t remember her, when she realizes she must steal to eat, and when she turns to the only profession accessible to woman for much of human history.

“[The exploration of woman’s autonomy is] one of the reasons that I created a path of movement for Addie the way that I did instead of just letting it be a travelogue of Addie through the ages, through all of the world,” says Schwab. “I still had to be keenly aware of the fact that she was a woman and she couldn’t die, but she could be made to suffer. She could struggle. And so she wasn’t seeking world travel. She was seeking safety and there was never any safety for her. There was never anything lasting.”

But this story doesn’t solely take place in the “then”; it also takes place in the “now,” or close enough to call it so. And, by 2014, Addie has figured some things out. She knows how to find a place to stay and all the best spots in New York City. She knows how to steal new clothes and what to say when she wakes up in somebody’s bed and they can’t remember their night together. She does not know quite what to do, however, when she stumbles upon Henry, the first person in 300 years who has remembered her. In many ways, neither did Schwab. The author calls Henry’s initial sections “the hardest part of the book to write,” as we move from a story told solely the perspective of an immortal girl desperate to defy the devil by living forever to a dual-perspective narrative that includes the insights of a contemporary boy having a rough time of it in New York City.

“I was very scared of writing Henry,” says Schwab, “because, if I had written him wrong, he could have come off as just whiny, millennial white boy who has everything and can’t seem to get his shit together. I was really afraid of him being the weakest link in the story.” Henry earns his role in the story, and the relative smallness of his life grounds a tale of gods and souls and immortality in something more recognizable, especially for millennials living with mental illness.

“Essentially, what I did, is I gave him me,” says Schwab of her tactic for keeping Henry from becoming an ineffective character. “Really in this triptych, of these three characters, he is the only human. I gave him every one of my fears and every one of my insecurities and every one of my suicidal thoughts. I made him exactly who I would be if I hadn’t found writing when I did. Which is to say, I was the kid who went through college thinking, ‘How am I supposed to pick? Because saying yes to one thing is saying no to a hundred others. How am I supposed to know what’s right? And is what’s right for me now, what’s right for me in 10 years? How am I even going to survive 10 years?’ I gave him all of that panic that leads to all of that paralysis that some of us feel, as everyone else looks at us and says, ‘You should understand what you’re doing by now.'”

While Henry may be a necessary and welcome point-of-view character for us contemporary readers, his name isn’t on the book’s cover. This story belongs to Addie LaRue, and Schwab never forgets it. “I wanted to give [Henry] a moment,” says Schwab, “but he could never take up the space that Addie takes up. It’s not his story.” This is Addie’s story, and it is Schwab’s—one she’s carried with her for a long while, since that fateful amble in Ambleside almost a decade ago. After so long, Schwab says she’s not quite ready to let go of the story.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready,” says Schwab. “This part never gets easier, but it was the first book I’ve ever written where, when I finished writing it, I thought to myself, ‘If I never write another book, I’ll be okay.'”

Does Schwab have another Addie, a long-fermenting story she is carrying with her that will one day be something others can carry too? That’s not how these kinds of stories work, says Schwab.

“There was not enough space in my head and my heart to carry two,” she continues. “Right now, I’m very scared of the fact that I don’t have my next Addie, but I think you don’t necessarily always know. When I started thinking about Addie, did I think it was going to take 10 years to write? God no. I never would have done it. So maybe I do have the next Addie in my head and I just don’t know it yet.”

Schwab hopefully has many more stories left to tell—from an outside perspective, the author seems to be very much in the middle of a long and prolific speculative fiction career. Even so, Addie LaRue is special to the author. As she puts it: “There will never be another story for me like this one.”

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue will be available wherever books are sold on October 6th. Find out more about the book and how to purchase it here.

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The post The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue: A Tale of Immortality A Decade in the Making appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press/Gallery: Elizabeth Talks Forging Her Own Path in Film and Advice from Her Older Sisters

PHILADELPHIA STYLE – With her talent and film career firmly established, Elizabeth Olsen’s focus shifts to forging her path and making her own rules.

  At the Cannes Film Festival premiere of Taylor Sheridan’s Wind River, Elizabeth Olsen climbs onstage inside the iconic Palais des Festivals et des Congrès de Cannes. Looking old-school glam in a plunging blush-colored Miu Miu gown, she takes in the scene, smiling as the audience delivers its enthusiastic applause and Sheridan introduces the film. It is not Olsen’s first time at Cannes, but from her perspective, it might as well be. “The first time I was here, I didn’t soak it in,” says the actress during our beachside stroll the next day. “I was overwhelmed, and I don’t have very many memories of being present.”

  This time would be different, she determined, starting with the decision to clutch her pink heels in her hand while onstage. “During Sundance, I had a bit of a panic attack when we were onstage. You have all the lights on you, and there’s really no point of focus. I hate it. It freaks me out. So, I thought, ‘I’m going to take my shoes off.’ And I remember every moment,” she says.

  As not even a 2am post-premiere photo call manages to rattle the actress, you get the sense Olsen knows not only how to navigate the chaos that is the world’s most renowned film festival, but is also competently steering a career that, in the past seven years, has launched her to fame far beyond what maybe even she expected. “Now that I feel a bit more solid about what I’m making and I have a very clear intention for myself, I’m a happier person,” explains the 28-year-old. “I’ve started to figure out how I want to function as a human being in the world and balance it with work.”

  She may feel like she is only now coming into herself, but from the outside, it seems like Olsen has always had a strong sense of direction. While the actress has, in the past seven years, made an impressive 18 films—ranging from well-received indies like Martha Marcy May Marlene to major blockbusters like Godzilla and The Avengers films—her love of acting and performing was established long before her 21st birthday. Elizabeth Olsen Wind River Ingrid Goes West

  The youngest sister of twins Mary-Kate and Ashley made her on-screen debut at age 4 in her siblings’ films, before deciding at age 7 she would not pursue the same path as her famous sisters. “I did try and audition when I was younger. I thought, ‘Well that sounds fun. I see what my sisters do.’ I went on a few auditions, Spy Kids being the first one, and they asked me to read the script. It looked bigger than the Bible to me,” Olsen recalls. “I didn’t understand why I would ever read something that big. I realized I would miss out on after-school sports and forfeit things I enjoyed doing at a young age. My dad had me write a list of pros and cons, and the cons side was bigger. I decided to stick to my after-school activities.”

  Despite the 15-year hole in her résumé, Olsen never gave up acting. “The [activities] my family [came out to support] me in were probably painful to watch,” she laughs. “From ballet recitals to plays to some experimental things—it was constant. But [these] were hobbies, not a job.” They were, however, the things she cared about the most. After high school, Olsen enrolled at New York University’s Tisch School of the Arts, where she learned the discipline of the craft, even spending a semester at the Moscow Art Theatre in Russia. “All these teachers [were] trying to scare [us], letting [us] know that [acting] is hard and you’re going to be rejected 99 percent of the time. Every time someone said it to me, it was a challenge, like, ‘I’ll show you.’”

  That, she did. Olsen’s breakout role came as the titular character in Martha Marcy May Marlene, about a young girl who, after several years of living with a cult, manages to escape. The film, which garnered numerous critics’ awards and brought her to Cannes for the first time, launched a noteworthy career out of the gate. “I’m so lucky [director] Sean Durkin wanted to go with someone who had literally no film experience,” says Olsen. “I think the reason Sean liked the idea was because I didn’t know what I looked like on camera, and I didn’t care about what angle of my face looked good. It added to the awkwardness of Martha.” The experience, which Olsen says took place during a restless time in her personal life, cemented her love for acting. “My favorite thing about working and being on set as an actor is having to be so present in what you’re doing,” she says. “It’s such a relief—it’s almost meditative. The only thing that matters is the moment.”

  Her glorious debut was more luck than strategy, Olsen admits. She eagerly tried out for guest roles on TV procedurals like CSI and Blue Bloods early on in her career, reading every script that came her way. “[In the beginning] I was like, ‘What? You want to hire me? Sign me up!’ I was a mess,” she laughs. “But, now, there’s more of an intention behind it. I’m happy to go from one project to the next, but there has to be a reason to do it. And if there isn’t, then I’m going to be unemployed and figure out how to keep myself busy.”

  She was immediately drawn to no-nonsense FBI Agent Jane Banner in the thriller Wind River, which recently hit theaters and required learning how to operate a gun and assert authority in dangerous situations. “I’m scared of everything, and I get to play someone who is in control and confident,” she says. “To get to find that inside of you is a thrilling thing to do.” Olsen also looks for films with social commentary, like Ingrid Goes West, where she stars as a social media influencer who becomes the obsession of a mentally unstable fan. “I’m hoping to generate a better through line within the work I’m interested in and the work I find intriguing,” she says, “which doesn’t mean it’s all serious and poignant messages. I also think a sense of humor is important.”

  The world of social media is still a mystery to Olsen, who only started exploring Instagram as a way to research her character. Even the idea of a public persona appears to perplex the actress, who, early on, received tips from her sisters about life in the spotlight. “They’re very tight-lipped—notoriously so—and I was not caring what I was saying [in interviews] because I’d assumed no one would read it,” says Olsen. “That’s when we’d have conversations. They’d say, ‘You know, even if you don’t think anyone’s going to read this article, someone might pull the quote later for [something else].’ It’s all part of how you hope someone interprets you, and how they frame who you are and the work you do.” That advice is now what keeps her from divulging much about her private life, which, according to news sources, currently includes musician boyfriend Robbie Arnett. “If it only involves me, then I’ll share it, but if it involves another party, ever, then I won’t,” she states. “I don’t want to tell anyone else’s story.”

  Olsen’s story is that she is laying down roots. For the past 2 ½ years, she has lived in Los Angeles, where she was raised, and feels like it is home. “In New York, I felt so confined to such a small space, and I would feel guilty if I wasn’t out all day,” she says. “[Here] I have friends over for dinner more nights than I don’t. I take advantage of having a deck. I cook more than I ever did in New York. I don’t feel bad about being in my home.” So much so that she eventually sees herself filling it with a family of her own. “I just bought a house for the first time. It’s very exciting. I’m renovating it right now, which has been so much fun and stimulating creatively,” she says. “But I was also thinking, ‘There’s this small room upstairs, which would be good for a kid.’ I don’t know where things will lead, but I do think about it in that way: ‘I think I could raise kids here.’”

  That, however, seems to be way off in the future. At this point in time, Olsen looks forward to another milestone. “Your 30s sounds like the best decade for a woman. I can’t wait!” she exclaims. “I still deal with so many anxieties of how I come across. I’ll go home at night, spinning with a guilt complex of, ‘Did I say something stupid to that person who I respect? Do they think I’m a freak?’ I don’t want to think like that anymore. What’s so beautiful about being older and wiser is you are sitting heavier in your shoes with your feet on the ground.” Or, as the case may be for Olsen, with your shoes clutched in your hand.

        Gallery Links:

Studio Photoshoots > 2017 > Session 029

Magazine Scans > 2017 > Philadelphia Style (September)

Magazine Scans > 2017 > Modern Luxuries Boston (September)

Magazine Scans > 2017 > Angeleno (September)

Magazine Scans > 2017 > Modern Luxuries Orange County (September)

Press/Gallery: Elizabeth Talks Forging Her Own Path in Film and Advice from Her Older Sisters was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[ambitiouslyamanda-blog]

TEN THINGS I LEARNED IN MY FIRST YEAR OF UNIVERSITY — 05.07.17

First year of university was…wild, to say the least. If you’re reading this, you’re probably a senior in high school struggling to grasp an expectation on what post-secondary will be like, shaking in your scared, bewildered little boots. Have no fear; I am about to disclose to you everything you need to know about your first year of university, from the workload to parties to relationships and beyond. If you’d like to know the ten important lessons I learned in my first year of university, read on!

1. Being away from home for the first time is simultaneously awesome and awful.

If you’re moving into a dorm first year like I did, or are simply moving out into an apartment to go to school, be wary that being away from home has its up’s and it’s downs. While the positives include no rules, curfews, or groundings; going wherever you want, whenever you want; and basically, taking your new city by storm with only you in charge, going away from home for your first time also introduces many new responsibilities you haven’t encountered yet, like paying bills, cooking your own meals, and for some, doing your own laundry. First year, I loved my newfound freedom, but learned rather quickly that it’s necessary balance it with grace and care, making sure the most important things like schoolwork and bills were taken care of before I went out to the bar that night.

2. If you’re moving away to university, you will miss your family and shitty small town.

Homesickness is something that happens to everyone who goes to post-secondary, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a liar. Even I thought I wouldn’t miss the minuscule small town I previously lived in for 6 years and would be perfectly fine without my parents, and I ended up taking the train home the first weekend because I missed them so bad! Truth is, you will miss your parents, siblings, friends, and extended family a lot, especially if you’re travelling too far to visit on weekends and study breaks, so make sure to keep in touch by calling an texting them. Your mom may be hundreds of kilometers across the province, but her sweet, soothing voice is just a ten-digit phone number away.

3. Making friends is much easier than you expect it to be.

When I went away to university, I only knew two people; my roommate, who was my stage manager/good friend in high school, and another girl I went to secondary school with. Safe to say, I was terrified of not being able to make friends due to my obnoxious nature and that I would spend my first year cooped up in my dorm, lonely and bitter. Luckily, this didn’t happen; in fact, I made friends my first day of being at university. I lived on residence, which was the greatest aid to meeting and connecting with people; and to be honest, my residence floor felt like a family to me, and I miss them all tons! I got to meet loads of people during frosh week by doing events and just mingling through my res building, and my academic orientation was also a tremendous help in connecting with people in my program. I know some frosh events and orientations are absolutely abysmal and super lame, but many of the people I was grouped with or had spoken to during these events are still in my life today, either as acquaintances or best friends.

I also want to emphasize that even if you don’t live on res, you can absolutely make friends through your program, campus groups and events, at the gym, or even through study groups. Just do the things you like to do, and you will find someone to connect with.

4. Frat parties are overrated (but good places for booze!)

I’m going to say it – frat parties are kind of  lame and you should not feel obligated to go, even if  all your friends are attending. My rule of thumb is if you have to pay to get into a party, it’s probably not going to be very fun (though there will be ‘free’ booze, so it’s really a balancing act of the pros and cons). Drunk people are obnoxious and impulsive, so visiting parties or going out to crowded bars can easily place you in uncomfortable situations. Be wary of where you’re going, don’t put your drink down out of sight, and always go with another person.

Oh, and please, do not chug your alcohol. You will fucking die if you do.

5. Your schoolwork comes first, and said schoolwork will kick your ass.

University is a social butterfly’s dream, but remember why you’re there to begin with. You need to get your degree, and to do that, you must pass your courses, which requires attending classes and studying your ass off. The jump in workload from high school to university is huge, and preparing yourself for it is important. First year is often considered among upper years to be the easiest out of your four year degree, so take this time to get the best grades you can to improve your GPA in case you bomb a class later in your university career. Studying and finishing up work takes a lot of time, so make sure you plan ahead so you don’t fall behind. If you are overwhelmed with your projects and exams, it’s important to take a step back, breathe, and ask for help if you’re really struggling. Remember – you can retake a class if need be.

6. Professors can either be your best allies or your greatest enemies.

Your teachers in high school probably told you, “your professors aren’t going to baby you like this in university!”, and they’re right. Your professors aren’t going to nag you to hand in your assignments or attend class; they get paid whether you do or you don’t. But most professors do care; and some will undeniably help you get a better grade in their class. Using office hours was something I wish I did more during first year because I absolutely could have used some help when writing essays or studying for exams. A professor is often more than happy to help you improve or send you in the right direction, so don’t be afraid to email them or speak to them after class to schedule an appointment. However, some professors — often the one’s who have to teach hundreds of kids per class — won’t be as helpful. In fact, they can be the least helpful people around, whether it’s treating you like an idiot or being as vague as humanly possible. Feel free to contact TA’s instead of your moody prof for better clarifications.

7. You probably shouldn’t be working a part time job during first year.

Unless you need to do so to pay your bills, I don’t recommend getting a job first year, mostly because your stress levels will be through the roof. If you end up having a steady handle on your school work after your first midterms and have garnered an idea of what your program expects, you can find a weekend job to get some extra cash, but I personally think first year should be about having fun and getting good grades.

8. Drinking and drug use are normalized as all hell in university.

If you were like me and barely drank throughout high school, you will be intrigued to find out that a good 90% of people you meet in university either drink a ton of alcohol or smoke a staggering amount of weed. Sometimes both. While I am someone who drinks probably once a week now, it is important to be open to trying new things but also be safe about it. So no, I’m not telling you to go inject yourself with heroin; I’m saying trying a beer or taking a shot of tequila is perfectly fine. I know most who go into their first year aren’t legal until second semester (in Canada), but I don’t really feel like telling you not to drink because in the end, you’re gonna do whatever the hell you want. Know your limits and again, be aware of your surroundings to ensure your safety.

9.  Finding a relationship should not be a priority!

For some reason, I had envisioned myself meeting the perfect guy first year who would date me and make me ‘happy’ as we traversed coffee shops and listened to avant garde albums together. Safe to say, I was slightly disappointed when that didn’t happen. I want to stress that finding a significant other should not be on your priority list first year (or at any time, really) because you already have so much to focus on. Relationships are sometimes hard, and require a lot of work and energy, which often, you don’t have to spare during the tribulations of freshman year. You have your whole life to fall in love; patience is a virtue.

10. Your health is much more important than school ever will be.

As someone who almost collapsed under the stress and anxiety university brought me, I stand behind the point that before anything else, you need to take care of yourself. Yes, schoolwork is important and social events are fun, but if you’re feeling like you constantly have a weight on your chest or a panic attack every two days, it is important to step back from the stress and get help. Post secondary institutions have mental health initiatives often free for students that include solo, group, or single counselling sessions, along with other things, like stress relieving yoga classes or help lines to call if you’re uncomfortable with professional therapy. If you’re someone privy to catching colds or sicknesses, make sure to let your professors know through emails and academic consideration papers so that you can stay home and rest should you contract something nasty. As someone who wrote three of her exams through bleary eyes, a fever of 101 degrees, no voice, and a nose stuffed to the extreme, I can vouch for the importance of physically taking care of yourself. Indulge in a bath, drink some tea, take a nap, put a face mask on, or even go for a walk — any of these self care practices are important in recharging from the perils of studying and socializing.

There are tons more things I could have disclosed in this article, but these 10 points were the most important for me to state. University is an incredible experience for me so far — and I hope it will be for you as well.

Ambitiously,

Amanda

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[fashiontrendin-blog]

Why You Should Switch Off For September

http://fashion-trendin.com/why-you-should-switch-off-for-september/

Why You Should Switch Off For September

Have you ever caught yourself mindlessly scrolling through your phone? Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Tinder, Email. You might be meeting an old friend you haven’t seen in ages. Maybe you’re sat up in bed with your partner next to you or you’re sat at the gym waiting to do your next set. There you are, a blue glow reflected in your eyes, scrolling through endless filters of information, not really taking any of it in, just, *sigh* scrolling.

It’s a tale as old as social media, which is to say, not very old at all. As the average Brit now spends nearly two and a half hours glued to their smartphone screen a day, can you imagine a time when people called up their mates up to arrange a time and a place for their midnight DMCs or dialled into the internet for 15 minutes at a time, enduring the ear melting screeching along the way?

We are the first generation that communicates in this way, through social media and rampant late night emails, through emojis and corny memes, when the internet and everyone and everything on it is available at the press of a four-number passcode. And while it might look like we’re dealing with this form of open communication with typical millennial ease, perhaps we’re not.

Is ‘Connection’ A Con?

One in six young people will experience an anxiety disorder at some point in their lives while identified rates of anxiety and depression in young people have increased by 70 per cent over the past 25 years. Alongside this, 2015 research from the University of Ottawa found that those that spent two or more hours a day on social networking sites were more likely to report poor mental health as a report last year from The Royal Society for Public Health found four of the five most used social media platforms made the anxiety levels of those surveyed worse (Instagram was the worst while YouTube was the only one found not too).

The same report found that seven in 10 young people have experienced cyberbullying, with its more obvious consequences for mental health. There’s also the very real physical consequences to our overuse of mobile phones and social media – repetitive strain injuries in our shoulders as we hunch over to send another late night message or carpal tunnel syndrome, the crushing of nerves in our wrists that can numb our whole arm.

An addiction to your mobile phone might also affect you while driving, every bleep and buzz driving your attention away from the road, with a survey from last year showing that 88 per cent of drivers had been on their smartphone at the wheel. And what’s more the way social media taps into the pathways in our brain linked to addiction make it harder to escape. Researchers at UCLA using an MRI scanner to image the brains of 32 teenagers when on a social media app, found that certain regions became activated by “likes” in much the same way as if they were winning money.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. The same report found that nearly seven in 10 teens going through tough or challenging times were able to receive that support through social media. “With its almost universal reach and unprecedented ability to connect people from all walks of life, social media holds great potential to support good mental health and wellbeing,” says Niamh McDade, senior policy & communications executive for the UK’s Royal Society for Public Health who has started a campaign to encourage the public to go scroll free for the month of September.

“Social media now forms an integral part of everyday life, yet as with any good relationship, one’s relationship with social media should be one which is balanced.”

Why Do We Do It To Ourselves?

So what is this negative relationship we have formed? Well, firstly social media has a way of making us feel rubbish about ourselves. It allows people to show off details of their life while hiding other less desirable parts to create a removed-from-reality portrait for those that look up to them (not to mention the consequential body image issues) along with a need for validation to make us feel better about these insecurities – one that if left unfulfilled can leave you fragile.

“I feel an expectation to always be doing or engaging with something,” says Rhys Thomas, 21, a freelance journalist. “And to live up to the expectations of the people I admire on social media, which can become a 24-hour preoccupation and almost never possible to achieve.”

Natasha Nanner, who works for the social media agency Truffle Social, finds that photo-centric social media sites like Instagram or Facebook have left her hooked to her phone to see the responses to her posts. “I often will post a selfie and then check back non-stop throughout the day to see the ‘likes’. I have also sometimes stared at the image so much that I just end up deleting it because I have convinced myself I don’t like it any more. It bothers me less if a quote or a landscape picture doesn’t accumulate many likes.”

This need for validation is not a new phenomenon in human behaviour, but social media and the internet now put your image and identity out there to a previously unimaginable scale. You’re not just showing your holiday pictures to your mum here, you’re showing them off to millions of people with everyone comparing and squaring them up against each other. You’re not the wittiest, or the most beautiful and boy doesn’t social media like to tell you so.

“There are people using social media positively so they can give a point of view out to the world, to give some inspiration without needing the validation back,” mentions Michael James Wong, a modern mindfulness coach and author of Sit Down Be Quiet. “Take, for example, a mother posting pictures of her kids saying how much they love them. They don’t need you to tell them their baby is amazing. They’re just doing it out of love”

But then there are people using social media to receive. ‘I need to put out this picture of me in a fun place or doing a fun thing or hanging out with cool people so I can receive the validation of this being time well spent.’ And when you’re just receiving, social media can create a reactiveness within you that restricts your freedom of control. We’re shackled by it so that when our phone rings, we jump. It’s exhausting and makes it hard to switch off.”

While this cycle of insecurity, constantly posing for photos, and validation is certainly a guilty culprit when it comes to burning out, it is not the only one. The checking of work emails during out-of-work hours can also create a similarly jaded feeling. When we’re constantly switched on, it becomes ever harder to switch off.

“A lot of jobs these days require you to be plugged in,” says Joshua Drew, 28, a public sector PR, “going offline can mean relinquishing all responsibility of work and I think that thought scares a lot of people. I will look at my phone right up until I fall asleep which is entirely counterintuitive as I’ll usually struggle to fall asleep after being on it. I use an app on my phone to help me relax before bed, which is ironic in the sense that it still requires me to be around my phone.”

Do You Have ‘Nomophobia’?

A term first coined in a 2008 YouGov study, nomophobia is the fear of being out of contact with your mobile phone. The study found that nearly half of mobile phone users became anxious when their mobile phone was not readily available for use, an anxiety comparable in stress levels to a trip to the dentist or the jitters you might endure before walking up the aisle.

“This ‘over-connection syndrome’ occurs when mobile use reduces the amount of face-to-face interactions and then interferes greatly with an individual’s social and family interactions,” says Dr Kevin Curran, a senior member of the Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers and a professor of computer science at the University of Ulster.

“Clinical characteristics of nomophobia are a growing preference for communication through technologies; keeping the device in reach when sleeping and never turned off; and looking at the phone screen frequently to not miss any message, phone call, or notification, also called ringxiety.”

To act against this some have proposed the right to disconnect as a basic human right. This posits the idea that employees should not answer emails during out-of-work hours at a time when mobile phone usage is dubbed ‘possibly the biggest non-drug addiction of the 21st century’. In France, a labour law was passed in 2016 that allowed for this right, with companies of more than 50 people obliged to set out hours when employees were not supposed to send or answer their emails.

Finding Calm Amid The Chaos

For ambitious, hungry millennials working in the city it might seem like switching off their phone or disconnecting after a certain time is counter-intuitive to their end goal of climbing up the career ladder. But does constantly skipping Monday night yoga or Friday drinks with old university pals for another late one at the office really make you better at your job?

“I’ve worked in that corporate structure and if you’re working hard then you’re working late and you are never fulfilled,” says Wong. “You’re struggling to go to sleep and you’re not putting your mind to rest, becoming less aware and switched on as you continue. But, if you notice when someone has a baby, their list of priorities shift in a very positive way. They get more efficient and maximise their time in the office. Then, when they’ve done their time they switch off because 8pm is time to bathe the baby.”

One of the simplest ways to maximise your time is through controlling your phone and gadget usage says Hilda Burke, an integrative psychotherapist and couples counsellor. “We use our phones when we’re waiting for the bus and justify it as dead time, but actually it’s eating into the time we could be using for other things. Have you ever thought if you had more time you could be exercising more, updating your CV or spending more time with your partner? You could have an extra two hours a day if you actually turn it off.”

Burke mentions that when we’re scrolling through our phones or browsers we largely become unconscious to the act. For example, a 2015 study found that those surveyed actually used their smartphones roughly twice as much as they thought they did. So while we might think that keeping tabs on our Instagram profile and late-arriving emails is keeping us plugged into what’s going on around us really we’ve become completely switched off.

How To Switch Off For September (Or Any Month)

Take Stock

“The first step is to look at the situation and see how much you are using it,” says Burke. “Loathe am I to recommend an app but they are really useful to use for monitoring your usage and they act as a wake-up tool. Use the app for a week, writing down how much you think you use your phone at the beginning and then compare it with the reality at the end.”

Apple and Android are reportedly building tools that help you do this. In the meantime, try Moment.

Replace The Time

Use the dead time you would usually spend on your phone or on your computer to do something positive. This will take your mind off of technology and help you reconnect with the real world and others around you.

“You have to start to implement non-negotiables, that have positive habituations in a way that can actually help us to switch off or calm down or relax,” says Wong. “For example, go to a gym class every day through September but one you know you can’t bring your mobile phone into the room for.”

Start building a life that doesn’t require you to live through the lens of your mobile phone.

Tell People What You’re Doing

By telling people you are switching off for the month of September you can kick-start what’s known as the Hawthorne effect, where an awareness of being watched can help you change your behaviour. Basically, just the idea of your friends having a go at you for green lighting on Facebook can be enough to make you not go there. It also might encourage others to join you so you can all spend more time together IRL. You might even make actual eye contact.

“Rallying a group to join you in taking part can help keep you motivated and make you feel less alone,” says McDade. “Why not run a competition with your peers to see who can stick to Scroll Free September the longest?”

Take A 10 Minute Break

“It comes down to what you’d call the smoke break,” says Wong. “We’re not condoning smoking, but that concept of a 10-minute step away from the hamster wheel is a great place to let yourself breathe quite ironically”.

With the average British attention span lasting just 14 minutes, this means that lulls in your workday might lead you to mindlessly scroll through social media or old emails when a complete break to reset your mind would be far more beneficial to your efficient.

Get Rid Of Temptation

“Why not try getting rid of temptation by deleting social media apps from your devices or turning off notifications?” says McDade. “To resist the temptation to scroll, you could also try using a ‘dumb’ phone which doesn’t support social media so you can remain in contact if needed.”

Just try and not get hooked on 8-bit snake – that game stole our childhood away from us.

Create A No-Go Zone

“Start creating no-go zones,” recommends Burke. “For me, the start was not taking my phone with me for my 45 minutes walking the dog at the beginning of the day. It could be the cinema or when eating. Start small so you don’t get disheartened. You don’t go straight to the big weights, you start small, build the technique and get a taste of what life without your phone is like.”

[thegameslave]

Carebear's Convention Self Care

Hi guys, Carebear here with a quick blog before Colorado Animefest’s second year gets off and running. As some of you may be aware I do occasional writing and recently decided to incorporate my two sides, “Geeky” Carebear and “Therapist” Carebear. For this blog I kind of wanted to focus on how I personally manage social anxiety. The last couple of days I have been feeling “off” and wasn’t quite sure why, I got plenty of sun at the zoo on Sunday, I’ve been trying to cut back on my caffeine intake, doing little things like putting on new makeup. But I still found myself wanting to curl up and cry not knowing why and then it dawned on me, I’m scared. I always enjoy going to conventions and returning home at the end of them full of energy to dive into whatever it was that the con was about, anime, comics, video games. Whatever it is I’m usually riding on the adrenaline I get for a couple of weeks after. But as I get older I find I worry about things like how the weekend’s going to go, if I’ll represent myself and this site well enough, or if I’m gonna come off as lame and if I need to give up on things that I enjoy. The answer to that last thought is No, I don’t need to give up on anything if I still enjoy it because it’s a part of me. Part of what leads my thoughts to this is me feeling overwhelmed. I’ve never been able to be around a large group of people for longer than a few hours so a whole weekend, no matter how much fun I’m having, takes its toll on my personal battery. So, here’s where the therapist in me is coming out. I am going to do a few things this weekend to help myself and maybe some of you that will read this relax and have that personal battery drain just a little slower.

As I mentioned earlier, I’m trying to cut back on my caffeine consumption. The reason this is so important is because caffeine and sugar can make me feel jittery, if I’m already anxious and feeling uneasy this is magnified to what feels like a million percent. So, to counteract this I’m going to make myself have at least 2 glasses, or 16 ounces of cold water. Now if you use this be sure to drink this slowly and add deep breaths to it after swallowing the water (no choking please). What I like to do while doing this is concentrate on how the water feels as I drink it. Sometimes it helps to also close my eyes to sort of visualize myself being calmer. Another thing I plan to do is bring something that helps me calm down, my iPod. Yes, I still use an iPod. The fact is music has always been a big part of my life, I can remember many days as a kid when sitting and listening to a few of my favorite songs helped me relax and change my mood.  So, this weekend I plan to have it charged and ready to go if I need to find a corner and listen to some “happy” songs.  The last thing I plan to have myself do is rest. This sounds so very basic and silly but rest is very important for mental health. So, whether it be me going to bed by 10pm or just sitting down for a half hour or so, I plan to make myself rest no matter when or what time it is.  There are plenty of other things I could add in here like eating well, not spending too much money etc, but these I felt were the main ones I needed to cover for myself.

I hope some of these tips are helpful for you all. I am by no means an expert on anxiety or anything mental health related but I have found that these can work for other people in a variety of settings also. Thanks for reading and I hope you all have a fantastic weekend!

Oh, I almost forgot…I’m interested in doing a vlog this weekend as a further push to overcome some anxiety and help us grow. If you all read this before the con and want to see it let us know on the Facebook page or twitter and we’ll see if we can make it happen. Game on!