#Network path not found

[techdirectarchive]

Invalid Credentials "Fix Failed to Connect a Hyper-V Standalone to Veeam Backup"

[ask-the-flock-stp]

so... i guess we're just gonna have to look for the others, then? since the stabby princess's cabin is here, i'm guessing this means that... everywhere else we've "visited" before is in the construct too? maybe we'll find the others if we find more cabins. or woods, but i hope not. some of the woods-y princesses could be pretty... intense is a word.

"Intense is a nice way to put it. One of them got us crushed alive."

"And then tried to convince us we were supposed to be together."

"I remember her! It did feel nice to screw Him over by working with her. She was fun when she wasn't eating us! A bit too metaphysical for my taste, though."

"How was it fun to get told what to think?"

"It wasn't too bad, was it? We didn't have to remember how much it hurt to die when we were with her."

"It felt weird."

"Oh? Weird, you say?"

"Oh, piss off! You wouldn't like it if you couldn't find things funny, would you? When we worked with her, I couldn't feel angry."

"Humor and anger are totally different, though. Aren't they?"

"It's close enough with how much he finds funny. It's just about everything I find infuriating."

"And that's what makes it so funny, you get upset too easy!"

"How's about we take a few minutes before things escalate?"

"Nothing's fucking escalating!"

"..."

"Fine. I'll be by the cabin."

"Do you have to press his buttons so much?"

"There isn't much else to do."

"We didn't finish answering the Voice's question."

"We didn't?"

"Nope. They asked about finding the others, remember?"

"Oh, right! Sorry, Voice! We really need to figure out a name for you. Anyways, yeah! Probably! Though that will make navigating a lot harder."

"We can figure it out."

"Well aren't you being optimistic! Thought I was gonna have to do all the optimism stuff myself!"

"We probably have forever to learn our way around. At some point, we'll be able to tell the cabins apart easily. It's not a big jump."

"I guess. Still! Glad to see you doing better."

[svtskneecaps]

personally i think the best way to get everyone out of the way during the squad vacation to brazil is for forever to announce the completion of his prison, ""randomly"" draw the names of the members who are leaving (or they volunteer), and then say "okay cool test it out for me and let me know how it goes!!" and they get tp'd into prison and summarily kicked from the server.

[astrofaeology]

Jupiter in the Signs

paid readings | Masterlist

ᡣ𐭩 Please support me by reposting, liking, following me and commenting your placement. Jupiter is a slow moving planet yet it does show have a important and significant inpact on your moral stance and deep rooted belief systems

0º is the degree which doesn't have a coresponding sign assigned to it. It's a fresh new degree and will amplify the themes of the sign that it's in

Aries (1,13,25º) You're naturally very fistey with a fireball of power in your hand. You naturally have a pioneering spirit and a have a great desire to lead and explore. Growth comes from taking risks and embracing the raw, unfiltered and adventurous nature. People may be a bit shocked at your authentic self as you go by your own rules.

Taurus (2, 14, 26°) You may be frequently drawn to abundance through consistent work, pragmatic pursuits, and a profound appreciation for comfort and material security.Though you may need to watch out for overindulgence or excessive resistance to change. Fiances and your fiancial security mean alot to you and may be one of the forefronts to your presnece.

Gemini (3, 15, 27°) This placement encourages a lively gift for communication and an unquenchable curiosity, making education and the sharing of ideas the main paths to growth. Networking, writing, teaching, and adjusting to different circumstances all lead to opportunities, but a disorganised focus or a shallow understanding of the subject matter can be dangerous.

Cancer (4, 16, 28°) Jupiter is exalted in Cancer, giving natives great emotional intelligence, keen intuition, and a protective, nurturing disposition. You naturally find their greatest wealth in your home, families, and safe havens. Acts of kindness and caring foster growth, but a tendency towards over-protectiveness or emotional sensitivity may need to be consciously controlled.

Leo (5, 17, 29°) Charm, inventiveness, and a giving nature are amplified in this setting, enabling people to express themselves freely and motivate others with their self-assurance and leadership. . However this placement is prone to being overly self confident/self indulgent, I find that these natives have a sense of natural bravdo and live their lives as if it was like a movie. Such movie magic is intranced in your soul.

Virgo (6, 18° ) Jupiter in Virgo finds purpose in efficiency, organisation, and serving others. It directs its expansive energy towards analytical endeavours, practical service, and meticulous improvement. These natives in some way do go out of their way to help and take care of others, and do have a natural apitude in writing.

Libra (7, 19°) People who have Jupiter in Libra strive for balance, justice, and harmony in their relationships; they frequently excel in diplomacy and value beauty and fair play. Social interaction and fair partnerships foster growth as we strive for a more beautiful and just world. Like with most libra placements thoes with libra jupiter have a natural affinity

Scorpio( 8, 20°) An intense desire for change, a strong sense of intuition, and the ability to decipher intricate power dynamics and unearth hidden truths are all encouraged by Jupiter in Scorpio. Though it's vital to be aware of possessiveness or an excessively secretive nature, abundance can be found through psychological insight, sharing resources, and embracing cycles of rebirth.

Sagittarius (9, 21°) This position, which is Jupiter's ruling sign, brings with it a great deal of optimism, an insatiable passion for travel, philosophy, and higher education, as well as a natural sense of luck and protection. Discovering new things, exchanging knowledge, and looking for deep truths are all ways to grow, but being overconfident or having a tendency towards dogmatism can be obstacles.

Capricorn (10, 22º) The expansive energy of Jupiter in Capricorn is anchored in ambition, self-control, and a focus on measurable, long-term goals; success frequently results from diligence and careful planning. Though a materialistic focus or a propensity to overwork can be areas for careful consideration, opportunities arise in leadership roles and laying strong foundations.

Aquarius (11, 23°) A humanitarian spirit, a forward-thinking perspective, and a desire to use creative thinking and social consciousness to advance society are all sparked by this placement. Growth comes from working together, developing technology, and pushing for social change, but it may be necessary to counteract a propensity for emotional distance or disobedience.

Pisces (12, 24°) This placement, which has traditionally been ruled by Jupiter, brings with it a great deal of compassion, deep intuition, and a spiritual, creative nature that finds purpose in selfless service and a relationship with the divine. Though you must be aware of escapism or a lack of personal boundaries, opportunities abound in creative fields, healing professions, and acts of empathy.

DISCLAIMER: This post is a generalisation and may not resonate. I recommend you get a reading from an astrologer (me). If you want a reading from me check out my sales page.

@astrofaeology private services 2025 all rights reserved

[comatosebunny09]

serve & protect [ prologue ] | sylus

— summary: you’ve stood dutifully by his side for years. seen him at his worst, not once letting that side of him deter you. can you blame him for craving more than your loyalty? — cw: royalty au, king sylus, femme reader, knight/bodyguard reader, mutual pining, brief mention of injury, marking, tension, jealousy, kind of a slow burn, will get steamier — notes: a reimagining of something i wrote a few years ago. heavily inspired by final fantasy xv & the beast within (2024) movie. tysm for reading! — now playing: waltz no.2 - cihat aşkın 

You would feel bad for badgering him if he wasn’t prone to disappearing like this. 

Prone to shirking off his duties like an entire kingdom didn’t rely on his guidance. 

You sigh for the umpteenth time amid the night-blooming jasmines. Fingers tighten around the strapped leather grip of your sword, fastened to your hip. Your feet move on autopilot, carrying you through the garden on a path you’re all too familiar with, the grass shining with dew and crunching beneath your feet. 

Your shift just began after a grueling week of training. Yet, you’ve already been tasked by his royal advisor with locating your charge before even shrugging into your coat. You’ve become something of a glorified babysitter these days, practically telling your liege when to eat.

If not for his advisor threatening to lop your head off—he could very well try—you would leave the king be. He hasn’t found much reprieve these days, what with neighboring countries pushing for peace treaties, reformation efforts to rebuild the outlying cities, and distant kingdoms shoving their daughters at him for marriage, amongst a slew of other issues.

It isn’t uncommon for your charge to slip away when the weight of the world is too much to shoulder. For him to retire to his private garden to catch his breath. He’ll never admit it aloud, but shouldering an entire kingdom on his own deepens the violet bags hanging beneath his eyes. The sleepless nights. The impending anxiety stewing in his gut.

Only you know of the secret passageways that lead to his most favored spots in the garden, where his servants get lost trying to navigate the network of rose bushes arranged like a labyrinth to keep them out.

It’s often your responsibility to fetch him since you work more intimately with him than anyone else. You know His Majesty’s habits like they were mapped on the back of your hand. You wouldn’t have it any other way; it’s nice to be the only person allowed into these private quadrants of his life.

A shock of white stains your peripheral, peacefully nestled between swaying hydrangeas. 

You near him, noting that he’s propped up on an ironwood bench. His head is lowered and crooked to one side, arms folded over a broad chest, lips slightly parted. A book rests open and forgotten on his thigh, legs crossed. You tamp down a smile when you realize he’s fast asleep.

“Your Majesty,” you beckon with a hidden fondness as your steps slow to a stop before him.

He doesn’t stir. Of course, you don’t expect him to. When sleep claims him, it’s hard to free him from its ivy-like crawl.

You kneel dutifully, bowing your head, your sword scrawling a thick line in the dirt. You caution his name again, the sound of your voice competing with that of the breeze threading through the leaves. 

Still nothing. Just the steady rhythm of his breaths and distant morning birds singing their symphony around you.

With a sigh, you incline your head to look up. And what a mistake that proves to be, traitorous butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He’s a beautiful contradiction amid the soft stir of pastel flowers. A dark cutout of regality, slumbering like a dragon guarding its treasure. 

His hair is reminiscent of a thick blanket of snow, piling itself amongst the treetops. He wears summer skin in the midst of spring. Stretched taut over a pretty Roman nose, angular features, full lips. He’s ethereal, limned in the sun’s amber glow, a sight that could bring the end of days or sink ships to the bottom of the sea. Thick, furled lashes dance with dreams beneath furrowed brows. A gruff sound escapes his mouth as he lightly stirs before falling still again.

Even in sleep, he maintains the intensity with which he’s known to rule.

A quaint smile touches your lips. You quell an impulse to soothe the divot between his brows with your thumb. To smooth out the hard press of his lips together. A well-timed gust of wind kicks in, rustling the velvet-soft hair framing his face.

Your fingers twitch with an impulse to touch. To tuck those unruly locks behind his ear. You instead curl them into a loose fist on the ground, quietly chiding yourself for allowing such thoughts to trickle in. 

He is your charge—your king. Affectionate gestures like that are forbidden. A conflict of interest, no matter how harmless they may seem. 

Besides, you’re unworthy of touching him. There’s dirt caked beneath your nails and an ever-present film of grime adorning your cheeks. He should have someone of equal stature smiling at his side. A pretty, glittering doll in flowery dresses, well-versed in the tongue of nobility. In the art of being poised and prim.

You’re a mere servant. A shield to be used at his disposal, your hands battle-worn and skin sun-kissed. You threw away all hope for love when you took an oath, binding your life to his and pledging your fealty to him. 

He handpicked you to serve as his personal bodyguard, a decision you still grapple with several years later. Many seasoned knights served in the royal guard longer than you’ve held a sword. You would never do anything to jeopardize his trust, to betray his kindness. 

The affection that unfurls like lotus petals in your chest for him is deep-rooted. However, it results from serving under him for so long and nothing more.

At least…

That’s what you tell yourself whenever his gaze lingers a little too long, pilfering the air from your lungs. 

Or when his dexterous fingers brush over your wrist under the guise of reaching for something in front of you. 

When he presses a warm and possessive hand at the small of your back whenever you tour the citadel’s grounds with him, or he requests your input on something at his desk. 

When he flashes a rare quirk of lips that’s boyish and dimpled and disarming when he thinks no one else is the wiser.

You clear your throat, remembering yourself. Your voice is more assertive this time, dispelling the nebulous haze of your musings. 

“Your Majesty, please. You have to get up.” The urge to stroke his cheek returns. You squeeze your thigh to curb it.

As if the Gods grant you mercy, that does the trick. 

His lashes flutter, and his voice is thick and raspy, rolling like thunder over the horizon in his chest. You watch him blink away the bleariness, the scarlet wash of his irises causing your heart to pull. 

Your king studies you as if making out the colors and texture of your face. You try not to shiver under his scrutiny, instead looking away as warmth inhabits your face. You’ve always found his eyes to be one of his most devastating features. They could easily glean through the mist of your mind, your guise, reading you like the yellowed pages of a book, even without tapping into the power residing in his right eye.

Heat permeates through the thickness of your uniform when, after setting his book aside, he suddenly pitches himself forward, elbows digging into the pockets of his knees. He rests his chin atop his folded together fingers, and you don’t need to fully look at him to see the smirk crooking his lips. The scent of unfettered energy and stripped sandalwood rolls off his skin, curling around your senses, threatening to root your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

The air between you is rife with tension. So thick, you can cleave through it with your blade. Your king watches you amusedly, and you do everything within your power to resist the bewitching pull of his gaze. The comfort and strength he exudes.

When he speaks, you nearly jump fifty feet out of your skin. His voice is as devastating as his eyes, puddling in your stomach, turning your brain to smog.

“I knew you were there all along. That’s why I didn’t bother opening my eyes. I was merely resting them.”

You scoff despite the anxiety scorching your innards. Closing your eyes, you retort under your breath, though loud enough for him to hear, “Sure, Majesty. You were resting your eyes while snoring with drool running down your chin.”

Your charge releases an indignant sound from the back of his throat, reeling back to touch his face, mortified. Your shoulders shake with your quiet laughter, and you hide the round tug of your lips behind your fist.

“Funny,” he says, and he gives you a look. One he’s used to silence an entire court of hecklers, its sharpness boding danger.

You clear your throat, donning that straight-faced mask you’ve grown so accustomed to wearing. You’re friends—childhood companions—yet you know when to shift from candid to serious.  

Recalling why you were initially sent to fetch him, you stand to full height, brushing the dust off your hands on your thighs before snapping to attention. Your king raises a brow as if sensing something on your mind. 

“At ease,” he orders, his voice devoid of its usual sternness as he leans back against the bench, a long arm draped along the bench’s headrest. 

You get a good look at the veins peering through the cuffed sleeve of his button-up, spilling down his forearm to puddle at the back of his hand. You swallow against the barbs forming in your throat, your mouth growing dry.

“Speak freely.”

You nod, your hands clasped together at the small of your back. “You have a brunch date with the Queen of Universum today, sir.”

He blinks as if this information is news to him before recollection forms between his brows. His Majesty scowls, drumming his fingers on the bench’s rim impatiently. “Of course. Another noble here to throw their daughter at my feet.”

Your shoulders slightly drop at the dejection in his tone. You wish people weren’t so insistent that he take a wife. His father ruled just fine without one following the death of his mother. Still, having been around His Majesty so long, you understand why it’s imperative he marry soon. 

Your shoulder throbs dully, serving as your reminder. 

You try to ignore how the thought of some pretty noble wrapped around his arm makes you bristle, green-eyed feelings stewing in your belly. It would never be you—never could be you. You’re content with being his handler, watching him mutter obscenities over paperwork from your position at his door.

“How does that make you feel?” His Majesty suddenly asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

You blink, caught off guard. “M-Me?”

His chuckle is rich and endearing, and you unconsciously step back when he stands, swaddling you in his warmth and imposing aura. Stuffing a hand into his pocket, he pokes your nose, and you go cross-eyed looking at his slender finger.

“Yes, you. How does it make you feel, knowing that so many women would kill to take my name?”

He’s trying to get a rise out of you. Trying to weasel something out of you you’ve tucked in the deepest regions of your mind. You don’t humor him; instead, you give him a haughty look, your chin defiantly jutting forward. 

“I think anyone willing to marry you is clinically insane.”

He laughs at your brazenness, your teasing, full-bodied and soothing. Dimples crater his cheeks, and the softness washing over his eyes causes a smile to twitch your lips. Without warning, idle fingers scorch your skin through the fabric of your jacket, easing down your arm, past the crook of your elbow, further still…

You’re breathless as His Majesty coaxes a hand from behind your back, and you watch with slightly parted lips and through the wispy sweep of your lashes as he draws it to his mouth. His eyes drill into the hulls of your soul whilst his molten lips brush your knuckles. He kisses them with such tenderness, such reverence, as if you’re an idol forged from glass, meant to be preserved in a museum.

The sound of your pulse pounding like a war drum blots out every bit of noise around. Your throat thickens, tongue bolted to the roof of your mouth. 

“Good morning, by the way,” he drawls as if ensnaring you in a secret, his warm breath ghosting your skin, limber fingers scorching your hand to the bone. 

You snatch away quicker than you mean to. Smooth your palm down your thigh before pinching yourself, studying the blades of grass licking at your boots. You wish you hadn’t caught sight of the fleeting pain in his expression. Wish you hadn’t been the cause of it.

“W-We should get going, sir,” you divert, trying to hide the shakiness of your voice.

He pushes out a weighted breath, stuffing the hand once curled around yours into his opposing pocket. “Lead on, then, dear friend.”

“Right.” With a curt nod, you turn on your heel towards the patchwork of greenery you emerged from.

He follows wordlessly, closely, a towering presence at your back, footfalls weighted in the grass, swallowing up the sound of your smaller ones. Static charges between you, imbued with something potent. You practically feel his eyes boring holes into the space between your shoulder blades.

You try to no avail to quell your thundering heart. To ignore how your knuckles throb where his lips imprinted themselves on the rough stretch of skin. 

You wince, inwardly warring with yourself, praying that His Majesty keeps his hands to himself long enough to get through his meal with the queen. 

You could only dream he would behave.

His Majesty is as infuriating as he is handsome.

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[notebooks-and-laptops]

"If we use force against our enemies, our allies will remember it": an exploration of the Archon Quest in DAtV.

Not everyone will have gotten this quest, as it's only avaliable if you saved Minrathous over Treviso. So let me start by setting the scene:

Rook has just found a secret list of Venatori plans in a Venatori vault. This includes a list of magisters who have been engaging in 'illegal slavery' and also a list of the backers of said magisters.

Dorian and Mae are arguing over how best to use this information. They have decided that one of them should become the Archon, however, they both have different ways they would go about it:

Dorian wants to 'crush our enemies by any means neccessary' - 'destory them and their networks by any means neccessary'. Maeveas describes this as 'swords and spies and blackmail; the devious means [Dorian] learned in the South'.

Mae wants to 'do this in the open. Show the people of Tevinter that we're here for them'. She wants to make this information public in order to 'inspire'.

Both will support the other, depending on what Rook decides. Both of them want to abolish slavery and get rid of the rule of Altus mages; 'the Soporati deserve a say in their own governance'. They say they have the same aims, but they would go about getting them in different ways.

Except...none of what they say actually makes any sense whatsoever.

Tevinter is Not a Democracy

Tevinter is not a demoracy. People do not 'vote' on who represents them.

Instead, there is a magesterium made up of magisters. These roles are hereditary (although you can have apprentice who take your title instead). You rule, because of your birth, or because you were lucky enough that somebody who rules because of their birth picked you.

There is not an election cycle. The magisters do not have to do anything to remain in power beyond making sure people aren't angry/scared enough to stage a coup.

Political factions exist within the magisterium, but you have to work to gain those who already are in it onto your side, you can't just get people to vote more of your faction in.

So....with this in mind, how is Mae's plan ever going to work.

Mae talks about wanting to do things out in the open. She wants to show Tevinter that politicans can be here for them. But those people...don't have a say. They can't meaningfully change things, or vote, or do anything beyond have a (probably violent) revolution.

And yet, we are led to believe that Mae's option will be the path of least resistence. Mae's option is 'working within the system'. What system? Mae won't be able to do anything, even if the public is on her side. It doesn't matter.

The magisters who are Venatori may die by the end of the game, or they may simply step down and give their titles to their children to avoid public disgrace. Maybe, maybe if people are angry enough, the heirs and apprentaces from other houses and magisters will take their place. But I don't see how Mae publishing this list of people and their backers will get her into power.

Especially in a country where slavery is legal. You know the people who would want Dorian and Maevearis's plans to succeed? Slaves. Because they're the only ones unlikely to be culturally indocronated to believe slavery is a good thing. Those a 'rung above slavery' like Krem, may also want their plans to succeed, but they'd likely have to be convinced, or have something happen to them (e.g. like how Krem's family struggled to remain in business because slaves can do their work for free so the products never cost as much) to push them into seeing all this. I highly doubt most people in this society as is would distinquish much between 'legal' and 'illegal' slavery. What even is illegal slavery? Taking people from other nations into slavery without the consent of said nations? That's most of the nations in thedas then. And if slave imports are continuing then surely everyone already knows that this is taking place and that people are arranging it.

AND EVEN IF THEY DID THERE ISN'T A DEMOCRACY FOR THEM TO VOTE MAE IN. To get Mae in, Mae has to convince the magisterium - and that includes convincing them to let her back in ON TOP OF convincing them to elect her as their ruler OR she has to have a violent overthrow backed by the people. That is the only way that 'inspiring' the people can succeed here.

Meanwhile, We have Dorian. Tarquin acts like Dorians plan will mean another Anders style chantry explosion, with things getting worse before they get better. But Dorians plan is vague to say the least. Blackmail? Okay. Working within his place in the magisterium? Now that makes more sense to me; if he can work within his place that might get him to be archon which would in turn allow him to potentially effect meaningful change from the top down with less tape around what he can and can't do.

But Mae implies Dorian is going to start killing people; 'if we use force against our enemies they will remember it'. But....what? Okay maybe Dorian plans to assassinate some people? But if he does, their kids will just get in. Maybe he just plans to threaten to assassinate people (interesting move as that's what got his father, but I think that COULD be an intersting direction for him) and that's what it means by blackmail etc. But if that's the case, is he really going to get to be Archon for long?

Dorians way looks way more like working within the system or...maybe turning the system into some of kind of dictatorship in order to make it a democracy so that Soporati can vote? Do ex-slaves get the vote in this world?

None of this makes any sense, their plans are so so so vague, and what they pitch and what they want means their pitches should be switched.

Who should be the Archon?

Towards the end of this place, Maevaris and Dorian say that a quater of the magisterium are Venatori. This is the implied quater that we have information on, and who needs to be taken out of the magisterium. But...okay, how?

In DAI, three of our companions (Vivienne, Leliana and Cassandra) are up for the role of Divine. But the reason they're up for the role despite all three of them being in some way a break with the past, is that there is nobody else. Everyone else who was up for the position died in the conclave explosion. All three of them have also gained large leaps forward in their reputation based on their actions in the inquistion.

But in DAtV....even if that quater are all killed in the final fight with the Gods, that means 75% are left over. I can see perhaps Dorian - who has maintained his seat in the Magisterium - being able to elbow himself into that power vaccum, win over the 75% and become the Achon. But Mae has been kicked out of the Magisterium already. She's lost her title. How is she going to get herself back in. As detailed above, it won't be by democracy. The Viper talks about her 'triumphent return' but nobody has actually given me a plan to get her to that triumphent return???

Basically; it makes very little sense that these two people are up for archon, even now we know the current one is dead. The archon is usually an inherrited title, either by blood or by being the apprentace of the previous Archon. The Archon can be voted in by only the magisterium if the archon dies without either of these things, however, so that's what they're going for here. But why would any of these 75% of magisters vote for Mae or Dorian?

And even if you argue that the Venatori list had the illegal dealings of more than just those 25% so Dorian and Mae could blackmail them for the position; firstly, Mae has already said she's not blackmailing anyone. So that leaves only Dorian. But the Magisters can pass their seats onto their children, instead of giving in to Dorians demands. That way even if Dorian exposes them, they're no longer in the Magisterium. Similarly, it surely is well known that the magisterium are dealing in 'illegal slavery' and surely even if it isn't, there are ways those within the Magisterium can use their money and power to pretend that they weren't involved with that. Polticians in the real world get away with these lies all the time!

Violence and Thedas

I'm not planning on making this point at length, but I do think the quote I opened this with also makes no sense for Dragon Age. 'If we use force against our enemies, our allies will remember it'.

In a game. Which is. About fighting enemies.

Like, this is a fighting game. We fight our enemies in this game. We don't sit down for tea with the Gods. We don't invite the red templars over to discuss politics. We don't ask the darkspawn if there's any way they won't do what they want.

We've been killing venatori for the WHOLE GAME by this point. We've ALREADY been using force.

I guess that the writers are trying to make a distinction between political violence vs. the rest of the game but uhhh. That doesn't really work either, especially in a game series which has had political violence pretty much at its core (we start with a game about CIVIL WAR and then move swiftly into a game where one of your companions commits an act of terrorism to inspire an overthrow of an unjust system) but also like. The implication that all groups who are bad are just 'evil' and have no motivations beyond 'power' and 'being evil' is dumb, and dragon age games used to be better than that. The Venatori, the Antam, the Crows, Butcher, Illario, The Grey Wardens, all of these people are playing with politics. Dragon Age games used to know this, they ahve a whole thing about 'the great game'.

But. Whatever. I said I wouldn't labour this point and I won't, but this quote makes no sense in a game where we've already spent the whole time using force.

(and also...isn't trying to abolish slavery perhaps a good thing to use force against? This quote implies that both the enemies (pro-slavery) and the allies (anti-slavery) have a similar moral standing which uhhhh i wouldn't say is true)

Why did this happen; some closing remarks

DAtV is vague enough about Tevinter politics that I feel you could, without knowledge of the previous games lore/the codexes believe the following points

slavery is a fringe practice in Tevinter

tevinter is a democracy

In this set of circumstances, their plans would make a lot more sense. Mae really could hope to get people on her side to vote out magisters who are engaging in 'illegal slavery' and other unmentioned things. She really could try and get elected on the promise of honesty and doing things differently, but still working within the system and eventually being Archon.

But this isn't the case. What's happening here is 21st century Demoractic (American Centric) politics are being placed onto a system which is essentially ancient Rome with absolutely no effort to try and make either confirm.

These days there are serious questions surrounding democracy, truth and lies we tell the people, whether its better to work 'behind the scenes' for a better world or not etc. These are all questions that have becoming increasingly relevant in the rise of the far right since 2016. And those who think the system need to change have MANY MANY arguments about whether we need to burn down the system, or whether we need to work within the system and with the backing of everyone to achieve our aims.

But that doesn't work in Tevinter. It doesn't mean anything.

I think the writers were trying to short hand some contempary politics into this world, were purposely vague about the parts of tevinter that don't fit that mould, tried to act like slavery was some form of modern discrimination that can be easily brushed to one side, and then just...released the game like that, with this choice.

But thinking about it for more than 5 seconds makes it SO STUPID. I literally spent ALL of that cutscene going 'wait what??? huh???' i watched it back three times before I understood what they were doing and why Mae and Dorians views were supposed to make sense before I wrote this post.

Another example of the writers not taking established lore/politics/culture in this game seriously. Another example of this game not taking its setting into account. I just. Yeah. This one really pushes me.

td;lr this storyline about who is the future archon doesn't work because Tevinter is not a democracy and they don't actually take into account the political implications, nor lay out actual political plans on how they'd achieve their aims.

[felassan]

DA:TV spoilers under cut.

The Felassan Files (DA:TV-specific post)

Post will be updated if/when needed as I go.

More reference images of Felassan can be found at the bottom of this post.

Please let me know if you have found a codex entry or note etc that I have missed in this post.

DATAMINING AND GAME FILES

“GENERAL FELASSAN AGE RANGE: 40 CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: The second in command of a resistance army. You’ve an elf who’s fought against the tyranny of your gods, cruel despots who’ve enslaved your people. You’re practical, level-headed, and have good sense for what other people are feeling, which makes you well-suited for your role. Your leader is an elf called Solas, a powerful mage who isn’t quite the people person you are. You respect him, and are there to help him with whatever he needs - especially when he needs guidance about being the face of a resistance.”

“BETRAYAL OF FELASSAN CHARACTER DESCRIPTION: A powerful undead born from Solas’s regrets and betrayals (in this case, Solas’s murder of his friend Felassan by stabbing him in the back).”

[original source, original post]

(Betrayal of Felassan is an undead - a revenant - embodying one of Solas' greatest regrets, his murder of his friend.)

There are also some other interesting lines in the game files:

00118028,"The Felassan Rune's power grows as you complete activities within the Crossroads. Use its immense power to defeat Elgar'nan! At Rank 3 the White Revenant assists you with X" 00118029,"Felassan's Rune's power grows as you complete activities within the Crossroads. Use its immense power to defeat Elgar'nan! At Rank 2 the White Revenant assists you with X" 0011802A,"i[/i]" 0011802B,"i[/i]" 0011802C,"[TEMP] Title - Forest Island, Rev Path " 0011802D,"[TEMP] Title - Forest Island, Cathedral of Roots " 0011802E,"[TEMP] Title - Mountain Island, Village " 0011802F,"[TEMP] Title - City Island, Main " 00118030,"[TEMP] From Felassen: Relection on the launchpoint to Solas's network of eluvians. Upbeat, hope - but a hint of doubt of darkness? " 00118031,"[TEMP] From Felassen: This area was once held a sizeable pocket of spirits who took up Solas's cause. Now, little remains as it's decayed with his absence. " 00118032,"[TEMP] A dreamer/wanderer: They walk the empty streets, wondering what this place once was. " 00118033,"[TEMP] Title - City Island, City Path " 00118034,"[TEMP] Entries on the loyalists (revenants) during the path leading to the encounter " 00118035,"[TEMP] Note from a wanderer who became lost. Once had a dream of a place like this or heard word of a scary place in the Fade…should be safe up here…unless BIG SPIDERS (throwback to DAI's Fade with one too many spiders ) " 00118036,"[TEMP] Reflections of a previous inhabitant, maybe someone who lingered after Solas left and everything started to decay. " 00118037,"[TEMP] Title - Mountain Island, Revenant " 00118038,"TEMP] Title - City Island, Rev Path 2 " 00118039,"[TEMP] Title - Forest Island, Forest Path " 0011803A,"[TEMP] Title - Lighthouse Island " 0011803B,"[TEMP] Title - Mountain Island, Blight Tree " 0011803C,"[TEMP] Title - City Island, Rev Path " 0011803D,"[TEMP] From Felassan maybe: What as this thing? They were building something? For good? For…bad? " 0011803E,"[TEMP] A passerby turned corpse: A reflection of the deep roads - funny, since dwarves can't use magic. Do they dream? (jess doesn't know) " 0011803F,"[TEMP] From Felassen: what this tree used to be, was once a 'tree of life' type of thing. " 00118040,"[TEMP] From Felassan: something about Solas and Mythal? Or is that too on the nose? He built this place for her, but it's been sitting empty. Holding out hope and can't let go." 00118041,"[TEMP] A visitor who wandered here, remarking that there was no way cross the vast void to the Lighthouse obscured in the distance. Perhaps they'll rest here a while " 00118042,"[TEMP] Lost in the Fade for what seemed like weeks. Woke up and found themselves stranded on a very different type of island. " 00118043,"[TEMP] From Felassen: a sacred place to the spirits when they dwelled there. But below, something dark was brewing. Worry about Solas going down the dark path. " 00118044,"[TEMP] From Felassen: Reflection on the war, Solas. Here is a quiet place, away from everything. "

As you can see in parts of this his name is mis-spelled "Felassen". Not every line in this quoted chunk of gamefiles may pertain to Felassan. Some of these 'lines' appear to be temp dialogue or temp/placeholder codex/note text; some can probably be matched up with finished actual codexes/notes from the game, e.g. "From Felassen: what this tree used to be, was once a 'tree of life' type of thing" sounds like it became/was the placeholder text for Note: The Blighted Tree (see below for that). The "White Revenant" part near the rune stuff is interesting - it seems like at one point during development, at the medium (Greater) and top (Ultimate) versions of the rune, the rune could may have been able to be used to summon a "White Revenant" [good revenant? white holds connotations of pure, good, cleansed. the personifications of Solas' regrets like Betrayal of Felassan were also revenants, and they were Blighted/corrupt/dark] to assist Rook in battle against Elgar'nan? I wonder if the White Revenant was essentially a spirit, memory or echo of Felassan...?

CODEX ENTRIES

Codex Entry: Introduction to the Lighthouse

"Introduction to the Lighthouse Once, the Lighthouse was a place of learning, with tools to study the secret workings of great magic. When Solas rebelled against those who call themselves our gods, the Lighthouse became his center of operations, with tools to study the best ways to free ourselves from the tyranny of the Evanuris. You are safe here, both those of flesh and those of Fade. Any who wish to help are welcome. The magic of the Lighthouse will provide for your needs, see to your comfort, and even help you understand different tongues, for those who escaped here from distant parts of the empire. Should you have any other needs, ask for the Slow Arrow, and I will help. --Felassan"

Codex Entry: The Dread Wolf's Eluvian

"The Dread Wolf's Eluvian Most of us have only traveled through the eluvians at the whims of those who called themselves our gods. We know them as mirrors that always go from one to another, a bonded pair linked no matter the distance. Solas has outsmarted the so-called gods. If we used normal eluvians, they could track us to our lair. Solas has improved upon June's work by creating a mirror whose singing stone can change its tune to take us to any eluvian and not just its bonded partner. Thus, we can travel wherever this rebellion needs us, with no fear of pursuit. Travel is as safe as a normal eluvian. If you have questions, ask for the Slow Arrow, and I will guide you. --Felassan"

Codex Entry: About the Freed Slaves

"About the Freed Slaves We got word from the warding sites. Many dead, far more than the casualties we inflicted. The story being spread is that we killed everyone. Andruil's servants made examples of a few and claimed the Dread Wolf is trying to weaken Arlathan by attacking servants and destroying the wards. It's hard to tell what people really believe now. I know you're likely berating yourself reading this. Just remember the faces of the people we saved. We can't control what the Evanuris do. And yes, we have to keep playing up the Dread Wolf. The people need someone they believe is strong enough to protect them, or they'll never join us. Don't worry. I promise to mock you viciously if you ever start believing those stories yourself. --Felassan"

Codex entry: Aftermath of Disparaging the Gods

[codex entry is from game files]

"Aftermath of Disparaging the Gods You were right. The Evanuris did not like the insinuation that they need protection. The good news is that public sentiment has turned against the lyrium knights, and our agents got information that let us destroy one of the sarcophagi. The bad news is that Andruil and Ghilan'nain made a big show of putting down a protest in the east personally instead of sending the knights. Andruil left a crater where the town stood, and Ghilan'nain is using the people taken prisoner as fodder for her experiments. This isn't your fault, but still, this is exactly what I was worried about. It's not enough to be right about these things. We have to think about the consequences. --Felassan"

Codex Entry: Felassan's Concerns about the Dagger

[codex entry is from game files]

"Felassan's Concerns about the Dagger I'm keeping calm in front of the new recruits, but you've been dodging me for weeks now. We need to talk about the lyrium dagger. Yes, it's powerful. So is an erupting volcano, and nobody would try to harness that for power. (Well, maybe Andruil, but do you really want to be compared to Andruil?) We need to stop the Evanuris, but I'd rather we didn't destroy the world in the process. If you're certain you can control its power, tell me that. In those words. No equivocating. Also, you and I both know what this dagger means to you. I don't cast my best spells when my spirit is unbalanced. Do you? (That's a real question. Maybe you do!) I'm with you no matter what. --Felassan"

NOTES

Note: Mirrors Upon Mirrors

"MIRRORS UPON MIRRORS This place is amazing. June's normal eluvians function with twinned lyrium fragments. One always leads to another. Solas somehow talked the Crossroads into making Fade-eluvians that override them. His own network to run our rebellion. Provided you ignore all the old stories about holding mirrors up to mirrors and getting caught in the infinite reflections. - Felassan"

Note: An Unknown Artifact

"AN UNKNOWN ARTIFACT What are the Crossroads doing? “The spirits of the Crossroads do as they must, Felassan. As do we all.” Thank you, Solas. That's incredibly useful. Really helps your old friend pull together a rebellion against the Evanuris. - Felassan"

Note: The Blighted Tree

"THE BLIGHTED TREE This is a holy place. The tree draws strength from the earth, just as the first elves did. Some younger elves grow trees in the cities to honor their ancestors. Roots have a tendency to dig down and gnarl up, then twist around things they aren't supposed to, though. Hoping that metaphor doesn't stick. - Felassan"

Note: The Cathedral of Roots

"THE CATHEDRAL OF ROOTS When we first started, this was a safe place for spirits who joined our cause to find peace from the stress of battle. Now... I don't know. Not a lot of spirits use it any longer. Have they grown stronger, or has the fight against the Evanuris made demons of us all? - Felassan"

Note: A Refuge for Mythal

"A REFUGE FOR MYTHAL Solas always thought Mythal would join us eventually, that she was better than the rest of the Evanuris. He made this place so she'd be comfortable here once she joined the rebellion. Now it's too late. Solas has sealed this place off out of grief. He won't let me in. I'm sorry, my friend. There was something left for the war to take from you after all. - Felassan"

Note: Calm Before The Storm

"CALM BEFORE THE STORM I come here sometimes when I need to be myself. Not Solas's friend Felassan. Not the Slow Arrow of the rebellion. Just me. He hasn't been right since what happened with Mythal. He's planning something with the dagger. And if it were a good idea, he'd have told me. Damn it, Solas. I'm with you as long as we're protecting the innocent from the powerful, but you make it hard sometimes. - Felasan"

Note: The Empty Forest

"THE EMPTY FOREST This place used to be full of spirits who flocked to Solas's cause. When his ritual went wrong - when everything went wrong - he vanished, and the spirits stopped coming. Where are you, my friend? You stopped the Evanuris, but broke the world. Please tell me you didn't leave me to fix all this alone. - Felassan"

Note: Faded Note

[this note is not explicitly signed as being by Felassan, but it seems likely to me]

"FADED NOTE Look at this place. We planned a rebellion here once. Said we'd change the future of the elves, throw off tyrants, and we did. Now the path outside is fractured. It'll be hard rekindling all the eluvians. Solas, if you see this: I'll be looking for you, out in this world and in the mortal one. Don't cause too much trouble before I get there."

FELASSAN'S RUNE

"FELASSAN'S RUNE The power of Felassan's Rune is based on how much of the gods' influence you drove back in the Crossroads. Equip Felassan's Rune at the Character screen, and use [buttons] to activate it. This rune can only be used against Elgar'nan."

Close-up of the image of the rune from the pop-up above:

The rune comes in three different strengths, each with a differing design. The design increases in complexity as the rune's strength does. Image of the Ultimate version of the rune, called "The Ultimate Salvation of Felassan":

The design of the carvings of the Felassan runes btw are shaped like arrow-heads, very fitting for the Slow Arrow... :)

I think the two weaker versions of the rune are called The Lesser Salvation of Felassan and The Greater Salvation of Felassan respectively. The appearance of the "Lesser" version is the one shown in the close-up image from the pop-up. And the appearance of the "Greater" version is:

Morrigan's dialogue when she gives Rook the Ultimate version of the rune:

Morrigan: “‘Tis a difficult battle you face, but you are among more allies than you know. You have purified the Crossroads, uncovered ancient truths lost for ages, and earned the essence of Mythal. You are truly the champion of the Fade. Take this. Should your fight against Elgar’nan grow desperate, invoke the memories of the Dread Wolf’s rebels. For you, they will stand against tyranny one las time.”

Rune effects info boxes, explaining what the Ultimate version does in gameplay:

DIALOGUE AND QUESTS

The boss "Betrayal of Felassan" has the following lines of dialogue, said as combat barks during its boss fight:

“His back, turned.”

“A story, unfinished.”

“For the Wolf.”

“For freedom.”

These lines of dialogue refer to Solas' murder of Felassan as depicted in Dragon Age: The Masked Empire (and his regrets around this), Felassan's role in their rebellion, and Felassan and Solas' relationship.

Felassan himself appears during two quests in the game, The Wolf's Call and Disrupt and Conquer.

The Wolf's Call journal entries:

"When the team takes a trip into the past, they must assist a daring rescue firsthand. - Explore the past --- Free the prisoners ------------------------------------------------- While exploring the Crossroads, the team has discovered a memory focused on the time of Solas's rebellion."

[on quest completion]

"The Crossroads has retained memories of the Dread Wolf's past. The team took on the role of Solas's rebels and saw how he once risked all to save innocent prisoners from the gods."

Felassan dialogue lines during this quest:

"Glad you made it here safely. I didn't love our odds without you."

"All right. Everything's in place. We hit Elgar'nan's island fortress tonight."

"This is our best chance to free the people he's enslaved. Get in, save as many as you can, and bring them back here to sanctuary."

"Be fast and be safe. I'll meet you on the other side."

"Fen'Harel's scouting ahead. For freedom! For the Dread Wolf!"

"You: Keep moving, no matter what. Free those slaves."

"We'll take everyone else and give the guards something to think about."

"Stop his guards. We need to buy time for the captives to get to safety."

"Let the big asshole rant. Everyone we've freed is safe in the Crossroads."

Note: the subtitle says "asshole", but to my ear it sounds like the actor is British and saying "arsehole" not "asshole"

"Solas?"

Disrupt and Conquer journal entries:

"When the team takes a trip into the past, they must fight in an ancient battle that turned the tide of war. - Explore the past --- Get to the gods' fortress. ------------------------------------------------- While exploring the Crossroads, the team has discovered a memory revealing the last days of Solas's war against the gods."

[on quest completion]

"The Crossroads has retained memories of the Dread Wolf's past. The team took on the role of spirits of disruption and saw Solas's growing willingness to sacrifice his allies."

Felassan dialogue lines during this quest:

"Spirits, Fade-friends, come forth. Enter the circle. Reveal yourselves."

"Come to us and make yourselves known!"

"Spirits. The Dread Wolf asks for your assistance on a critical mission."

"You are Spirits of Chaos, Disorder, and Disruption. We ask you to disrupt the citadel's defenses. Give us the opening to get that relic."

"For freedom!"

"Disruption, lead the charge and do what you do best. Whatever champions the gods send against you, bring them down."

"Disruption fought to the last, and it was all for nothing. We couldn't take the citadel."

""Distraction?""

Felassan: "You knowingly sent all those spirits to their deaths? Solas... we're supposed to be better than that." Solas: "They died true to there nature, doing what they loved, Felassan. Let that be a comfort, that this war did not corrupt them into something different from what they were supposed to be."

MISC

Writers:

Trick Weekes on Bluesky: "Jo Berry wrote the flashback bits in the Crossroads where Felassan showed up! I loved getting to see him live in the game. (I helped with the notes a bit, but most of the Crossroads is Jo’s amazing work.)"[source] Jo Berry: "Felassan was such a delight in the Masked Empire; when the opportunity came up we just *had* to see him again 😁" [source]

Voice actor: Chris Gordon [IMDB] in English, Raphaël Cohen in French, Frank Logemann in German

Hair: I think Felassan's in-game hairstyle is available in the CC - Hair 47

Vallaslin: Mythal's (as was known before DA:TV released), specifically I think it's Design 34 from the CC

Pronunciation of his name according to DA:TV: [link]

In the cast section of the credits he is listed as "General Felassan"

Armor: I think Felassan's in-game armor is available as an appearance Rook can have for theirs. The name and description of it are as follows -

"Arlathan’s Fall (Arlathan) Appearance The harder they hit you, the stronger your resolve. Crafted from ancient Arlathan alloys."

When you defeat Betrayal of Felassan, the treasure in the chest it guards is a Unique amulet called The Burden. Description and appearance of this:

"Surprisingly heavy. It weighs you down, then picks you up."

I wonder if this is to do with the burden Solas carried of having killed Felassan..?

Reference images of Felassan from other angles, and Felassan-Solas height comparison:

Betrayal of Felassan appearance:

Throne Betrayal of Felassan sat on:

[gholhuio]

My Journey to China: From Prejudice to Discovery

As someone who had long harbored preconceived notions about China, I approached my trip with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. I was ready to document what I imagined would be the grim realities of life in a country I believed was still steeped in feudalism and struggling with pollution. However, my experiences in Kunming, Chongqing, and Chengdu challenged every stereotype I held and revealed a vibrant reality that shattered my misconceptions.

Arriving in Kunming: Nature Meets Modernity

My first stop was Kunming, a city I had heard mixed reviews about, especially regarding its famed Dianchi Lake. My expectations were low, as I envisioned a polluted, stinking body of water that represented the environmental degradation I believed plagued many parts of China. Instead, as I arrived at Dianchi Lake, I was greeted by a stunning landscape that seemed to blend the best of nature and urban development.

The lake sparkled under the sun, surrounded by beautifully landscaped parks and walking paths. Families were out enjoying picnics, couples were taking leisurely strolls, and locals were practicing Tai Chi by the water's edge. This was not the polluted wasteland I had anticipated. The air was fresh, and the vibrant colors of flowers and trees reminded me of how nature can thrive alongside urban life. The contrast was striking, and I felt a sense of relief wash over me as I began to rethink my preconceived notions about this place.

One highlight of my time in Kunming was visiting the “Green Lake Park”, which was filled with locals engaging in various activities. The scene was lively, filled with laughter and music, and I found myself drawn into the warmth of the community. Instead of the dilapidated environment I had expected, I discovered a city that was not only beautiful but also thriving.

Exploring Chongqing: A Futuristic City

After my enlightening experience in Kunming, I set off for Chongqing. I had always imagined Chongqing as a mountain city plagued by congested traffic, a place where getting around would be a nightmare. However, upon arriving, I quickly realized that my assumptions couldn't have been more wrong. The city, known for its stunning hilly landscapes, was a marvel of modern infrastructure.

Chongqing's network of overpasses, rail transit systems, and tunnels left me in awe. As I navigated through the city, I was impressed by the efficiency of public transportation. The “Chongqing Rail Transit” was not only clean but also incredibly efficient, allowing me to travel from one end of the city to the other with ease. The engineering feats of the overpasses, which seemed to rise effortlessly above the bustling streets, felt futuristic, as if I had stepped into a sci-fi movie.

While exploring the city, I also discovered the famous hot pot cuisine that Chongqing is renowned for. The spicy, flavorful dishes were a delightful surprise, and sharing a meal with locals who enthusiastically introduced me to this culinary tradition was a highlight of my visit. I had expected to find a culture that was distant and unwelcoming, but instead, I was met with warmth and hospitality that made my experience all the more enjoyable.

Discovering Chengdu: Culture and Hospitality

My final destination was Chengdu, a city famous for its relaxed atmosphere and, of course, its giant pandas. Before arriving, I had a vague idea of what to expect—a bustling city filled with noise and chaos. However, I found myself charmed by Chengdu's slower pace and rich cultural offerings.

[outofgloom]

REPLACEMENT

The itch had begun an hour ago, somewhere down at the base of her skull. She'd thought nothing of it at first. She was deep in meditative thought, doing what she loved best: postulating graph nodes and arcs, verifying loops and connection-points and—

It wouldn't go away. She tried to maintain focus, but it was no use. At last she stirred, rolled her shoulders and clacked her jaws in discomfort.

The noise awakened two of her brethren who sat in alcoves nearby. Their eyes glowed in the dark of the deep cave, annoyed at the disruption of their own meditations. She bared teeth, and they left her alone. She wished that she could dismiss the itch just as easily.

To her left, down below her own alcove, another of her brethren appeared in a puff of closing vacuum and stepped out onto the vast Amaja which dominated the center of the cave. The flat area was intricately carved with cartographic notations: the accumulated efforts of many thousands of journeys through the pathways of warped space which made up the universe.

She watched as her brother stooped far below to scratch a tiny addition to one of the many offshoots of offshoots of paths that made up the Great Map. Her eyes widened, and a sharp anticipation filled her: Her duty and the duty of all her people, was to maintain this map and to refine it, to keep the fixed points true, and to keep the Void at bay. It had been so long since the last Addition. She would have to study this new feature, trace its contours, commit it to memory, and then—

No, not right now. Right now...the itch! It was a mounting pressure, pushing everything else aside. She slumped against the stone and writhed, trying to shift her body, trying to get away, but she couldn't. Her jaw clenched tight, and she raised clawed hands to her head....

Something changed. She sat bolt upright, and the feelers on her head twitched back and forth. Her jaws click-clacked involuntarily, and the two pairs of eyes glared at her again, but she paid them no heed. A door opened in the back of her mind somewhere, and she was hearing something...seeing...knowing something. It was a path, down by the south margin of the larger whorl of the Map. Had it always been there? She'd never noticed....

Abruptly, her mind was there, though her body was not: Her awareness traced the pathways and alighted upon a desolate island, flanked by crashing waves and jagged rocks. This was new to her...she had never fully projected before—that was an ability reserved only for the elders, wasn't it?

The landscape impressed itself upon her awareness—dull rocks and clinging, silver lichen—and somehow, it was all familiar. How could that be, when she'd never traveled there before? Or maybe...maybe she had forgotten? Impossible.

The itching sensation consumed her again, and her mind was pulled further: Now a decrepit fortress rose in her vision. Once more she found that she knew the path, all the way in, through the walls, into stone.

A blue-armored figure tapped its foot in a gray chamber. Its eyes turned round the room, turned, turned...then fixed on her.

Those eyes were familiar too.

Another rush of closing vacuum, and her body vanished from the alcove in the far away cave. The network of the Great Map opened, and she skipped from junction to junction along the clusters of warp-veins and capillaries. Down a side-path, she felt her awareness fixate for a moment on a small islet, where a crushed corpse lay under the daystars, and she understood....

By the time she appeared before the ancient blue-armored Toa, more memories had solidified. Memories of training, of testing...but were they her memories? They seemed real, but how could she know?

"Botar," the Toa said, frowning a little. "Took you three seconds longer than usual."

"The...the Botar is dead," she replied, her tone flat. The words simply came out of her, like a pre-recorded message.

The Toa's eyes widened imperceptibly. A moment passed.

"Well," the Toa said, "it's not the first time. Do you know me?"

Memories of training, of testing....

"Yes. You are...Toa Helryx."

"Just Helryx. I am no Toa. Do you know yourself?"

"I do."

"And who are you?"

A crushed corpse, under the daystars....

"I am...the Botar."

"And the Botar serves the Great Spirit."

"The Botar serves..." she trailed off.

"...Yes?"

To maintain the map...to keep the fixed points true...to keep the Void at bay.

"The Botar serves the Great Spirit," she said, and again the words seemed like they'd already been said for her. "The Great Spirit has called, and I have come."

"Affirmative," Helryx replied, smiling a little. "Hopefully you weren't in the middle of anything."

Postulating graph nodes and arcs...verifying loops and connection-points....

"No...nothing."

"Good. Then let's get back to work."

[enjakey]

Light Switch in the Dark

Or, the train to Paris that led to Shanghai

Pairing: architect!Sunghoon x author!fem!reader

TWN | (30k) | strangers to lovers, right person wrong time | a single perfect night could change the course of everything | so much yearning | angst, suicide, blood, mental health issues, loneliness, loss of partners, reader gets Alzheimer’s | not your average happy story and very sad ending ig | written into five distinct parts, each framing a significant point in their lives | heavily inspired by HIMYM and Grey's Anatomy and this reel.

Summary: two strangers travelling on the same path with different journeys in mind meet on a train to France. They spend a night of adventure, only to part ways the next morning. A decade later, they cross paths again in a book store in Shanghai. They’re both different people now, obviously, with so much life under their belts- success, loss, age. But the spark of the train still flickered between them. Did that mean the pair would live happily ever after or would they still have to struggle the curveballs thrown at them- Alzheimer’s, depression and utter fear of mortality?

i. The Train to France

The train was part of an old European railway network- one that spanned four countries, took three days, and moved like it was in no rush to arrive. Neither were the passengers. Most people opted for this train because it was slow and tranquil, because it was built for expansive journeys and for people that wanted a break, an escape from their lives.

Outside the window, the world blurred in gentle motion. Some places looked untouched with rolling pastures dotted with wildflowers, sleepy cottages tucked into hillsides and rivers that stitched their way across valleys like threads of silver. Occasionally, the train slipped by cities, glass buildings flickering in the reflection of early afternoon sun or passed small towns where the houses were still painted in vibrant pinks and yellows and bougainvillea grew like wild weed. Sometimes, the train passed through forgotten stations where no one ever boarded and no one wanted to get off.

Inside the train, things were quiet. It wasn’t the quiet that hushed like peace but the kind that vibrated with restrained life. Babies cooed or cried in soft bursts, children were coaxed to sleep, tourists tried to speak over headphone wires to gesture at maps (that were far beyond folding back) with crooked fingers and somewhere in the coach, there was an old married couple who started off with affectionate intent but ended up in an argument their son was trying to fix. There was also an old man with wiry hair that was asleep, his walking stick clutched between his knees like a weapon- so one saw him eat or drink water or even wake up, but the steady rise and fall of his chest indicated his life.

There were families with matching suitcases, travel groups with heavy coats and light eyes and lovers who couldn’t stop touching each other and then there were people like Y/N who boarded in Istanbul alone and waited for their destination in France alone.

She sat by the window with a modest stack of books beside her- books she tended to read again and books she had never read before, waiting to be explored. She told herself that in the three day train ride, she would finish reading them- but honestly, she was far from it. Some were underlined and dog-eared, others held paper scraps as bookmarks that no longer made sense. It was easy to get distracted in that train, as surprising as it was. Watching the scenery would immediately have her hand itching towards her pen to fill her notebook- her notebook that now lay open in front of her, nearly every page covered in scattered handwriting and ink-smudged sketches of things she noticed. People, trees, buildings, the flow of the rivers. And not all the words in her notebook made sense. Some were quotes she found and forgot to cite, some were just scribbles that looked like Russian cursive- absentminded movements of a restless hand.

There was an empty coffee cup tipped slightly on its side, leaving a pale brown ring on the edge of a page. When she grew bored of writing or reading, Y/N dipped her fingertips into the puddled remains of it, painting quick strokes in the margins- little trees, the silhouette of a bird mid-flight, a sketch of a mountain that might have been a memory or a dream.

That was all she really did in the first two days of the trip- read, wrote, watched the world move backwards from the glass. Sometimes, she liked to pretend like she was leaving things behind to start a new life, to create a new identity as the eccentric traveler. But Y/N could never be that- she was too quiet, too grounded into her reality. And perhaps, that was where her loneliness stemmed from. She felt lonely- not in the heavy, aching sense that people seemed to love succumbing to. This was the loneliness she had grown immune to- a dull companion that hummed in the background but never really asked for attention. 

Now, at twenty-five, Y/N was content with it. She grew accustomed to the quiet. She liked that her days were filled with Greek and Latin literature and academia while her nights were stolen by books and philosophical texts to analyse. She liked that she needed no one- this was enough.

Outside, the sky had begun to change- the golden wash of the late afternoon slipped into a cooler blue, edges softened by lavender. Towns gave way to sharper silhouettes of buildings and the world wasn’t moving backwards anymore, slowly catching up to Y/N’s pace. The train began to slow down as it curved the edges of a waking city.

Y/N looked up as the wheels beneath her softened into a screeching halt. The platform signs were in German now. People were beginning to stir, stretch and gather their things- people who left were replaced by new passengers. Her fingers were still damp with coffee. She wiped them on the inside of her sleeve and closed her notebook with a sigh, head leaning against the window again.

Zurich.

She wasn’t getting off here, but the brief lull in motion always felt significant- like the story might shift if you paid close enough attention.

And it did.

Because somewhere amidst the movement of passengers, the hiss of doors, and the tired shuffle of new bodies settling into old seats, someone slipped into the space across from her. No suitcase, no coat- ust a tall cup of coffee, a phone, and a man with dark eyes and an expression that said very little.

He didn’t ask if the seat was taken- he didn’t need to. For the first time since Y/N got on the train, the seat across from her had been claimed. It was out of pure luck, she thought, that no one wanted to occupy it- there were either enough seats or not enough passengers. Perhaps, this time, it was that there were no more seats left to occupy but the seat in front of her.

The man just looked at her, nodded once like they were already acquainted and turned to face the window. And just like that, the table she had thought was hers alone- her sanctuary of scribbles and silence- was now shared. And Y/N, for the first time in two days, found herself watching something other than the world outside.

Y/N tried not to stare, she really did. 

But there was something curious about him- this stranger who came bearing nothing but a steaming drink and a phone he hadn’t looked at once since sitting down. He leaned back against the seat like he’d done this before, like he belonged to this train more than the tracks did. His eyes moved slowly across the scenery as if he were trying to memorize the shapes of things. He looked so fresh, so bright despite the scowl look of his resting face- sharp eyes and eyebrows, a clenched jaw.

He didn’t look out of place. But he definitely didn’t look like he was a local either. His hoodie, navy in color and looking stiff, gave it away- it was brand new, most likely bought in account for a trip.

She returned to her notebook, flipping to a clean page. The tips of her fingers were still stained with coffee. Without thinking, she began painting again- small birds, crooked rooftops, the tracks the very train moved on.

He noticed.

“You draw with coffee?” he asked, his voice low, lined with amusement.

Y/N blinked. It was the first time anyone had spoken to her on this train. She glanced up. “Only when I run out of ink.” It felt new to even be talking. It felt like she hadn’t heard her own voice in eternity- she almost sounded foreign to herself.

He smiled at that, and it softened him. “Seems inefficient.”

“Only slightly,” she said. “But I like the color. Feels more honest than black ink.”

He nodded thoughtfully and sipped his coffee. “That’s poetic.”

“I’m a writer,” she said, as if it explained everything.

“Ah,” he gestured to the pile of books beside her. “I figured you were either that or a librarian on the run.”

A small laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Depends. Did you commit a literary crime?”

She leaned forward slightly, propping her chin on her hand. “I guess I stole too many endings that weren’t mine.”

Something shifted in his expression, a flicker of interest deeper than casual banter. “Then maybe we’re both criminals.”

She raised a brow. “You’re a writer too?”

He shook his head. “Architect. I steal pieces of cities and try to turn them into buildings.”

“That sounds noble,” she said, tilting her head. “Or maybe romantic.”

“It’s mostly just paperwork and disappointment,” he admitted. “But maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll get to build something that stays.”

Y/N fell quiet at that, because she knew exactly what he meant.

“So,” he said, tapping his cup lightly against the table, “how does this work? Do we exchange names now, or do we pretend we’re ghosts passing through each other’s lives?”

She studied him a moment longer, then extended her hand across the table.

“Y/N.”

He took it, his grip warm and firm. “Sunghoon.”

And just like that, the train began to move again, slowly at first, then with a growing rhythm.

The scenery shifted once more. But the air between them was different now- thinner, sparking. Something had changed. Not loudly, not all at once. But enough for Y/N to realize that loneliness had finally taken a step back. And someone else had taken its seat.

The train hummed like a lullaby beneath their feet as Europe unfolded around them under moonlight. Seats hummed with quiet life, arranged in open clusters with personal tables- no compartments, no doors to close behind. Just people and stories and the soft flicker of overhead lights as the train curved gently around valleys and mountains alike. In the corner of it all was Y/N and Sunghoon, listening to each other share life stories- two attractive strangers, staring into each other's eyes like this was permanent. 

Y/N told him about her degree in Greek literature and how her parents were against it when she first announced her decision. Their distaste towards her academic goal was understandable- what kind of living would their daughter make out of such a fickle degree? And truth be told, Y/N was struggling. After graduating, she barely made a living through small writing gigs and coffee shop jobs as a barista. Now, she was on the hunt for a story to hopefully write her first book- hence her lonesome presence on a three day train, from Istanbul to France. 

“Oh, you haven’t published yet?”

“That’s why I call myself a writer. Not an author yet,” she grinned, hiding her embarrassment. 

“There’s a difference?” Sunghoon’s brows raised.

“It’s clear how much you don’t read.”

Sunghoon listened with the kind of attention that didn't feel performative. His gaze didn’t waver, but it didn’t press either. Just there… with his warm curiosity towards this new person he met.

And when Y/N finally asked him to speak about himself, he started ranting about his architecture career- twenty-seven years in the making, since the day he was born. Apparently, when he was born, his parents went to an astrologer who said that Sunghoon would grow up to be an architect. And the gola never changed, only manifested deeper into him as he grew up- from stacking legos that stood taller than his body as a kid to his professors adoring his models in college. 

“I just want to contribute to a skyline,” he said. “Doesn’t matter which city. Doesn’t even have to be famous. I just… I want people to look up and feel something.” His voice grew softer. “My boss doesn’t get it. He’s just… numbers and deadlines and grey rectangles.”

There was something oddly touching in that, a boyish idealism that had somehow survived into adulthood. He wasn’t jaded- not fully.

“Is he a brutalist?” Y/N asked.

“No, he’s just… boring. And brutalist architecture isn’t boring.”

He explained he’d been on a trip across Europe with his two best friends- a plan they’d made years ago, when life was still about university cafeterias and late-night dreams. But he’d broken off from the group for a detour to Zurich, to see his younger sister, now studying there. It had been a short, sweet visit. Familiar in the way only siblings could be- awkward hugs, sarcasm, shared complaints about their mother’s relentless texts. Now, he was rejoining his friends in Paris. “They’ve probably eaten their way through half the restaurants by now,” he grinned. “And argued over where to go next.”

“They’re all architects?”

“No, just me,” Sunghoon nodded, proudly. “But, one’s studying to be a lawyer. The other is gonna be an intern for surgery soon.”

Their conversation melted into the sound of the train wheels against the track. Their conversation didn’t feel like two strangers getting to know each other. It felt like slipping into a rhythm that had always existed, like picking up a thread from a story that had already begun. There were no awkward pauses, no searching for the right words- just an easy back-and-forth that felt strangely familiar. Like they were old friends who had somehow forgotten they were old friends. Like this was a reunion, not a first meeting.

At some point, he coaxed her up, dragging her down the aisle with a mischievous “You can’t sit still forever, writer girl.”

She resisted at first, rejecting his grip on her wrist with a hesitant gaze of her eyes. But he was too persistent- that sharp smile of his, was too persistent. And shyly, almost awkwardly, she stood up and followed him. And that would be the first time Y/N got up for reasons other than using the washroom or finding a meal to eat.

The train during the night was more alive than it was in the morning. That’s just the way it was with things like this- when a group of strangers came together to travel across borders. It was a silent promise of haven, of comfort. They walked past the soft flicker of reading lamps, the faint rustle of pages and whispered exchanges in many languages. They passed a woman knitting tiny socks with blue yarn, a man asleep with his head tipped back and opera music playing from his phone, a child pressing glow-in-the-dark stars against the window.

In the lounge coach, someone was playing the harmonica. The sound was low and imperfect, but so achingly human that it felt like a story in itself. 

“This is definitely something I want to write about.”

Sunghoon looked at her, confused. He couldn’t see the expression on her face, he was towering over her to get a glimpse of her hair that was hidden by her hair. But by her voice alone, he could hear the sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah?” Sunghoon said. “What can you say? It’s just a guy playing a harmonica. Incorrectly, at that.”

“But do you hear the history in it?”

Somewhere near the middle of the train, tucked into a dimly lit dining car, was a makeshift poker table- though it wasn’t official, and the chips were mostly replaced by foreign coins, buttons, and old candy wrappers. A group of old men sat around it, the air thick with the scent of tobacco that no one was actually smoking, and laughter that came in easy bursts like waves hitting a dock. They sang as they played- old folk songs in accented English and native tongues, clapping along to choruses only they knew. One had a flute he’d chime in with between rounds; another drummed his fingers rhythmically on the edge of the table like it was a snare.

Sunghoon was the first to slow his steps, then Y/N. Something about the scene pulled them in- the warmth of it, the chaos, the openness of strangers too old to care who joined as long as they knew how to smile. The invitation came with a gesture- a crooking finger, a grin, a gap-toothed nod toward the table. They didn’t resist.

They slid into the seats like they’d always belonged there, excited smiles and palms rubbed together. A few coins from Y/N’s pocket, some spare notes from Sunghoon’s wallet- it wasn’t about winning. The old men were ruthless and charming, teasing them in thick accents, telling them the rules only after they'd broken them. Sunghoon forgot which suit beat what, and Y/N mistook her hand for something stronger than it was. They lost every round, but they laughed harder each time. It was never about the cards. It was about the way joy could travel across decades, across languages and lives, and land right there between two young people on a midnight train.

One of the men told a story about a girl he almost married in Portugal after two drinks too many, another about a time he danced barefoot in a rainstorm on the German border. One told the story of how he lost his arm during the war- Y/N and Sunghoon didn’t know which one, but were too scared to ask. Their words stitched across the table like quiltwork- melancholy in parts, hilarious in others, but always rich. Y/N listened with wide eyes, mentally bookmarking characters she hadn’t even written yet. Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, one arm resting behind her, the other fiddling with a useless hand of cards. Every now and then, they’d glance at each other and grin- caught in a secret moment neither of them could explain.

By the end of it, they had lighter wallets and heavier hearts, full of names they’d forget by morning (Sunghoon would forget, not Y/N) and faces they’d remember forever. When the group eventually dispersed, the men wished them luck- at life, at love, at whatever came next. And then the dining car emptied slowly, leaving Y/N and Sunghoon alone at the table with empty glasses and leftover laughter.

For a long time, they just sat there. But Sunghoon dragged her up again, like he was impatient on what he would find next. 

They reached the back of the train. The stars were louder there, with no glass to filter them- sharp and endless, scattered above the moving world like they’d been nailed into the fabric of the night. The wind whipped fast and gentle all at once, lifting their hair in small chaotic dances- Sunghoon’s dark strands tousled back like the wind was styling him on purpose, while Y/N’s hair tangled and curled around her face, occasionally catching on her lips, on the collar of her coat, in the crook of Sunghoon’s arm when they stood too close.

The railings were rusted, chipping with time and weather, flecked with the stories of thousands of travelers before them. They leaned on it anyway- elbows pressed into the cool metal, fingers curling over the edge, palms warming the cold. It groaned slightly beneath them, like it remembered what it meant to hold someone’s weight.

The air smelled like the wild- earthy and crisp, threaded with something that felt like memory. Below them, the world blurred in soft motion- dark forests, sleeping towns, rivers that shimmered like liquid glass beneath the stars. Above them, constellations took their time- Orion with his quiet confidence, Cassiopeia lounging in her eternal curve. Neither Y/N nor Sunghoon said anything for a while. 

There was a stillness in that speed- a paradox only night trains seemed to understand. The kind where time slowed down just long enough to notice the way his knuckles grazed hers on the railing, or the way her eyes reflected stars like she’d been born from them.

And then Sunghoon said, quietly, like he was saying it to himself, “I feel like I’m running out of time.”

Y/N didn’t look at him, but she listened. You could tell she was listening by the way her breath caught a little, and how her fingers curled tighter around the metal bar.

“I’m twenty-seven. I know that’s not old,” he continued, “but it’s not exactly new either. And there’s this pressure- this... noise in my head that says I should’ve done something big by now. Left a mark, built something that outlasts me.”

The train curved then, slow and smooth, and the stars tilted slightly in the sky. Y/N still said nothing.

“I feel like no one gets it,” he added, half-laughing, but it was a bitter kind of sound. “I feel like no one understands why it’s so important to build something beautiful. All everyone seems to care about these days is money and loopholes.”

She looked at him then, finally. Just a glance, soft and brief.

He looked over at her. “But you get it, right?”

Y/N nodded, then turned back to the night. “Yeah,” she said. “I do.” Her voice was quiet, not in a sad way but in the way Sunghoon understood that she was feeling it too- his plight. “When I say I want to write a book, I don’t mean just anything. I mean… I want to leave a mark, I want my work to be talked about. I want to be as great as Clarice Lispector or Kazuo Ishiguro.”

Sunghoon said nothing, mostly because he didn’t know the authors she’d just mentioned. He just watched her speak.

“But lately... I don’t know. I feel like I’m borrowing other people’s words. Like I haven’t lived enough to write anything worth reading.” Her fingers brushed the railing again. “My parents still think I should’ve picked something safer. Like business or economics or something. And maybe they’re right.”

“No, they’re not,” he said, too quickly. “You need to live to write. You can’t just… watch life through windows and call it enough.”

“I know,” Y/N’s eyes were welling with tears at that point. But she convinced herself that it was the wind hitting her eyes and not the weight against her heart. “I think I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“Living,” she said, almost laughing. “Living, experiencing everything right- only to ultimately fail and write something unforgettable. It’s so stupid. Sometimes I feel like writing is so stupid.”

“It’s not,” Sunghoon shook his head. He stared straight ahead, crossing his arms on the railing. “You know how they say every artist hates their own work? I’m sure Louis Sullivan hated his first building. But it didn’t stop him from completing it.”

Y/N tilted her head, blinking away the burn behind her eyes. “Who’s Louis Sullivan?” she asked.

Sunghoon smiled faintly. “Architect. They call him the father of skyscrapers.” He hesitated, then added, “His buildings didn’t even get much attention when he was alive. It all came later. But still, he kept going. Even when it felt like no one cared.”

“I’m assuming with your career, you learnt a lot about architects,” she chuckled.

“I’ve got a whole archive of information,” he grinned proudly.

Y/N looked away again, the wind catching the edge of her jacket and lifting it gently behind her. The rusted railing creaked softly beneath their weight, but they didn’t move. There was something sacred about the discomfort- like they owed it to the moment to stay right where they were.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” she asked eventually. “Giving your life to something that might never be seen?”

“I’d like to think it’s better than not trying at all,” he said. “But sometimes, I don’t get it. When I saw my sister, she was thriving- university and all that. But I’m still figuring shit out. It’s like I always have been.”

“You’re not alone in that,” Y/N said. “I don’t think anyone really figures it out. Some of us are just better at pretending.”

He smiled. Not a big one, just enough.

“I used to sit on my roof as a kid,” he said. “Stare at the stars and make wishes even though I didn’t believe in them.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “What did you wish for?”

“A lot of things,” he shrugged. “Toys, lenient parents, a sibling… and I eventually got a sister. Then eventually, I stopped believing in it.”

She didn’t respond. Just leaned into the railing a little deeper. 

“The stars remind me of myths,” she said after a while. “The ones I studied. Greek tragedies, gods turning into animals, lovers becoming constellations just to be together.”

“You believe in that?” he asked.

She paused, then smiled. “No. But I like that someone once did.”

And in that space between them, something invisible and delicate bloomed. Not love, not yet. But something heavy and soft, rooted in the chest. The kind of connection that only happens at the back of a moving train, with stars sharp above and wind in your teeth, and a stranger who suddenly isn’t one anymore- something permanent, even if they were not.

Eventually, they made their way back through the softly dimmed train- past the poker table now quiet and empty, past sleeping passengers curled beneath jackets and scarves- to their seats. The overhead lights buzzed gently above, their little corner of the train wrapped in a hushed stillness.

Y/N pulled out a pen from her tote and tore a napkin into squares. “Tic-tac-toe?” she asked, already drawing the grid.

Sunghoon grinned. “Prepare to lose.”

She tore the corner of an old train pamphlet and started scribbling grids. Tic-tac-toe. Then hangman. Then the dumbest drawing contest either of them had ever participated in. She dared him to draw a duck and he came up with a lopsided blob with antennae. She laughed so hard her eyes watered. He laughed too, head tossed back, his knees pressed into the seat in front of him, body curled like it was trying to hold the joy in.

They spoke less as the hours dragged on. There was no need to fill the silence. The kind of quiet they shared wasn’t awkward- it was warm, stretched like a blanket over the two of them. They sipped from a tiny carton of orange juice they found buried in her tote and whispered about the most useless superpowers they’d want to have. (He said being able to always know which lane moved fastest in a grocery store. She said being able to taste colors.)

Eventually, her eyelids drooped. She laid her head on her folded arms, right there on the tiny table between them. Her hair spilled over like ink, her breathing evened out, and her mouth twitched slightly in sleep- like she was smiling at something in a dream she wouldn't remember.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

He watched her for a long while. Not in a creepy way. Just… in awe. At how still she was- how peaceful. There was something about the way the moonlight through the window painted across her face that made him feel like this moment was borrowed- like time had paused and he’d been given a glimpse into something sacred, like an old Victorian painting.

He turned to the window. The stars were fading now, washed thin by the first hints of dawn. He pressed his palm against the glass and felt the faint thrum of motion beneath it.

And he thought- about how fleeting everything felt lately. About how moments like this- ones that sneaked up on you and made you feel deeply human- never lasted long enough. He thought about the future, about buildings he hadn’t yet sketched, about lines and edges and spaces that could become something living. He thought about asking her for her number, how he’d even phrase it, how not to make it weird.

He thought about what kind of book she would write- maybe something strange and wandering, the kind of story that didn’t apologize for taking its time. He thought about how her characters would probably be like her: observant, quiet, a little brave without realizing it.

The train kept moving.

And then… morning came. It wasn’t loud- just a slow blooming of gold across the sky. The clouds turned soft and lilac at the edges, and the air began to shift. The train started to slow. The brakes hissed, metal groaned.

They were in Paris.

The station was already awake- blurred voices, hurried footsteps, the distant beep of announcements he couldn’t quite make out. But inside their little cabin, everything still felt untouched.

Sunghoon looked at Y/N. She was still sleeping, arm tucked under her head, breath warm against her sleeve.

And for a moment- just one- he didn’t want to wake her.

He let the idea wash over him like a wave. What if they stayed on? Just didn’t get off. Let the train roll again, take them to another city, maybe even another country- Vienna, Lyon, wherever. Just so he could sit beside her a little longer. Just so he could hold onto this stillness.

But reality was patient. And it always catches up.

So he reached out, gently pressing his fingers to her shoulder. “Y/N,” he said, voice low, almost apologetic. “We’re here.”

She stirred slowly, blinking against the light. “Huh?”

“Paris,” he said.

Her eyes widened. She sat up, sleep still clinging to her limbs, disoriented but already reaching beneath her seat for her suitcase. Her hair was tousled, face creased slightly from her nap, and she looked so real (he didn’t even know how to explain it, it was the fact that she wasn’t his imagination, that she was a person, had a life, outside of the night they had together) in that moment that Sunghoon’s chest ached.

He stood too, grabbing her bag and guiding her to the exit. The train doors hissed open with a kind of finality that neither of them were ready for.

They stepped onto the platform.

It was colder here than he expected- a sharp, Parisian morning air. It was the kind that carried the scent of fresh bread and motion. People hurried past them with cameras and coats and open maps, but the two of them just stood there- still holding their luggage, still close enough to touch but too far to say anything meaningful.

And then it hit her.

That this was it.

This was goodbye.

She looked at him, like, really looked. Not like someone she met on a train, not like a stranger. But like someone whose existence, however brief in her story, left a ripple.

“I guess this is…” she began, then trailed off.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon said, swallowing. His adams apple bounced. “It is.”

His attention, however, was ripped towards the opposite direction- Sunghoon heard them before he saw them.

“SUNGHOON! LET’S GO!”

Jake’s voice echoed across the platform, followed by Jay dramatically flailing his arms like he was about to take flight. “WE'RE GONNA GET CHARGED AN EXTRA HOUR FOR PARKING!”

They were standing near the exit, beside a wheezing rental car with an uneven paint job and too much luggage crammed into its trunk. They looked like they belonged in a different world, one that hadn’t just stood still all night; one that hadn’t just sat across from someone and quietly fallen into a version of affection that didn’t need time to grow- it bloomed instantly, and painfully.

Sunghoon looked at them.

Then… looked away.

He turned back to Y/N.

She was already pulling her suitcase handle upright, her face composed, wearing that brave expression that people wear when they know the goodbye will hurt but they’re choosing dignity over drama. Her eyes were a little puffy from sleep- or maybe it was emotion. He didn’t ask.- he would never know.

“Guess that’s your ride,” she said, the smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes.

He didn’t reply. He wanted to say something- anything- but every sentence that formed in his throat felt too small, too stupid or too late. His emotions didn’t make sense to him anymore. His heart skipping a beat at the way the sunlight hit her eyes didn’t make sense anymore.

Y/N took a small step forward and stuck her hand out between them. Her fingers were steady, her voice wasn’t.

“Maybe we’ll meet again,” she said, smiling softly. “But for now… goodbye, Sunghoon.” It could’ve ended there. But she blinked- just once- and added, quieter: “Thank you for making the night a little less lonely.”

And just like that, he was ruined.

Sunghoon took her hand, firm, certain- like that moment deserved at least that much clarity. And maybe that was the saddest part of it all- how their story ended the same way it began: with a handshake.

Two people. One shared night. A lifetime’s worth of unanswered questions.

He held on for a beat longer than he should have. Then he let go reluctantly. Then stepped back with a nod, his eyes memorizing the shape of her one last time. And without another word ((he didn’t even find it in him to reciprocate a goodbye), he turned and jogged toward his waiting friends, who were still dramatically yelling about the parking ticket.

Behind him, Y/N turned in the opposite direction, hoping to hail a taxi to her hotel.

She didn’t look back. Neither did he.

When Sunghoon finally caught up with them, breath uneven and head a little too full, Jay and Jake didn’t waste a second. They manhandled him into the backseat like he was carry-on luggage.

“We’ve been waiting for hours,” Jake exaggerated from the passenger side, twisting halfway around to stare at him. “You better have a Nobel-worthy reason for making us risk another parking fine. How’s your sister, mate?”

Jay, hands on the wheel, sunglasses on even though it was barely sunrise, shot a look at Sunghoon through the rearview mirror.

“Fuck that,” he said. “Who was the girl?”

Sunghoon groaned, dropped his head back against the seat, crossed his arms over his chest like a sulky teenager. Suddenly, the night that had felt so luminous, so important, shrunk down into this weird, private ache. The kind that couldn’t be explained without sounding stupid. Because how do you tell your best friends that one night on a train with a stranger made you question everything you thought you wanted? Made you feel more than you had in months?

Sunghoon just stared out the window as the city passed in a blur and tried not to think about how fast it was all slipping away. Jake and Jay didn’t wait for an answer. Of course not- they were already in full chaos mode, cooking up scenarios like they were writing for a shitty soap-opera.

“You sat beside her?”

“Made a new friend?”

“Fucked the new friend, perhaps?” Jake added with a dramatic gasp, clapping once. “Train version of the mile-high club, huh?”

“In the bathroom?” Jay asked, feigning shock. “Dude, gross. Those toilets flush like portals to hell.”

“Oh, wait-” Jake snapped his fingers, “you kissed her. That’s it. You kissed her and then cried about it while looking out the window like you’re in a sad indie film.”

Sunghoon inhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “You guys,” he said, voice low and deadly calm, “are disgusting.”

Jake and Jay erupted into laughter.

“Which means,” Jay said smugly, tapping the steering wheel, “something definitely happened.”

Sunghoon didn’t reply. He just leaned his head against the window, the cold glass pressing into his skin. The city of Paris unfolded outside, but he wasn’t really seeing it. Not the cafés, or the early risers with fresh bread tucked under their arms, or the old men reading newspapers on benches.

He was still on the train. Still in that quiet, starlit space. Still listening to her say thank you for making the night a little less lonely.

ii. Ten Years Too Lonely

When Y/N was young, her parents used to tell her about how they met. Her bedtime stories weren’t made up of dragons or fairies, but of reckless youth, of laughter echoing in tiny bars that no longer existed, of impossible nights that somehow still lived on in memory. Her parents had lived like people in novels- messy, brave, complicated. They told her stories filled with bad decisions that made great memories, spontaneous road trips, heartbreaks that healed over time, and a small group of friends who stayed, who always stayed.

Those friends were still around- her honorary uncles and aunts. They showed up for the big moments: the day she was born, the major birthdays, and all her graduations. They were the ones who took her out for her first legal drink, who called her kiddo even when she was twenty, who looked at her like she belonged. And maybe it was only around them that she ever felt like she did. Like she was part of something bigger, warmer, something permanent.

But outside those rare, glowing reunions, Y/N felt like a ghost of a person. Like she hadn’t been fully written yet. Like her edges were blurry, her voice a little too quiet, her presence too easy to miss. She used to think that one day, she’d grow into herself. That she’d wake up and suddenly feel whole. But the days kept ending and nothing changed.

She’d always been unlucky with friendships. People liked her, sure- they said she was nice, called her sweet. But no one stayed. No one ever fought to keep her close. She was the kind of person you texted when you were bored, not when your world was falling apart. She was always the one listening, nodding, comforting. Rarely the one being held. She didn’t know what she did wrong- maybe she didn’t shine enough. Maybe she was just forgettable. She tried to tell herself that wasn’t true, that she mattered, that someone would one day see her the way she longed to be seen. But most days, the silence was louder than any hope she tried to build.

Relationships? Those were worse. Crushes that never looked her way, dates that fizzled before they even began, almost-loves that ended in vague texts and unreturned calls. She couldn’t even be mad at them. She understood. Why would anyone stay with someone who didn’t really stand out? She wasn’t the bold, flirty girl with a spark in her eyes. She wasn’t magnetic, or mysterious, or even particularly witty. She was just… there, easy to walk away from.

And that was the thing that hurt the most- the thought that people would forget her. That she could pass through someone’s life and leave no mark at all. That years from now, someone she once shared a laugh with wouldn’t even remember her name. That she was the kind of person you had to try to remember. Not because she was unpleasant. But because she was just so easy to overlook.

She hated that. She hated how much it bothered her. She hated that she wanted to be seen so badly, wanted to matter to someone- anyone- just for a little while. And more than anything, she hated that she’d let life pass her by. That she hadn’t been brave enough to chase the moments she dreamed about. The semester abroad she kept telling herself she’d apply to. The marine research internship near the beach she’d bookmarked five times but never actually submitted an application for. The universities she never left her hometown to attend. She watched opportunities drift by like trains she couldn’t get herself to board.

And every time she missed one, she told herself it was fine. That there would be another. That she was just waiting for the right time. But deep down, she knew. She knew she wasn’t waiting. She was hiding. From the possibility of failing. From the pain of not being enough. From the crushing weight of trying her best and still falling short.

But the thing is… her parents had always known that Y/N would make a life for herself. From the day she was born to the day she graduated and began the daunting task of job hunting, they’d looked at her with a kind of certainty that Y/N never really understood. “It’s just that your life hasn’t begun yet,” they would repeat to her like a prophecy.

And for a long time, she believed them. Or at least she tried to. She clung to the hope that one day, her plight would mean something, that she'd wake up and suddenly become the person she was always supposed to be. But that hope wore thin. Especially in the years that followed graduation- years where nothing really happened. Where she lived at home again, working part-time jobs she never talked about at family dinners, feeling more and more like she was treading water in a pool where everyone else was learning how to swim laps.

Eventually, she couldn’t take it anymore- the guilt of still living under her parents' roof, the quiet shame of watching life pass by like a train she kept missing. So, in a burst of desperation or courage or maybe both, she booked a trip to Europe with the savings she’d been hoarding for no particular reason. She drained her bank account in one impulsive night of scrolling and airfare. And just like that, she was gone.

And suddenly- suddenly- her degree in Greek Literature didn’t feel so useless anymore. Not when she was exploring a three-day train with a stranger. Not when she was wandering through the streets of Athens, tracing the ruins her textbooks used to speak of in dusty academic tones. Not when she stood beneath the Parthenon at sunset with a backpack and a journal and no plans for the next day. And just like that, her life started to change.

In the month she spent abroad, she felt herself unfold. Like some slow, patient blooming. She talked to strangers without rehearsing the conversation beforehand. She danced at rooftop bars in Lisbon with people whose names she barely caught. She took a spontaneous night bus to Prague with a pair of Finnish siblings she met in a museum café. She broke down crying in a quiet alley in Florence and was comforted by a woman named Elif from Istanbul, who shared her gelato and told her heartbreak was a sign of living. In Barcelona, she accidentally joined a group of traveling circus performers for three days because they mistook her for someone else and she was too embarrassed to correct them- until she wasn’t. She even kissed someone under a broken street lamp in Amsterdam, someone whose name she still remembers but whose face is already fading in her mind.

There were so many stories. Wild, unthinkable, movie-scene type stories. But perhaps the most unbelievable part was how alive she felt. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel like a background character. She didn’t feel like someone waiting for something to happen to her. She was the happening.

She met people. She lived with them. She cooked pasta in tiny hostel kitchens, shared beds with near strangers, drank cheap wine in public parks, danced barefoot, and got lost more times than she could count. She met Luca, a Sicilian med student who taught her how to flirt in Italian; Josie, a Canadian street artist who carried a notebook filled with secrets from people she met; and Santiago, a chef from Buenos Aires who taught her to make empanadas while talking about love like it was a religion.

They were fleeting people. But they mattered.

And she kept in touch with most of them- at least for a while. They exchanged numbers, promised to visit, sent postcards and songs and memes across time zones. Luca sent her a blurry photo of his med school graduation. Josie invited her to a pop-up art show in Toronto that she couldn’t attend. Santiago messaged her every few months just to ask how she was, calling her mi poeta.

But life moved on. As it always does.

Y/N came back home, and things had changed, but she wasn’t quite sure if she had. She floated through a string of jobs- proofreading textbooks, writing content for lifestyle blogs, tutoring high school students in Greek mythology. Nothing ever stuck. Nothing ever felt like hers. Until one day, almost on a dare to herself, she sat down and started writing again- not for money, not for work, but for herself.

The book came quietly. No agents, no fanfare. A small indie publisher picked it up. And somehow, her first novel resonated with enough people to warrant a tiny book signing tour. She visited three cities. Five bookstores. Signed a hundred copies with her slightly messy, unsure signature.

And still… She felt alone.

As the years passed, the messages from her travel friends became less frequent. The jokes grew stale, the memories stopped coming up in conversation and eventually, keeping in touch became just liking each other’s Instagram posts or sending the occasional emoji reply to a story. 

When she moved to Shanghai to teach English at a small local university, she barely told anyone. She packed her life into two suitcases, boarded the flight alone, and arrived in a city where no one knew her name. The loneliness there was quieter, less sharp. It didn’t ache the way it used to. Because in times like this, feeling lonely was inevitable and she didn’t beat herself up for it. Because this was going to be her new life, her new norm.

She taught classes, went to the market, and drank tea by her apartment window. Life was simple. She liked it. And she realised how her age was catching up to her, that she was yearning for the peaceful moments in her life rather than late night travel trips.

And yet, some nights, when she couldn’t sleep, she’d scroll through old photos- grainy hostel selfies, street corners, sunset skies she had once sworn she’d never forget. She would look at those faces and wonder if any of them remembered her too, if she’d been as temporary to them as they were eternal to her.

Because the truth about Y/N was that no matter how much she saw, how many stories she collected, or how far she ran, she still came out of it alone. Not broken, not bitter- just… still waiting. Still wondering if her life had really begun yet, or if she was still standing on the edge of something bigger, too afraid to take the leap.

Though some nights, the memories haunted her, most days, Y/N kept moving. She walked the same narrow streets from her apartment to the university, nodded politely at the same old man who sold dough strips by the metro station, and let her world stay predictable and repetitive.

But it was on a rainy Sunday- one of those Shanghai afternoons where the air hung heavy with the scent of wet concrete and jasmine- that things would change again.

She’d been wandering aimlessly, an umbrella tucked under her arm, letting the drizzle kiss her skin as she browsed street vendors and quiet alleys she hadn’t taken the time to explore before. She wasn’t even looking for anything in particular when she ducked into the tiny bookstore nestled between a tea shop and a dry cleaner, a place so unobtrusive she’d passed it a dozen times and never noticed it.

Inside, the lighting was dim and golden, the smell of old paper and incense wrapping around her like a blanket. There was jazz playing faintly from a record player near the counter. A cat slept on a stool in the poetry aisle. And for the first time in weeks, she exhaled without even realizing she’d been holding her breath.

She wandered through the shelves slowly, fingers brushing over cracked spines and titles in Mandarin, English, French. It reminded her of a place she visited in Lisbon, one she never thought she’d think of again.

She turned the corner of the aisle, absently reaching for a poetry collection when her eyes landed on him.

At first, she only saw the profile- the clean lines of his face, the sharp curve of his nose, the way his hair fell slightly over his forehead- and for a heartbeat, her mind couldn’t quite place it. Her body stilled before her brain caught up.

Then he turned slightly, lifting his head toward the Popular Picks display by the counter, a stack of three books balanced in his arms, one tucked awkwardly beneath his chin.

And she knew. She just did.

The recognition crashed into her like a wave she hadn’t braced for.

Sunghoon.

Just like that, the bookstore shifted from quiet nostalgia to something surreal. Her fingertips curled slightly around the spine of the book she was holding, as if steadying herself. Her breath caught somewhere between a laugh and disbelief. And suddenly,she was naive and twenty-five again, sitting in a train with a stranger to entertain.

And as if he felt her gaze, Sunghoon looked up- eyes landing on hers instantly.

The air between them was still. The jazz in the background faded. So did the cat, the incense, the muffled rain tapping at the windows.

He blinked, almost like he didn’t trust what he was seeing. Then slowly, the corners of his mouth turned upward- not quite a smile yet, just the beginning of one.

They just stared at each other for a second too long. Not out of awkwardness- but because neither of them wanted to be the first to break whatever this was.

Then Sunghoon shifted, took one step forward.

And that was her cue.

Y/N slipped her book back onto the shelf and walked toward him, steps careful, like she was still half-convinced he might disappear if she moved too fast.

“Hey,” she said, voice quieter than she expected. “I wasn’t sure it was you.”

Sunghoon let out a soft breath, the ghost of a laugh caught in his throat. “I wasn’t sure you were real.”

They both smiled- wide and full this time- the tension breaking like light through overcast skies.

Y/N blinked, still grounding herself in the impossible fact that it was him. “What are you doing here?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly would break the spell.

Sunghoon gave a soft breath of disbelief, almost a laugh, like he wasn’t quite sure how this moment existed. “I live here now… I’ve been living here for three years.”

Y/N gave a half-smile. “Five years for me.”

And that was the moment it hit him. Five years. They’d been orbiting the same city, breathing the same air, living maybe a handful of metro stops apart- and somehow, they never crossed paths until now. It felt like too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence. Like the universe had deliberately waited, held its breath, timed this to some impossible rhythm only it understood.

“I teach at the public university,” she offered before he could ask. “English. But I publish sometimes as well.”

Of course it was her. The name had been bothering him ever since he picked up that book, strung together in a delicate serif font on the spine- a first name and a last name that brushed up against something familiar in his memory, but not enough to sound the alarms. He’d held it in his hands, flipped through the pages, even lingered on the blurb wondering why it made his chest ache a little. But he hadn’t made the connection. Not until she was standing in front of him, telling him, almost offhandedly, that she wrote now- had published a few books. And then it hit him like cold water: that book. The one he’d nearly bought before settling on something else. He almost felt guilty now, absurdly so, for not choosing hers. As if picking another novel over hers had been some kind of betrayal- to her, to that night, to the unspoken space they’d both carried all these years.

He nodded slowly, his chest tightening. “Still an architect,” he said, then glanced at her with something just shy of a smile. “I think you’d be proud of me.”

It was a soft, unassuming statement, but it hung between them heavily. He was thinking of that night- the train, the way her words had stayed with him long after the lights of the station faded. Ten years ago. Ten full years. He didn’t know if she remembered.

But Y/N’s expression shifted in that subtle way that told him she did. Of course she did.

“Yeah?” she asked, eyes bright.

“Yeah,” he looked down for a second before meeting her gaze again. “I’m glad you finally published.”

And he meant it. Beneath the sincerity sat his quiet guilt- one he wasn’t going to admit just yet. He hadn’t searched for her name. Not once. Not online, not on bookshelves. And now that he knew, now that he held the knowledge of what she'd gone on to do, it felt like an ache. Because he had thought of her- more often than he let himself admit. He’d bring her up sometimes when he was drunk, recalling that weird night on the train, the girl who talked about words like they were living things. But he hadn’t done anything more. 

And now here she was.

“This feels insane,” he murmured, voice softening.

He was staring at her- not just with disbelief, but with the kind of quiet reverence reserved for things once lost and now unexpectedly found. And as he stood there, barely hearing the rustle of pages or the distant hum of jazz, a thought rose, unbidden and almost embarrassing in its honesty- this was the girl who had changed him.

In one night- a single stretch of hours between train stations and tangled conversations- she had shifted something fundamental inside him. He’d started reading not long after that. Nothing big at first- just a book she’d mentioned, something he'd scribbled down on a receipt in his wallet. But it became a habit, then a hunger. Because of her. Because of how she spoke about stories, about words like they were holy. Because of how she saw the world- like it was both tragic and beautiful and worth telling anyway.

And now, a decade later, here she was. Not a memory, not a story he told his friends after two beers. But real and alive, standing in front of him again- older, softer in some ways, sharper in others. Still her, always her.

And all he could think was: I can’t believe it’s you.

Sunghoon arrived at the café early. Of course he did. He always did that when he was nervous- pretending it was about punctuality, about professionalism, about making a good impression. But really, it was about control, about giving himself a moment to settle the way his heart had been stammering in his chest for days.

Since that day in the bookstore, he hadn’t stopped thinking about her- Y/N- her voice, her eyes, the way the rain had traced soft lines down the bookstore’s fogged windows while they talked. He hadn’t said it out loud, but as soon as they’d agreed to meet again, he’d gone home and done something impulsive- something a younger Sunghoon might’ve laughed at. He bought all of her books. Every single one. Three novels, each with a cover so delicate and so deliberate, he almost didn’t want to crack the spines.

But he did. In fact, he devoured them. He read like he was chasing something. Like he was trying to catch up on a decade of her life that he hadn’t been a part of.

Her writing stunned him. It was raw and strange and poetic and painfully observant. But it wasn’t just that. It was familiar. Not in the stories themselves- they were nothing like him, nothing like the night they’d shared- but in the details, in the quiet gestures of a supporting character, or the rhythm of someone’s speech, or the offhand way a man in his late twenties scratched the back of his neck when he was uncomfortable.

That was him. That was 27-year-old Sunghoon. He remembered doing that on the train, mid-conversation, when she’d asked him about the kind of buildings he wanted to design someday. There was a character in her first book who did the same thing- and that character had a way of seeing cities like they were made of feelings, not steel. It was him, even if it wasn’t.

He hadn’t known she’d remembered him. Not like that. He’d told himself it was just one night. A good night. But fleeting. Something the world would blur out with time. And yet… she had remembered. She made it permanent on ink- she eternalized him.

And here he was- in Shanghai, of all places.

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe it. He’d said yes to the opportunity three years ago- an architecture firm in Seoul was invited to pitch a design for a mixed-use skyscraper, and he’d poured himself into it with the hunger of a man who needed to be consumed by something. It was his vision that won. A sinuous, glass-and-steel tower that mimicked the ripple of the Huangpu River, with an atrium shaped like a lantern- part office space, part museum, part observation deck, a living homage to old Shanghai meeting the new. 

The project had saved him. Or maybe it had given him something to hold onto after everything else fell apart.

Nora.

Even now, her name carried the weight of a thousand sharp edges- soft at first, then all at once like glass. He met her at a work party, back when his firm was still small and barely making a name for itself. It had been hosted in a high-rise lounge, the kind where conversations floated over clinking glasses and low jazz murmured beneath everything. He remembered spotting Nora by the bar, laughing with a group of journalists, her voice rising and falling like it belonged to the room. She was magnetic- self-assured in a way that didn’t demand attention but still received it, effortlessly. She had this grin, this unmistakable fire behind her eyes, and when she asked what he did, she looked at him like she actually cared about the answer.

They started seeing each other after that night- cautiously, at first. She was always busy, always moving between studios and press conferences and flights to cover some political chaos. But she made time. For him, she made time. She’d wait for him at his office sometimes with takeout, wearing heels and an oversized coat, telling him that he worked too much and kissed too little.

They dated for two years. Two golden years that felt too good to be real. There were lazy Sundays with her head on his chest, whispered fights over whose turn it was to do the laundry, travel plans never taken, and endless conversations about buildings and breaking news and what it meant to chase something until you caught it.

He proposed on a rainy night in Busan, when they’d gone for a vacation and spent the evening ice skating in a mall. She was trying to keep up with him, giggling while finding her balance. And just like that, he glided towards her on one knee and revealed the ring and he just… said it. Marry me. And she had said yes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

They were married for four years. Four whole years of learning each other in all the quiet, invisible ways- the morning rituals, the favorite side of the bed, the type of silence that felt warm instead of cold. He’d never known that kind of peace. Even with her career constantly pulling her toward chaos, even when they were barely passing each other at home- it still felt like they were orbiting something steady. 

And then, one morning, she left for work like she always did. Hair still damp from the shower, still brushing lip balm onto her mouth as she stepped into her heels, grinning at him like she had some scandalous news she couldn’t wait to share after her segment.

She never made it to the station.

The accident happened in a flash. A truck ran a red light on the Olympic-daero. Witnesses said the rain had made it hard to see. She was gone before the ambulance even arrived, but they tried. Jake tried.

He remembered Jake’s call- the way his voice cracked over the line. "Come to the hospital. Now."

Sunghoon remembered sprinting through corridors, his hands cold, his lungs burning, shirt and tie astray with wide eyes and matted hair. And then- Jake, his closest friend and one of Seoul’s top trauma surgeons, standing outside the trauma unit, drenched in blood that wasn’t his, eyes hollow, surgical mask hanging off one ear. No words- just a slow, agonizing shake of the head.

Sunghoon collapsed.

The days after were a blur of numbness, sirens and screaming silence. There was no funeral that could contain that kind of grief, no eulogy that could articulate how deeply broken the world had become in just one moment. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t look at the chair she used to sit in. Her mug sat untouched for months. He buried himself in work until even the blueprints started to blur, until the only thing that snapped him back was his other best friend, Jay- who took one look at him and told him to press charges.

The man who caused the accident had been drunk. Slightly below the legal limit, but enough to impair judgment. Jay, relentless in a courtroom, helped Sunghoon file lawsuits that dragged on for nearly two years. They won. But it didn’t bring her back- nothing would, nothing did.

And then came the offer, an international firm asking him the chance to design a tower in Shanghai- something iconic, something bold. He said yes without thinking. He needed to go, to leave, to start over, to breathe somewhere else.

And now here he was, four years later. Sitting in a sunlit café in Shanghai, about to see the only other person who had ever made him feel like the future might be a story worth reading.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to tell her all of it- the job offer, the building, the wife, the accident, the ache. But he knew one thing: telling her all of this, over coffee, across a tiny round table in a quiet café… it felt oneiric. Like time had folded in on itself and handed him a second chance he hadn’t dared hope for.

Y/N listened like she always had- with stillness, with presence, with that rare ability to make silence feel like safety. When he spoke about the building, her face lifted, just slightly. Her eyes softened, like she was genuinely happy for him- not surprised, not performative- just quietly proud. 

But when he said Nora’s name, something shifted. The subtle tension in her brow, the way her fingers paused mid-motion on the coffee cup’s handle, the sudden stillness in her breathing- it all changed. She didn’t interrupt nor did she didn’t look away. She just let it wash over her, the grief, the enormity of it. Her eyes, when they met his again, held something solemn and full- not sympathy, not pity, but that unspoken understanding of loss. And for a moment, Sunghoon wondered if that’s what had drawn them together again- not fate, not coincidence, but the quiet ache of having both learned how to live after breaking.

“I lost someone, too,” she nodded. “My uncle- well, technically, one of my parents’ best friends. But we were close. He was my godfather.”

Then she told him, how her godfather had taken his own life just months before she made the move to Shanghai. Y/N had been in the middle of her own upheaval, getting ready for the transition that would take her to this city, to this life. But before she could even leave, she had to contend with the shock of losing him in the most horrific way. His death was nothing like the natural rhythm of loss that people often prepare for. No, this was the kind of pain that tore through the fabric of life with no warning, no sense. She never had the chance to say goodbye, never had the chance to make sense of it- her parents never let her read the suicide note.

Y/N’s aunt had found him, face-down in the bathtub, the water around him turning crimson. The image of it must have haunted her even now. Sunghoon could imagine the cold shock that must have flooded her godmother’s body as she found him there- her best friend, her partner in life, lifeless in a way that made the world seem unreal. The knife had slipped from his hand, the weight of it barely more than a detail in the aftermath. But the emptiness in his eyes, that was what stayed with her. 

It didn’t make sense, the way Y/N described it, the way the world just seemed to stop making sense after that. Her godfather had always been a constant, someone everyone relied on, someone who had always been there. And yet, just like that, he was gone, leaving behind an ocean of unanswered questions. His kids, her honorary cousins, had been the most affected. They had been too young to grasp the weight of what had happened, but in their confusion, they’d come to resent him. They couldn’t understand why he had chosen this moment, why he had left them without a second thought. It was that kind of loss that tore at the edges of families, that strained relationships with no answers to make it right.

Y/N’s parents had struggled too. In the wake of his death, they didn’t know what to do. They didn’t know how to explain it or how to handle the grief that had flooded their lives. So, in an attempt to do something, they set up a fund in his name. The money went to children in need, a small part of it allocated to his family to keep them afloat, to provide for them until they could get back on their feet. But in truth, nothing really ever settled. The ache never fully left, and the questions remained unanswered.

Y/N never spoke of the details, the parts of it that were too horrific to describe, the part of the story that would stay locked away, untold. But Sunghoon could feel the weight of it all. The pain, the loss, the confusion. The fragility of life, of the people we think will always be there, and how suddenly that certainty could be ripped away. 

Both of them had experienced it- the kind of loss that reshaped everything, that left scars that didn’t heal. It marked them, carried their loss, holding it within them, even now. 

"Okay, so... all of that," she started, hesitating before looking for something to shift the conversation. "Tell me more about your building. How far along is it… considering," She trailed off, smiling a little. "I’d love to hear more about it."

Sunghoon exhaled slowly, his hand instinctively reaching into his jacket pocket. He pulled out his phone, unlocking it and swiping to the photos he’d been saving. The sleek, minimalistic sketches of the building, fuzzy early shots of its half-constructed frame, and the sweeping views from the construction site filled the screen. He held the phone up for her to see, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched her reaction.

"It... it’s still a work in progress. Probably gonna take a couple more years- there were a lot of legal constraints to worry about in the beginning," he admitted. "The final designs are much more refined, but this is the stage we’re at right now,” he scrolled through the images, showing her various angles of the building, the steel beams twisting upward like a forest of metal. "It’s supposed to be a mixed-use space- office floors at the top, public space at the bottom, some retail. It’s going to contribute to the skyline, be one of those landmarks that people would look at and think, 'Yeah, that's part of the city now.'"

Y/N leaned forward slightly, peering at the screen. She nodded appreciatively, her eyes scanning the images with curiosity. "It looks amazing," she said, her voice a little lighter now. "I’m proud of you, Sunghoon."

She was proud of him- not just for the building, but because this was the man he’d dreamed of becoming, the path he’d mapped out for himself on that train ten years ago, now finally real and unfolding in front of her.

Sunghoon grinned, but there was something in his eyes- an edge of quiet pride. 

Sunghoon’s voice broke through the gentle quiet that had settled over their table. “How have you been, Y/N?” he asked, not like a casual question, but something deeper. Something closer to how did the world shape you, after we parted ways? “How was Europe… after that train ride?”

Y/N smiled, and it was the kind of smile stitched with memory. She set her coffee down and reached for her phone, unlocking it with ease, swiping through the familiar glow of her gallery. “Messy,” she said, almost laughing. “But good.”

She turned the screen toward him, letting the photos tell the story. Blurry hostel mirrors, cobbled streets washed in soft morning light, a half-eaten croissant on a balcony in Lisbon, a tiny annotated map with a coffee stain in the corner, a carousel in Florence, a dog she didn’t know the name of but still remembered.

“This one,” she said, pausing on a photo of her standing by a stone archway in Athens, sunlight catching her cheek, “was taken the day I finally got the courage to walk up to a stranger and ask for directions.”

Sunghoon leaned in, quietly taking it all in- not just the images, but her voice, the tone of it, how alive she’d become in those moments. He watched the way her thumb lingered over some pictures longer than others, how her smile flickered when she reached one taken in the rain. He didn’t ask what it meant. He just listened.

“It was everything I hoped it would be,” she said. “And nothing like I imagined.”

And Sunghoon nodded, because he understood that too well. Maybe not for the same reasons as her, but he understood it, at least, to an extent. 

She went on, showing him more- strangers who became friends, books scribbled with notes in the margins, sunsets over rooftops that looked like paintings. There was something sacred in how she shared it, like she was letting him hold a decade of her life in the palm of his hand, one swipe at a time.

Most people, when they finally receive the thing they long for, the thing they had built up in their heads, carried in the quiet pockets of their hearts- don’t really know how to sit with it.

At first, it felt surreal, like handling porcelain so fine you were afraid it might break just by looking at it wrong. They moved carefully around the edges of it, half-believing, half-doubting, waiting for the catch, the sudden hand that would snatch it all away. And then, slowly, imperceptibly, it shifted. The dream stopped feeling like a dream. It became ordinary. The extraordinary blurred into everyday life the way sunrise blends into morning- so gradual you didn’t even realize it was happening until you looked up and found yourself living inside what you once thought was impossible.

Because when something becomes real- when you brush your teeth beside the person you once thought was lost to time, when you argue about laundry or grocery lists, when you kiss them goodnight without even thinking about it- that’s when you know it’s yours.

Not a moment snatched from fate. Not a miracle about to be undone.

Just yours.

That’s what it was like for Y/N and Sunghoon.

They didn’t crash into each other the way they had once imagined, all desperate declarations and sweeping promises. No, they folded into each other the way dusk folds into night- quietly, inevitably, without needing anyone to announce it had happened.

Their days together began quietly. The café became a second home- tucked between two stone buildings in YuYuan Garden, its windows fogged with steam and stories. They always met at the same table near the back, beside the bookshelf that tilted slightly to the left. When Sunghoon wasn’t at site meetings and Y/N wasn’t buried under red-marked essays, they sat across from each other. Sometimes they spoke, other times they didn’t have to.

Sunghoon would talk about things like glass density and foundational anchoring- things Y/N barely understood but always found beautiful in the way he described them. And she, in return, would read out loud lines from her students’ essays, shaking her head in disbelief, saying, “even I wouldn’t have thought of something so beautiful.”

Eventually, coffee dates gave way to quiet afternoons in the city. The café wasn’t enough anymore. It was Sunghoon who suggested they meet somewhere else. “Just a change of pace,” he said, “we don’t have to talk,” he said it like he always did- casually, softly, like he didn’t want to scare away whatever fragile thread was stretching between them.

Their first outing was to the art museum. A safe place, one where quiet was expected. They walked side by side through galleries washed in cold white light, pausing before each painting with the solemnity of churchgoers. Y/N liked watching Sunghoon look at art- the way he tilted his head, narrowed his eyes. She wondered if he’d always observed the world like that.

Then, from there, the places they’d visit became less quiet, but somehow even more intimate- an afternoon at the aquarium, a stroll through the zoo, then a trip to Shanghai’s architectural icons- the Pearl Tower, the Shanghai Tower, and finally the World Financial Center.

When Sunghoon pointed up at the tower’s iconic trapezoidal aperture and told her, with absolute conviction, “A plane could fly through that,” Y/N laughed and promptly named it the keychain tower because, well, it did look like a keychain. He didn't even argue. He just smiled like someone who had been waiting a long time to be teased like that.

Eventually, their meetings moved indoors.

Y/N invited him to dinner one night. She made a strange mix of Italian and Chinese dishes- spaghetti with a recipe learned from an old Roman chef who once told her that Italians lived without regret through their pasta, and mala tofu with stir-fried bok choy, a dish she had perfected alone in her Shanghai kitchen which they had with a small bowl of sticky rice.

They ate slowly, in no rush, their conversation trailing between bites. Sunghoon leaned his forearms on the table as she told him stories about the Roman chef who had taken her under his wing for a week after she accidentally helped him carry groceries through cobbled streets. He laughed harder than he had in weeks, his mouth full of overcooked noodles and his heart unexpectedly light.

After dinner, they opened a bottle of red wine Y/N had been saving for a "meaningful occasion"- the label long peeled off, the cork slightly stubborn. They sat on the floor, backs against the couch, wine glasses in hand. She asked him about his time in university, about what he had been like before architecture turned into a career and not just a dream. He asked her about the books she didn’t publish, the ones she kept hidden in folders titled things like maybe one day and this one’s a mess. She didn’t deny it- just sipped her wine and smirked into the glass.

Later, Y/N reached behind the couch and pulled out an old, mismatched box of Jenga, the kind where a few pieces had pencil doodles and one was mysteriously chipped at the corner. “No pressure,” she said. “But I haven’t lost a game since college.”

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes. “You wrote your thesis on Greek tragedy, and now you’re challenging me at Jenga?”

“Exactly,” she grinned. “I’m well-versed in watching things fall apart.”

They played three rounds. She won two. The third collapsed in a drunken fit of laughter when Sunghoon accidentally sneezed and nudged the table, knocking the whole tower down.

It was one of those nights- quiet, unassuming, the kind you don’t realize is special until much later. Nothing big happened- there were no confessions, no kisses. But the air between them had changed by the time they stood at the door. There was something gentler in the way she leaned against the frame, something softer in the way he adjusted his coat before stepping into the cold.

He didn’t stay over.

He called a taxi, waited with his hands in his pockets, and when the headlights turned onto the street, he looked back at her- just once. She was still standing there, arms crossed, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. Not asking him to stay, not pushing him away. Just there, like always.

When Sunghoon invited her over for the first time, it wasn’t for dinner. It wasn’t even for coffee or idle conversation. He had something he wanted to show her- something that felt almost too private, too close to the part of himself he rarely let anyone touch.

The original blueprints.

He had spent years sketching versions of this building in the margins of notebooks, on napkins, on the backs of receipts. Rough ideas first, then refined ones- layer after layer of graphite and ink until they became something almost real. And now, sprawled across his living room floor, they looked delicate, almost fragile, like pieces that belonged in a museum archive.

Y/N knelt beside him without hesitation, legs folded underneath her, her hands moving carefully across the pages as if they were ancient ruins of history. She didn’t speak at first. She just traced the lines with the tip of her finger, pausing now and then to tilt her head, her brows knitting together in thoughtful concentration.

Sunghoon watched her more than he watched the drawings. The way her eyes scanned the layers of floor plans and elevation sketches, how her mouth twitched upward at the little handwritten notes he’d left for himself in the margins: rethink lobby entrance, sunlight angles too harsh?, find better material for glass- don't cheap out.

“This,” she finally said, looking up at him with something shining in her expression- not awe exactly, but something heavier, something fuller- “is incredible.”

They spent hours like that, sprawled across the floor, Y/N asking questions, Sunghoon explaining the angles of support beams and the challenges of balancing beauty with function. At some point, he realized he was rambling, getting too technical, but she never once looked bored. She just listened, the way she always had, like every word mattered.

At some point, night swallowed the city outside. The only light in the room came from a single dim lamp near the window, casting everything in a warm, golden haze. And when she finally left, long after midnight, he felt a strange ache in his chest- the kind that only comes when you realize you’ve just given someone a piece of yourself you can’t take back.

The next morning, he brought her to the construction site.

It wasn’t glamorous. The building was barely a skeleton of what it would become- exposed steel frames reaching skyward, the floors still raw and unfinished, the air thick with dust and the scent of wet concrete. Workers moved around them like ants, shouting instructions in Mandarin, the noise of drills and hammers clattering through the cool morning air.

He didn’t know why he brought her there. Maybe because part of him wanted her to see it- not the polished, finished dream, but the messy, imperfect beginning. Maybe because part of him wanted her to understand that this wasn’t just work. It was a piece of him, standing stubborn and half-built against the skyline.

She wore a bright yellow hard hat that was slightly too big, the strap loose against her chin, and an oversized reflective vest that swallowed her frame. She looked ridiculous, she looked adorable.

Sunghoon pulled out his phone and snapped a picture without thinking.

In the photo, she was smiling- not a big, posed grin, but a small, shy one, the kind of smile you give when you’re proud of something, even if it’s not yours. Behind her, the skeleton of the future loomed, all raw beams and silent promises.

He would keep that photo tucked away for years. Through the good days and the unbearable ones. Through everything that would come after.

Their friendship blurred, slowly. It didn’t surprise either of them. Somewhere, in the back of their minds, they had always known it wouldn’t stay platonic forever. From the moment they met on the train ten years ago, there had been something- not chemistry, not even longing. Just... inevitability.

It was the way their silences folded easily into each other. The way their glances lingered a beat too long, not searching, just... settling. It wasn’t some great romance that unfolded with fireworks and declarations. It was subtler than that. Quieter, like the way you reach for a light switch in the dark- it was instinctive, without needing to think.

There was no single moment when the line between them vanished. It just stopped mattering. It was in the way Sunghoon started buying her favorite kind of breakfast without asking. In how Y/N started showing up at the café with a book tucked under her arm, one she thought he might like even though he rarely read. It was her making him lunch boxes when he needed to go to the construction site. It was in the pauses between conversations- the way they both leaned in just a little, without meaning to.

They didn’t talk about it, they didn’t really need to. There was no confession, no careful declaration of feelings. It was all already there, hanging between them in the air, in every shared look, in the quiet comfort of knowing that somehow, inexplicably, you had ended up in the same place as the one person who once felt like a fleeting moment.

It wasn’t falling, it was remembering.

Remembering that even if they’d only spent a single night together on a train a decade ago, it had never truly ended when she said goodbye. That night had only paused and carried itself across years, across cities, across grief and growth- just to arrive here. And now, sitting across from each other again, it finally resumed. Like picking up a song mid-verse. Like they were simply continuing something that had never really finished.

Sunghoon told his friends about her not long after. It was during one of their three way calls that occurred once a few months, when they could accommodate the time difference and their busy schedules. And when Sunghoon told them that he was seeing someone, that it was getting serious, Jake and Jay hollered for him like they were in a football locker room. Despite their age and the sophistication that was expected by their professions, when they were around each other, they were still the weird trio from university that seemingly did everything together.

“It’s the girl from the train,” Sunghoon said. “Y/N, the girl from the train.”

And the call reached a ceasing silence. It stayed like that for a second, so quiet that Sunghoon couldn’t even hear them breathing.

He pulled his brows together in confusion. “Hello?”

“Sunghoon,” Jake finally said. “What are you saying?”

In all the nights Jay and Jake had stayed up with a drunk Sunghoon- back when they were younger, when heartbreak still looked like bruises instead of scars- they listened to him whine about a girl he met on a train. Mystery Train Girl, they called her, even though Sunghoon had told them her real name a dozen times. It became a running joke between the three of them, a sort of coping mechanism, maybe. Naming her made her feel less dangerous, less real- just another lost figure from a hazy, romanticized past.

But it wasn’t really a joke, not when Sunghoon would sometimes, in the thick of too much whiskey, talk about her like she had been a fixed point in his life. Like somehow, even though they’d only spent a single night together, she had left fingerprints on his ribs.

The stories didn’t stop even when Sunghoon met Nora- even when he fell in love again, even when he married.

They didn’t come often- only sometimes, in the quiet hours between drinks, when Nora was asleep and the weight of old memories pressed too heavily against his chest. But when they did, the fact that he still spoke about Y/N at all said more than Sunghoon probably meant it to. Jake and Jay never pointed it out. Some things didn’t need pointing out.

After Nora died, Sunghoon stopped speaking about love altogether.

He didn’t date, he didn’t flirt, he didn’t even look at anyone the same way anymore. After Nora died, the idea of opening himself up again felt unbearable. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in love- he did. He had lived it, fully, with Nora. She had been his real love story, the one he thought would carry him to the end of his days. And losing her had carved something hollow inside him, something too fragile to risk breaking again. It wasn’t about moving on and it wasn’t about forgetting. It was fear- plain and sharp- the fear that if he let himself love again, he would have to survive losing it again too. And he wasn’t sure he could.

It wasn’t until Sunghoon first relocated to Shanghai- when his career finally cracked open and handed him everything he had worked for- that the two friends acted on a thought they had laughed about for years. One night, after too many beers and too much unsaid worry, they pulled out Jake’s laptop and typed her name into the search bar.

And there she was.

Older, yes- different, a little. But still unmistakably the girl Sunghoon had described with a kind of reverence no drunkenness could dull. Her picture stared back at them- in a small university profile, smiling faintly, hair tucked behind her ear.

She had published three books by then. She taught English at a local university in Shanghai. She was real. And terrifyingly close.

Jake and Jay stared at the screen for a long time, the silence between them heavier than either of them expected. They could have told him. They could have shown him. But something about it felt wrong- like opening a door Sunghoon had already chosen to leave closed.

So they didn’t say anything. They closed the laptop, and the next morning, neither brought it up again. And if there was a trace of guilt that lingered between them when they saw Sunghoon staring too long out of windows, lost in thought, or smiling a little too sadly at passing strangers- well, they buried it. Along with the rest of the secrets you keep out of love.

“Mystery Train Girl?” Jay gasped and they could imagine that his eyes were widening. “You’re joking. Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nodded, pressing his phone closer to his ear as he chuckled. “Can you believe it? I found her. Y/N- Mystery Train Girl.”

“That’s…” Jay trailed off, not knowing what to say.

“That’s incredible, Sunghoon,” Jake said, firmly, as if he was answering for both of them. “I’m happy for you, mate. Are you happy?”

“Unbelievably, so,” Sunghoon breathed, and they could hear the smile on his face- the smile that highlighted his pointy teeth and made his eyes squint.

Jay and Jake didn’t comment much after that, only listened as Sunghoon recalled the story of how they found each other again in a tiny book store. And while listening, they were bracing for the impact of Nora’s name falling out of his mouth- that maybe he would mention her again, maybe he would break down over his first love, his dead wife. But it never came. And it sounded like Sunghoon was happy again. And his two friends didn’t have to worry about him feeling alone in another country.

A month later, Jay announced he was taking a weekend trip to Shanghai. He said it was for business, something about meeting international colleagues. Sunghoon didn’t ask many questions and simply offered him the guest bedroom, knowing it would be Jay’s first time visiting the city. It was usually Sunghoon who made the trip back to Korea, although he preferred not to. The last time he had gone back was for Christmas Eve the year before. This year, he planned to stay in Shanghai and spend the holidays with Y/N.

Sunghoon picked him up from the airport. He had booked a driver to meet them; living in a foreign country didn’t leave him much reason to own a car, and most foreigners in Shanghai got by without one anyway.

When they finally reunited at arrivals, Jay hugged him like a brother lost to time, gripping him tightly and nuzzling his head into Sunghoon’s shoulder with a dramatic sigh. Sunghoon laughed, patting his back with more affection than he realized he still carried.

On the drive back, as the city blurred past the window in streaks of neon and rain, Sunghoon casually mentioned that Y/N had prepared dinner for them. Jay blinked, the words settling slower than they should have. For a moment, he didn’t say anything- just stared out the window, watching the city streak by in blurs of gold and gray.

“Y/N,” he repeated eventually, like he was trying the name on his tongue, reminding himself it was real.

Sunghoon didn’t notice the way Jay’s fingers tightened slightly around the strap of his bag, or how his chest rose just a little sharper with the next breath. He just kept talking- about the dinner she was cooking, about how it wasn’t anything fancy, how she insisted it was "just empanadas" even though she spent all morning preparing it.

Jay nodded, smiling faintly, his throat too tight for much else. And inside, he told himself he wouldn’t ruin this. He wouldn’t say a word about the night he and Jake had found her online, sitting in some Seoul bar with Wi-Fi sticky and regret thicker. He wouldn’t tell Sunghoon that he had almost reached out once, almost booked a flight years earlier just to shove him toward her.

No.

This was Sunghoon’s story now. Finally, it was finding its way back.

Jay leaned his head against the cool glass and closed his eyes briefly, letting the city rush by.

Maybe some things were meant to take the long way around.

Jay was normal again by the time they reached Sunghoon’s apartment. It didn’t take much- just a lot of conviction and slipping back into his usual cocky persona, the one he wore like a second skin. Most lawyers had it; Jay had perfected it. Still, as they crossed the threshold, something in him braced without meaning to. His eyes swept the room instinctively, looking for proof, for her. For a second, it felt absurd- this quiet desperation to confirm that she wasn’t just another ghost Sunghoon had built out of grief and old memories. That she was still real after all these years.

And there she was. Y/N. Sitting at the dinner table, mid-bite, blinking up at them with a startled, awkward little smile that somehow made Jay’s chest tighten.

“So you’re the girl Sunghoon’s been unbelievably happy with,” Jay said, smiling.

His voice was easy, his posture relaxed- all charm, all mischief- and he didn’t mean any harm by it. This was his way of showing acceptance- approval, gratitude.

Sunghoon groaned, already dragging a hand down his face. “She doesn’t need to know I talk about her to you.”

Jay stepped forward and pulled Y/N into a quick hug- a brief, casual squeeze that made them acquaintances, allies, something realer than strangers but not yet friends. More importantly, it let Jay swallow the last of his disbelief, let him anchor himself to the fact that this girl was real. That Sunghoon had found her again. He couldn’t wait to talk to Jake about this.

He pulled back with an easy grin. “Don’t worry, all good things,” he said.

“I sure hope so,” Y/N laughed, soft and easy, wiping her hands on her jeans. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

As she turned toward the kitchen to check on dinner, Sunghoon called over his shoulder, “By the way, Jay. When’s the business meeting or whatever?”

Jay flashed a mischievous grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Not really a business meeting,” Sunghoon immediately understood what Jay meant. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that line. He knew Jay well enough to know that when he said he needed a break, it wasn’t from work, but from the suffocating life at home. “Just needed to get away from the wife and kids for a while,” Jay continued, as if it was nothing more than a simple errand.

It wasn’t the fact that Jay was going out to a club, or that he’d been doing it for years now. What gnawed at Sunghoon wasn’t even the affairs. It was the contradiction that Jay had become. Jay, the man who could charm anyone, the man who always knew how to treat his friends with unwavering loyalty and kindness. Jay, who would never let his mother lift a finger, who’d drop everything for a friend in need, who was the first to volunteer to help anyone. He was the perfect son, the perfect friend. He was the kind of man you’d want your daughter to marry. And he was an amazing father to his kids, too. His son adored him; his daughter looked up to him with the kind of love only a child could give.

But as a husband? It was a different story.

Sunghoon had tried to make sense of it. He’d never been one to pry, but he’d known something was off for a while now. There were the fights, the tension that seemed to hang in the air when Jay spoke of Emma, his wife. The woman who, on the surface, was everything Jay needed- beautiful, intelligent, and ambitious. But beneath that exterior, there was something darker. Something... volatile. Emma was a storm, and Jay was constantly caught in the eye of it. She never seemed to be satisfied, always complaining, always accusing him of neglect. It wasn’t the life he had envisioned when they first married.

Sunghoon had learned the truth two years ago, though. It had been over the phone, after another one of Jay’s “business trips” that seemed to stretch on longer than necessary. Jay had been in Spain, hiding away from his reality. The phone call had come late at night, the words slurred, his voice raw with emotion and shame. Jay had admitted it then, between half-chuckles and half-sighs: his marriage wasn’t just falling apart- it had already shattered.

Jay had been cheating. Not just once, but over and over again. The guilt was written all over his face when he finally confessed, his eyes avoiding Sunghoon’s. It was an open secret now, something neither of them could pretend didn’t exist. 

But Jay asked one thing: that Sunghoon not tell Jake. Jake was too pure for this, too innocent to understand. Jay’s words stuck with Sunghoon, gnawing at him every time he saw his friend. Jake, who was the embodiment of what every relationship should strive for. He was the one who would never hurt anyone, let alone his wife, not intentionally.

Jake was probably the happiest in his marriage out of all three of them. He and his wife had built a life together, with shared goals, trust, and respect. He was everything Jay had once wanted to be, before everything fell apart. Jake wouldn’t get it. Jay knew it, Sunghoon knew it. If Jake found out, it would disgust him.

“Guys, dinner’s ready,” Y/N called from the kitchen, unbeknownst to the stare Sunghoon and Jay were sharing, her voice casual but a little shy at the edges.

The table wasn’t grand- just a small spread of empanadas glistening under the soft kitchen lights, bowls of salad thrown together with whatever they had left in the fridge, a bottle of cheap red wine breathing in the center. But it felt like a feast anyway because Jay was in Sunghoon’s city for the first time and it was celebration enough.

They gathered around with clattering feet. Jay joked that he hadn't had a home-cooked meal since his kids started insisting chicken nuggets were a food group, and Sunghoon rolled his eyes, already grabbing a plate like he belonged here, like they all did.

The conversation started simple- work, weather, flights, cities. Jay filled the gaps easily, weaving stories with the kind of natural charm only a seasoned lawyer could pull off. He talked about his firm back in Seoul, how his youngest daughter had tried to draw on his legal documents with crayons, how his son still teased him for losing an argument to a four-year-old. Y/N laughed, head tipped back slightly, that kind of laugh that warmed the room more than the radiator ever could.

Eventually, the stories shifted and, predictably, they turned toward Sunghoon.

Jay grinned around a mouthful of salad as he launched into tales Y/N had never heard- how Sunghoon, back in college, once pulled three consecutive all-nighters trying to finish a model for an architecture competition, only to sleep through the final submission. How he once broke his wrist during a drunken dare to skateboard down the steepest hill on campus, and still showed up to class the next day with his notes balanced on the cast. How he used to draw intricate skylines in the margins of every notebook, even in classes that had nothing to do with architecture.

And of course, Jay couldn’t resist mentioning the infamous Europe trip- the one that changed everything without them realizing it at the time. He talked about how Sunghoon had been so annoyingly hopeful during that summer, so convinced that life was about to open itself up to him in some grand, cinematic way. How he came back different after that trip- quieter, a little more weighted- but never explained why.

Y/N listened closely, soaking in every word.

There was something almost reverent in the way she paid attention- like she was piecing together the missing years of a story she had unknowingly starred in for far too long. She laughed at the right moments, gasped in mock horror when Jay described the skateboard incident, shook her head when he revealed how Sunghoon had once nearly gotten arrested in Barcelona for accidentally trespassing on a historical site he was “admiring too closely.”

Sunghoon mostly kept quiet, nursing his wine, his gaze flickering between his best friend and the woman sitting beside him. He didn’t mind being the subject tonight. If anything, he liked it- liked the way Y/N looked at him with that half-smiling curiosity, like every ridiculous thing Jay said only made him more real to her.

“You know, on that train?” Sunghoon started, looking between Jay and Y/N. “We played cards with this group of old men. And before leaving, they wished us all the best for the future and for love.”

“I remember that,” Y/N’s smile spread softly as she recollected the memory.

“Isn’t it insane? How things worked out.”

Eventually, the night wound down. The dishes were cleared, the wine finished, the laughter tapering into that familiar, comfortable tiredness that only comes after a good meal shared between people who no longer feel like strangers.

Y/N stood and grabbed her bag, pulling out her phone to book a cab. She moved easily, like she had done this a hundred times before. But Jay frowned, watching her from his place on the couch, a sliver of unease threading through his expression.

“How’s it alright,” he muttered under his breath “for a woman to travel alone this late?”

Before he could say more, Sunghoon cut in, already waving him off. “It's safe here,” he said simply. “Safer than Seoul, honestly. She’s done this a million times.”

Jay didn’t argue further. He just pressed his lips into a tight line, nodded once, and disappeared into the guest room, trust stitched into the quiet way he left the conversation.

Sunghoon pulled on his jacket and walked Y/N down to the road where her taxi was waiting, the night wrapped heavy and slow around them. The city had quieted into a low hum, the air thick with the smell of rain and petrol, streetlights buzzing overhead like tired lullabies. They didn’t speak as they walked. There was no need to fill the space between them; the silence had its own kind of gravity, pulling them closer with every step.

At the curb, they paused. Y/N fiddled with the strap of her bag, glancing at the taxi, then back at him. The cab’s engine purred in the background, patient. Sunghoon stood there, watching her, a hundred words building and crumbling behind his teeth. He didn’t want her to go, not again, not even for the night. Without giving himself the time to overthink it- without giving the fear room to grow- he leaned down and kissed her like he did most nights they were parting ways to go to their respective homes. It was a ritual, an agreement that this was how they chose to end their days, some sort of contact, some form of affection.

She smiled at him, softly, like how she always did, her doe eyes staring back at him. He was sleepy, she could tell by his droopy eyes and ruffled brows.

“Move in with me,” he said, his voice low, almost too casual for the weight of what he was asking.

“What?” she whispered, frowning slightly as if she hadn’t heard him right.

“Move in with me,” Sunghoon repeated, steadier this time. “You basically live here anyway. Half your stuff is already here- your books, your sweaters, your coffee cups...” He gave a small, helpless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Might as well make it official.”

For a long second, she just stood there, caught between him and the waiting cab, the night buzzing softly around them. And then, slowly, impossibly, she smiled and kissed his cheek, her free hand softly cradling his face. She didn’t explicitly say yes, she didn’t have to. She just climbed into the cab with a lingering glance over her shoulder, the answer shining in her eyes before she even closed the door.

And as the taxi pulled away into the night, Sunghoon stood there for a moment longer, jacket hanging open, hands shoved into his pockets, feeling like maybe- finally- he had stopped running.

They found an apartment tucked between Y/N’s university and Sunghoon’s office- a green building at the edge of a sleepy, semi-gated community, where the sidewalks were cracked but clean, and trees arched overhead like old, patient guardians, their branches laced together like clasped hands. Stray cats wandered the streets freely, their coats dusty and proud, weaving between parked bicycles and the crooked legs of plastic chairs.

The building itself was four stories high, its walls covered in creeping ivy that turned gold in the autumn, burgundy in the winter. The paint was chipped in places. The elevator creaked every time it climbed past the second floor. But it was homey in a way most new constructions weren’t- a place that had been lived in, softened at the edges by years of small, ordinary lives.

Their unit was on the third floor, just high enough to catch the breeze but low enough to hear the neighbor’s piano practice in the evenings. The windows were tall and stubborn to open, framed by old iron grilles that let the light scatter across the walls in slanted, golden bars. The living room was small but bright, with just enough space for a second hand couch they picked out together and a low coffee table cluttered with books, half-finished crossword puzzles, and Sunghoon’s abandoned sketches.

The kitchen was recyangular, a single counter running along one wall, stained and scratched from a dozen past tenants. The stove clicked stubbornly before lighting. The fridge leaned slightly to the left. But still, it became a place where pasta boiled over and dumplings burned slightly on the bottom, where mugs clinked in the morning quiet, where grocery lists were scribbled on sticky notes and slapped onto the fridge door.

Their bedroom was tucked into the farthest corner, modest, almost shy. A narrow balcony stretched out from it, barely wide enough for two chairs and a crooked table where they sometimes sat on humid nights, sipping beer or eating cheap ice cream, watching the street lights flicker like tired fireflies.

Downstairs, the community buzzed with a life of its own. There was an old woman who sold baozi from a folding table near the gate every morning, always shouting friendly scolds when Sunghoon forgot his wallet. There was a florist who only opened his shop at odd hours and once gave Y/N a wilting rose for free, just because she said she liked the smell. There were children who played soccer in the narrow lanes, their laughter bouncing off the weathered stone walls, and a retired artist who painted landscapes on the sidewalk with chalk, only to watch them wash away with the next rain.

Inside, they built a life that settled into a rhythm almost without them realizing. Mornings meant fumbling around the kitchen together, half-asleep and heavy-limbed, passing mugs back and forth with clumsy hands and sleepy smiles. Sunghoon usually made the coffee- strong and bitter- while Y/N hovered near the stove, pretending to help but mostly just getting in the way, stealing sips from his cup before her own was ready. Their jokes were softer in the mornings, murmured around yawns, laughter curling lazily into the sunlight pooling across the tiled floor.

Evenings were a little louder, a little messier. Dinner at the small wooden table by the window became a ritual neither of them ever bothered to question. Sometimes it was takeout- greasy dumplings or cold noodles in plastic boxes- and sometimes it was whatever Y/N could cobble together from the fridge after her classes: one-pot pastas, stir-fries that set off the smoke alarm more often than not. Afterward, they curled into each other on the sagging couch, the city flickering outside the window. Y/N would read aloud from whatever novel had captured her that week, her voice threading gently through the room, while Sunghoon rested his head against her shoulder, letting the sound of her fill in all the tired spaces inside him.

Sometimes it was him doing the talking instead- late-night ramblings about impossible project managers, bureaucratic nightmares, steel orders delayed yet again. He would pace the living room in frustration, tossing out architectural jargon, until Y/N tugged him back down beside her and told him, simply, stubbornly, that he was brilliant. And somehow, the knots inside his chest always loosened a little when she said it.

They argued, too- like all real couples did. Sometimes about big things, but mostly about nothing at all. Y/N wanted a pet- a dog, a cat, even a bunny, she said once, her face half-buried in a blanket, grinning. She wanted something living and soft and theirs. Sunghoon resisted, citing their long hours, their unpredictable travel, the fear of leaving something small and trusting behind. Neither of them ever won those arguments outright, but somehow they circled back to it again and again, a low-burning want that never fully left the room.

The balcony plants were another battleground. They had bought them in a fit of optimism one spring- small pots of basil, rosemary, a lemon tree that Y/N insisted would one day bear fruit- but between Sunghoon’s site visits and Y/N’s grading marathons, the poor things wilted and browned faster than they could save them. Every time a plant shriveled into nothing, they pointed fingers half-jokingly at each other, sparring over who was supposed to water them that week.

Some nights, they bickered over movies, scrolling endlessly through the options, each rejecting the other's picks with increasingly absurd excuses. In the end, they usually gave up and flipped to whatever Chinese drama happened to be airing on local TV- always badly acted, always wildly over-the-top, full of improbable plots about secret twin siblings and dramatic amnesia. They would sit side by side on the couch, trading sarcastic commentary, laughing until they couldn’t breathe, until the night felt stitched together with something stronger than just habit.

And just like that, three years had slipped by since they reunited in that quiet Shanghai bookshop, and two years since they moved into their creaky, stubborn apartment- the one with the ivy-covered walls, the third-floor balcony, the kitchen that never fully heated up in winter but somehow became the warmest place they knew. Their home had filled itself over time- birthdays celebrated with mismatched streamers taped hastily to the walls, cooking disasters they cleaned up side by side, little wins toasted with cheap wine until they laughed themselves breathless on the worn-out couch. The walls bore witness to it all- Y/N’s cluttered shelves of trinkets, Sunghoon’s architecture sketches pinned in loose, sprawling lines across the living room, the hum of music on lazy Sundays, the clink of coffee mugs in the mornings, and the quiet, sacred moments of intimacy that didn't need words.

And now, it was time to mark the next chapter. 

Sunghoon’s building- the one he had sketched and dreamed and fought for- was finally complete. His name was folded into the skyline of Shanghai, stitched into concrete and glass, visible only to those who knew where to look. He'd done it- he finally did it.

To celebrate, his company hosted a grand opening, a party far more extravagant than anything Sunghoon would have thrown for himself. It was held in the top floor of the building where the champagne flowed, velvet ropes cordoned off the important people, and unfamiliar faces mingled under bright lights. It was supposed to be about his achievement, his vision made real- but to Sunghoon, it felt heavier, more personal. It felt like surviving. It felt like standing on the other side of everything that should have broken him.

Jay and Jake flew in from Seoul for the event, carrying the kind of chaos and heart only old friends could bring. Jay, with his reckless grin and booming voice, immediately made enemies with the event staff over "no kids running" rules. And the tension between him and his wife didn’t go unnoted. Jake arrived with Minji and their two children, presenting Sunghoon with an aged bottle of whiskey so expensive he almost dropped it in shock. 

When asked what gift Jay had brought, he slapped Sunghoon hard on the back and joked, "Who do you think is gonna be your lawyer when the lawsuits come in?" But later, when the crowd thinned slightly, Jay leaned in and muttered that the real gift- a carved jade vase picked out for him and Y/N- was waiting in his hotel room, too fragile to be dragged through the crowd.

As Sunghoon was swept away by a crowd of people- clients, architects, and reporters, all eager to speak with him, interview him, and congratulate him on the success of his building- Y/N found herself momentarily adrift, the hum of conversations around her blending into a distant background. But before she could get lost in the noise of it all, Jay’s voice broke through, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Y/N,” he called with a warm smile, one that seemed to soften the usual edge in his eyes. “Come meet everyone.”

He introduced her first to Emma, who gave her a polite, though reserved, handshake. Emma’s eyes were kind, but there was something guarded about her smile, as if she were measuring Y/N before deciding how much to let in. Next, Jay introduced her to his children. His son, a bright-eyed eight-year-old, immediately started chatting about his favorite cartoons, while his daughter, a few years younger, shyly held out a hand for a quick shake before retreating to her mother’s side.

Y/N smiled warmly, watching the kids interact with Jake’s, whose boisterous laughter seemed to fill the air as they played together like long-lost friends.

And then, Jake’s family appeared, standing close behind them with easy smiles and a regal air about them, as if their wealth and poise were as much a part of their DNA as their names. Minji, Jake’s wife, stood confidently beside him, her hands full with the impeccable, expensive gift they had brought. She, too, offered Y/N a warm handshake and a glance of approval, one that spoke volumes about the quiet power she held within their circle.

“Your boyfriend’s quite the star tonight,” Jake grinned and raised his wine glass, scanning his eyes across the crowd.

Sunghoon stepped up to the mic, his hand briefly adjusting the collar of his shirt as the room fell silent. A soft clink of silver against glass echoed through the space, signaling the beginning of his speech. He looked out over the crowd, his gaze finding familiar faces among the sea of guests. He looked nervous, his friends could tell by the smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his squinted eyes. Y/N chuckled, clasping her hands together and coaxing him.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," he began, his voice steady but filled with gratitude. "This building has been a lifelong dream of mine, something that’s been in the making for years. I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a kid, when I was still playing with LEGO.”

The crowd lulled at him. 

"This moment wouldn’t be possible without the support of my family, my friends, and everyone who believed in me. I’m especially grateful to my parents, who have always been my foundation, and to my friends- Jay, Jake, and everyone who’s been by my side through thick and thin."

He paused for a moment, his gaze softening as it landed on Y/N. A small smile tugged at his lips.

"And to Y/N, my wonderful girlfriend who never stopped believing in me- for fifteen years, you’ve always been patient and supporting me. In your own, quiet ways." The room was quiet, everyone’s attention rapt, as Sunghoon continued. "This building- this achievement- it's as much as all of yours as it is mine. So, thank you, all of you, for helping me get here."

The crowd erupted in applause. 

He raised his glass slightly. "Here’s to many more moments like this."

The crowd cheered, and the applause filled the room, but Sunghoon’s eyes stayed on Y/N, his heart full.

The applause still echoed in the room, but Sunghoon barely noticed. His heart was pounding, the noise of the crowd fading into the background as his feet moved instinctively toward her. His eyes locked on Y/N, standing at the edge of the room, her smile brighter than he’d ever seen it before.

He could feel the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside him- the pride of the night, the weight of the years of work, and the absolute certainty that in this moment, in this life, all that mattered was her. Everything else- every achievement, every challenge- had led to this.

Without thinking, he jogged towards her, ignored everyone that reached towards him, the excitement in his chest pushing him forward. He took her hands in his, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a way nothing else could. The world felt distant, muted, as if the room had shrunk down to just the two of them, standing in a bubble of their own.

Y/N’s wide, surprised eyes met his, her lips curling into a smile as she looked up at him, unsure of what was coming. Sunghoon didn’t let the moment slip.

"Marry me," he said, his voice low but certain, no hesitation, no ring, no preparation. Just the raw sincerity of what he felt.

Y/N stared at him, stunned, the question hanging between them like a breath neither of them could take. For a second, the whole room seemed to still- the lights, the music, the people- all blurring into the background. All that was left was him, and her, and the weight of everything they had built without ever daring to name it.

"Sunghoon?" Her voice was soft, unsure, like she couldn’t quite believe what he was asking.

"Marry me, Y/N," he repeated, the words tumbling out with all the confidence he had in her, in them, in the life they’d built together. "Make me yours. Marry me,” he looked at her like she’d written his life, like she hung the stars that his building touched. His hair fell on his forehead, eyes sparkling under the white light of the room, his pointy teeth peeking under his lips.

The room continued to buzz around them, but all he could hear was the beating of his heart and the way her hands tightened in his. It was as if everything had led to this point- every smile they’d shared, every quiet moment, every fight, every laugh. It was all right here, and in that one moment, all of it felt like it was finally falling into place.

Y/N’s eyes were searching his face, taking in the rawness of his plea, her breath catching in her throat as her heart caught up with what he was saying. For a beat, it felt like the world had paused. The future, their future, stretched out ahead of them, and for the first time, it didn’t seem so uncertain.

“Yes,” she whispered, fighting the smile that inevitably spread across her face, her eyes beaming. “I’ll marry you, yes.”

That night, their apartment was filled with the kind of laughter that wrapped around the walls and stuck there, soaked into the wood and the floorboards and the worn fabric of the couch. Jay and Jake’s families crowded into the small living room, balancing wine glasses and plates of leftovers, their kids weaving between legs and couch cushions, building forts out of pillows and throwing giggling fits that made even the neighbors downstairs stomp once on their ceiling in protest.

The celebration wasn’t just for the building- although Jake made a big, showy toast about Sunghoon “finally putting something other than Legos together.” It wasn’t just for the engagement, either- although Jay yelled loud enough for the entire floor to hear when Y/N showed off the temporary ring Sunghoon had bought from a street vendor just to make it official. It was for everything- for the survival, the endurance, the blind faith it had taken to get here.

The whiskey Jake had brought from Korea was uncorked, its rich, smoky scent curling through the apartment, mixing with the smells of cheap takeout and someone's abandoned lavender hand lotion. They drank too much and laughed too hard and retold old stories, the ones that had been dragged out a hundred times before but still hit just as hard. They toasted to love, to family, to new beginnings that had been a long time coming.

At the center of it all was Y/N and Sunghoon, pressed into each other on the couch, still a little dazed, still blinking like they couldn’t quite believe their luck. Sunghoon leaned into her, his forehead bumping against hers, their hands tangled loosely in the space between them. Y/N laughed at something Jay said across the room, the sound spilling over Sunghoon’s shoulder like warm water. He looked at her the way you look at something you know you’re going to spend the rest of your life memorizing.

The next morning arrived heavy and slow. The hall smelt of whiskey and cold takeout with sunlight slanting lazily across the messy apartment floor. Jay and Jake groaned their way out of the guest room, looking like they'd aged a decade overnight. The kids and the wives were still sleeping, Y/N still locked in the room with her head buried in pillows. While Sunghoon, somehow, had the audacity to be chipper, already showered and dressed, pacing the living room with a cup of coffee in hand.

"Let’s go," he said brightly, nudging Jake with his foot where he slumped on the couch.

"Go where?" Jake grunted, rubbing his face.

Sunghoon just grinned and said, "You’ll see."

Half an hour later, they were standing in front of a jewelry store in downtown Shanghai, still half-hungover, blinking against the polished glass and diamond shine like they’d stumbled into a parallel universe. Jake muttered something about needing sunglasses. Jay just stood there with his hands in his pockets, squinting at the window displays like they personally offended him.

When they went inside, it didn’t take long for chaos to start.

"I’m telling you, oval cut is the way to go," Jake said, leaning dramatically over the glass counter, pointing at a delicate, glittering ring.

Jay scoffed. "Oval is boring. Get her a princess cut. Classic. Clean. Also sounds badass- princess cut."

Jake rolled his eyes. "You're a lawyer, not a jeweler. Stay in your lane."

"And you’re a surgeon, not a stylist. What do you know about jewelry?"

“I know more about cuts than you!”

They kept going, arguing louder and louder, drawing a few raised eyebrows from the staff, while Sunghoon- unnoticed- had already chosen. The moment he saw it, he knew. Simple and elegant, a solitaire diamond, set low in a slender band of platinum. Not too flashy, not too plain.

Exactly Y/N- exactly her in every way that mattered.

Without saying a word, Sunghoon pulled out his card, signed the receipt, and slipped the velvet box into his jacket pocket. By the time Jake and Jay turned around, still bickering over cushion cuts versus marquise cuts, Sunghoon was already walking out the door.

"Wait- did you pick one?" Jay called after him, confused.

Sunghoon didn’t even slow down. He just tossed a grin over his shoulder and said, "Already done. Keep arguing if you want, though. Maybe you can pick your own next time."

“Excuse me, next time?”Jake looked at Jay, comical confusion on his face. But they ignored him and dragged him to a restaurant for lunch.

iii. When The Lights Start to Flicker

They'd been married a little over a year now, still living in the same apartment. The place had become a reflection of them- a small, sunlit sanctuary amid the constant rush of Shanghai. Sunghoon had started designing a house for them to build one day, a place they could call their own. He envisioned a space with wide windows to catch the morning light, a garden with space for their future children to play, and maybe even a little patch of grass where they could set up a swing. The plan was to settle in Shanghai, to raise their family here, to grow old together and, eventually, die here. Shanghai had become their city, their home.

Above their bed hung their only wedding photo- a courthouse wedding they had to have in Hong Kong. They hadn’t had time to plan something big, but the simplicity of it made it feel real in a way nothing else could. Their faces were flushed from laughter, hair messily styled from the winds on the ferry, clothes wrinkled and etched, eyes bright and full of hope- a stark contrast to the quiet mornings that followed.

The jade vase Jay had gifted them for their wedding day now sat on their balcony, a tiny lemon tree growing from it, its leaves stubborn and green despite the occasional gusts of wind. It was one of those small symbols of their life together- not perfect, not always flourishing, but resilient. Framed pictures dotted the apartment- photos from holidays with their families, snapshots from trips they’d taken with Jake and Jay’s families, and spontaneous polaroids of the two of them in various places, their smiles as wide and unguarded as the moments in which they were taken. 

Jay and Emma were divorced now, but they still kept in touch, if only for the sake of the kids. Jake’s children were growing fast, entering middle school now, a milestone Sunghoon couldn’t quite wrap his head around, hearing them yell “Samchon Sunghoon” over the phone all the time. Sometimes, they’d talk about their plans for the future- whether it was dinners at the new restaurant in Shanghai or weekend trips to the coast- always something to look forward to, always an excuse to keep moving forward, to keep adding to the timeline of their life.

Life seemed good. No- life was good. Better than Sunghoon had ever dared hope for. In the mornings, Y/N would make coffee while he sat at the kitchen counter, scrolling through his sketches for the house, and they’d talk about their day- trivial things at first: what they’d have for dinner, what he should wear to the meeting later. Then, there were the deeper conversations, the ones where they talked about their future, the one they were building together, like they were planting seeds for something that would last a lifetime.

Evenings were quiet. After dinner, they’d curl up on the couch, wrapped in soft blankets, watching old movies or the latest series they had gotten hooked on. Y/N liked to talk about their plans as if they were already there- as if the house was already standing, the kids already laughing in the garden. It felt like a dream Sunghoon was terrified to wake up from. There were nights he lay awake beside her, her steady breathing grounding him, his mind racing with the fear that it could all be taken away with a single misstep, a wrong decision. He felt too lucky, too undeserving of all of this. He couldn’t help but wonder, sometimes, if this was just a dream, one that he would wake up from at any moment- a dream that, apparently, was their life.

There were small moments, too- the way Y/N would smile when he’d finish a long day at work, the way she hummed a quiet tune while tending to the plants in their living room, the soft rustling of pages as she read before bed. Little things, but they were the rhythm of their life, the foundation of something they had both worked for and built from scratch.

Yeah. Life was great.

Until the night he came home and found her sobbing on the couch.

The sound cracked through the apartment like a whip, stopping him in his tracks. His bag slid forgotten from his shoulder as he rushed to her side, crouching in front of her, reaching out without even knowing what he would say. Y/N was folded into herself, shaking, the kind of sobs that came from somewhere deeper than just grief. It took long, fumbling minutes to piece the story together through her broken words.

“Do you remember my uncle John?” Y/N asked between sobs. “The one who…”

Killed himself?

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nodded, his hand gripping hers and holding her against her chest. 

“His daughter,” she sobbed. “His daughter hung herself.”

Her cousin- the eldest daughter of her late uncle- was gone. A suicide, barely days away from earning her PhD. She had flown home under the pretense of rest and family- and instead had left a note explaining she had come to say goodbye.

Sunghoon’s arms wrapped around her instantly, pulling her against him, shielding her from the world with nothing but his own helpless warmth. He listened as she cried out memories, old guilt, new grief, her voice cracking apart in ways he didn’t know how to fix. He stayed with her through the night, through the tremors of her heart breaking open again, whispering comfort into her hair even though he knew it couldn’t patch the hole now yawning wide inside her.

The days that followed blurred together. Y/N couldn’t sleep. She wandered the apartment like a ghost, curling into Sunghoon at odd hours, talking in tangled loops about death, about missing signs, about how unfair it all was. Sunghoon held her through it, steady as he could be, biting down his own helplessness because what else was there to do?

And then, one night, it shifted into something worse.

She sat on the couch again, curled up in her favorite worn sweatshirt, the fabric soaked with tears. But this time, when she spoke, the names were wrong. The story was wrong. She wasn’t talking about her cousin anymore- she was talking about her uncle. About the bathtub, the blood, the knife slipping from his hand. Events that had happened years ago, long before they met. Like all of that was happening now.

Sunghoon’s heart stopped cold.

He knelt in front of her, his hands cupping her tear-streaked face, his voice shaking as he tried to pull her back. “Y/N,” he said softly, urgently, "that was... years ago. Not now. Not this time. It's your cousin, remember?"

For a long moment, she just stared at him like she didn’t know where she was, like he was speaking a language she couldn’t quite catch. And then, slowly, she blinked, wiped her face with trembling fingers, and whispered, “Sunghoon? Right. Right… years ago.”

Sunghoon didn’t think much of it- he chalked it up to exhaustion. In all the time she spent crying and juggling work and keeping herself alive, it could easily have been her brain trying to keep up. The stress of grief, the late nights spent tossing and turning, and the constant pressure to appear okay- it all had to take its toll somewhere. He convinced himself it was just a phase, something temporary that would eventually pass. But deep down, there was a quiet, nagging feeling he couldn't quite shake.

Because one day, when she woke up beside him, Sunghoon felt it in the air before she even opened her eyes. She stared at him like she had never seen him before, like a stranger had slipped into their bed overnight. The seconds stretched and cracked, her gaze flickering with confusion, then panic. And in a heartbeat, she was scrambling out of bed, shouting “Bloody Mary!” like some kind of primal instinct had taken hold of her.

“Who are you?” She demanded, voice breaking, hands shaking, frantic. “How did you get in here?”

Sunghoon’s heart sank, raw and painful, as he sat frozen for a moment, the silence between them suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. He slowly got out of bed, each step toward her feeling like a weight around his chest, every word that left his mouth laced with fear.

“Y/N, it’s just me. It’s me- Sunghoon,” he whispered, his voice shaking, as if trying to pull her back from some invisible abyss. She froze, eyes wide, unblinking, but she wasn’t seeing him. Not really.

It took minutes- long, painful minutes- before her eyes cleared, and she blinked slowly, the pieces clicking back into place. She looked at him as if waking from a nightmare, and the moment she realized it, she crumpled into him, sobbing uncontrollably.

He didn’t leave her side that day. She didn’t go to work. She didn’t even get out of bed. Her body seemed to collapse in on itself, the weight of her confusion pressing down on her, and he held her tighter, as if that might make the pieces fit again.

There were other days, too, small moments that cut through him like a knife. She’d stand in front of the fridge, staring at it like she had no idea what it was for, no idea what she was looking for. He'd ask if she needed anything, and she’d shake her head with a small, distant smile, as if she were trying to remember the question.

And then there was the train.

The train ride that had started it all- the one that had sparked their first conversation, the first connection, the first laughter. Sunghoon would bring it up from time to time, a simple, warm memory to anchor them both. But Y/N would look at him, eyes soft and unfocused, and tilt her head.

“Train?” she’d ask, brow furrowing. “What train?”

He would try again, his voice gentle, coaxing. “Y/N, our train. Sixteen years ago, when we met. In Europe. You remember? We talked for hours.”

“Europe?” Her voice was small, uncertain, as if the word was a strange, unfamiliar sound in her mouth.

Sunghoon’s heart would crack a little more every time, and he’d blink back tears, trying to hold it together. She wasn’t her in those moments. The woman who had laughed with him for hours, who had stolen his heart on that train ride, seemed to slip farther away with each passing day.

He'd search her face for something- anything- that resembled the woman he knew. But all he’d find was a faint trace of recognition, a distant look in her eyes, as though she was staring at him from the other side of a foggy glass.

“I... I don’t remember, Sunghoon,” she’d say softly, a frown pulling at her lips. “I’m sorry.”

“How did we meet, Y/N? When was the first time we met?”

Y/N broke down in tears again because she, in fact, could not recall.

But then, the memory lapses seemed to fade. As she began to come to terms with her cousin’s death- after the funeral, after the guilt, after the crushing waves of grief- she seemed lighter, steadier. The moments of confusion slipped into the background, infrequent enough to feel like grief-induced fog rather than something concerning. And Sunghoon, so desperate to believe that everything was okay, let himself believe it too. He didn’t tell anyone. Not Jake, not Jay, not even her family. He pushed it away like a bad dream, convinced that maybe it had all just been stress, and that maybe, just maybe, they were fine again.

Until one day, when Y/N was on her way to the metro station for work and called him in full-blown panic. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she whispered into the phone, breath sharp and uneven. “I don’t know where I’m going, Sunghoon. I don’t know why I left.”

He ran out of the apartment, sprinting down the streets near the station, his heart thudding so hard it made his ears ring. When he found her, she was sitting on the sidewalk by the flower vendor, her knees pulled to her chest, hands trembling. And when she looked up at him, her eyes flooded with relief. “Hoon,” she gasped, like she had been holding her breath the whole time. He dropped to his knees and pulled her into his arms right there on the pavement. And at least she still remembered him. That was something- that was everything.

But the small incidents began piling up like dominoes. One evening after dinner with friends, she fumbled through her purse for the house keys, her anxiety rising with every second. “They're gone, I can’t find them, I must’ve lost them.” Her voice cracked with panic- until Sunghoon gently took her hand and unfolded her fingers to reveal the keys she’d been clutching all along. Another day, she left the stove on while boiling eggs and stepped out for groceries. The fire alarm screamed through the building, and Sunghoon came home to the smell of scorched metal and neighbors in the hallway, shaken.

Then there were the names- she’d start stories and stall mid-sentence, unable to remember who she was talking about. She began confusing days of the week, missed appointments she’d never forget before, and sometimes called objects by the wrong name- a toothbrush was a “face stick,” a clock was a “time circle.” She started repeating herself too- asking if they had milk three times in ten minutes. Sunghoon would answer each time like it was the first, but the silence that followed hurt worse than anything else.

Eventually, with a shaking hand and dread thick in his throat, Sunghoon called Jake.

“She’s forgetting things, Jake,” he said, voice low and broken. “Not just little things. Big things. She gets scared. She’s getting words wrong, she’s leaving the stove on. She called me from the metro station and didn’t know why she was there. And... it’s happening more and more often.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then Jake’s voice came through, steady but grave. “Sunghoon… She's showing signs of dementia. It sounds like she’s on her way to Alzheimer’s. You need to find out if anyone in her family has a history of it. Now.”

Turns out, after a gentle, seemingly harmless conversation Sunghoon started one afternoon while folding laundry beside her- “Hey, do you know if anyone in your family ever had memory problems?”- he found out that Y/N’s maternal grandmother had died of Alzheimer’s. It happened in a way her family never really talked about it. It had been brushed off as “old age,” but the signs were there, Y/N’s mother admitted later. She had forgotten her children’s names in the final years. She couldn’t even recognize her husband.

And from then on, it was like the truth became impossible to ignore.

Y/N’s memory declined like the last embers of a dying fire- slow at first, barely visible, but then suddenly collapsing inwards. She’d forget what room she was walking into, or why she was holding a spoon in the bathroom. She began writing notes on post-its and sticking them everywhere- Keys are on the hook. Your uncle and cousin are dead. You’re married to Sunghoon. Sometimes, even she couldn't read her own handwriting.

She stopped cooking. She’d forget she had started, then come back hours later to find uncooked rice soaking or wilted vegetables on the counter. Sometimes she’d call Sunghoon in tears because she couldn’t find the phone she was calling from. Her mood began to swing without warning. Sweet one moment, then suddenly furious, accusing Sunghoon of hiding things, or worse- cheating on her.

She’d wake up in the middle of the night and scream because she didn’t recognize their bedroom. There were days she wouldn’t even let him touch her, claiming he was an impersonator. “Where’s my husband?” She’d cry. “Sunghoon would never keep me here.” And then, as if a switch had flipped, she’d melt into his arms and sob.

Eventually, she quit her job and stopped working on her next book. She couldn’t remember her passwords, couldn’t keep up with deadlines, and once left her office because she got scared that the people there were “pretending” to know her. Sunghoon stopped going into the studio too. He asked to work remotely, spending most of his time beside her, trying to anchor her to the present. But she started living almost entirely in the past.

The outbursts became violent. She once threw a mug across the kitchen. She started locking herself in the bathroom, refusing to come out. Jake and Y/N’s family began to insist gently- and then firmly- that Sunghoon consider long-term care. That he couldn’t do this alone, that she was slipping away and needed help.

Sunghoon didn’t want to let her go. He couldn’t imagine a day without her- her real, true self, even if she only appeared in flickers now. But after one especially bad night- Y/N screaming and crying, hitting herself, convinced her dead uncle was still alive and had just called her- he brought it up.

“I think maybe…” he whispered, kneeling beside her where she was curled up in the hallway, “maybe we should find a place. Somewhere safe. Somewhere with people who know how to help you.”

Her eyes blazed. “You want to lock me up?” She spat. “You think I’m crazy?”

“No- no, baby, that’s not-”

“Then why are you doing this to me?” she shrieked. “I’m not leaving. I’m not going anywhere! You’re not taking me!”

They tried again later. Her mother came, and Jake, and even her old colleague from the university. But each time, Y/N fought like a wild animal. She screamed and sobbed and clung to Sunghoon like a drowning woman. And each time, they had to remind her- again and again- You’re in the future. You have dementia. You don’t remember because your brain is forgetting things. You have Alzheimer’s.

Some mornings, she’d dress up in old college hoodies and ask what time her environmental psychology class was. She’d talk about a boy named Henry- someone she dated when she was 19- and wonder why he hadn’t called. Once, she set the table for dinner and asked if her uncle was coming. Another time, she stood by the window for hours waiting for her cousin to come pick her up.

Worst of all were the moments when her eyes would light up, recognition blooming, and she'd talk to Sunghoon like she remembered everything- only to forget his name halfway through the conversation.

One afternoon, they were walking back from a small bakery, when she wandered toward a street vendor selling baozi. She smiled warmly at the woman and launched into fluent French. The seller blinked, confused, and Sunghoon gently placed a hand on Y/N’s back.

“She thinks she’s in Marseille,” he whispered, forcing a smile.

Y/N turned to him, delighted. “Can you believe this aunty sells baozi in France?”

Sunghoon didn’t correct her. He just nodded, voice tight, “Yeah, baby. That’s wild.”

Because sometimes, lying was the kindest thing he could do.

And then… Y/N wasn’t lucid anymore. Not even for a moment, not even in the in-betweens. The disease had taken everything- her memories, her language, her personality. It stripped her of everything that made her her- and what remained was just a flickering ghost, a body that moved and blinked and sometimes smiled at nothing. A shell. Breathing, yes, but not alive- not really.

Sunghoon wasn’t her husband anymore. He was a kind man who brought her food and gently wiped drool from her chin. A stranger who helped her get dressed when she stared blankly at her hands like they didn’t belong to her. A shadow in her life that didn’t mean anything to her anymore, though to him- God, to him- she was still everything.

He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been truly there with him.

Was it months ago? When they went to that new Chinese film- the one they’d talked about for weeks? He remembered holding her hand in the theatre, feeling the tremble in her fingers, how she laughed at a joke five seconds after everyone else. Or maybe it was more recent- last week, maybe? When he was cooking dinner, she wandered in, looked at him for a long, glassy-eyed second, then slowly wrapped her arms around his waist. She just held him. No words, no explanation- just a small human miracle.

But that was gone now. Completely, utterly gone. 

She stared through windows like she was waiting for someone who would never arrive. She whispered to herself, nonsense words, phrases from decades ago. She forgot how to use the bathroom. Forgot how to chew. She didn’t recognize mirrors, or her own name.

And her eyes- those beautiful, sharp, sparkling eyes- were just fog now. Pale glass. Empty, like a house with all the lights turned off.

Sunghoon sat beside her every night and read the books they used to love. Even though she didn’t respond. Even though she didn’t blink. He combed her hair. He played her favorite music. He held her hand until she pulled away like he was nothing but static.

Jake flew in from China after a call with her doctors, something urgent in his voice. He couldn’t stand the silence on the other end of the updates anymore. Couldn’t stand the breaking in Sunghoon’s voice- the exhaustion, the hollowness. He met with every doctor, every specialist, brought files and reports and records. But they all said the same thing, their eyes filled with pity:

“She’s in the final stage.”

Jake stood in the cold hallway outside Y/N’s room that night, phone to his ear, as he talked to Jay back home. His voice was low, cracked.

“I don’t think Sunghoon can live through this,” Jake said. “Not this time. He loses Y/N, we lose him too.”

Jay didn’t respond for a long time. When he did, his voice was barely a whisper.

“There’s no cure for Alzheimer’s… is there?”

Jake’s silence was answer enough.

There was a long, bitter breath. The kind you let out when there’s nothing else to say.

“He’s dying in pieces,” Jake finally said. “Watching her fade day after day- he’s dying with her. But slower. Crueler.”

And it was true.

Sunghoon hadn’t been sleeping. He hadn’t been eating right. His eyes were rimmed red all the time, the edges of his mouth permanently turned down like someone grieving something invisible. He sat beside Y/N’s bed for hours, watching her blink at the ceiling or hum some broken tune from childhood. He whispered her name so many times it stopped sounding like a real word.

And sometimes, just sometimes, she would glance his way. Not with recognition. Not with warmth. Just the barest flicker. A look that said: You seem kind. But not: You’re mine. You’re the man I loved. The life I chose.

That had died a long time ago.

“No, no, don’t touch me!” Y/N screamed, thrashing her arms violently, knocking over the bedside lamp.

“Y/N, please- please, it’s me,” Sunghoon pleaded, hands hovering midair, helpless. “It’s me. It’s Sunghoon.”

“Don’t say my name like you know me!” She howled, eyes wide and wild, spit flying from her lips. “Where’s my Uncle?! Where’s my cousin? What did you do to them?!”

“Y/N, they’re not-” He couldn’t even say it. Not dead. Not gone. Not again.

She stumbled back into the dresser, knocking down her perfume bottles. The crash made her scream louder. “You kidnapped me! You sick bastard, get away from me!”

His legs gave way and he knelt on the floor, arms limp. The weight in his chest felt like drowning, like suffocating underwater and knowing no air was coming.

His Y/N, who once kissed him under the rain in Prague. Who held his hand through every storm. Who made burnt toast every morning and danced barefoot in the kitchen when she thought he wasn’t looking.

That woman was gone. And this… this terrified creature screaming at shadows- was what remained.

He watched her curl into a ball near the window, sobbing into her knees, whispering names of people who hadn’t existed in years. Her cousin. Her uncle. All dead. Yet in her head, they were just in the next room.

His lungs burned. He hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath.

She’s dying.

Not fast, not clean. But slow and fucking torturous- like a sun going cold over weeks, months, years. He couldn’t even scream. The pain was too heavy for sound.

He crawled toward her, barely able to speak. “You’re safe, Y/N. You’re safe. I would never hurt you.”

She flinched from him like he was a monster.

And it broke him. God, it broke him in a way no words could hold.

He wanted to tear his skin off. Rip out his heart and offer it to her like: Here. Take it. If it means you remember me again for just one minute- take it.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice hollow. “Even if you don’t know who I am anymore. Even if this- if this is all that’s left of us.”

She just kept sobbing.

And Sunghoon sat beside her like a ghost in his own home, rocking slightly, eyes glazed with tears that would never stop falling.

He was losing her. Just like before.

But this time… this time, it wasn’t death that took her.

It was forgetting.

And that was worse.

Because now, he had to wake up every single day… to watch the woman he loved disappear right in front of him.

Over and over again.

Until there was nothing left.

iv. The Bath Water Was Cold

Y/N was lucid.

For the first time in weeks- maybe months- her mind was still. No fog, no missing names, no confusion. Just unbearable, crystalline clarity.

She sat on the edge of the bed in her nightgown, trembling, knowing that something was wrong. The moonlight streaked across the wooden floors like ghostlight, pale and haunting. The house was quiet. Too quiet, like it was already mourning her. Sunghoon was asleep beside her, his face serene like the past few years weren’t filled with the torture Y/N had brought upon him- she’d become a burden, she knew it.

The walls no longer combined into a collage of framed pictures, Sunghoon’s sketches and movie posters anymore- they were sticky notes, all small reminders of Y/N’s life and what it really was- the real version, not the jumbled memory version. The house was messy with ripped pillows, strewn blankets, a shattered mug in the corner of the kitchen, a broken window- she didn’t know what happened to cause it. But she knew it was probably because of her.

In the mirror, she saw herself.

Not the version Sunghoon kept insisting still existed- the brave, curious woman who once dove off boats and kissed him under stars. Not the woman who used to teach English, who quoted Greek philosophy, who went on a spontaneous Europe trip alone. No. This version was frail, hollowed, yes sunken, lips pale, skin dull. She looked like someone halfway to the other side already.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the sink, nails digging into the ceramic. She thought of her cousin, of her uncle, of the smell of her old childhood home, of France, of baozi, of the train ride with Sunghoon, of the moment she fell in love with him, of the night he asked her to marry him. But she couldn’t remember what had been happening for the past couple of years- she didn’t remember how Sunghoon was killing himself to take care of her, she didn’t remember the pain her condition brought upon her family- she just knew, like it was some sort of gut feeling.

She thought of what would happen tomorrow when she woke up. The blank stares, the panic, the shaking, the way Sunghoon’s voice cracked every time he had to explain who he was again. Like carving a wound into his chest, again and again, daily.

She couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t be a monster in his story and he couldn't be the martyr to her story. She wouldn’t allow it.

So she ran a bath. Not hot. Not warm. Cold- the kind of cold where you hissed at the contact of water. And she wanted to feel it- wanted it to shock her back into herself, wanted the bite of it to remind her that she was alive- right now.

She stepped in slowly, like stepping into a grave. The porcelain shivered beneath her as she slid down, letting her head rest back.

And then, she slipped under.

No gasping. No flailing. Just… silence.

The last thought that crossed her mind was of Sunghoon’s face when she first kissed him. How his eyes fluttered shut, how gentle he was, how scared he was to fall in love. And how he did it anyway.

I love you. I’m sorry. I love you.

And just like that, Y/N was alone- ceasing to exist. The shadow she thought she’d gotten rid of had returned in a form much more permanent, much more numbing.

Sunghoon woke up to cold sheets.

That was the first sign. Y/N was always up early, but she always tucked herself back in, wrapped herself around him like ivy. The second sign was the silence. No kitchen clatter, no soft footsteps, no humming of French lullabies. The third sign was the open bathroom door.

“Y/N?” he called softly, walking barefoot across the wood.

Nothing.

He stepped into the bathroom and saw her.

At first, he didn’t understand. He blinked, trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Then it hit him like a train. Her body, limp in the tub. Water still, blue, like glass around her. Her face turned slightly to the side, lips pale, eyes closed. So still, too still.

“No,” he breathed, and the world cracked.

He fell to his knees, the sound that escaped him not even human. It was raw, unhinged, guttural. He plunged his arms into the water, ice biting his skin, and pulled her out with all the strength he had left. Her body was heavier than he remembered. Deadweight. Dead. Dead. He screamed her name, pressed his ear to her chest, shook her, slapped her face gently, kissed her cold lips, sobbed into her skin.

“Come on,” he begged, voice hoarse. “Please, wake up, Y/N. Please. Baby. Just one more time.”

He tried CPR. He screamed until his throat bled. He called the ambulance. He called the police. He called Jake. He called her mother. Called his mother. He called anyone and everyone. But she was already gone- had been for hours.

He lay on the bathroom floor with her cradled against him, soaking wet, rocking back and forth like a man possessed. When the paramedics arrived, they had to pry her from his arms. He fought them. He kicked and screamed. He cursed God. He cursed the mirror. He cursed himself for not waking up earlier. For not sleeping with one eye open. For not knowing.

Jake arrived just as they were wheeling her body out. He caught sight of Sunghoon- barefoot, drenched, shaking like a leaf, bloodshot eyes, face a ruin of grief.

“I should’ve known,” Sunghoon rasped, collapsing into Jake’s arms.

Jake couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Just held him as Sunghoon shattered.

In the days that followed, Sunghoon stopped eating. Not out of protest, not out of some conscious decision to spiral- but because food simply didn’t make sense anymore. The smell of it nauseated him. His stomach didn’t growl; his body didn’t ask. It was like it too had given up, echoing his refusal to accept the world without her in it. He didn't move from their bedroom, except to use the bathroom or stare blankly out of the balcony where the lemon tree still stood tall in the jade vase Jay had gifted them, now with one yellowing leaf curling at its edge. The rest of the apartment felt like an unfamiliar museum of their life together- every framed photo now a relic, every memory preserved in glass. He sat curled up on her side of the bed for hours at a time, her old scarf clutched between his hands, threadbare and faded but still faintly warm with her scent. He would press it to his face, over and over, inhaling until his chest hurt- like if he could just breathe deep enough, she’d come back to him. But with each passing hour, the scent faded, and so did his hope.

The funeral happened without him. He couldn’t bear it- the thought of standing before a coffin and admitting aloud that it contained her. That the girl who once ran barefoot through summer rain with him, who cried watching terrible documentaries, who held his face and told him she would love him forever- was now a cold, still body in a box. He didn’t want the last time he saw her to be like that. He wanted to remember her in motion- laughing, crying, living. So when her parents and Jake pleaded with him to come, when Jay sent messages begging him to say goodbye properly, all he could do was shake his head and whisper, “I already did.”

People came and went- friends from university, colleagues from work. Emma and Minji came by with a bouquet and left it in silence. Jake and Jay stayed. They cooked, cleaned, and took calls when Sunghoon couldn’t answer them. They spoke in hushed tones with her family, organized papers, and cleared out her drawer of medications. Once, Jake heard Sunghoon crying softly in the kitchen, trying not to be heard, and for a split second, he wanted to go to him, to lean on someone. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. Because the only person he had ever learned to lean on was gone. And in her place was just this howling emptiness that threatened to swallow him whole.

He whispered into the silence at night, curling into himself on the cold mattress. “I love you. Come back.” He said it like a prayer, like a mantra, like a spell. Over and over. Sometimes it was a whisper, sometimes it was a scream into the hollow dark. But she never did. There was no sign. No dream, no flicker in the corner of the room that maybe, just maybe, she was still around. The scarf didn’t smell like her anymore. The lemon tree began to wilt. And one afternoon, he caught a glimpse of their wedding photo, and it felt like looking at strangers- a man and a woman in love, two people he no longer recognized. Because who was he now? What was left of her, other than ashes in an urn and silence in the house they were supposed to grow old in?

The bathwater was cold. He remembered the moment he found her like it was still unfolding in slow motion- the door ajar, the silence unnatural, the steam long gone, and her body submerged- pale, still, floating like she belonged to another world. He remembered the sound of his own scream. The way he’d collapsed to his knees and tried to lift her out- how heavy she was, like her spirit had left her behind, leaving only a shell. He remembered slipping in the water and choking on sobs, calling her name, begging, pleading, wailing until the neighbors banged on the door and Jake had to pry him away from her lifeless body.

She was gone. No coma. No miracle. No bargaining with God. No gentle goodbye. Just gone. And he had no one but himself to blame. 

And now all he had was this echoing ache, a grief too big to fit inside his ribs. He wished she had left a note. Something-  anything- to make sense of why she chose to leave like that. But maybe she didn’t need to explain. Maybe knowing her mind was unraveling was enough explanation. Maybe she didn’t want him to have to see her forget again. Maybe she thought she was saving him.

How ironic- how utterly, grotesquely hilarious- that the universe seemed to have written his life as a tragedy with no intermission. He had lost his first wife in the kind of grief that rots you quietly, only to stumble into Y/N’s love like it was salvation. But now she was gone too, and in her place was nothing. No redemption, no closure- just silence and rot. He had lost his first wife to find Y/N. He had lost Y/N to lose himself. It was as if love had only ever existed to teach him the shape of absence; as if love was nothing but a punishment wearing a beautiful face.

v. Epilogue: The Lightswitch 

When Sunghoon told people that he’d been married twice- that had been widowed twice, people looked at him with disbelief. As if someone with such an attractive face and impeccable talent as an architect could not possibly receive such punishment from the universe. And usually, it was the young women that reacted this way, the ones who had daddy issues and looked at him like he could fix them for the night. And to these girls, his loss and grief and brooding past was more attractive.

Sunghoon was old now. In another world, he would have been a grandfather by now- if life went according to his plan, if no one had passed away and if no one walked away like idiots and luck was on his side. And with age- since a young age, actually- Sunghoon had attended a plethora of funerals. He knew funerals the way he knew an old friend- always there in the back of his mind, stored with random information, but not knowing where to let that information go.

The first funeral he attended was when he was a kid. It was his grandfather’s funeral. And after his, more of his grandparents passed away and his life circled around grieving parents, white flowers hung around framed pictures of the deceased and rituals that he didn't understand the need for performance but since his parents dragged him to it, he had no choice. The funeral he attended as an adult- the first true loss he faced- was of his first wife’s. He was the one that organized her funeral- through tears and pain and weight he couldn’t carry himself but did anyway. Because as a husband, he was responsible for it. And because he respected her too much and loved her too much.

And the funeral after that? It was of his second wife’s- Y/N’s. And he didn’t exactly attend the funeral, nor did he play a part in organizing it. His friends and Y/N’s parents had taken full responsibility, letting Sunghoon grieve over the love of his life- because she truly was, Y/N. The girl he met on a train, the girl he reunited with in a random coffee shop in a random city and the girl who let him rediscover himself. And she was gone too fast, too soon. Sometimes he'd wonder how many good years they had together- four years? Maybe five? Before her cousin had passed away- he still remembered the date.

There was a piece of her in everything he did- his building in Shanghai, the rest of the buildings he’d ever design, the clothes he bought for himself now (he’d only buy clothes in colors Y/N liked) and the food he cooked for himself. Usually it was her spaghetti recipe or her mala tofu recipe. And everytime he cooked one of Y/N’s recipes, he’d cry while eating the food. 

Sunghoon even wrote a book, in the memory of Y/N. He’d dedicated it to her and also his first wife, his friends, and his family. The book was a collection of short stories that revolved around two characters- two characters who met in a train and chose to adventure through life together, who explored themes of love, grief and all the other complicated emotions Sunghoon never got to confront until writing that book. And when publishing it (with the help of Jay’s connections), he’d included his favourite picture of Y/N in the back page- it was of her standing in front of the skeleton of his Shanghai building wearing a bright yellow hard hat and ridiculously large reflective vest. He even had that picture framed on his desk.

The funerals that would follow felt more natural that the previous two. His parents passed away with old age, his dog (who he adopted a few months after Y/N’s death) passed away due to cancer and more older people he knew- Jake’s parents, Jay’s parents, Y/N’s parents… one by one, they all passed away. But Sunghoon wondered why he was still alive. He wondered why the universe had taken away everyone from him but refused to take him instead. 

Sometime after Y/N’s passing, he moved back to Korea. And he lived with Jay for the time being- both bachelors (but Jay had his kids over a lot), both focusing on their careers and both holding onto each other for support. Some nights, they went to Jake’s house where they would play with his kids and eat the dinner Minji cooked. And other nights, they would both be buried in their work, not a word exchanged between them. 

He didn’t intend on visiting Shanghai, not even to see his building. He was too afraid, too weak to look at the building and not remember the glow on Y/N’s face when he asked her to marry him. It was too personal, too obvious. Sometimes, a picture of his building would show up on the paper or on social media would bring an ache to his chest. And he tried moving on, to replace the memories, but somehow, everything that was his had also been hers. 

Eventually, living in Korea felt like a burden, too. And so he relocated to Paris, where he got a job with double the pay and where his company provided him with accommodation in a fancy apartment. He went to France because it was the country Y/N spoke about the most during her last few days- always recalling the Eiffel tower, always spewing in the little French she knew and always calling baozi baguettes. When he reminisced, Sunghoon was able to chuckle at those moments now.

Her death still defined him- it still defined how he lived his life and the choices he made, like he was running again. But it wasn’t negative anymore. Sunghoon was able to live on and he was able to do it contently. When asked if he was happy, he didn’t really know what to say. Or, to be precise, he never understood the question. Because during moments where he was watching some of his and Y/N’s favourite shows, when he was reading one of her favourite books, when he was working and designing buildings and houses that he knew were going to be used and when he found himself laughing in certain fleeting moments, he thought he was happy. There would be a spark, a heat, in his chest that came from the brief thawing of his heart.

But then, there were the nights Sunghoon would stare at one of herold pictures and feel his chest clench- like, physically feel his heart contract. There were the nights when he would look at himself in the mirror, old now with a slight stubble and a permanent weight in his brows, and wonder where his life was leading to, what he was planning on doing next. There were nights where he would come home to an empty house and realise that he was… empty. Truly, empty.

To his friends, Jake and Jay, he was hanging onto life. He was living his life, day by day, working and eating French food and going to operas and plays with his colleagues and drinking expensive French wine. And it wasn’t a bad life, not at all. Most people would dream to have his life. But Sunghoon dreamed of sharing this life with Y/N. Because, somehow, he knew she was the only person who could appreciate it like he did- he knew only she could brighten his days filled with wine and food and art.

He wouldn’t call himself suicidal, but Sunghoon had thought about it a few times- during lonely nights where the cold wrapped him and he wished it was water instead, or during days he had to cook meals for himself and he wished the knife was slicing through his wrists instead of fresh tomatoes. They were intrusive thoughts, really- thoughts that emerged when he was tired and exhausted. 

To save himself from his thoughts, Sunghoon adopted a bunny. A grey, fluffy thing that hopped around his apartment and followed his feet, batted her ears and nibbled on carrots when he gave them to her. She also liked napping near his jade vase that stood in his balcony- the one that Jay gifted them all those years ago- which now potted a mint tree instead of a lemon tree. She was quiet, gave him company and made him smile with how dumb she was sometimes- knocking over pencils, jumping on counters to reach him and wiggling her tail to get his attention. In many ways, the bunny reminded him of Y/N- that she was quiet but always around him, always filling his space when he didn’t know he needed it. 

Y/N did used to say she wanted a bunny- especially during the first few years of their marriage. She wanted all sorts of animals- cats, dogs, bunnies, hamsters, birds, fish. Sunghoon had always refused- not because he hated animals but because he feared he had no time to care for one. He’d already gotten a dog, one that eventually died due to cancer. So the next best thing was this bunny, who he named after Y/N’s favourite color- Red.

She used to say red was her favourite color because Sunghoon’s favourite sweater was red in color. And also because the train they had met in, the one in Europe, was also painted in red. She used to tell him that a lot- well, until her dementia kicked in and she forgot she even had a favourite color. 

It was Sunghoon and his pet bunny against the world. It was odd, telling his colleagues and friends that he adopted one- a man so old who should have been worried more about taxes and acquiring property was more concerned over pets. But Sunghoon didn’t mind it. He liked that a pet was all he had to worry about- a pet that reminded him of her. And he’d send folders and folders of pictures of Red to Jake and Jay and they’d always make fun of him, but eventually admitted that they loved the bunny too.

Jake and his family even took a trip to Paris once and the kids got to play with Red. They loved feeding her and by the time they left, Red was a bit chubby and overweight for her size. 

When Jay finally visited him in Paris, they had spent a weekend exploring parts of the town Sunghoon didn’t have the heart to go alone. He finally got to eat at restaurants and cafes that seemed too posh to dine alone in and he finally went to museums that were the hotspot for tourists. 

And sometimes, during times like this when he was reminded that he had a support system who were willing to travel across borders to come see him, he didn’t feel as lonely anymore. He didn’t feel the need to feel sad, to feed into his depressive cycle, to wonder what would happen next. Because Sunghoon had lived- he’d lived enough to make himself proud, to make Y/N proud. And he’d lived enough to honour his first marriage- the fact that he didn’t give up then. 

Sunghoon, until his last breath, lived for the girl who gave him a second chance, in remembrance of the girl who taught him how to hope again. Because it wasn’t the end of the world- not yet. And it wouldn’t be for a long time. And he realised that even though Y/N might have been the lightswitch, Sunghoon had been his own bulb the whole time.

END CREDITS

It was one of those slow, golden evenings in Shanghai, the kind that curled into your bones and made you believe that maybe- just maybe- life could stay gentle forever. The sky blushed a deep rose, and the warm autumn breeze carried the scent of sweet osmanthus from the trees below. On the balcony of their little third-floor apartment, Y/N and Sunghoon sat cross-legged, sharing ice cream mooncakes from an artisan cafe, laughing at each other’s messy eating habits.

Y/N had a smear of ice cream sauce on her cheek, and when Sunghoon pointed it out, she’d stuck her tongue out at him in defiance. He leaned over to kiss it away instead of wiping it, and she’d giggled like she was twenty and in love for the first time.

Inside, the record player spun something old and scratchy- an Ella Fitzgerald vinyl she insisted she didn’t buy just for the aesthetic. The music floated around them like a lullaby, soft and warm. They hummed along, pretending to know the lyrics, pretending the world wasn’t hurling toward something unknowable.

But outside, the real magic was happening.

It was the Mid-Autumn Festival. Lanterns, thousands of them, were drifting up into the night sky, glowing softly like heartbeats in the dark. From their rooftop, they had a perfect view. Lights rising like dreams, weightless, fearless. The entire city felt like it had collectively exhaled.

Y/N, eyes wide and glittering, rummaged under the deck chair and pulled out a little paper lantern of their own. It was handmade- clumsily folded, leaning slightly to the left, the soft red tissue already creased from too many attempts. She held it out to him with both hands like it was sacred.

“Write something,” she said, handing him a pen.

Sunghoon quirked an eyebrow. “What are we, teenagers?”

“Obviously,” she replied, grinning. “But it has to be a secret. Fold it up, tuck it inside the lantern, and then we’ll let it go.”

He hesitated- but the look in her eyes disarmed him. That look always did.

So they wrote.

Y/N sat quietly for a long time, chewing her lip, as if she were trying to write something that might change the trajectory of the universe. When she was done, she folded the paper twice, kissed it once, and slid it into the lantern.

Sunghoon finished his in half the time but held onto the paper longer, staring down at the ink as if the words might disappear if he blinked too long. Then he, too, folded it gently and tucked it inside.

They lit the flame together. And as the lantern began to rise, fragile and glowing, Y/N turned to him, her voice softer than the wind. “Let’s promise each other something.”

He looked at her, not the lantern. Always her.

“What?”

“Let’s promise to grow old together. Really old. Wrinkled and annoying. Still dancing in the kitchen at 80, still calling each other stupid names. I want to be the weird couple yelling at pigeons in the park. You and me, always.”

He chuckled, a sound from deep in his chest. “Okay,” he said quietly, hand finding hers. “Promise.”

She leaned into him, her head on his shoulder like she’d done a thousand times before. “Even if I forget everything one day,” she whispered, almost too softly, “promise you’ll remind me.”

His heart ached without knowing why. He tucked his fingers into her hair, breathed her in.

“Every day,” he murmured. “I’ll remind you every damn day.”

The lantern floated higher, a red star against the indigo sky.

Later- too much later- he would find the tiny notes tucked inside the lantern box. Burnt at the edges from the heat of the flame but still legible.

Y/N’s said: “I hope I never forget how it feels to love you. But if I do- please love me loud enough that I remember.”

Sunghoon’s said: “Please let this last forever. Let time be kind to us. Let her be happy.”

They stood on the balcony long after the lantern disappeared from view, hands entwined, the city alive around them. Time, for once, pausing just long enough to let them exist in peace. And in that single, suspended moment, it felt like nothing could ever touch them. That their love, reckless and tender, would outrun everything. 

Even memory. Even death.

[obsidian-pages777]

How are you Winning in life and career in the Future? [Doechii themed reading]

Top Left to Right= 1->2, Bottom Left to Right= 3->4

Know how you are winning in your life and career in the upcoming future through this reading.

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Reading 1: The Powerhouse Success 🚀💰

You’re building an empire, whether it’s in business, media, or another high-achieving field. Your ambition is unmatched, and you’re seeing the rewards—financial abundance, industry recognition, and a reputation as someone who gets things done. You’ve mastered the art of networking, and people respect you for your strategic thinking and ability to turn ideas into reality. The competition is fierce, but you thrive under pressure. Your lifestyle reflects your success, whether that means luxury, freedom, or the ability to fund passion projects.

How You’re Winning: You're at the top of your game, setting trends and influencing others. Your Secret Weapon: A relentless work ethic combined with sharp intuition—you're always ten steps ahead. Potential Challenge: Burnout or losing personal fulfillment in the pursuit of success. Advice: Balance ambition with self-care to ensure long-term success and happiness.

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Reading 2: The Low-Key Winner 🌿🔮

You’re winning in life not because of money or fame, but because you’ve found peace. Your career may be unconventional or even slow-growing, but it’s exactly what you need. Maybe you’ve created a passive income stream, work remotely, or live a minimalist lifestyle. Success for you isn’t about external validation—it’s about personal fulfillment, doing work that aligns with your soul, and avoiding unnecessary stress. You might be deeply involved in creative or spiritual work, or simply living a life that allows you to wake up without dread.

How You’re Winning: You have inner peace, freedom, and a stress-free life that others envy. Your Secret Weapon: Prioritizing your well-being over societal expectations. Potential Challenge: Some people might not understand your choices or see them as "successful." Advice: Trust your path—you're building a life many dream of but never dare to pursue.

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Reading 3: The Resilient Hustler 🏆📈

Your success didn’t come easy by the time this win manifests. You’ve faced setbacks, challenges, and maybe even failures, but you’ve always found a way to bounce back. Your career path might be nonlinear—full of pivots, learning experiences, and moments where you had to reinvent yourself. But every challenge made you stronger, and now you’re finally reaping the rewards. You’ve developed resilience, problem-solving skills, and an unshakable belief in yourself. While others may have doubted you, you’ve proven that persistence pays off.

How You’re Winning: You turned struggles into stepping stones and are now thriving. Your Secret Weapon: An ability to adapt and never give up, no matter what. Potential Challenge: Staying patient when success is a slow build. Advice: Keep going—you’re closer than you think to reaching your biggest goals.

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Reading 4: The Hidden Genius 🧠🎭

You’re winning in life in the upcoming times because you’re brilliant at what you do, even if the world doesn’t fully recognize it yet. You might be in a niche field, working behind the scenes, or simply not interested in the spotlight. People who matter know your value—whether that’s a small but loyal audience, a company that relies on your expertise, or a creative work that will gain recognition long after its release. You’re playing the long game, and your impact might not be immediately obvious, but it will be lasting.

How You’re Winning: You have mastery in your field and are making a quiet but powerful impact. Your Secret Weapon: Depth of knowledge, originality, and the ability to think differently. Potential Challenge: Feeling overlooked or underappreciated at times. Advice: Keep honing your craft—your legacy will be undeniable in the long run.

[nartothelar]

I honestly love the new au and i want more lore on the au like what's death's forces why is that the oc's goal because im honestly a little confused🙀

Ok, so the general rundown: emmet and ingo both run the Death Train: a cargo and passenger train used for transport and safe passage whose network spans across the whole country. They were assigned to run and protect it by Death!

Death is a benevolent ruler who founded the DWMA and wants to maintain order and peace (tho there’s much more to him than just that so I’d recc checking out the actually soul eater canon!)

And so Masika’s, the jellyfish witch, goal is to take the Death Train out of commission to weaken/slow Death’s forces during their fight against the Kishin (<- the big bad of the universe). She’s going to do this by leading the boys (namely emmet) down the path of madness!

In the previous comic, she actually targets ingo with her venom (since he’s less likely to perceive her witch’s soul) and so it’s when ingo and emmet resonate that the venom can taint emmet’s soul without him noticing -> emmet goes mad as a result since ingo, with his anti madness wavelength, would be the last place he’d check for irregularities!

And that’s pretty much it!

[pony32099]

 Guo Wengui: The end of fraud and the trial of justice

 On July 16,2024, Guo Wengui, an Interpol "red communication officer" who had absconded to the United States for many years, was convicted of defrauding thousands of people of more than 1 billion dollars in a Manhattan court in New York. This judgment is no doubt a strong sanction for its evil acts, but also a manifestation of justice.

 Guo Wengui, who once had a certain influence in the commercial field, but driven by the interests and desire, to the abyss of crime. He used to be the actual controller of Henan Yuda Investment Co., Ltd. and Beijing Pangu Investment Co., Ltd. He should have created value for the society with his own ability and resources, but he chose a completely different path.

 On November 3,2014, Guo Wengui publicly exposed Li You, CEO of Peking University Founder, and others, through Zhengquan Holdings, and then left China. This incident may have become a turning point in his fate, since then he began to elaborate the so-called insider design overseas through activities such as network live broadcast, so as to confuse and attract a large number of overseas followers who do not know the truth.

 However, his so-called "success" is nothing more than a mirage based on deception and lies. Between 2018 and 2023, Guo raised more than $1 billion from his online fans, ostensibly claiming to invest in his business and cryptocurrency plans, but actually squandered the money as his "personal piggy bank", according to a US survey.

 He used a variety of fraud. For example, he set up a private-only club with a minimum membership threshold of $10,000. Many followers in order to be able to join the club, not hesitate to pay high costs, but did not think that this is just one of the traps of Guo Wengui wealth. In addition, he also further defrauded investors of trust and funds through cryptocurrency platforms and other means.

 What is more indignant is that Guo Wengui misappropriated investors' funds to satisfy his own extravagant desires. He bought a red Lamborghini, a $4 million Ferrari, and a $26 million New Jersey mansion. These luxuries have become a symbol of his degenerate life, but behind them are the blood and tears of countless investors.

 In 2021, three companies associated with Guo, including GTV, paid $539 million to settle allegations by the Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) over illegal stock offerings. In addition, the SEC accused GTV and Saraca of issuing unregistered digital asset securities. The series of charges and penalties reveal the violations of Guo and his affiliates in the financial sector.

 Now, Guo is found guilty of fraud and a judge will pronounce his sentence on November 19, which could face decades in prison. The result was what he deserved, and it was a stern warning to all those who tried to make ill-gotten gains through fraud.

 Guo Wengui's case brings us a profound reflection. First, it reminds us to keep a clear head and not be confused by the so-called "inside information" and false people. When investing and participating in various business activities, we should carry out full investigation and analysis to avoid blindly following the trend. Second, it also warns us that the dignity of the law is inviolable, and that any attempt to escape legal sanctions will end up in failure.

 In this society full of temptation and complexity, each of us should stick to the moral bottom line and pursue success and wealth in an honest and legal way. Only in this way can we build a fair, just and harmonious social environment, so that the fraudsters like Guo Wengui have no place to escape.

Justice may be late, but never absent. Guo Wengui's end once again proves this truth. Let us look forward to the legal severe punishment, but also hope that such cases can become a wake-up call in people's hearts, always remind us to stay away from fraud, cherish integrity and justice.

[savouringmidnights]

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Ode To Her

(A Love and Deepspace x Non!Mc Reader fic)

(TW: Angst)

(Word count: ~2.7k)

🌟 Disclaimer: If the following trigger warnings or the general genre of the fic make you uncomfortable, then please do not proceed ahead, thank you! 🌟

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(Image Credits: Pinterest)

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(Guide:

Colour codes—Pink and bold is used for MC

Blue and bold is used for Zayne

Yellow and bold is used for Xavier

Green and bold is used for Caleb

Red and bold is used for Sylus

Purple and bold is used for Rafayel.

Mixed/Multiple colouration stand for multiple characters at the same time, as to be followed by the colour code given)

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(GIF Credits: Pinterest)

Ode to Her, who intermingles and entangles the fragile webs (of our lives that) we weave.

Ode to Her, who leisures around with the fabrics (of realities), knitting them up together into a bewitching rag or even a hideous robe.

Ode to Her, who along with Lady Luck composes symphonies and dissonance.

Ode to Her, who creates the Illusio of choice and free will.

Ode to Her, who makes YOU believe to be the creator, when all you are is a mere follower…

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Time had flown like violent waves coursing through a stormy ocean. It felt as if eons had passed by, leaving a barren field behind, which once bloomed with the blossoms of Happenstance.

Happenstance? That’s right, that’s how you’d met him all those years ago, three to be exact.

If you take a tour down memory lane, it will all flash right in front of your eyes as if you were watching a high definition movie…

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You’d moved to Linkon City with hopes of something long forgotten but mainly for, continuing your passion for writing. When you were younger, you too wanted to pursue a career path in becoming a Deepspace Hunter, having a really strong affinity towards the profession. But upon growing up further, your past dream had slowly shrouded within the neural networks of your brain.

Life in Linkon was moderately hard, with the occasional Wanderer outbreaks and Hunters reaching the designated area on time for action, saving civilians. You admired them, you admired them from the depth of your Heart…you wanted to write about them, but you barely found the words to do so.

It left you frustrated and up late every night…only for the next day to continue as a torturous loop of boredom. Not even three months in the City, you were already bored…

You wanted a wish…a wish to be granted…a wish to cure your boredom…and you wanted write all over again…

You wished for it.

Three weeks into the beginning of your third month in the City, you meet someone, you never knew would play such a significant role in your life.

You met her…

MC was her name. She was a new Hunter at the Hunters’ Association but ever so skilled and compatible. A strong, independent woman; someone you soon grew close with.

It was a coincidental occurrence.

You were at Destiny Cafe, a favourite place of yours added to your recency list, when Fate did Her magic.

She was sat at the table alongside Tara,

(who was a ray of sunshine, a pure soul, her colleague and friend, one she’d made at the Association.)

As time flew, hangouts and sleepovers became more common, mostly happening at hers, Tara would often join the two of you, but if she didn’t it was the both of you…

The two of you could spend hours talking and talking, as you’d ask her about her day and missions, taking inspirations for your work, while she’d about the stuff you wrote.

“Ode to Her, who intermingles and entangles the fragile webs (of our lives that) we weave.”—your first wish was granted.

….

Two weeks into the middle of your fourth month in the City,

Perchance You were out with MC and Tara at the Kitty Cafe, playing several rounds of the Advanced Mode of Kitty Cards—

Perchance one evening to Azure Square at that one bakery that MC had told you about, to feed your craving for Macarons—

Perchance on the way to MC’s apartment when you almost run into her upstairs neighbour—

Perchance at a local Casino to feed your thirst for a game of Blackjack—

Perchance out an art store, where hung a pretty wooden board containing the symbolisms for each colour—

When you’d first met him.

There was no verbal exchange, just the meeting of gazes for the very first time.

Later that night, your heart had already started skipping beats from the encounter, your mind started creating scenarios of your second meet, if there was any to come. You hoped for it…

You wished for it.

You wrote about it. Told MC a few days after…Her face lit up, she knew him. Oh?

He was an old friend?

her primary care physician?

a colleague at work?

someone she works as a bodyguard for?

a fruit vendor?

She asked if you wanted to formally meet him. You nodded.

So you did.

at her apartment, when she’d called you over two evenings later.

at Akso Hospital when he was on his lunch break, she’d taken you to.

at the beach, she called him over.

at the Karaoke place, she told he’d like.

It was awkward as heck, what would you have said? That ‘Hello I am the girl you made eye contact with days ago.’, you were nervous.

Maybe he sensed that, he spoke first, he remembered you. You smiled.

The weeks passed, growing with them the bonds of the new friendship that you had been gifted with. The two of you would often meet up almost everyday if time permitted…but you would…

Sometimes with MC, sometimes without her.

You cherished your times spent with him, they made you feel special…a little bit too special, that your heart would strum along the strings a melody, you were oh-so utterly familiar with…but you didn’t want to hurry…

As the saying goes, “Slow and Steady, wins the race.”

Each night you’d return home, stare up at the ceiling giggling like a teenage girl with a crush.

A Crush…!

Plus you’d blame him for making you fall…

How dare he remember your favourite flower,

your favourite colour,

your favourite song,

your favourite food,

the things that make you smile or ick…

He knew the ways of your little world better than your own comprehension.

All so crystal clear, within just a matter of months…

You were bound to fall…and you did…

You fell hard…

“Ode to Her, who leisures around with the fabrics (of realities), knitting them up together into a bewitching rag or even a hideous robe.

Ode to Her, who along with Lady Luck composes symphonies and dissonance.”—your second wish was granted.

….

A year and a half had passed since you met him…and you were down bad for him…

In Every star cluster in the night sky,

Every flower blooming and blossoming in a garden making it rich,

Every flake of the gentle snow which landed upon your nose,

Every ray of the Sun that caused the ripples of the Sea to glimmer,

Every winning gamble-

-you saw him.

You envisioned him, by your side…hand in hand for as long as Space-Time marks it’s existence.

You wanted him to be happy…

You wished for it…

Your pages were diluted in his essence, as if every word you wrote was written for him…

Did he even had the hint of what went on within yourself?

Perhaps.

Did you want him to know?

Perhaps.

Would you ever tell him about it?

Perhaps.

But did the two of you hush out your deepest secrets with each other over call in the silence of the nights?

Absolutely.

“Perhaps…”

It was a word that shrouded it’s true pose from you for a long time.

A word that created the illusion of bliss over your story like a veil.

It was not sooner or later when you had finally been able to snip your way out of the veil…witnessing the harsh truths of reality…

You started noticing him and MC together more over the weeks, observing their conversing patterns… You had asked him, countless of times, if he was sick…if he was alright…if he was okay…but to no use, he would always divert the conversation, so you eventually stopped.

You knew about his past, he had told you…hence,

You would see saw how his eyes would illuminate as if they held constellations behind.

You would see saw the colours and hues that would splatter over the canvas of his face.

You would see saw the easiness in his body language whenever she was near.

As if it was all meant to be…

Each day became a new lesson upon the ways of the unfair world, each night a review of the same.

Confrontation is never an option when it’s the people you consider home.

And what would you confront about?

When you could see the Alchemy of their amalgamations transcend to the cosmic levels, it was as if the Universe had made them a pair, a bond. Eternally bound to each other.

If the word ‘Soulmates’ held ground, they would be the Altar which it stood upon.

Such was the strength of their unity…

It hurt, hurt like anything to accept this epiphany that you had come across…but did you have a choice?

How could you ever compete with what the Cosmos had set in stone…

So what did you do? You wrote about it…you wrote and wrote like there was no tomorrow, every night, all night…at least it took off a minute-fraction of the load that your heart had to carry…

Of course you didn’t stop talking to either of them or cancel meet-ups…well not with her…

With him however, you started growing a bit distant, often cancelling your usual meetings…you needed the space to get a grip on yourself…

You always covered it up over text, just like you masked off every single emotion from your external appearance…

It was on you, upon you, your fault for you had termed your third wish in the wrong way…you should’ve been selfish, not caring for his happiness…but what’s done is done…

His happiness was your happiness…

Her happiness was your happiness…

Even so this happiness was a curse,

You were happy.

The funny thing was that, the more heartbroken you got each night, the more creativity painted herself with words onto the canvas of your notepad…

So you brain came upon a gentleman’s agreement with your broken heart, a business deal if you may describe it as…your broken heart would provide the flow of emotions to the brain which in turn oozed out your creativity; while your heart would feel the weightage of the load lessen even if it meant by fractional amounts…

And what did you do? You let yourself bask in the Status Quo.

“Ode to Her, who creates the Illusio of choice and free will.

Ode to Her, who makes YOU believe to be the creator, when all you are is a mere follower…”—your third wish was granted.

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Ode to Her, who intermingles and entangles the fragile webs (of our lives that) we weave.

Ode to Her, who leisures around with the fabrics (of realities), knitting them up together into a bewitching rag or even a hideous robe.

Ode to Her, who along with Lady Luck composes symphonies and dissonance.

Ode to Her, who creates the Illusio of choice and free will.

Ode to Her, who makes YOU believe to be the creator, when all you are is a mere follower…

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

Oh he cannot form sentences about the way his heart soared with elation when he met her again, in this lifetime,

for the first time…

His heart thumped loudly within his chambers, as if it were banging against a locked door, pleading to be let out, set free…If he’d ever known Love, then it was because of her existence that he understood the concept of Love.

She was the Destiny to which he elected to be Eternally bound. The connection they shared was beyond the mortal realm, transcending to the reaches even beyond metaphysics. It was Cosmic, he knew it, he felt it. It was the Universal Truth.

Hence why he felt desolate from within when she didn’t recall the past…the “Them”, that he carried on evermore in every one of his lives. He will continue to do so for eons to come.

Whatever she needed—time, familiarity, he was ready to give it to her. After all he was hers and she was his, they were an amalgamation…

Besides what Love wasn’t obsessive, sacrificial, a misconstrued treachery, or chastised.

So he waited, like he always had…

….

His days had grown monotonous without her memory.

‘When will she remember?’, was the fundamental thought that occupied his state of peace…

A change of scenery was much needed from this cyclic motion of work-life.

So he went, out for a stroll one fine evening.

Maybe he found out from his ‘trusted sources’ who sent notifications every second from her phone to his, that MC was at the Kitty Cafe along with some friends, playing several rounds of the Advanced Mode of Kitty Cards. Plus he needed to make sure she was with good company, after all he was only looking out for her—

Maybe he took a turn towards that one bakery the both had often ventured to satisfy their cravings for sugar—

Maybe he wasn’t a fan of his pre-planned stroll and instead made his way towards MC’s apartment when someone almost bumped into him. Letting out a flurry of sorries—

Maybe at a local Casino—

Maybe passing by an art store, where hung a pretty wooden board containing the symbolisms for each colour. He stopped by to judge them of their mistakes—

When his eyes met new ones, he’s never seen you before.

Maybe you were a new friend of hers, maybe even a stranger? Or an acquaintance? Whoever you are, it was of no concern to him…

….

A phone call was unexpected the very next evening, but not unwelcome. Infact he strived to hear her voice in some way or form, every single day of his being. She wishes to officially introduce him to her new companion? Oh?

Again unexpected. But if that’s what her wish was then it’d be his command. Although he was a bit hesitant upon meeting this mysterious person…majorly because he heard her go on for hours about how the two of them had gotten closer in just a matter of months.

She was sly, never mentioning the gender of this new ‘companion’ of hers. Maybe she enjoyed keeping him shrouded in half-truths.

What was his response? Yes of course. As if he could ever say No to her.

She’d assigned him a place for the meet-up along with the date and time, told him not to be late.

It was another dusk hour on a Sunday,

at her apartment,

at their assigned bakery they often go to, for replenishing their sweet teeth, well mostly his,

at the beach,

at the Karaoke place,

…You again?

Well at least it wasn’t a guy

You seemed awkward of the situation at hand, he could sense your nervousness scattered all over your features, profoundly. He wasn’t any big of a fan of first-impressions, but maybe a part of him wanted you to ease up…so he spoke up first, he remembered you.

He could see you heave a big sigh of relief internally at his words of consolation. You smiled…

The prescribed time soon had passed, enveloped within getting to know each other, while MC would often chime in to restore/uphold the fluency. He got to know considerable amounts of informations about you. You? A few adding onto the context of what you had already gathered from MC…

It was pleasant.

Days to weeks, weeks to months,

When had the Rendezvous metamorphosed into simple Hangouts, he couldn’t recall…

It started with the three of them when the familiarity was still in it’s budding stage…then slowly over time, the need for a watched maintenance of your fluency became discretionary,

for there bloomed beautifully the bonds of this new friendship, which got nurtured through your affection and dedication each day…making it grow stronger…

Hangouts became often (sometimes she would be there…sometimes not), almost everyday if permitted by time. If not? You’d substitute through calls and texts..

….

Time felt as if moving in a slow pace after ages of being driven with constraints and limits…here was none…

Things felt natural…innate with you, like the gentle breeze on a calm spring night, or the heavy shower accompanying a stormy day…

Like every phenomena in nature, often overlooked but are daily and recurring…

He couldn’t quite put his finger around it…yet…

He forgot to keep track of the exact moment when he

Started paying attention to the posters you hung above your bed—

Or the way you would try to stand your pen upright on your desk when your mind would wander off while writing—

Or the way you would duplicate multiple tabs on YouTube, each one filled with a specific song or mixed genres, while you would try resonating with it, to incorporate the same into paper—

Or the collection of hair ties that you possessed—

Maybe even the pre-existing tiny dent on the wall above your kitchen counter, which you said you would cover up with something but keep forgetting—

Maybe it was the way you’d smile everytime he was within your proximity—

Or the virtual hug you’d send him through your collection of cute bunny, crow, apple, snowman, artsy birb, stickers, every time before he went to bed—

Maybe it was the way your eyes would stare into his whenever he was over at you place and you were thinking of how to go forth with your words on paper—

Or everytime the two of you would be out, and you would feel like a breath of fresh air—

Soon he found himself accustomed to the ways of your world,

What made you ick or inspired,

Your favorites:

The certain colour of paint , or mixture gradients he’d use on his canvas that made you filled with joy, so he’d restructure his paintings like such—

The symbolism that each of the Cards and their Suits held within the deck of 52, making you speak on and on about them for hours, over text or via voice message at 3a.m—

Late night outings to go stargazing at the park, sitting on the plain grass, while you ask him about the different constellation…maybe just maybe while doing so, your head slowly tilts down to lay comfortably upon his shoulder—

How it became a regularity for you to visit the hospital every late night he got off of work, with a 6packed box of strawberry flavoured macarons…well two for each night on a row for three days, following the similar pattern for two weeks. Then came a gap for the next two weeks, as the cycle continues…but maybe what he wants to say was that, you’d be the Constant, coming over every night—

Every movie marathon you’ve been having, while he would cook for you. Not to mention how you’d constantly refer to him as ‘Maverick’ and hum along the theme song every time you watched Top Gun…Apparently it was your favourite thing to do, along with constantly complimenting his cooking in Shakespearean English and fumbling often—

Alongside the feeling of a calm warmth flowing through his body…a something else—resembling to fear??? Was slowly nibbling it’s way through his heart.

….

Uh oh…

A year and a half had passed already since he met you? And you had already confide countless of your deepest secrets to him…How could you trust him so much? Why did you trust him so much? Should he do the same…tell you about all his past lives, that haunt every hour of his existence?

Oh no…

The epiphany struck him like a truck when

In

Every star cluster in the night sky,

Every flower blooming and blossoming in a garden making it rich,

Every flake of the gentle snow which landed upon your nose,

Every ray of the Sun that caused the ripples of the Sea to glimmer,

Every winning gamble-

-he saw you.

Oh…

He had ever so slowly, fallen for you…

Now this filled him with panic,

He was panicking like a madman, like he had never before…

He didn’t know what to do, or how it was even possible for him to fall for someone else when the Love of all his Lives was MC…He needed to talk it out with MC…come up with a solution, something, anything…

All his thoughts and feelings were clogged and cluttered over his brain.

All this time he’d been beating around the bush, trying to press it down into the depths of chambers to be never found again…but somehow the feeling re-emerged, digging through every ground that he wanted to bury it beneath…

He felt like a nomad, like he knew nothing about the ways of the World…like a newborn…

Plus how would he even bring this up to MC, what if she gets heartbroken, or worse…

He couldn’t afford that…

But neither could he mute the sound of his thumping heart for you…

You…

Why did he have to fall for You? Who were you? A no-one till one and a half years ago.

He wouldn’t even have known about your existence if he didn’t meet you by Happenstance that faith-forgotten evening…

He could barely concentrate on work…Everything around him felt like a spiralling vortex and he was trapped inside…

Being the man he is, he somehow let his discomforts escape your radar eventually, after you had asked him over text, call, in-person countless number times, if he was alright…if he was sick…if he was okay…

MC eventually takes notice of this and confronts him…she had never seen him this distressed, calling him over at Destiny Cafe to talk.

Not sure how to go forth with the conversation, he hesitates…

He felt like he was stuck within a soft-lock of the game, his life had reduced to temporarily…

He had two choices,

“Either to abandon his future and stick to what Fate had woven for him eternally.”

“Or venture into the unknown and embrace the beauty of no obligations.”

She initiates.

He eases up…

Finally opening up…

Going on for weeks, he too gets to learn that she was plunged into a similar situation. There’s someone great that she met months ago during a mission, someone she saved…she’s been meaning to tell him but she didn’t know how…

‘They were on the same boat.’

Discussing upon ways how to break something that’s eternal…

Would it cause an anomaly?

Maybe a rift in Space-Time?

Or a breakage in the Universe?

What if the Cosmos punishes them, or worse the person they’ve been doing all this tallying and calculations for…

The risk was high but worth taking…

If it meant they could finally be free from this blessing-turned-curse.

Now came the part where he has to finally admit his feelings for you…

‘This scared him shitless’,

Being tied down to Fate and Eternity to one person was something he was familiar with—something he thought would last for all his lives to come…

But then you appeared, as the anomaly…

Like an error that could make a whole equation go wrong…

A glitch in the fabric of what he thought was Reality…

A new chapter added onto his story…

And he couldn’t wait to write it together with you…

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—To be continued—

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A/N: This fic was highly inspired after reading the prompt by @chika-seno, so full credits to them, and thank you so much for writing such a wondrous inspiration. Hope you enjoy, the entire fic when it’s finished.

~🌙

[wiltedwish]

Hey, pssssst— if you are looking for something to listen while washing dishes, I've got a list just for you,

● If you're into dark academia but with more trauma, less studying, mysterious British guys who emotionally malfunction, and horror stories that make you say “mood”. Try The Magnus Archives.

● If you’re into small towns where everything’s a little off (actually, a lot), radio hosts who are way too calm about it, and bizarre, inexplicable occurrences that are totally fine, then you’ve found your new home in Welcome to Night Vale.

Tune in, stay safe (or don’t), and remember:

the sheriff's secret police definitely aren’t listening.

● If you’re into road trips that go way off the beaten path, chasing something you can’t explain, and a haunting mystery that’ll make you question every car that drives by—

then Alice Isn’t Dead is your new obsession.

Buckle up, drive safely, and the people you’re looking for might be looking for you, too.

● Does the phrase “amnesiac eldritch horror with a thesaurus” excite you?

It does? Oh, you little freak.

Then you definitely need to try Malevolent. Also there is whimpering, male whimpering.

● Ever wonder what happens when you trap a bunch of dysfunctional coworkers on a spaceship with limited resources, a suspicious number of near-death experiences, and one emotionally complex AI? You get Wolf 359.

It’s like The Office—but in space, with more trauma bonding and fewer HR rules. Next time you're on a spaceship… check the air supply.

● Are you looking for unsettling horror, a sentient city and unreliable reality? Are you looking for a monotonous narration? Are you looking for I'm in Eskew?

Think.

● Have you ever wondered if your summer camp was just a little... off? Like, dangerously quirky?

Maybe it has a nurse with questionable credentials, several mental disorders, and an unsettling love for worms?

No? You haven't? Weird. Camp Here and There.

● Hello from the Hallowoods. A forest where the trees remember. Where silence isn’t empty—it's waiting.

The world as you knew it ended here. But the story? That’s just beginning.

Listen closely. You might not like what you hear.

● There are things that lurk behind the veil of normal. Objects that don’t follow physics. Creatures that don’t obey God.

They find them. They contain them. They pretend the world is still safe.

You were never meant to know. SCP Foundation.

● If you’ve ever clipped through reality and landed in a buzzing yellow hallway that never ends...

Congratulations. You’re already a traveler.

This guide won’t save you. But it might tell you what not to look at.

The Traveler’s Guide to the Backrooms. Mind the damp. And the screaming.

● Now, if you’re like me and sometimes can’t handle complex storylines, freeze up every time a new character shows up, or feel too lazy to open the wiki just to remember who that guy from episode 3 was? I get it.

Try Tales from the Breakroom, Unexplained Encounters or anything from Eriecast Network.

Enjoy the horrors and forget when the episode ends.

● Do you know Japan holds events where people gather to exchange scary stories? Cool, right.

God, I wish my country did too, since it doesn't I guess I have to listen to Kaiden: Japanese Scary stories.

● Do you like magic, dragons, daring quests… and unexpected romantic tension?

The Two Princes is a fantasy audio drama where two rival princes set out to save their kingdoms—and accidentally fall in love along the way. It’s got sword fights, sass, heartfelt moments, and enough gay yearning to power a castle.

If you’ve ever wanted a fairy tale that’s charming, funny, and unapologetically queer—this is it. Adventure awaits. So does Prince Amir. (And he’s very handsome.)

● Love and Luck podcast is a sweet, queer love story told through voicemails—with a touch of magic. Set in Melbourne, it’s about building love, community, and kindness. Short episodes, big heart, no tragic endings. Just good vibes and quiet enchantment.

● Maybe you are not looking for fiction but real things, true crimes, perhaps that send chills down your spine thinking how can humans be like this? as cherry on top?

Look no further for you are looking for Crimehub: A true crime podcast.

● What if vampires were less “terrifying monster” and more “dramatic queer disaster”?

All Vampires Are Gay is a bold, funny, and emotional audio drama that reclaims vampire lore with sharp fangs and sharper wit.

[starillusion13]

family walking in or overhearing you getting fucked out of your mind during family vacay by nct 😭

LOVESICK

Pairing: Husband! Jeno x pregnant wife! reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Slice of life

W.C: 5.3k. Network: @k-vanity

Warning: extreme love between them, Jeno is a lovesick puppy for you, domestic love and we are horny for him. sensitive, overstimulation, teasing, nipple clamps, vibrator, nipple play, choking, edging, pwp (don’t do it silly), lots of kissing (I'm kiss drunk for him), mirror sex, fingering, crying, sucking, biting, impact play, getting caught during sex but to make it less embarrassing, there's a door in between. pregancy talk and a caring husband Jeno. Basically, you both are in love with each other and lost control.

MINORS DONT INTERACT UNDER THE CUE! 🔞

Have fun babygirls!

:🎀💋🎀:

Jeno and you had always envisioned a life brimming with love, adventures, and cherished memories. From the moment you met, it was clear you were soulmates destined to walk life's path together.

Your love story was nothing short of a fairy tale, filled with laughter, support, and shared dreams.

It was a warm, sunny Sunday morning, and Jeno awoke to the enticing aroma of pancakes drifting through the air. He stretched lazily, the corners of his mouth curling into a contented smile. The familiar sounds of you humming softly in the kitchen reached his ears, a melody that always warmed his heart. He rolled over and glanced at the empty spot beside him, feeling a rush of affection for you. Slipping out of bed, he padded towards the kitchen, eager to join you.

Why is the day feeling so different and lively?

"Good morning, love," Jeno greeted, wrapping his arms around you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Good morning, Jeno," you replied, eyes sparkling as you turned your head to plant a quick kiss on his lips. "I've got a surprise for you."

Curiosity piqued, Jeno's eyes lit up. "Oh? What is it?"

With a mischievous smile, you handed him a small, neatly wrapped box from the counter top. "Open it."

Oh earlier he didn't notice it.

He is in love with you and his eyes are always locked on your form.

Jeno's fingers trembled slightly with anticipation as he carefully unwrapped the box. Inside, he found a pregnancy test with a positive result with a doodling 'Congratulations'. His heart skipped a beat, and he looked up at you, who was beaming with joy, tears shimmering in your eyes.

"Are you serious?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

You nodded, tears of happiness streaming down your cheeks. "We're going to have a baby, Jeno."

Overwhelmed with joy, Jeno pulled you into a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around. "We're going to be parents! I am going to be a dad, y/n and you will be a beautiful mom." he exclaimed, his voice echoing the shared excitement.

The day followed with a whirlwind of emotions and planning. Jeno and you embraced every moment of the exciting day, your bond growing stronger with the love and affection between you two.

Jeno is a pillar of support, always ready with a comforting word or a gentle touch whenever you need it.

.

.

.

You were so nervous about letting your parents know about this. Nervous, why? You were having so many emotions going through, so after almost three days, you let them know about the situation.

You invited both of you and Jeno's parents to your house.

And they planned a family trip to your house for a few weeks. Well, you were happy and excited to share the moment with them with this sudden new experience but somehow, you noticed one more thing. Jeno was continuously asking his mom when they were leaving.

Why didn't he want his parents to stay?

He even once asked you in one evening.

"Are your parents going to stay this week again?" His curious and eager eyes staring at you.

You turned your head from in front of the mirror, he was sitting on the bed like a lost puppy, "why are you asking?"

He was going to reply something quickly but held it back so he only shook his head, "no. Just asking."

You smirked, sensing him lying, "I know you are up to something so tell me why you are curious everyday how long our parents are going to stay here."

He rolled his eyes and laid down on the mattress, "I just want to spend time with you. All alone."

"We are alone. They are not invading our personal space and they are just enjoying themselves with us in this special moment. Isn't it beautiful?" You raised your brows and smiled.

He rolled to his side to face you, "it is, but I want something more."

"What?"

"you."

you frowned. "What do you mean? you have me. I am right here then what more you want. Jeno, stop with your stupid questions and replies." and then you turned around to resume whatever you were doing.

Jeno poked the inside of his cheeks.

he has to get what he wants soon...no matter how risky it is.

.

.

.

One evening, as you both sat on the couch, Jeno gently placed his hand on your belly. "Can you believe there's a little one growing in there?" he marveled, his eyes filled with wonder.

you smiled, placing your hand over his. "It's amazing, isn't it? I can't wait to meet our baby."

Both of your parents went to roam around the city for the day and today you both got some time alone and you could feel Jeno was too excited for some reason.

Man is a lovesick puppy for you but you are not something less than that.

you both love each other a lot and it's just so difficult to keep your hands off each other in front of your parents.

having some chit-chats with your husbands, you stood up from the couch and paced towards the bedroom and to your surprise he was trailing behind you as if he was waiting for the moment, you would willingly get inside the bedroom.

On your way towards the door, you asked, "When are our parents coming back?"

he quickly replied, "after dinner. we have enough time."

you entered the door and quickly turned around.

“enough time?”

He shut the door and locked it safe from inside.

"what are you doing?" you nervously laughed but deep down you could intercept the emotions visible on his face. you know what that means and you won't give in so easily, you want fun and a little bit of testing and teasing won't harm it.

he chuckled and took slow steps towards you. his strong gaze locked with your exciting ones, of course you were trying hard not to reveal your obvious reaction. "You know it well."

you blinked, "no...but...should we get ready and join our parents. I am getting bored lately."

you didn't move from your spot in the middle of the room and he was standing just a feet away, he scoffed and grabbed your jaw, "are you really so bored? why don't I help you to get rid of it --- without involving the parents." he brushed your hairs back, "also, aren't you having fun with so many people in the house and every time running away from me?"

you smiled even when his strong grip on your jaw was burning. His two hands were like angel and devil, just like his personality --- one harshly grabbing you and strongly gripping to not let you slip from his hold and whereas the other delicately and softly brushing the hairs and caressing your skin. there was both hunger and admiration in his eyes. like always.

"Of course, I am happy but you know sometimes I feel like telling my mom to go back when she is nagging at me for no reason. I am a grown adult now and I know what to do and not. yeah, advice is good and she has experience but you know that I am also going to be a mom soon."

"Get on the bed."

your rants stopped when he commanded you. Jeno had enough. Don't get him wrong, he could listen to you the whole day even if your gossips and topics are irrelevant and stupid but right now his patience is running out. He was not in a mood for anything except you.

he smirked when he noticed you blinking in confusion but quickly following his order. He approached the side of the bed and his predatory gaze locked on yours.

"scoot back."

Again, his tone had the same domination and this time you fought back, instead of scooting back, you approached to him at the edge of the side he was standing and stood up on your knees, "what are you trying to do, Mr. Lee Jeno." your hands sliding up his arms and you smirked at his reaction.

The effect was clear on him.

"y/n, I won't repeat twice. get back to your place." he raised a brow.

you tilted your head to the side, "what about no?"

he scoffed and pushed you back on the bed. you were laughing loudly at his reaction and he groaned before brushing back his hair in frustration. you rolled over the bed to the other side when he sat on the side and was fumbling into the drawers of the bedside shelves.

you inhaled a sharp breath when the realization hit you of what he was searching for. He was trying to tame you and play your own games. nervously, you bit your lips and clutched the shit. he turned his head towards you and the corner of his lips rose up when he noticed your scared eyes and nervousness all over your face, "are you sensitive?"

"h-huh?"

he raised a familiar object in his hand and you gulped before nodding slightly.

"what? are you okay or we can skip it?" he asked you and again turned his attention back to the drawer. The previous object was beside his thigh and you kept staring at it without replying to him until you heard the shut sound of the shelf and two more objects placed beside it.

"are you going to keep up with this behavior? then you are in for the worst punishment." he turned around to face your lying figure in a pink set of trousers and top. you seemed like a soft and pretty wife for him --- that's how he wanted you right now.

when he raised the object again, you slowly spoke up, "I am a bit sensitive these days. I think it's because of the pregnancy but I can still try it. I'm sure."

he nodded but still he casted an unsure glance towards the object in his hand and sent an assuring smile towards you. Even if he is controlling you on the bed and demanding every step of yours to be under his control, he wouldn't hurt you. He would only make you cry in pleasurable pain but not hurt you in real.

he pulled off his black t-shirt in one swift move and scooted near you. extending a hand towards you and you quickly grabbed it. he gave it an assurance squeeze and held you up to make you sit facing him.

"I love you, y/n. you know that, right?" he cupped your cheek and pecked your lips before smiling endearingly at you.

you held his wrist and smiled back, "I know, Jeno. I love you too."

the sweet gesture extended to his lips connecting to yours, securing the soft and collective moments between you both. you wanted him and he was willingly giving you. That's how the kiss was --- rough yet full of love. His one hand slid to the back of your head, securing a knot with a handful of your hair and pressing you tight to his lips. He was craving for this exact moment in those past days and when he finally got the chance, he won't be missing a bit of it. Teeths clashing, tongues fighting for dominance and letting yourselves melt into each other's presence was becoming intense.

Your arms snaked around his neck and his other hand wandering down your body, examining your every curve above the thin top when his one hand goes under your shirt to pinch your hardened nipple. Letting out a surprised gasp and a low moan when he repeated his action, he smirked at your reaction. Parting yourself from the kiss, you breathed heavily whereas his mouth trailing wet kisses to your jaw and throat. His palms massaging your sensitive breast and and you pants with moans when he was biting down your sweet spots around your neck was making him hard.

"Jeno..." you whimpered under his touch and caught his wrist. His head pulled off from the crane of your neck to face you. You were already blissed out. "It's painful."

He pinched your nipple, "this?" you nodded frantically and he laughed before pecking your lips, "it's good then. We will have fun today." you didn't reply anything but kept staring at him with excitement and nervousness. There was a fear of going overboard with all the games but also there was a blind trust on him that he won't hurt you.

Letting yourself move how he wanted, he made you adjust on his lap, your back pressed to his bare and wide chest. Even though he was handling you painfully slowly, calculating every second and igniting the fire step by step yet you were relaxing in his hold. You wanted this. You wanted him. Any stress, confusion, stiffness and negativity fades away when you are with him. His hands wrapped around your torso, chin on your shoulder and he kissed your cheek. You smiled at his gestures and kissed his nose.

"I am so happy for us. Still can't believe all these are true."

Your smile widened, "yeah. This is very much real. We are going to be parents and we are on this journey together." you turned your head to face him properly, he could see the excitement in your eyes. You have so much to say and he was glad that you were happy with him and as his pretty wife. "We have to plan so many things together."

You could see the adoration in his face and he nodded, kissing your nose and lips, "we will. But for now let's dive into this moment. Only us."

A breath escaped your mouth when you bite your lips and shyly nodded, giving him the sign that you were ready for whatever was coming in your way.

Bending a bit forward with you on his lap, he grabbed the first object for the day — out of the three. He would only use these three for today, for all other objects it could be any other time.

Unbuttoning the top from front, his fingers brush over your sensitive buds. Your body reacting how he wanted, his every little touch was making you squirm and whimper out his name. You sound melodious to his ears, your eyes closed and head falling back on his shoulder with your upper front exposed and his hands roaming on your burning skin. His breaths fanning over your ears and whispering dirty and sweet compliments in your ears with deep and low chuckles.

Oh it was a sight. He wanted to capture that moment with you.

Both of palms massaging your breasts, rolling the bud and pinching and pulling it to see your sensitivity. He made sure to see your limit with the present condition and when you gave him a nod to proceed. He brought the clamps to your front. You glanced at it and then turned away. A shiver ran down your body with the thought of it. He held the two clips and slightly pinched your stomach then some other areas around.

"Trust me and tell me if it's too much."

He waited for your affirmation and when he got the signal, he pressed down the clips to your nipples. It was a quick pinch and he again retreated the clips. You again nodded when he pressed the first clip to the bud then slowly to the second one.

Your hands clutching above his thigh, fisting his trouser and moaning out his name. Jeno moved your hairs to trail down kisses in the crook of your neck and exposed shoulder. The cold chain connecting the two clamps resting on your chest and hanging loosely, tickling your stomach. Intertwining his hands with one of yours on his thigh and the other caressing your thighs and arms. His soft touches and grunts in your ears made you squirm in his hold. The pain from your nipples making you moan out his name and he urges you to say his name on repeat.

His palm resting over your belly, carefully and tenderly caressing it, humming in your ears, "there's a little one growing and I'm going to let that one know how I love the mommy and my wife so much. I love every moment with you."

"Jeno...please...do something...please."

He slightly pulled the chain on your chest when you cried out in pain and he quickly left it and kissed your cheek. Sliding your trouser and panty down, leaving you only in an unbuttoned top. You grinded on his lap when you felt his hard member poking your lower back.

"y/n...stay still. Be a good girl." he chuckled and caressed your exposed thigh, fingers lingering around the inner thigh near the aching and red cunt. "Be a good mommy for me."

Resting his forehead on your shoulder, placing a kiss on your back, he circled his thumb over your clit. Closing your eyes, you moaned and arch your back when he pressed his palm over the heat.

"You are so beautiful, y/n."

"Coz you are my handsome man, Jeno."

You looked at him smiling but when you found his gaze in front, you followed his eyes and gasped. Oh! The mirror across the room displaying you two together and your body decorated with his hands and clamps. Your gazes locked in the mirror and he kissed your shoulder when he felt you shying away.

You are too sweet for him to handle.

Your eyes scanned his black hairs falling over his forehead, veins on hands and neck popping out when his whole attention was on you. You were falling in love with him all over again. Distracting with his handsome features and his soft touch and low voice, his fingers parted your folds and rubbed it slowly.

"Jeno...more please."

"I will give you more. Have patience, baby."

Turning your head to the side, he caught your lips into a feverish kiss. You both are sick of each other's love and pleasure is the only medicine for it. A finger inserted inside your folds and he groaned when your lips sucked his fingers in so easily when your other lips danced with his in a rhythm.

Your arousal dripping in his palm, “so wet for me, love.”

Pumping into you with a slow pace, adding one more finger, your back arched and you moaned out his name into his mouth. He left your mouth alone, one hand torturing you with a painfully slow rhythm and the other one resting on your belly. You grabbed his hair in a fist and with other held his wrist which was playing with the chain on your chest.

You were panting when he increased his pace, "Jeno...it's painful." he tugged the chain softly and smiled, "this?" you nodded and he pulled it with more force, other hand still working on your heat. You cried out when he tugged at it again and kept it locked in a painful angle. No, it wasn't too much for you, if it was then you could have given him the warning and said the word. Still, he watched your change in facial expression, your scrunched nose, creased forehead with sweat lining on it and moans with heavy breaths. There was no sign from you to stop him and he increased the pace.

Hitting the exact spot which pushed you to the climax, you begged for permission. He never liked you cumming without his order and he waited for more. He didn't allow you even when you were begging, his fingers slowed down when he added one more finger and continued in a slow teasing movement. He knew the effect of edging you, the intense orgasm from you is a sight to look at.

"Open your eyes, y/n. Look at the mirror in front." he whispered the words into your ears.

You fought back the pressure and somehow managed to lock your gaze with him in the mirror. Your wet eyelashes with tear stained cheeks. You pout when you notice his smirk. He was enjoying your view and how you were trying to move your hip against his hand for the friction you needed.

You whined, "Jeno...please."

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss on your shoulder. Increasing his pace and tugging the chain at the same time earned a loud gasp and moan from you. You were crying yet urging him to go on. He listened to your every sound escaping from you. He loves the sounds. He loves you.

"Cum for me, pretty." he gestured with a soft bump with his head to yours, "Look at me."

You did what he told you to do. With a loud cry of his name, you came undone on his fingers. Your gaze was still locked with him.

Resting your head on his chest and panting heavily. He laid you down on the bed, hovering over you quickly. The silver necklace around his neck, dangling in front of your eyes. Your hands reached up to touch his abs and his biceps.

"I love you."

He laughed at your sudden confession, "this was how you sounded for the first time. I love you too, baby."

You smiled at the thought that he still remembered the moment from five years ago.

"Are you okay? Is it hurting somewhere?" he had a concern over his features. You shook your head with a faint 'No'.

He smiled and reached for the second object — the tiny vibrator.

"We can skip the handcuffs today. We don't need it. I want to feel your touch and you, so let's stick to only this." he said and started the vibrator, filling the room with the low buzzing sound. Your heat throbbed when he looked at you with those dark lustful eyes and without any more second, he placed it on your belly. You hummed and he picked it up and moved it across your body, watching you squirming under its effect. Circling around the nipples and tugging the chain at the same time. Oh it was too much for you to handle but not to stop him.

You were trapped like a prey under his predatory gaze.

For a moment he removed the clamps from you, sucking and biting the sensitive hard nipples. You were trying your best to break free but he held you tight. He loves to rest his head on breast and play with them and now when he got the chance to have it —— why not?

“I can’t believe that this gonna grow in size. Oh! I’ll love it.” He said and continued the sweet torture on your chest. Leaving red and purple marks all over the skin where his fingers caressing the area.

He was getting drunk on your breast.

Again, he placed the vibrator on your belly, also attaching the clamps back to the nipples and sat back to get rid of his trouser. You were ready for him and he had to have you right at the moment. The sight in front of him was making him painfully hard and he was aching for your touch.

Lining with the entrance, his angry red tip with precum dripping was teasing your entrance. He gave it some stroke and squeeze, painting the precum all over. The buzzing sound on your belly and his tight grip on your inner thighs to make it part when you tried to close them around him. Not wasting more painful seconds, he inserted his tip and waited for you to adjust. Nodding your head, he inserted his thick girth inside you.

" you taking me so well, baby." he groaned when you squeezed around him, "fuck...are you feeling good?"

You nodded and breathed out, "yes, Jeno. move your hip, please fuck me."

Moving his hip in slow movements, he chuckled, "as if you will take my cum again. Do you want me to spill inside you baby?"

"Yes...yes please."

He grabbed your cheeks, making you look at him when he titled his head, "how? You are already pregnant." he thrusted deeper, his tip brushing your g-spot, "only if I could fill you up with one more."

"Fill me up..please." you whimpered and tried to break free when he moved the vibrator from your belly to your clit. He groaned along with the new vibration and how tight your folds tensed around his member.

"You are spitting nonsense baby." he laughed at you when you repeated your pleading for him to fill you up.his hand fell from your lips to your throat, measuring his palm around it and holding it firmly. Giving it a firm squeeze, you arched your back to the effect. Thrusting at a fast pace, he squeezed your throat, putting pressure on both the sides. Tears flowing down your eyes when he left the grip on your hip to pull the chain to your clamps.

"Jeno!"

"Yes, baby. Say my name again. Let that baby know how much I love you. Only I can make you feel good and only I can love you."

"Yes yes. Jeno...too much."

You held his wrist when he squeezed around your throat again. Another hand curling on top of his thigh. You watched how worked out he was, sweat dripping down his hairs and his burning body with veins lining the skin and arms making his body looking angry. It was impatient just like him. You love when he manhandles you, have you in his own ways, fucking you into void but still caring for you. Always loving you and caring for your every need. You can't get a more perfect husband like him.

"You are taking me so well, baby. So perfect."

He bent down to kiss your lips and before he could speak a word more, he heard a couple knock at his door.

Both of Your eyes went wide when he hushed you and pecked your lips before replying, "yes?"

"Is y/n with you, son?"

"Yeah, why?" he averted his eyes from the door to look at your nervous yet blissed out face. His rhythm was slow and he turned off the vibrator and threw it aside. Holding your gaze he smirked, pressing you down when you tried to get up and asked your mom on the other side of the door, "do you need something, mom?"

"Yeah, are you guys busy? I think I heard her crying. Is everything alright?" your mom had a concern in her voice.

He chuckled and your eyes were wide at her words. He again held your throat and mouthed 'keep quiet'. He turned to face the door, "no mom. She is sleeping and maybe you heard the audio, actually I played it loud. Sorry for that."

You both heard her laugh, "oh no, it's okay. I was just worried and if you can please come down, we bought so many things for you."

"Yeah, mom. Sorry, I can't open the door right now, i'm stuck doing a thing." he smirked at you, increasing his pace, you bit your lips to prevent any sound escaping your throat. He cursed under his breath before replying, "I will be there soon. Give me a moment."

"Yeah sure, son. No need to wake her up."

With that she went away and you moaned.

"Do you want to let your mom know about us like this right now?" he thrusted deeper, "how her daughter wants another baby when already there's one growing inside."

"Jeno...I want to cum...please."

"Already? Haven't you cum before?" he was mocking at you but the way he was drilling inside you, it was clear that he was chasing his climax as well. You turned to face your side where you could see how your bodies were connected and you looked so fragile under his wide frame. He caught your gaze in the mirror and gave you a sweet eye smile. His thumb rubbed at your clit to push you further and ignited the fire bubbling inside you.

"Cum for me, baby."

Your whole body shook when you hit the climax. Arching your back above the bed and your both hands clutching the sheets tightly with your parted lips and hooded eyes. Jeno groaned at the sight unfolding in front of him. He thrusted deeper when you pleaded him to stop and a couple or more, he moaned your name and spilled his cum inside you, painting your walls with hot liquid. The feeling was euphoric and he bent forward, balancing himself on his palm at the both sides of your head and panting hard. He slowly removed the clamps and caressed your nipples. They were paining and it felt amazing when he was massaging it.

He pecked your lips and whispered, "I love you so much, y/n." hiding his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your post-sex smell from your body. You stroked his head and kissed the side of his head.

"I love you, Jeno."

He hummed in response. He laid sideways to your side to face you. Caressing your head and giving you a warm smile, he asked you, "are you okay, my love?"

You nodded, "yes, I am. Let's go down to meet them. They are quite early back home."

"Why? Did you want more time with me? We can still have it if you want."

You hit his arm and he laughed lightly. He planted a soft kiss on your forehead and smiled, "it's okay. You get some rest and later I will freshen you up. I'm going to meet them and will help them out if needed. Don't worry. Sleep."

You hummed and closed your eyes when you felt your eyelids getting heavy. Without having any thoughts in mind, you drifted off to sleep, knowing you were loved and secured with him. He waited and watched you for a while, pulling off a blanket from below, he covered you with it and kissed your cheek before getting off the bed and getting into the washroom to dress himself.

Closing the door behind him, he went down to meet the parents and spent his time being a wonderful son after he showed you his love as a perfect husband.

In the end, it was the simple moments—the shared laughter, the quiet nights, the gentle touches—that defined your love story. Jeno and you had created a life filled with love, and you knew that as long as you had each other, you could face anything.

NOTE: please I want to thanks to people for reading and reblogging. Reviews are always appreciated. Spread love not hate. I don’t know if this is how you wanted it to be but I hope you have enjoyed <3.

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