#Sunshine boy has some kind of distinguishing mark on his cheek and smiles all the time and is very energetic

[shima-draws]

Wait. Wait a fucking second. Looks at Trustedpartner

Is THAT why I love Sanlu so much?? HELLO????

[sweetwritertanya]

Nothing To Be Jealous About (Taehyung)

Summary: Your friend has a gallery exhibition for which you and your boyfriend, Taehyung, were invited. But once you see the painting you were looking for the most, Taehyung starts to act weird and you don’t understand why.

Warnings: soft SMUT by the end! This was going to be just a fluffy one, but I couldn’t control myself! Mainly, there will be: erotic body touching, fingering, just the tiniest bit of dirty talk but barely.

Word Count: 3208

Laughs and random chatter fill the large room as you and your boyfriend walk into the gallery. It was a bright space, with tall white walls and lot of artificial lighting even though the large glass windows provided more than enough natural sunshine. Your heart skipped at the sight of so many people already in, walking around and conversing amongst themselves as they appreciated the beautiful art exposed on the walls. It was a warm sunny morning and people were clothed in light fresh garments, between casual and formal wear for the occasion.

You were wearing a cool blue and white strapped knee-length dress with bishop sleeves down to your elbows, a pattern of reddish and pink pastel flowers overlaying the stripes, pink pastel heels to match it. The tie at the smallest part of your waist complimented your large figure and the warm weather was no invitation for you to bring a jacket. As much as you believed you put some thought into your outfit, your partner’s seemed a lot more fitting. Taehyung was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, made of a fresh material, painted as if a work of abstract art itself, with tones of blue, grey and brown. It was tucked into very well-fitted dark jeans that complimented his tall silhouette and shiny designer shoes. Dark wavy hair styled beautifully, you found yourself thinking that he was the one who deserved to be displayed in a museum somewhere.

Out of the two of you, at first you assumed you would be the one jumping with excitement and fidgeting in place due to nervousness, eager to see how your friend’s first art exposition would go. Turns out Taehyung seemed to be even more giddy than you were, particularly interested in seeing one particular piece of work from your friend’s catalogue.

“Where is it? Where is it?” he asks in an almost childish way, contradicting his deep tone of voice in your ear.

You smile and shake your head, taking hold of his arm and guiding him through the space as you talked, eyes out in search of the artist himself.

“C’mon, we need to find my friend first! We can’t just browse around without saying hi to him first and ask how the exposition is doing” you admonish, to which Taehyung pouts disappointed.

“There’s a bunch of people, it’s obviously going great, right? Can’t we just see him after?”

“Nope. And there he is, let’s go!”

After meeting with your friend and congratulating him on the apparent success of his art exposition, Taehyung’s impatience wins him over and he asks about the painting he has been dying to see. You roll you eyes and advise your friend to just lead the way before your boyfriend explodes with curiosity. The man laughs and gladly takes you to the wall where that particular piece was proudly exposed.

“Oh my God, Andre, it’s so beautiful!” You exclaim as you approach it, breathless at the beautiful colors and detail. “I had no idea it would turn out this good, well done!”

“Thanks, Y/N. It’s one of my proudest works and the second most expensive of all the ones in this gallery” he informs, with a wink and moving eyebrows.

“No way, really!” you gasp, unbelieving. “The second most expensive?”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Y/N. Thanks again.”

As you assure Andre that it was entirely welcome, nothing for him to be thankful for, one arm comes around your shoulders and Taehyung’s hand grasps your shoulder just a bit more tightly than it needed to be, staying unusually quiet, when this was the painting he had been so anxious to see.

“All good, Tae-Tae? What do you think? Isn’t it pretty?” you ask as you look up at him.

He smiles and agrees, nodding with his head, suddenly changing the conversation and asking if your friend could show his favorite piece’s around the gallery. You frown, knowing perfectly well how to distinguish Taehyung’s natural smile from his fake ones, and that was a fake smile if you ever saw one. He kept his arm around your shoulders all the way around the gallery, never getting more than a few inches away from your side, his steps always in sync with yours as you went. It was just the tiniest bit uncomfortable, but you let it go since you didn’t really understand what was going on.

Near the end of the improvised tour around, with just a few more works to show, Taehyung actually excuses himself claiming he had a work-related phone call to make. You found it just a bit weird since he never told you anything about that and warning bells ring around in your brain when he kisses your lips strongly before leaving the building, leaving you a bit dumbfounded next to your friend. He had never been one to display these kinds of affections before in public.

Embarrassed, you keep the goodbyes with Andre short and hurry out of the gallery room, searching for your boyfriend. He was already next to a cab, phone against ear until he sees you and hangs up soon before you come closer.

“Now, what was that about?” you demand to know as you stand next to him, eyebrows knitted together and lips tugging down in frustration.

“Got us a ride, baby. What do you say we go out for lunch? At that place you’ve been wanting to go?” he suggests, ignoring your question and confused stare.

“You have practice this afternoon, it would take too long. And don’t ignore me!”

“Oh, right… How about we just go home and order something delicious, hum? My treat!” he smiles, this time a more truthful smile that shows his gums and reaches his rounded eyes.

Before you can answer it, he guides you to the backseat of the taxi and kisses your cheek before going around and entering, giving the driver the address to his house. You sigh in defeat and go along with it, Tae stretching his arm again around your shoulders once again, pulling you both more to the middle of the back seat than to each other’s sides. And yet he keeps looking out the window, a bit of tension in his sharp jawline.

Once he opened the door to his modern house, in which you got dressed this morning and gathered quite a volume of your wardrobe in his closet rather than yours back at the apartment, you took off your heels while he slipped out of his shoes quickly and tapped on his phone, asking you about what you wanted to eat. In the time it took for you to put on your slippers, place your heels in the proper place and meet him in the kitchen, it was decided to order sushi from a delicious restaurant you had eaten at before.

“It says they’ll be here in less than thirty minutes. I’ll get the table ready” he offers, something you usually had to ask of him.

Placing a hand on his arm, you stop him from reaching for the cupboard where he kept the plates. Your hands travel down the soft fabric of his shirt over his arms and enclose his hands in yours, interlacing his long fingers with your chubby ones. You lean in and peer at his hesitant eyes with nothing but love and worry.

“Tae, what’s wrong? You were fine this morning but now you’re acting weird. What happened?”

The boy closes his eyes and exhales a deep breath, changing his stance and leaning with his waist against the lower cupboard, fingers wrapping sturdily with yours as if to give him courage. He presses his wide lips together so tightly they almost disappear, those broad and expressive eyebrows knitting together.

“You didn’t tell me it was a nude” he murmurs in a deep voice, a bit of frustration coming through the barely annunciated words.

“What?” You had a hard time understanding what he was saying.

“The painting! You never said you were going to pose for your friend naked!” he finally yells, anger and bitterness released from the mask of indifference he had been wearing.

It all seems so clear now, you actually wonder how you didn’t realize it sooner.

“Tae-Tae, it was just of my back! I was wearing pants under the sheet and my chest was covered the whole time” you assured, trying to put any doubt he may have had to rest. “And I told you about it the same day he asked me to model for him. Remember? How I said he would be very professional and if I felt too uncomfortable, I would just give up? You were the one who convinced me to go ahead and do it!”

“Well, I must have not heard the part where you said it was a nude painting!” he defended, huffing through his enlarges nostrils.

“It was not a nude! Again, I was wearing clothes, he just painted it to seem like I wasn’t it” you reinforce.

“Your back was bare for him to see for days while he was painting. I’m not sure I’m okay with another man seeing you like that” he pressed, eyes set on the ground.

“It only took him three days and what do you mean ‘seeing you like that’? You can’t possibly be jealous, right? Of Andre?” you question, baffled by his reactions.

“How couldn’t I? The bastard likes your painting so much he marks it as the second most expensive on his catalogue! The way he keeps smiling at you, and winking at you, in no time he will be asking for a full body nude and I am not okay with that!”

You can’t help it, you actually chuckle at that, the notion being so ridiculous in your mind that it only originated disbelieving giggles. Even the serious not-amused look Taehyung gives you doesn’t stop your smile, even if it does keep you from laughing further. You clear your throat, step closer to him and squeeze at his hands, still tangled in yours, until he looks back at you.

“You have nothing to be jealous about. Andre is very happily and very seriously engaged. And may I add, he is engaged to a very beautiful, exotic and thin lady, so I am quite sure I am not his style.” You enlighten, shrugging your shoulders. “Did you notice? I think he even got rid of one or two of my back rolls in that painting. So, can you really say that is a painting of me when he changed it a bit?”

You see those big coffee-colored eyes blink a few times, long eyelashes making them stand out so much, first in surprise and then in embarrassment, resorting to pulling you closer into a hug where he can hide his face in your shoulder.

“Nonsense. That was your back, I have it memorized by heart.” He whispers against your hair, arms wrapped around your middle and holding you close against his chest.

You smile and throw your arms across his back, hands resting at his shoulder blades, head leaning and resting against his.

“By heart, you say?”

“Hum” is all the response you get, feeling the man’s smile against the skin of your neck as he starts leaving a trace of pecks all around.

You close your eyes and crook your neck to the side for better access, a familiar heat filling you from head to toes with his affections. Taehyung has always been one to shower you with attention and love, that feeling of being genuinely appreciated never failing to amaze you. Your lips part and you let out a sigh, an odd flutter in your stomach making you search for his mouth with yours.

As you move your head to encounter his, lips meet and your head spins at the lovely feeling of his hands exploring your skin over your clothes, embers crackling silently bellow his touch. A thrill runs up your spine and something in your belly churns as his lips engage fervently with yours, soon his tongue darting out just enough to dance with yours, and you taste honeyed spice.

The body gives in to his touch and caresses without even asking for you permission, your tubby frame leaning into his slender one as your knees rattle. The hands that were so innocently brushing your back had turned greedy and naughty, Taehyung’s big hands descending down to your squishy hips and cupping your succulent ass, adoring the way he could barely hold on to all of the well-padded curves.

Kiss growing hungrier, he moves his head to the other side and deepens the kiss, mouth ravishing on yours sensuously, the vertigo feeling taking over your brain and you have to hold on to his sides in order to not fall. But he has you powerfully in his hands, darting now to your luscious thighs, digits sinking in to the dimples in the flesh and squeezing it before soothing it with smooth strokes.

Suddenly, Taehyung turns you both around so that you are the one leaning against the lower cupboard, hands grasping at the top to keep you steady at the abrupt change, while he presses his body close to yours and dips his head into your neck again, determined to taint the skin there.

“I have all of you memorized by heart, love. All this heavenly body of yours, made for me and only me to appreciate. Better than any poor attempt of portraying it” he assures.

Your breathing is more than erratic now, fervent blood rushing to your puffy cheeks, waves of arousal pouring down your spine. Those hands that have proved time and time again to be both your curse and your salvation are finding their way into your inner thighs and there is no denying how stirred you were. The itch that had formed between your legs was becoming more and more uncontrollable, the stain on your lace panties a clear indication of that.

The index finger pulls the fabric to the side while the middle finger dives between your swollen folds, immediately drenched in the gathering of your juices. Taehyung hisses at your ear and then grunts, teeth catching your earlobe before whispering in a low erotic voice.

“So wet for me, already, darling? You know I can’t control myself when you get like this.”

“A-and you k-know… I always get like this when it’s you, Tae” you counter back, shamefully aware of how little could get you going when it came to this man right here, with one hand under your dress, between your legs, and another crawling up your body.

“A match made in heaven” he sniggers, finding your lips again.

You whimper into his mouth when his hand cups your breast, thumb moving up and down the fabric just above where he knew was your hardening nipple, making your body shudder at the stings of pleasure shooting to your core. The digits placed at your womanhood start moving too, middle and ring finger sliding back and forth on the silky center, mercilessly teasing your throbbing hole and rapidly finding your puckered pearl.

Impatient, Taehyung pulls the neckline of your dress down your tits, immediately doing the same to the cups of your bra, exposing your breasts to him. His head dives in, mouth wrapping around one nipple and suckling on it until he hears you scream out, his free hand tweaking and twisting the other one before he switched places. In the meantime, his digits frustratingly start slipping in and out of your hole, just in little thrusts that don’t dive all the way in, while his thumb draws circles around your clit slowly driving you insane.

“Taaeee….! Please!” you plead in a whimper, moisture starting to slide down your legs and an excruciating tightness in your abdominal area demanding satisfaction.

Your hands are fisting at the fabric of his shirt on top of his biceps and you have half a mind to worry about ripping it, knowing the shirt was expensive as all hell. But at this rhythm you would pop off every single button of his shirt, rip his pants out and ride him until the next century in order to find your release.

Sensing your urgency, Taehyung smiles with one nipple still in his mouth and finally, finally entered his two long fingers inside your tight hole, sliding them in to the knuckles and providing the most heavenly stretch as he scissors them inside, your walls clinging to him like a vice. Your face scrunches up in pure delectation, the subsiding movement that follows dragging moans from the depth of your soul as you claw this man’s arms and threw you head back with eyes closed.

He twists his wrist and in a nice pace starts plunging his fingers in and out, the pad of his digits rubbing deliciously against your walls and curling just at the right place inside, effortlessly reaching for that spot inside that strikes your whole body with an overpowering current of pleasure. You were already so close to the edge, so eager to jump, and when his thumb starts jiggling your fleshy button in little circles, at the same time he speeds up his fingers, rather than jumping you are pushed into your edge and explode into a blinding infinity, crying out Taehyung’s name and body convulsing, your pliant inner muscles fluttering in hyper-sensitivity around his still moving fingers.

Toes curled and body contorted, your slowly breathe with relief at the waves of pleasure slowly undulating through your body, your body slowly but surely coming down its high and your eyes capable of opening and not just seeing dots of white and gold. Instead you see this magnificent man standing proudly in front of you, hand removed from your core and cleaning his dripping fingers with his mouth, the other hand rearranging your clothes back in place, pulling the cups of your bra back up as well as the neckline of your dress.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get that” he says, and you are still a little bit too numb to really understand.

“What?” you say, confusion mixing with your post-orgasmic serenity.

As if answering your question, you realize the doorbell is ringing, meaning someone is at the door. Taehyung shrugs and locks down at himself. Following his eyes, you realize that on the front of his tight black pants, there is a clear outline of his very erect cock, almost bursting out of the fabric.

“Can’t answer the door like this. Here, have my card and pay for the meal.” He takes his wallet from his back pocket and hands you his card. You nod and make way for the door, but he grabs you by the elbow just enough to whisper lowly in your ear, creating goosebumps at the back of your neck. “And hurry, we don’t have much time before I have to leave for practice.”

And you know he wasn’t referring to the amount of time he had left to lunch with you. Paying the delivery man, you find yourself thinking how convenient it was you ordered sushi, for any other dish would have grown cold by the time you two were done.

[wydallen]

jack does a task! // 001.

— && GENERAL INFORMATION

Full name: jackson grant allen. ( did i name him after my two favorite superheros aka barry allen and steve rogers? maybe. )

Nickname(s) or alias: jack, jay, allen, anything tbh.

Current age: idk about you but he’s feelin’ 22.

Astrological sign: pisces.

Gender: cis male.

Preferred pronouns: he/him/his.

Sexual preference: lowkey closeted bisexual. only his close friends and family know.

Language(s) spoken: english, some german from high school.

— && PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Height: 6′2.

Weight: 180 lbs.

Shoe size: 11.

Glasses? Contacts?: contacts but he prefers to wear glasses.

Tattoos: a few.

Piercings: his ears from when he was younger.

Birthmarks/scars/distinguishing marks: scar on his cheek.

Dominant hand: right.

If painted, what color are their nails/toenails?: n/a.

Usual style of clothing: pair of jeans, t shirt, and vans. here’s a pinterest board of the style he wears.

Frequently worn jewelry: some rings and a necklace.

Describe their voice, what accent?: he has an american accent. he doesn’t really think he has a midwest accent. his voice isn’t the deepest but it’s a nice tone.

What is their speaking style (fast, monotone, loquacious)? fast, usually. he talks a lot and if you don’t stop him, he’ll go a long time.

Describe their posture: he should probably go to yoga classes because he hunches his back a lot.

— && LEGAL INFORMATION

Any speeding tickets?: no, he’s a good boy.

Have they ever been arrested?: no.

Do they have a criminal record?: no. 

Have they committed any violent crimes?: no.

Do they have a passport? If so, where have they been?: he does! he’s only ever really been to los angeles. he’d love to go to new york or london or paris sometime.

— && PERSONALITY

Direct quote from them: “if meghan trainor ever threatens to release new music i have to go into hiding.”

Likes: books, chocolate, cuddling, card games, homemade meals, buzzfeed quizzes, dancing, a nice pair of jeans, a clean shaven face, working with his hands, hats, burritos, laughing, late nights, ice hockey, taking the train, swimming, people watching, bonfires, the great outdoors, true crime novels, “chick” flicks ( he won’t own up to it though ), camping, dogs, cats, animals in general, working out, getting tattooed, the smell of clean laundry, long showers, playing the piano, taking instagram pictures, alternative music, freshly baked bread, apple juice, french fries, snow, star gazing, listening to music on vinyl, stickers, cuddling while listening to the rain, the holiday season, barbecue, netflix binge sessions.

Dislikes: thunderstorms, sleeping alone, driving in big cities, carrots, mosquitoes, bees, boring movies, diet sodas, wasting food, “adulting” ( taxes, seeing lawyers, etc. ), thieves, pineapple on pizza, early mornings, when people take up two parking spots at once, spiders, people who are rude to service staff, political discussions, peanut butter, people who don’t use their turn signals, cold showers, humidity, toxic masculinity, small spaces, feeling defeated, being alone, liars, those aspca commercials, being questioned, loud noises ( mostly from thunder or fireworks ), overpowering fragrances, most fast food restaurants ( minus mcdonalds ofc ), out of tune instruments, his car breaking down, youtube ads, being barefoot, tea, awkward situations, feeling bored, any sense of responsibility.

Insecurities: i don’t know if he has any insecurities but he really doesn’t like his eyes. he hates that no one ever glorifies having brown eyes and sometimes wears contacts to make his eyes blue or green.

Fears/phobias: being in a hospital, elevators, being alone for the rest of his life, death, dying in a natural disaster, injuring his face, losing one of his family members.

Habits: chewing gum when he’s nervous, messing with his hair, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hobbies: gardening, playing the guitar, eating junk food.

Guilty pleasure: rom-coms from the hallmark channel.

Secrets: he doesn’t really have any, really. he’s mostly an open book.

Turn ons/offs:

turn ons: humor, security, understanding, faithfulness, communication skills, charisma, confidence, big smiles, food lover, nice hair, smooth skin, being a little rough, good banter, confidence, being verbal or loud during sex, good with kids, people who can provide him with pizza, being called daddy.

turn offs: bad teeth, body odor, dirty surroundings, the sound of somebody chewing, unnecessary rudeness, judgmental, indecisiveness ( lol hypocrite ), lack of commitment, smoking, pessimism, picky eaters, religious, lack of humor, bossiness, strong perfume, coldness, secrecy, constant negativity, racists, sexists, homophobes – the whole cream of that crop.

Lucky number: number four.

Pet peeves: people who chew with their mouth open, people with poor manners.

Dark version of themselves: he can have a huge temper if something makes him super, super upset. he’s known to have punch a few holes in walls or scream so loud that he loses it. 

Light version of themselves: he’s literally a human golden retriever. he just loves people and being with them. he can throw a million dad jokes in a matter of seconds and he enjoys making people happy, no matter what it takes.

How do they react to a proposal of marriage?: i think he’d be very flattered but he’d prefer to be the one to propose.

How do they react to the death of a loved one?: if it was someone who was in his immediate family, i think he’d be devastated. he’d probably eat and drink a lot. 

How do they react to something irresistibly cute?: he’d go into one of those smiles where it takes up his entire faces and it’d make his face hurt.

— && FAVORITES

Food: french fries.

Least favorite food: carrots.

Drink: dr. pepper.

Least favorite drink: any kind of tea.

Fast food restaurant: mcdonald’s.

Word: serendipity.

Color: blue.

Candle scent: sparkling cinnamon.

Store: target.

Instrument: guitar. 

Occupation: landscaper.

Animal: cats.

Holiday: thanksgiving bc food.

Season: fall.

Artist: ed sheeran.

Band/group: the arctic monkeys.

Song: gravity -- john mayer.

Movie/film: eternal sunshine of the spotless mind, lost in translation.

TV show: supernatural. 

Sport: hockey, baseball.

School subject: social studies.

Number: thirteen.

Emoji: 🤠

— && SKILLS

Talents: he can sing superlatively well.

Ability to drive stick? no. 

Can they ride a bike?: yes.

Do they play any sports?: he likes to play hockey and soccer.

Anything they’re bad at?: doing laundry, diy projects, and going clothes shopping.

— && FIRSTS

Childhood memory: helping his dad fix something in the family car when he was six would most likely be his first childhood memory.

Crush: his first crush was a girl named janette. the first time he ever met her, she knocked his sandwich off his desk and made him eat it anywaya. ever since that, he was in love with her for basically all of first grade. after that, he just kept getting crushes on girls who treated him like absolute shit. and even now, he still develops feelings for someone really quickly, and it’s a blessing and a curse. 

Email address: jack553@yahoo.com

Job: starbucks.

Kiss: he doesn’t remember it that well, tbh.

Love: britney spears in the baby one more time video.

— && MISCELLANEOUS

Do they have a fake I.D.?: no.

Are they a virgin?: no.

How long would they survive in a zombie apocalypse?: probably a few weeks before accidentally getting killed. 

Do they travel?:  if he can afford it.

Celebrity crush: gabrielle union.

Place(s) they can always be found: in his apartment, at the park, or at a blackhawks game.

When do they like to wake up?: typically around noon, if he can. 

What do they wear to bed?: shorts.

Do they smoke/drink/drugs?: no / yes / no.

Do they snore? yes, although, he’ll claim he doesn’t.

Do they chew their pens/pencils?: no. 

Do they believe in the supernatural?: yes, very much so.

Have they ever cheated on anyone?: never.

Have they ever been cheated on?: he hopes not!

Has anyone ever broken their heart?: yes.

Are they squeamish?: around blood, yes.

Are they a lightweight?: no.

Type of kisser: soft and gentle.

Do they want kids?: yes.

Do they want to get married?: yes.

How are they in bed?: he likes to think he’s good but he can’t really tell.

Would they marry for money?: yes, if it’d make him a billionaire.

Opinion on sex: he likes it. a lot. 

Favorite position: he sounds so boring but missionary. 

What is their dream date?: a walk around the city at night, just getting to know them.

[eggcessive]

Neon Lights, Smoke Signals

this is personal

part 1 

This youth, this adolescence, this time of year is… blurry. Blurry neon signs in the wet dark satin of asphalt, shimmering night. Blurry bike splashing through the streets laughing with a too large and limby boy on the handlebars, too large to be balancing there in the light of a sleeping city, shivering shaking movements of street lamps and trees swooshing in and out of view, drunken, blissful. Summer has a sour aftertaste, citrusy and clumsy on my dry tongue. Smoke tumbling through whisky stained teeth, fogging up noses and eyes and brains. Foggy morning morphing into clear, bright day, blinding light under cherry trees, scolding sun in prickly fields of grass. This youth, this adolescence, this blurry feeling of loss. And reinvention, rebirth, remembrance. I will cherish all this forever, if I carefully do not forget. It's a funny feeling, a numbing nostalgia that comes at the same time as the memory-making itself. How is that possible? How is this life possible to feel so abstract when it is right now? These fleeting images of my best friends laughing, opened mouthed, teary eyed, unworried about ugliness, the most beautiful thing I've ever been lucky enough to catch on film.

So many firsts, too. And many yet to be's. Hearts brimming with possibilities. Souls full of potential.  

The whole world too hot one winter, hypnotised into reckless oblivion by flickering lights thumping along to the beat of music that resonates annually somewhere deep down in my chest. That time of year when the clubs were packed to the brim with happy people, screaming along to locally familiar songs, every one so in love with their city for a couple of nights. And the violent thumping of my heart when I asked a boy, "Hey, so, you aren't into me, right?" and he shook his head in response, smiling more softly than he had all night when he'd been trying to pick up other girls. Then he leaned down, my face in his large hands, his tall body bending calmly in the midst of a throbbing crowd. He kissed my left cheek, then my right. Someone stumbled into us, tearing his hands from me, and when we stumbled back together his mouth was on mine for a minute that passed too quickly, sloppily, with too little purpose and in complete contradiction to his initial head-shaking. When my eyes finally could focus on his face, hovering way too far up skywards, he looked so close to tears that I could feel it down my spine. What was I doing to this poor boy? And I left, then, scared of a million unspoken, half-denied implications. And wanted to scream into the crammed train homewards, "Don't fall for me! Don't you dare make me responsible for this pain inside you!"

And, flash, a different train, a different night, it's hot, not winter in a dance club with too many clothes on hot but summer hot, the deafening kind, dull and exhausting. But it's an old train, one that still has windows you can manually open, and my face is close to hot air rushing in to mix with hotter, and it doesn't make much difference, the sweat keeps dripping and my face is bright red. This scene still looks like a dream somehow, old train rushing through a hot european night, and memory has inverted the colours of the night and the feeling of exhaustion, now it feels rosy, gorgeous, beautiful. And, in memory as much as in that moment, arrival feels like bliss, arrival home, home in my city, my beloved, ugly train station, my familiar streets, my messy flat, the faint smell of mould as I open the door. It's all home, and home has never felt like this anywhere else. Home, suddenly so missable, so entirely mine. And, in this youth, this adolescence, finally, homesick has arrived at its true meaning, finally feels like sickness when not home, and no longer being sick of home.

Some days I cry on the bus when it takes me up that hill and allows me glimpsed at my life from above, my eyes brimming with the unshed sentiment that, god, I could grow old here. I might just be in love here forever.

I remember the very beginning, the first visions of this future when my city hadn't yet become my city, just the city I go to every day, the university I attend, the people I meet. I cried a lot on trains, then. Green green landscapes rushing past me, sunshine and so much beauty, and a place to miss, and a place to rush to.

She told me, one night, that she was leaving, and my heart fell from my chest back in my old hometown, and jumped on a train long before my physical body had asked if it was okay for me to come by, and that's when I knew I had to be closer always, closer to this life of mine. It's 8pm and my hands are shaking as I type reassurances. This 40 minute train ride has never been slower. The stairs and stairs and stairs to her flat have never been taller. Her presence has never felt less real. The air folds around her frame in sympathetic melancholy, it seems. And every part of this night reminds me of how unstable it is, this youth, this adolescence, this time of year. She has always been slipping, from the start, like the universe's forces are pulling the strings in opposite directions of where we are trying to go. Like the universe is trying to say no, not in this version. My hands have been desperately reaching for her from the start. My dreams are filled with interlocked fingers, sometimes more memory than dream, sometimes more another life than memory.

This uncertainty, this instability, this time of year is… blurry, shaky, world toppling over on its axis every now and then. I want to kiss her more and more each day, with a force that feels like it might just make the universe release those strings. I remember clearly, very clearly, the moments in my life when that feeling crashed through a moment. Like making my own fate. Like doing the impossible. Like drifting, inevitably, to a breaking point. There haven't been many instances that have felt as significant, inevitable and impossible at the same time, as the thought of kissing her. Inevitable and impossible, is the point. Clear, sharp, distinguished marks. The difference between living this life, and another. Turning points. No-turning-back points. Frozen in time and space, the first girl I kissed. Shaky and still and significant, the second boy I touched. Some people brim with meaning. And not always because I loved them, never because I have loved them, yet. Not my no-turning-back, but theirs. Yet.

She, who is always leaving, always trying to slip, might just be mine.

I ring the doorbell. Her voice greets my heart and it jumps up all those stairs, arriving lightyears earlier than my body, which is breathing heavily by the time I make it all the way to her flat from being out of shape and out of an organ. And her flat might just be above the clouds judging by my exhaustion, and the stunning view from its windows. Sunset is always a thing of magic, but sunset from her bedroom window, glittering orange in her soft hair, soft smile, soft sunlit skin, that kind of sunset has me out of breath and melting more than any staircase exhausted me before.

I still collect other people's pictures of summer, when I've been so lucky to have had sea salt stained, sweatpants and socks on an island perfect summer days of my own. Somehow, other people's summers still seem so much more spectacular to me. But then again, their pictures are frozen in time, space, youth, and most of my memories far too out of focus. This is an attempt to rearrange them. This is me trying to remind myself. This is not about me at all.